#fae!au

[peachesofteal]

Which Witch

Painting by Joseph Tomanek Thank you to the lovely anons who's beautiful brains helped create this story. Part 1 - Part 2 here John "Soap" MacTavish/witch!reader 13k words - AO3 You do not need to read Mermaids to enjoy this fic, but it exists in the same world and for the full experience, I do recommend it. Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Mature and dark themes. Fae!AU. Brief blink of smut. Blood Magic. Fae Magic. Violence. Killing. Human Sacrifice. Angst. Tenderness. Protective Johnny. "I'm not beat up by this yet, you can't tell me to regret, Been in the dark since the day we met, Fire, help me to forget." - F + TM

Johnny presses the heel of his boot into the cheek of the being on the ground, his eyes glazed with a vacancy he has seen more times than he cares to count, or remember, the bleakness of his irises meaning only one thing: the end of their life.

“Was it worth it to ye?” he spits, and the male shudders beneath his sole, twisting pathetically, a half attempt at getting away. Blood sputters and pools, lamely leaking from his body, drenching the air in an earth rich scent.

It does not matter, there is not where for him to go, nowhere for him to flee. He will be lost to the 141, just as almost every other being is this castle has.

The echo of his brother’s power, Gaz’s light magic, rips through the room and shudders down Johnny’s spine as he appears in the hall, his boots leaving red marks on the marble floor, remnants of lives spent squelching with each step.

“Where’s Ghost?” Kyle’s voice booms across the distance, and Johnny jerks his head northward, to where Simon is ransacking the library like a madman.

He is a madman, Johnny thinks, shaking his head, didn’t even stay to see the job through before he went tearing through those books. 

He cannot fault him, his brother is a being possessed, tortured by his own heart, a heart that beats for a creature that does not even know he exists. He is miserable, and brutish, and half the time almost unbearable to be around, and Johnny really, really hopes it all comes to an end soon.

The being beneath Johnny’s heel gurgles, rubied ichor slipping down his face towards the floor before he spits and glares upwards at Gaz and himself.

“Mercenaries.” He snarls, and Johnny can feel him trying to pull a sliver of power, a desperate and feeble attempt that fails before he chokes again. “That’s all ya are. Mercenaries with no code, no honor.” Gaz rolls his eyes in a dramatic motion, rotating his neck before a dagger born from the shimmer of suns materializes in his hand, and the male on the floor whines in fear.

“Yes, yes.” Gaz sighs impatiently, and then in a blink has the point pressed to the being’s neck, right below where his pulse hammers. It sears his skin, burning away at the flesh slowly, filling the air between them with putrid smoke, the smell of incinerating sinew stinging in Johnny’s nostrils. “But how are we so different from you, then?”

“I don’t kill for money.” 

“Just for sport.” Johnny follows up drily, and the male has no argument. His fighting rings are known throughout the realm. In the closest town over, one can make a fair amount of profit, or lose their freedom, if you knew where to look.

“As if you’re so appalled by it, MacTavish.” The being hisses, and Johnny stills. His power thrums in his blood, reacting to tense state of his body, churning in his mind, ready to strike. Chaos readies itself, pulsing deep, ready to blow this entire castle to the Netherworlds. “I know where ya’re from. I’ve heard rumor of what happens on the Isle, with it’s-“ Johnny’s magic bursts forward, twisting around Gaz to seek its target, tearing into the very essence of the male on the ground, ripping into the being’s own celestial connections and shredding them to pieces. The magic and rage combined electrifies Johnny, filling him with a heady power that pulses in every pore, every neuron existing in his body, and it’s a well fought effort to shove it down, to not give into the intoxicating feeling of the craze, the lust for battle and blood. He pulls and pulls the threads from the being’s crumpled form, draining him dry with each breath until there is no fight left, until he’s nothing but a carcass, an empty shell, eyes stuck wide in horror.

“Shite.” Johnny murmurs, finally releasing his heel. There’s not much left beneath it, just ropes of blood and bone, the body obliterated by the concentration of Johnny’s magic, dark red rivers seeping across the polished stone floor. Gaz chuckles darkly.

A ripple of power echoes towards them, and at the end of it, Price looms, arms crossed, mouth turned down in a huff of irritation.

“Job’s done then?” He motions to the pile of remains between them, Johnny nodding the obvious answer. Gaz’s dagger disappears, light seeping through his skin before it’s swallowed whole, tucked away for safekeeping.

“Simon’s finishing up the last bit.”

The three of them venture towards the library, a massive room with ceilings that stretch towards the moons, and shelves built from top to bottom. There are books of every kind here, books from every realm, even. Grimoires, from the witches in the mortal realm, and lost texts from its human inhabitants. Heavy volumes of history from the Netherworlds, sacred texts from a faraway realm that only Simon has been to. Books bound in human skin, books bound with being skin, books that only appear to those they choose. Books that possess their own spells, even if they’re not inherently magic. Books that contain the ability to give any being a gift, so long as they are willing to receive it. Johnny breathes deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of leather and paper, papyrus, and cloth, holding onto it for as long as possible before his lungs deflate with a whoosh. The taste settles on his tongue, and he tamps down the urge to start pulling volumes towards himself, eager to flick through them and devour what lies between their pages. He craves it, the knowledge, the magic that sits sleeping in this room. The bedlam that swirls in his bloodstream melds with his desire for new puzzles, new knowledge, and it creates a double-edged sword that only his brothers seem to understand. Maybe it’s because of his mum, and the deep, ravenous love of books that she had and instilled in him, the balance of his love for chaos and his love for puzzles lending well to learning, or maybe it’s because he’s lived too bloody long, walking the worlds with his brothers, seeking new truths like they were meals to feast on. 

This is where they find Simon. He’s got a female sorceress of some kind, the one they were looking for in the first place, kneeling, in the middle of the room, arms pressed down to her sides, her eyes wild with fear. Johnny can smell it from here, the rank stench of her terror, the scent of her dread as the being in front of her walks in a tight circle, his eyes fixed on her quivering form.

“I cannot perform it.” She protests, and Simon makes a great show of sighing, like he’s tired, or exasperated. “That magic, it’s not of Faerie. We do not practice it here. Please-“ she sobs, and her desperation tugs at Johnny, just a bit, even though his sympathy is slim for this creature who cries pitifully in front of her soon to be executor.

“Simon.” Price intones from where he stands, a distance away, and her eyes flash to him, relief scrawling across her features as she mistakes John for one who may be kind to her, for a being who may help her.

She doesn’t know, that they know. That they’re fully aware, of the terrible things she’s done for the once ruler of this land, that they know the extent of her cruelty, her thirst for blood and pain.

Price crouches in front of where she sits on her knees, and cups her face between his palms, rubbing a placating thumb across her cheekbone.

“Tell us, love.” He encourages. “Tell us about the song. And perhaps, we’ll let you go.” It’s a lie, but she doesn’t know that, and it’s painfully obvious when she swallows, eyes darting between the four of them before settling back on Price.

“It’s blood magic.” She croaks. “The only way to capture the song is with the magic of blood and bone. I told him.” Price turns to Simon, who nods his affirmative. “There are few who still practice it.”

“Where?” Price urges, still soothing her with his touch, his words soft and reassuring.

“In the mortal realm.” Gaz rubs an exasperated palm over his face with a sigh, and Simon’s power pulses around the sorceress, tightening like a vice. She yelps in a panic, words rushing free like floodwaters. “There is a coven! There is a coven left, that still practices in the mortal realm, and they have a spinner, a blood spinner. She’s a witch, that-” She continues to babble, giving them everything, anything she had, where she believed they were located, what kind of witches they were, how long they’d been practicing. She gave and gave, until there was nothing left to say, and then she stared up at Price, with wistful hope on her face.

Hope, that dies, as she feels the slipknot of Simon’s power, twisting with torsion around her neck.

“No, no. You said… you said you’d let me go!” She cries, and Johnny feels his rage lash out inside him, distaste curdling his stomach. He can’t help but correct her.

“Is that what you told the mothers of the children ye slaughtered all those years? That you’d let them go? After ye sold them to fighting pits? After ye watched them die, and did nothing?”

“I wa-was only doing what I was told.” She sobs, flinging herself onto the floor in front of them. “Please!” Her fingers dig at her neck, clawing and scraping, but it’s pointless. The 141 has long had her in their sights. “Please… plea- please.” She moans, fragments of her life slipping through their fingers as it drains away, her body growing limp and her existence becoming futile by the moment. “I- ‘m sorry.” She tries, but it’s far too late now.

It's far too late.

The tavern is packed. Every one and thing inside gives them a wide berth, their eyes jumping from Simon, who walks in front, dark gaze glaring from behind the skull mask and hood he dons in public, to Price, who casually strolls behind him, hand in one pocket, the other swinging by his side, free and available, should quick intervention be needed. Gaz stands at the bar, flirting with a striking female who is leaning towards him, her lips parting to reveal shiny, sharp golden teeth.

That’s odd. What’s a Harpy doing all the way out ‘ere? If Gaz is taken aback, he hides it well, instead slipping her a note that more than covers the cost of a round, and then points at the table where they’ve settled.

“Bit out o’ place.” Price comments, and Simon grunts.

“It’s curious.” He agrees, and they all track Gaz on his way back, watching him until he plants himself on the bench, casual grimace lining his lips.

Simon shifts restlessly, and they all can feel the hot singe of his power, the frustration lurking in the air. Waiting as he hedges.

“If it’s true-“

“At what cost?” Price cuts him off. They hold a silent conversation with their eyes, arguments and counters flowing back and forth between them. Price is the natural voice of reason; he’ll convince him it’s a bad idea. The thought sticks in Johnny’s mind uneasily, souring as he turns it over. What if this is real? What if there is a chance? To end this madness? 

Johnny was no fool, he’s seen the change in Simon, year after year. His fear and confusion, anger and dread starting to seep from his skin, coloring everything around them, affecting them all in different ways. His Nereid was at the end of her rope, and so was Simon.

“All I want, is a chance, Johnny. A chance to know her, without standing in the shadow, for her to know me. To hold her, to tell her she’s not alone.” He confessed, years ago, in the dark of an empty wing in his too big house. “I love her. I cannot give her up, I won’t allow her to die.” 

He had returned to their realm frantic, distress wracking his body, seizing his power and twisting it until it nearly suffocated all of them where they stood. It took hours for Johnny to calm him, to get him to explain what had happened, for him to realize why Simon had been so distraught. His Nereid had nearly failed her task, botched her own hunt, and Simon almost stole her away in a moment of blind panic, without even stopping to consider that she might die as soon as steps foot in Faerie. 

“What you’re asking, Simon, is a massive undertaking, it’s-“ 

“I’m not asking. I’d never ask this of you.” He snapped, magic fizzling through the air above Johnny’s head, explosions of grey and black lighting with power. 

“Do ye truly believe we’d leave ye alone to face this? To spend a year in the mortal realm, as a merc, without us? Your brothers?” 

“It is not merely a year, Johnny. It could be two, or three, or one hundred. I cannot take her until I know how to sustain her, and we’re still not closer to the answer.” 

“I’m with ye Simon. Just as you’ve been with me through difficult times. I won’t turn my back now.” 

“And neither will I.” Price booms from the doorway, the two of them whirling to where he stands with Gaz at his side. 

“Sign me up. You know how I feel about mortal females. And their food.” Gaz gives them an impish grin, flourishing a set of light daggers and then lowering himself in a mock bow, an ode to his bloodline and ridiculous family. Johnny doesn’t say anything, but he watches how Simon’s shoulders ease, how he releases the breath he’s been holding, before giving them all a nod. 

“I will go.” Johnny declares, and Simon’s eyes crinkle with relief. The sooner we get this all done, the sooner we can return home for good. Johnny was tired. They had been in the mortal realm for nearly a decade, coming back to Faerie now and then when something needed attending or when Simon had a lead. And now, with Simon desperately searching for the final piece of the puzzle, the end of all this finally felt close enough to taste. The only thing left outstanding was, how to get his blood to sing the Nereid’s song.

“I fancy a field trip myself.” Price relents, sigh expelling from his lungs with vexation. “Could use a change of scenery. Better than bloody Verdansk.”

“Or Las Almas.” Gaz mutters and Johnny protests.

“I liked Las Almas.”

“You just like Ale and Rudy.” Gaz ribs him, and Johnny laughs full throated. He did a soft spot for the two Vaqueros. They were smart, cunning humans who excelled in battle and cared for their community. Rare traits to find amongst the greedy, swamp like mortals that mostly roam their world. He respected them.

“Aye.” He agrees. The table goes quiet for a moment, words on the knifes edge, waiting, watching, until Simon clears his throat.

“Very well. We will go together then.” Price echoes him, while Gaz nods readily.

“Together.”

“It’s not optional anymore.” Your aunt’s voice vibrates through the speaker of the phone. “Your coven is your family.” She prattles on, unaware you’ve put the phone down and walked away from it to stack a few books together on the table.

“She’s nuts.” You mouth to Jet, who weaves between your legs before hopping up in front of you, rubbing her face against your fingers, seeking a scratch behind her ear.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” You sigh, and you swear you see Jet roll her eyes, right after you roll your own.

“You need to spend time with your coven. You can’t spend your entire life holed up in that shop with your familiar and your books.” Why not? You don’t say that, of course, lest she hex you through the phone, or worse. She doesn’t understand. You have a deep affection, a pure love for your connection to your power, for your magic, but that love did not extend to your coven, who were mostly still stuck in the darkest ages of time, who’s desire for power had pushed them to extremes. When you don’t respond, she bites out her directive before hanging up. “You must perform your duties. You’ll be expected on Samhain.”

And then the line goes dead.

You sigh, and Jet meows, like she sympathizes. Like she feels your pain. Maybe she does. You’re not sure. She is your familiar, but you don’t speak her language. You don’t know how she actually feels.

But you do know she dislikes your aunt, nearly as much as you do.  

“I know, I know.” You give her another rub of your fingertips under her chin before pulling the stack of books towards you and carrying them through the back to the front of the shop.

Your day passes quietly. Mortals come and go, browsing the books in the front room, some choosing to stay and settle in the armchairs or the nooks with plush cushions, curled up with their selections for hours. There are places to tuck away here, corners between shelves where you could allow yourself to get lost in another world if you wanted, with no one to disturb or bother you, except maybe Jet. The black cat patrols the front room with high scrutiny, jumping to and from different heights while she ensures nothing is amiss in her domain.

You keep yourself busy with your daily tasks, organizing, counting, compiling, all while trying not think too much about the demand of your presence at Samhain.

You don’t want to go.

But you also don’t think you’ll be able to get out of it. You had already managed to dodge Lughnasa, and a fully body shudder rips through you when you recall the efforts of matchmaking that were done on your behalf before the festival had even started.

Not like anyone wanted to be matched with you to begin with. Not when there were effortless beauties by the dozen, witches and warlocks waiting with bated breath to be paired together.

Crazy, evil old hags. Crazier than the full moon herself. 

By the end of your regular business hours, the store is empty, and you’ve settled yourself in the back room, the one that stays locked, the one where you keep all the things you don’t want the general public to see, ancient books bound with skin, grimoires with spells to summon demons, to kill lovers, to resurrect children. Books with magic of blood and bone, written by ancient witches from your own coven. Stories that come and go as they please. Stories of gods and monsters. Books that could open doors. Books that could trap you beyond those doors, forever. Banned books, by some’s standards.

Books you’re really not supposed to have but can’t help but collect. Your desire to absorb it all, learn it all unyielding, no matter how much information you consume, and it's become more than your livelihood now. The bookstore has become a place where others can come if they need something that their coven cannot provide, a place a witch can find a spell that’s long been forgotten, a place where answers can be found, if you knew where to look.

A safe place, for yourself, and for others.

A dangerous place, to some, and a dangerous place to you, at times. A place that made you known in magical communities, a place where you could be found.

And to your coven, nothing was worse.

Secret practitioners of blood magic, they were extremely closed off to outsiders. They stone walled others, refused friendships in magical society, kept to themselves as much as possible. It was their tradition, the only way they could survive and continue their practice, their devotion to blood, water and bone keeping them alive longer than others, keeping them young and fair when their counterparts aged and withered, kept them practicing for the entirety of their long lives.

And who would want to give that up? 

You hadn’t been asked to be born into this complicated web of magic, hadn’t asked to become an orphan either, the loss of your parents forcing you into your aunt’s hands at a young age, where you learned all too quickly that your magic was different from other young witches, that you had been blessed with your coven’s ultimate gift.

Blood spinning.

Jet meows, leaping from the floor to the table to sit in front of you on her haunches, jet black fur shining under the dancing light of the candles. There are no lamps in this room, the bulbs too bright or too offensive for the books, some who’s pages don’t even show themselves unless they’re lit by magic.

You keep the flames in here lit by your power, day in and day out. Wax drips onto the mantle that sits over the fireplace, forming sand like castles on the wooden beam as the candles burn, staying in perfect stasis while the flames never go out. 

You cast your magic out, just slightly, enough to straighten a shelf that was haphazardly arranged earlier, and then you wave a finger over a flame, just enough that it lightly heats your skin.

Fucking Samhain. 

You can already feel the insistent pressure that will certainly be coming after today’s conversation, the demands of your participation in the Divination ritual and gods know what else.

Don’t these bats know you should stay home on Samhain? That’s when the Others get through. 

You shiver.

You’re just about to ask Jet what she wants for dinner before you lock up when you hear a clattering smack, the sound of the broom that always stands so astute by the front door falling to floor, and your blood freezes in your veins.

Jet hisses.

Company’s coming. 

“Hello?” A male voice calls, accent unusual to your ears, ricocheting past the shelves to where you sit in the back, hunched over a dusty tome. “Is anyone here?”

“I am!” You yell, standing up too fast, knocking into the heavy wooden table with your hip and letting out a hiss of air through your lips. Ow. Shit. That’s going to bruise. “I’m here, sorry.” You push away some hair from your face as you appear from the back room.

Oh.

Fuck. 

There is a beautiful man standing in the front of the bookstore. A stunningly gorgeous, perfectly formed human being with crystalline blue eyes and a smile that practically beams. His hair is cut into a mohawk, a unique style that you don’t see too often, and his eyes glimmer with something mischievous, something wild. His bone structure reminiscent of the gods you grew up learning about, his face open, and handsome, watching you from where he stands, bolts of setting sunlight streaming in from the glass door behind him, framing him in the orange and pink goodness of dusk.

Just looking at him sets your body alight.

“H-hello.” Gods.. Get it together. It's just a guy. You've see plenty of mortal men before. His lips quirk, and you try not to look too closely at them, their sweet shape, perfectly pressed together while he cocks his head.

“Hello.” Jet meows by your feet, sharply, and you frown at her before looking back at the man.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a book.” He starts, stepping closer, eyes roving over the floor to ceiling shelves that line the front room.

“Well, this is a good place to do that.” Wow. You wish you could pull the words back into your mouth as soon as they slip out, but you can’t. All you can do is cringe and try not to melt into floor. Smooth. So smooth. He doesn’t seem bothered by your obvious statement, and he smiles at you, again, nodding his agreement.

“It’s well… it’s a rare book.”

“Oh?”

“And I’ve been told, you’re a purveyor of such rare and curious books.” Your skin feels warm under your sweater, and you try to beat back the feeling of the heat by taking a deep breath.

“I… have some books. That are considered rare. Or unusual, yes. It depends on what you’re looking for?”

“It’s a grimoire. Of the Ulster Cycle.” You cover your suspicion with a cheeky smile, before shaking your head. What could a man possibly want with that?

“I don’t have anything that old here.” The lie slips through your teeth with ease.

“Oh, my apologies. I was told ye were a collector of sorts. The bloke I spoke with said there was a rare books room an’ everything.” Something prickles along the back of your neck, and your magic flares to life, zinging through your veins like fire.

Magic. There’s magic in here with you, magic that is unlike yours. Magic that hovers above the surface, like it’s waiting for something, waiting to strike.

Is it his?

Like he can sense it, he tenses for a split second before relaxing, and offering you his hand.

“I’m Johnny.” You stare at his waiting gesture, poised on the edge of a decision, uncertainty hanging in the balance.

Something is different here.

 Something is strange. 

But the way he looks at you, like he’s really looking at you, seeing you, noticing you, soothes the wariness in your mind, the strong beating of your heart drowning out your more cautious nature.

Still, you’re not one to give your birth given name to anyone outside the coven, whether they be friend or foe.

You've seen someone learn that lesson first hand. 

“My friends call me Fern.” It’s not a lie, your friends, what little you still had, do call you Fern. Have called you Fern ever since you were all children, when you were more interested in laying on your back in the woods and staring at the clouds through the trees, then you were learning basic spells at anyone’s house. Strange, they used to call you. Odd. Weird. Their parents, bless them, had instructed their children not to be cruel to you, but the nickname had persisted, and then stuck, until it was what you were calling yourself all through Uni and afterwards.

“Fern.” He echoes, a ripple of something you cannot name crossing his face before it smooths, and he releases your hand while giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s lovely to meet you.” The heat on your skin comes surging back, and your magic simmers inside your veins. You’re staring, up into his eyes, two perfect blue swirls of sea and sky, like you’re in a trance, unable to look way for a long moment before he’s clearing his throat and you’re blinking yourself free.

Odd. Your brain warns.

Enchanting. Your heart sings.

“Sorry, I uh. Don’t have your book.”

“It’s alright. Mind if I had a look around?”

“Sure!” you gush, over enthused, and then run your palms down the front of your skirt.

Calm down. He’s not here for you. He’s here for a book. 

You try not to track his every move as he browses, instead staring at the blank computer screen at the front check out desk, clicking the mouse intermittently and shuffling some papers back and forth mindlessly while you sneak a look every now and then.

He’s fit, wide back snug in a t shirt and jacket that hangs loose over his hips, denim notched just right below his waist. You can’t help but stare when he reaches for a higher shelf, and his shirt rides up to expose a flash of his midriff, honey cream skin on full display that makes your mouth water, just a bit.

Jet meows loudly, and then makes an exaggerated point of licking her paw, pointing it in the direction of the clock that hangs over the door.

Welp. 

“I’m actually closing up here, in a minute, is there anything-“

“Sorry to keep ye.” He turns, and you force your eyes away, the intensity of the eye contact too much, the pull of him practically overloading your senses.

“Oh, you’re not. I have other work to do, I just like to lock up.” You don’t know why exactly, but it feels like you’re stalling him. Like you don’t want him to leave. Jet jumps from the floor to the shelf behind you, and she growls as the man, Johnny, who takes a step away from the book he’s studying towards you. “Jet!” you admonish her. Johnny breathes a soft laugh.

“Smart, locking up, cannae be too sure about what’s lurking out there.” He jerks his head towards the door, and then flashes you another smile. It makes you dizzy.

“Uh, I do have some rarities, if that… if that’s something you’d like to come back and see.” What? What did you just say? Did you really just- 

Johnny visibly brightens, like you’ve made his day. Like you’ve made him happy or given him a gift. The feeling warms you from the inside, trilling in your heart until it’s beating double time, and your magic is practically singing in your soul.

He tells you he’ll come back then, that he’d like to come back, and you nod numbly as you wave goodbye.

What the fuck was that? 

Two days later, the bells that hang from the front door jangle and chime to announce his arrival, and the butterflies swirl in your stomach as you walk up front.

“Good evening.” He greets you, and you have to snap yourself to attention after nearly getting lost in the whirled sea glass of his eyes. “It’s Foxglove? Or… Sage?” Your eyes widen and then close to slits before glaring at him. “You’re named after a plant, right?”

“It’s Fern.” You deadpan, and he chuckles, lips splitting to reveal unnaturally white teeth.

“My apologies, Fern.” He does not hide the way his eyes trace you up and down, from your black boots to where your two times two big, button-down shirt is parted to reveal your clavicle. “Are ye well?” He asks, and you try to stutter out a response.

“Y-yes. Thanks. Yourself?”

“Aye, thanks. Excited to see what secrets you’re keeping.” He raises an eyebrow, and you gulp. Where has the air gone? Why does it feel so warm in here?

“I uh. Yeah, well. Let’s… it’s this way.” You punctuate the rambling sentence with deflated inflection, and his lips press together like you’ve amused him.

You pull your magic under the current of the atmosphere in the hallway to wrap around the lock and spring it free, allowing the door to open before the two of you and step inside. The room itself is a marvel, deep burgundy walls with more floor to ceiling bookshelves, and a giant table in the middle, it’s top carved from an ash tree far older than you. The candles dance in your presence, and you feed the wicks just a small sampling of magic, allowing them to gradually brighten so Johnny can see better. Mortal’s eyes were not known for being so sharp. 

“And these are all…?”

“Varying. Some very old, storybooks about monsters and fairies and mermaids and such. You know, fairytales.” You laugh, but he doesn’t, only nods thoughtfully as he reads along the spines. “I’ve got some… old magic books. From when people thought witches were real. And some old religious texts. Nothing crazy, not museum worthy or anything.”

Definitely a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

“When people thought witches were real?” He turns, voice laden with skepticism, and something heavy sinks in your belly.

“Yeah, you know. Old pagan beliefs, that kind of stuff.” You try to play it off but can’t escape his gaze, can’t escape the way it feels to have him staring at you, reading you like an open book.

“And you’re usually in the habit of lying to customers?” You stare him, bewildered, your mind racing to come up with something clever, something snappy to throw him. Nothing comes. “I can feel you.” He explains, like it’s normal, or natural. Like you’re both speaking the same language. “Can feel ye from across the street, actually. Didn’t know little plants could hold so much magic.” He teases, lighthearted and sweet, but your fingers tighten into fists.

“I-“ you start, but abruptly stop when words fail you, and your chest tightens with panic. You internally scream at yourself, the strange feelings from when he first stepped foot in the shop coming back to haunt you, to teach you a lesson.

“Hey, hey.” He croons, and you stare at him vacantly, mind scrambling a mile a minute. “It’s alright. I mean ye no harm, Fern.” The way he says your nickname feels like a bite, like a mark against your skin, the word singed with some sort of magic, something flavorless that you cannot taste, yet you know it’s there all the same. You realize he’s staring at your hands, which are open now, pushed out in front of you like a barrier.

“What are you?” you challenge, and his lips twist.

“I’m no threat to ye.”

“Sounds like what someone who is a threat would say.”

“I promise, 'm just a low-level Wielder. You have more power in your pinky finger than I have in my entire body.” A Wielder. That explains the weird feelings. It’s an old term, one used to describe those born into magical families without marginal power. Wielding witches or warlocks usually have enough magic in them to cast minimal impact spells, some charms and enchantments, things of little consequence. “I ah, work in the military. I don’t practice.” He admits, and that takes you by surprise.

“The military?”

“Aye.” An impish grin splits across his face. “I like blowing things up. Work with a special ops team, around the world. We’re on leave right now, but. That’s usually what I’m doing.” That’s different. Magical beings usually stay far away from things like government, or military. Easier to remain undetected that way, and it was fairly known that mortals were left to their own affairs, without magical interference. You find yourself asking the question before you can smack your lips shut.

“But, your family must-“ not like that? Shun you? Worry about you? must hate you for that? You’re not sure why you blurted it out, or even where you were going with it.

“My mum’s gone. Da too. Got a few siblings left but, we mostly keep to ourselves.” Oh.

“I’m sorry.” Shame curdles in your stomach, and you grimace. “I wasn’t trying to pry, I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright, happened a long time ago.”

“I shouldn’t have-“

“Fern.” He says quickly, your name laden with the same feeling from before, the richness of some unintelligible power, and you draw a sharp breath. “It’s alright, I promise.” You duck your head in silent apology, and the room stays quiet for a moment before he’s speaking again. “What is this?” He’s pointing to a black book, its spine cracked and writing illegible, to most.

“That’s a grimoire.”

“It looks… old. Like it’s seen better days.”

“It is, and it has.” You don’t elaborate, because you don’t know if you should, or even if you want to.

“Where’s it from?” He pushes.

“Here. It’s uh… from my coven. From a very long time ago.”

“You lot been around a long time?”

“You could say that.” You could say that’s an understatement. There were only a handful of old covens left in the world, ancient powers that slept beneath the skin of their witches, only growing stronger and stronger through their lengthy history and connection to the earth. Dangerous.

He continues on with his inquiries, and you give him as much information as you can, pulling books from their resting places and cracking them wide for his eyes, pointing out little things of interest here and there while he stands in awe, time ticking away until the clock in the hall is chiming for ten pm, and he’s apologizing for keeping you so late as you click the door shut.

“You’re not keeping me.” You assure him. “I live in the flat upstairs. Short commute.” You laugh.

“Well, thank ye. That was a delight. Old books like that, the ones that most do not get to see are… special. I’m grateful to ye, for sharing the collection with me.” He makes your head spin, with how earnest he is, how easy and honest he confesses such things to you. It makes your knees feel weak, makes your throat feel dry.

“Of course. Um, anytime you wanna, you know. Come by and look, I’m here.” You stand by awkwardly, while Jet scowls at you from her perch in the window. Your heart sinks when you realize he’s going to leave now, the knowledge that he’ll step out on the street and possibly never been seen by you again twisting in your soul like a sour edged blade.

“I ah… was going to go for a late dinner, would ye like to join me?” You don’t even process it right away, just nod, numbly, like a robot in front of him. Dinner? With him? You, and him? 

“Yeah!” you blurt and then try not to cringe at your over eagerness. “Yes. Yes, I’m hungry so… dinner would be great.”

“Know any good spots around?”

“Uh, yeah there’s a place down the street a few blocks that has a great curry. We could walk?”

“Sure.” He agrees, and then steps outside to wait for you while you lock everything up.

Jet complains the entire time, loudly, and you try to shush her multiple times.

“Oh, stop!” you scold over her meows. “It’s just dinner. He’s nice.” She watches you with keen eyes, green spheres that probably know far more than you, before slinking off to the stairs in the back, taking herself up to the flat. “Goodnight then!” You yell after her, to which she responds with a frustrated growl.

Familiars. You sigh and roll your eyes. So dramatic.

“I lost my parents too.” You tell him one night, a week later. He’s met you after closing, in a park where you like to walk sometimes, and the two of you slowly stroll along the walking path as you trade questions and answers about one another’s lives. It’s somewhat dark, sun already set, but the orange light of a giant jack o lantern that sits in the green space’s center glows robustly and bathes the twilight in autumn hues. “I uh, didn’t want to say anything, because it felt like, not the right time but, yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” He says earnestly and you give him a tiny smile.

“Thanks, I was young. There’s not much I remember about it.” Mostly true. You really didn’t know much, even though you were there. You had the memories in pieces, the woods, the moon, the Fae that took your mother’s life. The spell that ended your father’s. All buried deep in your heart, untouched. Unvisited. You both lapse into silence, and you fight the awkwardness by posing a question, hoping to change the subject without being too obvious.

“How many siblings do you have?”

“I’ve got one sister, who I don’t get to see as often as I’d like. And then, my brothers, who aren’t mine by blood but by we’ve all been best friends for far too long now, living together, working together, traveling together. We’re… very bonded.”

“That’s sweet.” His head tips back with a laugh, before looking back to you. 

“Sweet isn’t what I’d call them, but it’s something.”

“They’re like your family then?”

“Aye. Closest some of us ‘ll ever get.” There’s a pang of something in your heart at that, the idea that Johnny has both blood and love, people who have chosen him, who love him. You’ve never really had that, and the concept is practically foreign to you. “Look, there. It's you.” He points to a bush off to the left and you turn to him confused. “Little plant.” He explains, bemused, clearly pleased with himself and his terrible joke.

“Piss off.” You elbow him playfully, trying to push away, and he grabs you, pulling you into his side with a firm grip, half holding you to him in an embrace as he chuckles and rubs your shoulder affectionately.

“Sorry, little shrub.”

“What are ye doing for Samhain?” He asks the following day during his visit to the shop, a week before the dreaded night, and you gnaw on your lip.

“There’s a festival. We burn large pyres and dance in the moonlight.” You tease.

“Nude?” he smirks, and you laugh, nearly dropping the volume you’re shelving.

“No, gods no. Fully clothed, thank you.” You don’t mention the Divination, the ritual that is your own personal hell. “We drink, and dance, and those who have lost loved ones try to find their spirits. There’s also matchmaking, done by the elders. Which I painstakingly avoid.” He hands you another book, and you pop it into place. “Would you… would you like to come?” Why not? It’s not like anyone is going to tell you not to bring someone. Especially not when they need you so badly. He’s quiet, holding another book in his hand, staring down at the cover like he’s reading it. He’s silent for so long you start to worry, start to second guess yourself, start to think maybe, you read this wrong. Maybe, this isn’t what you thought it might be. Maybe he’s-

“I would be happy to.”

“Be watchful of the féth fíada.” The witch who stands beside a roiling cauldron warns, before pressing a mug into your waiting hands. “Something else is in these woods tonight.” You give your beverage to Johnny and then take the second mug from her, before leading him away, down the hill and closer to the fires.

“What’s the féth fíada?”

“It’s the mist. On Samhain, the veil is particularly thin between worlds, you know? Spirits are usually here with us, until the sun rises but…” You sip the cider, spice and warmth coating your tongue. “We, the coven, believe the Others come through at the same time, and use the mist to cloak themselves.” You gesture to the wispy white fog that rolls through the forest like smoke.

“The Others?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yes. That’s what we call them. The Fae.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Thought the Fae were a myth.” You laugh and turn to face him.

“I assure you, they’re very real.”

“Oh? Have ye encountered one then?” You shudder, like you’re cold, frightening memories pooling at the forefront of your mind until you shove them away.

“Once. When I was a child.” He frowns then, head cocked in consideration, faraway look in his eye as he casts his gaze over your shoulder. Like he’s looking for something. Like he’s seeing.

“Were ye hurt, Fern?” Hurt? No. Traumatized? The echo of your mother’s screams ring in between your ears.

“No.” Someone lights a new pyre a second after your denial, orange embers leaping into the night sky with grace, and it draws your attention enough to distract the both of you. “Come on.” You tug him towards where a group has gathered, bodies moving together in tandem with a chorus of strings that sing through the air. “Dance with me?” You ask him breathlessly, emboldened by the sniff of fire whiskey that sits in your cup and he smiles before draping an around your waist and pulling you close to his body.

“I’d like nothing more.”

Your feet are light, moving around one another with an elegance you didn’t know you possessed, effortlessly shifting with the rhythm and time of the music, fingers grazing along each other in tentative, desperately seeking touches.  

“You’re beautiful, little witch.” He whispers against your ear, words soft and saccharine, floating on the warm air around you as you sway together in time to the music. His hand cups your jaw gently, tilting your chin upwards until you’re both looking at one another, his blue eyes alight with the reflection of the bonfire behind you, lovely and bright, burning down into your soul like a love spell. “I’d like to kiss ye, Fern.” He murmurs, voice strained and tinged with an accent you cannot place, and you blink while your heart rockets off at superspeed, sending blood buzzing with excited magic through your veins.

“Okay.” You murmur, and he smiles at you like you’re the most stunning creature he’s ever seen, before slowly lowering his lips to yours.

It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed it would be. You’ve kissed some men in your life, some women, but nothing compares to this. There’s an explosion inside of you when his mouth meets yours, the gentle coaxing of the way he holds you melting you into a boneless heap while you breathe him in, his scent practically transporting you to another world, a mossy, emerald-green wood with lush plant life and giant ferns that blanket the forest floor. The feel of him, of whatever this is, mixed with your magic and the magic in the air is a powerful elixir, one that seems to make the world tilt where you stand, gravity disappearing and your body pressing into his as a result. The closer you get, the more you can feel something in him, something strong, something powerful, lurking in the shadow of this moment, waiting. Watching. He tastes like oak and dew dropped grass, earthy and rich and magical, everything wrapping up into one as you practically go limp in his arms when he parts your lips with his tongue and sweeps inside.

When he pulls away he’s still holding you steady, while you stare at him wordlessly, smile tugging at your lips. The world feels quiet, like everything has all but died down, like mostly everyone has left except for you, and him. A second stretches on for a minute, for an hour, and you can’t bring yourself to tear your eyes away from his, your magic arcing wildly through the night sky, snapping and hissing with the overflow of your emotions. You never want this to end. You want this to last forever... you want him in more ways than you've ever known. You want-

"Fern! Fern!" Someone's calling you, over the noise of the night, and you reluctantly step back, realizing it’s your aunt’s voice carrying over the music and revelry.

“I… I have to…” You nod in her direction, where she stands beyond the pyre, at the seam of the forest, sealed mason jar of something in her hands.  

“Of course.” He answers immediately, and takes your hand in his, folding his fingers between yours and petting his thumb over your knuckles. He brings them to his mouth, carding his lips over your skin with a gentle kiss, before giving your hand a squeeze and relaxing his grip. “I’ll see ye soon?”

“Y-yeah. Still want to do dinner, on Thursday?” Thursday should be fine, enough time to recover.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” He vows, strong and certain. You hear your name again, but don’t release him, and it’s not until he’s asking you if you’re alright that you realize you’re clutching to him too tightly. Like he’s a lifeline. Like he could save you from this. His free hand moves into your line of sight, and then he strokes a finger across your cheek, eyes worried, face creased with concern. “Fern? What is it?” 

“Nothing. I… I have to go. I’ll see you Thursday.” He opens his mouth to speak but you’re already pulling away, releasing him and bringing the cowl of your hood up over your hair, slipping into the crowd without another word.

You stumble around the dancing and celebrating until you break through and reach the tree line, your aunt and another standing in their ceremonial black robes. You swallow a gasp when you see the jar, it’s clear liquid a tell-tale sign of what’s to come.

Divination.

Your aunt’s lips purse when she sees you.

“Are you ready?” No. No, no. Please don’t make me. You take a deep breath to try to steady yourself, clear your mind and settle your magic. No. No, you’re not ready. The forest cracks and chants around you, cacophony of voices screaming and singing at the same time. No, you don’t want this. You don’t want to do this. This is not what you were meant for, you know it in your heart. You do not want to hurt; you were not meant for harm. “Fern.” Her tone snaps like a whip against your skin.

“Yes.”

You lay still for days, after. Unable to sleep, your eyes never close, your mind never settles, the adrenaline crystalizing in your bones as you drag yourself back and forth from your bathroom to bed, over and over.

You wash hands hundreds of times, but you still see the blood stains on your palms, under your nails, splattered up to your elbows.

Your power burns throughout you, magic heating the air with fervor and thrall, chanting voices culminating around you as you seek the vessels in his body and pull, drawing each drop through him and into yourself, ruby ichor spouting from his mouth like a furious volcano, blood dripping from his lips like the hallowed tears of the old gods. It’s everywhere, on your hands, your arms, your face, your neck, the earth. You imbue it with power, pushing your connections with the roots beneath the soil upwards, into the blood while the breeze sizzles and shatters, mist gathering around your ankles like shackles meant to drag you below. 

 You close your eyes thousands of times, but you still see the face of the man, still see his fear, still hear his pleas, his screams, his cries for mercy as you bleed him dry, scrying for the future with the litres of his blood.

The visions come quickly, splintering through your head with a sharpness that hurts, and you cry out amidst the pain, your mind being ripped into pieces as you scream. There are hands on you, arms cloaked in dark robes, holding you up, holding you steady while your magic vibrates through the ground and into your bones, filling your sight with the future. Clips of death, birth, tragedy echo behind your closed lids, the mineral scent of blood filling your nostrils until you think it will be burned there permanently. 

Tears stream down your cheeks, cutting a path through the spray of red that paints your face. 

Your cries join the reprise of the man who sits dying at your feet, the force of his life draining through your magic, bending and weaving with the power from the earth and your own blood until he’s nothing but a husk, a desecrated corpse that lays silently as you collapse in front of it. 

The visions do not stop. They will not stop for days. 

The elders extract the ones that pertain to them from your mind through their own spell, the process nearly as painful as the Divining itself. They hold you down to the ground to get what they want, pinning your shoulders with a bruising grip, cutting your skin to smear their fingers in your blood, holding your head still as you thrash. Their hands hurt. You will wear their marks for weeks. 

Your aunt deposits you on your back doorstep in a heap as the sun rises. 

No one calls. No one comes. 

You lay alone in your bed, eyes peeled wide, seeing into endless futures, broken stories of other worlds, other beings, other places that you’ll never know. Places you’ll only ever read about in books Places that you’ll only see through this horrid act, or your restless dreams. 

Your brain fractures into tiny little pieces. Your own understanding becomes non sensical.

You become lost between planes. Lost in your own mind. Lost to the Divination. 

Jet never leaves your side. The shop stays shuttered, as it does every year after Samhain, no one coming or going, your lone employee enjoying her annual week after Halloween vacation.

Eventually your eyes close. You sleep fitfully. You dream of the visions, the screams, the sacrifice.

Finally, you regain enough strength to weave a weak spell that helps quiet your mind, and then you truly rest, for the first time in days. You rest, and you sleep until Thursday afternoon, when there’s a rapping against your door.

Johnny.

“Hey little sprout, what’s-“ the words die on his lips when you peek around the door, and the color drains from his face. “Fern.” He whispers.

“Hi.” You know how you appear. Strung out, most likely. Battered. Exhausted. Bruised. You try to fix the top of the knit shawl that you have draped over your shoulders, but it’s far too late. He’s already seen.

“What… what’s happened?”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.” You try to play it off but it’s pointless now.

“Who did this?” The demand is harsh, and rage simmers in his eyes, fury crackling along his skin and into the air between you. He looks… different, something primordial reflecting in his gaze, something ominous etched in the lines of his face. The question holds a promise of violence, of punishment, and being so close to him in this moment makes your head spin. It makes you feel like the very fabric of this world is tearing apart, ripping to pieces around you as he stands there, an otherworldly feeling swirling in the air between your two bodies. It suffocates you, pushes you into the dark depths of waters that feel all too familiar, like the leftover scars on your mind from the Divination are being ripped wide open and plunging you back between celestial planes. 

“Johnny," You manage to choke out, voice rough and trembling. "it’s fine, I- I’m okay. It’s just… the aftermath. Of Samhain.” Your voice breaks, the tenor of your sadness something that’s out of your control, tears caught in your throat. He stares at you, bewildered, a hand raised midair before it falls to his side in a fist, and he turns away. “Johnny?” He doesn’t respond, and you watch the smooth skin of his jaw flex and harden. He stares into the distance, across the street, into the sky.

Looking anywhere but you.

It’s because he can’t stand to see you. 

You look awful. 

You look monstrous. 

You are monstrous. 

“No one should ever touch ye like this.” He bites out, his knuckles tensing against the door frame. His eyes are angry, and wild, burning a hole into your clavicle, where your skin sits exposed, healing from a gash. You shift, a little uncomfortable under the scrutiny, and then he snaps his gaze up to yours, face immediately softening, lips parting, expression rife with unease. With worry. “Are ye… are ye okay?”

“Yes. Just a bit tired.”

“If it’s too much, to have dinner-“

“No! N-no, no. I want… to see you. I want to. Just not sure if I feel up to going out?” He understands, nodding sympathetically, brow furrowed with thought.

“I could go get a takeaway?” Your stomach chooses to rumble at that exact moment, and a small smile plays on his lips.

“That would be wonderful.”

“Alright.” He steps just a little closer, close enough for you to get a deep inhale of him, that woodsy, mossy, magical scent, and swoops down to land a gentle kiss to your cheek before pulling your hand into his and bringing it to his lips, eyes slipping closed with a shuddering breath when he presses a kiss to your palm. “I’ll be right back. You'll be alright?”

“Yeah, 'm fine.”

He feeds you until you cannot eat anymore. He plies you with noodles of too many kinds, different cartons that overflow spread out on the coffee table, in front of where you sit curled up on the couch. You’re still exhausted, eyes straining to stay open, and eventually, you’re sinking lower and lower into the cushions, legs sprawled across his lap, his hand smoothing up and down your calf. It’s warm, and comforting, and you swear you can feel little zings of magic moving inside you, lulling you into a peaceful rest, cocooning you in hazy feelings of softness and safety.

Hours later, in the dark, lips press to your forehead. Your body curls against something warm, face flush against the steady thump of a heartbeat. Someone whispers in your ear.

“Sleep well, little witch.”

“Tell me about your magic.” He asks one night, a few days after you fell asleep on the couch, when you’re finally back to your normal self, spending most of your time getting caught up on everything you let slip during your post Samhain recovery period.

Having Johnny around has seemed to help, somehow. He’s been here, every day since, like he’s unwilling to let you out of his sight, showing up in the mornings before you open the shop with a coffee and sweet, a baked treat that two of you usually split as you go about tidying things around the front room. He hovers, his fingers lightly tracing over your skin often, grasping your hand in his, pressing his lips to your palm reverently throughout the day. You’re not sure how, or why, but it seems your magic and mind have taken to having him around, and you feel better, more well than you normally would during the Divination healing process, your head clear and wounds mostly mended.

“What about it?”

“There were many witches, warlocks, magical beings at the festival, but I didn’t feel anyone quite like ye.” A keen observation. You hem and haw, debating how much to truly tell him, debating how to make it sound… less insane.

“There aren’t any witches like me anymore, really.” You say quietly, casting a mournful look to where he sits on the wicker sofa, legs spread wide. You’re both sitting on your flat’s back porch, enjoying the crisp weather that has a chill to it, the coolness of air refreshing against your skin. “I’m a blood spinner.” He gives you a confused look.

“What’s that?”

“It’s like… a special kind of witch, in my coven. We aren’t exactly… the most orthodox of our kind.”

“What do ye mean?” Ah, fuck. You chew on the inside of your cheek, hesitant to break your oath, to betray the promises you made to protect the secrets that rule your existence.

But it’s Johnny. 

And you trust him. 

“My coven… we’re blood witches. We deal in blood, water, bone. Living things and… such. We can craft spells that affect other forms of life. It’s generally taboo, now. There aren’t any covens left alive that practice blood magic, except us.”

“And what is a blood spinner?” At the same time as he poses his question, he taps his thigh meaningfully, and you rise from the chair that you were sitting in to lower yourself into his lap, edge of your dress sliding down your thigh when he tucks his arm under your knees. His palm skates up and down the back of your leg, and goosebumps raise the hair on the back of your neck.

“Every few decades, a witch like me is born. They call us blood spinners, which is really just a made-up name for someone who’s… connected.”

“Connected?”

“We rely heavily on our connection to the earth, and most of my coven cannot pull on those connections without casting some sort of spell. I can do it… naturally.” You take a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. “I feel connections to the earth, the elements, especially water, so intensely sometimes it feels like they’re a part of me. During our walk the other week? I could feel the trees, breathing. Could feel the grass growing. Could hear the rapid heartbeats of the ducks in the pond. All without using a single spell. Using my magic is not something I have to cast for, like most others. I can just… do it.”

“I’m still not following.” Of course he’s not. Because you sound insane. 

“Right, sorry. Most witches perform magic by casting spells. It’s how they organize and harness their power, pushing the chaotic force of it into something that can contain it, regulate it, give it a purpose.”

“But not you.”

“No. If a witch in my coven wanted to, let’s say, cast a love spell, they’d need an incantation. They could do it, of course, because blood and bone are the primary targets of such a spell, but they’d still need one. They’d write it themselves or get it from someone else if they weren’t confident in their spell making. But I… could just do it. Could just manipulate the blood, enchant it with my own power. Straight from the source. No words. No chanting.”

“Just your power.”

“Yes.” You hesitate. Might as well, while you’re at it. “And, I can use blood to see the future.” He stiffens.

“Divination?” You nod, and he studies you before murmuring quietly, “I didn’t know mortal witches could practice Divination.” Mortal witches? What is that supposed to mean? 

“They can’t. We’re not mortal.” His eyes narrow. 

“What?”

“My coven has always used their gifts to prolong their lives. It is a blessing, and a curse.” He raises an eyebrow in surprise and you shake your head. “Not me, though. Not yet, anyway. I’m still my natural age.” You offer him a toothy grin, and while he nods thoughtfully, his brow furrows in contemplation.

“Well, aren't ye full of surprises, eh?” He hums, and then presses you closer, leaning forward until his mouth is waiting, just above yours.

“Kiss me.” You whisper, fingers clutched in his shirt, desperate for him, for his touch, for anything he could give you.

“Ye never have to ask.” He answers, and then seals his lips to yours, stealing your breath while his hand sinks into your hip, your body heating under his ministrations, your head dizzy with lust and affection for him. He shifts you in one movement, so you’re straddling him, and you can feel the outline of his cock in his jeans beneath you, can feel the heaviness that sits there. You sink down, just slightly, enough that your clothed cunt barely rubs over him, the contact sending little electric shocks through your body, and you whimper into his mouth. “Fern.” He murmurs, and you sneak your tongue past his teeth, lavishing him as much as you can, eager to soak up every piece he’s willing to give. He groans, and your hands drift to his waist, a thumb tucking beneath his skin and the button of his jeans, desperate to touch, to feel, to have him… when his fingers encircle your wrist and pull you away. “We canna’ dove. It’s late.” He says mournfully. Your heart sinks, soul cresting with sadness, and he strokes some strands of hair from your face gently.

Why doesn’t he want you? Were you reading things wrong? Have you done something?   

He brings your palm to his lips, kissing you tenderly, and some of the bitterness leeches from your soul, your heart gentling it's disappointment, your dejection ebbing away on silken spun clouds. 

“Right. Of course.”

He sighs, like he’s bearing the weight of the entire world, before knocking his forehead against yours gently.

“I’m sorry, sweet Fern. It’s not you, ah just… it’s late.” 

“That’s alright, I understand.” You hoist yourself off his lap, and he scratches his head, more so in a way that seems to be a nervous tic than a necessary action, and you shrug. He stands, body held in stasis halfway to you, arm extended like he wants to touch you, grab you, but he’s holding back. You eye the porch door, and he frowns, something uneasy flickering across his gaze. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” you blurt before he can say anything, and he tenses.

“Of course.” He rushes to assure you, and you give him a nod before turning away.

“Goodnight.” You call over your shoulder, before slipping inside your flat and flicking off the porch light.

“You’ve mentioned… you ‘ave books about mermaids?” His fork digs through the container of noodles, lifting a perfect mouthful to his lips after the question, and you nod with your own mouth full of pad see ew.

“Sort of. They’re not really… mermaids in the sense like, Ariel and such.” You’re sitting opposite him upstairs, in the kitchen of your flat, with a window open, cool breeze flowing through your curtains. Your mind wanders to the ancient Greek text that sits on one of the shelves, it’s writing penned by the old gods themselves, words magicked by you to be hidden from most eyes. “They’re different.”

“The Nereids.” He says plainly, and you blink in surprise. “The ones who lure mortals to their deaths?”

“You know of the Nereids?” He nods, scooping another bite into his mouth, swallowing before he continues. 

“My mum used to tell me stories about them. Said they were hunters, used blood spells to trap their victims.” You sigh into your wine glass. His fingers snake across the table and then up your forearm, tracing featherlight touches on the inside of your wrist.

“They don’t use blood spells.”

“No?”

“No.” You scoff. “Their magic is much more complex than that. The blood songs are not spelled. They’re naturally occurring. The Nereids do not choose who sings to them.”

“So, it could be anyone.” He muses, and you shrug.

“Yeah. I’m sure it’s pre-determined by something, somewhere. Some magical force but, the mortals… they’ve no idea. It’s not like they choose, to have their hearts ripped from their chest during sex.” Johnny startles on the stool, body shifting in a rapid movement, so quick your eyes almost don’t catch it. “You didn’t know?” It wouldn’t surprise you. Not much is known about the Nereids. You only hold this knowledge because your coven is well informed, due to the length of their lives, and because you possess one of the few texts left that references them in such detail. Both you and your coven hold the truth of what lurks in the sea close to your hearts. Another secret to keep, another truth never to be borne.

But the wine has made your tongue loose and well, you can’t help but give him everything he wants, anything he’s asked. His eyes flash, and he cradles your hand in his, stroking across your palm with his thumb.

Your words flow so easily, so uninhabited.

It feels so free, so right.

“No. Had no idea.” He watches you carefully, dancing candlelight spinning shadows along the walls and across his face. He looks handsome as usual, but something in the way he regards you now feels different. Dangerous. Thrilling. Your thighs press together almost subconsciously, low whirring of need humming inside your body, and your fingers tighten on the stem of you glass as you continue.

“Yeah, they need them… to live. It’s very… complex. The song creates a pull of sorts, I think.” You drain your glass before motioning to the wine bottle, tugging its contents into your glass with a little flick of magic. “It’s pretty sad. They fall in love with their victims for a night, and then harvest the organ and eat it before the sun comes up. It’s what sustains them. The love, the blood, the magic.” You gesture to the bottle and then to him, and he encourages you with a nod. “It all comes from the heart, you know?” You tap your own for reference, finger padding at the skin over your breastbone, over top where your heart beats just a little faster than normal.

“Aye, I guess it does.” He murmurs, fingertips light against your skin. His attention is focused on you, unwaveringly so, and you fidget under the scrutiny. He looks so… ethereal, in the dim candlelight, so otherworldly that you have to blink a few times to make sure you’re not seeing things.

You’re not.

He’s just really so, so beautiful.

It’s late when Johnny poses another question, clearing his throat over the low volume of a movie playing in the background. He lays behind you on the couch, the curve of your ass pressed into his hips, his arm slung over your belly, palm pressed to space above your navel. His breath fawns over your cheek, and he presses soft kisses to your temple in quick succession before you feel the vibration in his chest.

“I was thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“What if… it was someone you knew? The mortal, who had the Nereid’s song. Could you save them somehow?” It’s an interesting question, and you pause for a moment. His fingers stroke the back of your hand, before wrapping around your wrist and bringing your palm towards his mouth, lips pressing a gentle kiss to your skin before pulling you tighter into his embrace. 

“I don’t know. I suppose you could, extract the song. You’d have to call it forth because it’s naturally occurring. You couldn’t just… cast a spell. You’d have to summon it, bind it to something, probably yourself, and then pull it from the mortal that way, but then you’d be dooming the Nereid to die. They need the heart, to live. I don’t think I could make that choice.” His hand skates along your ribs, under your t shirt, stroking up and down your skin slowly. Soothingly.

“I don’t think I could either.”

“That’s not what I meant!” You shriek with laughter, chest expanding as you rock backwards, leaning away from him and his devilish smile. His arm wraps firmly around your waist, keeping you close to him, fingers playing across your clavicle while you giggle.

“Aye but it’s what ye said.” He’s been taunting you relentlessly about last night, when you fell asleep on the couch and then proceeded to talk for a few hours, all while you were blissfully tucked away in a dream somewhere. 

“Nooo Johnny.” You moan, mortified, and bury your face in his chest. You peek up at him, and your eyes betray you, even though it’s the last thing you want. You cannot hide it, the giddiness, the happiness you feel when you’re around him. It swamps you in glee, exuberance oozing from every one of your pores. Your power feels sweeter, feels lighter, feels more peaceful now than it ever has before.

You know it’s because of him.

You dread that it’s because of him.

Four days later, you’re cataloguing some new arrivals when the front door of the shop bangs open, smacking against the wall, nearly shaking the building, the sound alone bringing you to your feet in a panic.

Your aunt stands in the doorframe, body thrumming with spells just barely contained, anger flooding the space between the two of you.

“What have you done?” She screeches, eyes mad with rage, and you stare at her horror while Jet hides behind your legs.

“I don’t... what’s going on?”  

“What’s going on?” She jeers with an acidity that taints the air. “You’ve always been such a foolish child.”

“I don’t understand…”

That male you brought to Samhain wasn’t a mortal, you stupid girl. He was Fae.”

“Johnny? No, he’s… he’s not. He’s-“ He’s not. He couldn’t be. He wouldn’t lie to you.

“Have you not heard? What’s happened?” she spits. She's confused. She must be. This can't be right. 

“Heard what?”

“A Nereid has been taken, to Faerie. By one of them.” You laugh nervously in her face, the absurdity of her statement unsettling.

“No, that’s not possible.” Why would a Nereid leave their home? How would they leave their home? They need human hearts to survive, after all. How would that even… 

The room spins. Your Aunt continues to scream, going on and on about how stupid you are, how foolish and naïve, how you’re lucky you’re the blood spinner because otherwise, the coven would have already burnt you at the stake. Alive.  

But you cannot focus on any of it.

All you can hear, all you can picture, is the horrid replays of those conversations with Johnny.

All you can think about, is how easily your lips spilled those secrets. How free it all felt. How right.

“You know of the Nereids?”

“I didn’t know mortal witches could practice Divination.”

“I suppose you could, extract the song…”

“They don’t use blood spells.” 

“You’d have to summon it, bind it to something, probably yourself…”

“It all comes from the heart, you know?”

“Oh, gods.” You whisper, mouth dropping open in shock. Your aunt finally goes silent, the whole room falling quiet as the blood rushes in your ears.

“You’re dead to us. You’ll perform your duties for Divination, when necessary, but outside of that, you’re to be shunned. No one is to speak to you, of you, ever again.” She pauses, glaring at you with contempt. “The jury’s still out, on whether you’ll be tried and burned.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t know… I didn’t do it intentionally.” You don’t even know why you’re trying to explain yourself, why you’re bothering. She won’t listen. No one will care. You broke your oath. You betrayed the thing you were supposed to protect. Your chest heaves, lungs fighting for air as the walls narrow in on where you stand.

All for some stupid attention. All because some guy, someone you thought was just a harmless mortal with a tinge of power, smiled at you and kissed you sweetly. Because he told you were beautiful, and held your hand, and went on walks with you in the park. Because he kissed you like you meant something, like you mattered.

Your aunt stops at the door, casting a parting remark over her shoulder as she leaves.

“Your poor mother, Fern. I hope her spirit never discovers what you’ve done.”

It doesn’t take long, to find him. You thread your power through the city, scrying your magic through every drop on blood on every street, every corner, ever floor of every building until you locate him, sitting at a two top table outside of a pub, a handsome male across from him. They’re speaking in hushed tones as you turn the corner, and you stop for a moment to take them in.

How could you not have seen this? 

Those strange feelings, his scent, the shadow of something primordial in those eyes were all trying to tell you the same thing. 

This male is not a man at all, but Fae. 

You stomp down the rest of the block, urging mortals away, using your magic to push them, to send them scurrying in other directions, just as the one sitting opposite Johnny spots you, mouth dropping into an o of surprise before he’s speaking, lips moving rapidly.

Johnny swivels in his chair, but it’s too late. You’re already upon them.

Your rage, your shame overshadows your hurt, the fear that threatens to drown you, as you stand in front of him spitting mad, your magic swirling around you in violent hues of red and purple while he stares, dumbfounded.

“You tricked me, you Fae bastard.” He stands, hand outstretched in a cautionary gesture.

“Fern-“ He tries, but you steamroll him. He’s Fae. Don’t listen to a word he says.

“You used me!” You hiss, fist unclenching, raising in front of your body like a weapon.

“No, listen-“ The other one, like him, is standing off to his left, watching you warily while you yell, tears wet on your cheeks. He steps closer, coming to stand nearly behind Johnny’s shoulder before Johnny waves him off with a concerned look on his face.

“No! You listen! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Your power throbs through you, biting and gnawing to get out, to strike him down and hurt him, hurt him as he’s hurt you, betray him as he’s betrayed you. Your feelings and thoughts and magic all swirl together, weaving and bending into a chaotic mass of pain and sorrow and anger, surging forward, and then your finger extends, pointing right at him. 

In the blink of an eye the air shifts and he drops his glamour, exposing the true strength of his power, the tips of his ears, the mighty weight of the magic he carries in his veins. 

Your words die on your tongue. 

His hand darts forward, strong fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you close, close enough that he can incline his head above your ear, voice razor sharp, lethal and cold when he whispers in an accent you've never heard before:

“Did ye just point at me, little witch?” You’re stunned for a moment, terror galloping through your heart before your sense of self-preservation kicks in and you wrench your arm away, stepping back as quickly as you can.

“Stay away from me.” You hiss. Johnny hasn’t reverted back to how you know him, with the soft angles and rounded ears, his glamoured state, you now realize, and staring him down is a feat in its own. It hurts, to look at him, and you know it’s intentional, you know it’s the way they operate. They aim to sow fear. To scare. Their blinding beauty is just another means to an end, just another tool for them to use.

Something shifts, and Johnny’s eyes move, the intensity of their gaze wavering as he regards you.

He looks… upset.

No. No he doesn’t. He’s not remorseful. He doesn’t care. He used you. He lied to you. He tricked you. 

You step away slowly, afraid to show your back to him, and he takes a half lunge towards your retreating form but it’s too late, you’re too far away from him now, and when you finally turn to run, you hear his voice on the wind.

“Fern, wait!”

#peaches writes #fae!johnny #john mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #fae!au #john mactavish #magic!au #john soap mctavish x you #fae!soap #call of duty #cod mw2 #soap mw2 #soap x reader #soap cod #johnny soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #soap mactavish #cod x reader #female reader #witch!reader #which witch #which witch 

[cthulhusstepmom]

Evidence that Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish is not what he seems-Lt. SR:

Soap smells like rain, it took a while to put it together because it's not Soap himself that emits the odor, it just follows him. It's less potent inside and when it's sunny outdoors but if you concentrate it's always there.

He has never been observed touching a gun or grenades without gloves. Almost every other explosive he handles with no regard for his own safety gloves.

HE EATS WEIRD SHIT. While he doesn't eat much of the food on offer from the cafe, he does eat consistently when outdoors, usually plants or flowers. Things he has eaten: dandelions(edible), garlic(edible), thistle(edible but he ate it with the thorns), foxglove(toxic, showed no adverse reaction), Several unidentified flowers and berries, grass(technically edible?) Etc.

Will sometimes refuse to enter a place before abruptly going in. The data is not consistent between different buildings or locations. Further research is required.

Sharp teeth.

Groups things in nonsensical ways. He will only fill a magazine with bullets that total a multiple of 7 or 3. The same for what weights he uses in the gym. When drawing or eating he sorts by 4s. He traded his room to get #13 (right next door, coincidence?).

Cameras will not focus on him, whether photo or video he is never in focus regardless of distance or conditions.

He has never once been in medical for more than half an hour, usually much less. Even though his hands have light burns on them almost constantly.

Dogs hate him. He seems ambivalent towards them and he's never been bit that Ive seen. Cats adore him as do birds.

John MacTavish does not blush. Not for lack of trying even when genuinely flustered or hot, his skin does not flush.

Ghost sets down the small notebook with a minute sound of frustration. The evidence is all there but looking at it, what does it really say? Other than that he's an obsessive creep. A series of quirks and coincidences compiled by a paranoid son of a bitch into a fucking stalker journal. But still, Simon can't help but feel like he's right and he'd be dead a million times over if he simply disregarded his intuition. Even if it is something batshit insane.

At this point however it seems that it'll drive him mad far before it yields any answers. After scouring what little resources were comprehensible on the internet he'd started growing out his hair, intent on tying it in knots to prevent charms. Leaving him with a problem he'd not encountered since he'd first donned the mask: unruly curls and balaclavas don't mix well at all. He'd also kept a piece of stale bread in his pocket for days as he'd read it was a repellent to- and he can't even believe he's considering it-fairies. It backfired, if anything Johnny had been more attached to him and even more touchy than usual. He'd left a small deli cup full of coffee creamer outside his door overnight and found it neatly placed upside down where he'd left it with not a drop left. Ghost chalked that up to some wise guy playing a joke or an exceptionally dextrous cat and firmly shut the door on any other possibilities in his mind. His next test had been a gift of clothing mixed with complements, he'd read that both were likely to drive away any Other. It hadn't been a very extravagant gift, a new pair of gloves and a gruff "well done Johnny" but at the time it had seemed to be the final nail in the coffin as Soap had gone white as a sheet(he can do that but he can't blush???) and scurried off. A quiet dread had filled his stomach the whole day until Soap turned up at dinner, a little quieter than usual but wearing his new gloves and eating more than usual(a scoop and a half of mashed potatoes with 4 packets of butter and 2 packets of sour cream as well as a cookie. The main course of spaghetti and meatballs went untouched though Gaz snapped it up before it could truly go to waste). Though when Ghost returned to his room late that night after trudging through hours of paperwork he found a pile of tiny, aromatic, pink flowers on the floor in front of his door and on top of them a shiny metal comb. Simon's tired brain hardly stopped to think of any of the dire warnings he'd found on forum posts and folklore sites alike, crouching and tenderly retrieving the piece from its bed of flora, careful not to crush any of the tiny blooms. Well... With all the knots in his hair-purposeful and otherwise-he's going to need a sturdy comb anyway.

#fae!soap #superstitious bastard!Ghost #little does Ghost know that Scottish fairies actually favor bread instead of being repelled by it #meanwhile the whole clothing trick would have totally worked if it weren't for the fact that Soap took as a courting gesture #also the idea of Ghost leaving out two ounces of hazelnut coffee creamer and Soap just feeling his heart beating out of his chest #but he doesnt want to be presumptuous so he waits until hes got absolute confirmation that Ghost wishes to court him #and he gives him gloves...so he can touch him and not be burned by the iron #Soap is simultaneously three steps ahead and six steps behind #cod mw2 #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #fae!au #and to think i wanted to upload this to ao3 😑

[hitlikehammers]

I’m giving this to you lovely people because everyone I’ve asked individually has offered answers that amount in a DEAD HEAT TIE: so!

#steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #fae!au #hitlikehammers writes #hitlikehammers v words

[possibly-inhuman]

Well, Fae!AU by @ghouljams got me out of my months long art block. Idk man I don’t make the rules, I see awful terrible nasty man obsessed with his love and I’m ✨invested✨

#Fae!konig #Fae!könig #1fae1 #fae!au #könig #konig x reader #könig cod #cod mw2 #cod fanart

[cod-z]

[Fluff] Fae!141 (Anon Reveal)

Your media consumption isn't my responsibility | TW: Slight stalking, obsession(?)

Pairing(s): Fae!141 x Reader {Scenarios}

| One-shots | Pegging-Series | A/N: .....

---------------------------

Fae!Price would be a King, looking for a mate or a worthy Queen to rule (and to give offsprings). Suddenly catching the peasant/maiden/lady in his sight. The need to make you his emodies him, no longer in control as he uses the branches to seal off the doors, the only way out is to become his.

Fae!Simon would be a creature hiding in the forest. His fores, his land, his rules and poor innocent you stumbled upon it, running away from reality and into his home. He sees how enchanting you are, how you cradled his creations, the thorned roses he bloomed even if it drew blood. Now you're his new prey.

Fae!Johnny would be hidden as a normal being, hiding his fae features underneath clothes. A beautiful florist caught his eyes, you dotting and tending your beautiful that you grew on your own making his heart melt, since most humans treat nature with disrespect. Instantly in his mind, you are his mate. You will be his mate.

Fae!Kyle would be bathing underneath the luscious, clear-blue cataract. His dark skin glistening underneath the radiant sun till he heard a splash behind him, he hid, till he saw you. A fair thing, reaching out to grab that damned, wooden bucket you let slip out of your hands. Curiosity peaks as he watches you from afar, slowly his soft gaze turns into possessive ones. A fae that has the heart of a siren.

#cod z #call of duty #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod mw x reader #cod x you #modern warfare x reader #call of duty fanfiction #141 x reader #cod fanfic #task force 141 x reader #call of duty fanfic #task force x reader #mw2 x reader #fae!price #fae!soap #fae!gaz #fae!ghost #fae!au

[ethereal-night-fairy]

Forgotten sorrows

Chapter 6

Fae!Soap X Female Reader

Witch X Rún X Price

Price warns Soap to stay away from you for his own good and you enjoy a day out with your best friend. Seeing her in pretty dresses might have cause your brain to short circuit with very dirty thoughts plaguing your mind. It doesn't help when Price decides to butt in on you flirting with her.

Warnings: MDNI, smut (Rún thinking about Witch and Price, no Soap this time sorry i got carried away but I'll include it in the future chapters maybe...that depends on if this ship lasts) kissing, oral sex, fingering, light bondage, Top/Bottom, dark themes, mention of trauma, light angst, cursing, hurt/comfort sorry if I missed any.

I'm so sorry I've been gone so long again you might as well just expect chapters at a monthly pace lol. I fought myself so much writing this chapter because i was in such an angsty mood but i had promised to be sweeter and that what i wanted to deliver. I was literally doing a 'Ricky when I catch you Ricky' with my own brain lol. I know I said I'd include Rún thirsting after Soap with some smut and you all voted on it but i just don't think Rún likes him enough to willing let herself think about him like that yet. Especially since she thinks he's fucking her sister. I'm not comfortable with writing cheating. Even though he's so hot. It's got to wait until he confirms he never done anything romantic with Daisy. Your getting smut with Witch X Rún X Price though hope you enjoy that. Hopefully in the next chapter I'll include some real light smut and more fluff. Feel free to send me ideas or questions about the story if you don't understand anything. I hope you all enjoy the chapter. This Fae au belongs to @ghouljams I feature their Oc in my writing, send them some love. This story wouldn't exist without them. Thanks again to @ghouljams hyping me up to post this chapter. Your the best!!! Also shout-out to 🦖 anon on ghouls blog who's Ocs I mentioned in this chapter.

Forgotten Sorrows Masterlist

Masterlist

Words: 8k

Soap laid on Gaz's bed trying to get air back into his lungs. After being fucked into the mattress, on request of course. His wrists were raw from the bounds he was just in, the pain helped distract him from his racing thoughts. Gaz comes into the bedroom freshly washed and glistening with water droplets, a white towel wrapped around his waist. Soap turned to admire his figure as he opened his closet to get dressed for a night out. He drank in the sight of Gaz's toned body and wet skin. Getting up he presses himself into Gaz and starts kissing up his defined back towards his neck while pulling him back towards himself. His skin smelled nice and he felt his cock harden with his familiar scent and warmth.

"Enough you mad dog! I've been fucking you for the better part of today. I need to go hunt. Don't you dare leave hickeys on me", Gaz said, pushing Soap back with his hand as he grabbed his clothes. Soap whined and tried clinging onto him like a lost puppy.

"But ah need yer support right noo mate, dinnae be sae heartless", he wrapped his thick arms around his torso preventing Gaz from moving. Getting fed up with Soap's clinginess Gaz snapped his fingers causing the ropes on the headboard to spring alive and restrain Soap back to the bed. His wrists and arms were bound as the ropes coiled around him. He tried escaping but to no avail. In the time he was struggling Gaz managed to dress and style his hair quickly. Soap continued to throw a hissy fit as Gaz put his socks on.

"I'll restrain your legs too if you don't stop", Gaz directed a pointed look at the exposed man laying on his bed. He was covered in bites and rope marks given to him again on his own request.

"What am ah supposed tae dae while ye're gone", he grunts aspirated, flexing his bound arms still trying to escape.

"Come with me and find someone else to fuck if you're so pent up, I've done the best I can. Almost blew my back out for you with how rough you wanted it today", Gaz gets up looking for his shoes when he hears a knock on his door. Both men exchange glances before Gaz snaps his fingers releasing Soap.

"Get cleaned up and dressed I'll go check what Price wants", Gaz walks out the room not waiting for Soap to answer.

Gaz walks down the hall to open the door for Price. He could recognise the smell of his cigars anywhere. It was unusual for him to visit at night though. More often than not business was done in the early hours unless it was a premeditated attack. The door swings open and Price stands outside with his hands full with takeaway food. The smell of his recent cigar was clinging to him like pollen does to bees. Gaz steps to the side to allow him in, breathing in the residue of the smoke as he walked by. It was comforting in an odd way.

Price came in going towards the living to set the bags of food down. While Gaz trailed behind him waiting for Price to begin talking.

"I need you to do some digging on someone from the winter court", he turned to face Gaz. "It doesn't need to be done tonight but I'd like the information by the end of the week", Price writes down who he's talking about and what kind of information he's looking for before telling Gaz to enjoy the food he brought and to have a quiet night with Soap since he's gonna need some company after what he's going to tell him.

When Soap was showered and dressed he met with Price in Gaz's living room. Gaz was lounging on the sofa enjoying his Chinese with 'Come Dine With Me' on the Tv.

"Ah thought we were going out?", Soap gave him a questioning look.

Gaz shrugged and said he changed his mind and focused back on the Tv. Price was sitting beside him waiting for Soap. He eyed the bags of takeaway wondering why there was so much food for 3 people. Soap took a seat and grabbed a container from the open bag and began eating, waiting for an explanation for Price's late visit. Maybe they could invite Ghost over for a boy's night. A change of pace would be nice from his insistent drinking. Soap noticed Price wasn't eating either. So he assumed he wasn't going to be staying long.

"I just dropped by to tell you to leave Rún alone, do whatever you want with Daisy but Rún is off limits", after finishing his sentence Price stood up to leave with the other bag of food.

"Wait? What? Why!?", Soap put down his food and hurried after Price. Gaz just glanced at them and continued watching his show, too tired to get involved. Maybe if he hadn't fucked Soap so hard he'd have some energy to help but he didn't. Probably needed a hot water bottle for his back.

"I don't understand why you're so upset, there's a whole city for you to hunt from. Just leave the girl alone, she's been through enough already and my Witch will more than likely end you if you try anything with her. So I'm warning you in advance, find someone else", Price left no room for negotiation and apparated his smoke swirling where he once stood.

Soap sunk down into the armchair as Gaz continued to eat. He held his head between his hands as he tried to understand what just happened.

"You're that whipped huh? This the same girl you met at the Renaissance festival? Or the other one you couldn't take your eyes off?", Gaz lets out a chuckle. "No wonder you came to me, it's ok mate there's plenty of fish in the sea. You'll find a decent meal soon."

Soaps first instinct was to protest what Gaz had just said. That you weren't just a meal to him but stopped himself by pressing his lips together. That's all you should be though, a source of sustenance nothing more. He wanted to delude himself into believing the only reason he wanted to expose and get rid of Daisy was to get to you. To make you trust him, to let him inside your mind. He didn't want to admit that his heart stirred when he thought of you rather than his stomach. Or that you had a little corner all to yourself, where you fluttered around carelessly. Tugging at his heartstrings from time to time.

He wanted to devour you, to slowly wear down your walls. To be allowed inside your turbulent mind, he wanted to sink his teeth into the tender parts of yourself you kept hidden. He wanted to cut you open and take you somewhere far away where he could consume you slowly and in peace. Away from prying eyes. Where he could painstakingly inspect every crevice of your mind and soul. While he basked in the taste of your sweet flesh and blood. He'd stitch you back together piece by piece once he was satisfied. Finally satiating his heart on how and why you had wormed your way into his mind. Or what magic did you cast over him to make him constantly think of you.

This is what his true nature was, a predator. Well that's what he's been telling himself. Not the silly lovesick puppy he thought you were trying to make him become with your gentle smile and mischievous eyes. Yeah, this was your fault he thought. You shouldn't have been born so sweet and kind. What other choice does he have but to steal you away from everyone else. Especially those who didn't know how to truly appreciate the value of your blood. He can still feel the weight of your little drawing in his void. You were too good for him to destroy and deplete without discretion. He'd be no different than Daisy who was using you without actually acknowledging the gem she had in her grasp. It would be like chugging down expensive Scotch. No he was going to truly savour you, down to your bones. But that was all it was, this was just about his own hunger. He didn't care for you….. no truly he didn't but for some reason those words wouldn't leave his mouth.

You weren't his typical prey, you weren't easy to hook. You didn't fall for pretty words or shallow complements. You didn't look at him like other people did. You weren't affected by his looks or his magic. On top of that you wanted nothing to do with him. Or was that just what you wanted him to think? He had caught your heated gaze on multiple occasions. Perhaps you felt too guilty acknowledging your own feelings, especially taboo ones like these. You probably wouldn't forgive yourself if you confessed to your sister's man. Not that he considered himself her man, he hadn't even kissed her. There was no need too, when all she wanted was to gain connections and contacts from him. But you found him attractive at the very least. He could work with that.

The fact you didn't have the sight was unusual. He didn't get to take a closer look into your bewitching eyes since you liked avoiding his gaze. But he was grateful for the fact you couldn't see his true form. His only redeeming quality in your eyes as of now. If he lost that he wouldn't know where to start in winning you over. He so desperately wanted to hook you. To bind you you him in a way you couldn't escape easily. He knew he was in for a challenge. You seem like the evasive kind, the kind the could slip through fingers like dry sand. This was no short of trying to capture the wind. It's what make it all the more fun. The chase, the uncertainty, the sweet taste of blood when you finally get caught in his trap.

He didn't want to disobey Price but you weren't someone he was willing to let go so easily. Good thing Price hadn't used a tether to stop him, it was just a warning. He could deal with the witch, he has before. Though that perfume she wore last time they met was atrocious. He just needed to avoid seeing her again, at least she didn't know him by name. What's the worst that can happen? He doubted Price would let his witch kill him. He knew his own value in Price's heart, he could definitely use it to his advantage when pleading his case after he was done with you. He'll be good to you in your short lived life. He'll promise you that.

He just sighed and went back to eating. He'll come up with a plan sooner or later but in the meantime he needed to utilise Daisy. That was the only bridge he could use to get closer to you. You were too smart for his typical tactics, but he'll find a way around that. Maybe he'd have to go old school. But being near you would be enough for now.

-

Witch had your damaged necklace in her hand. She had brought it back with her after checking on your condition before leaving you to rest. It brought back good memories of your healing. It was a shame it was burnt now. She took off the knot pendant from the burnt bark and put it in a bowl and went to go find a silver chain to go with the pendant instead, after finding it she placed it in the bowl as well. She began her cleansing ritual and started preparing a protection spell to cast on the necklace as it soaked in Acacia flower water. She plucked some asters from her dried bouquet to grind into a powder as well as rosemary, rue and angelica as she chants the spell. She covers the bowl to let it soak.

She stood there for a second just getting her thoughts into place after finishing the spell. You were sleeping peacefully in your room when she went to check on you. While taking a look at your burns again she saw you had tried clawing at your chest. There were red blood marks on your sternum.

She wonders if you crave having tethers like other fae do. Did you yearn for the bond that they created? But you seldom ask for anything. Even for your gifts or favours. Not with her, not with anyone you help. It's been like that since the first day she met you. You'd have a gift ready to give in exchange for any help you would ask from her until she had to stop you. You already knew not to say thank you, and you had previous knowledge of fae until your memory seal was put in place. After that everything was taught to you again by her grandmother and her, not that you would believe in it but you listened regardless and followed what you were told. She supposes that you became a lot like her in that regard. You were very careful not to get tethered. Or if you did ever need help you'd have a repayment ready before a tether took hold. You were hyper independent to a fault, you'd only come to her when things were out of your control, not before. She knew the reason why as well, though she wished you had more trust in your friendship with her to know she'd never see you as a burden.

She took a step back from her workstation to go stoke the fire that was dwindling. Getting comfortable on the armchair, she let the flames lick at her feet. She mulled over her thoughts on how to help you or just reassure you that things will be okay. Tampering with your memories again wasn't going to do you any favours. What if ten years down the line the seal breaks again, who knows what state your mind would be in then. Maybe this was a good time to heal from past trauma rather than try to forget everything. This could open your eyes to how your sister has been treating you all these years.

She knew of the promise you made to your sister, that you'd look after her in the name of family but this was just exploitation at this point. Well it always was on Daisy's end. She doesn't think Daisy ever considered you as family but you did and you continue to delude yourself into thinking this is what family was.

Her eyes landed on a box sitting high on her shelves, strongly warded and locked. It was made of eucalyptus wood from Egypt. Given to her on her trip to Faiyum by a coven who she assumed was from the region. The box had their symbol on it but she wasn't able to find substantial information on the coven even using her connections. A nepenthe draught they had called it but she couldn't verify it herself. The liquid was too small to run tests on or to analyse without wasting it. Nepenthe, a fictional elixir many had debunked as opium or weed as a way to forget worries. No witch she knew actually knew how to make the potion. The coven didn't really specify how the drug worked or what it did exactly. There were potions similar to that of nepenthe, potions that altered memories or made you forget entirely but they said that nepenthe was a gift of new life entirely. To leave one's past behind to begin anew. It was for the mortals or fae who had lived too long, had seen too much. Unlike other potions and draughts the effects of nepenthe were rumoured to be irreversible. Once drunk there was no going back to your previous life. But all that was speculation. She had never seen anyone use or procure a nepenthe draught. She didn't even realise it was an actual thing until they had given it to her with cryptic words as they left without asking for anything in return not even a tether took hold. She wasn't able to track or trace the origins of the box or the coven. It was as if they never existed.

"When winds clash from all four seasons, chaos will ensue. The choice will lay in your hands, on who you choose to subdue", she repeated their words to herself.

She didn't really know what to do with the draught, so she kept it safe in her home after her return from Faiyum. Which was hurried by your hospitalisation. She had contemplated on what the words meant since then, with zero luck. She only had ties to Summer nor did she engage with Fae from the high courts except for Price but that didn't count since he didn't involve her in his work. But there was no point thinking about it now she needed to figure out a way to help you.

She felt a wave of magic course through her wards before she felt his presence reappear. He was in the kitchen putting down food as she walked in.

"Should we wake her?", he asked.

"No, let her rest, she hasn't slept properly for the last few days."

-

The air was a little stuffy with notes of musk and wood floating through it. You picked up on the scent quickly when you had entered the quaint little shop at the end of the alley with Witch. The shop also smelled of wax and incense and the walls were lined with jars and jars of odd things. Some had claws, others had hair. You wondered where the shopkeeper got his supplies from. Witch was conversing while you walked around the quiet store. There was no one here beside the three of you.

Witch had thought it would do you some good to get out, especially after yesterday's incident. So here you were, helping her gather and stock up on her supplies. It wasn't much different from you going to your favourite art store in the city. It's been a while since you've seen ‘the old hen’, the owner of the store. A sweet old lady who had given you your first job at 16. You worked for her up until you graduated from college. She was very kind to you, to this day you buy your supplies from there unless it's a niche item you're looking for. You remember getting your first paycheck and buying the more expensive art supplies you could only dream of having before. You even got a staff discount. You had also made a friend called Mimi a couple years ago when you were working but she didn't stay long though and you haven't seen her since. She might return though she said she would. She had taught you a lot about painting more so than your actual art teacher. You catch yourself smiling at the memory. Even with all your horrible memories that had resurfaced. Remembering the nicer ones just felt warmer and sweeter than before. Much like an oasis in the desert.

You browse the store as Witch continues discussing the more rare items she was looking for. Your eyes land on a murky jar with eyeballs in it. Were those human eyeballs? They seemed like it. You were hoping it was just a prank, a gag joke to make customers laugh. Why would the shopkeeper have human eyeballs? You take a closer look trying to decipher if they were real or fake. An eye twitches and turns to face you. You clamp your hand over your mouth to prevent a scream from escaping. Once that eye had turned in your direction the rest of them did too. It's an odd staring contest you're having with roughly 20 eyeballs. To say you were unnerved is an understatement. But this was your life now you couldn't just ignore the existence of fae and magic like you did before. Slowly stepping back from their direction, you make your way towards your best friend. She's finalising her order as you approach her. You rest your chin on her shoulder as you watch the shopkeeper weigh and pack her order into brown paper bags tied with red strings. It was strangely captivating watching him do the task. She cups your face gently with her hand as you both watch the shopkeeper's packing skills. Her head turns slightly to place a kiss on your cheek as you continue watching.

"Bored?", she inquires. You just shake your and make a humming sound. Her warmth seeps into your skin as she continues to caress your face with her delicate fingers. Once everything was packed you two moved onto the next store she needed to visit arms linked. The day went by like this, with you two running errands and enjoying each other's company. Around mid afternoon you two finished your late lunch in a cute cafe and decided to walk home.

The September air had developed a sharp edge to it as the sun was lowering in the sky. The warmth once acuminated, now fading by the second. Your only source of heat was Witch's hand holding yours as you two admired old cobblestone buildings on your way back making idle chatter. You really should have dressed more warmly, but heavy clothing always felt restrictive to you. You preferred lightweight, airy, breathable fabrics to shroud your figure. You enjoyed the way the wind would play with your dresses and skirts during all the seasons. Air coursing through the fabric as if it was trying to give you flight, trying to whisk you away from all your troubles. But in all honesty you needed to take your sweaters and jumpers out of your storage, hopefully no moths had gotten in this time.

You're passing an alley when an old shop lantern catches your eye. You stop to peer into the dark space to see what kind of shop it is. Witch halting when you do.

"See something you like?", she squeezes your hand as you walk closer to the old shop. It looks run down at first glance, almost dingy in a sense. But you look closely at the display of a gold embroidered silk gown. If you looked long enough you'd catch flashes of light emanating from the finely done embroidery, before getting a headache and squeezing your eyes tightly. Your eyes wander to the hanging sign post 'Golden Threads' written in peeling paint.

"Want to go in?", she said, giving you a second to collect yourself from your disoriented thoughts.

"Yeah…. If that's ok… we can go home if you're too tired", you fumble with your words a little bit as you talk to her.

"Nonsense! Who doesn't want to look at pretty dresses. It'll be fun. We can play dress up like we used to as kids," She giggled as she led you through the small entrance. "You might find a dress for your upcoming exhibit at the museum".

The sheer expanse of the shop shocked you as you walked further in. It was better lit on the inside than it looked from the outside. Sun lanterns decorated the high ceilings raining down beams of subtle sunlight. You felt heat re-enter your body slowly warming your skin. The walls had racks and racks of very expensive looking dresses, skirts, suits you name it and a whole section of the shop to display jewellery and accessories to go with any items in the store. Witch was greeted by a very pretty sales assistant, but when her eyes landed on you her face fell for a second before she recovered. Witch couldn't help but eye her for an explanation.

"Oh forgive me, I thought you were a moth for a second. We don't allow moths inside, you see. Bad for business if they eat all our stock", she laughs awkwardly.

You simply smile and nod acknowledging her apology even though Witch was reluctant to let it go. She leads you both to the sitting area near the ornate mirrors and large changing rooms. And begins asking questions to best help you find what we were looking for. Once that was done she led you both to a rack with very elaborate looking dresses specifically made for big events.

"Don't worry about sizing, everything here can be altered by the owner who sews and designs these dresses. If nothing catches your eyes you can always book a consultation to design a custom piece. Give a shout if you need any further help I'll be right back with some tea and coffee, she gives you both a final smile before going back to the backroom to get your beverages.

You both begin browsing through the rack, showing each other dresses you think are nice. By the time your coffee and her tea arrived, she had decided on a dress to try on. You waited for her to change as you enjoyed your coffee.

When she emerged from the changing room in that champagne silk gown you almost choked on your coffee. You had to calm your coughing enough to get a good look at her cinched in waist and her ample breasts spilling out from the cowl neckline. To say you were speechless was an understatement, you were gobsmacked. You may have stared at her breasts for far too long that she clicked her fingers in front of your eyes to get your attention back to her face. Heat flooded to your cheeks when she gave you a knowing look.

"You'll catch flies if you don't close your mouth Rún", she smirks at you while walking closer to the mirror to get a better look at herself. The dress was structured and fitted her body well. The colour also suited her complexion making her look more radiant than ever. With her back turned to you got a great view of the very low backless dress. You really shouldn't be looking at her with such lustful eyes. But she looked good in anything in your opinion. She could be wearing a nightgown right now and you know she'd look beautiful. The image of her wearing a nightgown popped into your head and you felt your heart rate pick up.

"You can hardly blame me, it's your fault for looking so good", you flirt back trying to quell the hammering of your heart. You hoped she couldn't hear it. She smiled a full tooth smile at your compliment as she fixed the dress to sit better around her breasts. To distract yourself you get up again to look for a dress to try on. The sales assistant goes to help Witch look at accessories that would elevate the dress if she chooses to purchase it.

A dress that looked to be have dyed in a blood caught your eye, the deep square neckline makes you think it would look divine on Witch (picture). You pinch yourself trying to get your mind to stop popping up images of her breasts. You felt like a pervert or worse a hedon. The velvet fabric glides through your hands as you contemplate if you should show her the dress. Would she think of you as a pervert? No…. Probably not… It would be a crime if she didn't try on the dress, you try to counter your own thoughts. You go back and forth with your own mind for a bit trying to come up with valid reasons for her to try on the dress that didn't frame you as a pervert. But you didn't need to because the sales assistant had come over to you eyeing the dress and looking back at Witch countless times to take the hint in what you were thinking. She smiles and takes the dress off the rack to bring it to Witch as she was looking at necklaces that matched the current dress she was wearing.

“I think this dress would suit your body so well, why not give a try?”, she smiles as she places the dress on the hook in the changing room after showing Witch.

“Oh that dress is beautiful, have you found anything Rún? I feel like I'm the only one trying things on”

“I'll find something soon…. you go try on that dress, I think it'll suit you very well.”, you didn't stutter, you felt proud that you didn't stutter. But your heart rate still hadn't gone down. You hoped seeing her in that red dress wouldn't cause anymore heart palpitations.

By the time she came out you had chosen two dresses to try on. But you could care less about the dresses when your eyes landed on her. Your breath got caught in your throat, almost choking you. A sculpture of pure beauty and elegance she was. The dress accentuated her curves just the right amount without making it vulgar. The neckline was deep and showed the rounds of her bosoms. Her skin glowed from the contrast of the deep red colour. The sleeves had slits running up it. And were connected from the back in a sort of cape that could also be used as a hood if she wanted. It was of the dress was made to be worn by her and her alone.

You knew she didn't particularly like going to big events where eyes would be on her but she had promised to attend your exhibition and go to the afterparty. You hadn't asked her as of yet to be your plus one, finding out about Price made you think it'll be better just to give her two tickets to attend the event with Price and you'll take your sister as your partner. You didn't want to overstep your position as her friend. But that didn't mean you couldn't jokingly flirt with her.

“Wow…..just…..wow”, you drank in her body as if it were the fountain of youth. Your eyes just roamed and appreciated her body and elegance as the velvet hugged her figure. You hear her giggling at your words or lack thereof.

“Staaawp….you going to make me blush”, she says, raising her hands to her face to hide for a second before looking at herself in the mirror. “You really think it suits me?”

You nod your head adamantly leaving no room for doubt that you found her and the dress stunning.

“You wear that out and you'll see men, women and anyone in between falling to their knees for you”, you see her scoff in disbelief before you continue. “Heavens you'd have me on my knees from a simple look in my direction”. She was about to counter what you just said but before she could you both heard a deep chuckle come from the entrance.

“Ya think you'll be able to satisfy my Witch?”, Price saunters in like he owns the place. His hulking body stopping directly where Witch and you stood.

On instinct you find yourself shielding yourself behind Witch as you look over her shoulder at Price. Witch seems just as shocked as you to see Price so neither of you were expecting to see him. You don't know what caused you to say your next words but you were feeling slightly vexed by yesterday's incident and now his current appearance. The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

“I'd do a better job than you”, you say bitterly and mostly to yourself. But by his amused facial expression you knew he heard you. He steps closer causing you to hold onto Witch out of reflex. Placing your hands on her shoulders.

“I'd love to see you try, and when you fail. I'll show you how to do it properly”, he shamelessly counters while giving Witch his signature smile. He didn't seem at all threatened by your comment. Probably knowing you were all bark no bite. Witch smacks his arm when he comes closer.

“Stop teasing her, you still have to apologise for yesterday”, she gives him a pointed look choosing to ignore the words that were exchanged between you and Price probably thinking it was a joke. Price takes a closer look at your face to find your burns healed. Witch's salves must have been extremely potent. It's just another testament to her skills. You shrink back against his stare when you see him coming closer.

“Your right luv, I should have addressed that first”, he places a gentle kiss on her cheek before turning to you. “I'd like to apologise for my unrefined behaviour with you yesterday, my words caused you harm and for that I'm truly sorry”, he bows his head slightly and offers his hand. “I'd like it if we didn't carry any animosity towards each other.”

You didn't know what to do, should you take his hand and accept the peace offering? Or should you keep your distance and not speak to him again? His kiss had you feeling a slight sling in your heart but you pushed that aside. You knew he was a better match for her than you. No matter how much you wanted her for yourself you knew better than to be selfish. She deserved better than what you could offer her. Being her friend was enough for you, even that was beyond what you deserved. You look at Witch to try to gauge an answer but she didn't give anything away on how she wanted you to answer. You knew Price was more than likely going to end up a permanent figure in Witch's life and by default in yours. It was best to bury the hatchet. You glanced at his eyes trying to find any hint of deception but you couldn't. You saw some type of remorse, you didn't know if it was for hurting you or upsetting Witch by hurting you. You take his calloused hand in your soft one giving it a gentle shake before retreating swiftly.

Witch smiles once you shake his hand and tells you to go try on your dresses so she can have a look.

-

Soap was peering in from the display window of the shop. Price had entered a few minutes ago sensing his Witch was in the area while the four of them were completing some ‘errands’ to put it nicely. Price had dismissed them and Ghost had taken the first chance to apparate home to his misses. Gaz and him had stuck around trying to catch Price with his mysterious Darling who was impossible to hook even though they had seen her before, not with Price though. Gaz was blowing out his smoke from his cigarette dispelling the stress of their recent activities as he peered into the shop as well. Nothing exciting was happening; it looked like Price was helping her choose accessories and possibly getting matching suits for himself to compliment the dresses she was buying. He was so soft with her it was uncharacteristic compared to what he was doing a little while ago. He was acting if he didn't just wash his hand of blood. Price really won the lottery with his Witch she was beautiful and looked even better in the dress she was wearing. Both Gaz and Soap try to look discreetly not trying to get caught by Price. The consequences of that would be detrimental. Or worse he'd put them on clean up duty without magic. He could feel himself getting ready to gag remembering the last time that happened.

His eyes drifted to the changing room curtains that fluttered open to reveal a very beautifully dressed you. Your delicate steps took you to the spotlight in front of the large mirrors as you inspected the sheer fabric. You turn and twist your body scrutinising every detail of yourself and the dress that looked as if it was sewn onto your body. The outer fabric was an ethereal lace (picture), the metallic blue complementing your smooth skin on display. A nude slip peaked from underneath the fabric of the floor length dress yet your underwear could still be seen slightly. You didn't seem to mind though. He supposes this wasn't much difference to type of clothing you liked wear on the few occasions he's seen you. You seemed mostly comfortable with your body or rather comfortable with the clothing you chose to wear. Airy and light very indicative to the type of magic you possessed. The slip dress moulded itself to your figure creating a ravishing silhouette. All he wanted to do at this moment was bury his face in the crook of your neck while inhaling your scent. Maybe bend you over the counter and take you right here in front of everyone. It was unlikely you'd let him near though. Especially now that you had your friend to protect you. He needed to stay put to avoid her gaze. She was the main obstacle at the moment. Seeing you dressed up like this had his blood rushing to places it shouldn't. Hearing Gaz let out a whistle from next to him was what brought him out of his trance.

“What a sight, sucks you got no chance with her”, Gaz smirks at Soap regardless of the glare he was getting. “You should have chosen better mate, you've dug yourself into a hole.”

“What would ye know?, ye cannae even get yer darlin to desire anythin tae make a deal.”

“Low blow mate, why don't I go talk to her and show you how it's done”, Gaz chuckles.

“Don't ye dare go near her”, he growled. Usually Soap was fine with sharing; they'd all know each other long enough for it not to be a big deal. But that fact his chances with you were low and that fact Gaz could literally charm anyone by simply smiling at them was irking him.

“Too late”, Gaz was already halfway through the door before he could stop him.

-

You stood in the changing room in the nude slip that came with the dress you were about to slip on. The blue lace felt really soft in your hands. But your mind was elsewhere. Price’s words irritated you. Just because he was a couple hundred years old he thinks he knows everything. You're confident in your ability to give oral regardless of the fact you've never actually given oral but that was beside the point. You've read enough books to rival Price's experience in years, that's what you delude yourself into thinking that is. You were probably just upset he called you out on it. But you did have intensive book smarts about sex even if you don't have any physical experience. Not forgetting you also possess female genitalia, so you knew your way around a woman's body. You knew how to please yourself so you were confident if a chance ever arose where you were on your knees for Witch you'd do a good job at pleasing her. Not that it would actually ever happen. Why would anyone ever want you? Especially in a sexual manner. Yes you know you and witch flirt from time to time. But that was just some banter between friends. No one has ever actually approached you with genuine interest before.

But right now your mind was flooded with images of Witch. All you could think about was being on your knees for her. Having her in a state of undress on the couch with her legs spread over your shoulders as you go to town on her folds. Her breasts on display, nipples becoming erect. Her dress pooled at her waist as you caresses and stroke her clit while fucking your tongue into her sloppy cunt. Her juices leaking into your mouth as you drink in her sweet essence while keeping your eyes locked on her face taking note of every flinch, shaky breath and whimper. You'd hold her legs open as you'd ease your fingers into her drenched pussy attacking her clit with your tongue altering between soft and hard licks to keep her from cumming too soon. Feeling her hands tighten in your hair when you wouldn't let her cum. Her tugging and pulling to get you to comply with her needs. In your mind you come up with various positions where you'd have your mouth attached to her cunt. Her sitting on your face as you run your nose over her sensitive folds and clit while tongue fucking her. Or on her hands and knees as you ate her from behind until her legs shook and gave out. Seeing her collapse in a heap on the floor. Breath laboured skin shining from the exertion. Or over the table as you play with her cunt her hand gripping the edge for dear life. You finger fucking into her soft spot until she gushes on them before placing them in your mouth to get a better taste. Running your tongue over her juices on your slick fingers. Making a show of it to get the point across that you adore her taste. Savouring her sweet release and the salt from your sweat. Then brushing your lips against her in a gentle kiss. To give her a taste, an understanding on why you're so addicted.

You pinch yourself again feeling guilty for having these thoughts. You run your thighs together trying to ease the tension building. You hope your panties didn't have a wet spot on them. You slowly start slipping on the fitted dress as your mind wanders again even with you trying to stop it. You think about Price actually watching you do all the things you wanted to Witch. His glacier eyes sending chills down your spine as you work your mouth on his women. As you make her breath catch and shudder. Would he shove your face deeper into her cunt if he thought you were teasing her too much? Would he yank your hair back if you took too long to make her cum? Or would he guide your head gently giving you tips to improve your performance. Would he shower you both with compliments for doing such a good job? Maybe he would tie you up to make you watch how he does it? Preventing you from partaking. Preventing you from touching her supple body as he eats her out. Making you strain against the ropes as you witness her come undone. Showing you how he covers his body over her smaller one, how his thick fingers stretch her out more than you ever could. How she probably prefers his prickly kisses as he runs his face against her thighs. How he makes her a babbling mess in just a couple seconds.

You shake your head dispelling the thoughts. You really needed to stop having fantasies like these. She wasn't yours and you needed to accept that. You chide yourself for coveting something that you didn't deserve. The dress had moulded to your body as you pulled at the spaghetti straps to adjust the top before slowly opening the curtains and stepping out. The dress moved with ease and comfort as you walked to the mirrors. Witch stops her conversation with the sales assistant and Price to look at you giving you a very genuine smile. You feel heat rush to your face again but for more innocent reasons this time. Her looking at you like that made you feel beautiful and bashful at the same time. You inspect the dress as she walks closer giving youn lots od compliments and suggestions what jewellery would look nice. You look at yourself in the dress thinking this dress would be great to wear to the exhibition. You didn't mind it being see through since you had a slip underneath it even though that also wasn't completely opaque. You didn't need to worry about Price looking at you, you knew he only had his heart set on Witch. He wasn't foolish to jeopardise his relationship over wandering eyes. Not that he'd look to begin with. You don't think anyone would really look at you properly other than Witch.

“I think this dress suits you so well. It'll definitely look great at the exhibition, but you should try some more dresses on to see if you'll find something better.”

“I couldn't agree more, you're a force to be reckoned with”, a dark skinned man walks into the store and the first thing you notice is his disarming smile. A full toothed smile so bright you might temporarily go blind if you looked too long. His tall muscular frame comes into view next as your eyes wander down. You're taken aback by his words, you can hardly remember a stranger ever coming up to compliment you like this. Especially not a handsome young man like him. You say young but he was probably older than you by a couple years. Or maybe a lot with him being a Fae and all. Age was tricky to pin with them always looking so youthful.

You feel put on the spot not used to this kind of attention so you just hide behind Witch not sure on how you should respond. A more familiar voice joins his not a second later causing the hair at the back of your neck to stand up.

“Ah told ye not tae come in ye fucker”, Soap grumbles as he comes into view. Price looked at them unamused at their stupidity for coming in when they had no business here. Now Witch wouldn't believe him when he said he was just passing by.

Gaz continues to make idle chatter causing Soap to get even more irritated. You watch as they take sneaky glances at Witch's breasts not that you'd blame them but it still irked you. You kinda wish Price would notice and give them both a smack on the head for daring to look at what was his, not that Witch was considered property. It was more so a show of affectionate jealousy. If you knew how to use your magic properly you'd have sent them flying. Or maybe you should just cover your hand over her breasts to send the message.

Witch keeps her gaze sharp on Soap, a look of recognition falling over her features. And irritation quickly dripping from her form. You didn't know where to look anymore, too much was going on at once. Feeling them stare at you as they argued was putting you on edge. Maybe you should pick something more subtle, something that would draw less attention. You didn't like the attention you were getting even though you have experience wearing pretty dresses to fancy events. The attention was always on the art you were selling, not on you. People hardly ever paid attention to staff. This situation wasn't something you were used to dealing with. Price was growing more annoyed at their disturbance, especially by Gaz's blatant flirting and Soap's irritation. Price had had enough and just dragged the two out as Witch led you towards the accessories to distract you from the chaos. You hear Gaz shout one last time before he leaves. You were assuming he was just doing it to get on Soaps nerves.

“You'll send an invite to your exhibition won't you darling? I'd love to come see your work.”

You did have extra tickets given to you so it wouldn't be hard giving him one but you didn't even know his name and it kinda felt like he was just messing with you to get to Soap. But it was amusing how easily he could get Soap worked up. You also wanted to get at him for causing you so much trouble. You still haven't figured out a way to get him to leave your sister alone. But he seemed unhealthily interested in you. You could use that to draw his attention away long enough to get her to safety.

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2023. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

#poly 141 #1fae1 #fae!soap #fae!price #fae!gaz #call of duty #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #fae!au #fae!ghost #call of duty smut #soap mactavish #soap x gaz #johnny soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #captain john price x you #captain john price x reader #captain price smut #captain john price x reader smut #captain price x you #captain price x reader #soap smut #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #simon riley

[fuyuthefoxwriter]

12

MOTH BOY MOTH BOY

Amazing line art by @ovytia-art

#danny phantom #danny fenton #moth!au #moth!danny #fae!au #fae folk #cujo dp #greenwithenvy2024

[magicislikelove]

Been thinking abt fae!König. This is specifically inspired by a fic that I THINK (could be terribly wrong, but Ik this author has done fae! Fics) @ghouljams (if this isn't you, my bad! I'll try to find the proper inspiration later 😭) did where he goes hiking in the woods with his girl and just scares the living shit outta her so she starts running and then they fuck..... Anyways I just like picturing him as this giant creature!!! I'll be finishing this with color later on :))).

Detail ish shots.

#könig mw2 #könig #könig cod #cw suggestive #cw sex mention #könig call of duty #fae!könig #fae!au #monster!könig #monster!konig

[ghouljams]

World building stuff for the Fae au while I noodle out the outline for it.

The city you live in, much like most cities, sits at a nexus point for all four seasons, and attracts all kinds of the fae. Some are better adapted to city life than others, the more... bloodthirsty ones are usually the ones that take to city life the best. Although Fae like Ghost are still unhappy about all the people.

Speaking of Ghost, that is a winter court man you cannot convince me otherwise. He's the sort of fae that can only hold one or two emotions at a time and they are all consuming feelings. He's made for predation, he doesn't have a need for anything complex like emotion, and he's too far removed from humanity to really understand the nuance of it. That said he is working on it for his love because you are really giving him a run for his money. He does not understand the things you do or how you think, but it's always fun for him trying to figure you out.

He's also one of the few Fae in the city that doesn't just eat food. He truly is a predator among even the fae of the city. He can eat regular food and even enjoys it(major sweet tooth on that man) but he's also a heart eater. Both in a metaphorical and literal sense.

So the fact that he's got you walking around with his mark and your heart very much still in your chest is sort of a big deal. Very confusing for other fae to see you walking down the street and smell Ghost on you, but you're definitely still alive... weird. The only fae that get curious enough to investigate are the ones that know Ghost. Everyone else is smart enough to avoid the boogeyman's pet.

I'm not even going into my thoughts on the magic in this world. Or the fact that Ghost has never had hooks in someone because he's always relied on keeping his prey tapped.

#fae!ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost mwii #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #mw2 fanfic #fae!au #worldbuilding #ghoul speaks

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Forgotten Lands - Fae!Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: This is a new AU universe series that is going to work in the same way as my Mechanic!Curtis series. It’s gonna be a collections of interconnected oneshots that all take place within the same universe but there’s no over arching plot, its just oneshots as and when I think of them!

Summary: After your village turns on you, you seek safety in the wild uninhabited lands up north, only to find they’re not as wild or uninhabited as you thought.

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: Lil bit of Angst! World building! Mention of violence! Fluff!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

AU Masterlist / Masterlist

Forgotten Lands

You woke to the feeling of two small paws kneading your stomach. Peeking your eyes open to find Noks wide awake, pressing his paws into you to wake you up.

“Is somebody hungry?” You yawn pulling your hand out from the blanket to stoke his ebony fur.

Noks purred loudly, pressing his head up into your hand his bright blue eyes closing in content. You smile softly scooping him up into your arms as you sit up. Noks climbed up onto your shoulders as you slide on your worn boots and wrapped a shawl around you to fight off the chill.

You tried not to shiver as you stepped closer to the fire, adding a couple more logs and poking it to get it going again. Once the flames were large enough you set your small metal teapot on to warm up. You then walked the small distance to cabinets where you stored any food you had.

Your cottage was very small, it consisted of one small rectangular room that held everything you owned. Which was very little, a few basic sewing supplies, a couple of books that you have read a million times, a wooden cot that you didn’t dare move too much in out of fear it would collapse beneath you, and one wooden chair and table, both of which were very wobbly.

Noks hopped off your shoulders and onto the small table, the cat perfectly adjusting when it wobbled beneath him. He sat down facing you letting out a long loud meow to tell you just how hungry he was.

“Okay, okay it’s coming,” you tell him grabbing the small jar that held the last of the dried meat you had.

Grabbing the last few strips you gave him half, leaving the other half for another day in case you were unable to procure more. As he tucked on the teapot began to whistle so you took it off the fire and pour the hot water into the one mug you owned. You then added a pinch of your precious spices to give it some flavour.

With your piping hot cup of tea, you sat down at the table, taking care not to spill your tea as your seat wobbled, and grabbed your last apple for your own breakfast. Noks had already finished his dried meat by the time you sat down and slinked over to you, pestering you for more.

You ran your hand over his back “I’ll be going to market today to return the clothing I mended so I’ll hopefully get some meat in payment or some drachmas” you tell him.

Noks just let out an unimpressed huff as he flopped down onto the table for belly rubs.

Once you had finished your apple and tea you got yourself ready for the day. Wrapping up in a couple more layers and packing your basket full of the clothes you had mended for other villagers.

“Coming?” You ask looking over at Noks who was curled up on your cot.

He raised his head to look out the small window as if surveying the weather. Clearly okay with the look of it he got up and did a big stretch before jumping up onto your shoulders. You gave him a little scratch on the chin before patting out the fire and making your way out of your small cottage, towards the market.

Your cottage was the furthest away from the rest of the village, which is what you preferred. You like having your own little spot in the world, even if it was only small and made the trek to market longer. It was peaceful and quiet, just the way you liked it.

By the time you reached the market, it was already busy, with various villagers and merchants haggling for the best deals. In no time at all you had already returned a coat for the butcher who paid you with some dried rabbit meat, a dress for the merchant selling herbs who paid you 3 bronze drachmas and returned a shawl to a local milkmaid who gave you a small chunk of cheese.

You had also picked up some more clothes that needed mending, and promises of food as payment. Your last stop before heading home was to the farmer's wife to return his jacket.

“Thank you for your service, I would do it myself but…” the farmer's wife sighed holding up her scarred hands from a farming incident a few years back.

“It is no problem at all, do you have anything else that needs mending?” You ask.

“No, but I’m sure he’ll rip something soon enough” the wife sighed shaking her head “Here’s your payment,” she says holding out a small pack that contained some vegetables and fruit.

“Thank you, this is very generous,” you say gratefully, putting the pack away in your basket.

The woman shrugs “Nobody else will buy it, too many imperfections”

You nod forcing a small smile, it was always like this. Your payments being food near the end of its life that nobody else would buy, you always manage to get it to keep for a few more days but you did wonder what fresh food would taste like.

The sound of laughter pulled you from your thoughts, looking over your shoulder you spot the lord's son laughing and pointing at a servant he’s just tripped. The servant quickly got to her feet, her face red with embarrassment, brushing dirt off her hands and skirt.

The farmer's wife caught your attention as she sighed shaking her head “You’d hope now that he’s 5 and 10 that he’d act more grown-up”

You hum in agreement as you watched the Lord’s son try and goad people into crossing him, to speak up against his cruelty. You knew it would be one day soon that he’d goad the wrong person, a mercenary passing through that didn’t fear the Lord’s wrath, and get into trouble or worse.

“He is a toad, someday soon someone will teach him a lesson, show he’s not as invincible as he thinks,” you say shaking your head.

The wife lets out a small hum, her eyes darting to Noks on your shoulder, a wary look in her eyes.

“I best get going, thank you for these,” you say nodding to the pack she’d given you before making your way back home.

A couple of days had passed and after spending all day sitting by the fire mending clothes you were exhausted and looking forward to a good night's rest.

It must have only been a couple of hours since you had fallen asleep, the embers of your fire still hot, when you awoke to someone shaking your shoulders. You blinked your eyes open to see and if the low light you could see your best friend looking down at you, a panicked look on her face.

“Erissa, what- what are you doing?” You mutter in confusion as you sit up.

“You need to get out of here now” she states grabbing your heaviest cloak and throwing it at you, her choppy black hair more wild than usual making you think she probably only recently woke herself or had been in a tavern.

“What why?” You ask in confusion, the panic in her voice driving you out of bed and slipping on your boots.

“The Lord’s son has fallen ill with a mysterious illness, and is unlikely to survive the night, the lord believes you to be a witch and cursed him” Erissa explains as she grabs a pack and starts shoving supplies into it.

Your jaw drops to the floor “Heavens! Why does he believe that!” You exclaim.

“The farmer's wife told him what you said at the market the other day, you called him a toad and said someone would teach him a lesson, the boils on his skin are toad like” Erissa explains as she walks over to you, holding out the pack for you to take.

“That doesn’t make me a witch” you argue shaking your head.

“No, but villagers suspected it, with your ability to keep food longer than them, your cottage so far out, not to mention him” Erissa explains nodding to Noks who was watching the entire exchange “especially since you names him after the death god”

“I did not name him after the old fae death god” you argue, Erissa threw you a pointed look “Knowingly, plus the old god was Noksytos, it’s different”

“It’s similar enough for them and if you don’t flee now you’ll be captured and tied to a stake by morning” Erissa states harshly, pushing the pack further into your grasp.

“O-okay” you mutter, the seriousness of the situation finally set in. You pull your cloak around your loop the pack over your shoulder before grabbing Noks “Where should I go? South?”

Errisa shakes her head “No that’s where they’ll expect you to go, the lord probably has already alerted the sentries on the ports, you need to go north” she says as she leads you out of your cottage and towards the woods behind.

“The north? But there’s nothing there, its all wild and ruins”

“Trust me, run north until you reach the river, cross it and keep going soon enough you’ll reach a cave tunnel, go through it and then you’ll be safe” Erissa promises “I’ll be covering your tracks and will meet you eventually, there should be enough in your pack to last you until I can join you”

You give her a quick nod, holding Noks close to you “Thank you” you breathe out, your voice wobbling in fear.

Erissa puts her hand on your shoulder “It will all be okay, take this to keep you safe” she says holding out a knife you’d never seen her carry before.

It was long and curved and you didn’t instantly recognise the metal, instead of being silver in colour it was completely black. It was like it was sucking in all light around it.

“When did you get this?” You gape.

“A long, long time ago” she muttered not taking her stormy grey eyes off the blade, you glanced at the thin scar that ran down the side of her cheek and wondered whether this blade was the cause of it “Now go” she states pushing you towards the woods.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at your cottage, your home. You prayed that one day you could return but you knew better. Turning on your heels you began your journey into the woods.

Hours passed and you had nearly drunk the entirety of your canteen of water. Thankfully you could hear water flowing not far up ahead meaning you had to be close to the river. Sure enough, as you reached the top of the hill you could see the river below and it was much wider than you expected.

As you got closer Noks made his displeasure known, his claws digging into your shoulder. He meowed loudly in your ear as you crouched down to fill your canteen back up. As you did so you glanced up and down the river for a way to cross but saw nothing and you weren’t sure if you could waste time walking up or downstream for one.

Surveying the river you could see the water wasn’t running too fast and didn’t appear too deep. You weren’t a strong swimmer though and you had Noks on your shoulders so you couldn’t risk slipping and getting swept away. You glance behind you to see one of the large oak trees, miraculously it had a long thick stick laying beneath it, one that you could use to keep your footing as you crossed.

Putting your canteen back in your pack you grabbed the stick and slowly made your way into the river. The water was much colder than you expected making you wince. Thankfully it went no deeper than your naval, Noks still clung onto your head and shoulders though, probably drawing blood with his claws.

By the time you got to the other side you were shivering. You contemplated stopping and maybe building a fire but you weren’t sure what creatures roamed this land. You knew many of the beasts were now extinct following The Great War 500 years ago but there still could be bears or wolves.

You decided to carry on, hoping that you’d soon dry off as you walked. You guessed that it must be sunrise soon too which would also help. You needed to at least get to the cave tunnel, you would have shelter there and could possibly risk a small fire.

It was another couple of hours until you reached the cave tunnel. You were dryer than before but you were still chilled to the bone, tired and weak. It was a struggle to put one foot in front of the other.

You put your hand against the cold stone, resting your forehead against it as you took a moment to recover. You could rest now, make your way into the tunnel and rest.

You were just about to take your pack off to set up camp when you heard a branch snap behind you. Spinning around you tried to spot what caused it but couldn’t. Another branch snapped, this time closer. You needed to get out of here and fast before whatever it was realised you were there so you took off into the cave tunnel.

You were approaching the other end when you heard a loud roar, the fear it instilled in you had you running faster. You failed to notice until it was too late that the roar actually came in front of you. You only realised it when you emerged from the cave right in front of a large monster. Its lion's head roared in your face, spittle covering you as you cowered in fear.

You fell to the floor, holding onto Noks tightly protecting him with your own body. You then heard the sounds of shouting followed by another roar from the monster. You screwed your eyes shut praying that you would survive or that at least the end would be quick.

A heavy thud then ran through the woods, the ground shaking beneath you before everything suddenly went silent. Slowly you peeked your eyes open only to see the monster lying beside you dead a knife protruding from its eye. You scramble back from it, something you soon regret as it allowed you to see all of the creature, its bat-like wings, the goat head that grew from its back, and the tail that ended in a snake's head. It was a chimaera, one of the many monsters you believed to be extinct.

The sound of shuffling had you looking up to see three men all standing watching you sceptically. A man with ebony skin, shortly cropped black hair and bird-like wings, the man to his right was the tallest out of the three and had messy golden locks and cerulean eyes, the last of the men stood on the far right had long brown hair that reached his shoulders and in his metal hand was a blade that was the twin to the one in the chimaera’s eye. What caught your attention the most though was their ears, all of them pointy. Ears of a Fae. The creatures of nightmares, the ones that you thought were killed off after the great war.

“Are you okay?” The male in the middle said, his voice soft.

You were unable to answer though as fear took control of your body causing you to pass out.

Your chest felt tight as you began to stir, shifting in your cot it felt like there was a weight on your chest. Peaking an eye open you confirmed your suspicions that it was Noks lying on your chest. But instead of staring at you, waiting for his breakfast, he was facing off to the side his sights set firmly on something ready to pounce at a moment's notice.

Expecting it to be just a mouse scurrying by the window you followed his gaze only to be startled awake at the sight of the golden-haired fae male from before reclined back in a chair, hand running over his chin as he gazed out the large nearby window. Your sudden movement caught his attention, that or he heard your heart rate skyrocket.

“You’re awake” he simply said his voice soft “I was beginning to worry that you wouldn’t”

“I-I-I-“ you stutter as you gaped back at him.

You thought, you hoped last night had all been a horribly vivid nightmare. But it wasn’t your nightmare was real and was sitting right in front of you in a loose and billowing white tunic that showed off the vast muscle of his chest and navy blue pants. You move to pinch yourself but still would not wake up.

Your eyes darted around the large and well-decorated room. Its walls were white with pastel blue floral patterns, the ceilings were so high that even stood on someone’s shoulders you probably still wouldn’t reach. Two large windows lined the one wall, allowing in so much light it was like you were outside. The bed you lay upon was so soft it was like a cloud and so vast that a whole family could fit.

Eventually, your eyes settled back on the male to your left, he’d watched you the entire time in silence. Remained silent as you then studied him. His hair was tidier than it was before but still seemed like a hand has been run through it a couple of times. His face was calm but cautious, waiting to see what you’d do. Despite the pointed ears he seemed completely different to the monster you had been told about, his eyes weren’t cold, his long fingers lacked claws, his teeth were perfectly normal and not sharp like a shark. You still couldn’t believe a Fae was sitting in front of you.

“You- you should be dead” you finally managed to say.

The male tilts his head, his brows furrowing in confusion “Why?”

“You-you’re fae, they died out centuries ago after the great war” you mutter shaking your head.

A look of understanding passes over his face his pink lips parting “Ah yes…. That was a lie carefully constructed following the peace treaty” he nods.

“What? What peace treaty?” You question, you had never been told of any treaty, you heard the Fae numbers had been so drastically hit that the fighting just stopped and they never recovered.

“The one the human side called for to end the war before too many of them perished, the deal was for fae and humans to live separately and humans to believe our kind simply died out to nothing but stories, the fae have since inhabited areas shrouded by magic in places the humans just seen as wild lands” the male explains sitting forward in his seat “there are very few passages between the two, how did you know about the tunnel?”

“My- my friend told me about it, said I would be safe when I went through” you explain shifting back in the bed to maintain the distance.

“Safe?” The male's brows furrowed once more.

“Yes my village believed me to be a witch, my friend got me out before they could take me and burn me at the stake” You look down to stroke Noks’ head feeling calm wash over you as he nuzzled back into you.

“Well, I can say for certain you are not a witch” the male huffs, his gaze then drifts to the side where a large dresser stands, the knife Erissa gave you sat on top “Did your friend give you that?” He asks pointing to the knife.

“Y-yes” you stutter, terrified that he may use it against you.

He instead just hums and nods his head “Your friend did the right thing, you’ll be safe here” he says before standing up “Dinner is in a couple of hours if you feel up to it” You watch as he crosses the room towards the door.

“Wait” you nearly shout as he reaches the door, his fingers nearly inches from the handle “Who-who are you?”

A small smile plays on his lips as he looks over his shoulder at you “Steven, but you can call me Steve”

You couldn’t help the small smile that broke out hearing such a normal name “Y/N, and this is Noks” you say nodding to Noks.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both, I hope to see you at dinner” he smiles softly before making his way out of the room and you heard no hint of a lie whatsoever.

For the next couple of hours, you debated whether you wanted to join Steve for dinner, whether it was even safe.  You were still pacing back and forth in front of the grand bed when there was a light knock on the door.

You spin around to face the door, Noks instantly going on guard from his spot on the bed.

“Hello?” You call out as you slowly back away so your back was against the wall.

A female pokes her head into the room, you guessed she must be some kind of nymph from the greenish hue to her skin. When she spots you in the corner she gives you a kind smile, her golden-coloured eyes holding a gentle warmth.

“I’m here to see if you were joining Steven for dinner?” She says as she steps inside the room, her light blue dress shifting like water as she walked.

“I-uh-I do not-um” you stutter unable to decide let alone find your words.

“It’s okay, if you’re not comfortable I can bring food to you, it might be nice to have a change of scenery though” she offers with a kind smile.

You blink a couple of times, swallowing nervously “I-“ you start before shaking your head and looking down.

“I understand that you feel afraid, but you have nothing to worry about you are safe here, the stories you’ve heard are nothing but stories,” the nymph says as she walks over to you, your gaze rose to meet hers when she went to put her hand on your arm but hesitated “my mother was killed and I was chased from my home for being part Fae, Steve gave me sanctuary here”

You study her for a moment your eyes meeting hers. You see the look of sadness in her eyes as she mourned her mother and old life.

“I’m sorry” you whisper.

“It's okay, my life is much better here than I was in my old stream… Steve is a kind male, you have nothing to fear from him” she reassures you.

You nod your head before glancing around the room in which you had inhabited for the last few hours. Your stomach began to rumble as you realised you hadn’t eaten anything since last night.

“A change of scenery would be nice” you admit glancing back at the nymph “I’m Y/N by the way”

“Kalliphae, but most just call me Kalli” She smiles in return “Now let’s get you changed into something more suitable”

Soon enough you were changed into a gown far more extravagant than you’ve ever worn before. The first gown that Kalli had pulled out for you was even more extravagant, you had tried to convince her to let you wear your old clothes but she said they were still being washed. So you made a compromise and settled for a much simpler, but still extravagant to you, gown instead.

Kalli then directed you through the large grand corridors towards the dining room where Steve was waiting. You had brought Noks along too since he also needed feeding, you hoped Steve didn’t mind the extra mouth.

As you turned into the dining room you halted in your tracks when you saw the table was completely full. You expected to only see Steve but there were 7 others all sitting around the table too. Two of which you recognised as the male with a metal arm and the male with wings but this time his wings were gone.

The room was so loud as everyone talked over each other that you took a couple of steps back. You caught Steve’s attention as you did so, the male rising from his seat at the head of the table. Everyone else fell silent as he stood.

“Y/N, I’m glad you could join us, please sit” he offers gesturing to the chair adjacent to him.

You blinked a couple of times as everyone's gaze settled on you, all of them assessing you, some more kindly than others.

When you didn’t move or say anything Steve began to make his way over to you “They are only my friends and not as scary as they look” he says softly.

“I’d say it's the opposite for Nat” the male with the goatie snickers, only to yelp when you guessed he’d been kicked by Nat.

“Ignore them, please come sit,” Steve says offering his arm.

Your gaze lifts to meet his and see once again only sincerity in his eyes. So you looped your arm with his and let him guide you to the empty seat at the table.

“Let me introduce you, this here is Natalia” Steve says gesturing to the redhead that sat opposite.

“Call me Nat” she smiled.

“Next we have Anthony Stark, you’ll often find Tony tinkering away in his workshop, he made Bucky’s arm,” Steve says nodding to the man you recognised from before “This is Clint, Bruce, Thor and finally Sam” Steve continues gesturing to each of his friends “this is Y/N, she has come here for sanctuary which we are all happy to provide” he finishes sending a pointed look around the group.

You gave them all a small smile before sitting down as you did so you spotted the vast amount of food spread out across the table. There was enough to feed a whole village here and it was all so fresh and luxurious. So luxurious that you began to wonder whether it was a trap, there were so many tales about heroes getting trapped or killed because they couldn’t resist the temptation of the food before them.

They all seemed to notice your hesitation as they all began to load their own plates, Tony spoke up “It’s not poisoned, it won’t trap you here, gods humans are so distrusting”

“Stark” Steve scolded glaring over at Tony “Considering the events of last night Y/N has all the reason to be nervous”

“Ignore Tony, he’s just trying to wind you up, it’s just as safe as the food you’re used to, it just tastes better” Nat reassures you as she takes a bit of her food to show you it was indeed safe.

You give her a small nod before beginning to add some food to your plate. You didn’t pile your plates as much as the others did but it was still the largest meal you’ve had in a long long time. When you took your first bite you had to stop yourself from outright moaning at the taste. What Nat said was a massive understatement, this was the best-tasting food you’ve ever had. Glancing over at Steve you could see the small smirk playing on his lips that told you that you hadn’t completely stopped yourself.

“So what brought you here to seek sanctuary?” Thor asked as he dug into a whole roasted leg of meat.

“My village thought I was a witch, my friend Erissa got me out in the middle of the night and directed me to the cave which led me here” you explain as you feed Noks a chunk of meat off your plate.

“I don’t recognise the name” Bruce hums with a small frown as he glanced over at Steve.

“She’s human like me” you tell him which just made his brow furrow even more.

“That’s impossible” Bruce mutters.

“What Bruce is trying to say is that no human should know about the doorways between our lands, memory of them was wiped from the human race and us fae were forbidden to cross them” Steve explains as he leans back in his chair a contemplative look on his face.

“Oh… maybe she learnt it from old scrolls, she travels a lot” you shrug “I’m not breaking the treaty by being here am I? I don’t need to beg the lord or king for asylum?” You ask nervously.

“There’s no such ruling in the treaty to say humans could not cross into our lands” Steve states.

“And you’ve already been given asylum by the Lord” Tony smirks glancing over at Steve.

Your eyes dart to Steve to see him roll his eyes as he let out a long sigh. You could feel your heart racing in your chest as you realised that Steve wasn’t just a wealthy fae. He ruled over this land.

“I am not,” Steve says as if reading your mind “Me, Bruce, Nat, Thor, Clint and Tony rule over these lands”

“All six of you?” You question, you never heard of multiple people ruling over a territory.

“Yeah they call us the Avengers,” Tony says smugly earning an eye roll from most people at the table.

“The old lord died with no heir, a rival court tried to seize the land as their own, we fought against them and the people of this court chose us as leaders” Nat explained as Steve rubs the space between his brow tiredly.

“Steve is the unofficial leader though, he gets the deciding vote, and we all follow his lead” Clint adds pointing over at Steve with his fork.

“But unlike other courts we all have responsibilities and we debate what’s best to do instead of the emotions on one person driving decisions” Steve states picking up his fork and beginning to eat, effectively ending the conversation.

‘In charge’ Tony mouths when your eyes meet his and couldn’t help the smile that broke out on his face.

Silence, or as close to silence as you could get, fell as everyone began to completely dig into their food. You practically devoured your plateful, having to remind yourself that this food wasn’t about to disappear and that you should pace yourself.

Noks would occasionally meow in your lap, nudging your arm with his head reminding you to feed him a scrap or two. You caught Steve smiling softly over at you after you fed Noks another bite of chicken.

“I’ll ask the staff to prepare him some food for the morning” Steve nods towards Noks.

“Oh it's no it's no worries,” you say shaking your head.

“It's okay, they do so for Bucky’s cat Alpine,” he says nodding over to one of the windows where a white cat was reclined on the windowsill that you hadn’t noticed before.

Noks instantly hopped down from your lap, food completely forgotten, and slowly made his way over to Alpine. The pure white feline paid him little attention as he leapt onto the windowsill.

“Do you mind answering a question?” Bruce says leaning forward as he spoke “How old are you?” he asked when you nodded.

“Four and Twenty” you answer, startled when Tony snorted into his wine glass.

“Four and twenty? You’d think our lifespans would make us slow to advance but they still describe their age like that” he laughs shaking his head.

You frown over at him “How else would you describe it?” you question.

“Just Twenty-Four, it’s much simpler especially when you get to triple digits” Tony explains with a small wave of his hand.

“Triple digits?” you gawk in surprise.

“Yes Fae can live to thousands of years old, nobody is really sure how long as many are killed before their time” Bruce explains.

“So how- how old-” you stutter slightly as you glance around the table.

“Well, Thor won’t tell us which means he’s definitely over a thousand years old” Tony starts before Thor interrupts his laugh bellowing through the room.

“Over a thousand please? I’m as young as all of you” he chuckles shaking his head in a way that said he wasn’t being truthful.

“The rest of us are around the around the three-hundred mark” Tony continues before Nat interrupts.

“Some closer to four hundred than others” she smirks sending a pointed look over at Tony.

“But Steve and metal fingers over here are over five hundred years old” Tony says pointing with his fork over to Steve and Bucky.

A frown forms on your face as you turn to look at Steve. He had been alive during The Great War, he could have possibly been fighting in it. Fighting against your kind, killing them. If what he said earlier was true about the peace treaty that meant he was on the side that nearly killed thousands of humans.

“I fought on the side of the humans, we both did,” Steve said as if reading your mind, or understanding the growing distrust on your face. You blink a couple of times in surprise “I- i- Fae fought alongside humans?” you mutter in disbelief.

“Yes many Fae, younger Fae disliked the tyranny the elder Fae led with, we fought with humans for their freedom, and even after the peace treaty fighting amongst the Fae continued, for land, for status, we continued to fight to restore peace and protect the humans at a great personal cost” Steve explained a dark cloud passing over his features as he glanced over to Bucky’s metal arm.

“I apologise, I did not mean to offend” you whisper looking down.

“No apologies are necessary, I understand,” Steve says his soft smile returning as he nodded over to you.

For the rest of the meal, it was relatively quiet, although some tension still hung in the air so at the earlier opportunity you excused yourself. Steve offered to walk you back to your room. The two of you walked in silence, silence that only grew more uncomfortable as the minutes passed.

“I apologise for my friends and my behaviour at dinner” he finally says once you reached the door to your room.

His apology makes you stop short, your gaze snapping up to his in surprise “No, I’m sorry for my prejudice, I believed all the stories we’d been told as children without considering whether they were actually true or not” you apologise shaking your head.

“It does trouble me that our alliance with your kind has been forgotten, but I understand it too, centuries have passed its only natural for some details to become distorted,” Steve says with a small shake of his head “but I meant it when I said you’d be safe here, you can stay as long as you wish”

“Thank you, my friend Erissa said she would join me, although I’m not sure if she truly understood what this place was,” you tell him.

“Of course, I shall alert my sentries and ensure she is safely escorted to the estate, those woods can be very dangerous, especially for a human” Steve nods.

“Thank you, and thank you for before with that Chimaera, I was certain I was dead” you admit with a long sigh.

Steve smiles softly “Well I shall thank the fates that our paths crossed when they did,” he says with a small bow of the head “I shall leave you to rest, Goodnight Y/N”

“Goodnight Steve” you smile bowing your head gently.

Noks then meows loudly in your arms making Steve chuckle “Goodnight Noks” he smiles.

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AU Masterlist / Masterlist

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#NiamhWrites #ForgottenLandsAU #Fae!Steve Rogers #Fae!AU #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you

[luveline]

such a strange girl + someone spiked the punch with steve harrington? where maybe r is a fairy and loves to go around secretly pranking people but when it comes to steve she loves to leave him little secret handmade gifts?

join luveline's halloween party ♡

tysm for ur req baby! ditzy!fairy!fem!reader

Steve spots the little box in his cubby at work and goes very still, because he knows exactly what you're like. You get into places you can't possibly get into and leave your weird trinkets, rocks and pressed flowers and bugs suspended in amber. Robin had found one herself last week, a spider wrapped in orange resin. She'd thought it was cool, and taken it home, and the resin had dissolved and let her spider loose.

He doesn't want to open the box, lest something sweet turn out to be a prank.

But you always smile so nicely at him. He's curious.

He glances over his shoulder before picking the box up with stiff fingers from the autumn chill outside, untying the black ribbon holding the lid on and prying it open, box held away from his face in case something goes poof.

Silence. He peeks through his lashes and finds a small felt flower, a black dahlia made of intricate, neatly trimmed pieces.

A note is curled into a scroll on top, but when he unfurls it he's dissapointed to find only three words.

Happy Hallow's Eve.

"Do you like it?" you ask.

He flinches hard. Your disregard for the employees only sign might get him fired, and your ability to suddenly and silently creep up on him will kill him, one day.

"It's awesome," he says genuinely, though his voice sounds far away, heart pump-pump-pumping in his ears.

You bite your lip like you're tamping down a smile before you cross the room and throw your arms around him. He's not so surprised at your need for affection — quiet you may be, but shy you most certainly aren't — and he wraps his arms around you familiarly, careful not to squash your handmade craft. You smell like grass and flowers and something heady.

"I haven't, uh, made you anything."

You look up, your eyes impossibly light and dark at the same time. "That's okay, Stevie, I didn't expect you to. I like making you stuff, anyway."

He coughs. "Yeah, about that. It's not going to turn into a weird little creature that suffocates me in my sleep, is it? Mike's still sleeping with a night-light."

You frown. "Why would it do that?"

"'Cause you like scaring people?"

"Yeah, but not you," you say, like it's super obvious and he's silly for thinking otherwise. You nuzzle your face back under his chin and squeeze his ribs.

He peers over your shoulder at the gift in his hand, finding he really likes the implication of what you said. "Not me, huh?" he asks, pressing the side of his face to the top of your head.

"You don't play games with someone when you're courting."

He raises his eyebrows. "Duh," he says, like a liar. He makes a mental note to ask Robin what 'courting' means.

#luveline's halloween party #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #fairy!reader #fae!reader #fae!au

[peachesofteal]

Which Witch

Part 2 of 2 / Faerie masterlist

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish/witch!reader 13.3k words - AO3 - Part 1 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Explicit sex. Fae!AU. Blood magic. Faerie magic. Angst. Tenderness. Comfort. Pining. Sex magic. Praise kink, light breeding kink. Magical dubious consent. Possessive Johnny, Protective Johnny. "I'm not beat up by this yet, you can't tell me to regret, Been in the dark since the day we met, Fire, help me to forget." - F + TM

Johnny has never experienced a headache before.

The feeling is surprisingly uncomfortable, and has been blooming behind his eyes since the other day, when you advanced on him outside the pub in the mortal realm, when you caught him off guard with your fury, your heartbreak.

He tries not to think about that part, too much.

Tries not to think about the torment he saw in your eyes.  

Tries not to think about his plans, laid to waste, to ruin. A dream, crumbled into a nightmare.

He tries not to think about the ache that’s settled beneath his ribs since the second you snatched your hand from his grasp and stomped away, the pressure of your magic making the stitching of the mortal realm feel too thin, too fragile.

He tries not to think about the extra weight of something that’s been added to him, nestled there in his side, the heavy feel of a magic that feels not unfamiliar, but alien at the same time.

“Bloody hell.” Gaz whispered. “No wonder ‘uve been keepin’ her a secret.” He whistled, low and sharp, as they watched you cross the street and slowly disappear from view, red and purple magic angrily arcing off from your body and tainting the air with a tart, burnt aftertaste. 

You were the only being on the street, besides them. All the mortals had gone off, pushed by you, sent scurrying by your power. “That’s one powerful little wi-“ 

“That’s enough.” Johnny snarled in his face, the ferocity, intensity of his tone, the words spat at his own brother surprising them both, signaling Kyle to step back, out of precaution, with a gentle hand raised. Johnny panted harshly, while his magic thrashed inside of him, desperate to get out, wild and nearly out of control, fully brimming with the chaos that he knows so well. 

It yearned for something, desperately. 

“Easy, Soap.” Price had been on them then, appearing from where he had been inside the bar, inserting himself between their two bodies, like he needed to protect Kyle, a ridiculous sentiment by any of their standards. 

“Sorry.” Johnny drew the word long, shaking his head from the pressure beating inside his skull. “’m sorry, Gaz. I dinnae- I-” 

“It’s alright mate.” He assured, reaching out, clasping a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. It was warm, and comforting, and he nodded in response. 

“I think you should probably get home. You’ve been here… too long.” Price follows up, and Johnny couldn’t argue. He felt drained, suddenly. Tired. A feeling that happens for them, from time to time. Especially when they’ve been in the mortal realm for an extended period. 

“Alright.”

He thinks this discomfort, this ailment, whatever it may be, will pass, once he’s been home for more than a few days. He imagines it’s just a side effect of being in the mortal realm too long, and he can practically hear Price telling him he needs to stay put, stay in Faerie for a while, or at least until his magic settles and his body adjusts to its rightful plane.

After all… his kind doesn’t take sick. They can suffer magical ailments, wounds from weapons or other Fae, but to fall ill is incredibly rare.

And usually only happens to those of them who are incredibly stupid. 

Still, the headache rots and spreads throughout his brain, festering in his magic until it becomes an unruly, ungovernable thing that barely recognizes him, and his muscles become excruciatingly sore, useless in his body when he tries to exert himself in any way.

The Isle itself seems restless, the sea raging tumultuously beneath the bluffs, the forests shielding themselves from the light of the sun. Johnny can feel her magic, biting and gnawing against him, yearning and screaming, the wind whistling through the oldest trees with a shriek that hurts his ears.

All the while, something else aches within him. An unbearable longing that builds and builds like a dark grey cloud growing heavy with rain.

“It’s your soul.” The Nereid, Ce, tells him softly. “You’re soul sick.”

“What?”

“Someone has bound themselves to you. Your soul, your magic, is woven together. When you’re separated, your soul will mourn for theirs.” The image of you pointing at him flashes through his mind, your gaze enraged, haunted, while you cursed him up and down.

Surely, you did not mean for this? 

Simon watches him knowingly, before pulling her into his arms, rubbing his hand over the swell of her belly where their child sleeps, blissfully unaware.

“Do you know, who it could be?” She questions, and he grimaces, eyes flicking to Simon who betrays nothing, only gives him a subtle nod.

“A… witch. From the mortal realm.” She stiffens in Simon’s lap, and then shakes her head in disbelief.

“A mortal witch could not cast a binding such as this, nor survive it.”

“Well, ah… dinnae believe she’s entirely mortal.” She turns, looking between them, before glaring openly at her husband.

“The only immortal witches who still live in the mortal realm are the elemental witches…” she trails off, looking out the window to where the sea crashes on the shore, something distant flickering in her gaze, realization settling heavily upon her. “What have you done?”

“You were my priority.” Simon utters, face shuttering, eyes going grim. Johnny shifts nervously in the chair. Ce is sharp, intelligent, and it doesn’t take too long before she’s whispering her confirmation of the truth.

“The song. She’s a blood witch.” He nods, unable to break the eye contact. Simon holds her hip firmly, but she doesn’t look away from Johnny, and before he even realizes, he’s spilling more secrets.

“Blood spinner.” Her eyes widen, and then rips Simon’s hand free from her body, standing unsteadily on her two legs. Her balance has gotten better in her time here, but she still struggles with managing her new walking appendages, something that always keeps Simon hovering near by, just in case he needs to catch her.

“You must find her.” She implores Johnny, while turning on her heel to poke a finger into Simon’s chest. “You’ve no idea what you’ve done.”

“Little huntress-“ He begins, but is swiftly cut off.

“No. Do not use your sweet words to try to placate me.” She turns her nose up from him, while facing Johnny. “You must, she’s in danger. Blood witches aren’t meant to be bound to others. The effects could be catastrophic, the binding could kill her.” His heart speeds to a halt. The binding could kill you. 

The feeling Johnny had a few days ago outside the pub compounds inside of him, the yearning infused with his chaos, the wild piece of his magic surging in his blood, eager to be set loose. He closes his eyes and reaches inside himself to settle his power, to soothe the uncontrolled pieces that are climbing closer to the top.

When he looks back to them, he realizes Simon is standing more than a few paces away, Ce shielded behind his body.

“It’s the binding! It can drive you mad, control your magic if you're separated too long.” She calls from around his shoulder, trying to peek out even though there is a formidable mass blocking her.

“Perhaps she planned this, Johnny.” Simon proposes, a sentiment that Johnny balks at. Were you capable of such a thing? His wife shakes her head reverently, and mouths a no. 

Danger.

Catastrophic.

When he thinks about the way you looked when you thrust your finger into his face, fiery and full of rage, he realizes it’s much, much more than what he thinks he knows, or what he believes.

You tricked me, you Fae bastard. 

Had you tricked him in return? 

The lock on your flat’s front door is not complex. It’s not even spelled for intruders, or unwanted guests, something that’s always sat uneasily within Johnny, even when he was taking full advantage of it. His magic knows this lock well, is intimately familiar with it, and plies the deadbolt free with ease, door swinging wide like it’s been expecting him, just like every other time before.

You tossed in your sleep, brow furrowed, distress written across your face as you shook your head back and forth, trapped in your own dreams, your memories, your nightmares.

Your body, still battered and bruised, slowly healing from whatever had happened to you on Samhain, trembled beneath the sheets, and you made small, terrified mouth sounds against your pillow. 

“You’re safe now, dove, you’re safe.” He stroked a thumb across your temple, down the apple of your cheek, whispering to you softly, sweetly. His own magic worked quickly, dragging you under, lulling you into a deep sleep, a near coma. He had hoped it would be enough, to keep you from waking while he worked, while he healed you from whatever ordeal you had been put through, whatever torture you had been subjected to. 

He built you the sweetest dreams he could conjure, images of his own realm, lush forests and sparkling aquamarine seas, the moss-covered stone bluffs of the Isle, the three moons when they’re full, the sparkle of the night sky, webs of worlds and starlight stretching out as far as any being could see. 

He had tried, so desperately, to burn the image of you from the previous night out of his mind, when you first answered his knocking with your broken soul and tearful eyes, abused body halfway hidden by the door. 

What happened to you? Who could mistreat you in such a way? 

He hadn’t known then, but he wanted to, urgently. Wanted you to tell him everything, wanted you to make him your tool, your harbinger of revenge. He wanted to kill for you, destroy for you, burn this entire realm for you. He wanted to lay all his promises at your feet, wanted to tell you that no one would ever touch you again, that no one would ever harm you if he was here. 

He cursed himself. Cursed the truth. Cursed the spell that you put him under, the one that didn’t even exist. 

He had gotten so lost in thought, lost in staring down at your now relaxed face, that he almost didn’t realize the sun was rising, the soft rays of light seeping across your room from under the curtain startling him into withdrawing his magic so he could allow you to wake and return with a coffee, maybe a pastry, some sort of breakfast sweet that mortals seemed to be overly fond of. 

He leaned over you for a quick moment, unable to help himself, breathing in the scent of your hair, your skin, your very soul. It intoxicated him, the sweet citrus and balsam mixing with the minerality of blood, of earth, creating something that seeped through his own being, pulling him closer and closer until he grazed his lips across your temple so gently, he’s not sure he’s even made contact. 

“I’ll be back soon.” He whispered above your ear, even though he knew you couldn’t hear him. “Have a good morning, sweet Fern.” 

“Fern.” He calls, before stepping across the threshold, but there’s no answer. There’s no sound or sign of movement, no echo of your voice down the hall. “Fern!” He tries again. His blood feels hot under his skin, and he’s nearly feverish, off balance and unsteady, while the spot beneath his ribs throbs in pain.

He expects to see Jet, or hear her hiss, considering how much the little creature loathes him, but when there’s no sign of her either, something prickles along the back of his neck.

“Do not hide from me, little witch. I know what’s happened.” He calls, raising his voice, projecting it with a touch of magic so it rings down the hall, through every room, into your personal library, and beyond.

When there’s still no answer, his sense of discomfort grows, and like there is a hook in him, in his very soul, he can feel his magic being tugged along, down the hall to your bedroom.

When pushes the door open, his heart slams to a halt. Fear is the foreign sensation that pours through him, paralyzes him. It’s fear that anesthetizes him as he stares at you, crumpled on the floor, surrounded by books, ancient grimoires and other texts, your magic drained from your body like someone has bled you dry, eyes wide in agony and a rasping breath on your lips. The room smells like mineral, like clay rich soil, like earth, and he chokes on it when he realizes the stain that darkens the carpet beneath you is your blood. 

 “Oh, little witch.” He murmurs, kneeling by your side, wide palm slipping behind your neck gently. “What have ye done?” He tucks you into his chest, and you mumble something as he carries you to your bed, trying to lay you flat, propping your face up so he can look into your eyes.

“N-no.” you push against him weakly.

“Shhh, Fern. It’s okay.”

“Don’t.” you hiss, and blood leaks from your lips. His magic thrashes, barely contained, bubbling up and trying to break free.

“Tell me what to do.” He pleads, desperation rising in him like the swell of high tide, threatening to tip him over into fathomless depths, places where he cannot swim, or survive.

“Lea… leave.” You moan, and he shakes his head. “Leave. I don’t… I don’t need your ‘elp.”

“No.” He refuses, cradling your face between his hands, and you blink at him slowly, eyelids heavy, expression disorientated. Long seconds pass and you look… confused suddenly, like you don’t recognize him, like all the vitriol and venom that you were spitting a moment ago has suddenly disappeared, and he feels a surge of your magic, the snapping of something, the binding, twisting, and tugging at the two of you.

“Johnny?” You mumble, and a smile breaks across his face, a small one, an encouraging one, something he hopes brings you comfort.

“Aye. It’s me, dove. It’s me. ’m here.” You tremble in his grasp, and more blood drips from your mouth. The sight of it is enough to loosen the hold on his power, and the room floods with bright light, illuminating every corner in the flat, and every detail on your face.

You need help. You need help, now. Badly.

He’s never wanted to have your name as frantically as he does in this moment. He wants to force you to tell him what to do, how to fix whatever this is, he wants to reach inside your magic and your mind and root around in your soul until he can pull the answer free from your lips.

A terrible thought forms in his mind. It’s wrong, and one he is sure you will hate him for, one he knows you will punish him for.

If you live. 

Danger. Catastrophic. 

Blood witches aren’t meant to be bound to others. 

The binding could kill her. 

Ce’s warning plays over and over in his mind, and when you cough again, blood splattering on his forearm, his magic makes his mind up for him, spreading forward to try to soothe you, cocooning you in a soft, twilight embrace that tries to lull you to sleep.

He pulls you back into his arms, tucking you against his body and concentrating his power on the thrum of your heartbeat, the power in your veins. He needs to blink the two of you to the closest door, and the only one that’s remotely doable is in Sherwood Forest, nestled among a ring of birch trees that all lean suspiciously inward.

“Fern.” He tries to get your eyes to focus on him, jostling you slightly as he strides away from your room. “Fern, I need… I have to take ye away.” Your brow furrows, and somewhere in the very back of his mind, he remembers how cute you are when you look at him like this, when you’re well, and not suffering.

He comes to halt in the kitchen, where Jet sits on her haunches atop the table, watching him with her head cocked.

“She’s dying.” He explains to her, and Jet scowls before she answers him, disdain dripping from her words.

“Because of you.” 

“What happened?” 

“The binding was an accident. She lost control.” 

“She needs help. Is there anyone?” 

“Not here… she’s been shunned. Thanks to you.” She glares at him, and he shoves down his urge to scream. Jet slinks towards him, eyes wise and wandering, sizing him before she sits down next to where he’s got you hovering above the table in his grip. “You’ll have to take her.” 

“I cannae. I need her name.” She flicks her gaze to you before hopping from the table, walking to where the door creaks open on its own.

“You need to get it on your own.”

“She’s dying, Jet.” 

“I know you won’t let that happen. After all, this was your plan, was it not?” She says before slipping outside, into the night.

You shiver against him, and he tightens his arms around you instinctively, lowering his nose into your hair, trying to find the sweet balsam and citrus scent under the sour smell of scorched earth and black blood. It’s there, but barely. There’s hope.

“Little witch.” He taps your cheek, trying to get you to concentrate on him, to look at him. “Fern, will you give me your name?” He coos sweetly, sugaring his voice with honey, dropping his glamour to pull your focus. It’s wrong, he knows this, so wrong, a true violation, but what choice does he have?

He won’t leave you to die.

You lick your lips, and he smiles, fully aware that he’s probably partially blinding you, scrambling the signals in your magic and mind, his own power pulling desperately at the binding to get you to comply.

Come on, sweet Fern. 

Give me your name, dove. 

He grips your hand, twisting your wrist until your palm is facing him, and for the first time without his glamour, he lets himself kiss you there, right on the heel below your thumb, dabbing his magic into the veins that vibrate just beneath your skin. He pushes, and then for good measure, pushes again, until your lips are cracking on an intake of breath, and your free hand is reaching for his, bloodied fingers smearing your ichor across his skin as you slowly speak, mouth forming the one thing he’s needed all along, the thing he’s wanted more than anything since the day he’s met you.

Your name. Given to him. By you.

It sinks into him, heating his own blood with the power of your admission, pulsing through his magic until it’s settling in that spot behind his ribs, the same spot that’s been aching since the last time he saw you, the place where the binding is nestled.

“Okay.” He coos, and then repeats your name, while you nod. “Okay, hold on to me.” He whispers, and then pulls everything in the flat tight, all the magic that’s spilled from your body, all the magic that he’s let run wild since he got here. He moves himself, and you, into the blink, and then the ground shifts, room tilting and splitting until the walls are fading into trees, the tile of your kitchen becoming grass under his feet, and your ceiling is a night sky. You squeeze your eyes shut and bury your face in his chest, and he knows it’s because the blink is uncomfortable, disorientating for those who are not Fae. Lesser creatures usually don’t even survive it.

But you are no lesser creature.

This fact, this truth, is the thing he takes comfort in as he barrels towards the door, his magic breaking through the threshold and crashing through the planes until he’s stumbling into Faerie with a blood covered witch curled against his chest.

“Are ye hungry?” Eilean asks from the threshold of the room, not willing to cross inside, but eager to see if she can help at all.

“No.”

“Should I bring some wine?” She tries, voice dipped in hopeful inflection. He rubs a palm over his face in part exasperation, part exhaustion.

“Please. Wine would be lovely, thank ye Eilean.” He placates her, and he doesn’t need to turn to know she’s smiling with approval.

He wouldn’t turn, regardless. He doesn’t dare look away from where you lay against the pillows in a bed that seems far too big. Where you lay, alone. Sleeping. Unconscious now, for far too many days. You’re weak, so weak, from travelling here, from trying to exist in this realm, a realm that you were not made for, a realm that no one seems to know if you can even persist in.

The Isle cradles you, fosters your survival. She holds you firm, holds you as he would, a casket of stone and sea weaving around your body, protecting you from anything. Everything.

Sometimes he fears she may be protecting you from him.

The waves crash against the rocks far below where he sits and you lay, sea ravaging against the rock, water pounding against stone over and over, the repetition enough to carve out caves and patterns in the walls, to change the physical manifestation of the Isle, to alter the very ground he lives on, walks on. The ground that he had hoped, one day, you may walk on with him. Beside him. The place he had hoped you might embrace with all her horror and secrets, that you might accept as a place of your own.

His hope fades with every breath you draw. It flickers like a flame being doused out.

Every now and then, you fidget beneath the blankets, body shivering and shaking, subdued whimpers escaping your lips as you twitch. He fears the binding may not need to drive him mad, because watching you suffer, watching you sleep endlessly, may do it regardless, in the end. 

However, the bleeding has stopped, a small thing that Johnny is immensely grateful for, even though no one knows why.

“She needs time.” The healer tried to tell him, their effervescent magic embracing you in a halo while they worked to stop the blood that had started leaking from your eyes and nose, as well as your mouth. “Her magic is overloaded by the binding. The best thing you can do for her is stay close by. She will wake on her own time.” 

“Her temperature-“

“We do not know. There are some things at work here, even we do not understand.” They explained, sympathy pooling across their face. 

They wished him well after that, instructing him to call for them should they be needed further. 

He didn’t know how to ask them to stay. He didn’t know how to tell them that for the first time in his eternally too long life, he was truly scared. 

“How is she?” This voice, this one that calls to him from the threshold, speaking to him in his mind, startles him in the armchair, even though he knows it belongs to his brother. He turns to see Gaz, who watches him through lowered lashes. He’s keeping his distance, as every other being has, unsure about how Johnny will react with another coming so close to his… witch. “Price says ya’ve been holed up in here for days. Thought I’d come check, see if anything was needed.”

“Come in.” Johnny implores, out loud, and Gaz does, hesitantly, watching his brother for any changes, any indication he may lose control. Once he gets about two meters away, Johnny holds his hand up, a signal to stop, and Gaz conjures a chair, brimming at the seams with sun kissed light, a neat trick that benefits him when he plops down in it, like he too, is exhausted and weary.

“Well?”

“She’s… ‘m not sure. She still hasn’t woken, and her temperature, her body is hot to the touch. Too hot. But she’s stopped bleeding, which I take as a good thing.” He hasn’t left your side, constantly feeding the binding his own magic in hopes it would help give you some strength or help heal you.

“She’ll be alright.” Kyle encourages lowly, smiling at him. “She has you to look out for her, after all.” Johnny nods, even if he doesn’t believe it.

“Thank ye, for comin’.” He whispers, clearing his throat.

“We’re family, Johnny. Even when you run away to this damn Isle with a blood witch that you’ve stolen from the mortal realm.” He laughs with a wink, and Johnny’s lips curl into a very subtle grin.

“Not much better than Simon, am I?”

“Well, you didn’t drag us all around the mortal realm for nearly a decade so, that’s something.” He sighs, leaning back, slinging his feet over the arm of the chair. “Besides. I’m not exactly exempt either now.” Johnny nods, and he watches the flicker of discontent that washes over his brother, the way his magic pulses through him and the chair before returning to stasis.

Now, it’s his turn to ask.

“How is she?” Gaz shakes his head.

“Violent.” The word gives Johnny pause, and he feels his sympathy grow. His brother is the gentlest of them, the most kind. The one who others seek out, for comfort, for care. The one who wields the sun’s light itself. “Won’t let me near ‘er. Won’t eat. Won’t open the door, only yells at me through it. Hardly even speaks to her sister.” He pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose with graceful fingers. “She wants me to let her die.”

“And will ye?” He doesn’t respond right away, and they both just watch where you lay in the bed, silent.

“Don’t think I can. I feel… something for her. It’s different, from anything I’ve felt before. It’s-“

“Frightening.” Johnny finishes for him, and some tension leaks from his body. It is unlike them both, to feel fear. To feel fear and acknowledge it.

You twitch, eyes moving behind closed lids, and Gaz gives him a nod as he rises.

“See you soon?”

“Aye.”

It’s late, two days later, when you start to wake. Your temperature has gone down, and you’ve finally slept peacefully through an entire night. The moons have already risen, and Johnny has the drapes tucked open, so the room is illuminated in a silvery purple glow that shimmers across the floor and onto the bed. Your lashes flutter, and he feels the influx of magic in the room, ebbing and flowing, growing stronger and stronger, spilling from you as you swim closer and closer to consciousness, your eyes slowly opening, brow furrowed, discontent pulling your lips downwards in a frown. The wild yearning cries out inside of him, chaos beating in his heart, and he struggles to contain it.

“What’s…” your voice trails off as you look around, and Johnny waits for the moment when you find him in the chair by your bedside.

It happens fast. Your expression goes from confused, maybe a little contrite, but still curious, to rage filled, and startled. Fear reflects in your gaze, and his stomach drops.

“Fern.” He tries to calm you, and you hold your hand in front of your body like you’re trying to ward him off.

“Stay away from me.” You hiss. You try to sit up, try to move away from him, but your body is too weak, physically, and you sink down to your elbows in a second while you press yourself against the headboard. “What did you do to me? Where am I?” He stands, casting a little bit of magic out, trying to relax you, but you beat him back with your own before you’re yelling as loud as you can. “Help! Help! HELP ME!” you scream, voice drenched in horror, and a piece of his heart chips away in an instant.

You’re terrified of him. 

There’s a noise, behind him, like a soft chiming of bells, and then he feels the shadow of Eilean’s magic, her presence unmistakable. He holds a hand out to stop her in the doorway, and you gasp aloud, palm covering your mouth, eyes round with shock when you see her.

“Oh. My gods.” You look from her, back to him, and then around the room, tracking out the window to where the three moons glow, bathing the sea below in silky shades of lilac, before you try even harder to shuffle yourself away from the edge of the bed, your hands fully shaking. “You stole me.” You whisper it between your fingers. “You took me. We’re… we’re in Faerie.” Tears are coursing down your cheeks, breaths coming in frantic little puffs that grate at his soul, the spot beneath his ribs aching as you cry.

“I thought… ah thought I was goin’ lose ye.” He croaks. “I dinnae- I had no other choice.” You’re breathing too fast, too short, and he wants to tear at the unfathomable distance between you and him that seems to be widening by the moment.

“Get away from me.” You half yell, half cry at him, tone dripping in disdain, in fear. “Get away!” you scream, and the demand physically pains him, like you’re ripping him apart, like you’re taking a knife and jamming it up underneath his ribs, hollowing him out, destroying him from the inside.

He stumbles from the room, clutching his side like he’s been wounded, and your magic lashes forward to slam the door shut behind his back with a finality that hits like a killing blow.

“Well, she’s scared. And rightfully so.” Ce says with a hand on her hip, leveling Johnny with a look that he can feel burning through his skin. “I managed to get her to listen to me long enough so I could… explain everything.” He straightens.

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth.” She sighs, and shifts her weight, reaching for where Simon stands. He takes her outstretched hand and brings her into his body, wrapping her up with a supportive arm around her waist. Johnny eyes the doors of the bedroom, clearly overeager, and she shakes her head immediately. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

“But-“

“She’s traumatized. She was used by you, betrayed by you. And then you kidnapped her from the only home she’s ever known.” At that, she gives Simon a healthy glare, and he has the good sense to look at least, somewhat ashamed. “It gets worse, I’m afraid.” Simon watches closely, and Ce looks at Johnny with a face full of sadness. “The binding… she may not be able to undo it.”

“What?”

“It is powerful magic. Magic that she did not intend to cast. It came… from the heart.” Johnny lets his eyes slip shut at her words, jaw clenching tight. “You need to prepare for what is to come, if she cannot reverse it.” She ghosts a hand over her belly and implores him with a meaningful look, one that cannot be understated or misunderstood.

The magic that feels like you, the fibers that he believes are the binding, seem to flex within his power, like it’s being pulled, and he involuntarily takes a step towards the door.

“Soap.” Simon beseeches, and Johnny stops short. “You must give her some space for now.”

They’re right. He knows, they’re right. He’s violated you, forced your name from you, stole you from your home, betrayed you in every way.

But the binding, the burning ache in his side, cries out to him. Begs him to go to you. Begs him to take you into his arms, complete the binding right then and there, and steal you away forever.

He grits his teeth.

“Alright.”

Days pass, and Johnny fights himself every step of the way. He fights his magic, which has grown unruly and uncomfortable again, fights the gaping hole that seems to be forming in that spot behind his ribs, fights what he is sure now is the binding, the incessant pull that tries to drag him into your orbit. He fights how he feels, the deep-laid emotions that he’s spent months trying to bury, and the feelings of discontent, of missing something. Someone.

The estate is heavy with your ghost. Eilean keeps him informed of your comings and goings, your visits with Simon’s wife, your days spent locked in his library. She says you’re physically better, but tire easily. You only sleep for short moments at a time, like him. Johnny tries to tell himself he does not care that you refuse to see him. He tells himself that it does not bother him, that you were so willing to shut him out completely, so eager to escape him. He tells himself that the sound of your fear, of your cries for help are not burning into his memory, that they are not entrenching themselves into his soul, driving him mad. He tells himself it’s just the binding. That the binding is driving him to the brink, that the binding is to blame for his near descent into madness.

But he knows, it’s not responsible for everything, It’s not responsible for the yearning in his soul, his heart, his magic. For the wild edged chaos that brews out of control in his veins.

It's love. His heart bleats in the quiet hours of the night, when he holds his breath and feels for you through the estate, when he catches the barely-there scent of citrus and blood in a hallway where you must have recently lingered. It’s love. His mind screams when he closes his eyes to rest for a few precious moments, and all he can see is your face, smiling at him, giggling in the golden light of your kitchen at dusk. It’s love. His magic shrieks at him to go to you, to hold you, to tell you everything. To tell you about the way his power rioted in his blood the moment he saw you, the way his magic exploded in his chest the first time you shared your heart, your mind, your life with him, the way he knew after that very first day, that no other being would ever possess him, except you.

Eilean walks with you in the garden. He tries not to watch too closely, warily waiting for something to happen, for a decision to be made that he will not be able to fight, no matter how hard he tries. She delights you, when she shows you how to sow your magic into the fabric of Faerie, how to connect with Isle as you connect with the earth of your home realm.

Johnny does not allow himself the hope that lights in his soul, when she looks up at where he stands in the window, and nods. An approval. A yes. A piece of herself, given to you.

As time crawls by, he cannot stop himself from thinking about you, every waking moment. He cannot stop himself from wondering how you’re faring, if you need him, if you’re feeling well. His magic never lets him sleep, never lets him come, keeps him on the edge eternally, pacing, tossing, and turning while his mind is invaded by thoughts of you.

It is one of these nights, when he’s drowning in too many feelings, along with two bottles of wine, pacing fruitlessly, that Gaz blinks into the kitchen with an irritated huff.

“Look sharp. Been callin’ ya for hours.” Gaz spits, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. “Bloody hell, Soap. Get yourself together. Simon sent for us.”

The meeting is a long one.

Simon outlines recent inquiries, payloads for work, demands of their presence in places across the realm, old contracts that have long laid dormant being renewed with a fresh round bloodshed.

It is the same song and dance. The same battle cry of blood and victory.

Fae and mortals are not as different in their hearts as they seem, he muses, reading over a potential contract, a high paying job for the removal of a seated power. It comes with a catch, a royal child who requires protection, and he places it on the top of the list for consideration. Children cost extra.

He is not surprised, when both Simon and Gaz seem hesitant to agree to anything, especially work that will take them away from extended periods of time.

Johnny says nothing but shares their feelings. The idea of leaving the Isle for any amount of time makes his magic churn in his veins. Even now, anxiety builds like a storm inside him, and he agonizes about returning.

“It’s not optimal.” Simon declares, while Price smirks from where he sits with his arms crossed.

“Ye going soft, Riley?” Johnny ribs him, and Simon scowls.

“I’ll show you soft, Soap.” He shoots back, while Gaz chuckles.

“I’m not opposed to taking it easy, for a bit.” Price offers something, an inquiry that caught his eye, a short engagement, not very far away, while Simon counters it with a different one that’s even less time. They bicker, back and forth, back and forth, and Gaz slowly becomes more interested in a half open book laying on Simon’s desk than he does the conversation.

Johnny loses interest completely. The spot beneath his ribs is pounding like his heart, and his magic is swelling violently in time with the binding. When he says his goodbyes, no one is surprised.

“I want to know.” 

“Witch business is no business of the Fae.” 

“Fern is my business.” She laughed at his demand, the echo of it scraping across the front his mind like he had been scratched by her claws. 

“So possessive.” She murmured. “Over a witch who does not even know the truth of who you are.” 

“Jet.” He warned, and she growled a sigh. 

“Divination is not practiced here as it practiced in your realm. It requires a sacrifice, and the visions are not easy, even for a powerful witch like Fern. It extracts a higher toll.” His blood curdled in his veins, and her tail whipped back and forth, green eyes watchful from where she sat in the kitchen. “Her participation is not voluntary.” 

“They force her?”

“They’ve forced her since she was a child. The coven only cares for their power, their vanity, their immortality, and without the blood spinner, without the Divination, they would have none of it.” He pictured you, a small girl, alone, defenseless, victim to practices of your coven, your magic and mind a tool for them to use, to take advantage of, to torture. She licked her paw before rising to all fours, casting an underhanded glance at him. “The way they see it, Fern belongs to them. The blood spinner is not a being with a soul, but a thing to be used as the coven sees fit.” Outside, the wind howled, spurred on by the tethers of magic that spun from Johnny, the chaos that reveled in his distress, ropes and ropes of rage and desperation twisting together with the force of his power, sowing down deep into the earth, and expelling into the sky. “Should one protest… well.” She didn’t finish, just fixed her gaze beyond him, out through the window where the sky swirled with violent hues of black and purple. 

“Her parents.” Jet refused him a response, but he didn’t need one to know the truth. “She doesn’t know.” He continued, and she slunk from her perch to the corner of the table. 

“Have you considered what will happen, after your damage is done? What the coven will do when they discover her betrayal? Or worse…. you and your brothers are not the only ones who go bump in the night here. Fern is a magnet for creatures. Without the protection of her coven, she will be a target. She will be vulnerable.” She studied him, and he felt the shadowed point of her power, probing along his own, trying to peer into his mind. 

He let a swirl of chaos break free, pushed out into the open. 

He let a sentiment slip through, into her sight. 

He had considered it, had planned for it. Anticipated it. 

She met his eyes with her own, and understanding, recognition occurred between them. 

“You plan to take her.” 

He blinks onto the veranda of his own home, eager to escape the argument, rubbing his neck in exasperation when he catches the scent of balsam and citrus, mineral and blood, coming from the garden.

It’s you. You’re in the garden. 

“Hello.” Johnny calls, stepping into the grass but no further, allowing you to see him, to recognize him as a non-threat. The light from the moons spills down your back and across your skin, making you shimmer under their glow, illuminating you in the brisk night air. The flowers around you are all in bloom, even in the middle of the night, and his lips quirk to the side with a smile when he realizes it’s your doing, velvety petals blossoming across the grounds in large swatches, vibrating with the signature of your magic.

You’re sitting amongst a variety of plants, long vines that stretch and strain towards where your fingers dance to entice them into reaching for you.

“Hi.” You don’t bother to lift your eyes, and it stings a little, disappointment settling heavy in his stomach. He takes a deep breath.

“I was hoping we could talk.”

“About what?” you bristle, and he grinds his teeth. About us? About the binding? About what happened? About how sorry I am? About how I cannot stop thinking about ye? Worrying about ye? Obsessing? He settles on, what happened, hoping that will ease you open to talking.

“About what happened.”

“About what happened, which time? The time when you used me to get information so your brother could abduct a Nereid, or the time you stole my name from me and then stole me from my own realm." 

Well. Fuck. 

“What’s wrong, Johnny? Cat got your tongue?” You latch onto his silence and dig in, not sparing him from your venom. His temper flares, needled on by the discomfort that is restless in his magic, and he pushes back at you.

“I will not apologize for doing what needed to be done to save ye, dove.” He snaps, drawing to his full height, and you glare at him, fury twisting your face into something that’s a little scary, and a little enthralling.

“Save me?” you hiss, incredulous. “Save me? You didn’t care much about saving me when you used me to get what you needed.” You stand, forgoing your plants to face him, fingers pointed to the ground, a hot flare of magic stretching across the space between him and you.

“I never wanted to hurt ye, I wanted to bring ye with me, but it was too late before ye knew the truth and I had no chance to explain.” He counters, and you laugh, the sound all sour and wrong, harsh, and unforgiving.

“You thought I would just go with you? You tricked me. You took advantage of me.” He feels the ground shifting, feels the earth growing under his feet, and your magic pulsing around him, strong and eager, pushing and pulling at something he cannot see. What is this?  “You lied to me. You betrayed me.” The forest at your back groans, like the Isle herself is protesting this battle of wills, like she objects to the clash of power. The pressure in the air rises, and then something is tightening around his feet, restricting his boots, and tying him to the ground.

Roots.

There are tree roots, crisscrossed across his toes, snaking up his ankles.

“Fern.” He warns.

“Johnny.” You mock, and the magic crests, more gnarled plant life coming to sprout from the ground, lashing across his wrists, tying them tight to his sides wrapping him up like rope. “You won’t fight back?” you taunt, mouth curving into a wicked little smile. Another tendril of green binds around his forearm, and he grunts with effort to stay calm.

“No.” he grits out.

“No? No?” you hiss and step closer, bare feet pressing the grass down between your toes. You look like a predator in this moment, eyes sharp and narrowed, stalking closer to your prey. You’re enchanting, and unsettling, and the binding hums inside of him.

The plants twist past his forearms, tightening against his circulation, curling up his biceps and stroking the skin of his shoulders.

His power flares, distressed, confused.

In battle, if you were a foe, he’d already have struck you down, dealt you a killing blow.

“Fern. Stop this.” The vines squeeze him, and then crawl up his neck, holding firm beneath his jaw.

“Do you know what they wanted to do to me, Johnny? After they found out what I did?” He chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to wait you out, trying to see if you’ll draw back. “Answer me!” your voice cracks, and so does his heart.

“No.”

“They wanted to burn me at the stake.” You whisper, the words enough to take his breath. His magic thrashes. The spot underneath his ribs aches. “It wasn’t enough to shun me. They wanted to kill me.” He shakes his head furiously.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I-“

“No, don’t say that. You’re not.”

“Ah wouldn’t have let them. No one will ever touch ye again Fern, I swear it.”  

“Why even bother with more of these lies? You just needed to help your brother, and you didn’t care who was collateral damage. You used me.” You break, and a tear glitters on your cheek, refracting the light of the moons. “Just… just like them.” Oh, dove. 

“No, no. That’s not… It’s not true. Ah care for ye, ye’ve meant something to me since the first day I laid-“

“Stop.” The plants squeeze him, and any tighter they’ll probably be strangling him. Cutting off his air. He fights against them, just marginally, enough to give himself some breathing room, and is surprised when they don’t loosen so easily. “I’m stronger here. Eilean taught me, how to feel this earth. How to hear it breathing, find its water, its blood.” You explain, tone bitter, and he nods a slow agreement.

“Of course.” Of course, she did. Because she likes you, dove. She accepts you. She wishes for you to make your home here. With me. With us. 

He doesn’t try again, doesn’t flex in the web of plants that you’ve wrapped him in, just stands completely still, waiting. He urges his power to settle, to resist the call of blood and battle, to stand down as you seethe.

If he tried, only a little harder, he could shred the vines and roots in an instant. He could break free.

But a large part of him, spurred on by the gaping hole that’s been left by your absence, the pain that’s nestled in his diaphragm, doesn’t want to.

Most of him wants to stand here and take it, take everything from you.

It’s no more than he deserves, and he knows it.

Your hands are shaking, fingernails gleaming in the moonslight when you hastily wipe your cheek, and he wants so badly to reach for you. To hold you. To tell you how sorry he is. How he wishes he could take it all back. How he never wanted to hurt you.

“I trusted you.” It’s a whisper on the wind, spoken to the earth, to the sky, to anywhere but him. The words are hollow, like there’s nothing left there for him, like you’ve written your story, and his pages are long over.

“Ah know.” He murmurs. Your tears drip onto the grass, and he watches each one splash while dread swallows his heart whole. The ache in his ribs burns, magic howling through his limbs, tugging and digging against him to act, to move.

In the end, he doesn’t move at all. He stands trapped in the vines you’ve grown around him, stands trapped in time as you walk past him and up the veranda into the estate. The wind shrieks through the trees, whipping around where he stands immobile, and he watches the light in your room on the second-floor flick on, a warm yellow glow seeping out from behind the curtains as you peek around them, gazing down to where he stands, still like a statue in the garden below.

He stands there until your room goes dark.

The light sparkled across your skin, your hair, your eyes. He had never been fond of the mortal realm’s sun, always finding it too harsh, too abrasive, but the way it shone on you in that moment, he wasn’t sure he had loved anything more. 

“Which was your favorite, then?” You extended the thing in your hand towards him, the fragrant, sweet ice cream treat, and he politely shook his head to decline. 

“Ah dinnae care much for it, if ‘m being honest.” 

“What?” Your other arm stayed looped in his, allowing him to subtly press his hip against yours, feel the warmth of your skin through the fabric of your skirt as the two of you took long, loping steps down the park’s path. “How can you not like ice cream?” You frowned. “We sampled so many. You didn’t like any of them?” He considered explaining he only sampled them because it allowed him to stand to so close you in that tiny shop. That he liked it because he was able to wrap his fingers around yours when you passed him the tiny spoons. 

“The mint was alright.” He told you instead, and you huffed. “The lavender one too.” You gave him a curious look, and he couldn’t help himself, too eager to see you smile, too weak to resist the promise of your laughter. “It seems, I am overly fond of plants.” 

The sea roars beneath grassy knoll where he hides. He swears it’s screaming your name, calling to you, crying about you.

He tries to clear his mind.

It’s why he comes here. To think. To be alone. To be unbothered. The hill is tucked away from his home, and he sits in the shadow of an ash tree, staring at the sky, waiting to settle, waiting to feel at peace.

A fool’s errand. 

His mind is incapable of rest. It can only dwell on one thing, his desperation, his desire, his longing for you. The yearning in his heart that now works in tandem with the binding, trying to drag him towards you every waking moment of the day, trying to force him into your path.

You’re in the hallway when he returns, stack of books clutched to your body.

“Fern.” He chokes out, dumbstruck. He had planned a speech, for this, after what happened in the garden. A plea. A desperate sonnet of sadness and guilt. But in this moment, with you standing in front of him like a wild animal that may dart away at any moment, everything escapes him. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, his brain feels blank.

You’re frozen, looking back at him, eyes wide, and a tiny sliver of relief fractures through his heart when he doesn’t smell any fear on you.

“Hi.” You whisper, and like a magnet, he cannot stop himself from stepping closer.

You do not flinch, or move, or even look away. You just… stare at him.  

“Are ye well?” He tries, and you swallow so loud he can hear it rattling in his brain.

“I… am. Are you?”

“As well as I can be.” I’m in love with ye. I’ve been in love with ye. I’m sorry. All of these things echo in his mind, circling his consciousness but none of them come to the forefront. Instead, he stammers out a: “Ye look… beautiful.” Bleedin’ gods. It’s a massacre. He tries to smother his grimace and you give him a funny look.

“Thank you.”

“Are ye, getting on well here?” He motions to the too long, too wide hallway that seems to stretch farther and farther every second, and you nod slowly.

“Yes, you have… a lot of books.”

“Ah… ‘ve always been fond of them. The books.” He agrees, and your lips flick upwards in a polite smile. His heart races.

He takes another step.

It’s too much. You shrink away, moving backwards, and he curses himself.

“Sorry-“

“I should go.” You gesture the leather-bound volumes in your grasp.

“Of course.” He concedes, and you incline your head to him before turning around.

His magic screams through his body the entire time he watches you walk away.

You’ve made yourself at home in the library. He tries to push away the glee that it brings him, the fire that it stokes within him, the urge that it encourages. The binding warbles inside his magic, his soul, as he passes the door every day, tugging and dragging him until he’s trying the handle one morning, ignoring his prior commitments, opting to slide inside the heavy wooden doors just for a chance to see your face.

“You have books from my ho- from the mortal realm.” He winces, when you cut your words off abruptly and reroute them, all while staring at him from the desk in the library. Your fingers stroke the corner of a volume that lays open in front of you, and he takes a step closer, slowly, hesitantly, waiting to see if you’ll spook.

You don’t. You don’t even fidget, or flinch, just gently turn the pages as if everything is normal.

“Would ye like to see something special?” He cannot help it, this desire to impress you, to tempt you. He wants to catch you, keep you, hold you in a thrall like you hold him in yours. He thinks he should probably feel guilty, for using the things he knows you love so dear to entice you, to gentle you to him and draw you out, but he can’t find it in himself to feel poorly for it. He’s worried sick. He wants to see you smile again. Wants the life to come back to your eyes.

He wants his sweet Fern. His little witch.

He gestures to a book, one that sits in a glass case on a table next to his side, black binding shiny and perfect as if it were brand new and not thousands of years old.

“What is it?” You cannot help yourself, brushing past him to lean over the glass, eyes wide and curious.

“It’s a grimoire.” You inspect it with a frown, and he threads his magic through the air and into the glass, evaporating it into its original form, tiny spheres of sand that disappear before your eyes. You startle, and he smirks when you look up at him.

“Doesn’t look like any grimoire I’ve ever seen.” Your hand cautiously hovers above the spell book, and he can feel your magic probing along the edges, testing, seeking.

“It’s from a Netherworld.”

“Which?” you blurt, and then look half embarrassed, before tacking on a soft spoken, “And how?” He’s not surprised that you know of them, but it feels uneasy, knowing you may have been exposed to something from those realms, some sort of monster or creature, a Demon or worse, an Angel.

“The Below. I travel there, sometimes.” Your jaw goes slack, and you study him closer, something foreign flickering across your features before they turn doleful.

“I have seen them.” What? You turn a page with your magic, being careful not to let your fingers directly touch the pages. “Through Divination. I’ve seen both the Below, and Above.” You shudder, and his heart thunders, blood rushing through his ears.

A mortal witch, who’s not a mortal at all. Who spins blood and can see through realms, into the Below and Above. Places not even Gaz or Price dare travel to. 

Formidable indeed. 

“Dove, that’s… that must have been frightening.” Another page turns beneath your fingers, and you shrug.

“I have been Divining since I was a child. I’ve seen many things. It’s how I knew where we were, when I woke up,” Rage rips through him, unbridled and coarse, rousing his magic into a whirlwind of anger, the feel of it as violent as when he first learned the truth. It makes his blood boil in his veins, makes the shelves in the library vibrate in anticipation, his magic bouncing around the room, seeking to destroy, to sow chaos, to obliterate.

“Johnny.” Simon’s voice calls, echoing inside his skull, and he tenses, muscles turning to stone as he feels for his brother, locating him and Gaz outside, in the hall.

“Not now.” He grits in response, but he hasn’t forgotten his prior engagement, and knows trying to put it off is pointless.

When they come closer, when Simon pulls the doors wide, he bares his teeth, tension filling the air of the library. They stand at a respectful distance, not stepping inside, leagues away at the opposite end of the room, but he still feels overly exposed, can feel the pull of possession as he instinctually positions himself between your body and theirs.

You frown at his brothers before stepping into the shadow of his body, close enough that you brush against him, your fingers tracing a barely-there circle on the inside of his wrist.

“Why did you do it?” You break the silence, whispering to the ceiling, and he frowns.

“Do what?”

“Make me fall in love with you.” You still do not look at him, but he cannot tear his eyes from you, mouth wide with shock, the space beneath his ribs pulsing with chaotic magic, his heart beating too fast to count. “You could have just… used your magic. You could have taken what I knew, by force. Why did you spend all that time with me?” The confession slowly takes shape across his tongue, heavy and raw, ready to drip like honey from his mouth to yours.

“I- are ye in love with me, Fern?”

“Answer the question.”

“I knew what I had to do, to help my brother but ye were unexpected. The worst, and most wonderful surprise of my eternal existence.”

“Johnny.” Simon’s insistence echoes across his mind and he feels the urge to turn on them both, to banish them from the estate, from the Isle, from his life, just to keep his time with you from being interrupted.

‘Bloody terrible timing.”

“Clearly. But this cannot be delayed.” He clenches his jaw, and pulls your hand into his, smoothing a palm over your knuckles.

“I’ll be back later, if ye want to talk more.” It’s a hopeful thing, this sentence. Something that carries so much weight, without even being a question. Something that has the power to crush him, without a mere thought.

“Okay.” You whisper.

“Okay?” your head bobs, and you look down at the book with mock interest.  

“I do not forgive you but, I’d like to… talk. Yes.” Yes. Yes. The word rings between his ears. He can work for your forgiveness, he can spend the rest of his existence earning it, if this means you’ll let him. If you’ll speak to him.

“Later then?” He manages to get out, and then squeezes your hand in a goodbye after you nod.

He does not see the way you stare at your own fingers after he leaves, does not see the way your magic explodes throughout the library, before settling back against your skin like a warm embrace, your side of the binding fluttering in your heart.

“My home is alive.” He told your sleeping form, words quiet as he watched for any sign of you waking. “The place where my home is built, where I was born. The Isle. She chooses, who can stay, who can make their life there. She is a complex thing, a wild thing. Like you.” You twitched, and he paused, holding still as he waited. 

When you didn’t rouse, he pushed a small spark of chaos into your sleeping mind, drawing you in deeper, settling you into your wildest dreams. “Jet told me, about what ye’ve been through. About what the coven has done to ye, forced ye to do… and I think, the Isle would accept ye. Ah think she would like ye, and welcome ye, Fern. With me.” You shivered, and he instinctually warmed the room, raising the temperature until you settled.

“Johnny.” Price called inside his mind, insistent, but patient. “We have business.” He sighed. 

He had already been here too long tonight, and his brothers waited for him. 

The kiss to your hair was fleeting. Gentle. Sweet. Punctuated with a whisper lost on the breeze from the open window. 

“Gods, what have ye done to me little witch?” 

“Ye come out here often.” He says quietly from the door, standing just beyond it after spotting you on the veranda, and you nod slowly in response, eyes dragging away from the sky to his, before returning upwards. The night is soft. Calm edged and serene, the breeze carrying a hint of sea spray from the foam below.

“I’ve never seen so many.” 

“Stars?” 

“Planets.”

“Surely there are other planets besides your own?” He knows there are, he’s seen them in sky, in the mortal realm.

“Yes, but not like this. There’s… there’s nothing, like this.” Your lips part, throat bobbing with a breath and he feels a strange tightening his chest as he watches you take it in. You look so amazed, so enchanted, so captivated by something he views so ordinary, that he too, tilts his head back to look up at the dizzying number of planets. Hundreds of worlds swirl in the inky darkness above them, their colors so vibrant they shine like gemstones, blinking in and out of the velvet backdrop that is the night sky. “There are so many worlds. So many places.” you whisper to him, a smile full of awe sloping across your lips. “Do you go to them? These worlds?” 

“Some.” 

“Some.” you parrot. “Some.” you laugh, like the notion is absurd, which it probably is, to you. Something inconceivable, improbable. “They’re beautiful.” Your hand raises to reach for them, as if you could pluck one right out of the night and hold it in your palm. He watches, entranced by the way the three moon’s light shimmers across your face, bathing you in a purple silver glow, spilling over your shoulders and across your skin graciously, framing you like a star, a celestial being. His throat feels dry. 

“Aye. They are.” You lapse into silence, and he enjoys the feeling of being near you, his magic humming happily in his being, peace settling over him while you watch the stars, transfixed.

“Johnny.” You breathe his name, sweet and syrupy, magic dripping from each syllable. You look a little dazed, exhaustion pulling at your features, and he indulges in a daydream where he kisses your forehead, pressing a hint of power against your skin, wrapping you in a soft cocoon of his magic to comfort you. “I… I’d like to kiss you.” The words break him from his imaginations, and he jerks, pulling away to inspect your face, to see if were alright. Or if you were reading his mind. Or if you had become possessed by some Demon, some evil creature appearing here to make him suffer more than he already was.

But all he sees is his dove. His Fern. His little witch, face soft and open, expectant.

“Would you deny me, Johnny? After everything you’ve done?” You raise an eyebrow, and his heart sings, magic humming along happily, binding trilling in his body. You’re teasing him.

“Ye never have to ask.” The words are the same ones he said on Samhain, and he restrains his movements, keeping his body slow and steady while he leans into you, lowering his mouth to yours, the warmth of your lips against him sending his heart soaring, the intoxicating scent of you, the feel of your magic, the light caress of your fingers against his hip all amplified in this realm, and by the binding that seems to be stitching the two of you together by every moment.

He follows your lead, giving you space when you begin to ease off from him, and explosions rattle his soul as he stares down at you and your cautious smile.

“I love ye, Fern.” Your eyes go wide, and you startle, stepping a half pace away. “I dinnae how to tell ye, after everything. Ah ken, ah… there’s nothing that can be said, to make up for my treachery, for what I did to you.” He can feel the binding, the sailor’s knot tightening around the two of you, dragging you into one another, can feel the distinct signature of your magic, swirling around him, can smell the sweet citrus and blood dipped in balsam that floods his dreams. It’s enough to make his head spin.

“Johnny, this- this is the binding, it’s...” He shakes his head in rebuttal and reaches for your hand.

“I’ve loved ye since the first day I set foot in the shop. I’d burn the realms for ye, Fern.”

“You used me.”

“And ye will never know how I regret it, how I wish I could change it.” Let me love you. Let me hold you. Let me have you. The swell of the tide within him crests, magic churning into an excessive force, the binding burning, screaming, yearning against his lungs, and he pushes and pulls at it, twisting it up into something he struggles to contain. “Break the binding or leave it intact. It won’t change the way I feel.”

“I-“ Your words are snatched from your mouth when you draw a quick breath, bending at the waist, flat of your palm pressed to your belly with a soft groan.

“Fern?” His hand hovers at the small of your back, just above your skin.

“Sorry, I- I just had a cramp, is all.” You straighten, faint grimace sunken into your expression, and he frowns.

“What do ye need?”

“Nothing, I’m just gonna go lay down, I think.” You’re still holding your stomach, and worry froths in his heart, his mind as he watches you wince.

“Ye sure? Do you need-“

“I’m sure.” You wave him off, already turning away. “Goodnight, Johnny.” You murmur over your shoulder.

“Sleep well, little witch.”

The shockwave that ripples through his home in the small hours of the morning startles him from restless sleep. It jolts him into a panic, the binding clawing at his mind, his magic, tugging and pulling him towards something.

Towards you.

“Fern?” He calls, body teetering at the threshold of your room.

Are you dreaming? 

Are you ill? 

He can smell you from the doorway, balsam and citrus tinged with the scent of sour fruit, distress permeating through the air to where he stands, waiting. Holding his breath for answer.

“Fern.” He tries again, firmly, but you don’t respond, only moan into your pillow, the sound of your pain tearing at his heart until he’s blinkingacross the room, coming to lean over your trembling form, panic hammering inside his skull. “Hey, dove. Are ye with me?” He pulls you towards him, holding your face between his palms. Your eyes are nearly black, pupils so large they dot out your irises, and you thrash in his grip, nails digging into his skin while you cry out.

“Jo-Johnny. Johnny.” You’re sweating, sheets soaked beneath you, and the heat that’s blaring from your skin curdles his stomach.

The binding. The magic. It’s burning you from the inside. 

You whimper, and his heart breaks for you, bleeds for you while you bury your nose in his neck, panting heavily.

“I’m here.” He tries to hold you steady, cradling the back of your head in his hand, the sear of your skin far too warm to be comfortable, the effect of the binding boiling in your blood.

You’re suffering. You’re suffering, and it’s his fault. He did this. He caused this. 

Ce’s warning echoes sharply in his mind.

“You need to prepare for what is to come, if she cannot reverse it.”

The guilt fissures his heart in two.

“It hurts.” You try to tell him, weakly, and his frustration builds, the magic inside of him compounding, yearning to lash out.

“Ah know, Ah know it does.” The words are little comfort.

“Please. Pl-please make it stop.”

He can’t. He shouldn’t. 

“It hu-hurts Johnny. Please. It burns.” You’re breaking apart in front of him. Inconsolable. Desperate. Dying. 

“Shhh. ‘ve got ye.” He tries to calm you, holds you tight against him, pressing your body to his but all it does it make you squirm more, make you cry out against him, your voice broken with distress.

“Please! Please-“ you beg, and he slams his eyes shut.

He shouldn’t. He can’t.

But you’re in pain. 

You could die. 

The binding is heating your body past any measurable sense. You were not made to survive such a thing.

When he looks at you now, he knows his insistence on refusing this is pointless. He is too weak to give you up. He is not strong enough to say no. He has loved you since the day he first laid eyes on you. He would do anything to save you, to keep you alive.

Even if it meant this.

Even if it meant completing the bond the only way he knew how.

“I’m here, I’m here.” He kisses your breastbone, trails his lips down between your breasts, sucking marks into your skin, tasting the salt of your sweat like a dying mortal. “I’m going to make it okay.” He wants to take his time, wants to savor you, wants to have you the way he’s always dreamed about, slow and sweet, taking you apart piece by piece like you deserved.

There’s no time for that now.

“Johnny.” You whimper, something broken in your voice, a desperation unlike he’s ever heard before and it stings.

“Shhh. I’m going to take care of ye.”

A broken moan rises from your throat when he moves your body, shifting you underneath his weight, pinning your hips and teasing his tongue around one your nipples, nipping across you with his teeth just enough to sting your skin, to jolt you.

“I- I need- I want-“ You try to explain it, to direct him, and your magic flourishes forward, your hands gripping onto his shoulders for salvation.

“I know what ye need, Fern. Ah know.” His fingertips stroke over your navel, over where your lower belly tenses under his touch, and then to your cunt, where scorching heat mixes with liquid fire, your body wet and ready for him, desperate for him, magic burning you with arousal, with an undeniable need for him.

“Touch me.” You plead, and his lips find the inside of your thigh, dragging towards where you’re dripping, citrus and blood flooding his senses.

You taste like everything he’s ever dreamed of. Pressure builds up his spine, magic and desire burning like a fuse as he presses his tongue against your clit, and you shiver in his grasp when he lavishes you there.

His palm presses against your belly, holding you firm, muscles and sinew rippling under his touch, your voice peaking with a cry when he swirls around your swollen bud, over and over, working you relentlessly.

“Come for me, come on. Let me make it better, dove.” It won’t, and he knows it, knows only one thing will, but he hopes to the gods it will stave off some of your pain. He rasps against your skin and you keen, rocketing into an orgasm within a moment’s time, sharp and fiery, but only a balm for the burn of the binding, the incessant tugging beneath his ribs humming with miserable bliss over the moan of his name on your lips.

You’re still strung taut, seizing, the heat of your skin blazing against him. You tug fruitlessly at his clothes, fingers knotted up in his shirt, his pants, and he swipes a hand across your cheek to press his thumb against your tongue as he divests himself with one hand and a snap of magic.

His fingers are wet with you, with your spit, your arousal, and he coats himself with it, stroking the length of his cock, kissing the crown to your opening while he stares down at you indulgently.

His Fern. His dove. His little witch. 

“Please.” You breathe your plea into him, into his mouth, his skin. “Please, it’s- I need you.” You choke and he pushes, your eyes going wide as he batters his way into your body, the tight clench of your walls strangling him as he moves. “Gods-“ you gasp, and he strokes some hair from your face, lips pressing sweetly to your cheek, your jaw to soothe you, to quiet the discomfort from the stretch.

“I know, I know.” He murmurs, keeping his movements slow and steady, watching how your expression eases, how your body adjusts, how your brows unknit with each passing moment. You relax around him finally, face going slack with bliss as he folds one of your knees back towards your shoulder. “That’s it, good… good girl.” He hums over your ear, before pressing a gentle kiss there. “Take me so well. So perfect.” He needs to fill you, own you, fuck you full and possess every inch of your being. It’s the only way, the only way to soothe your soul, to soothe his own. It’s always been the only way, since the day he saw you. Since the first time he kissed you, in the shadow of Samhain.

His heart flutters, the binding clawing at his power, wrapping itself around your heart, stitching across the bridge between your bodies to reach the other side, encasing itself and him in the warmth of blood magic, of your magic. It only grows stronger as his hips stroke, his body moving inside of yours, gasps of pleasure falling from your lips.

Your muscles clench around him, desperate, and it feels right. Everything feels right, it feels fated, it feels meant to be. Like you were made for him, born for him. You, his equal. You, his balance. He pads over your clit with a press of his fingers, moving against you in time with his thrusts and your power surges to meet his, interweaving until it’s impossible to discern your beginning and his ending.

“I’ve always wanted ye here with me.” He nips along your collarbone, tracing a bead of sweat up the skin of your neck to your jaw. “I broke into the flat, just to watch ye sleep, every night after Samhain.” He punches his sentence with thrust of his cock, brushing against your cervix, and you keen. “I’ve loved ye. Dreamt of ye. I have betrayed ye,” you mumble something, lashes fluttering, and he swallows your words with his mouth before continuing. “and will spend the rest of my existence, our existence, apologizing for my transgressions.” Your body shifts with him, the rhythm he set upon your clit forcing you forward, spine curling you into him, his name a whisper on your lips.

“Johnny, Johnny.”

He fucks into you harder, wild, primal, full of ferocity and you cry out, shuddering beneath him, squeezing around his cock. The urge to fill you, to breed you, is too strong to fight, and the binding croons to him in your voice, spurring him onwards.

“Gods, dove.” His voice is broken song, a plea, and you respond with a melody of your own. “Ye belong to me.” You nod in a daze, lips forming a word that sounds like please. “Going to give ye my come. Keep ye forever.”

“Ye-es.”

“Sweet Fern.” He coos when he feels it, the build of your climax, ushering you along with the press of his body. “My good girl, coming all over my cock. Like ye were made for it.” You hiss, and then your orgasm is washing you away, your voice shouting his name as you come. Your eyes spark, celestial light glittering beneath the black pools that have expanded across your irises, and your fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulder, blood trickling down his chest, slicking between your bodies. It spills and spills, running like a river over the two of you, tracking across your breasts, down his abdomen, across your belly, down your thighs. It flows wildly, freely, rushing from him and towards you, spurred on by your mastery of it, your mastery of him.

You’re spinning him. You’re taking and taking, the binding drinking his magic in greedily, digging and scratching beneath the surface of his chaos, sowing vines that sprout and flourish, that tie him to you. His side of the binding shrieks in glee, in elation, and bends for you, arcing between your bodies to imbue you with cosmic pieces of chaos, a blend of blood and bedlam, boiling in your veins. In his.

Blood continues to gush from his body, his mouth full of you, of citrus and blood, of earth and balsam. You inhale him, pushing your tongue past his teeth, swirling in the mess there, and when you pull away, he can see the stains of ichor on your teeth under the curve your half-moon smile.

Your magic strangles him, strengthening itself, solidifying your power, absorbing what it can of his mayhem. The binding purrs, it sings to him, it sings to you, the sound chiming through his mind, echoing off the hollowed-out coves of the Isle, vibrating through its dark forest. He shouts against it, with it, orgasm just on the peak, both his body and yours trembling violently.

“Mine.” He snaps, and you answer easily. 

“Yours.” You nod, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He cradles you there, back of your head in his palm, and then he thrusts up into your body as hard as he can, overcome with need, with the burn of the binding, with love. It’s so much, the pull of the magic, the wildness of your heart seeping into his own, and he spills as deep as he can into your body, filling you with himself, plugging his come deep, your own body sucking him in desperately while you cry and shake in his arms.

His Fern. His dove. His little witch.

Ancient celestial light streams through the curtains, the proof of an entire day passing, the rising of the moons stirring you from where you have slept for the last few hours, body and binding finally sated, skin scrubbed clean from the stain of his blood.

You blink, heavily with exhaustion, and he pulls you into his body, unable to resist cuddling you close, breathing you in and wrapping an arm around your back to still you when you start to fidget. You smell different now, like a swirling storm of him and you, and his free hand drifts to your navel possessively.

“Johnny.” You murmur, and he answers by pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m here.” He whispers. “Ye can rest dove. It’s okay.” You settle against him, and just as he’s starting to drift into his own star lit slumber, you sigh.

“You should start makin’ a list.”

“Of what?” You kiss his chest, lips soft against his skin.

“Of all the things,” you yawn, breath hot and sweet, and he wants to drag his tongue over your skin again, take you apart while he savors every tremble, every moan that leaves your body. “you’re going to do over the next hundred years to make it up to me.”

“One hundred years?” he chuckles in jest, but his heart soars. 

He knows, there is more hardship to come. He knows, the pain, the suffering, that you will experience, that you will unleash on the mortal realm, on him, when you learn the truth about your parents, about your coven. He knows the challenge ahead. 

But in this quiet moment, with you in his arms, nothing about it feels like the end. 

Only the beginning. 

“Careful." you breathe into him. "Or I’ll make it two.”

#peaches writes #which witch #john soap mactavish #fae au #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #fae!johnny #john soap mactavish x you #fae!au #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #cod x reader #fae!soap #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #magic!au #magic au

[rookfeatherrambles]

Someone remind me to ramble about the TMA JP Fae AU after work

#Jonpeter #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tma #peter lukas #fae!au

[mi-i-zori]

From In-Between the Lines - Sneak Peek N°1

CoD Fae!AU - Fae!Price x The Writer (Fem!Reader) - Part 1

WARNING : This is the very beginning of a Fae!Au, so Price’s thoughts are still in « predator »/« hunting » mode.

Author’s Note : Okay. I finally came around writing this first part after procrastinating for months because I had no idea of how to tackle it, and I think I need to show you guys a little part I’m quite proud of. I hope it’ll make you want to read it once it’s finished.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform.

#cod x reader #x reader #call of duty x reader #fem!reader #cod au #cod mw2 #cod x oc #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #john price mw2 #captain price x reader #price x reader #captain price cod #captain john price #john price #fae!price #fae!au #price x female reader #cod mw3

[maelstrom007]

I've got the @ghouljams Fae!au brainrot, and I needed to write more about my OC Mal. This time, featuring ghoul's OC Love, and Fae!Ghost. Thank you so much for letting me borrow them! I hope I do them justice, and they're not too out of character. While it's implied that Mal already knows Witch (I think their friendship started well before this) I thought this was an interesting way to bring Mal into the darlings and 141's sphere of influence.

I hope you enjoy!

Mal stood at the far wall of their crafting space, studying their old leather bound notebook. It was an account of every project they’d ever undertaken here at the shop, filled to the brim with notes. Currently, it was open to the last commission on their list for this quarter, someone wanting a garment that would fill them with confidence after a particularly difficult time in their life. Before them stood several cones of yellow and orange cotton that they had dyed with this intention in mind. Now to decide what it would become. Mal closed their eyes, imagining the customer in their head, how their shoulders had hunched and neck sunk involuntarily. They needed something to straighten up, bring some height back into their frame. A jacket would do them nice. 

Mal took the cones to their warping board, a square frame with pegs hanging on the wall, and readied the yarn. Before they began Mal closed their eyes once again, taking deep breaths and pressing their bare feet firmly into the floor as they grounded themselves. Once they were settled, they imagined in their mind what their customer would look like in this new jacket. How their face would be full of warmth and joy, how much taller they would stand, the swagger and spring in their step as they walked. Mal let the feeling wash over them, filling themselves up with the giddy confidence. Full of energy, Mal began the warping process, tying an orange yarn to one peg and wrapping it around sequential pegs until it was as long as their fabric needed to be, then doubling back and following that same path back. 

Maintaining this confident headspace Mal continued on, occasionally switching between colors to create a shimmering ombre across the warp. This warp will act as the vertical threads when they weave the fabric later on tonight. Already they could see the gentle halo radiating off of the threads as the intent gets buried deeper and deeper. By the end it’ll be radiant like the sun. 

The slight jostle of someone attempting to open the front door made Mal accidentally skip a peg, breaking them out of their concentration. Immediately the halo of the current length they were working on dimmed, forcing them to backtrack and do their best to bring themselves back into the confident headspace. They didn’t really care if someone was at the door, there was no reason for anyone to be there and thus no reason to give them the time of day. Pick up was always reserved for the last week of the month, and they hadn’t pulled aside the heavy curtains hanging from the gutters that prevented humans from seeing the shop, and warned Fae from entering without an invitation. No, those get pulled when Mal’s commission list was empty and ready for new customers. Which it wasn’t. 

The jostle returns again and only a well timed breath keeps the bubbling anger from making its way into the warp. They tied it off and stepped away with a sigh. They couldn’t afford to keep having their concentration disrupted by the mystery person at the door. 

Opening the door reveals a girl, smiling brightly, “Hey, I think your doors locked.”

“It’s not,” Mal replies. Not in the physical sense anyway. Witch’s wards are strong and clever like that. Although they will have to check up on the curtains outside. Nobody should have been able to find their shop with them pulled shut, although now there was a clear section that was pulled to the side where the girl seemingly forced her way through. Those damn Moth’s were probably nibbling on it again. 

The girl stares at them for a moment, as if expecting them to say more. Evidently the silence becomes too long as she presses on, “Aren’t you going to let me in?” 

“Why would you want in?”

“Because you’re a business? And I’d like to do business here?” The exasperated look on the girl's face is enough to set Mal’s teeth on edge. 

“Pushy aren’t you?”

“Yes. Now come on, I want to get something nice for my boyfriend and he’s going to pick me up any minute now.”

Something about the girl’s big, insistent eyes made Mal’s resolve crack, “Fine. You’ve caught me in an indulgent mood.” Mal turned around, walking back towards the counter, “What are you thinking of?”

When the girl didn’t immediately follow they turned around again, only to see her seemingly stuck mid stride, foot unable or unwilling to touch the hardwood floor of the storefront. Curious. The girl seemed perfectly human to them, but looks could be deceiving. 

“You’re welcome in, for this transaction,” her foot fell with a solid thump, and she continued walking in as if nothing had happened.

“So I’d like to get something for my boyfriend.”

Mal settled in and flipped their notebook to a new page, “So you’ve said.”

“Yeah, well I know that he likes to cover up a lot, but recently his gloves have been falling apart and what with Winter coming up I don’t want his hands to be cold-”

As the girl talked, Mal kept a close eye on her chest, watching for any tethers that shone brighter than the others. Humans, and sometimes Fae, had a hard time deciding what their real intent was for a gift, and sifting through their tethers was always easier than getting it out of them through words. Except that the more this girl talked, the more her chest started to light up like a god damn christmas tree. She was tangled and pierced and snared on so many hooks it was almost distressing, and one in particular burned so bright it almost hurt Mal’s eyes to look at.

“Excuse me,” Mal interrupted her, “but may I?” they said, pointing towards the brightly glowing tether at the center of her chest. 

“Uh, sure,” she said, slightly confused but trusting all the same. 

Reaching out they gently snagged the tether with the tip of their pinky finger. Even with that small amount of contact all they could think of was LOVE LOVE LOVE. So much love, and passion, and desperation, and protectiveness. 

Within the next second, Mal’s ears popped as air that used to be in the space behind the girl forcibly vacated in favor of someone apparating there in its place. Mal stumbled back, eyebrows raised in shock as the absolutely massive fucker came into focus. Piercing brown eyes peered out through a pale white skull mask, with one hand wrapping protectively around the girl's chest and the other landing solidly on the table creating an effective barrier between them and Mal. 

“What’s wrong, Love?” The man's voice was deep, and although he was addressing the girl, (the capital L was obvious in his tone) his eyes never left Mal’s. 

“Well I was going to get you a surprise gift, but I guess that’s not happening anymore.”

“Why were they touching you.”

Mal straightened, “I received permission, if that is your concern. I was only attempting to see what her true intent was for this gift.” Despite the way he was glaring, Mal could tell this man didn’t think they were a threat, at least not physically.

On closer inspection the guys gloves did look as if they were threadbare, ready to fall apart if a stiff breeze came through. He was fae, no doubt about it, and even his human form commanded respect. Mal could see the shimmery effect of the fae’s obscura, hinting at a much larger and much more. . .sinister silhouette. They could do better, break up the outline of his body like camo on a soldier's fatigues, but something told them that he wouldn’t appreciate being upsold at the moment.

“And what was my intention?” Love looked almost giddy to know, leaning over the counter top with a manic grin on her face. 

Mal quickly looked between Love and the man, trying to gauge the pro’s and con’s of this whole interaction. 

“Go on,” he said. 

“Well, it seemed like Love here wanted to stake a claim on you. To possess and protect you as much as you do her.” 

Like a seesaw, Love rocked backwards into the man's embrace, wrapping her arms up around his neck and giggling, “Yeah, I guess I am a little obsessed with you.”

For once he looked a little bit out of his depth, and once again Mal almost had to shield their eyes from the sun that seemed to light up between the two. Jesus these two were co dependent as all hell. 

“So,” Mal said, desperate to get this conversation over with, “any design you want in particular?”

“Oh, right, I think his gloves should be dark black, with white details that look like finger and hand bones. And can you make them really warm and soft? Am I asking for too much? You’ll tell me if it’s too much right? Also-”

Mal dutifully took notes, not even attempting to get a word in edgewise as Love rambled on. Briefly looking up, Mal saw the masked man curled contentedly around and over top Love’s much smaller form like a mountain sized cat. It was hard to find him intimidating now that his eyes were full of love and adoration. 

What a strange pair indeed.

#fae!ghost #ghouls fae!au #fae!au #oc: mal #maelstrom007 #maelstromsfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #call of duty #I imagine that Mals energy and vibe #is really neutral when they're not crafting for something #they're basically like a vessel for intent #theres another version of this that's more angsty #where Mal doesn't get permission #and ends up getting a hook in them similar to when Konig went snooping on Love wayyyyy back when #i think i like this version better though #i hope you like it ghoullllllllllllll #cod fanfic

[ethereal-night-fairy]

Forgotten sorrows

Chapter 3

Fae!Soap X Female Reader

We see things from Soap's perspective as he navigates through his growing feelings.

Warnings: MDNI, suggestive language, dark themes, manipulation, mention of abuse and trauma, MDNI, sorry if I missed any.

I was going to make this alot angstier but I decided to pace myself and do that for the next chapter. This chapter isn't that dark but it still touches up on sensitive topics. The witch best friend makes a brief appearance at the end but I'll definitely be writing alot more of her in the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy the chapter. This Fae au belongs to @ghouljams I feature alot of their Oc characters in my writing.

Forgotten Sorrows Masterlist

Masterlist

Words: 6.3k

Soap's Pov 

"So what are you in the mood for?", Gaz says leaning against someone's car. "A painter?, actor?, writer?, there's a whole buffet layed out for you here, ya lucky bastard", he says keeping his eyes peeled for some sad naive soul to sink his teeth into. 

"Ah'm not too fussed ah just wannae eat"

Soap looks around the festival searching for an easy meal after his latest strings of failed…encounters to put it nicely. Artists these days were so difficult to exploit, it was like beating a dead horse for crumbs. His appetite wasn't what it used to be, even with completed artwork the hunger would return soon after. He needed someone naive and ready to churn out art like their life depended on it. Just so he could feel satiated for a while before finding his next victim. 

"I don't think I'll find much here, but the costumes are funny to rate on their accuracy", Gaz sighs

Soap hums as he locks eyes on a pretty little comical fairy walking in with a theater group. He could hear her voice from here. He watched as she easily got roped into a raffle scam at the entrance as her group walked to the stage. He laughs as she buys several tickets. Probably thinking luck was on her side. This was as good a sign as any to make his entrance. 

Gaz took the hint to go off to do his own thing while Soap went to hunt. Ensnaring her was one of the easiest things he's ever done. A few compliments here, a few longing touches there had her in the palm of his hands in seconds. Her naivety was honestly concerning how unguarded she was in regards to everything. Almost as if she knew she'd be taken care of in the end. But Soap didn't mind, he just wanted to feed. She was all too eager to share her binder of plays and her dreams of them reaching Broadway. She had potential, he'd give her that. She was also very much willing to work herself to the ground to achieve her goals. As well as using any available resources near her. Which was exactly what he was looking for. 

He got his hooks into her before she had to leave to meet her sister and quite a few for that matter. He had more hooks in her than the minutes he spent talking to her. But that just meant he could consume her in a shorter period of time. He kept an eye on her to make sure no other Fae tried to take what was his. It was then that he saw you working your little stall with all sorts of art pieces cluttering your display. You had a pleasant air about you, something very comforting. He saw you fret over your sister's naivety and try to school her in basic knowledge. You had a glint in your beautiful eyes. One that he rarely saw anymore. He could feel the love and intent behind each one of your pieces as if you made them with specific people in mind. People who needed love, people who needed care. The pieces attracted those who lacked in those aspects and you sold them with gratitude. He was so occupied with you he didn't realise his little pink fairy had left. But he couldn't stop himself from watching you from afar. There was just something off about you. Like you were cloaked in an imaginary veil. Like your true self was hidden. Gaz had brought Ghost for a chat after meeting him while exploring, with Love, Liebling and Konig trailing behind with food in their hands. Liebling kept her distance with Konig shielding her from Soap's view and vice versa. The whole time talking to them he couldn't keep his sights away from you for more than a couple seconds. Everyone seemed to have noticed. Gaz made a passing remark about him burning through his artists like cigarettes. 

Love had a mischievous look in her eyes and wanted to investigate whether to tease Soap at a later date or just to mess up his chances with his new artist, so she dragged Ghost with Konig and Liebling trailing behind to go look at the stall and get more information. Soap watched from afar to see what she was up to, not trusting her unpredictable behaviour. He often wondered how Ghost dealt with her, but was also jealous he found a life partner before him. It was actually unbelievable if he thought about it. Ghost had been alone for years refusing any interaction with humans unless it had to do with him feeding. It took Soap a really long time to get Ghost to consider him an acquaintance let alone a friend. But he decided not to dwell on his relationships right now, he was more concerned with what Love was about to do with you. He already had your sister in his grasp; so he wasn't planning on pursuing you as of yet. Maybe not ever. He just found you intriguing, he tried to convince himself.

He saw you tense up the second they were in a miles radius from you. Like a switch had flipped sending you into fight, flight or freeze mode. You definitely froze at the first glimpse you got of Ghost like a deer in headlights. You recovered quickly and put back on a professional smile while trying to keep calm. It was entertaining seeing you tremble as you painted Love's portrait as Ghost kept his eyes on you. It was even funnier when that seer approached your stand with her giant of a boyfriend trailing behind her like a love sick puppy after Ghost had showed off the portrait you painted. You looked like you wanted to run and hide or possibly faint but kept up appearances. You were smart and never thanked them, it seemed like you had some knowledge in regards to interacting with Fae. You held yourself with grace even in difficult situations, it was admirable for a human. Most would have ran away. Getting hooks in you would prove to be difficult, he thought. So your sister will have to do, to satiate his growing hunger.

He found his little pink fairy at the food stall and offered to buy her snacks while he continued to chat her up. A little longer goes by and he feels that same pleasant air he felt watching you, this time much closer. He sees you looking around and finally setting your eyes on your sister who was eating up every last word he was saying to her. You approach out of breath panting. And your sister introduces him to you while she continues to chat to him but he wasn't paying attention. He couldn't take his eyes off you, even though he tried. He thought you were pretty from afar but seeing you close up was a whole different story. All kinds of unholy thoughts were running through his dirty mind. He couldn't help himself picturing you beneath him in your current state with a flushed expression and out of breath. Moaning and begging him for his touch, his lips, his tongue. He caught your not so subtle stare at his lips which he smirked at seeing you get even more embarrassed.

He saw you hurriedly introduce yourself before your sister could give out your name. Faoi Rún? translating to confidential in Irish, he smirks at your antics. Just Rún had many translations but he assumed you meant a 'secret', when you told him to address you as such. Weren't you a pretty little smart ass he thought. Maybe you needed a lesson in manners. One he'd be more than happy to provide. Picturing you bent over his lap squirming trying to escape as he paints your ass different shades of colours, while you whimper and cry for him to stop. He could feel blood rushing to his cock, he needed to quickly navigate his thinking elsewhere. So he settled on asking you some questions. 

You were quick and concise with anything you answered not giving any room for follow ups. The complete opposite of your sister who liked sharing every detail under the sun about herself and her work. It only took him a couple of minutes at the start before he had gotten her full name. He saw you chew your lips as you were deep in thought, probably thinking of a way to get rid of him. He could see the weariness in your eyes and the fear. Like you already knew what he was about to attempt to do. It didn't matter though once he successfully isolated his victims away from friends and family it was an easy game to play. You'd get fed up eventually and stop trying to keep in contact, leaving your sister to be consumed by him. And he might just be able to get some hooks in you when you're grieving her loss.  Humans don't really think rationally when in pain or distress. A lot of great artwork is fuelled by sadness and grief so he might be in for a treat.

He left with your sister on that day, he thought about seducing her further but honestly he didn't even need to. She was one of the most gullible people he's ever met. She would believe anything he said and just feed off the compliments he gave her. Isolating her from her friends was fairly easy; they stopped trying to get in touch about two weeks in. He'd make her spend the majority of her time with him and ignore everyone else. You on the other hand didn't give up so easily. Which he wasn't too concerned about as long as you kept your distance. He'd pour his inspiration into your sister causing her to have manic episodes of hours or even days of just writing. She had already fed him 5 short plays, 3 skits and was working on a screenplay, this was 4 weeks in. He was satisfied with the way things were going until you showed up at her door. 

He was honestly vexed when he first saw you come in. It was a bad look for him considering your sister had just collapsed from exhaustion. And he was coincidentally there when her whole house was a mess. He couldn't really talk his way out of his involvement in the matter so he stayed silent after your initial outburst. Not really hiding his anger. You would have seen past it anyway, with being on high alert and all. Charming you would be even harder with your knowledge regarding Fae. So he stood by and watched you seethe in anger at him for the first few minutes. You were really protective of your sister, much to his annoyance. You eventually focused on cleaning away her apartment as quietly as possible not wanting to disturb her. He could see the worry and love radiating off you. He found you furrowing your brows and biting your lips quite often mumbling your frustration to yourself. He wanted to brush his fingers over your lower lip to relieve the pain you were causing yourself. He watched your body mesmerized by its movement wanting to pin you against the wall and make you tremble with his touch. Make you forget everything but him, causing pretty tears to stream down your face as the pleasure overwhelms you. Conjuring your warm body in his mind, pinned and tied to the bed, begging him in a soft voice to stop teasing you. Trailing his rough fingers across your sensitive skin, kissing and biting your neck leaving hickies and bruises in his wake. He didn't even bother hiding the fact he wanted to devour you. Maybe it would scare you off or even better if it would cause a rift in your relationship with your sister. If she viewed it as you trying to seduce him. He could definitely use his tenthers to sway her emotions to his side and convince her that you wanted to have him for yourself. He would catch you looking back at him wearily from time to time. He wanted to know so badly what those pretty eyes were hiding. But he needed to get a hold of himself. He needed to get you out of his head if he wanted to finish what he started. Maybe a brain be gone would help keep you away for a while until he finished up with her or he could go the more complicated route to create conflict between you two. The idea didn't seem so bad. He wanted to watch you break so badly, then finally put you back together piece by piece. 

He enjoyed watching you in a domestic setting, you milling around trying to get things in order. It was almost endearing if it wasn't for the fact you were interrupting his meal. As much as he wanted you, he wasn't in the mood to complicate what he had started. Your sisters was a sure meal, you on the other hand needed more time and finessing to obtain. He was tired of difficult prey especially after not receiving sustenance even after putting so much work into them. Nothing was fulfilling enough anymore, the hunger never leaves him. He wondered what his soul was yearning for if not art?

He watches you enter your sister's room as you go to gently arouse her from her sleep. You come back into the kitchen a little while later to set up the table. He fully expected you to tell him to leave since he wasn't welcome or needed here but to his surprise you set the table for three without saying a word. Your movements had care and intent behind them almost everything you do did. You set up a nice array of food and set it out on the table after heating it. Your sister had just entered then taking his attention away from you. He had to put up an act again, to present himself as the ever caring love interest not that there was any love involved. But he fawned over her making her believe he cared for her wellbeing which served to annoy you further. As your sister tried to convince you that it wasn't his fault she wasn't taking care of herself. You had offered the meal freely to him, though a bit reluctantly. Causing something warm to bloom in his stomach. He watched you take care of your sister to make sure she was well fed and hydrated while glancing at him from time to time. He found your care refreshing, he could tell you wanted to make sure he too was enjoying the meal you had provided even though you tried to act nonchalantly. He almost felt bad about his plan to ruin your sister and possibly your own life….almost. 

He had left soon after the dinner, sensing your glare. He ignored the Fae working at the front desk considering they were weak and harmless. They may have cowered slightly as he left the building. He smoked patiently on the side waiting for you to come out. He watched on as you finally did, blowing hot air into the chilly night. You were on edge for some reason and quickly made your way to your car. He realised why as you were pressed up against the car door by a boggart. Pesky creatures they were if you allowed yourself to feel fear that is. But you seemed determined to escape, maybe this would scare you enough from leaving your house for a while which would solve his own problem without him getting involved. But then he saw that thing trying to grab and undress you and everything turned red. Like a blood moon rising. His rage manifested around him like smoke and cobwebs. He was at the scene before he could stop himself. All he could think about was ripping that thing a new one. You had managed to throw it to the ground and stomp on its groin as he came into view. Your trembling, your scared face, your disgust at the creature fuelled him further to step on its neck as you watched in horror. But he didn't want to give it an easy death, no that would be unfair, that thing needed to learn a lesson. A lesson on not touching things that belonged to him. He leaned down to manifest the most blood curdling nightmarish vision he could conjure to plant in its mind. Its mouth opened in a silent scream from the pain and horror, as Soap snapped its neck before it could make any noise.

He watched as your mind descended into hell as you watched him approach after killing that monster. He saw you close your eyes in fear thinking he'd hurt you next. But how could he? Especially when you were trembling like a little wounded animal. Your breathing becoming labored and erratic. He cupped your face. His anger was still present but it wasn't directed at you; no it was directed at him for not being able to keep his emotions in check. For wanting to hold and comfort you while you trembled in his arms. But he needed to assert his dominance to make you fear him. That's exactly what he tried to do after getting you to open your eyes and made sure you weren't seriously hurt. He didn't want you thinking he cared for you in any sense. It backfired though because all fear seemed to evaporate from your body when he mentioned your sister. Your face grew stern and your backbone straightened. You looked like you were about to claw at his face so he decided to tap your mind away before you could try. He grabbed you as you passed out bringing you back to your condo. Surprisingly he was let in even with the Rowan branch hanging from your door, maybe because he wished you no harm in that moment he just wanted you to mind your own business and stop interfering with his food source. 

He placed you gently on the bed and was about to leave when he came across your work room. He couldn't help but enter. You had many unfinished projects lying around but the ones that were finished almost felt like they were brimming with life and emotions. He traced his fingers on your recent paintings, they all conveyed a similar emotion, the pursuit of knowledge, a need to discover and unearth, a desire to learn and grow. He felt it in each brushstroke, your emotions were so embedded within it was hard to look away. But he managed to come to his senses and left to go back home, not before glancing at your sleeping form one last time. He needed to come up with a backup plan if you decided to remain a thorn in his side. 

And a thorn you remained. He had received a text in the afternoon from Love when you had entered that seer's shop with your sister who had many of his recognizable hooks in her. In comparison to you who had absolutely no hooks at all. It was odd the first time he had noticed. He had chalked it up to you being a sink (as in a person with no magic so tethers just slipped off you) but that wasn't accurate since he did feel some magic from you just not alot. Maybe you were just an odd little human who didn't like being tethered.

Love said something along the lines of his food being taken away by an odd fae with magic that was a little all over the place. He wondered what Fae had the gall to try to take what was his. The description matched you. Which seemed ridiculous, he had just met you yesterday you had absolutely no trace of fae magic on you. Love may have just texted to annoy him. But his brain be gone didn't work if you were with your sister. Thinking back on it now you were wearing your Rowan choker so that may have been the reason why it didn't work. He was foolish to ignore that but again he wasn't thinking straight that night. You had a way with consuming his thoughts. He needed to see for himself what the situation was. You were becoming more and more difficult to deal with. He might have to resort to more hostile methods to get you to leave. So he texted your sister to meet so he could get the situation under control again. 

He sees you from afar as he walks into the park. There's definitely magic in the air around you. Your magic was indeed all over the place; most likely governed by your emotions it seemed. Even Fae children were taught to control their magic better than you. After you started setting up the picnic blanket in a relatively secluded area, the air around you seemed to calm down. You probably felt safer away from people's watchful eyes. Soap didn't understand though, how you were able to go from hiding your magic completely to having zero control over it now. The only explanation would be if you had purposely hid your identity and now whatever magic you used wasn't working anymore. At least your appearance was mostly human so no one would be alarmed if they saw you in Fae form. He watched you with curiosity as you didn't seem to notice him approaching. You were too occupied with the arrangement of the food and your sister ignoring your questions to feel eyes roaming your body. Only when you heard his voice did you turn around to glare at him as your sister went to hug him. All the warmth and love you had held a second ago vanished. The magic in the air spiked as your emotional state because somewhat unstable.

"Ye put in quite th' effort 'ere", he says dodging your sister smoothly once he sees the iron ring on her finger a gift from you most likely. You just glare up at him as he smirked seeing your discomfort at his arrival. Your sister goes on about getting to know each other better which you ignore as your continued glaring. You clearly weren't happy to see him as you look at your sister for answers.

"This was supposed to be a picnic for the two of us", you whisper to your sister. She just shrugs saying the more people the better, and that she wanted you to get to know her boyfriend better. Though he didn't remember ever saying that they were official, but didn't bother to correct her since it served to annoy you further. For the next few minutes you didn't say anything while you continued to unpack the picnic as your sister swooned over Soaps every last word. You were trying desperately to keep your magic in check not wanting to draw more unwanted attention. The bitter taste of betrayal was sitting on your tongue but you didn't want to say anything to ruin this picnic with your sister so you stayed quiet. 

Once everything was layed out your sister eagerly offered Soap some sandwiches and juice saying she put a lot of effort in making them. He caught the lie immediately but feigned ignorance. There was no trace of her care in the sandwiches or snacks. He could only feel yours as you continued to look busy getting your sketchbook out. He didn't want to get accidentally hooked to you by eating the food you made so said he wasn't all that hungry and he just wanted to spend time with your sister. Which caught your attention. 

"We don't put a price or repayment on food, eat freely, my sister would feel upset if you denied her hospitality", you say devoid of emotions very deep in thought. 

"Please eat something, I worked so hard to prepare all this", she says, scooting closer to him trying to graze his arm with the hand that had the iron ring on it. He moved away swiftly avoiding contact.

"Sorry lass, ah have ae nasty iron allergy, can't have ye touchin' me with that ring on".

She didn't even question what he said before she was slipping that ring off. "Oh! My bad! Let me take it off right now", you look at your sister with shock as you subconsciously rub the fingers you had used to put on the iron ring her. How could she just believe everything he said so easily!? Soap smirks at your reaction. You watch as your sister goes to offer him food again as she moves even closer to him. Not knowing what else to do you place your yellow primroses at the center of the picnic blanket where everyone could smell the sweet scent. The smell reached Soaps nose and he felt a headache coming on but he kept his composure as everyone ate and enjoyed the picnic. The smell paired with your sister's non stop talking was chipping away at his composure. He was finding it difficult to maintain his loving persona. He glanced at you while maintaining a tedious conversation with your sister who just wanted to talk about her prospects in becoming famous from her writing, also expressing interest in writing movies scripts. He smiled and nodded as you caught his gaze on you. You seemed on edge with your magic swirling around you as good as an indicator. You looked at him wearily waiting for something to happen or maybe for him to drop his mask. You glanced around the park gauging the danger he could possibly pose in public, probably thinking he wouldn't do much with so many people around. Which you were right about, he wasn't going to cause a scene in public. You were still on edge about your last encounter with him. 

"I'm going to go over there for a bit to sketch", you tell your sister who was practically burrowing herself into Soap's side. She just nods as she continues to talk to Soap. You make your way towards a bunch of wild flowers as Soap watches your figure leave. He couldn't stand her talking anymore and that smell of the primroses was getting nauseating. He needed to get away for a bit to gain some sanity back. So he buttered up your sister with compliments and inspiration and told her to write down a couple of scenes she wanted to include in the screenplay she was writing. She immediately went into a daze getting out her notebook to write whatever was coming into her mind. Soap slipped away a little bit later when she was too occupied to notice his absence. 

He scanned the area wondering where you wandered off to. He saw you crouched down to the level of a small group of children who were probably asking you to draw something for them. You had a gentle smile on your face as you drew whatever the kids asked for, as soap watched. He slowly approached, not wanting to disturb your little moment. You had your guard down smiling to yourself as you drew. The air around was light and your magic seemed to swirl around you and the children affectionately. He has never seen you smile so gently, definitely not at him anyway. He was right behind you as you handed the last drawing to a little child who just happened to be a Fae. The child smiled at you and handed you a stone with a hole in it. You tried saying you didn't require a gift in exchange for the drawing but the child insisted and ran off to go play with their friends before you could protest. Soap watched you turn the rock in your hand inspecting it. Your magic was still swirling around you, it had an almost childlike innocence to it. Soap couldn't help but reach out and feel it run through his fingers. You jolted when you felt him touch your magic and stood up abruptly turning around to face him. Your gentle smile was gone and you were on high alert again. You eyed his wearily wondering why he had followed you. 

"It's ae hagstone", he says pointing to the rock in your hand. You look at it and lift it up to your eye and see if you can see anything different from the hole. You watch the children in the distance but nothing changes. You can only gather fleeting glimpses of peculiarity nothing different from your eyesight now. Soaps eyes you with curiosity wondering why you'd bother looking through the stone when all Fae have the sight to see the otherworld. Though you didn't come across as any other typical Fae. You didn't have hooks. Not even small ones. You gave things too freely for it to be considered normal. Even if you had lived mostly as a human for god knows how long. Most human he knew as least let tethers hook into them when they do someone a favour or give someone a gift. You wouldn't even allow that. Not every tether was meant to be repaid or cashed in. They often just served as a bond of trust between two people. Something you lacked. Your scent and magic operated slightly differently as well from normal Fae. It was very much dominant on your emotional state. Your scent had changed the second Soap had touched your magic. It went from a light sweet scent, like freshly baked goods to something a lot more dense, something a lot darker but the sweetness didn't completely leave. There was something intoxicating about the smell of your arousal and fear mixed together which had him leaning into the air around you, while you were distracted by the rock. You turned to look at Soap again when you felt his breath on your neck. A shiver ran down your spine bringing back the naughty thoughts you had when you first met him. You refuse to meet his eyes not wanting to fall into a rabbit hole of hedonistic thoughts.

"Fae don't need that tae see….something wrong with yer eyes?". 

You don't respond as you put the rock in one of your pockets and make your way towards the wild flowers again. He follows you waiting for you to respond which you weren't going to do. You were still on edge but it was controlled now. Soap could see you trying to keep your composure as he watched you sketch the wildflowers, stopping to inspect them sometimes. You crouched down beside them as you take a closer look at the flower petals trying to understand their texture. Soap watches you with intrigue as he sees you imbed your emotions into every line on the paper. 

"Say, why don't we make an exchange?". You look at him confused as he crouches down beside you. 

"Ah will give ye some valuable info in exchange fur a drawing?"

"Valuable to whom?", you fire back. 

"Ye'll find out once ye know", he gives you his best boyish smirk. 

"I'll pass", you say standing up to move away from him. But he grabs your arm pulling you back towards him. You collide with his chest as he holds you close by your arms. He looks into your eyes deeply feeling your breath on his face as you look up at him shocked. All he could think about in that moment was smashing his lips onto your. Consuming the breath within your lungs as he pulled you against his body. But he knew you'd never give in so easily to him, so he controlled his urges. You two stay like that for a bit until he grabs you a little tighter when you try to escape his hold. 

"Don't do that Bonnie", he says rubbing your arms up and down making you shiver from the unfamiliar touch. "Ah just haven't had a decent meal in a while, nae tae say yer sandwiches weren't lovely, they're just nae what ah typically feed aff", he says almost seeming innocent. 

"Think o' it as feeding the ducks" he smiles genuinely down at you. 

You gently pull away from him contemplating what he said. You could never refuse feeding someone when it was well within your means. You'd betray yourself if you did. You turn to a new page in your sketchbook thinking of what to draw. When a funny idea popped into your head. You draw a duck with a surprising likeness to him. You draw him with his signature mohawk feeding on a baguette. As you're finishing up the drawing you can't help but laugh to yourself at the absurdity of the drawing you were about to give him. Soap watches hold in a laugh as you draw, your walls not so high anymore. It was nice seeing you in this state. He wanted to see what you'd give him without him having to pour inspiration into you. He watches you move your pencil with intent and purpose creating something solely for him. You gingerly hand him the drawing when you were done trying to hide a mischievous smile on your face as you look at his reaction. 

He takes the drawing not feeling any hooks imbed into him. You really were an anomaly. A hearty chuckle leaves his mouth as he finally looks at what you've given him. It was him in duck form chomping away at a baguette. You took his comment literally it seems. It's definitely the first time someone had drawn him in duck form, usually they prefer to draw his handsome face or toned body. He liked your mischievous side, it just gave him more incentive to want to 'punish' you. You smiled at his reaction thinking you did a good job at catching him off guard. Something warm settled in his stomach the longer he looked at the comical drawing. And seeing you smiled just made everything so much better. 

"It's no Van Gogh but ah will gratefully accept it", he smiles to himself enjoying the moment. 

The air suddenly shifts and your mood takes a sudden dip. Soap feels the change as he looks up from the paper. Your eyes are trained on your sister who is writing feverishly, you turn back towards him with hurt written on your face. Which you quickly mask with anger. The moment you two were sharing was quickly ruined. 

"Let her go, I've already fed you", you say, keeping your voice eerily calm. But your magic was ready to attack him any second. You felt stupid for letting your guard down, especially knowing what kind of Fae he was. The air had shifted back to being that of anger and mistrust. Soap felt a sense of loss at the warmth he was just feeling a moment ago. He retreated back into his other persona, one that usually was very effective at putting fear in people.  He put on a nonchalant air about himself as he simply nodded. 

"Ah suppose ye'r right, ah will let her go today since ye wur so kind tae feed me", he says while withdrawing his magic from your sister. 

You don't say anything else as you make your way towards her, she stops writing when you approach her and ask her if she's ok. She nods and says she just had a burst of inspiration she had to use to write down things for her screenplay. Soap not wanting to cause further tension decided to leave without saying goodbye to either of you. He tucked in the precious piece of paper he held into his jacket as he walked off. You watch him leave as your sister comes out of her daze. She immediately asks where he went and you tell her he had a personal emergency and had to leave. And that he had probably said goodbye to her but she might have not noticed it when she was in her 'writing zone'. She simply nods as you pack up the picnic and walk her back to her apartment. You ended up giving her the primroses telling her you forgot you didn't have any balcony room to keep more plants so it would be better if she kept them at her place. She was happy to receive the sweet smelling flower as you left to go back to your place. 

You get home and unpack all your groceries as you decide what to bake for your best friend when you go visit her in an hour or two. You settle on blueberry muffins and go about your kitchen gathering ingredients. The baking served to calm you after your long stressful day. It took your mind off everything else as you focused solely on what you were doing. With the muffins in the oven you move toward the little gift you had bought your best friend, she would never let you pay for the tea or other things she would give you so you'd just leave her little gifts whenever you'd go to visit. This time you had found high quality saffron at the local spice shop. You thought it would come in handy in her spells if not she could use it in her cooking. You go to get some wrapping paper and ribbon to make the container look pretty and presentable. Once everything is done you pack the muffins away as you make your way to your car. 

The drive over was relatively short since she didn't live too far away. But for some reason you felt an overwhelming feeling of guilt and sadness take over you. You stood at the front gate frozen for a few seconds not sure what to do anymore. The day was extremely taxing, especially trying to keep your magic in check. It was around four pm and the sun was still shining and the autumn leaves were swaying on the ground. You entered through the iron gate closing it behind you brushing off the slight sting. The wards engulfed you in an instant, like a warm hug from a loved one. Tears began streaming down your face uncontrollably. You finally felt safe again, not realising you were in flight or fight mode all this time. A warm feeling settled in your chest letting you know everything was going to be ok. You walk towards her front door on shaky legs. You knock twice waiting for her to open the door. You hear movement around the cottage and finally hear the door unlatch. She stares at you shocked, not expecting you to show up with red teary eyes. You stand a bit awkwardly trying to calm your tears as you hold up the container with muffins in it. 

"I brought you muffins", you say shyly wiping your tears away. She just stares for a second trying to comprehend the situation that was unfolding in front of her. 

"Your seal broke", she says finally ushering you in. 

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2023. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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