#Vanishing Shadow Au

[chaozsilhouette]

Retrograde Joy

I have been looking forward to writing this chapter for a while. The very idea of Wukong with amnesia opens so many possibilities with his changed mindset. While I pulled a great deal from canon, I added my own twist to make it even more heart-wrenching.

I regret nothing.

You have been warned.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

They had dedicated a full twelve hours to nonstop driving into a new mountain range.

Most of their trip was in an uncomfortable silence.

Despite their actions being for the salvation of the world, no one was happy with how things played out. They were supposed to be heroes. The good guys, who always did the right thing. So why was stealing an ancient artifact and betraying the trust of tenuous allies their first choice?

MK didn’t know what to think.

He felt horrible. 

Princess Iron Fan let them into their home despite their history. Red Son refrained from unleashing his latest weapons cache on them. Demon Bull King answered questions they didn’t even know they had. And how did they repay them?

At the moment it felt like the only option, but who knows. Maybe if they had waited until breakfast, the family would have been willing to discuss other methods with cooler heads. But they were on borrowed time and Monkey King was still out of it…

The more he stared at the ring, the more guilt weighed on his conscious.

In a veiled attempt to pass the time, MK took out his sketch pad and continued refining the outline of the Dragon Palace of the East Sea. He needed something to do with his hands, anything to keep him busy while allowing him to process his betrayal of a demon he had grown to appreciate.

Words didn’t need to be exchanged to know everyone was suffering from the same dilemma.

Mei barely made a sound, just scrolling through the pictures she took of the bull family’s territory and fortress. Looking over the images of architecture, food, and people, she tried to reason if they didn’t hurry all that would be gone. Yet as she came across a picture of Red Son looking at their families’ shared dinner with the smallest smile, she couldn’t help but wonder.

She knew what they were doing was wrong, yet she held her tongue. The truth was…she was scared. Those visions, memories, whatever they were, they scared her. Were they a warning, a sign of what would happen if they continued or stopped? She didn’t know and everyone was already so tense, she couldn’t add her problems, not until she figured out what they meant.

They were obviously connected to the Samadhi Fire, but why was she seeing them? Why was she the only one having them? Or were the others having their own visions and were just as scared about sharing them? 

She didn’t know.

She didn’t know.

Pigsy tried to focus on making sure everyone was well-fed and healthy. He absolutely knew their actions were going to have major consequences. To assume otherwise was the height of stupidity and to be honest, they demolished that milestone ages ago. Still, he held his tongue and waited for the so-called Great Sage to wake up so he could beat some actual answers out of him.

He had to endure over a decade of listening to his exploits and he did so because he loved seeing his kid smile. Yet now, when they needed the king, when he had the chance to prove himself worthy of all the fame and hype, he chooses to be practically worthless at every turn. All Pigsy knew was that if the monkey didn’t wake up soon, he couldn’t be held accountable for his actions.

Sandy drove on with little complaint, yet it was obvious he was in just as much emotional agony as the rest. He kept his eyes on the road and did his best to maintain a smooth ride, but as the hours came and went the number of therapy cats accompanying him grew and grew. His little soldiers kneaded his muscles and nuzzled whatever part of him they could reach. Soothing purrs echoed in his bones taking him to a place of contentment, however, this was only temporary.

Tang focused on the holy ring to distract himself, jotting down everything he learned from both his observations and from the history lesson the royal family was so kind to share. Yet even his lust for knowledge could not erase the sense they had committed an unbearable sin. 

Sure, he tried to dress up the feelings of guilt and his compromised ability to focus.

Heh, heh, it wouldn’t do to try and fully analyze such an ancient artifact in one go. There’s no telling what he’d miss with that attitude.

…And without access to his normal tools and resources, there was only so much information he could gather.

So, to keep himself busy and his mind fresh (along with serving as a fresh distraction), Tang took up the task of brushing Monkey King’s fur. While they did wash him at the Demon Bull King’s palace, they didn’t really give too much thought as to actually taking care of him. Yes, at the time they had other things to think about and needed to get as much sleep as possible, but now he could give him all the attention he needed. 

Tang did his best to be as gentle as possible, sticking to the fur on his head and trailing down his neck as going any further felt inappropriate with consent. Fortunately, or not depending on how you looked, there were hardly any tangles and those Tang found were relatively easy to smooth out without getting too violent. With every pass of the comb, golden sparks settled unseen against the immortal’s skin seeping into his pores to rejuvenate the ancient king.

Deep inside the recesses of the immortal’s mind, he sensed something familiar mingling with the trickles of power flowing into him, something he had to protect. 

For what felt like a small eternity, the stone monkey had his limbs bound by an ever-tightening web of responsibilities and failures. Iron-like spikes had been driven through his hands and feet coupled with the sensation of everlasting disappointment. Yet the worst part was the sense that he was alone. That be had no one left. That he had been forgotten.

It was enough to drive a being who had known endless torture to tears. Until his face was touched by a glorious warmth. 

The stress and responsibility that kept him tied down for what felt like millennia faded away as memories of a journey with family nuzzled against his consciousness. His pain melted away with his restraints, leaving only the feeling of acceptance and love. Wukong smiled as he held the images of his loved ones close, wishing never to part with them.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

Watching the sun begin the dip behind the mountains as the moon became brighter in the growing darkness, Pigsy knew things had to change.

“Enough! Sandy, pull over.” He ordered in a tone that was not to be disobeyed.

Sandy was quick to comply without hesitation, both out of loyalty and a sense of relief. “Is something wrong?”

“Did they catch up to us?” Tang frantically searched the skies for any sign of ominous lights that warned of the Shackled.

“No, but we need a break. We’ve been driving since sunrise, and I think we could all use some fresh air and a chance to stretch our legs.” Besides, there was a lot of tension they needed to deal with and that wouldn’t get done sitting in a van.

“Good point.” Sandy happily pulled into a little clearing surrounded by a large cliff face on one side and a massive grass field on the other, with a miniature forest dotting throughout the center. An ideal camping site. “With everything going on, I haven’t been able to do my daily yoga.”

“My tai chi schedule has slipped with all the fuss,” Tang admitted, putting away his books.

“Then it’s settled, we’ll set up camp here. With all the rocks and vegetation, we’re safe from the desert heat and should have plenty of advanced warning from any approaching forces.” Pigsy stepped out savoring the cool fresh air. The subtle sound of running water told him there was a stream nearby.

Already he felt better. This environment toppled both the dry desert and the burning landscape of the Demon Bull family’s fortress.

“Mei, you up for a continuation of our sparring session?” MK asked, referring to their little match before everything went to hell. Picking up a fallen tree branch roughly the size of the golden cudgel, he faced a fanged grin that would fill the nightmares of most sane men. 

“Only if you’re prepared to lose,” Mei smirked with her own stick at the ready.

Laughing the two went off into the field to prevent any of the others from getting hit by accident.

“Try not to go too crazy you two,” Tang pleaded.

“No promises,” MK shouted back with the first authentic laughter the group had heard since they started this journey.

The adults shared a smile, happy their boy hadn’t lost all his joy.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

“Any chance your super strength’s back yet?” Mei asked, giving her sparring weapon a few practice whacks.

“Nope, just enhanced durability.”

Oh, that was new. “When did you get that?”

“How do you think I survived DBK’s wrath?” MK rhetorically asked.

“Do I-”

“No. No, you do not.” MK cut her off with a haunted stare and a disturbing smile.

“So…training?” Mei asked, feeling a touch uncomfortable.

“Yes!” The boy screamed, getting into a defensive stance.

Out of consideration of MK’s condition, their spar was mainly one of form. A makeshift sword and staff clashed against one another as their wielders strove to be the first to land a hit. Sweeps and dodges were employed as while the two loved each other deeply, in a completely platonic way, they were not above playing dirty.

While the trading of blows could be brutal to the point where they needed to seek out replacement weapons multiple times, neither held any malicious intent. No, this was a friendly spar, nothing more. Laughter filled the air as the two allowed themselves to sink into the rhythm of combat. Compliments were freely shared as were congratulations when one claimed a round.

In many ways it reminded them why they were fighting, so they could spend the rest of their lives experiencing more moments like this knowing the people they loved were safe and waiting for them.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

In the light of the moon, the team gathered around a bonfire after a relaxing day and a delicious meal. It wasn’t as extravagant as the spread they had created for the Demon Bull family, but no one could complain. The looming danger of being in the residence of a powerful family that was just begging you to put a toe out of line, so they had free reign to butcher your loved ones does take the fun out of the process.

MK was especially happy in regaining his enhanced speed. Turns out that constantly being attacked by a terrifying dragon was a good motivator to get the fuck out of dodge. The others congratulated him on his progress and praised Mei for her improvement in wielding a weapon; even if it wasn’t the actual blade, it was impossible to ignore how she now held herself with more confidence as an armed combatant.

With the stars shining and the full moon illuminating the night, one could almost pretend it was a normal camping trip.

Naturally, that was the universe’s cue to remind the crew they were never safe.

Mo started hissing at a gathering of rocks a brief sprint away.

Having grown wise to the slightest hint of danger, everyone jumped to their feet, waiting for the latest threat to show itself.

Where the forest met the mountains, there was a small plain of rocks where the ground had cracked open revealing an eerie green glow. Strange sounds slowly built upon one another, the snapping of hard armor against stone, the hissing of a disturbed beast, the skittering of a thousand insects on hard ground.

Something was coming up.

The ground was shifting as massive chunks of the earth broke apart by an unseen force.

Brandishing her sword, Mei took point and shattered a thrown boulder before it could destroy their campsite. Her efforts protected the group but left her wide open for an unseen attack. Something pierced her left side and suddenly she couldn’t hold her sword, she couldn’t move, she couldn’t stand. All she could do was collapse as the pain took hold.

“Mei!” With his newfound speed, MK grabbed Mei and the Dragon blade, whisking them to safety in the T.E.A. where the others had holed up.

For a brief moment, MK felt the urge to ask her if she was hurt. Thankfully, he was able to hold his tongue. Obviously, she wasn’t okay! 

No one hunched over, gripping their side with their face scrunched up in agony would say they were okay as anything more than flagrant assurance. He knew that much. But he could check to see if she could still understand him. “How bad is it?” Again, stupid question, but he was panicking!

Fortunately, Mei was able to respond, but it was weak and wobbly. “Hurts. Really hurts.” Her voice was soft as the lightest whisper as if she couldn’t dream of a higher decibel.

Her body felt both numb and tense, like she had been struck with lightning and her body was caught between seizing with pain and blacking out. Sweat gathered on her face as her body became wracked with tremors.

Tang gently removed her hands that were clenched around the wound, seeing a few beads of a pale lilac liquid oozing out of a needle-sized puncture.

“Venomous demons, such headaches,” Pigsy growled, both out of annoyance for the ability and concern for the young dragon. There was no telling what kind of venom the demon had, it could simply induce pain, be temporary, or Mei could be dead in less than an hour.

MK didn’t know what to do. With most of his powers still out of reach, there was only so much he could do. Mei was much stronger than him and she was taken out in a second. He didn’t even see what hit her. Against that kind of speed and a poison capable of dropping a dragon, even one in human form, what chance did he have?

The T.E.A. rocked as something heavy rammed into it.

The left side nearly caved into itself as a massive dent nearly ripped the beds from the wall.

A loud roar showed that whatever was out there wasn’t done with them yet. It struck again and again; each strike targeted a different side. It was testing their defenses and it was only a matter of time before something gave.

Sandy was still recovering from the ambush with that unknown demon from his past. He was in no position to fight anyone. And while Pigsy and Tang would eagerly defend him with their lives, neither was likely to survive.

The only one who could actually protect them was dead to the world! With no way of them being able to reach him!

“What are you doing?!” Tang’s voice dragged MK out of his head. Blinking to make sure he hadn’t gone insane with worry, the raising of his eyelids proved he hadn’t gone over the edge, yet.

Pigsy had stomped over to the meditating sage, taking his collar into a trembling fist.

“It’s dangerous to disrupt a transcendental meditation!” Tang pleaded. There was no telling what could happen if Monkey King was pulled out before he was ready.

“Not as dangerous as whatever’s out there.” Pigsy started shaking the monkey using every ounce of pent-up frustration he had from this trip. The only change was the slight tilt of his head.

The father growled but whatever he planned to do next was forgotten as the vehicle shook. Pigsy dropped the celestial simian as he scrambled to hold onto anything when the TEA nearly capsized.

Alright, they couldn’t play it safe anymore.

“Alright, I have an idea.” Slipping on an oven mitt, Pigsy dug into his front pocket to pull out something odd. “Avert your gaze from the legendary Dusk Ghost Pepper!”

A wrinkled light grey pepper the size of a ghost pepper with markings a darker shade of grey that resembled a human skull. An ominous light was emitted from the dangerous ingredient, a warning most would take as plenty of reasons to steer clear of this agonizing force, clearly, it failed this time.

“This infamous spice is capable of bestowing third-degree burns from mere eye contact.”

“Ooh- OW!” MK could be heard tripping over his own feet as he desperately shielded his eyes from the agonizing heat coursing through his retinas.

“I said don’t look at it!” Pigsy barked in his trademark tone of worried and angry.

Meanwhile, Tang was still debating if this was necessary, and the status of his friend’s sanity. “And you felt it was wise to carry that with you, in your pocket?”

“Not important! What is important is making sure everyone lives to see tomorrow.” Pigsy stared down the annoying glowing pain in his ass that trapped them in this nonsense. It would be quite a lie to say he wasn’t going to enjoy what he was about to do. “Aright your majesty, time to pull your own weight!” Lunging forward he forced the monkey to swallow the crushed pepper whole.

Oils were released as wrinkled flesh met sharp fangs, releasing a literal explosion in the simian’s mouth. Golden eyes snapped open as the consciousness within was roused from a wonderful dream. His beloved family smiled at him as their faces faded away in golden light.

Wukong threw his head back as a burst of raw divine power lifted the king from his meditation pose and into awareness. The others were thrown back by the sheer might of the king’s inner strength.

For an instant, their fear of the Lady Bone Demon grew. If the Monkey King with all his power required a mystical weapon such as the Samadhi Fire to best her, just how dangerous was she?

Sensing the immense power, the unknown demon fled. They knew anything with that kind of aura was one they would do best to avoid. They would have to be patient and wait until the time was right.

Cracking his neck, the awakened sage’s fangs flashed in the dimmed light. “No need to panic Master. The Great Sage Equal to Heaven is here.”

With a mighty kick, the reinforced doors capable of withstanding a constant assault were ripped from their hinges and sent flying.

Wukong jumped into the clearing, eyes trained for any sign of his latest opponent. Yet not even the Golden Eyes of Truth revealed the source of the skittering and hissing he detected mere seconds ago. No doubt it would return, they always did.

“Hmm, looks like I scared it off.”

But for now, his family was safe. “Master, little brothers, it’s safe to come out now. The idiot, too.”

“Master?” Tang repeated in disbelief.

“Brothers?” MK and Sandy exchanged a confused look. This was…new.

“Idiot!” Pigsy growled. He saw that insufferable monkey stare him dead in the eye, he knew that remark was for him.

“Ugh…” Wukong groaned, adjusting his head so he could properly stare down the demon he assumed to be the infamous glutton. “Fine, Zhu Bajie, better?” His tail twitched in annoyance.

Okay, this was fucked up in so many ways, but Pigsy refused to fall for this arrogant ass’s tricks when a child was suffering. “If you’re done showing off, perhaps you could brother to help her!” He shouted, pointing at Mei’s trembling form.

Following the gesture, Wukong leaped back into the strange metal structure. His eyes immediately locked onto the child-like form his master was cradling that was emanating familiar draconic energy. “Huh? Sheesh. Ao Lie, what happened to you?”

Once more the group blinked in confusion.

“The demon you chased off hit her with something. All we know was that there was poison involved.” Tang explained as he gently rubbed Mei’s head, not certain his actions were having any effect but too scared to stop.

“One sec, Master.” Wukong enjoyed a brief laugh. Even after so many battles, his Master remained so emotional when it came to their safety. It was comforting in a way, to know someone would always care, regardless of how strong you were. “Always so worried.” 

Looking over the female body with the Golden Eyes of Truth, Wukong almost scoffed at what he saw. It wasn’t even lethal, merely to cause minor pain. Gathering celestial power into his fingertips, Wukong tapped the young dragon’s forehead. The results were instant.

Mei’s eyes snapped open with a faint golden glow. Twisting she faced the ground as her body was wracked with coughs. With each painful wheeze, the poison was forced from her body as tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. For a full minute, her entire world was centered on expelling the dangerous liquid along with other bodily fluids until none of the foreign substance was left. MK and Tang grabbed her as she went still, stopping her from collapsing into the upheaved toxic mixture.

Sandy offered Mei some water, which she gratefully inhaled.

Wukong watched it all with a carefree smile. “There we go, good as new. Such dramatics over such a weak poison.” Who’d know the stuck-up prince was such an actor? He’d have to recruit his littlest brother for Macaque’s latest production. 

“Uh…Great Sage, who exactly do you think we are?” Tang asked as MK guided Mei outside, not sure he’d like the answer.

“What kind of question is that, Master?” Wukong was almost unnaturally cheerful as he picked up a therapy cat who had gotten curious. “Unless…” His expression suddenly became shadowed with worry as a dangerous thought appeared. It was so distracting he didn’t realize he had carelessly dropped the cat.

“You lost your memories. You can’t forget who you are!” He shouted, furiously yet mindfully shaking the scholar as though with enough force his wishes would be granted. By some miracle Tang’s glasses remained on his head, if lopsided.

In the back, Pigsy snickered at the whole thing.

Tang steadied himself against the immortal King, putting on his best smile as he mentally prayed for his words to have some effect. “I-I am fine, but don’t you think you are forgetting something? Something important?”

Golden eyes locked with dark brown.

The wind gently blew through the clearing, sending swirls of leaves through the air. The smell of a dying fire mingled with the area’s natural scents. Yet the sky was clear under the light of a waxing moon as millions of stars twinkled above.

In that one moment, Tang felt a connection was made, somehow his words did reach him.

“Hey, where’s my staff?” It was as if a switch had been flipped.

Wukong released the scholar as he started searching through the tall grasses for the Ruyi Jingu Bang.

The team shared another look, this one much more exhausted than the last.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Sandy asked.

“We had just sealed away the Kings of Cold, Heat, and Dust Protection on Master’s orders so they may reflect upon their actions in the hopes they could one day be released as better people.”  While he was all for second chances, Wukong still believed in there being limitations. Not everyone wanted to change for the better, not everyone could seek redemption. At least, not in this life. “Now we’re here.”

“I’m afraid it was stolen by our current enemy,” Sandy said. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just tell Monkey King the truth, but something told him the truth would not be as well received as a half-lie.

“Ugh…” Wukong groaned. “It’s the One-Horned Rhino King all over again.” That guy was such a pain, in so many ways.

“I guess this will have to suffice,” he said plucking a single hair and transforming it into a flawless replica of his trademark weapon. It wouldn’t be nearly as good as the real thing, but for protecting his family it would suffice until he reclaimed his staff. He started going through basic exercises to reintroduce himself to the shift in weight.

“When Tang said it was dangerous to wake him up, I don’t think this is what he had in mind,” MK whispered.

“No kidding. This is a whole new level of weird.” Mei couldn’t help but agree, although she wished someone was recording this mess.

Still a bit dizzy from the rough treatment, Tang figured this would be the best opportunity to get a straight answer from the normally distant and cryptic monkey. “Are you back to full strength?”

Wukong halted in his staff twirling, face lowered as he considered the question.

“I am not, Master.” While it pained him to say, and he was still more than capable of demolishing thousands of enemies in a single strike, hiding this knowledge was pointless when one wrong move could rob him of his family forever.

“What! But you were meditating for days! How much pain were you hiding from us?” Tang rushed to take the simian’s head in both hands to inspect him for anything he could have missed.

This was his fault. He was the one who treated the king. He was the one who allowed him to fight too soon. He thought the injuries weren’t dire, but clearly, they were. He should have known the king would have downplayed his pain, he was like MK. Neither liked to interpret themselves as a burden.

Nuzzling the golden fur, Tang could only mentally berate himself for failing his patient. For putting his family at risk.

Wukong, however, was gleefully soaking in the gentle touches. Perhaps he should have clarified that his injuries were more centered around being spiritually drained than physically compromised…Meh. Wrapping his tail around his Master’s waist, the immortal king savored the sensations he couldn’t help but feel he had been deprived of for far too long.

Unfortunately, duty calls.

While he treasured the times his Master was willing to indulge in bold physical acts of kindness, Wukong removed himself from the embrace. There was still much to do.

“So, what’s this thing?” Wukong asked, prodding the strange metal structure they all had been confined to. Their scents were deeply infused into the structure, meaning they had been inside it for quite some time, but that didn’t answer his question. There were no chains or suppression seals, so it probably wasn’t a prison but knowing his enemies he wouldn’t rule it out just yet.

“That’s the T.E.A., it’s basically a modified van and mobile headquarters,” Sandy explained, quite proud that his mechanical marvel was still standing despite the beating it took from that unknown demon. While he should have been proud that it was still standing after taking such a beating, his soul wept at all the repairs he’d have to make to keep it from collapsing from under them.

“Eh?” Okay, Wukong was sure he knew what most of those words meant but the context was throwing him off.

“Oh, that’s right I never really explained how it functions. Here,” Sandy picked up Wukong by his scruff and placed him on his shoulder, giving the monkey a perfect view and a chance to tower over the pig demon, much to his delight. “let me give you the grand tour.”

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

“I warned you.” Tang marched up to his old friend, both terrified and curious. “This is why you don’t wake someone prematurely from transcendental meditation. We broke the Monkey King!”

Pigsy and Mei couldn’t help but laugh at the finishing statement. It was just too golden. Not even Mk could resist smiling.

Tang glared at the reactions while taking the time to adjust his glasses. “This is serious.” Taking Mk’s book, he flipped to a page where the five pilgrims were beautifully rendered as what was imagined to be their peak. “He thinks he’s still traveling with his master and younger brothers.” A belief that was further solidified by the Tang dynasty-inspired clothing they were sporting. “If we don’t figure out a way to get our monkey back, we’re going to be stuck with this one.”

At the sound of something breaking, Pigsy gathered himself. He wasn’t entirely sure how this worked, but they had to start somewhere. “So, amnesia rules, right? We just hit him on the head or something?”

“I’ll do it,” Mei offered. She may not be able to stand, but she’ll never pass up a free shot on her best friend’s so-called “mentor”.

“That could just make things worse.” Tang was quick to put an end to a humorous but ill-fated plan.

“Then what can we do?” MK asked, feeling pretty much useless and kinda scared. If Monkey King saw everyone else as his old family, then who was he?

At that, Tang took off his glasses to press the heels of his palms into his eyes until some of the pain relented. “I’ve never read anything like this outside fiction. I fear we’re in new territory. All we can do is wait for the memories to return on their own, that is the safest route.”

“But it could take weeks.” And last he checked the Lady Bone Demon wasn’t going to wait for them to sort this out.

Sighing, Mei drew their attention back to herself. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could go for a nap.” Not only was her body one massive bruise and felt as if someone had replaced her blood with lead but she could hardly move and was growing more and more impatient with their ‘Great Sage’.

She just wanted the night to be over.

Was it too much to ask for one day when things don’t go horribly wrong?!

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

The tour was strange.

Wukong had never heard a good chunk of the words his little brother was using, but that didn’t mean he didn’t pay attention. While he doubted he would be able to replicate such a vehicle without detailed instructions, it didn’t take away what he was learning. He always knew Sha Wujing was powerful and intelligent, but this was a sign of just how much skill and potential the Celestial Realm was eager to abandon. More than cast out, by the former general’s description, they were all too eager to torture him.

All over one meager vase.

Another sign his rampage was well deserved. But he’d do well never to let Master hear that. Just because he was learning greater restraint and respect for lives outside his court and family, didn’t mean he regretted showing those pompous fools the true meaning of fear. Just because he was trapped in that furnace didn’t mean he didn’t hear them bragging about Erlang burning his home in a thinly veiled act of spite.

They underestimated the rage he learned to choke down in those five hundred years. All he needed was an outlet, but that was for another time. Now his attention was on his incredible family.

Although he still had many questions.

“What’s with all the cats?” If there was one thing Wukong saw during the Sha Wujing’s tour it was a ridiculous number of cats. Not counting the one who he was pretty sure was infused with his little brother’s chi, he found no less than twelve cats lounging around this ‘T.E.A.’ 

“They’re my little soldiers, trained warriors to help remind me of what’s important in life and provide invaluable company.” Sandy declared, before remembering who he was with. Rubbing the back of his head as embarrassment grew, he turned his gaze away. “I guess you may find it silly-”

“Why would I?” Wukong was quick to cut him with a friendly smile. “You forget, little brother, I take care of thousands of monkeys in my kingdom. Their presence has always made my time at home more fulfilling. Whether they’re watching me spar with Macaque, playing around, grooming sessions, or curling up to have one big nap pile, the world feels so much brighter when we’re together.”

Placing a hand on the buff shoulder that provided an excellent perch, the king looked at all his little brother built for himself and their family with pride. “The fact you have so many so devoted to you proves Master was right, ‘the beauty of your heart can never be overstated’.” 

Sniffling, Sandy cradled the Monkey King, his heart too full of emotions to even speak, much less express how much such earnest comradery and sympathy meant to him. It didn’t matter if the Great Sage thought he was talking about someone else, after the recent reminder of his sins, he needed this.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

A light tap and the T.E.A. looked better than new.

But the team was not in the mood to conduct a proper inspection. With the Monkey King awake, but in a questionable mindset, they decided to turn in early and facing the problem with fresh eyes was the best choice.

This approach was quick to prove itself when the Monkey King drew a circle around the custom vehicle and glared at Pigsy to not even think about leaving.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

Sun Wukong wasn’t sure what was going on, but he knew he could handle it. Of course, it didn’t hurt to double-check. Activating his golden vision, he took a closer look at his sleeping companion’s souls, wanting to see if there were any traces of the curse or spell that robbed them of their memory.

Zhu Bajie still radiated power, but it was far more restrained and untampered than last he checked. The power felt coarse and without direction, almost as if it was waiting to find the proper outlet. No, that wasn’t quite right. More like he was only part-way trained but stopped just as he was starting to make real progress, which didn’t make much sense either. If he didn’t train his mind and body to use it, the power would overtake him whenever he dared acknowledge it.

Sha Wujing’s essence was as mighty as ever, but it was scarred. Gnarled and twisted veins flowed throughout his being. However, Wukong released a breath seeing that while the ill markings were there they were not interfering with the nature of his being, at least not in a physical sense. The damage was mental in nature and given how it melded into the natural energy, it had been part of him for years and had even begun to heal. Sure, his little brother suffered greatly in his punishment bestowed by the heavenly court, but this… this was something else.

Ao Lie’s spirit was much brighter and looser than the last time he checked, making the prince feel younger and…well, freer in a sense. There was barely a sign of the honor bond bore he remembered (and yes that was due to centuries of feeling pressured by his family’s high standards), but there was no denying its true form was that of a noble dragon. The fact he was in the form of a young girl meant nothing, as his brother had transformed into a beautiful woman in the past to aid them (usually as a last resort).

Finally, his master…

Six golden iridescent wings fluttered gently against his back. A soothing arura surrounded him filling the space around him with a comforting presence. Although there was his fair share of strange, it almost looked like his own chi was strangling itself. Yes, it always looked like that, but it was never this bad. He would have to fix it at first dawn. And since when did he need spectacles?

These definitely were his companions and there was no obvious sign of spiritual or mental tampering, so why didn’t they remember who they are? Why were they so devoted to acting so differently? Why did their spirits look so damaged yet whole? What was he missing?

The second biggest mystery had to be where the kid fit into all this.

When he looked at him it was like looking at a mirror, if slightly distorted and watered down, but he didn’t recall making any clones recently and the boy didn’t feel like a clone. He didn’t feel like a stranger, and he carried the protective scents of the others and his own, but for the life of him, Wukong couldn’t remember the child’s name. Was he an orphan his Master took in with the hope of guiding him down the path of enlightenment? 

Meh, he’d get his answers tomorrow.

Nuzzling his master��s neck, pushing past the traces of parchment and ink to the core of sandalwood, Sun Wukong allowed himself to breathe. So long as they were together anything was possible.

Hopefully, this latest disaster would be over soon. He really missed his kingdom. He couldn’t wait to introduce his family to his subjects. He knew they would be in awe of Mount Huaguo. And he just knew they’d bond with his generals.

It wouldn’t matter if Ma tore into him for leaving them alone for so many centuries. Or if he had to pull multiple shifts to make it up to Ba and Beng so they could finally resume their ‘not dating’ schedule. He’d even assist in Liu’s elaborate tributes to the Seven Kings. Man, he was going to get roasted in the next meeting, he just knew it.

But none of that mattered, so long as he was able to see Liu’er again. 

He needed to see his old friend alive and well. To groom that silky ivory fur, feel the hairs against his fingers as contented purrs filled the air. To see those molted orbs glow alight with passion as he gushed over his latest play. For those gorgeous ears to flutter as his cheeks were dusted pink. To watch him care for the infants so the new mothers could have a moment’s peace, thinking one day it could lead to something more.

Yes, everything would be okay.

They just had to stick together.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

When the sun rose, a silent arrangement had been concocted.

Tang would lead Monkey King to the stream Pigsy heard yesterday so he could get a proper bath, while the others figured out what their next move would be as they made breakfast. Thankfully since Monkey King believed Tang to be the Great Monk, he had no problem following the scholar’s wishes. To be honest, the monkey had practically glued himself to Tang’s side when he learned it would be just the two of them.

No doubt a side effect of the Great Monk’s many, many kidnappings.

“So, what’s the plan?” Mei asked, polishing her sword. Mercifully, when she woke up she felt almost good as new. Sure, there were a few cramps, but nothing like last night. She agreed to take it easy for the day in exchange for not being tied to her bunk. (Not that it would have held her for long anyway. Hehe.)

“We can’t leave with him like this,” Pigsy said as he chopped vegetables for breakfast. “So, we give it another day.”

“What?!” The adrenaline junkies shouted after pressing their faces into Sandy’s hands to muffle the sound, just because they were shocked didn’t mean they wanted Monkey King to barge in.

“We can’t continue on with him suck in the past. We need to ease him back to his old self.” Even if he doubted Tang’s plan, he could see the issues if they did it and nothing changed. “We have time and no one’s ambushed us for a while, the demon from last night doesn’t count since they're too scared of Monkey King to make a move. Plus, with him thinking Tang is his old master odds are he’ll start acting like an actual member of the team.” The pig explained.

“Besides even if Monkey King restored the TEA physically, I need at least two hours to make sure all of the internals have been properly restored.” Just because Monkey King fixed it, did not automatically mean the retired warrior was going to shove his family into it. Not without an extensive check. “Unless you’ve regained your powers of creation?” Sandy faced MK, who wilted under the hopeful stare.

“No.”

“But what if things haven’t changed by tomorrow?” Mei pressed.

Pigsy tried not to let it show how the same thoughts had buzzed around his skull till they invaded his dreams. “We’ll think of something but going off on some half-formed idea won’t help.”

“So just play along?” MK asked, not sure how they’d be able to pull it off.

“Pretty much. Also, we have no idea where the next ring could be. So~ we’re pretty much stuck here until we come up with a lead.” Sandy added even though he shared similar doubts.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

Breakfast turned out expectedly chaotic.

“You have your own seat,” Pigsy said when the spot he vacated less than a minute ago to start serving everyone now had an unwanted occupant.

“I know.” Was his only response, accompanied by a cheeky grin.

Refrained from bearing his fangs, Pigsy mentally counted to ten. It wouldn’t help to start off the day fighting. “Would you please return to your spot?”

“I’m already in it.” Sun Wukong proceeded to stretch as his spine let out a series of satisfying pops. “Is there a problem?”

Taking a deep breath Pigsy went back to making sure everyone was satisfied with their portion. Task completed; the chef turned towards the king with darkened eyes.

Removing his outer robe, Pigsy’s dark eyes locked with mischievous gold. A fresh breeze wafted into the clearing and one by one tore the petals from a humble flower. In less than three seconds, only one remained until it fell like all the others as it met the unforgiving ground. Almost like a starter’s pistol went off, the two dashed in a random direction. The demonic chef chasing after the Immortal Monkey King, who was howling with laughter.

The others watched in worry, but not sensing any true malice, chose to let Pigsy get it out of his system. Besides he’d be even more insulted if they let his carefully prepared food go to waste.

“You’re way too stressed, idiot,” Wukong called out from his perch in the trees.

“And you are a menace to society!” Pigsy shot back.

“Heh, heh.” The monkey just laughed at the truth, far too proud of his accomplishments to ever deny it.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

“He’s so different,” MK said in a daze.

He had spent the last fifteen minutes listening to Wukong and Mei debate on the ideal revenge technique. They had agreed not to say LBD’s name, but evidently, Mei was not opposed to leaking snippets of her crimes. The sheer glee radiating off the king was staggering as he described torture methods that would cause all, but the most sadistic demons to run in terror. 

MK wasn’t sure whether he should be happy his best friend and mentor were bonding or terrified at the raw mayhem the two of them could conjure should they feel the urge.

“Not really. Still, the same idiot far as I’m concerned.” Pigsy stated not impressed with the monkey acting even more like a child. 

“No, I mean he’s so much happier. Everything about him now feels lighter.” Just watching him laugh so freely as he scampered around, eager to take part in everything, MK realized something truly heartbreaking. “He was miserable.”

His time without his family had ruined him. The loneliness and mourning had robbed him of his zeal for life, but now he was able to relive those glory days. To truly immerse himself in a time when the world was simple, and he was surrounded by love.

Yet the world would not wait for them to grant the Monkey King his dearest wish. “Do we have the right to steal someone’s happiest from them?”

At that even Pigsy paused. Happiness, true happiness, was hard to come by. There was always something getting in the way. If things weren’t so close to the edge of the apocalypse, then maybe he wouldn’t mind the Monkey King’s antics, but that wasn’t the reality they lived in. “That is a difficult question, kid. I admit, the idea doesn’t make me wanna sing, but the world can’t afford for us to let him live out this fantasy.”

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

Every now and then Wukong would jump to his feet, eyes narrowed, and staff at the ready. Sometimes he would dash into the small forest or up the cliff, but he was quick to return with a smile explaining it was a false alarm. Yet his eyes always carried the sense he was just waiting for something to go horribly wrong.

The others were glad they still had time before the next attack, but they were growing increasingly uneasy having to tiptoe around the obvious.

“I gotta be honest, Tang, I thought you’d be taking advantage of Monkey King’s…new outlook,” Mk said, careful with his words even if Monkey King was currently emersed in learning about modern engineering from a patient Sandy, who pretty much had spent the past hour happily explaining the purpose of every moving part that went into the T.E.A. But the teen assumed the scholar would try to get as many answers as possible from a reliable source.

Buddha knew how eager he was to learn from Princess Iron Fan.

“MK, I fully admit being a massive fanboy, but that also means I am all too aware of how he responds to being taken advantage of.” Tang’s eyes grew hollow as passages of unholy wrath and pictures detailing spilled blood of every shade flitted through his mind. “Close to you or not, I’m not taking any chances.” Besides he had been feeling a bit odd since he woke up.

Not bad per say, but different.

MK could only nod in agreement, especially considering his mentor now viewed him as a potential threat. They came up with a story of how he was a survivor of a demon attack they choose to take with them to aid in his Buddhist training so that one day he’d be able to protect others. Wukong seemed to believe it, but that didn’t mean he trusted him.

MK could still remember the fear that took hold when he woke up halfway through the night. He didn’t know why he was dragged from sleep as he didn’t sense the usual reasons, but immediately he was forced wide awake. On the other side of the T.E.A., where Tang had claimed his bunk, a pair of glowing bloody red eyes surrounded in molten gold narrowed in warning.

Honestly, MK was not certain how he managed to get any more sleep that night. Or ever again.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

The sun was setting, and everyone was feeling conflicted.

There had been no progress in restoring the King’s memories and according to social media and emergency broadcast networks, the crystal LBD had summoned to entomb Megapolis was spreading. Already ten more cities had become trapped in the growing ice and extensive evacuation attempts by local authorities and Demon Kings were underway.

Joint efforts were arranged to see if the ice could be halted or shielded against but had proven unsuccessful. Any forms of prevention were practically ignored, and the ice simply grew over the barriers put in place. The Celestial Realm continued to remain silent in the face of this overwhelming force, and hope was fading fast.

They needed to get going.

But they had no idea where they should go next!

“Why don’t we just show him the map? Maybe he’ll remember the sealing ritual, or at least where he hid his ring.” Pigsy brought forth.

“It’s worth a shot,” MK mumbled.

“Yeah, the worst that could happen is he doesn’t have a clue what it is, right?” Sandy pitched in, choosing to ignore all the ways this plan could go horribly wrong.

Clutching the map, Tang walked over to where Wukong had chosen to stand guard. He was worried. So far, they had managed to keep up the illusion (or Wukong’s memories were so scrambled he wasn’t willing to point out their mistakes), but he didn’t know how long it would last or how Wukong would react once he laid eyes on something so important. It could be the key to unlocking his memories, or it could be the thing that convinces the Monkey King they were enemies that were impersonating his family.

A twitch of the ear told Tang that his steps had been noticed, or that the Great Sage had chosen to let him know. Friendly golden eyes shifted to look at him while still keeping a careful vigil over their surroundings. “Hmm? Something wrong Master?”

Taking a deep breath, the scholar held out the map with both hands. “There is something we want you to look at. We believe it could be the key to your memories.”

The monkey’s head tilted slightly to the side. Tang restrained himself from gushing over the sheer cuteness, aided with the terror of the unknown as Wukong took the map and unraveled it.

The scroll held a map or was trying to imitate one as it hardly resembled any of the maps he’d seen during his numerous travels.

Wukong wasn’t certain what he was looking at, but he knew it was important.

No, he knew what this was. This was the map Master created as the final seal for the True Fire of Samadhi. He was there when the fire split. He was there when it lashed out, when it-

 M̴̲̱̻͇̓ơ̶̼̼̬̆̇͗̎͑̒n̵̡̨̪̙̮̰͓̭̹̰̄̉͌̀̓̔̔͂k̶̪̲̬͔̻̩̞̝̊͠ę̶̢̛̹̪̤͎͎̄͗̍̇̅y̷̡̢̞̬͎̐̓̀̆̾͜ͅ!̶͍̭̟͑

̴̖̩̣̜̼̣̈̾͘ ̸̡͓̭̣͇́́̅̏͑̾͋̇̂͌̑͋W̷̢͎͎͑ų̸̤̱͚̗̥̦̻̹́̔͐͝k̶̢̖͕̗̲̟͈̯̻̿͠͝ǫ̴̨͍̩̩͕̰̘̦͉͚̼͑͗̊̎͑̒͘n̵̖͙̮̪̿̌̀̎̎̒̀͊͒̃͒̈́g̴̢̜͍͔̼̪͕͈͎͚̮̓̄͐͌̃͠͠!̷̡͙̱̬̠̤̭̺̗̘̥̾͆̆̆̈͐͜

̵͕͔̪͛̓̈̾͋̀͘͘̚͘͝ ̵̨̡̢͇̮̯͉̯͍̓̑̉̔̉̾̋̊̉̕̕͜͝ͅI̴̪̹͖̅̒̾̈̏̔̀̐͊̌͐̇m̷͓̹̻͎̤̙̃̓̍͆͋̽̆̓̿̅̐̚͜͜ḃ̸̡͔̯̥͍̰͙̥̞̖͕̞̂ĕ̸̛̺̲̺̭͔͆̊͒̐͗͂͝c̶̡̭̘̣̻̹͎̰̜̀̔̀͘i̴͈̳̝͔̞͊̀͌̎̒͊̆̀l̸͓̫͚̈́̕e̷̛̼͕̬̋̂͛̈́̅͂̆͒̉̕!̶͉̮̃̃̍̐̈́͊̽ ̴͔̮̳̞͍̻̳̤͍̩̭͗̅͜

 “Master, why are we seeking out the holy rings?” The king’s voice sent a chill through the team.

“You said they were the only way to defeat our enemy,” Pigsy stated, seeing as Tang was nearly paralyzed with justifiable fear.

As the words touched the air, the world grew silent.

“I said that? I said that my incredible powers weren’t enough to protect you all. To protect Master!” Wukong growled at the despicable insult. Turning his head to meet the pig demon’s gaze, the chef almost backed away from the sight. Golden eyes had shifted into a vicious scarlet. “You expect me to believe that nonsense, Idiot!”

Refusing to back down, no matter who this moron thought he was. Pigsy clenched his fists and allowed his tusks to show. “I expect you to believe your own half-assed plan! It’s the only reason we’re out in the middle of nowhere!”

The two strode towards each other until they were less than a foot apart.

They could practically see the trade of lightning between the two.

“Okay, okay I think it’s best if we cool down before things go too far,” Tang said, hoping to prevent fists from flying.

From the corner of his eye, Sandy was slowly making his way over. No doubt to provide backup and hold back at least one of them. They really underestimated just how useful his strength was.

“No! We are settling this now!” Pigsy was sick of being this child’s favorite target for pranks and mockery, whatever was wrong with his head they needed to take care of it.

“You honestly think this time will be any different, darling.” The last word came out in an insultingly flirty hiss as scarlet slowly bled into his sclera. As though the original meaning was tied to something truly embarrassing for Zhu Bajie, and if Tang’s blush was any indication, it was a touch more than a simple deception.

Even so, it served its purpose to raise Pigsy’s blood pressure to dangerous levels.

The wind picked up speed and just before the yelling could descend into a brawl the air gained a purple tint. The tainted element swirled around the scholar, isolating him from the others while a powerful aura radiated demonic intent.

“Master!” “Tang!”

Wukong lunged forward, desperate to reach his Master, to keep him safe, but the king wasn’t fast enough. His claws only touched the dying winds.

He was gone…

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

There were times Tang truly pondered what sins he had committed in his past life.

Despite being abducted from his family in a sudden display of power, he was untouched. More than that, his robes had been exchanged for a regal set in a flawless shade of ivory and purple outlined in gold. They were more comfortable than anything he had ever known, but the symbol on the front prevented him from fully enjoying the experience.

Apparently, he was the honored guest of the honored Scorpion Queen.

She was indeed a vision of beauty, yet there was an undercurrent to her every move. A danger that could not be ignored no matter how bewitching her appearance. Apparently, she had taken notice of his interactions with the kids and declared that a meeting had to be arranged.

Taking note that his throat was suddenly bone dry, Tang debated exactly when he entered an ancient Chinese novel.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

Pigsy, on the other hand, was learning that there were problems not even a cat’s affection could solve. “What does this have to do with getting Tang back?”

The Monkey King was harnessing all his immense focus on this, the most delicate of tasks. Scanning the ground, he took note of the state of the soil and the recent disturbances. The monarch crouched low to scan the thick grass as he traversed the unknown terrain.

“Is this the same sort of garbage you tell MK, instead of being straight with him?” The long-time father figure pressed, folding his arms to keep them occupied.

Reaching down, Monkey King ripped out two large clumps of grass. “MK? Who’s that?” He asked, despite being introduced to his successor earlier that very day.

“Course you don’t remember the kid.” Growling, Pigsy couldn’t hold it in any longer. “One day you are going grow up to be a terrible mentor!”

Everything about this so-called King was driving him insane. Even with his “precious master" missing, he still treated the world as a big joke. The chef refused to believe this was the being his kid idolized, the one who they entrusted to teach MK how to be the world’s next great hero.

“Ha! A mentor? Good one, Zhu Bajie. Seriously, could you even imagine me teaching someone?” Monkey King carelessly twirled his staff in a flagrant display of cockiness. “Where do you come up with this stuff?” 

Sure, he passed down the self-defense lessons and war tactics he learned on his travels to his subjects, but mentorship? To become someone’s teacher? That required a level of trust and connection he couldn’t imagine sharing with anyone. Besides with all the responsibilities waiting for him back home, where would he even find the time?

In the back of the group, MK was choosing to ignore that.

He chose to ignore the fear.

He chose to ignore the bitterness.

He chose to ignore the loneliness.

He chose to ignore the hurt.

Soon this would all be over with, and they could go home. A watery film slowly settled over his eyes until he wiped it away. They could go home and pretend none of this ever happened.

Right.

Right?

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

Oh, Wukong. Why must you always hurt those who grow to love you?

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

“You know as well as I do that in order to find out what type of demon we're dealing with, we need to talk to the local Tudi.” Wukong happily explained as he scanned the horizon using his weapon as a perch.

“The local what now?” Pigsy asked, half convinced the monkey had just made up the word.

“Any idea what a ‘Tudi’ is?” MK asked. 

“Not a one.” Mei shrugged.

“Nope.” Sandy followed suit, equally lost.

“Merow.” Even Mo chimed in from Sandy’s shoulder.

Come to think of it, normally Tang would have a lecture ready and with their scholar kidnapped, they were sorta clueless. Huh? Never thought about that. Come to think of it, things did feel a bit more still than they were used to.

Were things really that noticeable when one of them was missing?

“Tudi!” The group was shocked out of their thoughts by the Monkey King. 

Never mind.

“Tudi!” He had called out to the local god, but seeing that more extreme methods were needed, proceeded to put a bit more energy into the summons.

“Tudi!”

“Tudi!” Picking up Pigsy and twirling him around.

“Tudi!”

“Tudi!” He danced in place, swinging his arms about as though he removed his bones. 

“Tudi!”

“Tudi!” Rolled on the ground while in perfect lotus position.

“Tudi!”

“Tudi!” He even squished his face against…something?

“Please tell me you are recording this,” MK begged, unable to take his eyes off the shameless display before him. In a way, the Monkey King’s younger self felt like looking in a mirror during his more feral moments.

“Before he even opened his mouth.” Mei squealed, never more thankful for how her blackmail senses have developed over the years.

The two muffled their snickering behind their hands to avoid corrupting the only modern recording of the King looking utterly ridiculous while being utterly adorable. Pigsy’s deadpan expression in the background only made it even more hilarious.

A brief rumbling was their only warning before Pigsy went flying.

Sandy was quick to catch his old friend as Wukong took a stance in front of the growing pile.

The pile was absorbed into the ground, leaving a small hole where a formally dressed man popped out of. His magnificent beard and wooden staff gave the impression of great wisdom.

Wukong’s expression shifted into one of joy as he took in the two-foot-high deity. “Ah, there you are.”

“He lives in a hole?” Pigsy asked, picking the least annoying question.

Planting his staff in the ground, Wukong lowered himself into a respectful bow. “Oh wise Tudi, a dangerous demon has captured our master and we fear for his safety. Do you know of any being residing within your domain who could be the source of our woes?”

The Tudi smiled under his snow-white beard and nodded. Yet when he opened his mouth all that followed was a stream of nonsensical noises accompanied by exaggerated expressions. 

Sun Wukong, however, seemed to be able to understand him just fine. “Hmm, interesting. Please, continue.”

Happily, the local god continued sharing, with Wukong nodding every few seconds. “Yes, yes, right.”

Hours passed and in time the starlit sky gave way to the pale pinks and yellows of a new day.

Finally, the Tudi had stopped and Wukong stood tall looking “You don’t say. Thank you for your knowledge.”

The change in tone snapped the others out of their varying stages of sleep.

“What exactly did he say?” Mei asked as she whipped her eyes, hoping for some good news.

“Our master is a prisoner of the Scorpion Queen.” Wukong declared.

“Scorpion Queen?” MK cautiously repeated.

The local mountain god nodded. “To enter her domicile, we must enter the Pipa Cave on Venom Mountain.”

“And where is this mountain?” Sandy politely asked.

“Over there.” Almost as if the old king commanded it, the dense fog that shrouded the land to the east parted, revealing a gorgeous castle decorated in varying shades of purple and gold. Even in the pale sunlight it gleamed and beckoned as though it were carved from pure crystal while holding a sense of dignity.

Compared to the fortress of the Demon Bull family, which eagerly took in modern advancements, this one appeared as an ideal representation of a palace of old.

“Finding that out took all night?!” Pigsy was practically spitting fire due to the effort of restraining himself from removing the simian’s spine.

Wukong just laughed. “Of course not. This guy’s just awesome. So many great stories”

“That doesn’t look like a cave or mountain to me.” Sandy pointed out, although he was grateful, they had a proper destination.

“Erosions done a number on this place, along with her occasional outbursts. The Scorpion Queen is supposedly a terrifying opponent not just for her strength, but her speed and deadly sting.” The local god had been very precise in his warning. He had witnessed many warriors fall by her unique skill set.

At the mention of the word ‘sting’, Mei gained a terrifying grin at the memory of lying helplessly on the ground writhing in agony. Revenge was a glorious thing.

“Anyway, she won’t be a problem for much longer.” Cracking his neck, Wukong summoned his nimbus cloud and was off before the others could get a word in. “Le~go.”

“Scorpions are classified as arachnids, are you gonna be okay?” Sandy asked their Monkey Kid who had grown silent at the demon’s title.

“Yeah, yeah totally. I mean, just because they’re in the same family doesn’t mean they are the same. I’ve seen pictures online and they haven’t filled me with the intense desire to either hide in the deepest hole I can find or arm myself with the closest flame thrower, so I should be okay. Heh heh…” MK said as his eyes darted from side to side and his words started merging together.

“Right…” Mei decided it would probably be best if she went ahead of MK on this mission.

The Tudi simply waved goodbye to the travelers, looking forward to their next meeting.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

In a lavish dining hall, two unlikely occupants were exchanging tales of the past.

“And then they just took it all and thought they could get away with it! I mean, really do they think things are that great for me that I wouldn’t notice?” The Scorpion Queen growled as she remembered the last group of thieves who dare barge into her domain.

“Things have been hard for everyone, but that’s just distasteful.” Tang agrees as he touched up the queen’s manicure.

While he had been biding time, hoping for a swift rescue, he could not deny that he was having a wonderful time. 

The Scorpion Queen was a kind woman, who only desired companionship. She hadn’t touched him since he arrived and took pleasure in intelligent conversation.

Then there was the food.

A delectable spread of fine cuisine. The mouthwatering aromas painted a landscape of heaven, whilst being so sinful one's soul would be condemned to the deepest of hells. 

He had to get Pigsy the recipes.

The numerous attendants lining the walls silently released a breath, grateful that the mortal was able to entertain their Queen.

This peaceful scene was interrupted by the sound of a powerful crash.

Rolling her eyes, the Scorpion Queen descended from her throne. 

“Ah, yes, your companions. They do have the decency to use the front door, right?” She inquired.

“Some of them…” Tang offered as he braced himself for the fallout. While Pigsy and Sandy were unlikely to purposefully commit property damage, the same could not be said for the others.

Growling the Queen took a stance against those who would dare rob her of her newfound happiness. With a flick of the wrist, her gold arm bands transformed into masterfully forged tridents.

Suddenly the eastern wall was kicked in, revealing the Monkey King and four companions.

Barely a breath passed before, the scorpion Queen and Monkey King launched themselves at one another. Their speed could barely be tracked by the naked eye. Each blow sent shockwaves rippling throughout the palace. 

Alarms sounded as the once orderly domain was thrown into chaos.

Seeing his old friend, Pigsy took advantage of the fight to get a closer look. “Tang, are you alright?” The swine gave the scholar a quick pat down to feel for any broken bones or bruises. Turning his face, it appeared he was not suffering from any obvious trauma and he didn’t feel any bumps.

“I’m fine, Pigsy. She was a wonderful hostess.” Tang said. “Although I am wondering how your day was?” It may have just been him, but the chef’s face looked a shade redder than usual.

“Other than reaching new levels of frustration I didn’t know existed, just dandy,” Pigsy said, not wishing to repeat all the methods of torture he wished to inflict on that overpowered toddler.

The two ducked as a new crater formed.

“I know you swore off fighting, but do you think you could hold her down? Ya’ know, so we can talk this out.” MK asked.

“Of course,” Sandy said, ecstatic his friend was thinking of more creative means to end the conflict.

Eyes narrowed, Sandy watched the two demons trade blows. He took notice of their stances, their reactions, how they twisted around unseen blows. When he noticed a pattern, he launched himself to intercept the Queen.

But she was not so easily defied.

“Sandy!” The team shouted as they watched the gentle giant be launched through a wall from an invisible strike. Looking closely, one could make out the veins of his left arm being flooded with a dull purple.

Green lighting danced across a jade blade at the confirmation of the demoness’s identity. Mei wanted to join the fight and pay the demon back for every ounce of agony she suffered. She wanted to, but she was not an idiot.

Sandy was far stronger than her and had decades of combat experience. If the Queen could do that to him, Mei would have to be patient for just a little longer. She’d wait for an opening and make her move.

The false staff and tridents clashed, both combatants channeled their demonic power through their chosen weapons, pushing them long passed the point of breaking. 

“In consideration of your allies, I’d suggest you surrender. I doubt you’d be so confident if they turned up dead before you could blink.” Scorpion Queen offered, bloodlust filling her gaze.

“How bold,” Wukong said with a smirk. “In my experience, the only ones willing to make such statements are the ones with the most to hide.”

“Contrary to those weaklings, my strength requires no embellishments.” With a mighty shove, she sent the Great Sage flying, only for him to land on his feet with a whisper.

“Then why all the illusions!” With a snap, Wukong unleashed a wave of gold energy and a loud crack echoed throughout the palace.

At first, nothing happened, but the Scorpion Queen made the mistake of looking down. Golden cracks started to form on her skin. Slowly they spread until her entire body was consumed in a blinding flash.

The beautiful woman had vanished, in her place stood a figure of nightmares.

Porcelain skin changed in hue until it became a pale green. Delicate lips were twisted to make room for large mandibles. Sweet pink eyes were unveiled to be wreathed in dark emotions as her very whites were drowned out. Her arms and weapons were in truth purple pinchers large enough to snap a man in two. While the pointed buns remained, her impressive braid was revealed to be a massive tail and an obsidian sharp stinger.

Yet the greatest change was the removal of her legs in favor of a body that belonged to a scorpion. Thick exoskeleton encased a large abdomen as six massive legs ending in lethal points supporting the body. She was even bigger than Spider Queen at ten feet tall and to make things worse her lower half was unmistakably organic in comparison to the other’s more mechanized spider body.

At the sight of her true form, or rather the reactions of those who saw her in her truest sense, for a brief moment the Queen was terrified. However, it didn’t take long for fear to morph into wrath.

“How dare you!” The queen roared; her pincers snapped viciously as drops of venom dripping from her massive stinger.

“Now what was that saying about true beauty?” Wukong taunted.

Hissing, she snapped her pinchers twice more before vanishing from sight.

Wukong gave his own savage grin as he too disappeared, only to reappear blocking the queen’s crazed, yet controlled assault.

The others stood back as it became clear the battle had entered a new level of intensity.

“MK?” Mei asked, not seeing her friend in sight.

Looking around, she came to find him hiding behind an overturned table curled into the fetal position with his eyes far too wide to see.

“I was wrong,” MK whispered as he trembled in sheer terror. “So very, very wrong.”

Climbing over, Mei leaned in close, not jumping back when he launched himself into her chest so he could wrap every limb around her seeking any and every form of safety. Mei smiled as she rubbed circles on her friend’s back, happy she could provide at least this for him.

The battle continued to rage.

And the surroundings paid the price. Walls were destroyed, pillars were smashed to pieces, and dozens of servants ran for their lives as the two monarchs traded blows. Neither was willing to concede, but it was obvious who would walk away as the victor.

While this may have started as a kidnapping, Tang was never in any danger. He got to know the Queen, her attendants, and how much she meant to her subjects. He couldn’t let Monkey King hurt her, nor could he allow this to continue.

He knew what he had to do.

This could very well be his last act. Taking in the sun’s light, Tang took a deep breath and prayed.

“Wait!”

The remaining members of Team Monkie Kid could not believe what they just witnessed. Not only did Tang purposely put himself in between two powerful forces in the blink of an eye, but a golden barrier appeared. It was odd, but the wave seemed to drain them of their desire to fight. The tension and adrenaline that had fueled them vanished leaving desires bare to the world.

Trembling, Tang was almost afraid to open his eyes. He feared the instant he did, all he would see was the darkness of the underworld. But this had to be said. “I-I get that you’re alone, but lying about who you are, forcing people to be your companions, it’s not the answer.”

The Scorpion Queen lowered her pinchers at the painful truth. It was one she knew quite well, but in a way always hoped it could be overlooked. “I’ve been alone for so long. I saw you caring for the children, being kind to the others, and I wanted to know what that felt like. To be cherished and appreciated for who I was, not for my power and status.”

It was always so painful. Trying to find happiness just for some idiots to take advantage of her heart. She had been hurt so many times by countless demons. Was it really so wrong to crave happiness?

Apparently, it was. 

When you looked the way she did.

“You can’t force bonds. It’s something that’s earned through communication and trust.” Even as Tang shared his wisdom, he knew the Queen was honest about her pain. She had suffered and would continue to suffer, but there was a solution.

“He’s right.” Wukong piped up, nearly scaring the scholar half to death. The king had been so quiet the others had nearly forgotten he was still there. “We are together because we choose to be.”

Sensing the demon had no desire to continue the fight, the king lowered his guard a touch, choosing to hug the scholar and pig with a large grin. “Can you imagine what I would be like on my own? I’d probably turn into a really manipulative jerk or something. Ha ha ha.”

Yeah, they weren’t touching that mess.

“There is a way we can end this peacefully with everyone walking away with what they want.” Tang calmly said, gently placing his hands on one of the pinchers. “Do you have a phone?” He asked, ignoring Wukong’s inquisitive stare.

“Of course.” She stated, curious as to where this was going.

“Here we are, a list of various demons I’ve befriended over the years. All are wonderful people looking to connect with others. I believe you will find long-lasting companions with at least one of them.” Tang offered a list of numbers accompanied by the names and titles of various demons he grew to call friends, including his own. “While I cannot stay here, in part to the danger the Lady Bone Demon poses to the mortal realm, I would not object to seeing you again. Is that acceptable?”

The Scorpion Queen was taken aback. She did not expect to be treated with such kindness, least of all when she looked like a monster. Yet here the sweet mortal stood, looking at her no different than when they had been exchanging stories.

“I will miss you, Tang. Good luck on your journey. Oh, one more thing.” She clapped twice to summon a servant, this one carrying a small vial filled with a teal-colored liquid. “The antidote for your friend. Since I used one of my weaker poisons once he takes this all he’ll need is food and rest to make a full recovery.”

Tang took the gift with a bow. “Thank you for your kindness. You have a beautiful heart.” Taking the initiative, he made a small jump and wrapped his arms around her elegant shoulders in a warm embrace.

Slowly, as though fearing this was but a cruel dream, the Scorpion Queen raised her arms to return the kind gesture. All too soon the warmth left her as the group departed, with the Monkey King repairing her home after a stern look.

The queen watched as the group left, her heart mired in bittersweet emotions. While she would have loved to have someone by her side as her equal for the rest of eternity, she would not deny the preservation of the mortal realm came first. She would have to be blind, deaf, and completely oblivious to ignore the danger the skeleton demon represents. She could only hope they would meet again soon.

But at the very least she came out somewhat richer than when she first laid eyes on the strange group.

Looking at the list, Scorpion Queen was surprised to recognize a few of the names. To be honest, she assumed quite a few of them had died centuries ago, yet here they were.

“Nine-Tailed Vixen, hmm?” Wasn’t she the honorable mother to a couple of mischief makers?

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ 

“You really weren’t scared?” MK asked as he didn’t see a single sign of fear from only pure human in their group. One would think he’d be scared for his life, yet he was completely calm.

“Not as much as I should have been,” Tang said, happy to be grabbed in his usual clothes. “This isn’t my first kidnapping with the intent of marriage.” That is not something one should be so familiar with, yet that was his life.

MK blinked at the sheer nonchalance. In all the time he’d known the scholar he never mentioned being kidnapped, let alone being coveted as a potential husband in the demon community. Then there was the golden barrier, he didn’t act like that was a new thing. Does that mean he always had it? 

Come to think of it, he knew Pigsy’s life story, and he was slowly piecing together Sandy’s past, but he barely knew anything about Tang. The scholar talked, a lot, but never about himself. He was always eager to shift the discussion to anything else. “I really know nothing about you.”

“That’s a good thing,” Tang assured. He’d much rather focus on his present and future than stay mired in the past.

“So, how many times has this happened before?” Mei pressed.

“27, and I guess this makes 28. For now.” Pigsy said with a sadistic chuckle.

“Pigsy!” Tang shouted completely flustered at the truth of his many, many near shotgun weddings.

“Wow, Mr. Tang. I had no idea you were such a ladies’ man,” Mei cackled.

“What makes you think it was just women?” Tang walked away with his own sly look. Leaving the teens both confused and eager to know more.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§ Wukong gently lowered Sandy into his cot, where his little soldiers wasted no time curling around him and doing everything they could to ease his pain.

Mk was quick to administer the antidote Scorpion Queen gifted them as Mei soaked a towel in the ice-cold water of Guanyin’s vase. With the last drop flowing down his throat and a cool towel accompanied by a purring symphony easing his troubled thoughts, the two teens breathed easier as their friend’s breathing evened out.

Outside Tang and Pigsy were watching the Monkey King digging through a random patch of grass.

“I think he’s getting worse,” Tang whispered.

“Oh, here’s my staff.” The Monkey King proclaimed as he raised an old stick from the field, grass and leaves sticking out of his fur. His golden eyes glazed over.

Pigsy, on the other hand, was just smiling.“Eh, I’m starting to like this version.”

Glaring at his old friend, Tang noticed a boulder precariously balanced on the edge of a ridge.

“Amnesia rules?” Maybe it was the strange fluttering echoing in his mind, but Tang had a crazy idea. “Stay here!”

Pigsy tried to catch the scholar before he could do something chaotic, but it was too late. “Tang! Don’t just, ugh.” Hopefully, he wouldn’t get kidnapped, again.

Then there was the book he dropped. Picking it up, Pigsy saw it was full of MK’s creations.

There was no question the kid had tallent, and as Pigsy flipped through the pages he stopped on the very image Tang had shown them two days ago. The image of the five pilgrims.

His opinion of the Monkey King’s ability to irritate him remained unchallenged, but he was starting to see where he was coming from.

MK 

Mei 

Tang 

Sandy 

Mo

They were his family and if anything happened to them, he wouldn’t know how he’d carry on.

Did similar thoughts once run through the Great Sage’s mind? Is that why he closed himself off for five-hundred years?

To have everything, all the power in the world, and still lose what really mattered. The very idea was heartbreaking. Maybe he’d never see the Monkey King the way Tang and MK do, but maybe he could grow to see him as he truly was, an old soldier who needed support to recover from old wounds. 

He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t hear a curious monkey walk up to him and lean over to see what was so interesting. When the King saw a beautiful portrait of himself, his eyes became stars. “You know, they got your face just right. Super on model.”

Taking the book, Wukong started examining the exquisite detail and shading.

“Yeah. So, ah, listen. I guess I just wanted to say before you turn back to, eh…” Taking a deep breath, Pigsy took a long look at the powerful immortal and tried to take what he learned to forge a connection. “Maybe, you ain’t so bad for the kid after all.” It was hard to admit, but perhaps the two of them were good for each other, just not in the ways he first thought. “Just do me a favor, eh? Keep him safe, alright?”

Why was he saying this? There was no guarantee he would remember this once he was back to normal. But he needed to say this. To show that he could trust Monkey King with one of his most beloved treasures. “I mean, when we get the three Rings of Samadhi-”

“Four rings.” Wukong corrected as he continued admiring the beautiful work. Silently he pondered if the artist did murals.

Whatever, Pigsy was going to say next was derailed by the casual reveal of such critical misinformation. “Four?! You never mentioned four-” 

Pigsy cut himself off in horror as a massive bolder crashed down where the Monkey King had been standing. He had witnessed some truly horrifying deaths in his life, but never anything this sudden.

“Did it work?” A voice rang out.

It was Tang, standing at the edge of a small outreach, hands on his hips.

From the back door of the T.E.A., MK and Mei stared with their mouths wide open at the sight (although Mei’s was more of a sadistic grin). Never in a million years would they have thought Tang was not only strong enough to move a boulder three times his size, but willing to drop it on the Monkey King himself.

“What the hell, Tang!” Pigsy roared before staring at the crater. His worry was split over concern of the crazy simian and the knowledge he was about to share.

“What? You were the one who suggested hitting him over the head.” Tang said, sliding down to meet them. And if they were honest, he looked a bit too pleased with his work.

“Yeah, not kill him.”

“You honestly think he could be killed by such measly force,” Tang questioned with a raised eyebrow. One would think MK’s invincible moments would leave a lasting impression. 

The rock shattered in a familiar pulse of golden light.

Flipping out of the crater, the Monkey King took a stance as he scanned the area for enemies. An angry glare shifted into one of confusion then pain as a torrent of flame burst from the simian’s mouth for a full second. Panting, the King wiped his brow as he tried to process what just happened.

“Ugh. Why is my mouth so hot?” The king stared into open space in confusion, only to jump as he was embraced on both sides by a sobbing MK and Tang. “And why are you hugging me?”

“Welcome back.” The scholar said, happy that their hero had returned.

Mk just nuzzled into golden fur, happy that his mentor no longer looked at him like he was a stranger.

“Okay~” The king awkwardly patted the backs of both mortals, unsure as to what he had missed, but he had a feeling he didn’t want to know.

#Vanishing Shadow AU #lmk au #MK #lmk mei #LMK pigsy #tang #sandy #lmk mo #sun wukong #scorpion queen #memory loss #temporary amnesia

[llamagoddessofficial]

@aka-indulgence has been feeling kinda down recently and I think we should all remind her how cool she is

Here, I'll start- aka you are very cool and no that is not a choice

#aka is my favourite person #i wish to hold her hand (platonically) #i love how every couple of weeks she appears out of the shadows and drops an au that we all go mad over like pigeons for bread #and then shes like #peace #and vanishes again #how does she do it #where does she come from #where does she go #where does she come from cotton eye aka #anyway tell her she is cool or ill come for your knees

[grandpaleo]

testing the waters and sharing this before i talk myself out of it again (⁠⊙⁠_⁠◎⁠)

#leo talks #my art #shadow of a dead bro #rottmnt #2012 tmnt #my au #my friends told me to stop being a COWARD #so i am sharing this :3 #and also vanishing from the face of the earth

[d4rk-x-w0lf-17]

part 2 of that doodle comic of chris meeting lord x ✌🏻

#essentially what's going on is that sonic shadow and chris got stuck in the world of the PC port #sonic vanished and chris got separated from shadow. so he's wandering around this dangerous world trying to find his parents #he then sees lord x from behind and mistakes him for sonic #:) #my art #sonic the hedgehog #chris thorndyke #sonic.exe #sonic pc port #lord x #sonadow au #sonadow adopts chris au

[sprout-fics]

Oh Muse, Tell me of the Things Done by Golden Aphrodite

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F! Reader)

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 5.6k Warnings: None Tags: Greek Mythology AU, Greek God inspired, Human sacrifice reader, God of death and wrath Ghost, Size difference, Size kink, Praise Kink, (Marriage kink if you squint?), PiV sex, Aftercare, Eros and Psyche inspired, Cliffhanger A/N: Part two dependent on reception

They call your fate a tragedy.

It’s a necessary one, the temple priest says, as you weep at the steps leading up to the grand mausoleum- inlaid with gold and obsidian. You wrap your arms around yourself as they tell you of your duty, inform you of your sacrifice. The statue of the god of wrath and death looms tall and menacing behind him, his bone white mask a single flash of pale amidst the dark, swirling robes that cover his limbs. You shiver as you look upon it, flesh cold as you imagine your final moments pleading at his feet.

A sacrifice, they say.

One to appease the god as death ravages your city, an holy offering innocent, beautiful and pure to quell his anger and rage. Eyes rest upon your trembling shoulders in a mixture of hope and pity, and you know even if you cry out none shall aid you. Your destiny is to die at the hands of a god so that they may live, and if it means your life is called for, they shall offer it for you.

You do not scream or struggle as they take you into the temple, you do not speak as they wash you and smooth aromatic oils into your shivering skin. You do not even look at them when they clothe you in a dark chiton and allow a veil to flutter over your despairing, tear-rimmed eyes.

When they close the altar doors behind you, you dare not throw yourself against them in one last bid for freedom.

The altar is dark, black marble columns stretching high above you and vanishing into a ceiling that the candlelight doesn’t reach. Lanterns litter the steps leading up to the sacrificial altar, with opulent offerings of jewels, weapons, and polished bones stacked high. Shadows dance between them, casting long and sinister against the temple walls. Your bare feet skim the cold stone floor as you ascend, tracing your hand against the frigid, dark mirror surface of the altar.  You were not told what to do, only to wait.

So you wait, and you wait longer, sitting upon the edge of the altar, trembling and holding in your cries until they break apart inside your throat. The chamber is silent as the grave, with not a breeze or whisper of warm air to comfort your frigid flesh. Eventually only the sound of your hiccuping sobs fills the emptiness, as you weep for your fate, for the tragedy that has befallen you, for how they shall remember your name in poems, until at last you fall asleep splayed upon the dark altar and awaiting your demise.

As you dream fitfully of the ever after, the candles waver and snuff out with a cold gust of wind. Dark eyes regard your pliant form prone atop the piles of offerings.

and quietly, arms reach forward and cradle you to him as you are taken away.

---

When you awake, it is in somewhere new.

You come to far more gently than you anticipated, soft dreams still clinging velvet to your slumber. It takes a moment for you to realize that you’re no longer curled tightly atop the hard surface of the altar, but rest instead upon silk sheets and soft, plush bedding.  The veil still drapes across your face, and as you delicately lift it, your surroundings are revealed to you.

It’s a large chamber, far larger than the temple, but sparsely furnished. You lay upon a bed fit for a man larger than any you’ve ever laid eyes upon, adorned with dark sheets and embroidered with gold thread. Torches flicker with a strange black light against the walls- silver dancing along the outer edge of flames.  The blazing hearth does the same amidst a mantle of dark stone, stretching upwards into a ceiling you’ll never reach. A mirror and a basin stands in the corner, and beside them curtains blow in from the balcony, where dawn glows yellow against the horizon.

You’re alone.

You’re careful as you creep from bed towards the balcony, the wind ruffling your gown as you stand at the precipice. Below, a stark mountain valley yawns dark and fathomless without end.

The door groans as it opens.

You flinch away from the sound, spinning and feeling terror pool low and vile in your stomach at the sight that awaits you.

It’s him.

Taller than any man, a being of pure power, the god Ghost stands at the doorway clad in billowing dark fabric, his dark eyes boring into your shivering form from behind the stark white of his skull mask. The sheer size of him is enough to send goosebumps racing down your spine, his immortal stature ensuring you scarcely come up to his chest. The strength of his limbs is curled in tight muscle discernible even with his cloak, and when you meet his eyes you think of the space between stars- a void into which no light escapes.

He takes only three strides to cross the chamber.

You cower backwards until your spine hits the railing of the balcony, and as you glance over your shoulder the valley wind roars from the depths. You wonder if it is a more fitting end to hurl yourself from here than face whatever slow death the God of Wrath has ordained for you.

He stops just at the threshold, regarding you as you look up at him with tearful, terrified eyes. At this nearness you can sense the pure energy that rolls off of him in waves, a strangeness that speaks of something far from human, an unfathomable power that your mortal soul will never fully understand.

“Don’t.” Is the first word he ever says to you, looking past you to the valley. He reaches out his hand, not an inch of his flesh visible beneath his gauntlet of white bone. “Come.”

You stay where you are, heartbeat fluttering as you eye his outstretched palm.

“If I was going to kill you, I would have done it when you were asleep.” He intones, voice deep like distant, rolling thunder. There’s a strangeness to it you cannot place, the tone of it ringing between your ears in a distant echo, otherworldly.

“Don’t hurt me, please.” Are the first words you return to him, desperate as a thing wheezes from your lungs.

Ghost stares at you unblinkingly, and despite the black ichor that paints his gaze, his eyes look almost kind.

“Come away from the balcony.” He tells you, his voice softer.

You cast another glance down at the dark valley, swallowing hard, before at last reaching your hand forward and settling it in his cold palm. He draws you inside, out of the wind, and you find yourself hovering near the hearth with its strange, dancing flames.

“Your name.” He tells you, watching as you hesitantly warm yourself, carefully looking at him out of the corner of your eye.

When you tell him, he repeats it. Slow, purposeful, as if tasting a foreign fruit for the first time. It shivers through you, as if he somehow has wound magic through the sound alone.

“You will stay here.” He tells you under no uncertain terms. “In my palace. No harm shall come to you here.”

You blink at that, face falling open with confusion as you turn to him fully.

“Why...?”

Ghost regards you coolly, but when you focus on his eyes you can swear they crinkle with a wry smile.

“I have no reason to hurt my bride.” He explains simply.

“Your...” You echo, blinking. “I...”

“You were given to me.” He tells you, advancing upon you until he’s mere inches away, one arm braced on the hearth so he bends over your smaller, mortal form. “As a sacrifice. I saved you. Your life is mine by rights.”

Fear pulses bright through you, limbs awash with dread as the blood drains from your face. You had expected death, but the daunting reality of this, of being given to a god as a bride...

Ghost must see the terror in your eyes, for he removes himself from you, striding towards the heavy, ancient door.

“I will not touch you unless you ask.” He states, voice lower. “You are free to roam this palace as you like. There is food in the banquet hall.”

He pauses, observing you as you hesitate near the hearth.

“I will return at dusk.”

and with that, your new husband vanishes.

----

True to his word, no one stops you from roaming the palace.

It’s a massive structure, with towering black columns and high ceilings. Obsidian, marble, and gold accentuates every corner, and you find treasures and trophies displayed at every turn. You are entirely alone as you wander, bare feet skimming against the cold tile as you take in your new home. Each room reveals a new wonder. A bath with glimmering water that billows steam from golden fountains, a garden with dark roses that creep along stone walls, a library with scrolls in tongues you don’t understand, and a banquet hall filled with food that doesn’t seem to rot.

You eat until your stomach is full, and with every bite the food tastes more delicious than the bite before. You scrub yourself in the bath, and when you exit you find fresh garments awaiting you, embroidered with glimmering thread. The finery is beyond anything you dared imagine, and quietly you feel your reservations departing you as the thought of possibly escaping ebbs slowly from your mind.

Dusk finds you back at his chambers, watching the shadows grow long against the walls as slumber slowly descends upon you.

You’re on the brink of sleep when the bed dips, and a bare hand curls gently against your cheek. In your half-dreams, you nuzzle into the touch with a languid sigh, feeling the air fan across his palm. Ghost is silent as he lays beside you, observing your restful face with half-lidded eyes. His mask lays on the table beside him, disposed along with his cloak and armor.

You see nothing when you’re roused by the sensation of him tucking you against him, the world engulfed in darkness. Hypnos whispers across your senses as your eyelids flutter, trying to discern the shape of him as he presses in close behind you. Ghost tucks his legs under yours, his massive frame curling around you and his nose burrowing into the junction of your throat and jaw, where he draws in a heavy breath.

“Sleep, mortal.” He whispers there, one massive arm wrapping across your front.

True to his order, and engulfed in the warm sensation of his body pressed against yours, you find the gossamer veil of sleep draw over you once more.

He’s gone again come morning.

You awake alone, and find yourself missing the presence of him.

The banquet hall is refreshed with food of all kinds- delicacies from far lands you’ve never traveled to. You spend an exorbitant amount of time in the baths, dozing gently as steam billows around you. In the library you find a collection of war poems that you devour with eager eyes until the sun begins to slope towards the horizon, and oddly you do not find yourself entirely bored despite being alone in the massive pantheon to which he has left you.

Yet as darkness descends, you find yourself awake in his bed, waiting for him.

When he at last appears, as the moment where all light has drawn away from the horizon, the dark candles snuff out in a cold billow of wind. Plunged into darkness, the only sensation available to you is a hand caressing your cheek.

“Little bride.” He rumbles as the bed dips before you. “Were you so eager to see me you chose to forego sleep?”

Hesitantly, you raise a hand to press his own against your face, feeling the immense size of it dwarf your own.

“Yes.” You tell him in a scarce whisper, as if you’re revealing a tender secret. Your heartbeat thrums loud in your ears, fluttering inside the cage of your ribs as he draws closer. You try to remember the words you had meant to say- a thank you for saving you? Awe at the splendid riches allowed to you? A quiet plea to leave, one which you don’t truly mean?

You reach forward in the darkness, finding the shape of him broad and strong against your palm. There’s smooth skin of scars that litter his immortal flesh, across the wide breadth of his chest, down to his waist, traced across his arm and shoulders and the massive span of his back. He’s bare to you, and you can’t suppress a shiver at the mere thought that you are laying with a God.

“You’re frightened.” He notes at the shake in your hands, attempting to draw away from you.

“No.” You tell him, a hand gripping tighter to his to prevent his retreat. Words clog your throat, lips parted with breath as you feel his coal-dark eyes bore into you in the inkinesss of his chambers.

“Touch me.” You whisper instead.

When he bends to you, he swallows the sigh that pours past your lips.

Ghost defiles you in the way warriors do- pure strength tempered by careful restraint. You splay under him bare, his hands smoothing over your flesh like admiring a masterful weapon. He memorizes the curves and softness of you, humming notes low and deep into your skin as he drinks in your scent like ambrosia. He spends his time admiring the outline of you in the darkness, fingers dipping between your legs and spreading you over large, calloused fingers until you mewl and grip at the fine silk sheets.

“Sweet little thing.” He rumbles, pleased, as you offer him high, keening moans, head tossed back against the pillows. Wetness dribbles down your thighs, coats his hand just as he licks greedy and hot into your open mouth that chants his name. His towering frame bends over you, hauls you to his waiting hands with hardly any effort. Your hands scrape against his shortly shorn hair as he lays claiming bites across your throat and collarbone and Ghost moans against your skin like the pain and pleasure are twin beings.

“Ghost.” You chant in a hymn as his worshipers do when his clever tongue drinks down your arousal at your entrance, and the answering growl that he responds with sends pleasure fissuring down your spine like the earth split open. His hands hold you still as you buck and writhe with your climax, broken sounds filling the empty chamber so loud you think your shout can be heard at the far reaches of the palace.

He shushes you when at last he sheathes himself inside you, the girth of him splitting you wide enough you whimper into his chest. Yet he holds you to him, noses into your hair and whispers low, soothing words as your legs quiver.

“Good.” He purrs as you go pliant against him with a keening sigh, arms looped around his neck and nails digging into the flesh of his spine. “Perfect little bride. They were right to offer you to me.”

You think the nectar of the gods must taste like the glide of his tongue when he kisses you.

Ghost plays the symphony of your flesh like poets play the harp. His massive frame hunches over yours, the sheets tangled around you and his fingers entwined with your own. Each roll of his hips has you choking on a plea, has him huffing hot breaths and growling filthy praises in your ear.

“Made for me. Just me.” He groans, voice grinding deep in his chest as he ruts into you. Slow, measured, infuriatingly not enough. The drag of him inside you threatens to pull you under into madness as you mewl and squirm, desperately chasing the touch of him. “Made to take me, made to be in my bed, in my palace.”

It’s possessive, almost wild with the force of his claiming you. You go to him willingly, tears watering your eyes as you choke on a sob of pleasure. Yet it’s not enough, as he draws your pleasure higher, higher, burning you alive like the inferno of the heavenly sun but refusing to push you over the precipice. You plead his name, dig your fingers into the dip of his spine, ask for divine mercy that he keeps just beyond your mortal reach.

“Say my name.” He tells you, the sound of your coupling echoing out into the chamber- wet and debauched along with your desperate gasps.

“Ghost.” You sob, clinging helplessly to him, laying kisses upon his bare face in the darkness as an offering to the altar of him. “Ghost.”

In return, Ghost bestows upon you your own name, snarling it wild and feral against your lips as you at last fall apart beneath him. You choke on a cry of his name as something great and tender snaps abruptly inside you, races outwards along your limbs with such sudden ferocity you wonder for a moment if you’re been burned alive. Yet the pleasure itself drowns you like the deep and bottomless ocean- a surrender where you try to claw your way to the surface and instead allow the depths to take you.

Ghost growls as he buries himself fully inside the wet clutch of your heat, emptying inside your heaving form with a long, low groan. You feel the spend on him leak from your joining, collapsing against him as you try to remember how to breathe. Ghost adjusts so you lay sprawled atop his broad chest, rising slow and purposefully beneath you as you tuck your head under his chin.  A war-worn hand strokes lazy paths against your skin, and you hear him hum with a deep satisfaction at your consummation. You feel claimed in the best of ways, not as one of his beloved war trophies but as his.

When you finally grow restful against his chest, you prop your chin up and try to find the shape of him in the darkness. He’s absent of his mask, you know, and curiously you try to discern his features in absolute blindness. You wonder if he’s as handsome as you dare to dream.

“Why can I not see you?” You ask in a whisper, and Ghost’s hand stills where it traces along the ridge of your spine. He’s tense, and it startles you when he speaks with his voice pitched low, authoritative in a way he’s never spoken to you before.

“As long as you remain here, you will never see my face.” He tells you, his chest vibrating under your palms. “I will care for you, protect you, and you will be mine, but you never see me. Understood?”

You don’t, really, understand. Confusion wrinkles your brow at the enigmatic declaration, but Ghost eases under you as you nod anyways, and the comfort of his gentle touch resumes, and assuages you of your worries until you fall asleep.

In the morning he lingers in your marital chambers, the pale light of dawn glinting off the armor he has donned before you awoke. He sits at the edge of the bed, a bone white gauntlet stroking with surprising gentleness across your brow. You catch it with your palm, kiss across his ivory knuckles as he huffs a warm breath of affection.

“I will return.” He tells you softly, and steps towards the balcony, only to vanish in a billow of smoke.

You lounge in bed in his absence, feeling the pleasurable soreness of your lovemaking imbue itself in your muscles and limbs. Even after a full rest you find yourself exhausted, and it isn’t long before you curl back into the sheets until the chariot of the sun reaches its zenith. Even then, you wince to yourself as you creep from bed, roused by your empty stomach and the mess between your thighs. You don’t make it farther than the basin at the edge of the room before your legs threaten to fail you, and you resign yourself to a few sips of water and washing what you can before collapsing back into bed.

You’re still there when he returns, and Ghost pauses when he hears your empty stomach, hums with dissatisfaction when you tell him of your troubles. With no effort at all, he lifts you into his arms and walks in the way gods do- only several long strides before you find yourself at the baths. Candles cast shadows against the walls, dancing hypnotically as Ghost deposits you at the edge of the water, pausing to disrobe himself of all but his mask before once more lifting you and walking into the baths with you in his arms.

The moan that bubbles up your throat at the heat that ensconses your weary limbs prompts a laugh from the God above you, who releases you only enough to reach for oils at the tiled edge. Ghost is careful, deliberate as he washes you, and despite your protests he insists, as if the act itself is another means of proving his devotion. Yet he can’t resist grazing a rough thumb over your nipples until you squeak, dipping his fingers between your thighs in slow, lazy circles until your legs tighten around his wrist.

Ghost takes you like that, holding you flush to him as his fingers work deftly inside of you, plucking at something bright and powerful until your voice fills the chamber with gasping, wanton pleas. You grip at him as you gush over his palm with your climax, a whimpering sound caught in your chest as he lauds affections into your slick skin.

When you are at last clean and sated, Ghost wraps you in his own cloak before you find yourself in the banquet hall with grapes being lifted to your lips. You know the tale of the goddess taken to the netherworld and having eaten the fruit there, know it meant forever tying herself to a place of death. Yet as your lips close around his fingers as the morsels are fed to you, you can think of no other realm in which you’d rather be.

and silently, you wish you could see the face of the man who has taken you as his bride.

The days are spent as such. You become accustomed to the palace, teaching yourself its interior so you can navigate it blind. You spend hours in the baths, dozing with your head cradled by your arms on the tiled edge. You devour the poems in the library and write your own thoughts on parchment beside them which you find in boundless supply. In the afternoons before Ghost returns you walk on long strolls through his gardens which seem ever changing, blooming with iridescent blossoms and fragrant lilies bright like starlight. You find a harp which seems to offer no sour note despite your lack of familiarity, and wind beautiful music through the obsidian and onyx halls of his home. You find yourself wanting for nothing- not food or shelter or finery of any nature. In return, you offer your love to the God who has claimed you, and to you he returns the same.

Ghost returns to you at sunset, and most nights find your form tangled with his as he takes you whimpering and breathless against the sheets. He seems to know your body like a swordsman knows his blade, invents new ways to pluck at your desire until the only thing you can offer him is reedy, desperate sounds of his name, reminding him you are his. Afterwards he tends to you, and even then you kiss the other shell of his mask as steam billows around you in the baths as your bare bodies embrace. 

You find yourself increasingly nocturnal if only to spend the long hours of darkness in his company, talking and touching in the absence of any illumination. You ask him of the poems in his library, of the trophies that adorn his palace, of the emptiness between these walls and how he bore the loneliness that came before you. You ask him of the offerings given to him by his worshippers, of immortality and all things of a god-like nature.

You never ask him to show his face.

Instead you map it with delicate touches in the darkness, trying to instill in yourself an image of his likeness behind the mask. His jaw is strong, and along it you think you feel the smooth skin of another scar that snakes up towards his ear. His hair is short, and you wonder if it is the same dark color as his ember stare. His lips are soft as they press to your skin, as if he himself is the acolyte to your divinity.

As the weeks turn into seasons, and the high winds of autumn reach the mountaintop, he tells you of how he became a God.

Gods are not born. They are chosen, he says. Those of great valor, of devotion and strength are lifted into the pantheon and blessed with immortality, with divinity beyond that of human comprehension. Outliving those who once knew them as human, their legends are inscribed in the songs and poems, spoken of in many tongues until their following becomes great and loyal.

When you ask him with quiet reverence how he became immortal, Ghost’s form goes rigid with something you think can only be fury.

“I was betrayed.” He tells you, voice filled with murderous intent.

He tells you how he was once a soldier- a warrior that some claimed was already a demi-god. Yet he was mortal when his commander betrayed him, abandoned him on a hill of battle upon which Ghost was buried beneath a pile of rotting corpses, slowly suffocating under the weight of dead men. He had clawed himself free with savage intent, feeling rage become the only emotion known to him. It had taken days for him to free himself of the putrid flesh and decay that surrounded him, and it was only once he stood upon the pile of death that he breathed in his first gasp of immortality. The wrath became him, and he became wrath, or so the legends are said.

When you ask him how long ago this was, Ghost does not answer you.

You try not to think of what will happen when he witnesses your final, mortal breath.

and you try not to wish to see his face before you die.

“Are you hideous?” You ask him teasingly, drawing circles on his bare chest as his fingers idly soak themselves in the spend between your legs.

“Far from it.” He replies dryly, and you place a giggling smile upon his grinning lips.

You try not to dwell on it. There is so much you have to be grateful for, after all. A warm bed, a blazing hearth, clothes, a home, food, endless entertainment, and most importantly a husband who swears his devotion to you every sunset.

Yet in the daylight you find yourself missing him, and in the hollow place of his absence you try not to let temptation take root in the emptiness.

It’s on a cold morning when you find a snake in the garden.

You’re bent over a swath of coal-dark dahlias when you hear it slither behind you. When you turn, you’re greeted with mahogany dark eyes and shimmering green scales. Yet even as you flinch away the serpent doesn’t deign to chase you, regarding you curiously as it speaks in sibilant, seductive words.

“I see the God of Wrath has found himself a muse.” A feminine voice purrs, amused. “Which mortal realm did he steal you away from?”

“I wasn’t stolen.” You retort, shying away as the snake curls closer around your bare feet. “I was an offering.”

Sinister, the snake laughs at you. “And has he refused to let you leave? Are you too afraid to try? He may kill you, hermosa.”

“He wouldn’t.” You manage, tucking yourself up on a pedestal where your dress drapes over the edge. “He loves me.”

“Oh?” The snake asks, curling around the base of the stone, where the light reflects upon its shimmering body. “Are you sure, little muse?”

“Of course.” You reply quickly, even though a shadow casts longer upon your heart with every word spoken by the serpent.

The snake hums thoughtfully, winding itself around the stone slowly, until at last it raises its smooth head to the level of your gaze.

“Then why hasn’t he shown you his face?”

You falter at that, hugging your knees defensively and brow furrowing with dismay. The serpent plucks at the secret doubt inside you that you quietly tuck away at every sunset, that you feel thrum under your fingers as you trace the planes of his face in darkness. You try to conceal it, hardly ever speak of it, but you can’t help but wonder why Ghost refuses to show himself to you.

“Maybe he’s a monster.” The snake goes on. “Grotesque and rotten. The only way he can have your love is if you never see him.”

That can’t be true. Your husband is beautiful and strong, and you know even if he was hideous you would still love him for his fierce protectiveness and tender care. Even if his visage was obscured by scars of battle past, you would still love him.

“He doesn’t trust you, little muse.” The snake hisses quietly, and it sounds strangely pitying, a sadness which you feel plays upon the harp strings of your ribs. “Can you truly be wed to a man who does not believe in you?”

“Ghost loves me.” You repeat in a whisper, mostly to yourself.

“If that were true, he would love you even if you saw his face.” The snake offers, tongue flickering in your ear.

Something dark and viscous simmers in your stomach like tar, and you further hunch in on yourself, uncertain.

“Away with you.” You say at last, refusing to look at the serpent, who laughs wickedly as she winds herself into the bed of dahlias, and vanishes.

That night, when Ghost lays with you, the whisper of his affections feels sour against your skin.

You lay awake even as he sleeps behind you, his massive form curled around you and bracketing you in his warmth. The darkness looms long inside your thoughts, where the words of the serpent echo into the void where light fails to illuminate the face of your husband.

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.

Yet you know of Ghost’s warning, his oath that you will no longer be his if you see his face. To risk the love he has given you for such a temptation seems sacreligious, a sin for which there is no return.

He doesn’t trust you, the snake whispers.

In the morning, you feign sleep while you hear him depart to realms unknown.

He’ll return after dark. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

You do not find the snake in the garden.

He doesn’t trust you.

“You’re mine.” He huffs, dark and deep against your lips in your bed that night, and you shield your cry of desperation behind a moan. You give everything to him, your entire being, lay it bare before him as the offering you are, knowing he will keep you safe and love you with fierce devotion the way warriors love their oaths.

He loves you.

He leaves at dawn.

but he doesn’t trust you.

The wick burns against your fingertips as you light it.

You approach the bed with silent steps, your bare feet skimming across the stone as they did in the temple at the altar as you’d sacrificed yourself to him.

He loves you.

He’d taken you, spared you, made you his bride. He gave you his palace and all the treasures within, and with it came his love.

You see the broad, scarred plane of his back as you draw closer.

He hides behind a mask, refuses to let you see the one thing that nobody else has ever seen. Not even you, his offering, his bride, his muse, his beloved.

The candlelight illuminates his face.

and you feel your breath catch tightly in your chest.

He’s breathtaking.

The word ‘divine’ does not compare to his likeness, with his eyes closed and his lips parted in sleep. His alabaster skin shielded from the sun is written with scars, but the stories told by them seem like the songs of great poets, wild and magnificent in the way of feral things. Long, blonde lashes swoop gently over his cheeks, still rosy with the exertion of your lovemaking, face slack and open in his slumber.

He’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen.

Even when his dark eyes open, look upon you with despair, he’s still beautiful.

“No.” Ghost speaks in a tone you’ve never heard, full of grief, and it stabs through you like a blade. “How could you?”

“Ghost-” You try, reaching for him as he raises himself from bed, drawing to his full height and towering above you. Yet your fingers are just short as he draws away, towards the balcony.

“Leave.” He tells you, his voice hardening with fury as a cold wind begins to billow around his form, cast in starlight.

“No-” You try, panic bubbling up your throat as you try to move forward to him, pleas for forgiveness upon your lips. “Ghost-!”

“LEAVE.” Ghost bellows as smoke churns wildly about his immortal form, the cold wind slicing against your skin and preventing you from drawing near.

“I love you!” You cry in desperation as tears form, and the mantle of his cloak descends upon his shoulders, bone white replacing his face.

Ghost doesn’t respond, not as he becomes wrath, not as his eyes look upon you with betrayal and despair. You try to move forward, to touch him once more, but when you reach out your hand, skim your fingers against the outline of him-

He’s gone.

As the cold wind retreats, and with it your husband, you collapse to the floor and wail with your despair.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon x reader #simon riley x you #my fic #my writing #call of duty x reader #cod x reader

[ceruleancattail]

Summoning your Familars: Savanaclaw edition

Mystic au

Leona Kingscholar

The air surrounding you grows devastatingly dry, heat burning through your very skin. Static crackles through the air, a sharp sort of sound that stabbed straight into your ears. A husky laugh echoes, raspy yet with a rich quality not unlike aged wine.

A weight presses itself onto your shoulders, fingers endowed with claws grazing over your arm lightly. Casting your glance to the side, you meet a pair of half-lidded emerald eyes, amusement dancing alight within those irises. Barking a laugh, those very same claws trace the curve of your chin, firmly guiding it upwards. Forcing your gaze to fall solely on him.

“Huh, rather bold of you to call me upon such short notice, Master. I was just having such a nice, refreshing nap… when you just had to summon me right then and there….”

He sighs somewhat theatrically, before continuing his drawl:

“Leona Kingscholar, Komainu.

I’ll be expecting you to fully make it up to me personally later, my Master.”

Ruggie Bucchi

You see shadows, darting in and out of your vision. Dancing around your form, ghastly beings of darkness with rows of razor sharp teeth, curved into a dastardly grin.

Laughter echoes eerily around you, with manic glee. They slink around, never staying still long enough for you to get a good look, yet move slow enough for you to be acutely aware of their presence.

Shifting, waxing and waning like a candle’s flame. Before a pair of hands reach out, cupping your face within their warmth. You’re greeted with a toothy grin , sharpened fangs gleaming menacingly with the faint light. Ruggie Bucchi, his eyes crinkled with his smile. He laughs at your surprise, a lovely boyish sound that went straight into your heart.

“Surprised? You were the one who summoned me, Master!

You can’t be this shocked when I pop out of nowhere, not when you were the one who called me here. Although I can’t say that face doesn’t look cute on that mug of yours-

Just kidding! Aw, don’t be too mad. I do genuinely think you’re cute. Ruggie Bucchi, Komainu.

So, what’cha want from me today?”

Jack Howl

A fresh, resinous, woody sort of smell wafts through the air. The smell of pines, encased in their wooden armour. You can hear the wind howling, a mournful, lonely sound. Rushing through your hair, chilling your skin. The temperature drops rapidly, leaving you cold and trembling, clutching at your own arms in order to preserve some semblance of body heat. Your breath comes out in a white wisp, vanishing right before your eyes.

Yet as it vanishes, something materialities in front of you. Jack Howl, your familiar. He drops onto a knee, almost like a knight, paying their respects to their sire.Yet he’s back up almost immediately. Jack’s eyes are bright as he looks at you, tail wagging away behind him. Upon seeing your shivers, he’s sheepishly sliding an arm around your shoulders, cautiously pulling you closer to him.

“Is this alright, Master? I’m sorry about the cold…. You don’t mind? That’s a first.

I’m warm enough to make up for it? Well… I… Urm…. You can snuggle closer, if you want… not that I’m opposed to it… Urm.

ANYWAYS! Jack Howl, Komainu! At your service, and your beck and call.

What are your orders, my master?”

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #Leona kingscholar #Leona #Leona x reader #Leona kingscholar x reader #Ruggie bucchi #Ruggie bucchi x reader #Ruggie #Ruggie x reader #Jack #Jack howl #Jack howl x reader #Jack x reader #mystic au #lucky charm 🔷

[writersdrug]

Nectar and Bane - Pt. 1

Pairings: Hunter!König x Witch!Reader

Pt. 2

Summary: König is hired to hunt down a pesky witch by a warlock, who paints you as the most evil thing in the past three centuries. With the promise of finding true love (or, the closest thing the warlock can offer: a brainwashed woman who is forced to dote on the hunter), König sets out on his journey. However, you aren't what he was expecting at all, and he develops a newfound obsession with making you become his.

Warnings: dubcon, mentions of rape, manipulation, kidnapping, sex pollen (kinda? If you squint? not really, but better safe than sorry), corruption kink, mentions of blood and violence, mentions of consuming human organs, unrequited pining, angst at the end, death (not for main characters), cowgirl, missionary, mating press, biting, hair pulling, nipple play, power imbalance, handjob, obsessive thoughts and behaviour (please let me know if I missed any!)

Notes: thought I'd try my hand a fantasy au version of cod, or at least of König. This is really long (over 15000 words) so I split it into two parts. The next part is pretty much done, I'm just exhausted and wanted to at least crank out half. Let me know if you would like to be tagged in pt 2!

ps if anyone has any suggestions or tips on how to make collages or banners for fics, pleeeaseeee lmk

translations at the end

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Watch your every step. From the moment you step foot into those woods, you can’t trust anything you see.

That’s what the sorcerer had drilled into his head before he had begun his journey. He called you dangerous, cunning… “A sneaky, meddling bitch…” he had grumbled over the table in that crowded tavern.

Two small pouches, one of silver, one of gold, sat in between the two patrons on the table. Stains of ale and coffee rings littered the unvarnished wood. The wax of the thick candle had trickled down and formed small, hardened pools at the base – its flame flickered weakly, casting unflattering shadows against the man’s weathered features, and making the portentous hood covering König’s face only that much more ominous.

He'd listened warily as the sorcerer described the witch – you. Tens of centuries old, too much knowledge and too little wisdom to use it sensibly. You take whatever you want by whatever means possible, and your favored method was using your physical assets and the promise of sexual devotion to coerce those within your web to do your bidding. “Sometimes it’s for her personal gain – sometimes, she does it for fun.” The warlock added bitterly. “Akin to a serpent, she winds you into her embrace, and then crushes your bones before she swallows you whole, saving your heart for last.” You’d done it to him, ensnaring him into your alluring trap, before stealing his spellbooks, his potions, his most prized collections… and vanishing into thin air.

An enchantress, König had concluded.

The warlock’s request? “Kill her. And be quick with it. The sooner this earth is rid of that swine, the sooner we can all rest. And, better yet – bring me her eyes! Potent things, witches’ eyes can be – of course, that is if they’re still working. If the bitch has gone blind, don’t waste dulling your dagger. A handful of her hair would do just fine.”

König had killed much worse for much less, and this sounded like it would be on the simpler side of things. A few days’ worth of hunting and a quick, efficient kill – hopefully, one of his easier jobs, although with the way the sorcerer described you, that might not be. He’d dealt with magicians before; up until now, they had been rather boring to hunt – tedious, but nonetheless, boring. Most of the time, they tried to end him with some elaborate incantation in the few seconds remaining of their life after he’d ambushed them. His silver blade would be slicing across their throats before they could utter five syllables. They were always so intent on murdering their victims slowly and in a flashy manner. With König’s preference for a more immediate result, he was usually the one collecting the fingernails, teeth, and tongues.

(Over time, he’d had noticed that it was always sorcerers ordering the assassination of other sorcerers. He wondered why they had so much of an issue amongst themselves, but he didn’t question it. Whatever kept him fed and paid for his room, he would do it.)

The picture the warlock was painting of you, however, made you seem much craftier and more calculated. You couldn’t resist the glamorous ways of murder via magic – it was written in your nature as a witch. But you played the game with your charisma and wit, too; something magic users didn’t typically rely on (half of the time, because they weren’t charismatic, nor witty). You waited until your assailant would fall to your wicked charm, before dissecting him like nothing more than a toad for your cauldron. If not an easy kill, you at least sounded like you would be an exciting one – but König knew he could get something more from this client for killing you.

“What more can you offer me?” he asked.

The warlock chuckled. “The gold is insufficient, is it?” he leaned forward and hunched his shoulders, speaking in a hushed tone. “Tell me, what do you desire? Recognition and respect? Revenge against someone who’s crossed you? To bring back a loved one from the dead? Or, perhaps, to find a love of your own?”

König’s shoulders tensed, and the rest of the warlock’s utterances fell on deaf ears. Could he possibly give him a chance to find himself someone to love? Someone that he and only he can worship? It was true that he would be happier to live alone, in whatever way that would allow him to be independent of society… but the thought of being able to live alone with someone, someone who was devoted to him, someone who could decorate his hut with signs of life and warmth, someone with a kind smile and a sweet voice, someone who he could spend hours upon hours with, memorizing each curve of their body, the taste of their nectar on his tongue…

He called it love. Others would call him insane. He’d heard it all before – how no one would ever love him, given his profession, his awkwardness in carrying a conversation about anything normal other than how sharp his knives are, and how he uses them… that, and the fact that he never shows his face (“He must be hideous under there…” they would speculate). Nonetheless, he still craved the devotion of an obedient, warm body waiting for him in his cabin at the end of the day – once he did get a cabin. Why should he be denied what everyone else wants?

He knew he was a hypocrite; he couldn’t expect someone else to be so willing to leave everything and run away with him. Not with his insane ideations and obsessions – hell, not with who he was as a person. But if he killed enough healthy rabbits to keep her fed, and if he fucked her hard enough that her eyes rolled back into her head and she couldn’t muster enough strength to escape the mattress… would she ever care about what kind of man he was?

The warlock smiled slowly. “Of course… that’s what all of you sick bastards want.” He said, leaning back and folding his arms. “If it will seal our contract, I will give you whichever woman you choose. I’ll make her yours, and only yours, with unconditional love – even for your damned soul.”

A fair deal, König had thought. Which is exactly what had him currently trudging through the dense woods, searching for any traces of a witch – a sack with two loaves of bread and some apples hung over his shoulder, along with his well-worn tashka stuffed with the coin he had earned over time. His sword was strapped to his hip in its sheath, his dagger (a short sword, when it was compared to the average person) stuffed into the lead-lined, deerskin sheath on the side of his boot; and a pelt, heavy and thick, hung around his shoulders. All he had to his name.

König had done a day of research on you – testimonies and sightings of you ghosting the perimeter of the woods at an early age, hoping to lure some poor soul away as your very first victim. “I imagine she was a succubus in her previous life,” the warlock had spoken, “maybe too much of a whore for even the devil to handle.”

He had caught you one night by luring you to his cabin with the scent of a savory meal. Guessing by your inexperience, and the way you avoided using words as you snarled and thrashed in the warlock’s grip, he assumed you had not yet reached one hundred years old. You were still young and fresh-faced, appearing no more than twenty to human eyes. “After a few decent meals, and reintroducing her to the work of her past life – she’d settled in as the perfect student. It almost felt like having a pet.” He added with a smug smile.

König questioned how happy you were with being reintroduced to the work of your past, but he didn’t comment on it.

After living with the warlock as his student and whore for a few centuries, you turned into a strong, young witch. You didn’t care to go into town, preferring to stay at the cabin and watch over the brews whenever he had to make deliveries or run to the shops. The warlock had no complaints about your desire to stay holed up in his home – fewer people to ogle at you, fewer glimpses into a more civilized life that might tempt you to run away. He’d much rather you be a brooding, antisocial bitch, than watch one of his clients stare at you with a yellowed, lustful grin, like you were some harlot in the window of a brothel.

On one particular day, without any indication of what you were planning, he had returned home from his rounds to an empty cabin – not just empty of you, but of his potion stock, his rarest ingredients, and his most prized spellbooks. He’d run into the woods in fury, screeching your name and hurling threats into the trees around him – but you were gone. Not a trace of you could be found within a five mile radius of his home.

It was like you had never been there, save the absence of his personal belongings.

In König’s opinion, you didn’t strike him as an extremely dangerous individual. Sure, the warlock had harped on and on about how cunning and deceiving you were – but all you had done was lie to him. And from the way he had described the conditions you were under, König didn’t exactly blame you for running away. Maybe this job was a waste of his time…

Still, he couldn’t find it in him to complain, despite the nip of the mid-autumn air, and the fact that he was embarking on what might be one of the most treacherous endeavors of his career. He was getting a decent payout for it – that is, if he lived to finish the job. Additionally, the scenery was a comfort to his journey; wiry birch trees stood high and thickly clustered, their brown and black spots like ever-watchful eyes, staring at the gargantuan hunter as he moved. Their golden leaves mimicked the light of the sun, the real thing blocked out by the overcast skies. A whisper of wind flew by his ears, carrying down and blowing the leaves further along his path with a gentle sigh. As if nature herself was telling the world to be quiet, be still, and prepare for winter.

It was times like this where König became unsure of himself. What if he hated having someone else to care for? What if, deep down, he preferred the silence and the solitude? But then, the loneliness would strike him. The longing to be understood (if that was humanely possible), and the desire to have something warm, alive, and sentient to acknowledge him. It consumed him on those sleepless nights, perfectly warm by the hearth of whatever inn he resided at, yet so hollow without having someone to wrap his arms around.

A swaying movement in the branches above pulled him from his thoughts. Hanging down by a twine thread, tied to one of the spindling birch branches, was a tiny, burlap pouch. It reached a few feet above König’s head, and was drenched in a dark, thick liquid that dripped rhythmically onto the forest floor. Looking to where the drops landed, he noticed the matter on the ground was decaying – a steaming pile of rot was all that was left of the leaves that were once there.

He frowned. The trap was clever – for a witch in their first century. König had expected something a bit more dangerous for someone your age. Maybe the last hunter had been too gullible, and you stereotyped them to all be oafs. Or, maybe you were too old and couldn’t craft traps with the same skill and precision as your younger self.

He drew his dagger from his boot and quickly sliced the twine thread. The pouch dropped to the floor with a squelch, landing in the very puddle of death it had created. The liquid beneath it bubbled and hissed, and the bag soon dissolved to reveal its contents: bits of bone – a kind of reptilian foot, from the looks of it – dried pomegranate seeds, and a fuzzy layer of mold, all appearing to be drenched in some kind of blood.

He carefully stepped around the stinking mess, his eyes turning back onto the path to continue his hunt. He both hoped for and against finding more evidence of your existence. He wanted to get back to town as soon as he could, so he could hole himself up in an inn until his money began to run out – all the same, his mind craved a puzzle and a chase. Though, with how old you were, he doubted there would be much of a chase.

More leaking, swaying hex bags hung from branches as he trudged on, pointing him in the right direction. He didn’t bother to quiet the sound of the leaves beneath his footsteps – the rustling of the wind through the foliage was doing the job well enough. He held onto his dagger tightly, his other hand on his longsword, as he carefully toed through the dense forest. He had to be close – the smell of fennel and turmeric settled around his presence, along with the babbling of a nearby stream.

The sound of a distant tune danced through the trees. The voice was soft, yet clear, and whoever it belonged too was much too confident that they were alone in these woods. König wondered if it was actually you, and not some poor soul who had been foraging for the autumn mushrooms and berries – but he was nearly a day’s trek into the forest. No one would dare come out this far, unless they wanted to be alone. And, they were potentially hiding from something; their own past, perhaps.

He cautiously followed the sound of the tune, still disguising the sound of his own steps within the rustling leaves and wind. His heart thrummed with both uncertainty and excitement; he always did get too thrilled at the idea of a struggle and blood covering his hands. He took a deep breath in through his nostrils, focusing his attention on the voice that carried through the trees, pulling him closer and closer… He gripped his dagger tightly as he crept, reminding himself of the warlock’s warning: cunning, sneaky – be on your best wits.

The voice brought him to the edge of a clearing. The birch trees parted and encircled a few meters of earth, and a few bushes huddled along the far edge, dotted with purplish berries and thorned branches. A wicker basket, woven clumsily and rather lopsided, sat on the ground and caught each berry and branch that was tossed into it. A figure knelt in front of the bushes, carefully plucking the berries with thin, delicate fingers, stained purple from the juice of the berries, and nails that might need a trim soon, unless they were intended to be claws.

The cloaked figure confused König. The voice was too melodic, too clear and fresh for an old witch. He had assumed you weren’t much younger than the warlock, but still old. He remained a few yards away from you, shrouded by the trees and dense foliage outside of the clearing.

It was when you turned your head, dropping your handful of berries into the basket, revealing your face, that he realized how wrong he had been in his assumption.

Your skin was soft, he could tell even with the distance between the two of you. Your lips delicately moved as you sang your tune, your eyes sparkled in contrast to the dull autumn colors that surrounded you. Small wisps of your hair danced around your cheeks as the wind caressed it. Your entire body looked soft, warm, and pliable… exactly what he needed. Craved.

It wasn’t hard for him to imagine it: leaves tangling into your hair as he pressed his fingers around your neck, pushing you to the cold ground and watching as you gasped for air. He’d use his knife, but not to kill you. He’d drag it over your hardened nipples, watching them perk up even more at the prickling sensation, before he’d carve his name into your stomach. Smear your pretty blood all over your pretty face, watch as your eyes widen with horror, as you question how someone can be so deranged and cruel, how he can take so much pleasure in something so vile and horrible-

Or maybe, he could convince you that he just wants a fuck. You looked like you could use one – when was the last time you’d had someone’s lips on your breasts, or their cock in your cunt? It had certainly been too long for him… he couldn’t imagine how long you had gone without being thoroughly ravaged, living in these woods all alone. He could take care of that. He could be gentle, for a little while; holding your wrists above your head as he pushed you against a tree, whispering praise and encouragements into your ear, “… so gut, so Schön, genau so…” taking you from behind as your nipples perked up from the rough texture of the bark, listening to you whine and moan in that sweet voice of yours as he lets out months’ worth of pent up frustration by thrusting his cock into your warm pussy, over and over and over until you scream and tighten around his length, milking the cum right out of him as he fucks you deep, maybe sinking his teeth into the junction of your neck-

He growled quietly, palming his rapidly-growing erection as he tried to clear his head. Stay focused. Kill the witch, and then you’ll get what you want.

Remember the warlock’s promise.

Even if he didn’t need you to satisfy his needs, he could still make this interesting. Not like you could outrun him, anyway.

He stepped into the clearing, and as if by some ironic joke, the wind died down immediately. The crunch of his heavy boots was enough to make his presence known to any living thing within a mile radius.

Your singing stopped. You whipped your head in his direction, and immediately a look of fear fell upon your face. For a moment, the two of you were frozen in a staring contest. You reminded him of a doe, staring at the crossbow of the hunter you had noticed, wondering if this being was actually dangerous, or nothing you needed to worry about. He wondered what he must remind you of, and he wished to hear the panicking thoughts flitting through your mind.

Finally, you broke the trance – you gasped, stumbling backwards and awkwardly standing as you ripped a pathetic, little knife from your boot. You faced him and pointed the knife at him – you held it improperly, and if he truly wanted to make this messy, he could easily make you stab yourself in a struggle. He wondered what it would feel like when your nails dug into his rough skin, dragging marks down his forearms (or his back, if he played his cards right).

You pulled the thick cloak tighter around your body – you were tiny. Well, everything was tiny compared to König. But you were unexpectedly small. With the way the sorcerer had described you, he had expected you to reach his shoulders at least. But there you were, craning your neck to look up at him with fearful, owlish eyes.

“State your business!” You demanded, your voice cracking slightly.

König chuckled in response. You really were too pathetic for your own good, weren’t you? He took you in – your lips were pulled into a frown, parted slightly to reveal your perfect teeth, the way the fabric of your cloak quivered where it bunched in your fist… perfectly ordinary things that ordinary people do. But, besides the fact that you were a witch, something about you made it all so captivating.

“Hey!” you shouted, bringing his eyes back to your gaze. Your fear had given way to a judgmental ire. “Gods, have you ever seen a woman before?!”

König scoffed. “Woman? Yes, of course. I’ve seen witches, too. None as young as you, however.”

Your eyes widened in panic once again. You stretched your knife out towards him as he stalked over to where you stood. “S-stay back! I’ll kill you!”

Your meek threat didn’t slow him down. He continued his advance until he had corralled you against a tree, your one hand bracing against the trunk behind you, and the other holding the knife under his ribcage. The only thing between his flesh and your blade was his linen tunic, which wouldn’t do much to protect him should you decide to stab him – but were you capable of that? Your eyes were so filled with fear as they stared at him, your chin to the sky to take all of him in. Your fingers trembled around the handle of your knife as if the prospect of having to nick him made you uneasy.

“Not with magic?” he asked, his eyes flitting to the bush next to you. He plucked one of the berries between his thick, gloved fingers, rolling the onyx sphere between his thumb and middle finger before squashing it.

You pouted (a sight König could never grow tired of). “I’m not a wi-“

He snatched your forearm, and you yelped, dropping the knife to the forest floor. His fingers easily wrapped around you; he wondered how easy it would be to break it.

“Don’t lie, now.” He ordered, his eyes narrowing with a hint of annoyance. “You’re not good at it.”

He released your arms with a shove. You scrambled back with a fearful expression, swiping the blade from the ground. He watched with interest as you stood several yards away from him, pointing your weapon towards him once again.

“Fine.” You said, holding yourself a bit taller. “You’re right. What’s the crime in that?”

For a moment, König was lost. Why weren’t you trying to weaponize your magic? It was almost as if you had forgotten you weren’t a human. For someone who was supposed to be a cunning bitch, as the warlock had put it, you weren’t very smart.

“I’m not here for justice.” He replied, wiping his glove on his shirt. “Just doing my job.”

“Hunter?” you asked.

He extended his arms – gods, he could have crushed a pillar between those arms – as if presenting himself to you. “Was it not obvious?” he asked, and you could hear the smirk in his tone.

You huffed. “Well, you’re not a very good one. Most hunters don’t make conversation with their prey.”

Prey. He liked that you understood your position, that he was the one in charge here. Maybe you were a clever girl…

“I like to listen to the begging.”

“Begging?”

“For your life.” König folded his arms over his chest, inspecting you closely. The only thing you had to protect yourself was your cloak, and that hardly provided a shield against the wind. Even though you were obviously wary of him, it wasn’t wary enough. You had spoken too many words with the hunter, and had it been anyone else, you might have been dead long before now.

You seemed malleable – book-smart and spitfire, yet all too gullible. Easily manipulated. Just what he needed to brainwash you into loving him. Or, at least, being his pet. You’d never truly love him, he had come to learn that from experience. But maybe, if he could somehow convince you that you needed a big, scary man, who could protect you and fuck you nicely, it would be enough to make you stay. After all, you were too naïve to be alone out here, weren’t you?

Could the warlock perhaps make you his prize? It’d kill two birds with one stone, he could convince you to return whatever knickknacks you had stolen, and your presence would never bother anyone ever again – besides him, but of course, it would never be a bother to bed you every night.

Your expression turned sour. “I don’t beg.”

The tone of your voice sent a shiver down his cock. He’d have to pound that little attitude right out of you.

“Who hired you?” You asked indignantly. The knife in your hand had slowly lowered, now pointing at his feet. Your initial fear seemed to have worn off. Were you brave, or just that stupid?

“It doesn’t matter.” König replied.

“It does to me.”

“You don’t know? How many people have you wronged?”

You scoffed. “I haven’t wronged anyone. People just don’t like it when you call them out on their atrocities.”

König hummed. You had a point. “Your teacher – the warlock.”

For a moment, you scrunched your face in disgust. Teacher. Only a fool as mad as the warlock himself could consider he was any such figure in your life, other than a torturous one. Then, you sighed, shoulders slumping defeatedly, the knife now aimed straight at the forest floor. “That old toad can’t even kill me himself…” you muttered. “What payment did he offer you?”

“He promised me anything I desired of your possessions.” König replied, taking note of the change in your presence. He purposely left out the warlock’s promise to find him a “companion.”

“And what would you do with cursed fig seeds, or stag’s blood?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest (which, König noted, framed your breasts perfectly). “I have no gold – not enough to be a reward for the trouble of killing me.”

“He gave me three hundred gold coin, too.”

Your lips turned down into a scowl. “That’s all?! That absolute hypocrite!” You lodged your knife into the tree behind you and placed your hands on your hips. “I took everything from him, save that disgusting old shed he called home, and that’s all he’ll pay to kill me?!”

Your outburst pulled König from his obsessive staring. “You’re… insulted?”

You turned back to him and huffed. “Well, obviously.” You retorted. “I stole all he had to his name, and he treats me like a fly buzzing in his ear. I deserve a bit more recognition than three hundred gold coin.”

“You admit to it, then.” König said, stepping closer. You appeared to be too angry to notice how near the hunter was to you. “You are a thief.”

You laughed – a sound that König did not expect to be so sweet. “I’ve done much worse than thieving, mind you.” You shook your head. “And he’s done even worse to me.” You sighed, pulling the dagger from the tree trunk and sheathing it back into your boot.

Once again, he was reminded of how small you were. Why weren’t you afraid of him? Sure, you had the advantage of magic while he did not, but you weren’t even acting defensively anymore. You treated him like a traveler who had stumbled across your path, starting up conversation and sharing your story.

“What has he done?” he asked, his interest in you growing by the second. An outcast, despised, hated by others. He felt that the two of you were kindred spirits, and he would not risk losing a connection so rare – one he had never felt.

“You mean he didn’t even tell you?” you said, sounding more hurt than anything else.

“He did.” König sheathed his own dagger as a peace offering. “But I’m coming to think he was not entirely truthful.”

You sighed, looking down at your basket, then back at König. “I suppose I could tell you, since he brought you all this way to kill me. Walk with me – but keep your dagger away. And if you try anything, I’ll slit your throat. Understood?”

He suppressed the urge to laugh. Could you even reach his throat? “The warlock said you would lure me away to your hut, and carve out my heart.”

You huffed disappointedly, walking back to the bush near König. Completely calm, like he had only ever come up to you with the intention of finding a friend. “And yet, he’s still alive, after all the chances I had to kill him. We can stay outside of my hut, if it eases your mind. I’ll let you make your own tea, too. But if you aren’t set on killing me right this minute, I really should return to start drying these out.” You held up your basket. “Before too much time passes, and I can no longer use them.”

König had never given his prey more than a few moments to try and beg their way out of his crushing hands. He couldn’t believe he had even given so much lenience to your baseless trust in him – what he should have done was take the opportunity to grab your face and snap your neck. But he was starting to doubt the warlock’s testimony; you were a thief, yes, but had you really committed any crime? Or were you simply just taking the revenge you deserved from your captor – or, as the warlock called himself, your master?

König sighed. He gestured his hand out, signaling for you to lead the way.

You frowned. “First, give me your word.” You demanded.

“I will not harm you.” He said, with a hand over his heart. He didn’t care about forcing you to make the same promise – you were harmless enough. He did, however, make sure to avoid saying that he wouldn’t touch you. Although he was developing a few ounces more of respect for you, who knows? Maybe you would find a reason to drag him into your hut and satisfy both of your needs – and, if he was lucky enough to get that far, maybe you’d offer for him to spend the night in a warm bed, and he could be saved from sleeping on the cold earth for one night.

His word seemed promising enough to you. Threading your arm through the handle of the basket, you began marching through the woods, watching the ground carefully as you stepped over roots and twigs.

König followed by your side, watching you from the corner of his eye. You really were helpless – all it would take is a strong push from him, and you’d be tumbling down, maybe hitting your head on a stone, or rolling down the mountainside until your neck snapped. Even if the fall didn’t kill you, he could easily land one hit to your chest and pierce your lungs with your own ribs. But here you were, worrying more about the uneven forest floor than the lumbering creature by your side.

“What did he tell you?” you asked, pulling him from his fantasies. “About the beginning, when he took me.”

König laughed in pity. “He made it sound like he caught you, not that he took you.”

You sighed. “He didn’t catch me… well, I suppose he did. More like how animals are caught.” You adjusted your grip on the basket, still watching the ground beneath you. “I was the botanist’s assistant before he came along. Stared at me like I was naked. He would come more often than he needed to -  asked me where I was from, who my father was – things I didn’t understand why he needed to know. I still don’t.”

König didn’t understand himself. He continued to listen, the sounds of his footsteps drowning out your quiet ones. He began to wonder just how much of the warlock’s testimony was true.

“He came to the shop one night.” You continued to recount the story. “I was lighting the lanterns in the greenhouse. It was storming, and I didn’t hear him. He bludgeoned me and dragged me into the streets like I was some sort of animal.” You paused, turning your own words over in your head. “I suppose I was, to him.

He brought me back to his cabin – that’s when he started the curse. All I remember when waking up is feeling sick. I tried to stand, but it- everything felt heavy, like I was stuck in mud. I managed to crawl outside, and he was there. Saying my father wouldn’t recognize me, that he had killed the old lady at the botanist, that everyone would think that I had killed her… that I would be burned if I returned to the village. That I would forever be an outcast as long as I lived – as a witch. As what he made me.”

You paused again, for longer this time. König looked down at you, observing how your face twisted in… disgust? Anger? Your eyes were somewhere else, possibly somewhere where you could light the world on fire, drain the life from everyone who had ever done you wrong. König had felt that same hatred before, and he had learned to let it pass. You were still stuck there, wishing you could drive a blade into the warlock’s neck – and more.

“You stayed, then?” König asked, returning his gaze to the trees before him. “Why?”

You scoffed. “It’s not like I could go anywhere, not during the change. For the first fortnight, I couldn’t do anything but crawl on the ground and wail. And he let me – I’d get to the edge of the woods, and he’d be there to drag me back. Drug me into the hut at night and held me, fucked me, saying he was protecting me and similar bullshit. Of course, he was right; at that moment, I was as good as dead if I had ventured out on my own. And once I’d gotten my strength back, I was still a new witch. I’d never be accepted into the village – witches never are, despite the warlocks being the vile ones – and I had no idea how to live as one. So I relied on him for a while, until I knew enough to make it out on my own.”

König hummed in thought. Despite the initial desire to snatch you himself and have his way with you, his fists clenched at the thought of you being dragged around by the warlock. This life wasn’t one you had chosen, and yet the very person who had forced it upon you was killing you for it. It made something within him boil, something deep and buried, that he had thought had been tucked away for good.

You didn’t deserve any of this. He was fighting with himself in that moment, but the desire to show you what you should have been given was consuming him. He wanted to tell you that he knew what it was to be an outcast, he knew what it was like to feel lonely and crave being alone at the same time. To wish that you had the power to hurt anyone you deemed deserving of it, yet to have that someone who would never hurt you.

He would do it. He would be that person for you, he would be the one to kill for you. He knew he was getting ahead of himself – after all, he was hired to kill, you, not fall for you. And he knew it was just another one of his delusional fantasies… but he couldn’t help himself. You were like him, which was something that he had not yet been able to find. Something primal in him told him to sink his teeth in, to hold onto you until you stopped your struggling and realized that this would be good, for the both of you.

He was insane. But did it matter what he was, as long as he could give you what you needed?

“So, yes-“ you continued, bringing König out from the depths of his thoughts. “- I stole from him. Took the books he used to teach me, maybe a few ingredients for potions, a few seeds to start my own garden… but compared to what he took from me, I might as well have taken a loaf of bread.”

You stopped suddenly, and König came to a halt beside you. You nodded your head to the scene before you. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

König looked ahead: the trees parted into another clearing, larger this time. A rickety hut leaned against a wall of rock, made of thin, birch logs and mud slathered on top to keep out the wind. In the center of the clearing was a large stone, positioned near a pile of ash and rocks. A log lay near it, possibly another place for someone to sit. A small garden sat closer to the creek before your hut – it didn’t look to be doing very well, but that was expected as winter approached.

By the creek, there was a large, twisted oak. Its roots hung directly off of the bank and down into the water. Its leaves had fallen to the earth and mingled with the rest of the foliage by now – the entire thing had crimson paths winding around it, hauntingly similar to blood-filled veins. Several pieces of clothing and fabric hung from the branches and swayed in the autumn wind.

As you marched ahead, placing your basket down by the makeshift firepit and disappearing into the hut, König took a few, cautious steps forward. He was both charmed by the simplicity of it, and despondent that you were forced into this lonesome sort of life. He wanted to drag you from this measly hovel and show you something better.

But how? He was no better off than you were. All his earnings were spent on a room at the nearest tavern and a decent amount of ale to help him fall asleep. He never cared about having a home, as long as he had a place to keep out the cold. He didn’t think it would be good enough to drag you back to the village and convince you to spend the night with him in a thin-walled, noisy inn… but, even if he didn’t end up killing you today (something that seemed more and more likely with each passing second), he refused to leave you in this hell. If it was a cozy cabin, built so far away from civilization for the sole purpose of privacy and comfort, he could understand. Maybe even plead his case to you so you would let him stay. But this – this was a last resort. A broken down spot in the woods that you made for your banishment, for hiding. This wouldn’t do.

Call him insane. Call him crazy, hopeless, sick in the head… maybe his desires were founded on the thought that he would give you what he had never received.

You emerged from your hut, the thin, wooden door clanging shut behind you. You looked at him with a puzzled expression. Why was he still standing at the edge? You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself and made your way over to him, your hair blowing across your face.

He watched as you stopped in front of him, your brow creased with question. Your head tilted back to look up at him, yet any traces of fear that you had shown earlier were gone. You looked at him like you’d known him for the past hundred years. It made his heart ache within his chest.

How could anyone have painted such a wretched picture of the woman who stood before him?

“Is everything alright?” you asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Like I said before, if you’d rather we stay outside-“

König interrupted you, reaching down and grabbing the sides of your arms firmly. You sucked in a breath warily, but you were still not afraid of him.

“I- you-“ Scheisse, what is he trying to say? He wanted to take you away, he wanted to show you how similar the both of you were to each other, he wanted to show you what (he thought) love was – slow, gentle, possessive, and strong. He wanted to keep you in his pocket, both to keep you safe from the world, and to make sure you couldn’t be taken from him. He wanted you, you, you –

This is insanity. He knew it. But that didn’t stop the fire in his chest, and the questionable throbbing in his trousers.

You knew. Your eyes said everything as they softened, as your lips pressed together into a knowing, sad smile. Were you going to turn him down? Would you say that you preferred it this way, that you liked being alone and living like a prisoner on the run? You took his face in his hands, and he had a foreboding sense in his gut that you might tell him to leave.

Quickly but gently, he cupped one hand at the back of your neck and pulled himself down to you, pressing his lips to yours before you could speak. It was only right, he thought, as he held the kiss – you didn’t understand that he could help you, he could build the life you deserved and keep you safe from any other hunters and warlocks. He placed his other hand on your lower back and pulled you in, moving his lips against your own and praying you wouldn’t deny him.

Like an angel answering his prayers, you tilted your head and wrapped your arms around his neck, standing on your toes and kissing him back. He tugged his teeth at your bottom lip, and you so graciously allowed his tongue to slip past your teeth, letting him taste you. He whined, flooded with relief that you didn’t try to shove him away and call him deranged.

His cock was quickly growing hard, but he ignored it. Right now, he needed to figure out exactly what he needed to say to make you-

A raven’s call tore through the air, piercing his thoughts. It was much too close than any bird would naturally be.

He tried to turn his head in its direction, but you dug your fingers into his hair, making him stutter and freeze on the spot. He grabbed your hips, about to pry you away-

You pressed your lips firmly to his, and he heard you faintly muttering incoherent words against him. The world around him was suddenly showered with colors: purples like the berries that had stained your fingers, oranges like the leaves that were scattered across the ground, silvers like the thick clouds that blanketed across the sky… The black spots on the birch trees suddenly blinked and flitted across his vision; thousands of them stared at him, and he heard your sweet laughter echoing in the distance as the world spun, spun, spun…

He felt the cold earth press to his cheek, and the last thing he remembered was a sickening ache in his stomach.

He should have heeded the sorcerer’s warning.

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

"… so gut, so Schön, genau so…”

... so good, so beautiful, just like that...

#konig #konig x reader #konig x you #konig x yn #konig cod #konig fanfiction #fantasy au konig #cod fantasy au #cod x reader #konig x reader smut #konig smut #konig nsfu

[periwinklemoonlight]

little sunshine ⋆ boatem knights au

my second short story set in bee @applestruda 's boatem knights au and canon to the plot written by zera @hopepetal !! also make sure to check out bee's bkau gem and etho designs <3 !

cw: decapitation, murder, blood

if you prefer, you can read it on ao3!

⋆⋆⋆

“-And you’re sure this is the man responsible?” The room was spacious, more than big enough for hundreds to fit in, yet the tension in the air filled it with an undeniably claustrophobic atmosphere. Precious artefacts lined the walls and occupied the floors, meticulously positioned in a perfect pattern to suit the path of a would-be museum goer. Now, however, one was missing. And only the most ancient and irreplaceable of the lot, of course.

“Completely.” An odd chill ran up the spine of the curator as she spoke. It shouldn’t have been possible, she thought, she had barely taken her eyes off of that corner of the room for a second before the amulet had vanished into thin air. All she had caught a glimpse of in the aftermath, she was sure of, was a man with stark white hair and a mask darker than the deepest night sky, fleeing the scene with a swiftness she could only ascribe to a seasoned thief.

She had only ever seen that man once before, yet something in her gut was absolutely sure it was him. A few years back, she had stayed at an inn just out of town on a business trip. Her stay had been all-around pleasant, the owner undoubtedly a delight to talk to, full of cheerful stories and helpful advice for travel. The same couldn't've been said for their companion, however. 

He had brooded in the corner of the inn, shooting her occasional unreadable glances as she conversed with the owner, any emotion beyond ice cold eyes concealed by a mask of blackest night. His back to the wall, practically blending in with the shadows around him, she had nearly cancelled her stay the minute she spotted him. 

The only thing that had convinced her to stay despite her better judgement was the owner’s utmost insistence that that man was nothing to fear, that she’d be completely and utterly safe at the inn. Something in their tone had been so, so earnest, she couldn’t help but be inclined to believe them. They were right, she had been entirely safe after all, yet she never could quite shake the cold chill that permeated her body every time the man passed her by. 

“Then it seems we’ve got a bounty on our hands.” The guard concluded with a severe nod.

“Bounty, you say?” A cheery voice asked from across the room. The curator whipped her head around to watch as polished hooves clicked onto the museum flooring. 

“How did you-?” The curator asked, before cutting herself off to fully take in the person before her. There stood Gemini Tay, adorned in finely crafted emerald silks and lightweight armour, wild red hair expertly contained in a sweeping braid, and absolutely armed to the teeth in various weapons hanging lazily across her waist. It wasn’t a bad look for the most notorious bounty hunter in the land, all things considered.

“Word gets around,” Gem replied with a grin, absentmindedly twirling an intricately carved knife in her hand as she approached. “And I’m always down to lend a helping hand!”

She paused, then eyed the curator’s own ostentatious outfit. “...For a fair price, of course.”

“Of course,” The curator repeated, a keen smile worming its way to her face. 

⋆⋆⋆

If there was one thing she relished in being known for, it was that once she had her target in her sights, Gem wasted no time.

It wasn’t hard to spot him, after all. The description the curator had given her was one of the most interesting she’d gotten in a while. A man known only as “Etho”, with a harsh red scar blinding him in one eye and never once seen without a dark mask obscuring half his face. During her journey, Gem had learned that nobody in the area could quite recall when he’d started working at the inn, or even if he actually worked there at all. In fact, it was a popular local rumour that the man was simply a vagrant that the kind innkeeper had taken pity on during one particularly frigid winter and never thought to kick out afterwards.

Regardless of whatever his backstory might have been, Gem couldn’t really care less. All she really cared to know about him was that he was the only thing standing between her and a ludicrously lavish payout. 

It was only a lucky coincidence that the innkeeper wasn’t in when she arrived. There was her target, standing far too nonchalantly behind the counter and looking as if he was preparing to greet her. She wasn’t about to give him the chance. Instantly she swung at him, hard and fast, looking to get a clean kill. To her astonishment, however, he suddenly disappeared within a blink of an eye, reappearing once more just as fast and now on top of the counter. Gem watched as a dark, smoky substance wafted off him as he jumped down and dissipated as quickly as it appeared. 

When she looked at Etho now, it was as if he were slightly transparent, blurred at the edges. She blinked, and he was whole again, no trace of anything amiss. She growled and swung again with impossible force, heaving as her sword broke the floorboards where it landed. Again, she could have sworn that some dark substance was following him, aiding him in his escape. 

“Hey, hey! I don’t know what I did but, uh, I’m sure we can settle this some other way?” Etho offered as he slid backwards on the wooden floors like they were an ice rink, smoke trailing off him and weaving through the air. 

“No can do sir!” Gem replied as she swung once more, again missing him by a fraction of a centimetre. “You got a hefty bounty on your head, and I intend to take it!”

The fight escalated with Gem’s frustration. She spun herself around and leaped at Etho, sword high in the air and aiming to plunge it deep into his skull. Instead, she hit the inn’s counter, splitting the wood and knocking several small objects astray. Her hooves skidded against the floor as she reeled backwards, and wasted no time forcefully wrenching her sword free. 

Wood chippings now scattered across the floor, Gem paid them no mind in her pursuit. The action seemed to distract Etho somewhat, discontent flashing across his heterochromatic eyes, and she took the opportunity to strike. 

Finally, with a lucky stab, she managed to pin him down against the inn’s wall, plunging her sword into his shoulder with a devastating crack and watching as what must have been blood seeped out from it. He gasped, eyes darting to the wound. A wild grin found its way to Gem’s face.

“You’re a tricky one, aren’t you?” She asked, using the moment to catch her breath before unsheathing a second, smaller sword from around her waist. The sharp blade glinted in the deep, warm light of the inn. The reflection didn’t make it to Etho’s eyes. “Shame I’m gonna have to take you out like all the rest of ‘em. I’ll make it quick, though. You’ve earned it.”

It was odd, she thought briefly. Despite the sword driven straight through him, he didn’t appear to actually really care about it all that much. His breathing was as steady as ever, and he barely moved at all beside a futile effort to scoot away from her intense gaze. His eyes were calm, watching her every move in something almost akin to silent fascination rather than the fear she had grown accustomed to. No matter, though, Gem decided as she made clean work of him, lopping off his head in a single swing. 

It fell to the ground with a solid thunk, rolling slightly before making its stop like any old head should. A tenseness she didn’t know she was holding finally released, and she breathed again. Blood was splattered all over the inn’s floors, and she grit her teeth as she imagined the cut from her paycheck she’d have to give the keeper to get it cleaned. All this for some measly priceless artefact? Still, it was over. 

She picked up his head by the hair, and stepped back in shock as she felt just how cold it was. Instantly, it called to mind the way it felt to grab a fistful of snow with no gloves for the first time, fingertips fully immersed in the unadulterated icy chill. For a brief moment, it reminded her of… home. Gem had never considered herself the squeamish type, especially not with an occupation such as hers, but the realization gripping hold of her in that split second was enough to make her gag.

Her grip on his hair loosened for a second, but she caught herself before the head could drop. On a second examination, she noticed what looked like snowflakes scattered in his white hair and decorating his long eyelashes. It was then she finally heard the faint crackling sound that had been slowly spreading around her. The blood that had been flowing freely from Etho’s body was freezing up, and fast.

Gem could do nothing but watch in horror as the blood on the walls and floor turned to thick ice, cracking and shattering into pieces around her as soon as it solidified. Within no time it had spread to his severed head, and she gasped as the blood that still dripped from his neck froze midair and fell to the floor, fragmenting into dozens of tiny pieces. 

She broke her gaze from the head in her hands just long enough to witness a mountain of ice emerge from what remained of his body’s neck, accompanied by a low hissing noise that made her stomach churn. Gem realized then the shape that it was forming. Fractals of ice packed in and around each other, working in tandem to sculpt out a new head identical to the one in her hands. The only difference being, there was nothing to cover the lower half of his face. If she could even call that half a face.

Once the hissing had stopped, that same dark substance she had seen swirl around him in their fight began to seep out from the wound, covering the newly formed head in a thin black layer and obscuring his features. Her heart dropped as she watched the shadowy liquid be absorbed into the ice, revealing a brand new head on Etho’s shoulders, indistinguishable from the first and complete with a new mask. His eyes fluttered open. 

“That wasn’t very nice of you, now was it?” Etho asked as he turned his head to look over at her, an amused smile painting his voice. Gem screamed.

⋆⋆⋆

Gem had never fainted before. With the amount of blood and guts she spilled with a smile on a daily basis, she hadn’t thought it was even possible for someone like her. Evidently, though, everyone had their limits. 

More confusingly, though, was that she had awoken tucked nice and neatly in a warm bed, with at least a dozen pillows cushioning her head and antlers. With a slight turn of her head, she could see a still-warm cup of cocoa resting on the table next to her and causing a sweet scent to waft through the little room she now found herself in. 

She groaned, sitting herself up in the bed and trailing her hand up her forehead, where she could feel a piece of gauze sticking out. Another glance around her surroundings revealed that her weapons were nowhere to be seen. Gem cursed under her breath. 

Her eyes darted around the room. It was quaint, with wooden walls and flooring and a decorative carpet in the center. Faint light streamed in through a window, accompanied by the warm glow of a candle. Must be early morning, she thought. 

Oddly though, the corner across from her seemed to be completely wrapped in shadow, defying the soft sunlight that should have illuminated it. Gem found herself unable to tear her trembling eyes away as the shadowy corner suddenly warped in her vision, the dark matter collecting and solidifying together as a familiar figure materialized before her. 

Etho drifted nonchalantly towards her, stopping by the table to eye the mug, something almost disappointed flashing in his expression as he noticed it hadn’t been touched. Gem faintly spotted a stitch in the shoulder of his tunic. He turned his attention to her.

“How’re ya’ holding up?" He asked, his tone both concerned and casual at once. “You took a pretty nasty fall back there! Never seen anything like it, it was crazy.” A small laugh punctuated his last sentence.

She blinked, then blinked again, but found herself unable to erase the image of what she had just seen from behind her eyes. It was the kick she needed to jog her memory though, and she leaped backwards away from him, nearly hitting her head on the wall behind her. 

“You… What in void’s name are you!?” She squawked. Etho furrowed his frosted eyebrows quizzically. 

“Well, I was hoping maybe you’d be a little bit more appreciative of the setup you’ve got going on here. I even made you a hot cocoa! Iskall told me you guys love that stuff!” There was something genuine in his voice that made Gem calm somewhat, even if his words only added to her bewilderment. She turned back to look at the mug, and slowly reached a hand out to grab it.

Pulling it close to her chest, she spoke, “You made this? For me? Why? I tried to kill you! I did kill you! At least, I think? I’m… still not entirely sure what happened back there.” She stared down into the mug, feeling a weird sense of shame bubble through her. Having the man she’d killed standing right there in front of her, it felt like talking to a ghost. The bounty hunter wasn’t used to having to think about the aftermath of her career beyond what minor property damage could ensue from a struggle, nevermind like this. Her grip on the handle tightened.

“What, this old thing?” Etho asked with another laugh, pulling up his own severed head from the ground next to Gem’s bed. “I left it here for you, since you seemed to really be after it. Figured it could make a nice souvenir from your stay here, you know?” Etho seemed to pick up from Gem’s appalled expression that she did not, in fact, know. 

“Okay, okay, uh, well, you can take it with you when you leave if you want.” A pause. “This… is what you’re after, right?” Gem could make out tiny frozen droplets still connected to the head’s neck, suspended in time and ice. Momentarily, she considered being alarmed at the notion that she’d been sleeping soundly next to a severed head, or grilling him on why exactly he thought putting said head in her room was a normal thing to do in the slightest. The thumping pain rattling around in her skull made the decision for her.

“Partially,” she replied curtly, evidently still attempting to win her staring contest with the mug. Finally, she broke the one-sided tension, and dared to take a small sip. 

It tasted… cold? No, that wasn't right. The liquid was sweet, if a little watery, and at a comfortably warm temperature. It was more as if the ethos of the mug itself refused to be hot. Like it had reluctantly taken to the liquid, yet refused to be any more than a temporary vessel for its warmth. Or, perhaps even more strangely, as if the liquid itself wasn't quite sure it knew how to be warm. 

Despite Gem’s own lukewarm reaction, Etho lit up. 

“Do you like it?” he asked, his normally chill and steady voice brightening with excitement. An amused look found its way to Gem’s face at the sudden change. 

“It’s nice,” she replied simply. She took another sip, then paused to close her eyes. She swore she could hear a triumphant noise from beside her as she tried to calm her searing nerves. Having the head as proof was good, sure, but the curator had expected — and promised payment for — much more. Gem needed that artefact back. She turned back to face him.

“To be honest, Etho,” She began, “Your head’s not all I’m here for. You don’t just get a bounty on your head for nothing, you know. I’m also here to retrieve that artefact you stole.” 

Etho blinked. “The what?”

Now it was Gem’s turn to furrow her brow. 

“You know. The amulet of the ancient Sun people? The last surviving of its kind? You took it from a museum just a few days ago.” She tilted her head, not even trying to hide her bafflement. Etho squinted at her. He tapped his fingers on the nightstand beside him thoughtfully.

“Ancient amulet… ancient amulet…” He mused. “Oh! Is that what that shiny gold necklace was? It was just lying around on a shelf at that ‘museum’ place Iskall took me to! I don’t know why nobody else thought to take it, to be honest. Here, check it out!” He tugged at something unseen underneath his mask for a minute, before producing the very artefact Gem had been seeking. He handed it to her casually as her shaky hands returned the mug to its nightstand. 

“You’ve been wearing it this whole time!?” She exclaimed, yelping when the item made contact with her skin and reeling backwards at the sudden burst of heat running through her fingertips. 

“Ah, yeah.” He didn’t appear too upset at its departure, though Gem couldn't help but notice his lively attitude had faded somewhat. She brushed her thumb over the deep amber pendant, briefly fascinated by the perpetual heat emanating off of it. 

“It’s neat, right? I’ve never seen a necklace like it. I wasn’t planning on taking it, at first, but I really wanted to figure out why it made my fingers melt like that.”

“You really are something,” Gem muttered. “But, I’m afraid I’ll have to take this back. A job’s a job.”

He gave her a nod. “Yep, yep, fine by me. Is that all you need?”

“Oh, I have one more thing, actually,” Gem replied, tucking the amulet away safely.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want my weapons back.”

⋆⋆⋆

The curator grinned and clasped her hands together as she spotted Gem, a full-looking satchel and small brown bag now decorating her waist alongside her clanking swords and knives. The bounty hunter approached her desk with a matching smile, untying the smaller bag and placing it before the curator.

“I see you’ve returned! Remarkably fast as well. This is?”

“The amulet, back safe and sound without a scratch. Very pretty, might I add. Anyone would be able to see why it’s the prized jewel of your exhibit. And why a rotten thief would want to take it.” Gem placed the satchel next to it.

“And this…?”

“That deplorable thief’s head, just as you asked. I can assure you, he won’t be any more trouble for you now.”

“Excellent. Then, I believe you are deserving of your reward.”

“Yes,” Gem repeated. “Excellent.”

#my writing #boatem knights au #bkau #geminitay #ethoslab #cw murder #cw decapitation #cw blood

[fyodere]

actor!dazai au + hate fucking

I hope nobody catch us (but I kinda hope they catch us)

“she wanna go viral . . ?

keep fucking for hours

that pussy got power ”

— P POWER

₍^. .^₎⟆ ── content warnings / tags : nsfw content (mdni), actor!au, dazai is mean, nasty absolutely filthy smut, reader is a new name on acting scene, semi public sex, child star dazai, rivals with benefits, hate fucking, petnames, degradation, dazai is a sadic, unprotected sex, dirt talk, light dom/sub dynamic ♡

﹙ 🔪 ﹚── synopsis : Fighting for a spot on the entertainment industry was rough, but co-staring another film with Dazai was rougher.

Now you’re at the after party, all the paparazzi and interviewers are gone. You can finally relax now. At least, that was what you thought.

“Meet me in the bathroom.” Dazai whispered to you and quickly vanished, you were used to his superstar behavior, but it still annoys you.

You always fight on set and hate each other. What’s up with him now?

﹙ 🧥 ﹚── author's note : OKAY IM SO EXCITED FOR THIS i absolutely loved writing the whole rivals with benefits thing. it’s just too hot. i hope y’all enjoy it <3 my requests are always open so don’t be shy!

. . . ꒰ ꐦ › ﾛ ‹ ꒱

Fighting for a spot on the entertainment industry was rough, but co-staring another film with Osamu Dazai was rougher. For years, you had clawed your way through auditions, rejections, and fleeting moments of success, all in pursuit of that elusive breakthrough role. And just when you thought you had finally made it, fate threw you yet another curveball: co-starring in another film with the enigmatic and notoriously difficult Dazai Osamu.

The after-party buzzed with energy as celebrities mingled, champagne flowed, and laughter filled the air. For you, it was both a relief and a moment of triumph. Landing a role alongside the enigmatic Osamu was a career milestone, but it came with its own set of challenges.

As you sipped your drink, a familiar voice cut through the chatter. It was Dazai, his dark eyes glinting mischievously as he beckoned you with a subtle gesture. You rolled your eyes, accustomed to his dramatic antics. Despite their on-screen chemistry, behind the scenes, you both clashed like oil and water.

Reluctantly, you slipped away from the crowd, your curiosity piqued by Dazai's clandestine summons.

The tension between you and Dazai was palpable from day one of filming. Both of you were fiercely talented and fiercely competitive, each vying for the spotlight in every scene. The set became a battleground of egos, with sparks flying whenever your characters shared the screen.

Now, amidst the glitz and glamour of the after-party, with the paparazzi and interviewers finally gone, you hoped for a moment of respite. But as you leaned against the bar, nursing a cocktail and trying to unwind.

As the night wore on, you found yourself swept up in Dazai's whirlwind scheme, the lines between enemy and ally blurring in the face of ambition. And as you stood on the precipice of this daring venture, you realized that sometimes, the greatest battles were fought not on the silver screen, but behind the scenes, in the shadows where dreams and egos collided.

Dazai was a star since childhood. After starring in a movie at the age of 5, his career was an unstoppable ascent with no contenders. Every role, every appearance, no matter how small, made the project take off. Having Osamu in a project was synonymous with success.

At least, it was until he turned 15.

At 15, Dazai found himself on a thin line brought about by the consequences of fame. Surrounded by a world of drinks and nighttime dangers, Dazai felt embraced by the dark side of fame.

At 18, Osamu stepped away from his acting career. He needed a break from the spotlight and to clean himself from all the vices he had started in his adolescence. The media portrayed him as a comet in eruption disguised as a shooting star—if the media didn't want Dazai Osamu, then it wouldn't have him. Dazai distanced himself from screens and public scrutiny.

Now, at 22, Osamu was preparing for his comeback to the prestigious world of cinema, and when the cast was announced, people were stunned. Dazai's return after 4 years away from the stage. The return was so sudden that the media had no choice but to remind the public of Dazai's difficult phase.

His return was in a minor role in a drama film, the same film where you were one of the stars. You're a model represented by Fyodor Dostoevsky who landed this role by chance. It was a simple equation: good agents, beauty, charisma, and connections. There was no way your career could go wrong.

Despite the glitz and glamour of the entertainment industry, the atmosphere on set was anything but glamorous. From the moment filming began, it was clear that the animosity between you and Dazai was more than just a clash of egos—it was a full-blown feud.

Every interaction was laced with tension, each scene a battle for dominance. Behind the camera, snide remarks and passive-aggressive jabs were exchanged with alarming frequency, as you and Dazai vied for control of the spotlight.

But as the days turned into weeks, a begrudging respect began to simmer beneath the surface. Despite your mutual disdain, there was no denying the undeniable chemistry that crackled between you on screen. And as much as you hated to admit it, Dazai's talent was matched only by your own.

Yet, even as you grudgingly acknowledged each other's skill, the bitterness between you remained palpable. Every success felt like a personal affront, every compliment a thinly veiled insult. And as the pressure mounted, so too did the intensity of your rivalry.

But amidst the chaos and conflict, a glimmer of opportunity emerged. As filming progressed, it became increasingly clear that the success of the project hinged on your ability to set aside your differences and work together towards a common goal.

And so, begrudgingly, you and Dazai began to cooperate—not out of friendship or camaraderie, but out of sheer necessity. As the stakes grew higher and the deadline loomed closer, you found yourselves reluctantly setting aside your differences in pursuit of a greater good.

But, returning to the premiere of the film you were starring in: the after party was perfect. Only the most renowned people, the most coveted celebrities, all of it without any paparazzi or interviewer to disrupt the moment. That was the perfect opportunity to establish connections with the big names in the media. But, honestly, at that moment, all you wanted was to enjoy good drinks and soak in the energy of the place, having a well-deserved rest.

Navigating the treacherous waters of the entertainment industry had always been a challenge, but nothing could have prepared you for the tumultuous journey that came with co-starring in another film alongside the enigmatic Dazai. The tension between you two was palpable, a constant undercurrent of rivalry and animosity that colored every interaction.

Now, amidst the glittering lights and pulsating energy of the after party, with the paparazzi and interviewers finally gone, you hoped for a moment of respite. A chance to unwind and revel in the success of the film, to bask in the glow of your hard-earned achievements. But fate had other plans.

As you sipped your drink, a familiar voice sliced through the air, pulling you from your reverie. It was Dazai, his words laden with urgency and mystery. "Meet me in the bathroom," he murmured, before disappearing into the crowd. His abrupt departure left you both bewildered and irritated, a perfect encapsulation of your tumultuous relationship.

You and Dazai had always clashed on set, your fiery personalities and fierce ambition fueling a rivalry that bordered on hatred. Every scene was a battleground, every interaction a test of wills. And yet, beneath the surface animosity, there was a begrudging respect—a recognition of each other's talent and determination.

But as you made your way to the designated meeting spot, the backstage area cloaked in shadows and secrecy, you couldn't help but wonder what game Dazai was playing now. What could he possibly want from you?

As you rounded the corner, you found Dazai waiting for you, his expression inscrutable. The air crackled with tension, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you like a veil. And in that moment, you realized that whatever lay ahead, it would be anything but predictable.

You walked to the bathroom concerned. What the hell Dazai would want with you? You hate to admit it, but you’re kind of curious.

“Oh, well.” You said looking at the tall man with brown hair and mysterious eyes. “The demon prodigy want to talk to me. What an honor. Should I thank God for this?” You said with the voice dripping sarcasm as you roll your eyes.

The bathroom was empty and quiet. The place reeked of cigarette smell. Dazai was waiting there with a slight smile on his face. As soon as he saw you, he quickly put out his cigarette and threw the bud to the dumpster.

“Why so nervous?” His tone was taunting. He was leaning against the wall while talking to you.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You retort. “I’m trying to enjoy this after party but, damn, you really want to ruin everything.”

“Ruining it… or making it more interesting?” Dazai crossed his arms and smirked. His tone was still annoying. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Like always.” Dazai muttered. You could see he was trying to make you angry.

“I wanted to talk with you in private. Since we’re having another film together. I want to propose something to you, since our reputation is on the line…” He said slowly.

“Our reputation?” You said laughter than you planned. “Oh, please. You’re the one who couldn’t resist to alcohol at 15. You’re the one who fucked up your image to the midia. Don’t put me into your twisted games.”

“Just listen before you go all ‘I hate you!’ On me, I get enough of that from the paparazzi.” Dazai said with a fake laugh.

Dazai stayed silent for a few seconds.

“You know how the rumor mill always says we are both in a relationship?” He sighed. “That’s not a problem to me. In fact, I believe it’s even better for us. I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend and feed the media with the idea that we are dating—“ You abruptly cut him off.

“Oh, don’t even come with this. I get enough bad ideas from my agent. I don’t need even more.”

Dazai's smirk widened at your reaction, his gaze unwavering. "I understand your hesitation, but think about it," he urged, his voice taking on a persuasive tone. "This could be mutually beneficial for both of us. Imagine the headlines, the buzz surrounding our 'relationship.' It would catapult us into the spotlight like never before."

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. "And what about the fallout when the truth inevitably comes out?" you countered, your tone dripping with skepticism. "We'd be crucified by the media, branded as frauds and manipulators. Is that really the kind of attention you want?"

Dazai's expression softened slightly, a hint of vulnerability flickering in his eyes. "I know it's risky," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "But think about what we could achieve together. With our combined talent and charisma, we could dominate the industry. This could be our ticket to the top."

You hesitated, torn between your reservations and the tantalizing prospect of fame and success. The allure of the spotlight was undeniable, but at what cost? Could you really trust Dazai to have your best interests at heart, or was this just another one of his manipulative schemes?

As you weighed your options, the air between you crackled with tension, the silence stretching taut with unspoken possibilities. And in that moment, you knew that whatever decision you made would irrevocably alter the course of your career—and perhaps your life.

For a moment, you considered leaving, quitting the project before it even began, but the thought of walking away from such a high-profile opportunity filled you with dread. Instead, you looked back at Dazai, your expression unreadable. "I guess I have no choice," you said ironically. "If you insist on being such a jerk, I'll play your game. But remember, you're the one who's going to end up regretting this. Just wait until I show my true colors, and the world sees what a fucking asshole you really are."

With those words, You turned your back on Dazai, ignoring his derisive snort as you walked out of the room. You could feel his eyes burning into your back, and for a moment, you wondered if you had made the right decision. But then you reminded herself that you didn't need to like him; you only needed to tolerate him. After all, there was no way you could afford to lose your job over their petty feud.

Osamu couldn't help but smirk as he watched you storm off, your back rigid with anger and defiance. He had never cared about your opinion, but he still found himself curious about your reaction to his antics. There was something about your fierce determination and independence that intrigued him, and he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if you ever decided to fight back against him.

Without thinking, Dazai grabbed you by the arm. “Hey, I’m still talking to you, belladonna.” He smirked. “Don’t think you could run away from me so easily.”

“Huh? Get lost!” You said firmly. “Don’t you dare touch me.” You gnashed your teeth while stepping closer to him, stepping on his foot.

Dazai’s grin widened as he felt your foot press down on his foot. It was clear that you were furious, and he reveled in the knowledge that he had managed to rile you up so quickly.

"Oh, come on, sweetheart. You know you love it when I tease you like this," he said, trying to sound casual. "It's part of my charm." His smile turned mischievous. "Besides, I think I deserve some credit for getting you to stay after all."

“Oh, don’t be so cheeky.” You said while rolling your eyes. He was still holding your arm, like he didn’t want to let you go.

"I am being cheeky, hmm?" Osamu retorted, his voice low and dangerous. "And you know it. Don't play innocent, sweetheart. We both know you secretly enjoy the attention I give you."

"I do not!" You spat, glaring at him. "You are such a jerk."

"Is that so?" Dazai asked, his tone still light and carefree "I am?" Osamu arched an eyebrow. "You really believe that, don't you?" He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "You know you want me to keep doing it, right?"

"Shut up! I hate you, demon prodigy. You know how much I dislike you?” You said stepping on his foot even more heavily. Putting your face close to his.

Osamu laughed, the sound harsh and unpleasant. "So, you say you hate me?" He took a step closer, pressing his body against yours. "Well, I hate you too, sweetheart. But we can't seem to get rid of each other, can we?"

He moved his hand up to cup your face, turning your head so their gazes locked. "But that doesn't mean I can't make your life miserable, does it?" Your faces were to close, a single word could make your lips touch.

The air between you seemed to crackle with tension as Dazai looked into your eyes. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, tracing its outline. "If you don't want me to keep bothering you, then you should tell me to stop. If you do, I'll back off and leave you alone."

“Just shut up.” You said and finally pressed your lips against his.

Your tongues tangled together, Dazai's fingers digging into your hair, pulling your head back slightly. He was rough, demanding, and yet there was something undeniably compelling about the kiss.

As if he couldn't help himself, he deepened the kiss, taking control of the situation completely.

Osamu gripped you tightly, using all his strength to hold you in place. When he pulled away, he let out a loud laugh, a harsh bark of humorless mirth. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Osamu broke away from the kiss, leaving you panting and gasping for air. His breath was hot against your skin, his eyes dark and hungry.

Osamu smirked, the smug expression making your blood boil. “I think you're enjoying it,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “You know what? I'm going to keep doing it until you beg me to stop.”

He grabbed your hands and pulled you above your head, pinning you against the wall. “Now, let's see how long you can last before you give in to my charms, hmm?”

Dazai leaned in again, pressing his body against yours once more. This time, he didn't use his tongue; instead, he bit down hard on your bottom lip.

“Fuck…” You said between heavy breaths.

“Mmm, that's my girl.” Dazai grinned, showing off his teeth. “Keep screaming out your protests, sweetheart. I love it when you fight me like this. Makes it all the more fun.”

With that, he licked at your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. Then, he released it, only to bite down harder. The pain was intense, almost unbearable, but it also had a strange sort of pleasure attached to it.

Osamu's hand moved to your breast, cupping it through your dress. He squeezed it gently, then twisted it, causing her nipple to pierce through the fabric. The sensation was both excruciating and exquisite.

“A-Ah! Fuck!” You yelled, tears beginning to form in your eyes.

Osamu laughed softly, his smile growing wider. “You're so cute when you get mad,” he said, still holding onto your breast. “But remember, you asked for this, sweetheart. You wanted to play with the big boys, right?”

He released your breast, letting go of it. Instead, he began to run his fingers up and down your spine, making sure to tease you wherever possible. As he did so, he gave you breasts a rough tug, forcing your chest to arch upwards.

“Now, tell me, do you want me to continue or should I stop?” he asked, his tone casual and nonchalant. Osamu knew that he could push you to the breaking point, but he also knew that you would never say no to him.

You were breathless, your heart racing. Your cheeks were flushed, and you couldn't help but feel hot and bothered by his actions. It was clear that he enjoyed tormenting you, and you found yourself wondering if you should just let him have his way with you.

You hesitated for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to answer his question. Finally, you spoke, your voice barely audible over your panting. “... Fuck. Just keep going.”

Osamu nodded, his grin widening even further. “As you wish, my dear,” he said, giving you another hard pinch between your legs. This time, however, he made sure to rub against your thigh, pressing it against your sensitive flesh.

The sensation was incredibly intense, and it left you feeling exposed and vulnerable. But you didn't seem to mind; instead, you moaned softly, your body reacting to the stimulation.

Dazai's hands roamed across your back, tracing every curve and line. His fingers brushed against your skin, leaving trails of heat and desire in their wake. He grabbed hold of your ass, squeezing it tightly, before giving it a sharp smack.

“I'm going to fuck you, dear.” he whispered, his voice low and seductive. “I'm going to make you mine, and I'll never let you go.”

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against hers.

The sensation of his finger pressing against your entrance made you shudder, your skin feeling sensitive and exposed. It was then that you realized just how vulnerable you was in this situation, and it scared you. But for some reason, it was addictive.

Still, you didn't back away from him, even though you knew he had the power to hurt you. Instead, you just looked at him, you eyes wide and pleading.

“Please, Osamu. Please, keep going.”

Osamu chuckled, his amusement evident in the twinkle of his eyes. He leaned back slightly, keeping his finger pressed firmly against your entrance as he glanced up at you.

“You're adorable when you beg, sweetheart. So cute and pathetic. But you know what? You asked for this, so you get exactly what you deserve.”

Without warning, he pulled his finger out of you, leaving you aching and needy.

Osamu chuckled, his smile wicked and predatory. He continued to tease you, gently rubbing your clit and pushing his finger deeper into you tight hole.

“You're such a good girl, aren't you?” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “So obedient and submissive, like a dog. Always ready to do whatever your master tells you to do. But I bet you haven't ever asked what your master wants, right? I mean, it's only fair to ask before you start serving him, isn't it?”

The moment he pulled out, you whimpered, your body desperate for more. You wanted to cry out, to beg him to continue, but you knew it would only encourage him further. So instead, you just watched him, waiting for his next move.

As he sat up, you noticed something odd about his expression—it was almost as if he was enjoying himself. And yet, there was something cruel about the way he was treating you, something that made you want to run away from him.

But you couldn't leave. Not when he had you trapped in this bathroom.

“Dazai…” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “What do you want from me?”

Osamu laughed again, a harsh sound that echoed through the small space. His gaze never left hers as he spoke.

“I'm doing this because I hate you,” he said simply. “I think you're a terrible actress, and I can't stand the sight of you. Plus, it's fun to see you squirm and beg for mercy.

He reached over and grabbed your arm, pulling you close enough that your bodies were practically touching. He let go of you, however, and stood up, taking a few steps backward.

“Now, come here, belladonna. I want to fuck you until you beg for my cum.”

You sit down on the cold sink of bathroom and spread your legs, waiting for him.

Osamu smirked at your submission, a dark satisfaction curling deep within him. He walked towards you, his every step heavy with purpose and determination. When he finally reached you, he took hold of your hips and began to push your legs apart, making sure you were fully exposed and vulnerable.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered in your ear. “You know how much I hate you, right? Well, I hate you even more when you look like this, all pretty and helpless. It makes me feel powerful.”

With that, he released your hips and took hold of your thighs, lifting them off the ground and exposing your cunt completely.

As soon as he lifted your legs, you could feel his hardness pressing against your sensitive flesh. You shivered, feeling the chill of the air on your most intimate parts. Your heart raced, fear coursing through your veins. But still, you didn't try to stop him or fight back. Instead, you waited, your eyes wide and filled with fear and anticipation.

Osamu smirked once more before pushing into your tight, wet entrance. The sensation was intense, almost painful, but he continued to press forward, slowly filling you with his thick member. He gently rocked his hips, causing his cock to rub against your walls in a way that felt both rough and pleasurable.

As he did so, he couldn't help but grind out words against your neck. “Fuck, you're so tight. You'll be begging for my cum soon enough.”

The pressure inside you grew unbearable, but you tried not to let it show. Instead, you bit your lip and tried to focus on something else, anything else. All you could think about was how much you hated him, how much you wanted to make him suffer. But the thought of doing so only made you feel guilty and ashamed.

Osamu moaned softly, his voice low and rumbling against your neck. His hands clenched tightly onto your thighs, keeping your legs raised and exposed as he continued to pound into your with fierce intensity. He was determined to get what he wanted, and he would do whatever it took to make you suffer.

The sound of his moans echoed throughout the bathroom, the only thing breaking the silence besides their heavy breathing. Despite the fact that he was clearly enjoying himself, there was no love or affection in his actions; rather, it was all fueled by anger and hatred.

The tension in the room was palpable, and you found yourself unable to move or speak. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, and every time he moved, it caused your insides to writhe and protest. The thought of having sex with someone you hated so much was sickening, but at this point, you had no choice but to endure it.

You tried to bite down on your own lip, hoping to muffle some of the sounds of discomfort that were escaping your mouth. But it was no use; your moans were too loud and too frequent for you to keep quiet. And even though you knew that he would only use it against you later, you couldn't help but give in to the pleasure, however small it may be.

Osamu groaned out loud, his voice rough and strained as he felt his orgasm approaching. It was almost painful, the way he had to force himself to continue moving. But he wouldn't stop until he had finished, and when he finally did, he collapsed on top of you, his weight crushing you against the bathroom sink.

He pulled out of her with a grunt, his eyes still closed as he tried to catch his breath. Then, without warning, he reached up and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. When you opened your mouth to say something, he cut her off with a harsh glare.

"You think you can get away with your little tricks?" he growled, his tone dark and threatening. "Well, guess again."

He felt his climax approaching, so he released all inside of you, and as soon as you left, Dazai let out a sigh, his face twisting into a scowl. "Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath. "Why does she have to be so difficult? It's like pulling teeth to get anything out of her. This is going to be a nightmare." He plopped down on the couch, rubbing his temples in frustration. "I swear, sometimes I wish I could just strangle her and be done with it."

#bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd smut #dazai smut #dazai x reader #writing prompt

[chaozsilhouette]

Vanishing Shadow: Chapter 20

One need not be born with immense power or carry a prophecy to be great.

At times all one must do is try their best for the sake of others, to truly surpass their limits and reach the domain of legends.

#vanishing shadow au #lego monkie kid au #lmk au #mk #lego monkie kid #sun wukong #lmk tang #lmk mei #lmk pigsy #sandy #lmk yin #lmk jin #lmk lin #lmk macaque #Mihou Ehuang

[kedsandtubesocks]

cowboys like us

Bull Rider!Din Djarin x F!Reader x Bronco Rider!Jack Daniels

summary: one cowboy is already a challenge, but two is either going to be your best blessing or worst curse

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, modern rodeo cowboys AU, Din is still a papa and has his baby, light discussion of the rodeo and events, light angst & miscommunication with eventual resolution, Jack & his sweet talk with calling reader ‘baby, honey, sugar,” bar scene with moments of drinking, heavy making out, intense grinding & dry humping, spicy moments, M/M/F & M/M dynamics, polyamorous exploration that leads to eventual poly relationship

word count: 5.9k

a/n: welcome to the first fic of the ‘Let’s Rodeo’ series! I know, I know, this is such a strange combo & AU but I’m such a sucker for cowboy Din and of course Jack decided to barge in and here we are lol, the biggest and deepest thank you’s go to @perotovar @lowlights @nothoughtsjustmeds & @beskarandblasters - this wouldn’t be here without y’all and I’m so eternally grateful…and to you if you’re reading this thank you so much

You wonder if maybe you’ve unknowingly slipped into a strange country song and not realized it.

Popcorn litters the floor all around. The plastic arena seat is a bit uncomfortable. A drunk woman behind you almost spilled beer on you but apologized profusely. There are more cowboy hats here than you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

But as you sit in this strange existence a voice over the loudspeaker comes and sparks up your soul. As the announcer’s voice booms, loud screams swallow up the air of the stadium.

You spot him already climbing onto the bronco and your heart jumps into your throat.

“The man smooth as whiskey!” The announcer screams clear and booming with an accented southern pride.

“Give it up for Jack Daniels!”

Shrill shrieks erupt fanatically loud as if the place now morphes into a boy band concert instead of a rodeo competition.

That is until the alarm sounds. The chute opens, and the ride begins.

Focusing on Jack is chaotic. The bronco bucks frenzied trying to throw the cowboy off with a wild strength. His black Stetson hat goes flying and your stomach drops at how rapidly his body whips around. Back and forth, back and forth, he tries holding on with simply one hand.

It’s terrifying. It’s hypnotic.

Then it’s over fast.

The beautiful horse flings off Jack and he lands on the dirt. You clutch the edge of your plastic seat. The horse continues bucking and your mind rushes to the worst case scenario of the creature’s strong might rearing down on Jack.

Then the cowboy springs up like nothing.

A smile even illuminates his handsome face and it ignites the crowd into a gleeful roar.

You don’t even know if he did good. You barely understand the point system or average or whatever it is.

The horse thankfully settles and Jack struts away effortless.

Suddenly Jack’s salt of the earth eyes flick up. He scans the crowd until his gaze lands on you.

The seat you’re in sits close to the edge of the arena, on the floor just right outside the ring.

Then, with all the confidence of a man whose job it is to ride a bucking bronco, Jack blows you a kiss.

The drunk woman behind you along with her friends scream their heads off thinking he blew the kiss to them. Maybe he did. He’s a damn flirt. You even glance backward to see one of the girls, very drunk, tries to calm herself down from freaking out.

Jack now walks heads to the side to exit. His eyes however stay glued to you. And the minute you turn back to stare at him…he winks.

Then he vanishes.

This cowboy might be this event’s closer, but this isn’t the end of the rodeo for you. The incoming bull rides shift the air. It’s considered another heavy hitter main event and the anticipation bubbles.

Unlike Jack, who arrives like a firecracker ready to brighten up any room he enters, this cowboy emerges like a shadow.

Keeping his head down, it doesn’t help that a protective mask covers his handsome face. However, the energy radiating off the cowboy’s deadly focus composure is like a quiet storm on the horizon.

He stays silent, doesn’t even lift his eyes up, almost in a focused trance.

“Mr. Silent and Deadly himself… Din Djarin!” The announcers boom out his name.

Then you watch as the man becomes a myth, one who tames a wild force of nature.

Din and bull fly out of the chute with a choking force.

In the same way your breath stopped watching Jack getting bucked around, the same dizzying panic fills you as Din battles the same force.

He stubbornly stays on, rides as the bull thrashes around. You wonder if this is where some mythologies stem from because it is something unreal watching this man move with this powerful creature.

The crowd hoots and hollers cheering Din on. You stay petrified in your seat.

Then the ride finishes fast.

Din flies off the bull and your breathing stops. Rapidly the trainers along with other cowboys scramble to settle the bull and check on Din. The bull rider casually rises up unbothered, unshaken, and the crowd goes wild.

You exhale a loud shaken sigh of relief. Your body feels like jello, as if fear has finally been exorcized from your body leaving you a boneless mess.

Suddenly Din rips the guard mask off and all attention falls to him. Sweat adds a shine to his face and his hair is a tousled mess but he’s never looked more gorgeous.

“What the fuck?! Dude, he’s hot too?!” Someone squawks out.

The ladies sitting behind you of course notice Din and squeal out feverishly. Unlike Jack, an actual peacock who owns the crowd basking in the attention, Din’s face stays lowered with his eyes averted shyly.

Until his dark eyes suddenly flicker up, like a viper peering out from a cave. His eyes find you surprisingly fast.

You and him simply stare at each other. Then so quickly Din averts his eyes away again and heads off.

The shakiest exhale leaves you.

Your heartbeat drums loud in your ears as if you were the one who just finished the wild rides. And maybe you did in your own way.

“Oh my fucking god!” Behind you one of the girls screams. “So many hot cowboys! Like, how the fuck do you pick just one?!”

Alcohol drenches her playful words. However, to you they become barbed and catch on your heart. Because how do you pick between two handsome cowboys different as day and night.

“Babe!” One of the girls giggles. “That’s the secret, you don’t pick just one! You have ‘em all!”

She howls a wild laugh and the others scream scandalized but gleeful. One of them even jokingly says ‘so you gotta catch ‘em all like pokemon!’ which almost makes you laugh.

But the words hang in your heart like a rusting anchor.

Grabbing your bag, you head out. Arriving at the backstage area of the arena, you flash the visitor’s access pass to security who lets you through. You’ve only done this a few times before but your heart still races getting this type of entrance.

Earlier today Din said he’d wait for you after in the small rest waiting room. When you open the door, you stumble upon a sight.

Jack's hand firmly holding Din’s face -

As the two men passionately kiss each other.

Jack’s taller than Din, slightly, not by much. Din’s build however is firmer, solid, compared to Jack’s sleek stature.

Immediately they both break away from each other as if electrocuted.

Din and Jack’s eyes catch sight of you and their faces fall. Din whispers your name out while Jack stays silent.

Reality rams into you like a released wild bull.

Because you realize you’ve interrupted them. You're barging in, an actual third wheel.

You want to move, want to say something. But you can’t even imagine what. It clicks that you read this whole situation wrong. Maybe neither of them actually held feelings for you.

A sudden loud knock on the wall makes you and the cowboys practically jump.

One of the event announcers pops his head in casually.

“Hey sorry, but you’re needed out back Djarin.” He says to Din then leaves.

Even with the surprise arrival and then departure, the thick tension doesn’t leave the air. If anything it’s caused a strange vacuum to form.

Jack now breathes out your name hesitantly. Yet, his eyebrows are furrowed hard, concerned and upset. Din’s dark eyes shine so visibly soaked with worry.

Before you can even say anything one of Jack’s main coaches and manager, Champ, waltzes in. He’s a striking presence that draws all the focuses to him

Champ whistles loud. “Who died in here?”

No one says a word.

“Alrighty then,” Champ shrugs, not wanting to dive into whatever he senses.

“Daniels come on,” he urges. “I ain’t waiting anymore. They’re probably waiting for you too Dinny.”

Champ’s nickname for Din, which Din himself detests, makes you smirk and brightens your spirit for a moment.

But the awful tension stays sticking to your skin allowing a poison to seep in.

“Hey there, sweet pea.” Champ nods his head acknowledging you. With a weak smile you nod back.

You politely excuse yourself and leave.

The walk out of the arena is the longest of your life.

Everything you just saw flashes through your mind a rapid flip picture book. You can process what you saw but can’t fully grasp it.

Even outside, the roar of the rodeo swirls around even in you.

You might have wandered into a country song earlier but you didn’t realize it was going to be a heartbreak one.

You met Din first in a grocery store parking lot.

It had been a total accident. Literally. You had gotten into a small fender bender with him in the parking lot of a grocery store.

He drove the oldest silver Honda Civic ever still existing and still can’t believe it didn’t even manage to take a hit. You were also horrified when you saw there was a baby sleeping away in the car.

Yet the entire time Din was so kind and concerned about your wellbeing.

You didn’t realize it then, but that shy and very handsome scruffy man with his ancient Honda Civic would change the orbit of your life.

Because that day you accidentally collided with a cowboy, it opened your world like a vast desert horizon.

Jack arrived soon after.

If Din was the soft daybreak, then Jack came in like a dust devil.

Though they competed in two different categories, you discovered many rodeo circuits crossed paths.

When you went to visit Din months ago at the ranch housing many of the cowboys for training, that’s when you first met Jack.

He walked straight up to you and asked if you were lost because he was concerned heaven was missing an angel.

He hasn’t shut his mouth since.

Before it was simply you and Din. But Jack is a force that seems to barge his way in like the wild broncos he rode.

He is shameless in flirting. He often playfully touches yours and Din’s cheeks often, or casually drapes himself over you or his fellow cowboy.

Din on the other hand is quietly sweet. He routinely sends you photos of the sunrises of all the cities he travels to.

So opposite, they almost are like the sun and moon.

You began caring for them fiercely and fell so fast.

But now, you contemplate if you simply played yourself a fool becoming your own rodeo clown.

All the ideas, all the heavy conflict of having to pick between the two of them, taste bitter on your tongue. You take a long swing of your drink to hopefully wash it away. It doesn’t.

Din texted you asking to please meet him here at this bar near the secondary training arena and now you wait.

It’s lively tonight. Even after being thrown into the world of cowboys, or rodeo circuits, sitting in the honky tonk bar feels as if you’re on another planet. The music thankfully has a nice beat so you enjoy the song playing.

Someone slides in besides you, not even sitting on the bar stool.

“You seem lonely.” The voice of a stranger.

Besides you, a lanky college freshman looking guy leans against the bar staring at you.

“Just waiting for a friend.” You politely answer.

“Well, maybe you’d like some company waiting?”

You’re about to decline when a looming presence arrives at your back.

“Sorry there buckaroo, but this lovely peach is taken for the night.”

Jack’s smooth voice rings out and shocks your system.

The stranger’s face drops comedically fast and the punk scrambles away without another word.

You turn around and it isn't just Jack behind you but Din is as well.

Jack wears his black cowboy hat and you’re surprised to see Din in one as well. He rarely wears his Stetson but it transforms him.

In typical western, the dark midnight cowboy hats are that of the outlaws, the bandits. One of Din’s managers, an older man named Cobb Vanth, once told you that.

And maybe these two are.

Yet, even as bandits, they stand before you like two country romance song dreams. The kaleidoscopic lights dance and radiate off them.

Din mutters your name with hesitation swirling in his eyes.

Panic prickles against your skin. You’re not ready yet.

So you turn to the bartender and order three rounds.

“Honeypie, we gotta talk.” Jack says low, strikingly somber.

Shaking your head, you swallow hard. “Not now. I just…can we just please…just wait for a moment.”

Please let’s just enjoy this false dream a little longer, is what your heart whispers out.

“Of course.” Din mutters and they both move to sit on either side of you, a sort of barricade you’re already missing.

The drinks come and in a nervous quiet move you and the cowboys cling your glasses together. Everyone tosses the shot back. The tequila burns and helps slightly.

You decide if this a goodbye to this dream, you want to at least enjoy it a bit tipsy. So you order another round.

“Careful.” Din urges, ever the cautious one.

“Come on.” You now perk up. “You two both scored high yesterday! We gotta celebrate.”

Which is true. Even with your brewing heartbreak, you still got excited seeing their scores from the app alert. Because that’s the person you’ve become. You have apps on your phone dedicated to rodeo cowboy scores. Well, you might be deleting those apps soon.

You move to take the next shot.

You raise your glass to your two dear cowboys - the ones who you text everyday, the ones you try facetiming as much as you can, your dearest friends.

And maybe that’s all they will be.

You toast to their scores and to them.

Din’s eyes hold a pained shine in them that makes your heart twist. Jack instead wears a rather terrifying steeled up composed face.

You feel empty taking this shot and only Jack throws his back with you. Din even doesn’t touch his drink.

This time the tequila goes down warm and numbing.

The alcohol begins to work its confidence magic in you as you tease Din for not wanting to drink with you. He however glares at you and you’re reminded of an unwavering mesquite tree.

Maybe this is a bad decision.

You can’t be selfish about this. These two found each other. All those moments you thought they had feelings you simply had read the situation wrong.

“Look,” you sigh now, deflated. “I’m sorry-”

Jack suddenly smacks his hand against the bar countertop. It’s aggressively firm, a loud startling whack of a noise.

“Dancin’.” Jack declares loudly. “We’re gonna dance.”

“What? You and him?” You ask over the music.

“No.” Jack snaps. “We’re all goin’. So get your asses up.”

Din scoffs.

Jack, with firm hands yanking on yours and Din’s sleeves, actually drags everyone to the dance floor.

You can’t comprehend what’s happening. The floor is heavily crowded and no one notices three more additions.

“I don’t dance.”

“I can’t dance.”

Both you and Din fling out the same hurried replies to Jack.

He barks a laugh.

“It ain’t about being good at dancin’. S’about feelin’ the music, feelin’ the beat.” He yells back and then instantly transforms into a commanding force.

Sliding behind you, Jack turns you around to face Din.

His and your eyes go wide.

Jack then reaches to yank at Din’s dusty jacket, effectively pulling him forward -

Straight to your front.

Your heart hammers loud in your ears, so loud it drowns out the music blaring.

“Relax.” Jack purrs out. “Just…feel.”

You want to bark back about how that’s easier said than done. But your tongue gets tied up so badly you can’t form words.

Then one of Jack’s solid hands moves to your hips while the other reaches across to rest against Din’s shoulder.

You’re locked into them.

Jack begins to move you slowly.

The music shifts into something sultry, almost aching to be a slow dance, but a lively beat keeps it moving. You didn’t even think country songs could have this kind of vibe. Even though Jack mainly guides your hips, you already start swaying to the beat on your own.

That’s when Jack slowly bumps and nudges his hip against yours, fully pressing you closer to Din.

The position isn’t lost on you. It’s undeniably intimate, overly sexual, and you’re worried how this looks to others in the bar.

Then Din presses forward firmer against you and your mind blanks for a moment. Now sandwiched between a cowboy canyon, a dangerous heat burst from your chest.

Jack moves his nose against your face.

“Relax gorgeous,” he whispers. “Just enjoy.”

Your eyes hazing over flicker to Din who stares out with a deep desire swimming in his eyes. Cautiously his hands now move to rest on your hips. One of them goes on top of Jack’s.

You swallow hard and pray the lingering liquid courage will bless you.

Deliberately, sensually, your hips wiggle and grind between the two of them. You might not be properly dancing right or even swaying to the beat, but desire is the one guiding your body.

Many times nights alone in your bed you've thought of them like this with you. And now, you’re here caught in the sticky heart of that passionate desire.

Din dives forward and presses his face against yours.

Jack groans as his nose buries into your hair. Their cowboy hats create a sort of cover over you casting a shade against the glittering bar lights.

You’re literally under their shadow.

“Oh baby.” Jack whimpers.

Your hands, which you awkwardly kept close to your chest almost afraid to touch this dream and have it pop like a soap bubble, now tingle. You want to touch them both as much as you can.

So one of your hands slides up to hold onto Jack’s face while your other runs up Din’s broad chest to his shoulder. Your hips continue to sway and grind between them.

Then, like a spark ignited, something shifts.

Maybe it’s more people crowding in on the dance floor, or the heat finally bubbling over, but you’re suddenly squished firmly between them, practically glued together. Din’s face, his striking nose, presses against yours while Jack burrows the side of his face against your cheek.

They purposely rut into you. You think this is maybe the closest taste of what it would feel like for them to fuck you and you drown in it.

With Din and Jack, both hard, grinding against your front and back, your eyes close. A debauched sensation sinks its claws into you. It’s sinful and utterly deliriously delicious. You worry you’re about to melt.

Lust rips through you, an incinerating beast, and you bow to it.

In that haze, Din leans down and licks the sweat on your neck. His tongue against your skin, electrifies you. You ascend out of your body and moan.

Your body bucks up hard begging for attention and release only to find you’re still firmly caught between a cowboy canyon.

Jack shushes you firm but low. “G’damn y’all ‘re gonna be the death of me.”

His voice slurs, almost sounded drunk in something dangerous. Din continues licking at your neck not stopping once.

Suddenly Jack moves and shifts your body. The jostling breaks the movement and snaps you aware, like you’re slowly waking up, wearily trying to recapture your focus.

Quickly he snags your hand and Din’s. Out of reflex you clutch onto Din’s jacket. Jack, now a focused man on a mission, guides the three of you out of the crowd.

“Where are we going?” Din mutters against your face.

“Don’t know.” You answer truthfully.

You can’t tell where Jack guides you. The haze still fogging up your focus keeps you surprisingly pliant. It also doesn’t help that Din now practically drapes himself against your back, a protective cowboy like cloak. His lips continue to softly try and kiss any inch of skin he can reach.

You never thought he’d be the greedier one.

Jack guides everyone down a hallway past the restrooms. He even shouts a friendly greeting at someone. Of course he would know people here.

“Get your asses in here.” Jack now growls and his accent seems stronger.

That’s where he opens a door to a small back office type room and barrels everyone inside.

Jack’s not gentle. He almost yanks everyone in like a panicking kid trying to hide something from their parents. The door slams behind him. You’re transported into a badly lit mess of an office.

Jack whips around, pitches forward and before you can react he moves to attack your neck alongside Din.

His tongue licks a possessive strip up to your jaw then starts biting at your skin.

A wild moan escapes you as your eyes blissfully close.

You’re burning up. Your body, now molten, is only held up by your cowboys pressing flat against you. Both Jack’s mustache and Din’s faint beard scrape against your skin beautifully. Two tongues maping out your skin makes your mind evaporate. Every inch of your body screams for them.

That’s when you feel Jack drag his tongue on your neck down towards Din.

With another playful nip at your skin, Jack moves to lick against Din’s mouth still on you.

The wildest moan escapes you and you almost come right then.

Both cowboys almost kiss each other while also trying to still taste at your neck has you absolutely dizzy.

It’s hot and consumes every inch of you. You’re panting ridiculously loud and you can’t even hold back your whines or whimpers anymore. Slick pools between your thighs and sticks to your body. Your neck feels just as wet with the spit covering your skin.

Suddenly a loud aggressive bang rattles the door and your perfect illusion pops.

Panic barrels into you like a wild bull and your eyes go wide.

But your cowboys react fast. Din protectively curls his sturdy arm over you and draws you closer. Jack whips around and stands protectively in front as if to block the view.

Thankfully no one opens the door.

“Ya better not be fuckin’ on my god damn couch, Daniels!” A man howls with laughter.

“No fuckin’ way in hell.” Jack hollers back. “Not when your nasty ol’ ass calls its home.”

From the other side of the door the owner of this room laughs electrically loud. The man smacks on the door twice, an almost playfully goodbye.

The blazing heat that was melting you now simmers out like a fast dying out ember. An awkwardness settles in its place.

Your mind sorts through the heavy doubts again. Were you just a toy for them to play with? And even though a more aggressive side urges you to just enjoy and not think more into this, you don't want to be seen as just an accessory to their duo.

So slowly and quietly you untangle yourself from them.

Din mutters your name slightly confused and Jack turns around looking towards you.

“Where ya headin’ out to, peach?” Jack asks surprisingly composed.

You quietly tell them you’re gonna head home. A thick tension returns, choking the room.

Din calls your name, solid and striking.

“We need to talk.” His words are firm.

You want to make a sarcastic quip that they weren’t much for talking a few moments ago. But you don’t. You want to go home, maybe wash your skin off till you reach bone. You want to wash them away because it’s sinking in.

This last taste of desire is maybe your goodbye.

“Now why ya gotta make it sound like we’re talkin’ about a goddamn funeral, darlin’?!” Jack huffs annoyed.

Din shoots him a sharp annoyed look.

Darlin’

You’ve never heard Jack call his fellow cowboy that.

His nicknames for Din ranged from ‘pigeon’ to ‘sourpuss’ all were affectionately teasing in nature. Now the tender pet name holds the unspoken truth, as if seeing them kissing didn’t solidify it earlier.

“I’m sorry, I just…I read this wrong…” your voice becomes small and deflated. You would head home with a broken pride, but you didn’t want to be bitter about this.

Your eyes flicker up to them.

“You two… I’m glad you both found each other.” You smile weakly, the strongest attempt at being honorable and good. Yet the words turn to ash on your tongue.

You promise you’ll text them when you get home and now turn to leave again.

“The fuck s’that all about?” Jack snarls and his words snap your spine straight.

“Jack.” Din chides him sharp and your attention whips back to them a bit panicked.

Anger, along with the faintest edge of annoyance, colors Jack’s handsome face as he glares at you.

Your face scrunches up confused. What is he so upset about?

“The three of us were practically just humping like fuckin’ barn animals in heat and you wanna say shit like that?” A hot flash runs in Jack’s eye and you swear he even sounds hurt.

“Don’t say it like that.” Din glares.

Your eyes flicker between them and an edge of panic starts crawling on your skin.

“Wait, what?” You mutter out confused.

Silence suffocates the room and it feels like you’ve entered into a classic western standoff waiting to see who will strike first.

“Oh baby,” Jack’s gentle exhale shatters the moment as his eyes stare so directly at you. “Ya haven’t realized it?”

“What?” You squeak out confused.

“We’re crazy for ya… like a bunch of fools tangled up in a damn lasso.”

Jack’s words ignite a flurry of sparks within your chest that knock you breathless.

Turning towards Din, you notice his Stetson hat slid off, possibly during the heat of the moment earlier. But it allows you the clearest view of his gruff face and you think he’s never looked younger. His face is open. Hesitation and worry linger in Din’s dark road eyes reminding you of how secretly tender hearted this cowboy is.

Then Din nods so slowly, agreeing.

You almost choke on an inhale.

The sudden thought of picking between them has a fanged spike of anxiety rushing through you.

You didn’t want to pick. But, were you being selfish because of that?

Sensing your hesitation, or catching whatever emotions now flood your face, both cowboys now hesitantly move towards you.

“Talk to us, please.” Din softly urges.

Your voice cracks, tripping on itself annoyingly conflicted. But you manage to cough out that you don’t think you can pick between them. You don’t think you ever could and you’re worried your heart might not even handle it.

“Oh sweet baby,” Jack breathes out.

Suddenly the back of his hand tenderly strokes your cheek. Din gently glides his hand to your back and softly rubs you soothingly.

Your heart jumps into your throat at their sudden shift in affections.

“You don’t have to worry…or pick.” Din explains softly and with comfort.

Wait.

“You both…” you exhale shakily. “You two want me? Want us?”

For some reason, the notion of ‘us’ strikes you right then and there. That idea of you and them becoming an ‘us’ feels like the most natural progression in your mind.

Your best friend, when you told her about you and these cowboys, had cautiously asked if there was maybe a possibility of a poly type relationship happening. You immediately shot her down, not even wanting to think of the option.

But if you had been honest, a part of you started feeling guilty at the thought of wanting that. You enjoyed spending time with Jack just as much as Din. And you enjoyed spending time with them together.

Now you stand on the new ground of something beautiful waiting for you to step into.

“Sweetheart, hate to break it to ya…but we’ve been an us even before our dumbasses even realized it.” Jack snorts.

Din rolls his eyes and you snicker. But Jack is right.

Tentative date-like nights included Jack joining. Jack constantly invited both you and Din to his ridiculously lavish RV he used for the rodeo road trip days. That eventually led to days where you and Jack waited together for Din to finish. Or Din and you watching Jack practice. Din even began bringing his adoptive son over and Jack took to the baby like a fish to water.

This path you unknowingly had been on now is about to be crystalized before you and it warms every bit of your soul.

But a sharp fanged doubt suddenly gnaws at you.

“Wait,” your voice wavers. “This…this isn’t the alcohol talking right?”

Din sighs, shaking his head no but Jack answers first.

“‘Fraid not gorgeous. Been wanting this for a while.”

All worries get snipped and float out of your body leaving you so limitless.

Din leans to draw you into his side embrace and burrows his face against you.

“Sorry we didn’t discuss this sooner.” He mutters. “It all just…kind of happened.”

You understand and lean back against him. Din exhales shaky, soaked in a relief you can almost feel in your bones.

“Now, now, you two angels can’t go leavin’ out ‘ol Jack.” Of course Jack chimes in.

“Maybe it’s time we rethink this.” Din dryly comments and you laugh when Jack squawks out like a disgruntled crow.

But he effortlessly manages to borrow against both you and Din. It’s a little cluster, a soft clanging of bodies, but it’s cozy and feels right.

Someone yells outside the door laughing and your heart jumps.

“Whose office are we even in?” Din mutters out.

“Jimmy’s. Well technically mine too since I own the bar with him.” Jack casually drops.

Of course he did.

“And as cozy as it is here,” Jack adds gently. Both of their hands now intertwine against your hip.

“I say we move this little party somewhere nicer, like let’s say…my trailer?” Jack offers.

His RV is nice. Din’s is very spartan compared to Jack’s that had a full king sized bed and jacuzzi.

They truly are your sun and moon, so opposite and yet so beautifully brightening up your sky. A beautiful buoyant bliss fills you knowing you’re in their orbit, just as much as they’re in yours.

Din’s baby boy is a fidgety one. While he enjoys running around, he also loves to watch the world form anyone’s welcoming arms.

Which at the moment happens to be yours.

The baby chews happily on his favorite adorable stuffed longhorn plushie while the two of you enjoy the peace of the arena.

Without the noise, the yells and commotion of the crowd, or the sea of cowboy hats, the arena is strangely quiet, almost church-like in its own way. You understand now how it can even inspire a deep devotion.

After all, you see it through the eyes of two cowboys.

The baby happily shrieks and begins twisting in your arms. You turn to see what’s gotten his attention.

“Why howdy there my lil’ tumbleweed!” Jack warmly cries out and without hesitation scoops the sweet little boy into his arms.

The baby squeals in delight as Jack peppers him with kisses. Your heart melts at the sight.

“Don’t worry, didn’t forget about you too darlin’.” Jack winks and leans to kiss you soft now.

His mustache tickles your lips and you smirk. He also playfully and lightly smacks your bottom. You shoot him a look while Jack innocently shrugs.

“Our cowboy come out yet?” He asks.

You shake your head. Not yet. Din being ever the respectful man he is, allowed the others to use the practice bull first and took the last slot available for the practice times.

However, his team and the others arrive just as fast. Din steps out, the true silent assassin he’s regarded as. He’s memorizing to watch, so deeply focused and intense.

The baby now whines at being held and demands to be put down.

“Don’t worry I’ll watch him, you watch Din.” You reassure Jack while he places baby boy on his feet. The baby immediately waddles away, absolutely giddy to be free.

“Lil’ stinker.” Jack affectionately teases with adoration shining in his eyes.

Your eyes now watch the curious little babe you treasure so dearly. Behind you though, the training starts.

The clang of the chute being prepared and the commotion of the team getting ready fills the arena.

Then the alarm blares. The loud noise has the baby jolting in surprise. Before he can cry at the sudden noise, you quickly scurry over and swoop him back in your arms. You playfully press a loud raspberry against his sweet chubby cheeks and he giggles.

The noise of the ride erupts with the thrashing of the bull and the upheaval of the dirt.

Then, it’s all over.

“Attaboy!” Jack cries with a loud proud clap.

The baby, now fully distracted by the commotion, seems happy in your arms again as you approach Jack’s side.

Quickly your gaze goes to the arena to make sure Din’s alright.

“How did he do?” You ask about Din.

“Better! Still ain’t as good as yesterday's time but rides like these just help keep ya warm and flexible.” Jack explains.

With the bull settled, Din moves towards Vanth to discuss the ride.

Din draws his helmet up and already has so much sweat on his face. It’s unfair how handsome he is, rugged and adorably scruffy.

“Bweh!” The baby happily spots his papa and squeaks.

The noise causes all in the ring to turn towards where you three stand. Cobb Vanth grins kindly and Din’s eyes soften immediately spotting your little cheering group.

“Yeah lil cowpoke, you didn’t get to see how good your papa was, but he did great.” Jack coo’s as he softly smooths out the baby’s hair.

With a pat on the back from his manager, Din jogs over to you and Jack.

It’s unique, this new carved out existence of yours with them. But it’s beautiful and feels as if it’s always meant to be, like this has been in your veins long before you even knew.

Din reaches the edge of the ring and you and Jack shower him with praise. It’s adorable watching him get flustered at all the attention given to him, especially when you lean and Jack lean to kiss his cheeks.

“Seems like your ridin’s was a little rusty today though, cowboy.” Jack purrs. “Maybe we should all have a nice private lesson after this.”

“Hope those lessons aren’t with you. Last time you were out by the second count.” Din, like the surprisingly snarky man he is, effortlessly replies back as snatches the baby wiggling trying to for him.

Jack squawks hilariously upset and you snicker as your heart fills to the brim.

The arena is quiet, a sacred space that watches over all of you together like this. And it’s special, having this moment here with both of them.

You think there might not be many country songs about snagging two cowboys, but it’s okay.

You find this song in your heart feels eternal.

#omg first fic of the series AHHH and if you’re reading this know I’m seating you front row to this rodeo thank you forever #let’s rodeo fic series #cowboy din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #Din Djarin x Reader x Jack Daniels #din djarin x you #Jack 🤎 #Din 🩶 #cowboys like us tag

[stormhearty]

Pairings: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Triggers: obsessive/toxic Azriel, indications of sex (but not explicit), blood, familial and character death, self-hurt

Summary: Azriel never thought he would become obsessed with anything. He was the stoic and cold Spymaster of Night Court. For centuries he never had anyone grow close to him — not until you, his mate. However, something lurks underneath those bright-colored eyes, and for Azriel… he couldn’t be anywhere else but near you.

Note: From this request! Thank you for sending this! It took a bit to understand the song and its musicality, but I was able to hopefully reach something that would tug the heartstrings but also have the same feeling as the song — Azriel falling for the reader, being addicted, and… Well, continue to find out. Also, I wanted it to be a Dark!Azriel, but I’m not sure if he is as dark as people may interpret, do let me know what you think of this! I wanted this to mimic “Notions of Devotion” but with a darker twist, basing it off the prequel chapters of “Secret Lady”. And also, an AU of my Seer!Reader! 👀👀👀

Temptation is such a fickle thing.

Before you even stepped through those grand doors, Azriel smelt you — that familiar aroma of jasmine and sage wafted through those doors. He was already addicted before even seeing you. He felt his shadows vibrate and shuffle underneath his feet, too excited to bask in your presence and your light.

And when you stepped through those doors, it was as if the Gods and Mother above had graced you in his presence.

You were beautiful.

You were a literal ray of sunshine as if the clouds above parted and you descended from the Havens. He watched as your skirts fluttered beneath you, the white gown — embedded with sparkles of silver and stars — made you ethereal, a Goddess walking in mortal lands.

He had heard of you through his shadows — a Seer within Prythian’s borders.

The first known Seer in millennials.

The Seer that the High Lord of Day Court had kept secret for centuries — the rumored daughter figure of High Lord Helion.

The whispers of your power were not foreign in Night Court. You had used your powers of foresight to bring forth change throughout all of Prythian — you had used your powers for the greater good — all the while keeping your identity a secret.

Azriel had only heard of your name — (Y/N). The whispers of your name and beauty from Day Court spread like wildfire throughout Prythian and many had wanted to meet you, even glance your way to see your beauty.

Even Azriel had grown curious.

When he was sent as an emissary along with Mor to Day Court soil, he hoped and wished to see you pass by. Your aroma of jasmine and sage echoed throughout all the halls he walked through, his shadows scurrying around hoping to find the source of such captivating fragrance.

But he never got even a glance at you.

He had heard the light shuffling of feet, every time he passed a hallway or a room, his head perking up at the scent of you. Every time he felt your presence, heard your feet, smelled you, he scent his shadows on a hunt — to find you, to bring you to him.

He was already addicted — all he wanted was you near him, to bask in your scent and presence.

But every time his shadows came back, it was for naught. He watched them whisper that they couldn’t find you — that as if by magic, you would vanish in midair. Azriel didn’t know if you were avoiding him… but you had no reason to — there was no connection between the two of you, no reason for you to avoid him.

Azriel had grown frustrated at that thought — you were a temptation. You filled his thoughts every waking moment for days on end while he was at Day Court; and even when he arrived back to Night Court, your lingering scent stained his clothes to the point he almost burned them to rid the thought of you. But in the end, he couldn’t.

It would erase everything he had felt for you — of that he yearned for you. That his whole time in Day Court was nothing but a fleeting hallucination, that you would become nothing but a lucid dream.

And it felt like you were nothing but that.

He would lie at night, dreaming of you — you haunted him, awake and asleep. Azriel could reach out and grasp you, hold you close to him — he could practically taste you, but every time he thought he would be able to see your face in his dreams, he would awake — as if the Gods tried to stop him from knowing you completely.

And so when he heard that you would be coming to Night Court as an emissary from Day, his heart picked up a beat at the thought of you again.

Azriel felt the tap against his mental shields that shook him from his thoughts. Hazel hues glanced at his High Lord, seeing that playful smirk that tugged on his lips and he heard the snicker from the General.

“Oh shut it, the both of you…” he hissed in his head at them before he straightened his composure, focusing back on you and the two guards that flanked your side from Day Court.

You were more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. His thoughts of how you could have looked never matched the beauty that you radiated as you walked towards the dias where the Inner Court had sat.

You elegantly bowed in front of his High Lord and Lady, and he just watched you — mesmerized by every little action that you did. He watched you straighten up, fixing your locks behind your ears and over your shoulders; he watched those delicate hands fiddle with each other in nervousness that you couldn’t help but emit.

It was so adorable and endearing on how you looked.

He was absolutely in love with you already.

And when you looked towards his way, your eyes staring into his own hazel — he felt his chest burst with color. His usual world of black and white beamed with color he never thought he would see. His chest warmed, ached, and called out to you — he felt that golden string that he only heard of from his brothers — one that tied your soul to his.

Azriel stumbled backward, clutching his leathers at his chest, his breath taken away from him. He heard your gasp — it was such a lovely sound — as he watched from the corner of his eyes, you stumbling as well, the guards holding your shoulders to stead you, all the while his High Lord and Cassian rushed to his side.

“What happened, Azriel?” his High Lord asked him — commanded him.

Despite the command rushing through his body, his mind rejected it, all his focus on you and those hands on your shoulders. The sight of other hands besides his own, made Azriel feel territorial. He felt the bond in his chest vibrate in anger, and his shadows swirl around him, waiting for their master to let them loose to attack. He let them loose, watching those tendrils of darkness whisk forward to wrap around your pure form, watching them slither up your legs, up your arms, pushing those hands away from you.

The sight of his shadows, his darkness, curling around your form made the bond sing, and a dark satisfaction curled around his heart.

All he wanted to do was cover you in his darkness, making you all his.

He watched as you looked at those shadows before your gaze shifted to his own once again. His body thrummed with happiness and satisfaction as you looked at him with wide eyes, and the only thing that slipped from his lips was:

“Mate."

“How do I look, Azriel?”

He watched those eyes beam up at him, cheeks flushing a beautiful shade of pink, and his ears perking up at the laugh that escaped your lips as he placed the flower crown on top of your head.

His heart rattled in his chest at the way you looked up at him. How your eyes sparkled with happiness and how your laugh was so pure and unabashed. You glowed with so much pureness and happiness, that all he hoped was that he could be the only person that could make you feel like this.

“Stunning,” he affirmed, his words blowing with the wind, “I picked them in particular because I knew they would suit you well…”

Hazel hues watched your features absorb his words for a moment, eyes shifting before looking back up at his own — eyes wide and bright staring up at him — unguarded and so vulnerable. He felt the bond sing… but a darker voice resonated behind that elation — how beautiful would it be to have everything about you just be his. To watch your pureness, your light, your beauty be drowned in his shadows… in his darkness.

“Yes…” he whispered, leaning into your features, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, sliding slightly so that the tips of his fingers grazed the base of your neck, his other hand coming up to gently wrap around your waist, tugging you closer, “Look at me, just like that…”

Azriel brought your face closer to his own, your scent overwhelming his senses — how addicted he was to your smell and he couldn’t help but wonder if you tasted delicious as well as you smelled. Hazel hues watched that baby pink shade turn darker on your cheeks and his heart swelled with pride.

“Keep looking at me just like you are, (Y/N). Is it too selfish for me to ask you, to just look at me… and only me?”

He leaned down and pressed his lips against your own and he was right — you tasted divine. His lips moved against yours, and he felt your hesitance in the kiss, your hands hovering over his chest, a feeble attempt to push him away. He gently bit your lower lip, feeling you gasp against his lips and he delved in, tasting your mouth to his heart’s content. Azriel brought you closer to him, feeling you slump against his form before gently bringing you down to the soft grass underneath both of your feet.

Azriel pulled away from the kiss, his large form hovering over your own. He watched as your chest heaved, those lips parted in a gentle ‘o’ shape, dark red from his kiss. You looked ravished, not so pure anymore — and it made his body pulse. He felt his shadows, swirl around you, clinging onto the strands of hair that spread around your pretty head, onto your shoulders and upper arms; he watched them move over your dress, tugging onto fabric until they loosened over your body.

His eyes darkened, watching inches of skin be revealed to him and you having no attempt to cover up or hide from him. A coo escaped his lips as he leaned down once again, lips attaching themselves to the crook of your neck as he felt your hands slide up his arms to cradle his head against you.

“Why would I look at anyone else, Azriel?” you mused, your voice out of breath, “When you are my mate? When the first time I saw you, you already filled my world with so much hope and light…”

Azriel felt himself growl, his kisses becoming more and more desperate against your skin. Teeth scraped against flesh and hands grasped at anything that was you. Your gasps and moans filled his ears, and he felt the darkness in his heart grow more and more.

He wanted to cover you in him, cover you in that darkness that grew inside of him. He wanted your light that radiated from your soul to darken, to taint it with his essence.

It was funny indeed — how you saw him with such pureness in your eyes, in your heart, in your soul. When in all reality, he was the opposite of that.

He was dark — there was nothing pure about him.

Not when it came to you.

Drip… Drip… drip

Azriel ran his blood-stained hands through dark tussled locks, as he stepped into the foyer of the River House. Dark red blood stained the marble floors of the home, dripping down from his leathers, the undeniable squish from underneath his boots.

He tilted his head up, staring at the night-kissed ceiling — a painting done by his High Lady’s hands.

I’m tired.

He pondered as he continued to walk the quiet halls of the house, all too quiet except for the thump of his blood-covered boots. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, hazel hues stared at his hands — one maimed and disfigured, one that was covered in blood. Azriel felt like it seeped into his very skin, touching his very soul. A frown tugged onto his features as he wiped it on the marble railing of the stairs, watching it streak — tainting the white color with red.

Azriel had just come back from his interrogation from Hewn City, his High Lord requested it. They needed information on the looming threat of the Deathless God.

You had been the one to warn about the threat — your powers taking over you to give the prophesized vision of the God in the Lake. All of Prythian took heed of such words that slipped your lips.

He had become busy, more busy as of late, to the point he rarely saw you.

He missed you. Missed the way you looked up at him with such adoration, with such love; missed the way you would feel underneath him; missed the sound of your voice — your gasps, your moans, your laugh.

Azriel blinked hazily when a shadow ran from underneath his grasp and up the stairs. Hazel hues watched that shadow, before noticing a figure on top of the stairs.

He blinked again, adjusting his eyes to the light before seeing that it was you.

However… it wasn’t you.

Those hues weren’t the ones that he loved. They were light, almost white… Unfamiliar… yet familiar at the same time. You looked at him, but one without the familiar feeling of love; you stared at him, as if staring into his soul.

Your powers had taken over you again.

Azriel walked up those steps, towards you, and once he was in front of you he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders, the blood that stained his leathers seeping into your pure white clothes. That dark feeling inside him grew once again, seeing such imagery… the pure you, being tainted by him.

He looked into your power-filled eyes, watching them unblinking up at him. A sigh escaped his lips as he lifted you into his arms, your body light as a feather and he continued his path to your shared bedroom.

Stepping beyond the threshold of those grand doors, he kicked them shut and laid you down on the massive bed, pressing himself closer to your form. He did not care that the blood continued to taint your clear skin, he wanted more.

He stained your thighs, your arms, your chest with red, his shadows slipping off your, now, red slip. He brought your hand to his face, pressing blood-stained lips onto the palm of your hand before his fingers drew an eye on the back of your hand — a sign he always drew when you were like this.

An omen, hoping to call the real you back to him.

A giggle escaped your lips, as you took your hand back, head tilting at the image that he drew. A knowing smile tugged on your lips as you leaned up toward Azriel.

“You seem nervous, Shadowsinger…”

Azriel fought back a shudder — it was your voice, but also not your own. Your powers had taken you — mind and body. Your power echoing through your voice, one so ancient and one so powerful, it resonated in the air, all-powerful and all-knowing.

This wasn’t the first time that your power had overtaken you.

The first time was your divine prediction of the Deathless God’s return.

It was a day Azriel could never forget.

He had thought he had lost you to your power, thought that you would never return to being you again. He watched as you writhed in pain, sweat dripping down your forehead and onto the sheets. You were sick with a fever days before that moment, and Azriel had thought you were having a fever dream. But when your eyes opened, and unfamiliar white hues stared at him — he knew it wasn’t a fever dream.

The Bird of Ash and Fire, flying over the dark lake. Power resonating… The Cauldron calling to its like. He will rise and plunder Prythian to destruction. Fire and shadow submerge all of the light.

Fingers touched his face, bringing him out of his thoughts as hazel eyes focused back down at you, that knowing smile still on your features.

“There is another prophecy… you have yet to hear, my dearest Shadowsinger… One that concerns your dearest sons that your wife has borne.”

Brows scrunched on his features, as he pulled away from your body — the first time he has done that. Hazel eyes locked onto omnipotent ones, “What are you talking about, seer…”

Azriel never called your name when you were in this state… he never thought this was you.

This was the all-seeing Seer of Prythian.

This was not his mate, not his wife.

That knowing smile tugged wider as you slid your fingers over his eye, covering it with your palm — as if to blind him from the truth that you were to spill.

“Our sons will, in the near future, rip their own mother to shreds…”

Hazel eyes widened, continuing to stare down at you. A laugh escaped your chest, echoing into the still room.

“Are you afraid, Shadowsinger? Are you afraid that your mate will despise you? You have a choice now…

“Will you follow fate’s string, abide by the course of nature set by the Cauldron and the Mother above, and allow your mate to be brutally die at the hands of your son?”

He watched you lean up, pressing your palm further into his eye before he reached up and grabbed your wrist and pull it away, fingers digging into tender flesh to the point it would bruise.

“Or… will you wish upon the powers of your mate, the Seer… to kill your sons?

“Will you be willing… to kill your kin, one that you had wanted so much to the point you pushed your mate’s body to the brink of breaking. Or do you dare change your mate’s destiny of death?”

Azriel watched as tears cascade down your cheeks, your hues slowly hinting back to their normal color — that your powers were slowly leaving your body alone.

“Even if you are at the end of your wife’s wrath for it?”

The preeminent voice left you and the whimper of his name slipped your lips.

A coo escaped his lips, leaning back down to press his lips against your own, hushing you from your cries. When he pulled away, he watched as your eyes return to your own, staring up at him — tears continued to streak down your cheeks.

“—-Don’t… Azriel… Please —- Not our sons…” you muttered, begged your husband not to listen to your vision.

He pressed another kiss, taking your breath away from you. He felt you relax underneath him, your hands slipping from his hold and back onto the bed, the tension in your body slowly slipping away.

“—- Father…”

He glanced up from the kiss, seeing his two sons — Rhysar and Rian at the threshold of the bedroom. Azriel pulled away from the kiss, glancing back down at you, the even breathing indicating that you had fallen asleep — it happened every time your powers left your body.

Your words echoed in his ears — he had to choose.

The family that he grew with you… his pride and joy — his sons.

Or the love of his life… his mate — you.

He had heard the whispers from his sons, his eldest especially — the ungratefulness that spewed from their lips. That their mother, despite being a Seer, was from unknown origins and that their father was a bastard Illyrian from the depths of war camps.

He did not care about the hatred that spewed from their lips — but to utter ungratefulness about their mother who bore them... Who almost died to bring them into the world.

Azriel would not tolerate that.

Not when you were everything to him.

With one last glance at your sleeping form, he slowly moved away from you, slipping out of the bed as eyes stared at his sons — hazel hues dulling from his decision.

He will choose you all the time.

Even if it meant killing his own flesh and blood.

Azriel stalked towards them, his large figure overpowering the two of them. His shadows whisked out from his own, darting towards them as they turned and attempted to run — their screams filling the hallways.

A frown tugged on his lips, as he closed the door behind him, attempting to silence the screams from reaching your ears. He stayed still, guarding those doors to the bedroom, allowing his shadows to zip through the halls — to bring his sons back.

The scrambling of feet echoed through the hallways, their terrified screams echoing all around him. He knew that the rest of his family would hear it, and would attempt to stop him from taking his sons’ life — he couldn’t let that happen.

Not when your own life was hanging by a string.

His shadows dispersed, blanketing the River House, locking each door, and preventing anyone from leaving their rooms.

He could hear it — the frantic yells of his family, the confusion in their voices at what was happening.

"Azriel what is going on? Why are your shadows everywhere? "

The Spymaster took no need of his High Lord's questions as he silently waited for his shadows to drag his sons back. He placed a dark wall up in his mind, casting aside Rhysand’s questions and even his High Lady’s frantic pleas.

He didn’t need distractions — not when he had a goal in mind.

The screams and cries of his sons grew louder as he watched the spindle of shadows drag them back by their ankles. Hazel eyes looked down his nose at them, watching them shake and plead up to him — his very image staring back up at him.

Azriel never realized on how much his sons took after him, not a tall tell sign of his wife’s features in either of them. And it disgusted him. How can something like that come out of something so pure like you? He couldn’t understand. The only thing that was remotely you was in your second son, Rian — his eyes sparkled the same hue as yours.

Truth-Teller materialized in his hand, and he raised it to the dim lighting, watching it shine, eyes staring at the glint of his dagger before back down at his oldest son.

Without a second thought, the dagger stroked down.

The screams never ended, and Azriel’s skin dripped with blood once again.

“She hasn’t eaten or slept in days — anything she happens to swallow, she always throws it back up. Her condition is deteriorating, Azriel…

“What have you done?”

The Spymaster stepped into the vast room, the quiet sobs echoing through reverend walls. Hazel eyes trained on you as you pressed yourself against the stone casket of Rhysar, mourning over his death. His step echoed as he made his way towards you and he heard your sobbing stop as you looked over your shoulder, and up at him.

His heart tugged a tiny bit, your hallowed cheeks, dark circles underneath your eyes. You were exhausted, the death of your eldest son taking a toll on your mind and health.

Azriel attempted to tug at the golden string that connected the two of you; however, he only felt the hallow feeling on the other side, your heart slowly encompassed by shadow and darkness.

His mind knew he shouldn’t — but he felt pride seeing his mate look so haggard. His sick mind knew that no matter what, you would always look back for him — that your fates have always been intertwined.

“Say something, Azriel…”

Your voice was small, barely reaching his ears.

“Whether it be an excuse or a reason… Just say something, please.”

He watched as tears streamed down your cheeks, onto the dark colors of your mourning gown. It had been weeks since Rhysar’s death and yet you still continue to wear it — it had been gorgeous on you, Azriel’s dark voice revering in his head that you were beautiful in black, and not your usual white.

“Tell me you did it for your love for me… go on. Tell me… anything, on your reasoning for killing our son. Despite my pleading for you to not listen to the vision I spewed.”

Azriel remained quiet and another sob wracked through your body, a thinned hand coming up to press against pale lips, an attempt to hold back throwing everything up from your stomach.

Dull hues stared up at him, “The fates and Mother will continue to scorn me… Despite all of this, I can’t help but still love you. I have loved you for so long… that mating bond was just another thing that had pushed me to love you…”

He watched you move from the casket, dragging your body on marbled floors to where he stood. Azriel felt your hands grab his leathers, grasping onto anything on him as you continued to sob.

“Please… Say anything. At least… it would make me hate you even less…”

Azriel sighed softly as he leaned down and brought you into his arms, carrying you bridal-style as he pressed his lips against your own — once again, silencing your cries.

He felt you shake in his grasp, your hands pushing at his shoulders, tugging on his hair — attempting to pull away from the kiss. He let you, and he heard you gasp, taking in air as you looked at him, brows furrowed and your lower lip wobbling.

“Why!!” you yelled, your voice hoarse and cracking. You continued to push at his shoulders, clawing at his leathers. Azriel held you tight against him, afraid that if you moved too much in his arms, you’d fall and damage yourself.

“Why don’t you say anything?!! Why did you have to kill our son?! Because of the vision? Because of my powers?! Why!!?”

You gasped, pressing a hand against your throat — a tall tell sign of a panic attack seeping into your bones. Azriel brought your face close to his again, pressing his lips onto yours once more, an attempt to bypass the attack that was waiting to happen.

He felt your body calm against his and he sighed in relief into the kiss, pressing you closer to him. Azriel moved towards the wall, pressing you against it. His lips moved from yours to your neck, teeth and tongue scraping against the skin, and felt you relaxed in his hold.

A distraction for you and desire from him fueled his actions. His shadows felt their master’s desire for you and helped, pinning your form against the stone walls as he knelt, hands pushing and tugging layers of clothes.

He whispered devotion against your skin before devouring you in his darkness, in his love. A sinful moan escaped your lips, pressing yourself further into the wall, the silvers of shadow intertwining around your limbs as Azriel devoured you.

You glanced down at familiar scarred fingers as your mate traced the bruise that was on your wrist, one that was not of his making — but one that was made by you.

Your gaze was not focused as your mind was elsewhere — your memories flashing behind your eyes of what had occurred the past few days.

The birth of your High Lord and Lady’s first child — the heir to Night Court was brought to this world. You had loved that child, much like he was your own… you had pampered and spoiled the child rotten, a way to distract your racing mind.

Your power was starting to grow out of control.

There were moments where you were in control of your body and mind, and the next thing you knew, you were watching your powers take over you — as if your soul was pushed out of your body and all you could do was watch in horror of the visions that you decreed.

What had pushed you to the brink of hurting yourself was the day you noticed how Rian’s eyes glowed a familiar eerie color — one similar to yours when your powers overtake you.

Rian had inherited your powers.

And the first vision he ever saw had rattled you to your knees.

You watched as the power took over your child, those eyes glow and all you wanted was to pray to the Gods, to the Mother above to spare your child from such fates of being a Seer. Those all-seeing eyes stared at you as he pointed his small finger at you.

“Skin and bones burned and swallowed in darkness. To the father that has betrayed his kin, killed his own flesh. To the mother who continues to sit in darkness. There will be violence, there will be death. The Seer’s path will always walk in bloodshed. To ensure your kin will live for millennials, only your death will stop the madness.”

You felt fingers caress your cheek, and you blinked your dull eyes staring up at your mate who looked at you with so much softness that it tugged at your heart.

Oh, your mate — your wonderful and beautiful mate.

How much you loved him with your entire being, the entirety of your soul.

You had no idea where it had gone astray — was it the moment he heard of you? The moment your name reached his shadows and ears? Or was it when the bond snapped? That your souls were tired indefinitely that made your husband lose his mind to the darkness in his heart?

“(Y/N)…” he muttered.

Your name sounded beautiful in his voice — his baritone tone that rumbled in his chest, and echoed in your own. You fought back a shudder as you continued to stare up at him, watching those hazel eyes swim with something you were unable to identify.

“I told you to tell me when things get to hard for you. To tug on our bond, to call my shadows, to whisper my name. You shouldn’t have to hurt yourself like this when your powers overwhelm you… I could help…”

The warmth of his hand that cradled your cheek was so powerful that you couldn’t help but lean into it, your hand clutching your mate’s wrist as you snuggled into that warmth you loved.

A chuckle rattled out of Azriel and you felt him pull you closer to him, pressing his lips against your own.

You found that Azriel loved to kiss you, to make love to you at his convenience — to distract you, to distract him, from the world around both of you.

Your body fell back against soft velvet of your bedsheets, your husband’s body hovering over yours as he grounded himself onto you. His hands pressed against your sides, tugging on clothes and flesh to his desire.

“Instead of asking you, my love… I should make it an order — to stop you from hurting yourself.”

His lips slid from your own, sliding down your neck and shoulder, as fingers tugged your dress from your chest. His lips wrapped around the sensitive bud, as those darkened hazel eyes looked up at you.

“If you have no intention of doing what I ask of you —”

“I am doing exactly a you ask, my love.”

You felt him pause in his love making, pulling away from your breast to look at you. You felt your powers slowly take over again, and this time around, you had no intention of stopping them.

“I know how much you love me, to the point you are willing to die, Azriel. I know that any scars on my body hurt you more… than the ones on your own.”

You brought up his marred hand — one that was always covered with blood and scars — to your lips and pressed a kiss on them, one so gentle and soft that he barely would feel it.

“Let us make a wager, Shadowsinger…”

Your hands dropped his and slid up his broad arms, over his shoulders and around his neck, delicate fingers grasping onto black locks tugging enough to tilt his head back from your position. A pleased hum escaped your lips as you leaned up and bit down on the junction of his neck and shoulders.

“Anyone you will love after me… will be punished for it. They will lose their lives, their families, and themselves to the darkness that you have in your heart. And without anyone to love… you will lose your mind and die of madness.”

A cough raked your body, blood spilling out of your lips. You smiled down at your mate — your powers finally at its breaking point. You used the last of your powers, forced your powers to fully take over you, to call upon one last vision. You felt your vision start to blur, the vision of your husband the last thing you’d ever see in this world.

“You have caused this curse upon yourself, Shadowsinger… You should have simply told me you loved me… from the very beginning.”

#( .inbox request : how fate so cruel ) #azriel angst #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #acotar angst #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x you #( .inbox request )

[archesa]

So... @celestialalpacaron 's Overlord Husk AU has lived rent free in my head for a week, and I woke up with a fucken flu and chose violence wrote something! Enjoy!

Spiked cosmopolitan

[tw : implied past rape/non-con, past substance abuse, attempted rape/non con, canon-typical violence, we're dealing with Angel Dust's trauma so... Valentino is its own warning, really...]

He could tell when his drink was spiked. The distinct and nauseatingly familiar taste of pheromones ruining what would otherwise be a perfectly good cosmopolitan.

It was part of his job to entertain the guests of the casino, to play the flirt or the lucky-charm and keep the gamblers at the table as long as their wallets allowed – sometimes longer, but that was on them. And a stray hand or a lewd remark was nothing out of the ordinary, but the dizziness invading him - choking him almost - after he downed his glass was new.

How much of a dose did that fucker spill in his drink? Or had the month he'd been working for Husk – and being mostly clean – ruined his resistance?

He caught a glimpse of the bartender reaching for a phone when he reeled and knocked over his glass, the expensive crystal shattering on the mahogany floor, but the shark – figurative and literal – he'd been baiting all night caught his arm and guided him away, to a more secluded area of the club.

"Weren't much of a lucky charm tonight, were you, whorebug. But perhaps you can still turn it around and get me a win."

"Get off me, fucka!", Angel warned, another pair of arms sprouting off him to push the asshole away.

"Playing fucking hard to get, now?"

Fog invaded his vision, red smoke and suffocating memories, as the guise of playful roughness slid and the fish faced bastard slammed him in the nearest wall. He fumbled to unsheathe the 'chastity dagger' he had been almost jokingly gifted on his first week on the job from his thigh but the 'no weapons behind this door' rule seemed to have slipped the bastard's mind and Angel froze, another wave of hardly repressed memories drowning him at the sight of the rhinestones set butt of a gun in the shark's breast pocket and cold steel suddenly pressed under his chin burned his last figment of resistance.

It should be easy, really.

Dissociate.

Disappear.

Drown as the delusion of freedom is stripped away from you.

The contact of the canon vanished and he barely heard the gunshot, splinters and wood dust raining on him, the scent of brimstone and powder overwhelming for a mere second as he slid to the floor, his aggressor turning away from him just long enough for the cane that had plummeted on his arm and broken his grasp to shatter his skull.

Feathers and fur invaded his vision. Blood and shadows. And the sound of bones breaking, repeatedly, as the shark had the guts – guts soon spilled on the floor – to turn his weapon on Husk.

A hand. An arm. A ribcage. A jaw.

Each hit of his ornamented cane was followed by a blood curling scream. Until finally, the shark went limp.

"Drag that pile o' shit in the alley and finish him.", the Overlord ordered, two hell-hounds in elegant tux executing his command right away.

The world faded, darkness chasing the red mist and the stench of fish and roofies with a strong scent of age-old bourbon and cologne.

'If anyone treats you like an ass, I'll have 'em shot.'

#hazbin hotel #angel dust #husk #huskerdust #overlord husk au

[luna-lovegreat]

It's all "links meet aus" and "zeldas meet aus", but where's my "companions meet aus"?

I wanna see midna bash fi and navis heads together for annoying her

I mean can you imagine the sheer chaos of all the Zelda companions meeting and going on a journey together? They're all companions/guides! One of thems a talking hat for hylias sake how are they supposed to take initiative?

I think it'd be like Lu where they all just meet up, but can you imagine the chain just somehow finds out this happened (and twilight is just like guys I am so sorry about midna) (but they're also really oddly touched that all their friends met each other too)

Pretty sure midna would be the sort of leader, since the last time she was in a foreign world she just found the nearest dude and started ordering him around. By like halfway through twilight princess she was literally asking LINK to accompany her to get what she needed.

But like. 90% of the group would be fairies. Which can't heal. One is a talking hat who just needs a head? He can't go on midnas cause she throws him off with her magic hair, poor ezlo is just trying to keep up.

They also have these weird green shadows who come around? They don't talk, but there's a rock, a fish, a bird, and a lady who just appear and stab things and shoot wind water fire and lightning.

Also midnas really confused why wolf link just shows up and kills things every now and then (from botw amibo)

Fi is the one who can talk to Hylia and awaken memories and get guidance and information or whatever, but she only does this by ballerina dancing and the others are always pissed at her anyways "WE DONT KNOW WHAT BATTERIES ARE OR A WII REMOTE WILL YOU PLEASE GO BACK IN SWORD FORM ALREADY" "I detect there is a 90% chance you need a key to open this door" "wow. Your perception is unparalleled fi."

Also there's a boat. A boat. Who is also good at taking charging since he's a king, which causes some friction between him and midna, since she has to grab him by her hair to move him half the time.

And with the fairies. Again. They all offer advice mainly. And with the fairies a lot of their main role is speaking and getting attention and pitching in? They come on an intersection and there's a chorus of bells all shouting the same directions. Ezlo is trying to cover the kings ears from his place on the boats head

Also there's this ghost/spirit of Zelda that everyone just feels REALLY strong loyalty to. But she's just like this kid who wants her body back?! They try to protect her but she can turn into a purple knight and stab things so there's that. I think there's also some animal companions from ooa/oos so.

Side quests are nonexistent they don't care about a village or gathering frogs for a kid they are there to save the world on a mission linear plot it is

And it's interesting because you have so many of them who just vanish and then appear to give loud advice. All at once. And the fighting skills basically fall to those weird green shadows that shoot various elements and fight and randomly disappear. Midna and spirit Zelda can fight, and Fi can too (kind of like how she fights as a sword in hyrule warriors). Also up to you if midna is drop dead gorgeous or devilish imp.

By the end they find whatever enemy so they can go back and midna is so pissed by this point that she hears the word "batteries" from Fi and goes full on fused shadow and just obliterates the jerk

***I have not played all the games so do not know or understand all of the companions and probably got some stuff wrong

Bonus: there is a child in a village named Link who does not have the spirit of the hero. He is stalked for three days until Fi decides his vibes are off and they all stop telling him he's the chosen one

#I just think it'd be really funny ok #they hear the word ganon and go into a blind rage #*finds someone named link* #psst hey kid #you want a sword #we need someone named link to tell what to do please kid #king of red lions: we can MAKE him have the spirit of the hero #fi: he does not have the hero vibes and I would not let him wield me. the batteries- OK WERE GOING FI #loz #Zelda #linked universe #twilight princess #totk #botw #Zelda companions #midna #navi #idk what to tag this I hope that's ok #me: has fifteen analysis posts in drafts #me: has a weird crack fic idea and writes it out #*glances at posts* don't look at me like that

[sparrowrye]

Alastor x Fem! Reader {soulmates} Part 3

Synopsis: soulmate AU where you have the same mark on your body as your soulmate, and if your soulmate dies, you die too. Alastor needs to make sure that his soulmate is safe so he can continue his reign - whatever that takes.

Part 3: Lesser of two evils

Part Pilot | Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The very next day, I attempted another escape.

Surely he wouldn't assume that I would try it again after yesterday. He might think that I was too 'scared' to escape so soon. So I dared it again.

I started from the very beginning. When I woke, I quickly dressed, fortunately in pants this time, and opened the ancient window. I cracked it just enough to slip through. I let the wind carry me from the window to the edge of the cliff, out of view of the kitchen window. I moved with the wind as far as I could until I could see a beach forming at the base of the cliff. I glided down and started at a brisk jog.

If I stayed along the beach, I was sure to come across something right? Unless it was an island of some sort. What would I do then? I decided to cross that bridge when I got there.

The cliff side eventually evened out and blended into the beach. I slowed to a walk, constantly looking over my shoulder. My neck was starting to hurt from constantly checking. I was waiting to see Husker's bright wings but they never appeared.

After walking for what felt like hours, I had succeeded. I saw a pier in the distance and immediately started running. I had found civilization. I had found my escape. I felt a huge sense of relief knowing it wasn't an island.

The closer I came to the pier the more I could see people walking back and forth. My legs burned from running on the soft sand but I didn't dare stop. I was so happy to have found people and to have gotten this far.

A force from behind drove me into the ground. A furry arm wrapped around my neck and pulled me up. I pulled my legs up and abruptly dropped them, nearly throwing Husker's weight forward. He flapped his wings and pulled me off the beach into the woods. I reached up and poked him in the eyes, momentarily stunning him. I ran for the beach but the wind shoved me back. He enveloped me in his wings, cutting my vision from the town.

I pulled out his feathers and he howled in pain. He tightened his grip and moved his wings out of reach. I shoved my chin between my neck and his arm, slipping myself out of his grip. His claws grabbed at my shirt and raked down my skin. He pulled me back and wrapped his legs around my waist. I started pulling at his fur. He hissed loudly in my ear and shoved a cloth into my face.

I inhaled dust of some kind and began coughing. He let go of me as I scrambled away, sending him back with more wind. I jumped to my feet and ran for the beach again. I tripped out onto the sand but didn't dare stop.

I looked over my shoulder. Husker was nowhere in sight. My simple wind was barely anything so why wasn't he chasing after me? I kept running as I looked around, waiting for him or Alastor to appear somewhere else.

The next time I looked over my shoulder I fell into the sand. My surroundings began tilting and I felt like I was clinging to the side of a cliff face. I tried using magic but it did nothing.

I was on an anti-magic drug.

Someone picked me up and my strength all but vanished. I didn't recognize the person until we had disappeared into the forest again, the shadows revealing Husker's angry scowl.

I had failed again.

The drug had an effect for a full twenty-four hours. I was forced to stay in bed the whole time for fear of losing my balance and hitting my head. I was nauseous but never got sick. It was a horrible state to be stuck in.

I waited until the following night to escape again. The drug had worn off and everyone was supposedly asleep. I slipped through my window once again and walked along the beach. Husker found me much sooner than last time.

I tried several more times to escape and with each one I attempted, the sooner they discovered. I was growing tired of the countless failings. Husker always managed to get the stupid drug into my system. I had a feeling it was because Alastor would be angry if my injuries showed up on his skin. He always managed to cast some kind of remark about how a Slight hand was no match for a Full mage. It was the only interaction I had with the Radio Demon.

Eventually I stopped trying run. Then Plan B sprung into action.

Alastor wanted nothing to do with me and wanted to be left alone. How would he feel if I became a nuisance? Surely dealing with someone so bothersome would entice him to let me back into the world. As dangerous of a game as this was to play, I had to remain confident in the fact that he simply couldn't kill me. Granted, I know better than anyone there were much worse things than death, but I had to at least try. Threatening suicide always seemed to work with my past ring masters, and they weren't even soul-bound to me.

It started simple (definitely not because I was afraid). I always made sure to include curses in my sentences whenever he was passing. Husker caught onto it but he never corrected me, instead rolling his eyes and letting out a heavy sigh. Several times Alastor snapped at me like he had done before. He liked his scare tactics such as the dampening of the lights, extension of his antlers, and the yellowing of his large, sharp teeth.

Next were his quarters. I managed to find paperclips and other little objects to use as a picks for the locks. Picking locks had been a skill I learned to master early on as a kid. It made my old masters incredibly angry when the guards yelled at them to get a better leash on me. It meant they had to buy an expensive cage that I couldn't pick my way out of. I never went into Alastor's room, though I did peak into the red rooms. His bedroom looked like a normal master bedroom and the office had various radios sitting around. I left them unlocked and cracked open every time he returned for the day.

Much like with the cursing, it was more of a sharp word and distortion of his body. He never really laid a hand on me since our fight in the woods, which surprised me. I had expected the Radio Demon to be more aggressive with those 'under' him. Even Husker seemed to be bracing for something more than a stern talking-to.

After a few weeks, I started noticing Alastor spending more time in his office. I could hear his old radios playing and his door stayed locked tight. I decided to make one more big, final stand against this tacky mage. I attempted another 'escape' and managed to steal some of the powder from Husker's pockets. I hid it under my pillow and waited until the following day. I found Husker sitting on the porch again, drinking another bottle of whiskey.

I had the napkin of powder behind my back as I approached him, asking to pick more clothes from the store. As he pulled out his phone, I rubbed the powder across his nose. He shoved me away but the drug had gotten into his system already. He coughed and furiously pawed at his face.

"How's that feel, huh?" I yelled.

"What is wrong with you?" he coughed.

"Using that drug so often on someone can do serious damage to their physical and magic well-being."

"Maybe if you didn't run I wouldn't have to use it." He rubbed at his eyes that were now red.

"Maybe if you didn't keep me here I wouldn't have to run." I slammed the front door behind me. I quickly ran to my room and locked the door behind me. I opened the window and glided down to the beach. I casually started in the direction of the town, waiting for Alastor to appear. If Husker's magic was dampened and Alastor was in the house, surely the cat mage would request help from his master.

My guesses were confirmed when Alastor appeared in front of me from the shadows. I stopped where I was and crossed my arms. I pretended to glance down at a fake watch on my wrist. "Took you long enough."

Alastor let out a sigh. "What do you want? You've been trying to get my attention for quite some time now."

"I want you to let me go."

He rolled his eyes. "You know that's impossible for you, dear."

"Hey I'm just saying," I lifted my arms and walked past him, "if you leave me in the town right down the beach here, you won't have to deal with me anymore. A powerful mage like you can teleport so what's the problem?"

"The problem is that you and I share a soul," he watched me walk past, "What happens to one happens to the other."

I turned around to walk backwards. "I don't like you anymore than you like me. So let me live with normal people near that old house of yours, check on me whenever you want, and we'll call it even. You can let poor Husker go back to whatever he wants. How's his nose doing by the way?" I pointed to my own nose with a sly smile.

"I must say," he started to follow me, "you have proven to be far more of a nuisance than I thought possible from someone who lived her life in a cage." That made me stop in my tracks. "You're so used to being in a cold, dark cage that I thought an elegant one would serve you much better."

"Well I am human. I escaped using my own two hands and made a living for myself for five years. I've had a taste for freedom and now I'm hungry for it like never before." I wish I had claws to slice into his throat. "And I won't stop trying."

"I have been incredibly understanding and patient." He started walking around me in circles. I never let my back turn to him. "If you wish to be back in a cold, damp, dark cage I can arrange for that. I need not make you comfortable, but alive." The environment around me turned into static and symbols. I found myself standing in an old, dark cellar with a single lightbulb overhead. "Would you prefer something like this instead?"

I looked at him. His body had turned completely black save for his bright red eyes and yellow teeth. Everything in me bristled as fear choked me. I sent a blast of fire at him but he dispersed with his shadow. I heard his cackle echo in the room and fade into the distance. I looked around to find old, broken furniture stacked piles high around me. Was I back in the house? In an old cellar that I didn't know existed? There was no sign of a staircase. No sign of an exit.

Panic grabbed at my chest as I tried to stay calm. Surely there was a way out. He was using his magic to make it look like there wasn't. I ran to the closest wall and started running my hands all along it. There was a way out. Even if it was locked, there still had to be an exit. It was all an illusion. I wasn't actually in a cellar. He was trying to scare me.

I ran every inch of the cellar, climbing over old furniture and scraping myself on splintered wood. I became frantic and started running head first into the walls. They were solid concrete. There was an exit. There had to be. I just wasn't finding it.

Logic started to slip as fear settled in. I was running around like a scared animal. I began throwing things at the wall and sending blasts of hot fire or slicing through with wind. I tried parting it like I could do with the earth but nothing was working. Tears streamed down my face and my breathing was all over the place.

"You can't keep me here!" I screamed. I kept running into the walls until my arms, shoulders, and head were sorely bruised. I looked down at my hands. I grabbed the nearest sharp object which happened to be a splintered piece of wood. I laid my one arm on the ground and lifted the wood. I closed my eyes and plunged the sharp wood into my arm. I let out a scream as I did it again. Blood splattered around me and on my face. I would either be let go or die here fighting.

I leaned against the wall and held the wood up to my face. I braced myself and dragged it across my cheek. I pressed my hand to the injury and looked around. Still he was nowhere to be found. Did he think I wouldn't go through it all the way? I took the wood to my neck last, dragging it just enough across my throat for the lines to bleed a little.

"This is awfully pathetic of you." I looked up to see Alastor standing above me. He held his hands behind his back with his cane. He had an ugly smile on his face but his eyes told me he was upset. Good.

"I've been through too much," I gasped, “You either let me go or I end both our lives right here. I'm sure I'd be doing the world a favor." I looked him up and down.

He closed his eyes for a moment before snapping them open. "Very well." He grabbed my arm and roughly pulled me to my feet. "If that's what you wish."

The room disappeared and we were thrown back into the world. I stood alone in a dark alley. There was no sign of the Radio Demon anywhere. I didn't recognize what town I was in but that didn't matter. I had succeeded.

I wiped away the blood as best I could. The sun was setting so trying to move around in the daylight looking the way I did wasn't the smartest. I sat behind one of the dumpsters and waited. As happy as I was to be back on my own, I had to start from the very bottom. All of my money I saved had disappeared when Alastor had taken me. But I could do this.

Eventually, the sun set and the town was thrown into shadows. I had fallen asleep for a few minutes. I was abruptly woken by the sound of yelling. I poked my head around the dumpster right as a young boy ran into the alley. A man was chasing after him and kicked the small child into the wall with ease. He grabbed the boy's head and lifted him to his feet.

"You'll do just fine in the rings," the man laughed, "If you make me enough money maybe I'll let you go."

"You'll do no such thing." I stood up and faced the man.

"Who do you think you are, whore?"

"The person who'll end your pitiful life in this lonely alley."

He laughed and lowered the boy so his feet could touch the ground. He dragged the boy with him as he strode over to me. The man was much larger than me, clearly all muscle. That meant he was slower. He would be easy to fight. That was until I saw him withdraw a knife. He caught my chin as I jumped back. I rolled back onto my feet and jumped onto the dumpster. I cast wind down the alley and tried to push him off balance. He planted his feet, still gripping the child, and fought against the wind.

I let out a tense sigh. One more time. Just one more. For the boy.

I used the wind to jump overhead then between his legs. I jumped around him like a rabbit, never staying in one place for too long. He couldn't land anything on me, growling and yelling at me to stay still. I covered my hand in fire and grabbed the hand holding onto the boy. He jerked his hand back and nearly stabbed the boy as I pulled him away. I pushed the boy behind the dumpster and jumped around the man again.

I caught the man's hair on fire, watching him drop the knife to put it out. I grabbed the knife and buried it into the man's throat. He sputtered as he dropped to his knees, eventually falling on his back. The blood pooled around his twitching figure.

Clenching my teeth, I turned around to see the boy staring wide eyed at the dead body. I looked down at my own hands and stared at the dark blood staining them. I kept the dumpster partly between me and the boy as I knelt down to his level.

"You're safe to go home now," I told him.

"I don't...I'm not..." the boy couldn't place the words but I already knew. He was an orphan who was probably on his way back when the man found him. They always went after orphans. Who would look for a child with no parents or guardians to care for him?

I went over to the dead man and wiped his blood off as best I could with his clothes. My skin was still stained but it wasn't coating them like before. I turned to the boy and held out a hand. He ignored the hand and buried himself deeper in the corner of the brick wall and dumpster. I couldn't leave him in an alley next to a dead body. Jail wasn't a good option either.

A sigh left my lips as I carefully and slowly lifted the boy up. He looked to be around six years old. He clung to my shoulders but his eyes didn't leave the dead body. I walked to the other end of the alley and disappeared down the street. I had to find the orphanage before I could take care of myself tonight.

I had barely gotten a single block before I stopped dead in my tracks. Striker stepped out of the shadows with his toothy smile plastered on his face. I gripped the child tighter and took a step back. Fear dipped in my stomach as my old master locked eyes with me.

"It's been such a long time, Python," he greeted. "What have ya been up to?" I swallowed hard. This wasn't happening. Surely this wasn't happening to me. I had to run. I had to get away. I had to make sure this child was safe but I had to run. Where should I even run to?

I turned tail and ran. The boy clung to me for dear life as I made sharp twists and turns down various streets. Why wasn't there anyone on the streets? Where were the people? Where were the police? I needed help.

Striker stood at the end of one street then the next. How was he moving so fast? Why isn't anyone noticing? I was in the center of a city. Where is everyone? How do I get the boy to safety before I take care of myself?

"Striker I can...we can..." I backed myself into a fenced off corner. I could feel the boy crying as his tears drenched my shirt. "Just wait. We can work something out."

"Work something out?" he hissed, "You ran and embarrassed me years ago. You think I'm about to let you work something out?"

"I can't...I didn't...I'll make a deal!"

He stopped, eyes widening. "You? The great Python who never makes any deals suddenly wants to make one now?"

I looked behind him and yelled, "Help!" He turned to see no one. I casted myself up to the flat rooftop and nicked my knee on the edge. I dropped the boy and pushed him away. A lasso tightened around my ankle and pulled me back over the edge. I hit the opposing wall and landed awkwardly on my leg. I screamed from the pain and rolled over on my back.

Striker planted a heavy foot on my chest and wrapped a lasso around my neck. He pulled on it so our faces were inches from each other. "You're coming back with me and making up the five years you missed."

I tried pulling on the insanely tight rope. "You'll have to get me there discreetly first."

"Oh you don't know, do you?" His smile turned smug and the rattle of a snake could be heard.

"Know what?"

"The mayor of this city declared all ring fights legal. And he's not the only one who did either."

"Ring fights aren't legal," I growled.

He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. I limped badly as he dragged me to the street. Keeping me up with one arm, he led me down the sidewalk with his rope still around my neck. People had hidden in their homes and were daring a peak through their curtains.

"Take a look, sweetheart," Striker said. "And how lucky you are to have wandered into the right town."

Wandered. I hadn’t wandered into it. Alastor had put me here because he knew it had legalized ring fights. He had done it on purpose. But why would he willingly let me go back into the ring fighting? Wasn't he worried about me getting killed?

I tripped in the midst of my limping and jammed my knees into the pavement. Striker laughed and waited for me to stand up, hands planted on his hips. "Why?" I asked.

"Why what?" His smile turned into a snarl.

"Why do you want me? I gave you years of fighting and good money. Surely you can let me go after all that."

He pulled the rope up and grabbed my chin so I would meet his eyes. He answered, "You dampened my reputation. No one had ever escaped my claws before except you. No one wanted to trade me their winning piece when I couldn't even contain my own. This is your payback." He pulled the rope even higher, forcing me to clamber to my own feet.

"We'll see the healer tonight and your first fight will start tomorrow." He grabbed my arm again and led me down the street. I had failed. I had gone from bad to worse to bad again. I had been lucky to escape the way I did. I wouldn't be able to do it again and not soon enough with no trust between us. Building that master-servant trust would take years after this.

I dropped to the ground again. "You'll have to drag my dead body, first," I snarled. I sent a heap of fire at his face but he deflected it with ease. He wrapped his claws around my throat and pinned me to the cold concrete.

"Don't think I won't," he snapped, "I'll break your other foot and arm if I have to. You can always be fixed." The corners of my vision darkened around him.

His weight was abruptly lifted off and my vision restored. I coughed to the side and pushed myself up. My eyes widened to find Alastor standing near my feet facing Striker. I inched backwards as Striker did the same. His hands were tight in fists but each step was a step backwards, not forward.

"Are you willing to lose your life over her?" Alastor asked. He remained in his calm pose with his staff in front of him.

"You don't participate in ring fights. What do you want her for?" Striker demanded. "She's been under my service for most of her life."

"That's for me to know and you never to find out."

Striker looked between the Radio Demon and me. His eyes were gauging the surroundings, desperately trying to determine if this was a fight he could win. Though both he and I had yet to hear of someone beating the Radio Demon.

"She'll be mine soon enough," Striker said and slithered down a street. By the time Alastor had turned to face me, I was gone, limping down another street.

Alastor appeared from the shadows and perched himself in front of me. He had a smile but he wasn't showing his teeth this time. "That was quiet interesting."

"I know what you're trying to do," I jutted a finger at him. I leaned against the wall to get off my injured foot. "You did this to me on purpose. You're trying to make me grateful for you."

"So what if I am?" He put his hands up like sharp ugly flowers. "After all, you should be grateful. You could carry on with a life in the rings or spend it in a distant safe house with nothing to worry about ever again.”

"It's a cage."

"To you, my dear, everything is a cage." He walked over and put his hand out to me.

"What?" I looked between his red eyes and his dark claws.

"Are you ready to return home now?"

I almost wished he had just teleported me back without asking. I didn't want to touch him let alone take his hand. Who knew if he had conjured up some kind of magic deal that solidified when I grabbed his hand?

And yet, when I looked around at the quiet, dangerous town, I knew there wasn't another option. He would keep looking for me and a Full mage with his power could most certainly find me with ease. I didn’t want to go back in that cellar. All because I had the worst luck in the world and had him as a soulmate.

I looked down at my feet and took his hand.

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin husk #helluva boss #striker #helluva striker #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #soulmates #soulmate au

[comfortless]

Outside

but you’re mine (chapter 2 of ?)

🌱 PAIRING: König x fem!reader

🌾 CONTENT: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. fae au. blanket warning for death, violence, very light horror elements <— comes with the territory; all of this being said it’s still cozy and sweet here!!, not even remotely canon compliant, slow burn, eventual smut. chapter specific warnings: ambivalence, pining, vague mentions of murder/abduction, very slightly suggestive.

🍃 NOTES: this is so much later coming out than i hoped it would be— apologies! wc: 7k.

<- prev ; next ->

Sleep addled eyes open to reveal the orange glow of a hunter’s moon, soil and clover beneath your nude flesh, the tickle of a dead fern rubbing against your bare calf as a gentle breeze pulls dying leaves from trees and leaves a wake of goose pimples on your flesh. Beneath the light of the moon, you gather your bearings well enough, the velvety dark creating illusions dancing at the corners of your vision. The shadow of the large antlers of an inquisitive buck pacing about, a woman swaying as a giggle escapes her parted lips, the sound of a pan flute playing some lively tune somewhere off in the distance.

As you sit up, taking in what you’ve believed you’ve just seen, it all quiets. The forest is as silent and still as always. Eyes wide and panicked heart palpitating wildly, you think to cover your most vulnerable parts with a cupped palm and the cross of your arm over the swift rise and fall of your chest.

How you managed to find yourself out in the dark, nude as any animal, is beyond your comprehension. Rationalizing seems futile, since you arrived not a thing has made any sort of sense to you, anyway. Inexplicable things happen, and frankly, it’s becoming quite the nuisance. Whoever has done this, dragged you from your bedroom to leave you in the darkened forest, can very well bet on the fact that they’ve made an enemy out of you. You stand to your feet, brushing dirt and fragments of leaves from the backs of your thighs and rear before concealing yourself once more.

What started as a series of harmless events seems to steadily build like a symphony as the days pass, and you only find comfort in knowing that it’s yet to reach any sort of crescendo. In your previous life, occupied by a mundane job and gray city skylines, if anything were to occur like this you would think your sanity had slipped. Convincing yourself you’re deluded wouldn’t change much here. You’ve tried already, only to find a man you’ve yet to properly meet curled against you in your own bed.

That night, only a week ago, felt like a distant memory now. He hadn’t been back. You had told Kate about it, of course, and in turn she spoke of her nightly visitor too. Someone who called himself John, who kept a cigar on his person when he anticipated speaking with her throughout the night. A loyal friend he was, she had told you, but you hardly had anything kind to say about the monster who had appeared from no where to steal your things, leave a dead bird in your bed, and invite himself beneath your blanket in turn. The only positive you could think of was that he had returned your lily in better health than it was when it had initially vanished. Kate hadn’t seemed particularly concerned, these things don’t usually harm humans in their own realm. It would give too much away, and they liked their secrets, their games.

Vulnerability looks sweet on you as you stumble about, careful to avoid the jagged edges of broken twigs and loose rock against your soles. You’re hopelessly lost, and god only knew how far from home you truly were. A part of you doesn’t want to play, to give whatever did this the satisfaction of seeing you break down as you spend your night desperate to return to shelter. It’s strange to feel such fear and anger at the same time, the sort of complex mixture of emotions that had you gritting your teeth as tears stung the corners of your eyes.

“Alright, come out, already! Take me back!,” You shout in a moment of weakness, realizing you’ve not progressed whatsoever. You could have sworn you’ve passed this same crooked oak twice already, it’s trunk bending so oddly it resembled someone kneeling in prayer. The air only seems to grow further still at your outburst, and your mind supplies a thought that rids your anger and only increases the fear. You shouldn’t have done that. How could someone so helpless be making demands to something capable of doing something like this on a whim, after all?

To your horror, your exclamation is answered by the metered sounds of footfalls in the darkness, heavy and deliberate. The worst of them only liked to come out at night, Kate had warned you over tea the morning after your visitor had made his appearance. Not all of them, but most. Some were perverse, foul-tongued and inhumanly horny. Some were volatile and quick to anger. Some were simply hungry, luring people out just like this to drag them back to whatever pocket of unreality they had stalked out of to bring so many just like you back to devour in the comfort of their lair.

The sounds draw nearer, coupled with a deep intake of breath, no doubt to take in your scent. It’s the gnashing of teeth that spurs you to run, clamoring through prickly nettles, shredding the soles of your feet on pine cone and loose stone. It gives chase, maneuvering with ease through the woodsy terrain, uprooting bushes and tearing through clover beds in its wake.

“Come…” The voice is a warbled mockery of human speech, fluctuating in a tone that seems it’s speaking from its belly rather than its throat. Even a well taught canine could speak better.

“Come...”

A shriek is ripped from your throat when you hear the creature no longer behind you, but in front of you. It chitters loudly, breathes deep once more. You brace yourself for the feeling of clustered, crooked fangs piercing into your exposed flesh, but… that pain never comes.

Your eyelids flutter when you hear an inhuman wail of pain, see the silhouette of two massive beasts scuffling about before you. Some morbid shadow puppet show, filled with grunts and screeches. There’s a distinct, wet ripping noise followed by the blackened spray of entrails hitting the bark of the trees that surround.

The thing that had been in pursuit of you sounds like a squealing pig as it falls into a puddle of its own blood, weakly thrashing about until a prolonged gasp leaves it. Silence would follow, if not for the sounds of your own ragged breathing.

The victor merely rolls his broad shoulders, tilts his head to look at you as you take a step back. You catch sight of a veil hanging over his head, and as your gaze travels lower you see the glimmer of blood on clawed fingertips. The creature from your room, the irony of the thing you had feared so now becoming your savior.

Perhaps seeing how easily he ripped one of his own kind apart should have terrified you. Yet you find yourself oddly consoled, eager to see something familiar in the dark.

“Thank you,” you huff out before you can catch yourself. No thanking them. There’s no taking it back, even as Kate’s voice rings out in your mind, you don’t even make the attempt to correct yourself. In spite of her warning, nothing happens. The man takes a slow step toward you, careful almost, as though the thought of making you flee was something he actually considered. It’s entirely opposite from how you know him to be, forced cuddles and gifts of rot. Still, you’ve been lucky to avoid some grisly end on this night, and the consequences of your gratitude quickly fall from your mind just as a tear slips down your cheek.

He seems lost in thought as the glow of blue irises lock onto you, reflective under starlight visible through the holes torn in his veil, before he removes the cloak covering his body and places it gently over your shoulders. His hands linger as he gently strokes your arms only to reluctantly draw away.

“Reizendes.” You don’t need to ask what the word means, the way his gaze softens as he stares down at you tells all. It’s the same look you saw Ghost give to Johnny’s grave. Albeit, a little less tame. His stare isn’t just appreciative, something carnal lurks beyond those eyes.

You don’t know why this man, this creature, is drawn to you. Why he looks at you the way that he does, why he came here to save a defenseless human woman. There’s so little reason, so little time given to be worthy of such a strange devotion. Simple curiosity seems an impossibility, Kate’s been here longer than you and she didn’t seem to know just what you referred to when you described him to her. There’s a pleading in your tear-filled eyes as your gaze meets his own. Why me?

The man takes another step, lowering himself just enough to look into your eyes as his widen. It’s the first time you’ve been face-to-face, somewhat. His hand raises, claws drawn inward toward his palm as he considers reaching for you, though he drops it back to his side the moment you dart your tongue out to nervously wet your lips.

“I need to get home.”

“Ja. I will come with you.” He says it as though it’s the most obvious thing to suggest, the only logical way to end a night like this.

“That wasn’t an invitation.”

His eyes seem to crease at the corners in amusement, you imagine a sharp-toothed grin beyond the fabric hiding himself away from you. “You have already slept with me.”

Your reaction seems to be exactly what the fae expects, your lips parted and face warmed from embarrassment as your eyes go wide in surprise. “What— no, don’t say it like that!” To your chagrin, he has the audacity to laugh, a gravely rumble from his solid chest. A pretty sound, a haunted church bell, something you can’t place.

“You can stay with me.”

“Why would I do that?” You’re glaring at him, but you get the sense he knows there’s no bite to your harsh look whatsoever.

“You owe me, ja?”

You’re caught in a strange stasis between comfort and disgust, really. Your room’s felt colder at night since a week ago, even with your window shut tight, curtains drawn, and every blanket you owned piled atop you, none of it could bring back the warmth you felt tucked against him. Yet, here, beneath a pumpkin moon, you still can’t put together what exactly he is and your mind is like a banshee, screaming out for you to leave. Even with his cloak pulled tight around you, fur lining soft on your flesh, you still shiver from the breeze. The running, the confusion and fear. The defiance is clear in your eyes, but the exhaustion is evident everywhere else, from the rapid rise and fall of your chest to the blood staining your bare feet.

The fae doesn’t hesitate as he plucks you from the leaf-ridden ground and tosses you over his shoulder as though you weigh little more than a twig. His hand curves over your lower back, keeping you in place. Though you make your displeasure known with a grumbled string of curses, you’re only met with the touch of his clawed thumb flittering along your side as if in consolation. His touch is something that brings you an odd calm. You’ve considered that since your impromptu meeting if he’s got some sort of magic laced into his fingertips, making you pliant, or perhaps you’re a bit more accepting of his strange courtship than you would ever allow yourself to believe.

“You’ll take me home in the morning,” you whisper, a sulky request.

He huffs, his shoulder seeming to deflate almost imperceptibly beneath your bare tummy. “Ja.”

His strides are great as he begins to walk, clearing through the forest with ease, and he’s careful, careful not to allow any outstretched branches to even make contact with your body. He clutches you tighter when the howling of coyotes could he heard in the distance, rubs at your side each time you shiver. How a monster could be so soft, so attentive is beyond you, but subconsciously you begin to relax just a little more with each passing moment.

He places you back on your feet when you reach a small clearing, a circle of trees surrounding and grass that feels pillowy beneath you. His hands move to your hips, pushing you back as a whine of protest leaves your lips before your back hits a soft nest of furs, cleared away of any debris, right below the lofty gaze of the moon.

“I didn’t like the bird,” you speak up as he sits at your side, you pull his cloak tighter around yourself. The fae cocks his head at you, moving a hand far too large to rest on your knee. You’re confused, so confused. You both want to shield yourself from this titan and open yourself up to him, in bloom. Submissive, but withdrawn.

“I will leave deer next time,” he answers, his blue eyes crinkling again as he grins and leans in to nudge his nose against the side of your neck. “Little doe. Like you.”

Your hand rises to press against the front of his veil, to push him back. He tenses for a moment, but resigns only to push himself closer, nosing at the side of your jaw as he grasps at your waist. It’s futile, really, trying to shove him away but you don’t give up as you twist and writhe against him. “No! Don’t leave dead things in my bed.”

He pulls you tightly toward him, just like the night before. An arm tucked under your neck and one hand splayed over your womb. Your battle lost, banner raised by way of fluttering lashes and parted lips.

“Women like fur and feathers, ja?” There’s a lilt to his voice, both amused and desperate as he practically vibrates against you. “I will give them to you always.”

You busy yourself trying to pry his hand away from your abdomen, making a show of nothing as you weakly push and shove until clawed fingers slot themselves between your own. The simple act of holding his hand snuffs out any bit of fight you had left in you, because damn it all, your heart flutters.

“I don’t want your gifts.”

“What is better then?,” he huffs against your neck, the warmth of his breath leaving goosebumps in its wake, and you could swear you felt the graze of teeth just beneath his veil. “To fuck?”

You shake your head furiously at his suggestion, pulling your hand from his and wriggling away from him. “Absolutely not,” you hiss, eyes narrowed as you glare at him only a few inches distance away.

He laughs, and to your horror— your excitement, crawls over you, his hands resting on either side of your head. It’s hard to see in the dark, even as your eyes adjust somewhat, but as the veil flutters with his movement, you don’t catch sight of any monstrous face beneath it, only a man. The glimpse is brief, hardly enough to paint a proper picture, before he softly knocks his forehead against yours and brushes against your face. It stifles you, how a man like this, one that leaves gifts of death and has the stature of a beast could be so very gentle.

“I have missed you,” he breathes against your cheek as he lowers himself atop you, and for the first time you’re realizing he’s just as nude as you are, the cloak the only article of clothing between the two of you. But despite the feel of his regrettably impressive manhood against your thigh, he makes no move to ravish you. In fact, he seems content just covering you like a weighted blanket.

You bite your lower lip, chewing at it as an unwanted surge of arousal pools between your thighs, pressed so tightly together it’s almost painful. Unwanted and quickly over looked. This isn’t simple lust, your heart aches.

“You are so soft,” he continues, lowering his head to hook his chin over your shoulder, a hand stuffed beneath your lower back. “Softer than fur. Softer than feathers.”

“What do you want?,” you ask him for the second time since your meeting. It’s not that you don’t have an idea. He makes it painfully clear with the way he showers you in affection and stares at you as if you’re the only star in the night sky.

Still, he humors you with a response, “Keine ahnung.” Follows it up with a shrug of his massive shoulders and a soft whisper, “I don’t know.”

Yet, he dips his head down, with his lips pressed against yours from just beyond the veil, kisses you softly through the fabric as his hand moves to cup your cheek. The urge to tear yourself away is still there, but quieted, lulled into some sort of comfort. You find yourself reciprocating a little dumbly, unsure of just how to properly kiss with the curtain of fabric in the way. The warmth spreading across your face is dizzying, almost. The sole thought of this feeling predestined beds down in the recesses of your brain.

You think to request that he remove what hides himself from you, yet he pulls away before you can murmur it into his mouth.

“Give me your name.” The words are a demand, indefinitely, and with his size it’s hard not to view them in a threatening light. There’s something else, too: desperation. You’ve already given enough, your gratitude, a debt to be repaid.

You’ve thumbed through some of Kate’s books, the ones separated from the stock of romance novels on her shelves. There wasn’t as much material as you had hoped about these creatures, though you supposed that finding truths about what was not even supposed to exist was bordering on the impossible, anyhow. However, one sentiment seemed to ring out as fact between each meager source— giving him your name is reducing yourself to a possession.

“Show me your face,” you counter, to which he shakes his head with a breathy laugh.

“Not on this night,” he whispers. You find him at your side instead, tugging you close as he hums that very same song that slipped you into sleep just like before.

“Then you won’t have my name tonight, either,” you murmur against his broad chest, languidly pulling yourself closer as you toss the side of the cloak over the both of you like a blanket.

— — —

You don’t want to think about it, the tingling on your lips as though it were truly your first kiss, the way your heart stutters in your chest. Speaking of it seemed somehow worse, as if it would breath life into the memory. The way it weighs on you makes it feel as if it’s already something tangible, a snarling black cat with its claws buried into the shoulder of your coat. It’s raining when you pull your car from the driveway, your keys having turned up digging into your side beneath the sheets after the night you willingly spent wrapped so tightly against him. All the gray somehow made the vibrant oranges and reds of the trees seem dismal, too. You entertain the thought that it’s truly the fact that you’re being haunted by something that rips the intestines of creatures out with his bare hands that’s really causing this wave of misery, but something tells you that it’s the attachment you have to such a monstrosity that truly does it.

He’s done something and you just know it, cinched your heart with some otherworldly fairy bullshit, made the weeks waiting for him to reappear seem utterly unbearable. You feel like some poor housewife, loitering around doing menial tasks while your husband is either gunned down in some foreign battlefield or fucking into some pretty lady a sea’s breadth away. It’s been a month and there’s no sign of him, even visiting with Ghost you no longer feel the stares of the unseen up the walking trail. Just nothing but a hollow in the pit of your gut that taunts you with the suggestion that he won’t be back.

You drown out your thoughts on the ride into town with music, skipping every love song that plays on shuffle with a diligent tap of your thumb on your phone screen. You’ve put no effort into looking nice, a t-shirt several sizes too large and pair of pajama pants beneath your coat. Your eyes look deadened when you meet your own gaze in the rear view mirror. A stupid thing about heartbreak, really, is that you don’t even need too much to feel it. A friendship spanning a mere week could hurt just as badly depending on the circumstances. Feeling some affection for something no other person could possibly get their hooks into only to have him vanish like this almost makes the feeling seem justified. Almost.

Kate and Ghost have been good company. You haven’t told them, but there’s an odd sympathy in Kate’s eyes when she looks at you, she speaks with her passerby friend outside rather than in at night now, and Ghost… Well, he appears more often as a devil dog, shows his teeth and keeps his distance from you. You still have talks, from time to time he tells you about Johnny. He tells you that he’s been lost for a time, but he waits there knowing he’ll come home like any good dog would. It’s just the way he looks at you now, like there’s something looming over you that even he can’t properly detect.

Your solitude helps on dreary days like this, when you can’t pry it out—him, clawing at the corners of your mind.

The town feels just as hushed as everywhere else in this place.

A small street houses old buildings nestled tightly against one another, the brick crumbling and some corners blackened as though some angry soul had tried to burn it all down. It’s the kind of place that feels haunted, you think as you park your car on the mostly empty street, catching sight of your reflection in a shattered window. The thin blue curtains of the building billow outward as if beckoning to you and you tear your eyes away immediately. You don’t want to see anything again. Not him, not another giggling and twirling through clusters of bramble and fern. None of it. It’s decided, a bitter force of your own will.

Yet, when you step foot into the old bakery your mind races with his gift, his promise of more and… would it really be so bad to get him one too? A proper offering, not one that harmed a single living thing. Something soft, like your shared kiss. You step to the counter, noting how coldly the older woman just beyond the pretty cabinet of glazed buns and slices of apple pie eyes you. These days, you don’t feel welcome anywhere, caught in a loop of misplaced pity and loneliness. It’s one or the other, sometimes they overlap.

You pay for a coffee and a sugar bun, tucking the brown paper bag holding it into the deep pocket of your coat before you head back outside and choose to have your coffee on a bench. The wind and rain have lessened, somewhat, falling into a mere drizzle and a featherlight breeze instead. The sound of the earth is much more pleasing to the ear than the void of silence you’ve felt lost in.

Approaching footsteps draw your attention as you take a sip from the paper cup. Your eyes meet a sincere face as he steps towards you, looking a bit uncertain. A cop, no doubt. Perhaps even a rookie. He doesn’t have the hardened face of the standard city police, just a polite smile across his lips, a sort of kind twinkle in his eyes.

“Mornin’,” the cop says to you as he stands to the side of the bench. It’s nice to see someone normal, not unearthly. You offer him a slight pull of your lips, a half-smile.

“Good morning.”

“Kyle Garrick,” he introduces himself, offering his hand out for you to shake. You accept, shaking it twice before drawing your hand back. You hesitate for a moment, but inevitably give the man your name in turn. He is just that, you realize, a human man. “Haven’t ya… well, you’ve seen the news, yeah? Shouldn’t be out on your own like this.” You shake your head slightly, the hand wrapped around your coffee cup falling into your lap. The officer goes on to explain that disappearances occur somewhat frequently around this place. He has the courtesy to spare you the bulk of detailing the state these folks come back in, but your mind can fill in the gaps well enough. Dragged into the dark, a lair filled with teeth. It almost happened to you.

He looks down at you a bit sympathetic for a moment, before he brings himself to continue on. “Not tryin’ to scare you. Just want to make sure you’re aware.”

A shaky sigh leaves you before you bring your cup back to your lips, a long sip lost in thought before you meet the officer’s brown eyes once more. “I’ll be careful,” you respond quietly. “Can’t say the thought of dealing with a serial killer sounds fun at all.”

That earns you a laugh from him. It sounds sweet. Maybe you’re not the most trusting, but Kyle seemed like a good man.

“Can’t say for certain if we’ve got a serial killer at all, but ah— I shouldn’t be tellin’ you all of this, yeah?”

“Sounds like you’re trying to scare me off.”

“No, not at all,” he responds with a shake of his head. “Don’t fret too much. Probably just the grizzlies, the wolves… you know how nature can be.”

“Cruel?”

“Not quite.” He pauses as his brow pinches in thought. “Just… hysterical.”

If only he knew. You don’t have the gall to tell him that what he’s in pursuit of likely wasn’t an animal or a person at all, but some other thing. Kate probably would have outright, you imagine, but you’re not Kate.

He tips his head at you, tugging his black cap down by the brim. “I’ll be seeing you, then.”

You nod him off in reply. The wind was starting to pick back up, the sugar bun in your pocket growing cooler with each passing breeze.

— — —

Kate’s been absent more often lately, a small pile of sticky notes left on the countertop all with hurriedly scrawled out ‘Be back soon!’s. When you arrive home, it doesn’t come as a surprise to you to see yet another stuck onto the refrigerator door with the same words written over the blue paper in black ink.

Visiting Ghost proved fruitless. The cemetery was completely empty. It was rare that he wasn’t stationed there, seated like a statue amongst the rows of headstones. Waiting around for him to return seemed irrational. Though he tolerated you well enough, Ghost was an enigma, and seeking out his company felt almost pathetic on your part.

Your hands clench at your sides as you walk the trail back home.

Your frustration is misplaced and you know it, but you’re exhausted with the same scenery. The same four walls surrounding you, the dreary little valley town, the cemetery. When things happen here they spark up your adrenaline in a way nothing else ever could, the high far better than any vice or pleasure you’ve ever accepted. The reverse is a pensive, horrid wait and coupled with this longing, it’s become unbearable.

Kate and Ghost had their secrets that you choose to leave well alone, and you… You realize you’ve got your secrets too as you place the sugar bun on your windowsill as a small offering for him.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he had said.

“I miss you,” you breathe out into the empty air, staring out the window as the rain begins to pick up again.

The sugar bun is gone the following morning and you find flowers in your bed. A bouquet of harebell and Queen Anne’s lace haphazardly tied with a short length of twine.

Late November drags itself in silently. The glass of your window is frosted most mornings, a hand print far too large left against it from the outside. Otherwise, everything is just quieted. Though you’ve rarely seen much wildlife around the house, it seems even more desolate now.

You help Kate set up a Christmas tree in the corner of the den, right by the hearth. The baubles and lights adorning it bring a warmth to you that seems uncanny this time of the year. You stray from your room more often, finding it nice to sit by the warmth of a roaring fire with one of her books in hand. (She tells you that John kindled the flames each time, yet you’ve still never seen them.)

Though you bide your time during the day, nights are your favorite. You leave gifts of honey and small stones, you wake to them gone and often in their place, blooming flowers tied with thin lengths of string. Flowers from someplace far away and less cold, someplace that doesn’t exist for you.

“Leave it alone.”

“Have you ever left it alone?”

Ghost huffs, ears flicked back and eyes narrowed. Try as he might, looking intimidating as a dog was just… impossible for him at least, especially now as he stands on his back legs, paws resting on your windowsill as he inspects your new gift, some strange cluster of unnaturally red pearls and flowers so golden they didn’t seem real. He sniffs at your gifts, black lips drawn back in a very canine expression of disdain. Perhaps you would still think him entirely cute, harmless, if you didn’t know what he had the capability to look like.

“I just want to know… where they’re coming from. You should know.”

“Why would I know what you’re invitin’ in?” Ghost counters as he places his big paws back onto the floor before padding over to your bed and jumping up to snuff at your sheets.

“I just thought I would ask.”

His diligent sniffing pauses for a moment, and you swear you see some recognition in his dark eyes. It’s distant, well guarded, but you feel certain he knows something that he just refuses to tell. The dog falls entirely silent, and you know you’re not getting another word out of him. Not tonight at least.

You had invited him in in hopes for answers, not for more questions, even explained in depth what had occurred that night in the woods. If your eyes were filled with tiny stars as you recounted it all, he hadn’t said a word to acknowledge it.

“Leave it alone.” Ghost repeats when he meets your eyes, dreamily thinking back to him again. Always, a constant gnawing at your mind. “It’ll want more.”

“My name?”

“More.”

“I don’t understand. You don’t want anything more from me, John doesn’t want more from Kate. Why would he be any different?” It sounds pitiful, even to yourself. You wouldn’t know more than Ghost, you’re just desperate. Desperate for the same thing as the fae you spent your nights missing.

Ghost barks out a laugh, surprising even to your own ears. He doesn’t need to say a thing. Black shulk, harbinger of death. A friend, for now, but he knows you’re reckless, knows your time will come eventually. It’s the reason he exists.

He gives you a nod when the recognition floods your face, and almost sympathetically places his massive head in your lap.

Tonight’s the first time he allows you to pet him, trailing your hand down the length of his spine as his wiry fur parts beneath your fingertips. He’s colder than you would expect, colder than the bite of winter outside. You ask him, again, to tell you about Johnny, and in turn, he tells you he’s on his way home.

The chill of Ghost’s stiff body is replaced by the warmth of the fire in the hearth as you lead him back to the door to let him roam into the night after little talk, little introspection.

But something is better than nothing.

The smell of coffee pulls you from sleep, Kate’s humming could be heard from the kitchen, a soft song, one you had heard her play on her record player some nights when sleep dodged you. It’s mornings like these that remind you of just how peaceful things could be here. She hadn’t even seemed to mind how you had fallen asleep on the couch, or Ghost’s dirty paw prints tracked across the hardwood floors. As you stretch and pad over to greet her, a mug of warm coffee is pressed into your hands and she smiles.

“I’ll clean the floor,” you murmur into your cup, a bit sheepish.

“Why? He’s got two hands, doesn’t he?”

You could never grow tired of her laugh, not hers. It’s sweet and so gentle, it almost reminds you of his. There’s love there, an affection born of two lonesome souls finding solace in one another through silly talks of monsters and shared cups of comfort. Kate really has become family to you after only a few short months.

“I suppose so. Want me to drag him back?”

She raises an eyebrow at that, flashes you an unknowing smile, to which you immediately shake your head.

“Oh, come on!”

“I’m teasing you,” she says, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know you’ve got someone else in mind.”

“How did—”

“Ghost.”

You place your mug on the countertop, looking utterly flabbergasted at the fact that he of all people would run telling your roommate about your infatuation with some suspicious stranger. Your face warms, a swell of embarrassment rising from your chest to your temples. It’s not petty, really, he might have your best interest at heart if he truly had one at all, but you weren’t quite ready to tell Kate about the strange gifts or the depth of your longing after a simple kiss. It was more than that, the danger you had been in, the way he had saved you. It felt like much more.

“I should have told you about it all,” you respond tinily.

Kate shrugs her shoulders a bit, idly tapping at her mug as she studies you. You’re stuck feeling like a child again, telling your guardian about some silly crush at school. Thankfully, she doesn’t pry. The look she gives you merely suggests that she wants you to be careful.

— — —

Careful isn’t what you would have called yourself when you pried open your window in the dead of night. You remembered the kneeling tree, the way it slumped over in its prayers to the earth and if you could just find it again, perhaps you could find him. The air outside was frigid, but you prepared as well as your impulsivity would allow; several layers of clothing and a blanket pulled tightly over your shoulders. It isn’t snowing, not so early into the winter here, yet the ledge of the window is still slippery with frozen condensation. You manage to keep yourself stable as you make your descent, grappling at the wall of the cottage to keep yourself upright.

You leave the window open, the light of your table lamp bathing the room in a warm glow, so inviting you nearly forget your motivations to crawl back in. Before the thought takes root, you turn on your heel and storm out into the dark forest.

Nights are a bit more lively, you find. A woman sings someplace far off, an eerie song telling the story of a carriage traveling a dangerous road, something long-forgotten and old. Hoofbeats thunder past you, accompanied by a breeze that chills you down to the bones, yet nothing could be seen, even with the glow of your phone’s flashlight lighting your way. When you do see something, it’s limbs are all crooked and long, mouth wide and filled with sharpened teeth. Its fur cascaded down its back, brown and covered in a light dusting of moss. It merely scuttles past you without a word or so much as a glance.

You know better than ever that this is dangerous, of course, but you can’t bring yourself to turn back. Some part of you believes that if danger comes, he’ll be there to fight it off, time and time again, just like the last.

The bent tree is still in its place when you arrive and try to retrace your steps from that night. Several meters to the left, a desperate sprint forward, and… just as anticipated, your light illuminates the darkened splatter against the bark of the trees where the fae had torn the other apart before your very eyes. There is no carcass, of course, the dried blood is just confirmation that you’re on the correct path. You turn to your right and set off in the direction that the man had carried you.

The glade is empty of pelts when your arrive. In place of the makeshift bed you had shared are only fallen leaves. You expected warmth, the familiar greeting of a figure too tall and broad to wrap you up in his arms, careful with his claws. Careful with you.

You’ve been holding back tears since he disappeared, little exchanges of gifts doing nothing to protect your heart from the weight of what you feel. When you begin your walk home, the dam breaks. Your face is cold from the wetness, the chill of each gust of wind. Heartbroken after a month, but shattered in the winter, unfortunate and weary, perhaps it was best to follow Ghost’s advice and leave it alone. Curious whispers fill the night air, another song and giggles and chimes start up in the distance. In better spirits, maybe you would have followed the sounds of the gathering, lost yourself in silver tongues and mischief.

Your window comes into view after some time, you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been out in the cold, but you’re excited to return to your bed, to creature comforts. You reach your hands up to the windowsill, fingers curling over the inward slab of wood as you try to pull yourself back in. Your leg kicks at the side of the house for purchase, only to find none. With a small yelp, you fall onto your rear.

Sneaking out was for children with curfews, not an adult— why hadn’t you just used the door? You’re beating yourself up for your own silly decisions, trying to climb up again when a pair of strong hands reach behind you to tug you back against a firm chest. Your breath catches, panic settling in your guts until your side is stroked with a touch so tender a new wave of tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Little one…,” a voice coos behind you, a veil pressed against the back of your head as he lowers himself down to your height, his arms still curled around you protectively.

“Where have you been? I… I missed you, and you didn’t…” You trail off, feeling so small, so caught up in your own feelings. The sentence is left unfinished as you twist around in his grip to wrap your arms around his middle, face buried into his chest.

“You told me not to come to your room.” He sounds confused, hurt. He tilts your head up to catch your eyes and his soften in time with just a look.

You hadn’t expected him to take the comment about an invitation so literally. His consideration almost stings. The words were said with conviction at the time, assured that you hadn’t wanted a monster in your bed, but couldn’t he see how that had changed? Hear how your heart fluttered now? He’s different, so unlike you in a way that confuses and enraptures you, some long-forgotten god out of touch with human conventions.

“I liked your gifts this time.”

His grip around you tightens momentarily, as though trying to embrace you further, pull you deeper into his chest to keep you locked tight in his heart entirely.

“I loved yours, little one.”

“Tell me who you are and you can come in whenever you like,” you huff out in promise, a cloud of your own breath puffing between you and the broad chest you had grown to admire so.

He curls a hand at the nape of your neck, cradling you against him as he lowers his head to kiss you through the veil once more. It’s warm, even as your blanket slips from your shoulders and falls to the ground. The fur of his cloak drapes around you in a better replacement as you return his affections. The kiss is just as chaste as the last, but the sentiment in it far out measures the contact.

He’s still yours. He never truly left.

“My name is König.” He tells you as he pulls away to carefully lift you from the ground and raise you up to the windowsill with so little effort it makes your knees weak. You pull yourself in and turn to look back at him. His gaze is adoring, yours must be too. You feel the way your eyelids slacken, the smile pulling at your lips.

You accept your blanket from him as he offers it and slot your fingers between his once the cover is cast aside. His hand covers yours almost entirely as it curls over yours. The claws look even more wicked in the low light of your room, but you don’t fear him. Not even a little. This time is so much different. It’s scarier to imagine spending another night without him wrapped around you.

It’s not the flowers, the furs, or the feathers that you want. It’s shallow kisses and blackened claws and the feeling of having a titan at your beck and call. It’s the way your heart flutters and your stomach twists with the thrill of falling in love that you long for.

“Come in, König.”

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