#crass stitch

[crassstitchbeetch]

tomorrow i’ll be dropping a handful of new patterns on my etsy- here’s a preview of one of them!

today at work a customer was like “i didn’t think you were a barbie girl” and i was like “👁️👁️ what did you think i was”

#cross stitch #bee’s patterns #cross stitch pattern #barbie #crass stitch

[bandgie]

Hate You So

prince!bangchan x fem!reader

MDNI 18+, fantasy au, enemies-to-lovers (kinda), oral (f!), cum swapping, brief overstim (f!), biting, brief thigh humping

ask here! notes: I am not taking requests, however, I am interested in this one with my own version ofc

3.2k words

There is never a dull moment with Prince Chan. His words are belittling, his eyes are full of scorn when he looks at you in all his ruthless beauty. Sometimes you wish you could ignore his piercing gaze, but he bores his eyes into the back of your head so harshly you feel it burning.

Even without his hatred, it would be hard to turn away from him. With full lips, plump cheeks, and strong nose, it really is hard to think of him as anything below attractive. Still, you know better than to approach him unless you wish to cry yourself to sleep that night.

A masked ball is the perfect opportunity for you to slip away. Pretend to be someone you're not, or perhaps it's to show your true self behind a false face. Not that it matters. A night like this allows you to put the puzzling hatred the prince has for you far behind your mind.

Drink after drink, spin after spin and you find yourself in the arms of the Viscount Felix. You can tell it's him from the way he adorns himself in jewelry, his hair the color of the sun itself. His deep blue robe stitched with silver treading in layers. It must be difficult to dance in heavy clothes, but he twirls you in his arms easily.

"Ah, isn't it the beautiful Duchess," he regards you with a sly smirk. His eyes peek out from his silver mask underneath.

You narrow your eyes, though you doubt he can see much of your facial expressions from your black mask. "How did you know?" To this, Felix's smirk widens to a smile. "Even behind such a clever guise, your charm seeps through the fabric."

You mock the sound of laughter. "Is this a trick of flattery to get my hand in marriage? To help you rise higher than a Viscount?"

Felix's eyes gleam with mischief. "You think too highly of yourself, dear Duchess. I simply wish to lay in your bed."

Now you laugh. Your voice is swallowed from the sounds of heels clicking on the ground and loud chatter. The two of you dance steadily despite the liquor running in your veins. Felix is careful not to spin you too fast or dip you too low. He may speak vulgar, but he is every bit gentleman in every other way.

"I think I'd like that very much, if I'm to be truthful," you say once you're swaying evenly in his hold. "I can't recall the last time I've been properly loved." Felix makes a sound of understanding, eyes darting to the people around you.

It's improper of you to speak in such a way. You are of high status, and talking like this not only in public, but to someone of lower ranking is foolish. Still, it's this potty mouth that gives you and Felix such a close bond. The fact that you can speak freely without judgment.

Chris does not share your sentiment.

He can hear your crass words from where he dances with his own partner. It sickens him to know that you openly express lustful desires, but it disturbs him even more that he finds himself jealous.

His partner is speaking, but he doesn't pay attention to any words she says. He strains his ears to eavesdrop on the conversation with you and the brightly hair-colored Viscount.

"Is that so?" Chris hears the deep voice of the man dancing with you. "Sounds like that is quite the problem. Has no one caught your eye? Do you think no one is worthy of seeing your wholeness?"

You react as if you tire of your dancing partner, rolling your eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. The person I have my eye on would rather see me burn, that's all." The smile on your lips falter. Despite his better self, Chris wonders who would turn down such an opportunity to spend a night with you. What a foolish man.

"And pry tell, who is this person?" Felix speaks as though he read Chris's mind.

"The Prince."

Ah, that makes sense. Chris can't count the amount of times he's upset you, the times he's spewed swears cruel enough to make your eyes water. He brushed it off as you being too sensitive, too emotional. But he knows deep down, it's so he doesn't get close to you.

Felix's eyes widen and his jaw drops. He looks at you with alarm, and some fear, then he hisses under his breath. "I am not one to tell you what to do and how to speak, but I highly suggest you refrain from speaking ill about the royal blood in their own castle."

He has a point, it's treason to speak how you are now. But the alcohol makes not only your thoughts, but your words careless. "So then tell me, what do you suggest? I tire of my lonely state. I think I'm up for any suggestions you have."

Before Felix answers, his eyes dance around the room one last time to spot any itching ears. Chris, despite being a prince, turns his head to finally acknowledge his partner and try to pick up on the conversation. Once Felix determines there are no listeners, he says, "Perhaps you should lure the prince into your sheets. You say you want love, but I argue hate is a much more fun way to spend the night."

A wicked smile finds its way to Felix's lips that you can't help but match. "Now look who's speaking ill" you say. "Plus, that's a terrible idea. I will regret it in the morning."

To this, Felix shrugs. "Then let him make sweet hate to you past sunrise."

☘︎☘︎☘︎☘︎

Chris should know his luck is thin. Only the universe would have him push you away so much so only for you to want him with the same intensity. It mocks him even now as you stand outside of his chambers when he wanted to get away from you as far as possible.

"Did you follow me here?" He questions you with authority. You swoop into a deep curtsy and bow your head, "Yes, your majesty."

You don't have to look up to know he's sneering at you, lips pulled back into a snarl. Felix, along with the bitter alcohol, gave you too much confidence. Sure you may not be of low status, but standing before a prince unnerves you.

Especially when you followed him with intentions.

"If you want me to ask why, you will be disappointed. Leave me." Chris looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to take those steps back. You never do, however, but instead pick your head up and stride deeper into his room, shutting the door.

His eyebrows furrow and a blush crawls its way up his neck. Chris tries to mask his surprise with anger. "Stupid wrench. Can you not listen to simple instructions?" His eyes that are filled with anger slowly dissipates when he sees you reel back at his words.

You fiddle with your hands nervously and you suddenly feel as though you cannot do this at all. How are you, a duchess, supposed to ensnare a prince who hates you so? Doubt clogs your mind, but you are already here. It would be far too shameful to turn away without even trying.

"Why do you hate me so?" That's not what you were supposed to say. You were supposed to sound flirtatious, experienced. Instead, you're meek and quiet. For a moment you doubt the prince even heard you, but the disheartened look in his eyes says otherwise.

He sighs, running his jeweled fingers in his brown hair. A prince is to never be vulnerable, to show weakness in fear of exploitation. In the presence of your teary eyes, however, none of that seems to matter.

Chris takes a deep breath, "I hate you for many things."

Your jaw drops. You're not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. A foolish part of you thought maybe it was a misunderstanding, but there's no time to reply when the prince carries on.

"I hate that I think about you every hour of everyday. I hate that you live freely while I have to act accordingly." He takes a step to you. "I hate how you look at me with those hidden eyes. I hate it even more that I know it's you underneath that plain mask." Chris is close enough to reach for your face and he does just that. Gentle fingers undo the knot that keeps your mask on and he lets it fall to the ground.

"I hate that I know your voice, that I ache to hear it. I hate that I know in which way you walk, should you be in my castle." His fingertips ghost over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "I hate that I dream of you and I hate when I wake from those dreams."

Chris traces the outline of your lips, watching how your tongue darts out to taste his fingers. He shudders.

"Worst of all," he leans close to your face, a kiss away from you. "I hate that it's only for one night that I will be yours."

You don't kiss him back at first. You can't even register his plush lips on yours. How they move steadily, sickly sweet. The prince tastes faintly of alcohol, but not enough to overpower his kiss. You come back to when his hands find your waist, pressing you closer to his warm body.

A part of you thinks maybe this is a test. That when you begin moving your mouth with his, he'd pull away and laugh. Chris doesn't do that though and instead groans against your lips when you finally reciprocate.

Shaky hands find their way to his styled hair, tugging on his curls to bring him closer. It doesn't take long before you're both chest to chest, one of his legs between yours as you stand, and breathing into each other's mouths. His kiss is bruising, filled with the overwhelming desire he claims to hate.

Chris nips on your lower lip, pulling it back harshly to hear you whimper. Then he kisses you again, messily sliding his tongue against yours. His lips travel down your cheek, your jawline, to your neck. You shiver at his warm tongue tasting your skin, hips rocking on his thigh.

The grip on your waist only tightens to keep pressure on you grinding on him. You feel him smile against your throat. "Humping me like a little bunny, aren't you?" He lifts his head to whisper in your ear, biting your earlobe. "Is my leg enough to satiate your lust?"

You shake your head, "N-no. It's not, my prince." Chris rewards your honesty by moving his hands from your waist. He lifts the many layers of your dress in bunches, holding them above your hips. You take the hint and grasp them in your own fingers, watching him descend lower...

...and lower... ...and lower...

The prince kneels before you, facing your core. You gasp, and despite dreaming about this with your hand underneath your nightgown, it's still an unbelievable sight. No royal blood is to kneel before another, let alone you of lower ranking.

"Prince Christopher!" You sound slightly panicked. "You mustn't! To kneel before...not even that! You must have drunken one too many glasses. I shouldn't have-"

You cut yourself off with a yelp. You feel Chris's teeth dig into the soft flesh of your thighs. He does it hard enough to see his teeth imprints when he pulls back. "You think of me drunk," he says it with accusation. "But how could I be drunk off wine when I could be drunk off this instead?"

Though you can't see him from the frills of the many layers of your dress, it helps ease your nerves when he hooks his finger under your panties. Your hips jolt when the cold air hits your bare cunt, but his warm breath quickly replaces it.

Chris trails kisses just next to your core, his hands planted on each thigh. His fingers makes shapeless figures, dancing closer to where you throb just before pulling away. It's bearable it first, his teasing. But then you start to feel yourself dripping, arousal seeping from your folds. His lips ghost over your clit, moving to the next thigh.

You tremble, trying to move your hips so his mouth catches your pussy. You're met with a chuckle, deep and quiet. It makes you more impatient, whining. "My prince please. I cannot bear it."

The prince pulls away from you completely, leaning back to look up at you. He looks silly beneath where you stand. His mouth red and curls messy from your earlier tugging, but his wet lips are frowning. "Are you, a duchess, telling me, a prince, what to do?"

Shit, you got too comfortable. "Of course not," your voice wavers. From fear or lust, you're not sure. "I didn't mean to offend you, I just-"

"You're quite the nervous talker, aren't you?" Chris's once pouting lips turn into a smirk. His observation makes you blush, though you're sure your face was already a deep shade of red since the beginning.

He smiles at your reaction, teeth gleaming in the candlelit room. "No need to fret, pretty duchess. I told you that tonight I am yours. If my mouth on you is what you desire, then so be it."

You watch as Chris dives forward to the empty space between your legs. His tongue darts out to taste you directly, going under your lower lips to collect your arousal. The warmth from his mouth makes you squeal, but his hands move to the back of your thighs to keep you in place.

It's hot, wet, and a little rough when he licks you. He trails his tongue upwards to rub soft circles on your nub before dipping back down. Chris moves his hands higher until they're under your hiked dress, gripping your arse. His fingers kneed into your soft flesh, forcing you deeper into his mouth.

There's a guttural moan that leaves him, sending waves through your cunt. Chris opts to suck on your flesh, pulling it only to let it go with a wet 'pop!' The sensation makes you shiver, legs buckling for a second before you regain your composure.

"This is..." the prince trails off. He buries his nose on your clit, sticking his tongue out to prod at your entrance. There's no doubt that the evidence of your shame is dripping from his chin, but he acts as though he doesn't mind. He hardly cares how your legs squeeze and how the hair on your pelvis tickles his face when he painfully pushes his face deeper into you.

This is divine.

You want nothing more than to grind on his face, hump on his tongue like the bunny he said you are. But your legs shake so much, your knees lock so often you see your vision go black for seconds. Finishing on the prince's face is something you could have only dreamt of. Yet here he is, seeming to eagerly coax a release from you. Surely he must be flushed himself, straining painfully in his trousers.

"P-Prince Christopher I- oh~ I'm so close. Do you want me to...should I..."

It's difficult to finish your sentence when you're so close to finishing in his warm mouth. You want to taste him how he's doing to you, you want to feel how his length would stretch you out. He must feel the same way, he has to.

But he only shakes his head with your pussy still in his mouth. "You should cum," he says breathlessly. "Let me taste this, drink you in. I've never had a cunt as pretty as yours."

Hot kisses rapidly peck on your clit. The prince spits messily on your already wet core, but he quickly spreads it all over your lips. Chris moves you up and down by your ass, encouraging you to ride his face. The idea of hesitating and passing the opportunity is behind you. You feel as though you might crush his head with the force of your legs, but he takes it all.

It makes sense why you're moaning, writhing under the tongue of the prince. But it makes you wonder why he's so loud himself. Groaning at your taste and whining when your hips shy away from his relentless mouth. You can hear him mumble mostly to himself. Mindlessly babbling soft words of praises.

"So good." "Pretty pussy." "Fuck. Ride my tongue, just like that."

Maybe he's trying to help get you to your high, but it makes you distantly wonder, nonetheless.

You whimper at the feeling of pleasure building in your stomach. It bundles and quivers until you drop the hem of your dress to reach down and grip Chris by the hair. He ignores how the layers surround him like blankets. You feel him gasp against your pussy when you slide your cunt up and down his face.

"S-sorry," you apologize pathetically. "Close. Wanna cum- fuck! wanna cum. Please forgive me." You mewl more apologies before vibrating with pleasure. Chris can't protest as you finish on his tongue, and he seems to rather like it with the way his blunt fingernails stab into the skin of your bottom.

You keep him there on your cunt as your body trembles with aftershocks from your orgasm. The prince obediently licks you throughout it all, collection your cream before loudly gulping it down. Your shaky hands finally release him from your grip, but Chris is persistent on giving your quivering clit final kisses.

Even if you try to move your hips from his mouth, he keeps you in place. "Your majesty," you struggle to find your voice from how much you were moaning. "Please. It's so sensitive."

He licks a fat stripe along your pussy to hear you cry out one final time. "You ask for me to taste you. You practically beg for me to let you finish on my tongue and when I do, you tell me to stop. Tell me, duchess, what is it that you want from me exactly?"

It's a simple question that has a simple answer, yet, saying it would bring complicated issues you know neither of you are able to face.

You. The word is on the tip of your tongue, but you settle for saying, "T-to please you, if you'll have me." It's close enough to what you actually want.

Chris finally brings himself to his feet, reaching for your fallen mask on his way up. He hands you the fabric, but you're so distracted with his face that you gasp.

He's soaked in your juices, his face glistens in the rising moonlight coming from his window. It's almost offensive to look at, reminding you of how you lost yourself so easily.

The prince only smiles at your words, your shocked expression. "Don't worry about my pleasure, pretty duchess." He leans in to kiss you, eyes fluttering closed upon impact. You can taste yourself on him, the bitter flavor settling on your tongue and invading your senses. It brings a new wave of desire, of an aching want.

"There," he gives you a dazzling smile when he pulls away. A string of saliva mixed with your arousal connect your lips. "Have a taste of yourself instead."

#smut #skz smut #skz #stray kids #stray kids smut #skz bangchan #skz bang chan #skz chris smut #skz chris #skz channie #skz chan smut #bangchan smut #bangchan x reader #bangchan fanfic #skz felix #stray kids bang chan

[thelaughtercafe]

Abandoned

Tea Type: Milk Tea

Potential Triggers: Struggling with eating in an anorexic manner as well as intentional sleep deprivation and self care in general.

Pairing: Daryl/F! Reader (Can be read platonic)

Length: 2.4k+

Summary: Daryl leaves, and by the time he comes home you've completely stopped taking care of yourself, much to his upset. He comforts and helps you get back on the right track.

A/N: Me? Writing more self-indulgent comfort about struggling with eating, sleep and self care? It’s more likely than you think! Also maybe I’ve binged nearly 3 whole seasons of The Walking Dead and fell in love with Daryl again. That probably didn’t help. This is just pure fluff and hurt/comfort!

When Rick and the others returned, your eyes scanned them all instinctively for injuries and when you didn’t see him, you swallowed hard.

“…Where is he?”

Your voice cracked as you looked to Carol and she gave you a watery smile of her own.

“He left. Found Merle and made his choice.”

Her voice was gentle and understanding but all you felt was abandoned and cold and angry. A rare emotion for you to feel at your family. When she went to move forward and put a hand on your shoulder you cringed and hugged yourself instead.

Your heart-broken gaze moved to Rick.

“No. You-you just let him leave?! How could you?”

“We didn’t have a choice. He was gonna bring Merle back-”

“So you just abandoned him?! Let him leave? After everything we’ve been through? Everything he’s done for us?!”

Tears streamed freely down both cheeks and you moved to storm out of the metal gates when Glenn stopped you with a hand on your upper arm.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You roughly pulled away and leveled a glare his way.

“Get off me! You all might be fine with abandoning him to die with his brother, just the two of them out there, but I’m not. I’d rather take my chances with someone I know will be loyal.”

You whirled to look at the whole group, angrily wiping away your tears.

“Y'know what? Merle was a dick. He was rude, and crass and didn’t care about anyone but his brother. He could be monstrous and I’m not negating that. But don’t forget that Daryl was different too in the beginning, before we gave him the chance to change. And even if Merle didn’t- even if he was still a jerk who put himself before others- I trust Daryl enough to adapt and be loyal to us both. To try and help his brother change. I thought you all would too.”

When you moved to the gate you frowned as Carol blocked the way glare weakening to upset.

“…Please, move Carol. I have to do this.”

“Do what? Get yourself killed? Starve to death as you search for them like needles in a haystack? I may have lost him but I am not losing you too. And he’d never want you to go out there and put yourself at risk. He’d never forgive any of us if we let you leave. Deep down, I think you know that.”

You stared one another down before giving a bitter, watery laugh.

“Guess we’ll never know what he would think now, would we? Whatever. I’ll be in my cell if anyone needs me.”

—–

The following days were beyond painful. You found yourself constantly looking for him on instinct, used to his grounding presence just a ways in front or back of you, the way he’d mumble quips under his breath that made you smile, blush or laugh. You missed your late night talks. Remember as you’d warmed up to him. Told him “Ohana means family. Family means no-one gets left behind.” You recalled the way he’d smirked a little and nudged you with a mumbled. “What are you, 5?” You’d gone on to defend Lilo and Stitch and nudged him back with a playful smile. It had been cold that night and he’d wrapped his arms around you, made you feel safe.

And now, you’d never felt more vulnerable and isolated. You understood what he felt like at the start. Everyone looked at you like you were a wild animal, something to be pitied that could lash out at any time.

Luckily Beth and Glenn had finally given up, but Carol was persistent. You walked around the prison on patrol, her right at your back.

“Please, eat something at least, if you won’t sleep. It’s been days. Daryl wouldn’t want you to-”

“Would you stop saying that? I already told you. I’ll eat and sleep when he’s back, not a second sooner.”

“You’re acting like a child!”

Your eyes flared as you turned to her, though your expression remained cool.

“Well maybe I finally got tired being the mature one all the time. I’m still doing my part, helping everyone else. Just stop caring. Clearly it’s easy enough for everyone else to.”

Aaron joined you both as you were turning to leave when suddenly gunfire rang out, making you drop and pull Carol down with you instinctively. Aaron fell suddenly and you gasped as you saw he’d been shot in the head. Carol’s face grew steely as she positioned the body in front of you both, holding you to her tightly. Thankfully your tiny frame was easily covered.

“You stay still and you don’t move alright?”

Carol’s voice was shaky as you heard shouts ring out all around you. Are you being attacked? You hated that even now you still shook from adrenaline and fear. You heard Maggie cry out as she provided cover fire.

“Carol, take her and go!!”

You both jumped up and rushed over to where you could see Beth and Carl, grabbing guns.

A car could be heard speeding and you took the time to catch your breath as you watched in anxious horror as walkers came out of the back, hordes of them. Your mind raced, trying to figure out where everyone else was. You could all be together and deal with the threat.

You did not want to lose anyone else.

In the distance you saw Glenn and Michonne helping what looked like Hershel thank God and when they pulled up you hugged them all, quickly thinking of who else was left. Rick. Where the Hell was Rick?

You asked Hershel as much and he reassured you.

“Calm down. I saw him, he’s gonna be alright.”

He looked towards the others.

“…He’s not alone. Daryl and his brother are back. Look.”

He raised his chin behind you and you sighed in immeasurable relief at the sight. Thank God. Your core family was still together.

You all gathered and some slept while others spoke quietly in the night. You couldn’t even look at Daryl. Not yet. You didn’t want to break; not when the situation was so precarious.

Once morning came discussions began in earnest on what to do. Some wanted to leave, others wanting to stay. Rick went to leave again and Hershel finally snapped, understandably so.

When Rick returned he began allocating and you sighed as Glenn spoke up, mind racing as you tried to think of the best course of action.

“There’s barely any food or ammo.”

Daryl mumbled back.

“Been there before. We’ll be alright.”

“That was when it was just us. Before there was a snake in the nest.”

You frowned.

“Man we gonna go through this again? Look, Merle’s staying here. He’s with us now. Get used to it. All y'all.”

He stormed off as Rick tried to stop him, heading to the second floor.

You watched the group debate.

You understood both perspectives, you really did. But with a final glance around at the others, you knew where you stood, deciding to voice it when Glenn asked a dangerous question.

“Deliver Merle to the governor. Bargaining chip. Give him his traitor, maybe declare a truce.”

You moved to glare up at him, knowing he was hurting and trying to temper your instinct; protectiveness and annoyance.

“No-one’s saying you have to like the guy or forgive him, Glenn. But think about Daryl. For once. He’s done so much for us without asking for anything in return. The least we can do is offer his family a place here.”

You scoffed as you moved to go to your cell.

“At the very least, he certainly deserves better than you talking about killing his brother in cold blood behind his back."

"Like he wouldn’t throw you to the Walkers to get away the first chance he got.”

You paused at Glenn’s hiss, before looking behind your shoulder at him, ignoring the dizziness that was making you lightheaded.

“You’re probably right. But I also know Daryl would put his life on the line to protect me from that same Walker. That’s the difference. I know why you feel the way you do, and I am truly sorry for what you and Maggie both went through. But Daryl? He’s worth more to me than revenge you think will make you feel better. And deep down I think you feel that way too.”

You walked away before he could say anything more and headed up to see Daryl. You were safe for now, and you couldn’t wait any longer.

He was waiting on his bed, fiddling with his arrows. You took a shaky breath to try and steel yourself but when you opened your mouth his eyes abruptly cut to you.

“When was the last time you ate or slept?”

You winced and looked away, mouth closing as you’d gone quiet. You swallowed nervously.

“…haven’t since you left.”

“‘Scuse me?!”

You looked back at him when his voice rose and saw the anger in his eyes.

“The Hell you mean you ain’t ate or slept since I left? It’s been 4 days now.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll do it now okay so just-”

You turned to leave, cheeks burning in humiliation at your secret being out but looked back as rough calloused fingers curled around your arm.

“Like Hell it don’t matter! Look at me!”

You met his eyes and your tears finally fell as you did so. The aggressive tone was a bit triggering, but you and him both knew you wouldn’t have broken down like you needed to otherwise.

“I’m sorry okay!? I didn’t want you to know, I thought-I just…”

You used your free hand to cover your mouth as you sobbed.

“I didn’t want to live in a world you weren’t here with me! They wouldn’t let me go find you so I just- I just shut down. It was good anyway, Carl’s a growing kid and I’d rather my portion be used to help the others than go to waste. It was a good thing!”

Your voice cracked and you looked away to try and gather yourself when Daryl gently guided your face back to look him in the eye.

“You sacrificin’ yourself while spiraling ain't a good thing. I promise I won’t leave like that again. An’ if I ever did, I’d come back for ya. But that means ya gotta take care of yourself. Not worry the others. Beth told me, soon as I got in. Told me you was bein’ a damn fool and to get some sustenance and sleep in ya.”

You gave a watery laugh at that and moved to hug him, hiding your face in his neck and taking comfort in the warmth and solidness of him.

“Should’ve known she’d tell you. Between her and Carol it was getting pretty difficult. Pretty sure Carol was just gonna start force-feeding me soon.”

His husky chuckle made you melt further into him but he sighed and pulled back, raising his chin toward the 1rst floor.

“She must’ve got her stubborn streak from watchin’ you. Now, get some food first before you doze off, you can eat it here with me and then you’re going the Hell to bed. Y'know I’ll wake you soon as anything happens.”

You blushed at the embarrassing question you wanted to ask but he beat you to it, fingers running through your hair in the familiar way he did when you’d have a nightmare or insomnia before he left.

“Obviously I’ll be right by your side. You ain’t the only one who was strugglin’. Kept looking over my shoulder to make sure you were alright. I want you in my sight. 'Specially knowing what stupid shit you’ll do if separated from me again.”

You smiled at the fondness in his tone and pulled away to go get food. The dizziness was getting worse so you grabbed an apple and called it good as you trucked up the stairs again to his room.

He frowned a bit at the small portion but sighed in defeat after a moment from where he was back on the bottom bunk.

“Apple for now is fine, it’s probably best you get your stomach used to food again anyhow.”

You forced the apple down despite your lack of hunger since Daryl was back. That was what you’d promised Carol. You didn’t want anyone to worry about you anymore. You’d been selfish enough. Clearly you weren’t as slick as you thought if both Beth and Carol had caught on.

When you finished it down to the core he moved over to make a small space for you to cuddle into, eyes still locked on his arrow. You couldn’t stifle your smile and moved to make yourself comfortable. Wall at your back and Daryl at your right it felt like you could breathe again and you couldn’t help your yawn at the familiar position.

“Here. I doubt you’ll need if since you’re so tired but it never hurts.”

His voice was gruff but you saw the intimacy of the action as he tossed his familiar leather jacket over you, knowing you slept infinitely better with a blanket.

“You can use me as a pillow too, if ya need. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

You relaxed completely and let yourself feel safe and contented as you snuggled into his shoulder and neck. The warmth emanating from him was already making you drift off and the dizziness was fading.

“Thanks for not leaving me. Sorry for being stupid and selfish and… like a child.”

He chuckled at that and moved one of his arms to circle you and pull you closer, ruffling your hair before continuing to play with it.

“S'fine. Everyone’s warranted a temper tantrum now and then. Just don’ make a habit of it or I’ll have to smack ya upside the head good.”

“Yeah, right. A big…softie like you?”

You stifled another yawn.

“Doubt it.”

He smiled and you blissfully passed into unconsciousness. He looked up as Carol leaned against the doorway, a wry smile on her face.

“Haven’t had a chance to say. I’m glad you came back.”

He scoffed a little.

“To what? All this?”

Carol came to sit down, voice quiet but clear.

“This is our home.”

He met her eyes meaningfully.

“This is a tomb.”

“That’s what T-Dog called it. Thought he was right…till you found me.”

Her voice was somber but gentle.

“He’s your brother, but he’s not good for you. Don’t let him bring you down. After all, look how far you’ve come.”

Her eyes moved to you sleeping soundly against him in meaning and he looked away a moment before looking back as they shared a chuckle.

#tlc: milk tea #daryl dixon x you #daryl x you #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #tlc: fic #female reader #the walking dead fic #the walking dead x reader

[qvrcll]

hiii!! i love ur work!!!

could u pls do an ellie(or abby) period piece where reader is a princess, but ellie(or abby) is a knight and it’s lowk forbidden ykyk?🫣

pink matter

summary: what starts off as a secret, and blatantly innocent rendezvous to the castle stables ends in a question between the strength you possess to deny ellie and the urgency of her that you crave — all in touches and hushed questions.

warning: slightly suggestive but nothing happens, knight ! ellie, princess ! fem ! reader, period piece

a/n: oh lord. this ask made my head spin in the best way HELLOOO. thank u so much for your interest in my works and such a lovely req!! i know this is a little short but i’m thinking of making a part two or something like that… maybe with abby? both of them? dangerous? idk! let’s see :P in the meantime, enjoy :-]

Ellie could never not worry about you. It was a habit now properly buried in the various mechanisations of her being, her footing as a soldier-turned-knight struck in deep mud and sworn to the kingdom she fought for tooth and nail.

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you purse your lips, stepping over the threshold of the stable you’ve seemingly snuck out into. The mud had tapered to rough chalk-like granules beneath the strength of your heels, which embedded rather than sunk with the kiss of the Earth. But you don’t mind — you’d barely swung a glance to the stain dotting your powdered garb, barely acknowledged the swing and pull of your arms against the stable edges, mantels, the way they smelt like trouble for a lady like you.

And yet, Ellie did.

“Princess,” she grunts, in that way that had your tummy churning in the oddest of directions when her fingers crossed the small of your back, warm and stitched with heat as she presses half her side to the back of you, “You mustn’t dirty your garb. If you allow it, I can carry you—“

“That is not necessary” you swallow, barely coherent without a pause to ascertain your breath. Was she insane? Was she just? Was she playing your poor heart with stannic poles as trusses?

Did she know this effect she carried in the very smell of her?

“Of course,” she sounds reserved, now, and you’re afraid you’ve scared her. Well, scrap ‘scared.’ Offended, at most. Left barren of the very services she can offer — her brawn is stalked clean and at the ready; muscle in her arm, muscle in her calf, muscle on her chest. She was a soldier, alright. Still, she’s far more awkward and bony with you, no longer any semblance of the blood and teeth she was of yesterday. Just a dear friend who followed at your heels with more caution than merriment as fuel, “Be careful.”

And you are. For the next thirty minutes, just to prove you can be, if you want to. Your shoes are a scratch dirty but indistinguishable from its acclaimed standards and your dress is smothering, molten quartz against the dirt in the stable. You pet the horses and giggle, try to hide the tense of your fingers and the sweat that kisses your neck when Ellie comes close, tries to balance you on your toes.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“See, pet here — horses prefer neck to ear rather than elsewhere.”

“Hush, princess. You’ll get us caught.”

“You make it sound scandalous,” you regard her latest comment, opting to face away and question her with thw stretch of your back facing her as a proxy, “that we’re here. We’re just here to pet the horses, are we not?”

“We are.”

“So? Why must we be so cautious?”

“Because is that really all there is to it…” a tingle of her breath skirts the best of your neck at her sudden adjacency, “Y/N?”

You turn, swivel and nearly fall into the crass below you at the gall of this woman — insinuating just as much was inapt, was it not? Absolutely malapropos, much to the tastes of the kingdom, your parents, things of other importance. And you do open your mouth, in protest…

…only that nothing of such… ‘importance’ comes to your defence. You look like a fish, red and blistering with heat like a teenager caught in a crush, not a princess toes deep in a stable with her sworn knight at knee and lip level. Not like that.

“Well?” she eggs on, and now her fingers pamper the skin of your neck, near the base, where they’ve grown warm and excited with your silence — she glances at you, mischievous and all smiles, for once, and it excites you. Makes you worry your lip against your teeth. Makes you carry the innocent part.

“W-Well… I don’t know… what are we doing, exactly?” you close in on the question, and her fingers flit against your cheek. That you can handle, you think. Hope. Her left palm is heavy on your hip, cradling the flesh so gingerly as she crowds you into the corner of the stable.

Her eyes light, once more, and it takes you seconds to figure the feel of her fingers on your lips. Firm and goading some reaction from you; excitement, thrill, something convoluted and messy.

“You tell me: what is this?” she asks, and her question feels like a weight against your throat in the way she nudges her nose into the flesh of it, tests your limits, asks you silently: ‘Are you willing to take the fall?’

And like clockwork, you offer her no words, but just an answer in the form of action, with her mouth on yours and the spit of each other marking the fervor of it as you go — and the way she holds you against the thew of her makes you forget the mud that has begun to discolour your robes.

© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams x fem reader #tlou x reader #the last of us x you #the last of us x reader #tlou x you #tlou imagines

[rebeliz7]

AUGUST - DRABBLE #6

Drabble 6 - August, crush

Throwback to Daisy’s first days in the Compound

…

Daisy is--a natural. Wanda couldn't understand Natasha’s and Fury’s insistence on bringing the girl to the Compound, but now that she’s had the opportunity to meet her she can only agree with her wife, and admit that Daisy belongs here. 

She’s smart, a hacker that often challenges Tony’s ability in the topic. She has enough childish energy in her to rival that of Sam’s, and the patient of a saint when it comes to listening to Steve’s old war stories. 

“She’s young.” She tells Natasha as they see Daisy smiling like a kid in a candy store, when she’s being introduced to Clint and you. 

“She is.” Natasha smiles, her hand barely touching Wanda’s as they share a look across the lobby. “She’s got heart.”

Your laughter reaches their ears, prompting them to look over where you’re blushing, and Daisy is staring at you with a proud little smile on her lips. 

“Is she flirting?” Wanda asks, and Natasha chuckles to herself. 

“You don’t need to sound so jealous, babe.” Natasha teases, and Wanda looks at her. “I’m sure you’re still Y/N’s favorite.”

Wanda rolls her eyes playfully and welcomes Nat’s wanton lips, and the comment is filed away for the time being. 

It means nothing, she tells herself, she’s married and Natasha is the only person you consider family now that you have no one left on your own. She’s protective of you, as one would be with extended family. 

…

Daisy’s crush on you is so ridiculously obvious, that it starts to rub her in all the wrong ways. 

It’s unprofessional, she’d argue whenever Nat would laugh at whatever crass comment comes out of Clint’s mouth. 

… 

“It’s not like Y/N’s even picking up on it.” Kate chuckles one afternoon when you’re sparring with Steve on the mats, and Daisy is paying more attention to you than to Natasha's lesson of the day. 

Wanda bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying something she shouldn’t, but that crawling hot feeling of jealousy washes over her skin like a boiling blanket that she can't get rid off for the rest of the day. 

She huffs to herself at any given moment when the memory of Daisy so openly ogling you, pops in her mind. She can’t understand the nerve of that girl. Who does she think she is to just come in here and think she has a chance with you? She’s a newbie---she’s a nobody!

… 

“Oh, hello.” You say when you find her in the surveillance room and her stomach drops, her lungs struggle to follow a normal pattern in breathing and her chest--her chest feels pressured. 

“Good morning.” She still smiles and the way you trip over your own feet at seeing that smile, makes swallowing difficult. 

You’re so adorable, and this crush you’ve had on her has never seemed more real in her eyes than it does now. 

“I didn’t know you’d be up here.” You tell her as you take the empty seat next to her, and try to focus on the monitor in front of you. 

You always do this. You always look away from her, and you always make sure to never be alone with her. She hasn’t noticed it before but now, seeing you type with such ferocity on that keyboard, trying to get away from her as soon as you possibly can--is so telling. 

“I wanted to see what happened in the garage. Clint needed stitches, you know?” 

You stop typing and she holds her breath as you turn to look at her, and you’re so beautiful--so beautiful that she has to catch herself before she blurts it out. 

“Clint was being an ass.” You tell her with a pointed look. “Bucky punching him in the face was merciful.”

“He needed stitches on his upper lip.” She tells you as a wave of protectiveness takes over. Clint is Nat’s best friend, and subsequently hers as well. 

“He deserved that punch, Wanda. We all joke around here but he always has to take things to the next level, and for what? If Bucky hadn’t done it, I’d have probably done it myself.”

You go back to typing, and she goes back to staring. Of course you’re right, Clint tends to get on everyone’s nerves and Natasha’s always assumed someone would punch him sooner, or later. That doesn’t take away Wanda’s feeling of protectiveness towards him though. 

“We’re a team.” She tells you and you stand up, having finished what you came in here to do. 

“We don’t all need to be friends to do our jobs, Wanda.”

You’re gone before she can even think of a response to your words, and whatever she was feeling earlier vanishes completely. The team is important, the team means a lot more than work for the rest of you, and you’ve been here a while already. 

You need to start seeing it that way too, because you’re part of it now. 

… 

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #august

[hajihiko]

I got stomach ache so here’s my prompt romp-t question for ya

Who be the one going “I’m so brave cuz I’m not telling anyone about my stomach ache” and who be the other side of the coin going “help me my stomach burns a thousand suns and it’ll eclipse with a shit storm soon”

May I mention that I took night quill as well so the droze might be kicking in

So brave: Fuyuhiko. Gutted himself like a fish and then told people to stop overreacting. Was trying to break open doors with the stitches still in. Tried to keep lactose intolerance a secret and definitely tried to drink milk for the bones way too often. Suffering in silence is basically his middle name and that includes tummyaches, internal or external.

Please help: Ibuki. Hear me out; Hiyoko is a baby about tummyaches but not so crass, and might try to hide it like she hid her lack of bathing. Nekomaru IS crass and does loudly announce when someone should Not Go In There (the WC) for a while because he destroyed it. But he can take care of his own gut flora and doesn't need help.

Ibuki, WHEN afflicted, does in fact go somewhere like "Ibukis stomach is like a boiling pot of milk that no one's watching! IT'S GONNA OVERFLOW, and SOON!!! SOMEONE DO SOMETHING"

#not an art #maybe I'm wrong but shrug

[goannafr]

I'm l big fan of snappers and noticed Glim and Frog and was wondering do they get along?

- hor-wod-flr

You have great taste, Snappers are amazing!!

This was a good one because I have never ever thought about how these two would interact haha so thanks for that! I didn't think they would have any reason to cross paths due to their age gap (if they were humans Frog would be around 40, while Glim would probably be around 75), as well as the fact that Frog's a fulltime blacksmith, who rents a forge outside of the clan...

So anyway I decided to make them neighbours :D Now they HAVE to interact >:)

I actually think they could get along pretty well. They're both very social dragons who love a good laugh (even if Glim's sense of humour is a bit crass), so I can definitely see Frog inviting Glim and her husband Ceifar over for friday night drinks...

Frog would probably appreciate having an older friend she can ask for life advice from (so there's this really lovely lady at work but she doesn't seem interested...how do I ask her out? D: ). The two of them also really enjoy reading Better Homes & Gardens (Frog loves the landscaping and interior design projects, Glim loves the cross-stitch and knitting patterns), so I can imagine them catching up to discuss the latest issue.

But the most common reason I think they'd cross paths is when one of Glim's endless kids sneaks into Frog's house yet again and she has to return them..

"Uhh sorry to trouble you but I think this is one of yours? Caught him climbing through my kitchen window..."

"Oi you lil shit THERE you are!!"

Glim may be elderly but she and Ceifar still keep having hatchlings. Too many hatchlings. Gladekeeper when will it stop?! I'm so sorry Frog but the answer is never, dragons don't go through menopause..

#flight rising #goanna's art #snapper dragons #frog #glim

[aspecriddler]

THEE Guide to Not Being a Punk Poser

Hey, so if you're reading this, you may or may not be looking to get into the punk scene, and you also may or may not be at a total loss on where to start

Well fear not! I am here with this little introduction post on how to Not Be A Poser (title pending)

FIRST UP: The Ideals

When it comes to the ideals of alternative subcultures, this graphic by @theygender (hope the tag is ok, lmk if it isn't) is the best summary I've ever seen

And if you're like me, you're solidly on the line between punk and grunge, but leaning just a bit more punk. This is fine /gen

Punk is about community. Punk is about fighting for a better future. Punk is about doing no harm and taking no shit. Punk is about looking out for the underdog. If you don't embody these values then you're not punk. The ideology of Punk is, in my opinion, the most important part of the subculture

But if you've been doing your research you already knew that. Now let's get into what a lot of people call the fun stuff: the music and the fashion

SECOND: The Music

There are a Lot of different subgenres of punk music, the most famous being punk rock and folk punk. I subscribe more to punk rock because I really enjoy fast music

Bands to look for include: Sex Pistols, Dead Kennedys, Pansy Division, Dog Park Dissidents, Cheap Perfume, Mommy Long Legs, Gang Green, The Germs, Rage Against the Machine, G.L.O.S.S., X-Ray Spex, The Cramps, Circle Jerks, Crass, Limp Wrist, and Pure Hell

Of course there's a lot more but those are some staples plus some of my personal favorites. You can find my personal punk playlist here

Overall the sound is Loud and it is Angry. There are many songs about killing cops and hating capitalism and it fucks. If you like funky basslines, sick ass drums, angry yelling, and shredding guitars this music is for you

PART THREE: The Fashion

Okay, okay, I had to save the quote unquote best for last. Imo the fashion of punk is the most diy out of almost any other subculture

Literally anything you can get your hands on can become fashion. Steal what you can, pick up shit off the side of the road, and if you can't/don't know how to do something get a friend in the scene to either teach you or commission them or something

Brands? The fuck is that, the only brands you need to know are Rit fabric dye, goodwill, etsy (sometimes), your local craft store, and a good spike maker (I don't deal with spikes currently so I have no good resources for them, so other punks feel free to chime in!)

Want cool metal shit? Take apart cans and turn them into spikes. Take a lighter apart and use those metal bits. Steal safety pins from walmart.

Want/need to sew something? Yarn and a tapestry needle if you can't get/don't want to use dental floss. When sewing patches do a straight stitch around followed by a hobo stitch around again and that shit will stay forever. Alternatively pin patches on with safety pins, this works pretty well in a pinch

Fabric paint is your best friend!!! Start with a white base layer and the colors will be much more vibrant. Don't think you have painting skills? Doesn't matter, you're punk and you have the audacity to wear whatever you make with pride

Invest in a leather jacket. I don't mean in terms of money, I got mine at goodwill for ten bucks. But it will change your life. I recommend getting two: one to keep plain and one to diy. Also flannels are good for diy and can also be made into vests for warm weather very easily.

Both of these flannels I decorated myself in a matter of hours. If I can do it, so can you

Also! When you cut the sleeves off of a flannel you can use the extra fabric to make diy pockets :3

PART FOUR: Community and Conclusion

So this is kind of my close out section lol

I'm not sure what kind of discord communities exist for true punk culture, so if anyone has one they wanna promote feel free

Do some research on local punk bands in your area, get your friends together and diy outfits for a concert, or just to wear. The world is your punk oyster, and as long as you or other people aren't getting hurt you can do whatever you want forever

Plz use this post to find other punks so we can start gaining more community (I'm totally not desperate lol)

#punk

[colormepurplex2]

Flowers of Fate | Cedar & Clove

↳ UnseeliePrince!Yoongi x Human!f.Reader (ft.xUnseelieGuard!Jungkook x SeeliePrince!Jimin x WoodNymph!Namjoon) ⤜ Strangers to Bonded Mates ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 24,720 ⚠️ Adult humor, crass language, blood, violence, torture/being held captive, minor character deaths, first-time vaginal sex, not-so-first-time vaginal sex, nipple play, marking/biting, mfmm scene, kissing, guys kissing, blow job, cum swallowing, creampies, things get emotional

Next Chapter⇾ ⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to series masterlist

Everything hurts.

It’s a level of pain you’re only vaguely aware exists. There’s been nothing like it before in your life. Searing heat and biting cold, a combined mix of warring sensations. Even the light brush of your hands and the push of fabric against your skin has you screaming in pain.

“An iron blade laced with foxglove,” Joon gasps, jerking back from examining the wound in your side. Your shirt is shoved up under your breasts, leaving your side exposed. “Vile, utterly despicable heathens! She is just Fey enough for it to be on the edge of killing her.”

After you managed to get out that Yoongi had been taken, Mini and Joon sprang into action, getting you and JK inside. Whatever was on the dining table is now on the floor, cleared off with a sweep of Joon’s arm. You can feel JK lying beside you, the table jerking sporadically under you from his movements.

“Leave me alone. I’m fine! Stop that!” JK snarls, jerking so hard the table shudders an inch to the side.

“Asshole,” Mini grunts. “Yoongi would skin me alive if you die. I was just making sure the wounds were healing.”

The table trembles under you again as JK jerks upright and quickly turns so he can look at you. “I’m not the one you should be worried about!”

“Right. Can you help her? What can I do?” Mini asks, ignoring JK and directing his question to Joon.

Joon moves around the table, drifting in and out of your line of sight. “You have a minor ability in healing. Can you try to stitch the inner tissues? We must stop the bleeding before I can administer anything to combat the foxglove. Otherwise, it will just leech right back out of her body.”

Mini makes a distressed noise. “A very minor ability. But, the sun is up now, so I may be able to do that…it will not be pretty, though.”

“Just do it,” Joon commands, his voice drifting further away. “The wound still has traces of the poison, so be mindful of how long you are touching.”

Your eyes flutter as you try to focus on JK looming over you. “Hey there, Beautiful. I know it hurts, but we’ll need you to try not to scream so loud, okay? I’m going to help Mini here by trying to keep you quiet. Just in case those assholes come back through the area. Is that okay?” 

Tears leak from the corners of your eyes, slipping into your hair. You’re unsure if you can form words to answer him even if you want to, so you just drop your chin and try to nod, your lips quivering with a whimper. JK brushes tears from your cheeks and smoothes a hand over your blood-matted hair. He maneuvers himself so he’s on his knees beside you.

Mini takes a deep breath before bracing his hip against the table's edge. “You are going to feel my magick, and your instinct will be to fight it…please do not. I need to use it to help.” You try to give him a nod, too, but the pain makes your chin jerk up instead of down, a pitiful mewl coming up your throat.

Joon’s voice grows louder as he returns to the table, “Any day now, Jimin!”

Jimin gently presses one of his hands against your belly. “Do not rush me.” Jimin lays his other hand on your right ribs, just above the stab wound, which is still steadily oozing blood. You make a miserable noise as his hand moves slowly down, and the tips of his fingers brush over it, eliciting a flare of burning pain. “I am sorry,” he whispers before pushing the blunt end of his index finger into your gaping flesh.

It’s agony, a nightmare that has come to life. Your eyes flash wide, and you gag, choking on a guttural scream which JK muffles with a hand over your mouth. He presses his other hand against your shoulder, trying to keep you from thrashing too much as Jimin probes further into the wound.

Even with JK’s hand pressed firmly over your mouth, your screams must still cause him to worry as he speaks out. “You’re hurting her,” he grumbles, cutting eyes like daggers at Jimin. “Can’t you be more careful?”

Jimin gives JK a withering look, slightly baring his teeth. “This is not light work, but I am trying to be as delicate as possible. I need to be closer to the end of the wound if I hope to knit the tissues properly. Now, if you would be so kind, shut the fuck up and hold her still.”

The next several minutes are a bit fuzzy, if only because all coherent thoughts cease to exist in a body-wide short circuit. Your heart must’ve stopped at some point because the next thing you’re aware of is JK straddling your hips with his hands planted firmly against your sternum, forcing compressions against your already aching body. You shudder and jerk under him, eyes blinking rapidly, tongue thick against the roof of your mouth.

“Oh, Seven Hells, you’re okay! You’re alive!” He scrambles off you, making the dining table rock alarmingly as he drops back down on the surface beside you. “Namjoon! She’s back—hurry with that poultice before she goes dark again!”

Namjoon’s warm, brown eyes fill your vision. “Hey there, Beautiful. You gave us quite the scare,” he chuckles awkwardly. “I have something I need you to drink and something else I will press over the wound in your side. They will work together to counter the effects of the foxglove and give your body a chance to heal, okay?”

You can only make a soft noise, hoping it suffices as a response of acquiescence. “I’ll help,” JK says, hopping off the table and coming around the other side. He uses gentle pressure and careful movements to lift you so you’re leaning back on him in a reclined position. “Don’t need you choking on anything.”

The concoction that Namjoon pours into your mouth, with JK’s help, tastes like ripe cherries and honey. You cough a little, trying to work the thick substance down your dry throat. “Water,” you gasp, holding back a gag that would surely bring the mixture back up. 

Namjoon steps away, returning quickly with a cup of water JK helps you to drink. Your shirt is still tucked under your breasts, giving Namjoon easy access to dress the wound with an earthy-smelling paste. “Mini was able to knit the inner flesh back together fairly nicely, if I do say so myself. The scar should be minimal, but we must ensure that your system is free of foxglove before we go planting new seeds. It is a good thing you are still so new to the bond. If this were anyone else, I do not know that we could have helped.” He gives a cursory glance in JK’s direction, his eyes lingering on the black stain of blood crusting the shoulder of his shirt. “You should let me place some of this on your shoulder, too.”

 JK wrinkles his nose. “Nah, I’m good. It was just a scrape. Piss poor shot on their part. Lucky for me. I’m healing just fine.”

“Stubborn as always,” Namjoon murmurs, offering you a strained smile as he begins smearing the thick paste on your side. He wraps your middle with a stretch of linen to keep the medicine in place. “Let us get her into bed to rest, JK. Then you can share with us what exactly happened so we can decide what to do next.”

The pain in your side subsides substantially, reduced to a soft, throbbing ache. “Where is Mini?” you mumble, realizing he’s nowhere to be seen as JK slides his arms around you to carry you to the bedroom.

The shoulder under your arm kicks up slightly in indifference. “Outside, I think. Joon will get him, don’t worry about that asshole. How are you feeling now?”

You wince as he takes your weight off the table, your side pinching with the movement. “Better, I think. What was that, exactly?” You gesture vaguely with your other hand toward your exposed middle.

“Iron dagger infused with foxglove essence. Nasty business, meant for killing. If you hadn’t stepped in front of me…” JK trails off, clearly uncomfortable. “Thank you,” he finally whispers. “You saved my life. I probably don’t deserve it, considering I let them take him.”

Everything is still a bit blurry. It all happened so fast. “You didn’t let them do anything. We’ll get him back,” you swear to JK as he settles you on the bed, tucking you under the sheets and propping the pillows behind you. “I can—I can feel him. But, there’s something there, something in the way.” You press trembling fingers over your heart. “It’s like a thick fog is separating us.”

“But he’s okay, right? I shouldn’t have listened to him.” The desperation in JK’s voice has your eyes watering, your nose burning as you try not to choke on the palpable emotional dread in the air.

You want to tell him yes, but you can’t bring yourself to lie or instill a sense of false hope. “I-I don’t know if he’s okay. Alive, yes, but…” you trail off, swallowing down the bitter taste of uncertainty.

JK grunts, dropping his eyes from yours and picking at the skin around his fingernails. “Well, at least there’s that. It’s got to be enough for now.”

Jimin clears his throat from the doorway, drawing your and JK’s attention. “Feeling well enough to talk?”

Throwing a tired hand up, JK gestures for Jimin and Namjoon to enter the room. Namjoon perches on the edge of the bed with a bowl of water and a cloth in one hand, and Jimin chooses to stand at the end of the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are guarded, flicking around the room like he’s avoiding looking at you.

“Take your time, both of you. You might feel well enough to talk, but your energies could wane quickly as your adrenaline tapers off.” Namjoon gestures with his free hand at the bowl of water. “I will clean you up the best I can while you two tell us what happened.”

JK looks at you, raising his eyebrows in silent question. “I can start,” you assure him, reaching out and gripping one of his hands. His fingers thread through yours, anchoring you in the present as you recall what you can of what happened. “We had just crossed the boundary into the Unseelie territory. They came out of nowhere, had to have been hundreds of them, all armed to the teeth. Like something out of a horror fantasy movie, bristling arrows and long pikes.” You shake away the mental image of all that glinting iron and steel. “Yoongi was ahead of us by a few paces. The moment he realized what was happening, he…he—“

“He told me to take her and run,” JK picks up for you as Namjoon begins to clean the dried blood from your face and, as best as he can, from your hair. “That swamp bitch came swooping in on a fucking wyvern. The moon was blotted out in the sky as it descended on us. Yoongi knew if we were all caught, it would be the end of everything. He tried to harness his magick, but I watched as it sparked and jetted from him like a maelstrom of unchecked power. We should have listened!” he snarls, gripping your hand tighter. “We should have listened to you. I’m so sorry we didn’t.” His eyes are rounded with regret and pain as he looks up at you before it morphs back into anger. “I’ll never forgive myself. I have to leave. Now! I’m sure I can make it to the castle undetected. I can be in and—“

You shake your head, interrupting Namjoon’s cleaning. “No. No, no, no. Think rationally here! There was no way to know things would go so badly, not like that. It is no one's fault. And you’ll just make matters worse by going off hot-headed and getting yourself taken, too!”

“So, you just let them have him?” The question is eerily quiet but no less acidic. Jimin’s chest is rising and falling with a barely restrained rage. “How could you not want to fight for him!?”

“What? No, of course not! It’s not like we wanted—”

Letting go of your hand, JK jumps up off the bed and rounds the corner, coming chest to chest with Jimin. The motion is so abrupt it cuts off your response. “Are you not listening? Have you not heard a single thing we’ve just said!? She's right, despite how much I want to go after him now! Put aside your hatred for one fucking second and think with your head instead of your heart! We know that Chaddick won’t kill him, not yet. But if he got his hands on me, or Seven Hells forbid, got his hands on her,” he throws a hand out toward you on the bed, “it would have been near-instant death, tortured in front of Yoongi surely. Which, in turn, could kill him for all we know! You’re not stupid, Mini. You know the power of a mated bond! We have to be careful, or we could lose him forever.”

Jimin narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything in response. He stares at JK before turning on his heel and storming out of the room. JK moves to follow, but you call him back. “It’s not worth it right now, JK. Let him be.”

“So, what do we do now?” Namjoon asks into the silence. He sets aside the bowl and cloth, having done as much as possible without putting you in the bath.

JK glares at the door and then turns to face you and Namjoon. “I don’t think we should treat this as a rescue mission. We should approach it like it’s the same mission as before. We continue to target Chaddick. If we can get into the castle and take him out, or at least take out Borgia, then we increase our odds of rescuing Yoongi. But first, we need information. We need to know what’s going on in that castle. Do you think the bond could help us?” He looks at you, a hopeful expression on his face.

“I wish I knew more about how to use it. Do either of you know?”

“I have a few books tucked away that might be able to help. I acquired them over the years in hopes they could serve Yoongi once he bonded. One can never be too prepared, after all. Perhaps next time, I will insist he read a book or two before going off on an unknown adventure,” Namjoon declares, clapping his hands lightly before excusing himself from the room to pull out the books.

“Are you okay?” you hesitate to ask JK, unsure of his current temper.

The concern in your voice deflates him a bit, taking the bite out of his voice. “I’m a failure for letting this happen. I should have scouted ahead, been the one in front, something…fuck.”

“We can talk about that until we’re blue in the face. What I mean is, are you actually okay? You wouldn’t let Joon put anything on your shoulder. I know you were injured. I could feel how you limped as you helped carry me back to the clearing.” You aim for gentle yet firm, needing to know he’s wholly okay but not wanting to push him.

He blows out his cheeks, chuckling softly. “The glory of being Fey,” he says before grabbing the bottom of his heavily soiled shirt, pulling it over his head, and dropping it to the floor.

“Oh,” is all you can manage as your eyes hastily sweep the expanse of his chest and shoulders before dropping to your lap.

You can see JK standing in your periphery, looking over his body in the firelight. “These will be no more than slightly puckered scars by the end of the day. The shoulder is a bit more sensitive, but thankfully it’s not my fighting arm, so it can afford to be a bit tender for a few more days.”

“Fighting arm? You think you’ll need to fight soon?” You glance up at him, watching as he scoops the shirt back up, studies a few of the stains, and unceremoniously tosses it into the fireplace, where it catches instantly and blazes brightly.

His good arm pushes up in a shrug. “Possibly. It depends on what Joon has in those books. I might have to try to sneak in if we can’t find any alternatives. I won’t let him suffer in there for longer than I have to.” He nods toward the door. “I’m going to go clean up. Do you need anything before I go?”

You shake your head, and he disappears out the door, leaving you alone with your thoughts. It doesn’t take long before your thoughts have circled back through the conversations, and you’re tugging the blankets to the side. You stare at the white linen wrapped around your middle. Your side still smarts, pinching with pain if you move too much. Namjoon didn’t tell you how long you’d have to rest or wait until you could remove the wrap. You freeze, fingers poised over your middle as you realize what thought just crossed your mind.

Namjoon.

You know his name—his real name. JK said it earlier in a panic. You focus hard on all the feelings in your chest and the knots you now associate with being tethered to a fae in this realm. There isn’t a new one, nothing that feels like it’s directly attached to Namjoon or that you have some sort of power over him. Thinking back over the snatches of conversation again, you realize there’s something else you know…

Tossing back the rest of the sheets, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and take a deep breath before pushing up to stand. As your side protests, you blow out a slow, shaky breath to keep yourself from sitting back down and crawling under the blankets. After standing a few moments, letting the lightheadedness and spots dotting your vision disappear, you creep slowly across the room.

You peek through the crack JK left and scan the living space. Namjoon has his back to you, hunched over in front of the fire with a book in his hands, muttering to himself. You slip out of the bedroom. Thankful someone had the forethought to remove your boots sometime earlier, so you’re quiet as you pad across to the door.

If Namjoon hears you opening and closing the front door, he doesn’t voice it. The sun is high overhead, bathing the clearing in warm light. “I was hoping you were still here,” you express, approaching the figure sitting on the lip of the porch, absently peeling a basket of potatoes with a small paring knife.

“Joon would box my ears if I left without so much as a goodbye,” comes the weary reply. You ease down beside him, holding a hand to your side and trying not to gasp with every stitch. “You really should be resting right now.”

“I wanted to say thank you.”

Guarded turquoise eyes slide your way. “Well, you have said it. Though, there is no need to thank me. Seven Suns know I do not deserve your gratitude.”

“You helped save my life. To me, that deserves probably the most gratitude anyone can deserve.” It’s hard to tell if he’s being self-critical or just obtuse.

He makes an unintelligible noise of frustration, hunching his shoulders and violently freeing a potato of a few inches of skin. “I nearly killed you,” he bites, mangling the rest of the vegetable with a few jerking flicks of the knife.

“What? No, that’s—“

“Do not presume to know more about magick than I do!” he interrupts, rounding on you with wide eyes and a firm frown. “It is my pitiful ability in healing that had your heart stopping. If it were not for JK being familiar with restarting a human heart, you very well would have remained that way. Dead. By my hands. Yoongi would never forgive me.”

“Jimin,” you whisper, wanting to comfort him but unsure how to proceed. You’re so caught up in your own emotional process that his real name spills from your lips before you can wrangle it back down your throat.

The new potato in his hand tumbles into the basket, half-peeled. The paring knife follows, thumping hollowly against the mound of raw vegetables. “‘What did you call me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry.” You clamp a hand over your mouth, wishing you could take it back. This is not how you wanted to have this conversation. When you first came outside, it was your intention to be honest and reveal what you overheard, but the conversation took a different route. One that had you tucking that knowledge away for another time. “Jimin.”

He shivers in response, a full body tremor with his eyes closing, fists clenching, and his lips curling back to expose his teeth. “How? Who told you?”

“Well, no one, technically. Namjoon said it in a moment of panic,” he freezes at the mention of Namjoon’s real name, “and JK said Namjoon’s name in much the same way. But…don’t worry. It’s different somehow. I’m not sure why it’s different, but it is.”

Jimin’s eyes spring open, locking onto you with thinly-veiled suspicion. “Different?”

“Yeah. It’s not like Yoongi. I don’t feel like I have any power over you by knowing your full name. Is it because you didn’t tell me yourself? Is that part of it?”

His mouth works like he’s trying to form words, but nothing comes out. You watch as he wilts slowly, shoulder sagging and hunching forward. “I do not know. It could be that. Though that has never been the case before, to my knowledge, it could be something else…such as your bond to Yoongi and the fact that you are now slowly becoming Fey yourself.” 

“It wasn’t my intention to alarm you like that. I just wanted you to know that I know and…that I don’t have any sort of power over you with it. Just being transparent, trying to earn some of your trust. This isn’t how I envisioned the conversation going, though.”

There is a look in Jimin’s eyes that you’re not sure you understand. “If you did have power over me…would you use it?”

You want to immediately say no, that you wouldn’t dare exert control over him like that, but you consider for a moment and shrug, wanting to try and lighten the mood considerably. “Maybe.” He balks at you, but you shake your head with a gentle smile. “But only so I could make you see reason right now. I know you’re upset, and it might be easy to blame yourself for what happened to me or to blame me and JK for what happened to Yoongi, but the person you should be directing your anger at is the one that ambushed us and took him. They are responsible for what happened to me and Yoongi’s current absence. Focus your anger in the right place. Help us find a way to save him instead of wasting energy being pissed at yourself and us.”

The abrupt laugh that Jimin lets out startles you, making you laugh nervously along with him. “Seven Suns,” he huffs with a sigh. “I have been a nightmare, have I not? Please know I am not so much angry with you or JK. It is really the whole situation. However, I am obscenely upset with myself. If I had only listened to you instead of seeing you as nothing more than an enemy…it would have been different.”

“You’ve not exactly been sunshine and rainbows, that’s for sure. But it’s with reason, I believe. Or at least, I think I understand.” You pause, considering what words to use to express your thoughts adequately. “I can’t even begin to pretend to understand what you and Yoongi have. He is still a stranger to me when you break it down to a base level. Sure, a stranger I’m pretty much married to, but still a stranger. We haven’t had sixty years to get to know each other and build that bond. But I can feel the way he loves you. And even if I didn’t have a front-row seat to his emotions, I’d still be able to see how much he loves you by how he looks at you alone.”

He gives you a quizzical look. “Now that I can see beyond my hatred, you really are not so bad. A little wordy, but I do not mind that so much. You can make up for Yoongi’s broody silences.”

That gives you a warm feeling, hearing Jimin include you as part of Yoongi in that sense, that you could contribute something to their relationship in a way, and it makes you smile. “So, we’re good?” you ask, hopeful.

Jimin nods. “Yes. I would say that we are, indeed, good.” He gives you a slight smile that you know will stick with you for a long time. It’s intimate in its own way, private, genuine, and warm.

“Now, is there anything you can think of that might help? How do we discover what’s happening in the Unseelie Court without going there ourselves? I feel blind. I know nothing about this world…the only thing that makes sense is,” you tap your chest, pressing your fingers over your heart, “this.”

Jimin eyes your fingers, his brow pinching. “Would it—is it okay if—” he pauses, taking a deep breath, “what I mean to say is, is it okay if I try to feel for him…through you?”

“Is that possible?” You scoot closer to Jimin until your thigh is pressed against his. “I don’t mind if you try.”

“I, uh, I do not know if it is possible. But, I think I would still like to try, yes.” He clears his throat, sitting up straighter and exhaling slowly. Jimin lifts his right hand, hovering it over yours, where it still rests over your heart. You slide your hand down, letting it drop into your lap.

The gentle press of his fingers is warm, even through the linen of your shirt. “You can press harder,” you say when he continues with the same hesitant contact.

You ignore the flutter in your stomach when his fingers brush the exposed skin through the neckline of your shirt as he presses his entire palm against your chest. “I feel something. There is a power here. But, I can not discern it as connected to Yoongi.”

He pulls his hand away quickly, shaking his head in disappointment. “Sorry, I wish that would have worked,” you share honestly.

Jimin waves a dismissive hand. “We tried. That is the best we can do for now. But, you can feel him, truly? And he is okay?”

“I won’t give you any false hope, the same as I told JK when he asked. I know that Yoongi is alive. I can feel the bond, but it’s like some sort of wall of smoke obscures the other end of it.”

“Alive,” he parrots, nearly matching JK’s words from earlier. “That will have to be enough for now.” Jimin gracefully stands up from his perch on the edge of the porch, the basket of potatoes abandoned and offers you his hand to help you do the same.

You slide your hand into his, and he hoists you up effortlessly. “Ow,” you splutter, wincing and clutching your side when he lets go, and your stance shifts without his support.

“Oh, fuck!” Jimin quickly takes the bulk of your weight, slipping an arm under yours and lifting you nearly onto your toes. “Let us get you back inside. You do need to be resting.”

The hostility you once felt so plainly from Jimin has substantially tapered off. It’s no longer a choking cloud of disdain, just a mild sourness you can smell mixing with his jasmine and chamomile scent. Though, you can distinctly feel a warmth from him that wasn’t there before. Perhaps in time, you can grow even closer to him. You’re sure that would bring Yoongi joy. It’s still unusual to care so much about someone you barely know. You’ve read books and heard stories about such things, but those all fell under the fiction genre…or so you thought.

He ushers you back inside, being mindful of how much tension gets put on your side with each step. “Thank you,” you murmur when he helps ease you into Namjoon’s rocking chair by the fire.

Namjoon startles, jerking around from his perusal of the book in his hands to take in you and Jimin. “What are you doing up? Were you just outside? You should still be in bed.”

“It is my fault,” Jimin tells Namjoon. “I was outside sulking, and Beautiful felt the need to tell me thank you. If I had not been hiding like a petulant child, she would not have had to get up and come find me.”

 At that moment, JK emerges from the bathroom, bringing with him a cloud of steam and the faintest scent of banana and coconut. “A petulant child sounds about right,” he scoffs, giving Jimin a once over. “Glad to see we’re on the same page. Now, speaking of pages”—he casually walks into the living space with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips—“have you found anything of interest in that book of yours, Joon?”

“Would you mind putting some clothes on?” Namjoon makes a face at JK. “Nothing yet, but I only just found the one I think may be of help,” he says, pointing to a large pile of books you hadn’t noticed on the floor. “This is The History Of Bonds, written some few hundred summers ago. I was just about to begin browsing it when Mini helped Beautiful into the chair here and was explaining why she was out of bed.”

“Why are you out of bed?” JK asks as he bends to rummage through a cedar chest on the other side of the fireplace.

Jimin clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “You both are insufferable. Leave the woman in peace. The last thing she needs is you two fawning over her like old nannies.”

You hide a chuckle behind your hand. “It’s fine, Mini,” you intentionally use his nickname. “I just wanted to thank him for helping me. Everyone else was busy, and I figured walking outside wouldn’t do me any harm. As I see it, we should focus less on why I’m out of bed and more on what we will do next. How do we find out more information?”

“Well,” Jimin says, “I have been thinking about that since you brought it up. I think I might be able to get information from home. We have a magickal communication network that allows us to communicate directly between the courts. I am sure by now word has been sent to the Seelie Court regarding the capture of Yoongi. I will return home and see what information I can find and what I can learn that might help us.

Namjoon hands the book he is holding off to you. “If you would, please hold this for me for a moment.” The book's leather binding is soft, the pages smelling faintly of oranges as you absently thumb through them.

Rummaging around in a small wooden box on top of the fireplace mantel, Namjoon produces a small velvet draw-string bag. “Ravens Word?” Jimin asks, stepping closer to Namjoon.

“It would be the best way to relay information quickly. I have not perfected it, so it can only be used for short phrases or words, but it should be sufficient to give us some knowledge while we wait for you to return.” He hands the velvet bag to Jimin, who tucks it into his trousers pocket. “You remember how to use it?”

Jimin nods. “I will aim for the dining table unless you prefer somewhere else?”

“That should do just fine. I will put down a linen runner.”  Namjoon enters the kitchen and opens the cabinets, setting a folded-up white cloth on the table.

JK eyes the pocket the velvet bag is tucked away in. “Are you sure Ravens Word is the best thing to use? Isn’t it traceable?”

“Traceable only if someone is looking for it. Even still, I will not include anything that might incriminate anyone. We long ago stopped using lowels for signature tracking anyway,” Jimin explains with a small shrug.

“Lowels? Ravens Word? Is there a dictionary in that stack of books that I can get or something?” you ask, letting your gaze flick between the three of them.

Jimin gives you an apologetic smile. “Right. A lowel is a creature resembling an owl of your world that can trace magick signatures not directly attached to an individual. So, things such as minor enchantments that use implements and components instead of the magick from within a being. Ravens Word is one such kind of enchantment. It is a mix of astral dust, herbs, and…um, well, the essence of a mortal-world raven. The mixture is powdered and can be used to send messages as long as the caster is familiar with where they want the message to appear. Imagine it like writing in the sand right before the tide comes in and washes it away—short and precise is best.”

“As for a dictionary, you’re just going to have to hope that mortal brain of yours can keep up, Beautiful,” JK says teasingly. Before you can think better of it, you flip him a vulgar one-fingered gesture. “Oh!” He clutches his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me!”

Jimin and Namjoon watch your exchange with mild curiosity. “Well, the sooner I leave, the sooner I can return. I will return as soon as I can,” Jimin says. He moves toward the door, brushing a hand over your shoulder as he passes. “Continue to rest. Once I return, I will begin instructing you on ways of the Courts. If you are to be bonded to my—er, Yoongi, then I will do what I can to ensure that you do so as an informed resident of this realm.” You’re so pleased that he’s finally being nice to you that you fail to argue that you don’t plan to remain a resident of this realm.

After Jimin was gone, Namjoon focused on the book resting in your lap. “I am curious. Are you able to read that?” he asks, nodding to it.

JK produces some clothing from the cedar chest, only stepping behind your chair to afford himself some privacy to pull them on. Once he’s dressed, he rests his forearms on the back of the chair, looking at the book over your shoulder.

The words on the front of the book look simple enough, but the longer you look at the characters, the more they bend and swirl, which confuses you. “No. I thought at first I might, but the letters don’t make sense. What language is it?”

“Ancient Sylvan,” JK says. “I can barely read it. Joon, where did you get this book?”

Namjoon curls his lips between his teeth, suppressing a mischievous smile. “I may have pilfered a thing or two the night I was put out of the castle.” He gives the book in your hands an affectionate glance. “Most might think that my most desired things are plants because I am a woodland nymph. Well, that might be partly true, but books have always been the real treasures that I’ve sought. You can learn so much from them. Beyond the words on the pages, I can learn the tree's history from which the pulp used to make the paper came. It is a marvel to learn history without needing a history book; any book will do.”

“Put out of the castle? Did you escape with Yoongi, too?”

Shaking his head, Namjoon briefly explains, “I come from Jimin’s Court, actually. We were younglings together. My parents worked in the royal gardens. I was caught one night helping Mini sneak out of the castle to be with Yoongi. I was turned out the very next morning and forbade to return.” He shrugs. “I much like my solitude here in the Hollow Lands anyway. Castle life is so…loud.”

“Interesting.” You want to ask many more questions but know they’re not the priority right now. You hold the book up to JK. “Do you want to give reading it a try?” 

He laughs, stepping back from where he was leaning against the top of the rocking chair. “I’ll pass on that. Joon, why don’t you read it for us?”

“Certainly,” Namjoon says, coming to perch himself on the arm of the rocking chair. “The first page should be an index of sorts. Let us start there.”

You thumb open the book to the first page with writing on it. It doesn’t look much like an index page to you, having only a few lines of swirling text. “Here?”

“There are just a few chapters. I have only briefly skimmed this book in the past. But,” his eyes flick over the page, “ah, yes. Here we are, ‘Chapter 4: Communicating Through Bonds’. Finding a way for you to communicate with Yoongi through the bond seems like a good place to start.”

That is what you focus on for the next handful of days. And, much to your chagrin, it doesn’t work. At least, you don’t think it does. The process is easy–mainly depending on your inner focus and learning how to navigate and decipher the different fibers of the bond, of which you’ve come to find out there are seven–but the execution sparks no results.

The bond's first and most prominent thread is called the soul tether. It’s the part of the bond that allows Yoongi to use you to access his inner well of magick. It has a distinct feel, with a constant pulsing thrum and vibration.  Anytime you focus on it, the magnetic pull that says you should be by Yoongi’s side increases.

The other strands are all more or less associated with the senses—Yoongi’s senses, to be exact. There are five basic senses and a sixth that is tied to the feeling of emotion. These more minor parts of the bond are associated with communicating. But the connection to them slithers away whenever you think you get a handle on it.

In a way, it feels like Yoongi is doing it on purpose. After nothing but failed attempts, Namjoon concluded that perhaps Yoongi was trying to keep Chaddick or Borgia from discovering his bonded status. Another chapter in The History Of Bonds touched on how another fae can detect things like that, but it can be masked to prevent that from happening.

“I am not sure how he is doing it. Perhaps it is linked to the natural instinct to protect your bonded mate while under duress.” Namjoon spreads his hands in defeat. “I just do not know at this point, and the book does not explain further. Though, I think it best if we move on to trying to find a different way to help.”

JK grumbles from his spot across the table from Namjoon, “I’m still for sneaking in and murdering those assholes. You know I could do it.”

“You’re insane if you think I’d let you go in alone. I told you before. We go in as a team or not at all.” You roll your eyes when JK sticks his tongue out at you. Turning your attention to Namjoon, you ask, “What did you have in mind?”

Namjoon glances down at the white linen runner still on the table—the remnants of Jimin’s message burned into the fabric. Drumming his fingers on the table, he hums thoughtfully. “Well, considering Mini’s message yesterday, we might be better off waiting until he returns to try to formulate another plan. He might be able to offer us a bit more insight. True to form, the Ravens Word was, indeed, limited.”

Sun Solstice.

Two words with a giant X crossing over them. That’s all that came through on the second day after Jimin left for the Seelie Court. When you questioned what that could mean, Namjoon and JK were puzzled. Namjoon explained that the Sun Solstice is the longest day of the fae year, celebrated by the Seelie. It’s mostly known as a day when they hold bonding ceremonies for the royals or Greater Fae. But, it also has been known to be days where they execute the Hell Condemned. Which is a term, you’ve learned, that is used for someone like Yoongi—an exiled fae convicted of high treason.

“How is it exactly that Chaddick has been able to deceive both courts for so long? Fae can’t lie, so how has he kept up such a ruse and made people believe Yoongi is a murderer?” It’s a thought that’s been driving you crazy since the beginning, but everything is moving so quickly that you didn’t think to broach the subject sooner. However, you feel like it’s vital information to know when trying to develop a game plan now.

JK pushes up from his seat to rifle through a cabinet in the kitchen. He begins pulling out dishes and various containers. “From what we’ve gathered over the years, it’s all because of his warty little bitch, Borgia. At least, that’s been the only reasonable explanation.”

“What exactly is she?” The image of the fiery-haired crone on the back of a pitch-black winged serpent has infiltrated your mind while both asleep and awake. Those fateful moments still come in fits and flashes, the chaos overwhelming.

“Swamp Hag,” Namjoon says. “Nasty, ancient being. It’s still a mystery how Chaddick sways her to do his bidding. They are typically solitary creatures that come from deep, deep to the south, beyond the borders of The Hollow Land. In a place that we call the Dread Court, though it is not a real Court. There are no presiding rulers or anything. No, it is a land ruled by darkness alone.”

“Swamp Hags are what you might think of as a witch,” JK continues, picking up the explanation as he starts to slice the loaf of bread Namjoon made after breakfast. “They have no natural magick but can harness the magick of other creatures or items. Creatures from the Dread Court are not held to the same…restrictions we find ourselves with. They can lie just as easily as a mortal man.”

“So you think she has somehow given Chaddick that ability?”

JK scoops a spoonful of honeyed butter onto a slice of bread and spreads it out. “More or less. That or she’s somehow found a way to glamor the entirety of the courts. It’s tough to say, considering we’ve had little inside intelligence over the years. The most information we get is from Mini, and even then, he can only ask so many questions to avoid unwanted suspicions.” He proceeds to butter several more slices of bread, arraying them on a plate and setting it on the table in front of you. “She’s the wild card in all this shit…and I hate it.”

🌸🌸🌸

Yoongi

It is imperative for Yoongi to hide the bond, but he can’t think of the rationale as to why for some reason. Whenever he wants to relax and let go, something kicks in and smothers that shining light all over again. He wants to reach out to it, to touch it and find comfort in it, but no matter how much he wants to…wait, what did he want to do?

It’s the same thing over and over.

Awareness. Smothering. Darkness.

Awareness. Smothering. Darkness.

Nothing makes sense, and yet everything is highlighted in stark clarity. If only he could turn off that incessant ringing. Maybe he could remember what he was thinking about. It’s important. It’s warm—comforting.

No.

Awareness. Smothering. Darkness.

Again and again.

Until…something changes.

Voices. Yes, there are voices. Hushed whispers that he is sure he wouldn’t be privy to if they knew he was aware of them.

“What is wrong with him?” A familiar voice. The voice of his nightmares.

Shuffling feet draw closer. “How am I to know? He looks and feels much the same to me as he did before. What has changed?” Fetid breath ghosts over his face as the figure comes even closer. “I think he is awake.”

The ringing in his ears intensifies as a hard fist connects with the side of his head. “Wake up, boy. Let me see those eyes that are so like your father’s.” The chains securing Yoongi’s arms over his head rattle with the residual force of the blow. Slowly, Yoongi lets his eyelids slide open. “Ah, there they are. Just as ugly as I remember.”

“Do not speak of my father, you filthy murderer!” Yoongi growls, focusing his anger on masking the bond even now that he’s broken out of his temporary fugue.

“Ah,” Chaddick rears back, a dainty hand pressing to his chest. “You wound me, Yoongi.” He flicks his other hand through his long, blond hair. The silky strands cascade over his shoulders as he moves in a slow circle around Yoongi. The space is small, the top room to one of the circular outer turrets, far from the castle proper. He stops after completing the circuit and comes back to face Yoongi. “Borgia, be a dear and remind him exactly who the murderer is here.” His crystalline eyes glitter with hatred as he watches Borgia step forward and press a gnarled, dirty finger to Yoongi’s temple.

“Yoongi, stop!!” Geumjae screams in pain. The metallic stench of blood is thick in the air. It coats his tongue and makes his grip on the short-hilted dagger slip as he raises it again to bring it back down in a harsh stroke. Geumjae’s next scream is wetter, bringing up a froth of bubbling, black blood dribbling down his chin.

He raises the blade again, eyes tracing the arc of it. The moon is high, its rays streaming just enough light inside the hallway for Yoongi to see the look of terror on his brother’s face as he swings the dagger a final time, the wicked edge severing Geumjae’s spinal cord with a satisfying pop of cartilage and muscle.

Blood soaks into the knees of his trousers as he kneels there, watching the light wink out in Geumjae’s eyes. “Like father like son, both dying a coward's death,” he says, his voice coarse and thick with disgust.

Except…it’s not his voice. It’s—

“NO! That is not what happened!” he snarls, jerking away from Borgia’s poisonous touch, severing the connection to the false memories.

“Are you so sure about that?” Chaddick sneers. “From my recollection of that day, your hands were very much covered in your brother’s blood.”

Yoongi shakes his head as much as he can with his arms up the way they are. His hands might have been covered in Geumjae’s blood, but he did not murder him. “You murdered him. You murdered them both!”

“How preposterous. The guilt has clearly warped your mind during your time away.” Chaddick's long black dressing robe swirls around his slippered feet as he approaches Yoongi, coming within just a few inches of him. “Rest assured. You will meet your justified fate for your crimes against the Unseelie Court.

Yoongi laughs a cold and reckless laugh that earns him a backhand across the face. The coppery tang of blood fills his mouth, dribbling down his chin from the cut left by one of Chaddick’s many finger rings. “What? Angry with me? Will you push me out the window like you did your wife? A sword through the belly like my father? How about—” Another blow across his mouth cuts him off.

Chaddick’s hawkish nose wrinkles in anger before he jerks his chin at Borgia and takes a step back, cradling his hand against his chest. “I want him to be pliable and weak. Scramble his brain if you have to, but you make him heel like a pup, or you will be the one I push out the damned window!”

There is momentary satisfaction as Yoongi watches Chaddick storm from the room until he’s reminded of who remains. “You ought to watch your tongue, boy, else he requests me to cut it out. You should know better than to speak such fallacies.”

“Fey can not lie, and you know it.”

That makes her suck her teeth. “Funny, if Fey can not lie, then how is it you say one thing and he says another?” Power glitters in her rheumy, yellowed eyes. “Story has it that you found yourself some dark magick out there in the wild. Allows you to lie and has further tainted your pitiful soul.” Her body shakes as she throws her head back and howls with laughter.

Yoongi has been suspicious about how Chaddick can lie and manipulate this whole time. He knows the stories, what the people believe happened to his father and brother—what Chaddick has made them believe. To anyone that is a victim of Chaddick’s manipulations, Borgia is simply an old seer that Chaddick employs to throw bones and tell fortunes. She’d come with Chaddick to the Court as part of his retainer of staff. Yoongi didn’t even know her capabilities and true nature until it was too late.

“Just kill me and be done with it,” Yoongi mutters, wincing as the burning around his wrists finally registers. Iron, thick and unbreakable, surrounds each delicate joint. The chain connected to the manacles disappears into the darkness above.

Borgia cackles, drawing Yoongi’s attention. “He plans to marry your mother. Do you know that?” Yoongi tries to control his breathing as he listens. “The way I hear it, she pants after him like a mongrel in heat.” He can’t hold back any longer. Yoongi pushes off with his feet, swinging wildly in Borgia’s direction. His right foot connects solidly with her jaw, sprawling her flat on the floor.

“Fuck you!” Yoongi yells, his voice twisted with the pain that echoes down his arms. His body sways, toes scraping at the stone to stop his momentum.

Her moan of pain turns into a rasping chuckle. “Fuck me?” Borgia pushes her bony body off the floor, swaying sharply as she gains her feet. “You will regret that, just as your brother regretted trying to save your life. He told me so right before he took his last breath…right before I cursed his soul to eternal darkness!” she screeches, lunging at Yoongi with surprising agility. Before he can react and jerk out of her reach, her skeletal fingers close around a fistful of his shirt and jerk him forward.

Pain explodes behind his eyes as the fingers of her other hand dig into the flesh of his neck. Ragged fingernails drag over his skin, leaving fire in their wake. He opens his mouth to scream, but silence is all that comes as he’s swept away to another time, another place…surrounded by the darkness of horrid memories that are far too real. 

The blankets are snatched off Yoongi’s bed, bringing him with them to land in a sprawling heap on the floor. “Seven Hells!” He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes. “Geumjae? What is going on?”

His brother crouches beside him, giving Yoongi a clear view of his face. There are splatters of black across his cheeks and down his neck—blood. Before Yoongi can question him again, Geumjae presses a finger to his lips. “We do not have much time. We have to go. Now!” he urges, grabbing at Yoongi’s arms to help untangle him from the sheets.

“Can you hold on—stop, ow!” Yoongi swats at Geumjae’s hand. “You pinched me, asshole!”

Geumjae slaps a hand over Yoongi’s mouth. “Stop being so loud,” he whispers harshly through gritted teeth. “I do not have time to explain right now. I just need you to trust me. We have to get Mom and get out of the castle. Right. Now.”

It’s not often that Geumjae acts so seriously. If anything, he’s the more relaxed of the two. When their father steps down, Geumjae is expected to take the throne as the eldest son. A revelation he grumbles about more often than not. He’d much rather spend his time playing the lute and singing great ballads to the simpering ladies of the court.

“Why are you covered in blood?” Yoongi questions when Geumjae lowers his hand, matching the volume of his brother’s whisper this time.

Geumjae looks at the door to Yoongi’s bedroom as if checking to ensure no one is looming in the open doorway. “I need you to listen to me, Yoongi. I mean, really listen, okay?” Yoongi purses his lips and nods. “I was coming in from the stables and overheard an argument in the east courtyard. It was Father and Chaddick. By the time I snuck around the corner, it was too late. Five handspans of steel were sunk into Father’s belly, Chaddick’s hand wrapped around the hilt, and that damned red-headed crone of his cackling with glee behind him.” He holds up a hand as Yoongi opens his mouth to protest. “I said listen! I ran as fast as I could and came straight here. This blood is from the guard stationed outside your room. He was one of Chaddick’s men. I could not risk him alerting someone as we left. We can discuss it later, but we need to go now. We have to get Mom and leave!”

It’s not that Yoongi didn’t comprehend anything Geumjae said. It’s just that there is a process to accepting and understanding something like that. Father, dead? Yoongi’s never heard a funnier—albeit not amusing at all—thing being said. “Jae,” he whispers, his heart quivering violently in his chest.

“I know, baby brother, I know.” Geumjae helps a robotic Yoongi to his feet before gripping his hand and pulling him out into the hallway's darkness.

As they approach the wing that leads to their mother’s bedroom, Geumjae slows down to a walk so he can peer around every corner to check that it’s clear.

Silent tears coat Yoongi’s cheeks. Every time Geumjae looks back at him, he scrubs his face with the sleeve of his pajama shirt, not wanting his brother to see his weakness.

“We should just go kill him,” Yoongi mumbles.

“Kill who? Me?” comes a cold voice from the shadows down the hall beside them. They whip around, Geumjae shoving Yoongi behind him. Chaddick moves closer, his bloodied sword trailing him out of the darkness. A few steps behind him crouches Borgia, her sickly-yellow eyes catching in the moonlight like a monster lurking in the dark waiting to pounce.

Geumjae reaches back, fingers wrapping around a small dagger tucked into the top of the back of his trousers. He whips it out, brandishing it. “Just let us get our mother and walk away. We will leave here and never return.”

Chaddick raises one icy blond eyebrow. “Do you think me a fool, Geumjae? Come, boy, I know you are not that thick-headed. You and I know I can not let you leave here alive. Either of you.”

“Jae, stop,” Yoongi urges, tugging on the back of his brother’s shirt as Geumjae steps toward Chaddick.

“Run, Yoongi, run as fast as you can. Leave here and find a way to reveal the truth.” Geumjae maneuvers himself to block Chaddick’s line of sight to Yoongi completely. “Go!”

“Guards!” Chaddick bellows, startling Yoongi. “Sound the bell! The king has been murdered! Hark, hark, hark! To arms! Defend the Court!”

Geumjae glances back at Yoongi, realizing he still hasn’t moved. It’s this instant that Chaddick attacks. Glinting steel slides right through Geumjae’s back, tenting the fabric of his shirt before slicing through in a rush of black blood. Blood spews from Geumjae’s lips, misting Yoongi’s face as he makes one last attempt to get Yoongi to move, “Run!” Geumjae takes a staggering step toward Yoongi, the sword sliding back out of his body. Bloody fingers land on Yoongi’s chest, shoving him backward.

Yoongi screams a gut-churning, heart-wrenching scream that echoes off the stone walls and fills the entire hall. Just as Yoongi finds purchase, after slipping in the pool of blood steadily growing at his feet, Chaddick begins another mockery announcement. “Guards! The Crowned Prince has been slain! To arms! Beware! Min Yoongi, murderer!”

“Not dead yet, you bastard!” Yoongi hears Geumjae snarl. He glances back over his shoulder, locking eyes with his brother one last time—the final time. Geumjae smiles, even through the blood and the pain, letting Yoongi know that it’s okay…it will always be okay.

“Get out of my head, you evil bitch!” Yoongi groans with the effort of severing Borgia’s connection. “I will take great pleasure in gutting you like the slimy bottom feeder you are!”

Borgia hacks a glob of bloody phlegm onto the floor at Yoongi’s feet. “Good luck with that when all that is going to be left of that brain of yours when I am done with it is mush!” She smacks her lips together, tongue running over her cracked and discolored teeth. The red of her hair looks like rust in the dim light coming in through the arrow slits at the top of the room's walls. “Are you curious about your brother’s last moments? Do you want to know how he died on his knees, begging and pissing his pants? How about how we made your mother watch as Chaddick opened his belly and fed his guts to the hounds?”

Yoongi’s nostrils flare, the pain of seeing those last moments all over again almost too much. “Why are you doing this?”

She titters, clucking her tongue. “I do not need a reason to want to see the likes of you and yours finally fall from their gilded seats into an iron cage.” Waving a gnarled hand, she dismisses that line of discussion. “What I would like to talk about now is why every time I dip into your noodly little brain, I can feel something I have never felt before. But every time I try to take a closer peek, it moves further away. Tell me, Hell Condemned, what are you trying to hide from me?”

Even with tears freely streaming down his cheeks, Yoongi silently pats himself on the back for being able to keep his bond hidden. He may not have realized what it was before, why he wasn’t allowed just to let go. But, now he does. He understands with brutal clarity what exactly he’s protecting. It only pains him that he’s not allowed to take comfort in the bond, to luxuriate in it while facing the darkness ahead. No, he can’t even think of—before the image of your face can fully form in his mind, he’s willing it away.

“I guess you will never know,” Yoongi finally responds, letting his eyes slip closed and promptly ignoring any of Borgia’s further questions. Even when she screams at him and presses her filthy fingers into his skin again, he meets the replay of dark memories with a slight smile on his busted lips.

🌸🌸🌸

Monica

“What am I supposed to do, Mal? It’s been weeks.”

Malcolm slides another espresso across the small cafe table to Monica. “Ye say she wanted tae come ‘ere fur she was after something. Whit was it again?”

“Stupid stories. Well, not stupid, but silly children's stories. Her grandfather was one of those head-in-the-clouds types, and he was always filling her head full of fantasy bullshit about pixie dust and fairies. Utter nonsense.”

In the three weeks since you went missing, Monica has more or less moved in with Malcolm. She canceled her flight home, returned the rental car, and put in for an extended sabbatical at work. In part, she feels responsible for your disappearance. She’s sworn off alcohol and refuses to go home until you’re found.

“Ye dinnae believe in magick?” Malcolm asks hesitantly.

Monica scoffs. “Do you expect me to believe some little green man with fairy wings carted her off? Be real, Mal.” When he just looks at her, she continues, “Don’t tell me you believe in that stuff?!”

One of his big shoulders lifts, and he sighs. “There are stories, ye ken? Things folk only blether aboot in hushed whispers. Stories aboot people disappearing around Beltane.” Monica leans forward, bringing the espresso up for a small sip, intent on Malcolm’s story. “The veil between worlds is thin, allowing the fae folk ta donder among the mortals. Some say those that disappear are taken back tae the fae realm. There was this yin lassie, mah maw knew her when they were weans, disappeared when she was eighteen. She showed up almost a decade after, had barely aged a day, spouting off aboot a peace finally comin’ tae the courts allowing her tae make her escape.”

“Do you expect me to believe that? Honestly?”

“All I’m saying is that there are folk who have disappeared the same as yer friend. Would it be so bad tae think she’s somehow caught up in another world? Ye said so yerself that she doesn’t feel here anymore.”

She hates that Malcolm is right, and she has said that; she still says that. Because that’s precisely what it feels like. Is this why you talked her into coming to Scotland? Did you come looking to disappear? Monica reflected on your last few conversations many times over the previous few weeks. Everything points back to your grandfather…maybe she should have paid more attention or been more empathetic to what losing him did to you. Perhaps then you would still be here.

🌸🌸🌸

Namjoon

Maintaining the new ward is taxing. The leaves of his seeded oak are starting to drag the ground, an alarming new development. Jimin is delayed in returning, his second message using the Ravens Word still smoldering the linen runner on the table.

Tonight.

They had waited, thinking Jimin would be returning soon. But one day turned into another and eventually became almost an entire moon cycle. Namjoon is ready for his friend to return, hoping he’ll bring with him another implement or two. The haggardness is creeping back around his eyes, and it’s getting harder and harder to keep the garden flourishing. He knows if it comes down to it, the plants will have to suffer to preserve the ward; it would be for the best, but it still pains Namjoon to consider it.

“Are you feeling okay?” Your inquiry startles him out of his thoughts. “Sorry, I should have knocked.” You prop your hip against the bedroom door jamb, where Namjoon excused himself hours ago so he could lie down and nurse a headache.

He pushes up on his elbows, wincing slightly at the thundering ache still pounding away between his temples. “Feeling a bit better now. Has JK returned from the western glen?”

“Joon, JK returned hours ago. You’ve been in here nearly all day. It’s why I came to check on you. Mini should be arriving soon, I’d imagine.”

That gets Namjoon’s attention. He clears his throat and absently pats his clothes as he slides off the bed. “Right. I must have laid down a bit longer than I thought I had.” He wishes he’d have at least slept some.

“It’s your magick, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“The reason you look and probably feel like shit.”

His brow pinches. “I look like shit?”

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week, and the bags under your eyes are turning into suitcases.” The worry you feel is evident in your voice, even if Namjoon doesn’t quite understand your odd phrasing.

There is no use in trying to skirt around the truth, as you’ve already figured it out. “Yes. It is my magick. Or rather, a lack of. I was already nearing my limit when I let down the ward the first time. Now that I have had it back up for several weeks, and with the bond necklace only having given me a few additional weeks…well, it would seem I need another boost or a miracle.”

“Maybe we should find you a human to bond with,” you say. Namjoon can tell you’re joking, but the idea has crossed his mind on multiple occasions.

“Mmm,” he hums, giving you a tight-lipped smile.

You push off from the door jamb and gesture over your shoulder with a thumb. “JK has dinner ready if you’re hungry.”

He follows you out of the room and settles at the dining table across from you. Jungkook has a platter of grilled meats and vegetables waiting. The fragrant scent of herbs and spices makes Namjoon’s stomach give an appreciative grumble. His appetite hasn’t been what it should be, another testament to how he’s been feeling.

“Hope you’re hungry,” Jungkook says after setting plates and cutlery beside the platter. “There is another rack of trimmings keeping warm in the coals.”

Jungkook’s always been a fairly decent cook. The tender meat is like butter melting on Namjoon’s tongue. He’s confident that if he can eat enough tonight, he’ll maintain his strength for another day or two at least.

You’re awfully quiet as you slice up the vegetables Jungkook spooned onto your plate. Namjoon can almost see the wheels turning in your head. There’s something on your mind. He’s gotten good at picking up on your tells and personal nuances over the last few weeks while waiting for Jimin to return. The awkwardness that was there in the beginning no longer exists. You might have been a stranger to him the first few days, but now you’re so much more. A friend—but even that does not seem to suffice when he considers you. Between the training you’ve been doing with Jungkook and the help you’ve been putting in around the house, you’ve been spending a lot of your free time helping Namjoon with his garden and learning all you can about the plants he so dearly loves.

It’s very apparent that Jungkook has also taken a liking to you. Primarily, he dotes on you, waiting on you hand and foot. When Jungkook returns from his daily scouting trips, he often returns with a swath of wildflowers you’ve taken to decorating the porch railing with. Bright blooms of pink, purple, and blue cover nearly every available inch. Namjoon knows what it means but doesn’t dare to broach the subject. Especially considering he would then have to reflect on his own internal feelings, and that’s a space he would rather avoid for the foreseeable future.

“Would that even work?” Your question pulls him out of his thoughts.

“Sorry. Would what work?” he asks after swallowing a bite of meat.

You poke at a crispy potato wedge, chewing on your bottom lip instead of the food. “Bonding with a human?” You finally look up from your plate, your eyes meeting Namjoon’s curious gaze.

“What are you talking about?” Jungkook asks, pausing with a forkful of food halfway to his mouth.

You shrug. “His magick is straining again. I was just curious if bonding with a human would help him like it helped Yoongi since Joon is a woodland nymph, not a Greater Fae or whatever.”

Your curiosity is endearing. The fact you care enough about Namjoon to ask makes him feel good. “I imagine it would work much the same way. There are far fewer stories in our histories where a woodland nymph took a human mate, but we have our own inner wells for magick. Ours are more connected with where we plant our soul seed. My oak,” he gestures toward where his towering oak sits outside, “is where my magick is channeled from. It enters through my connection with my tree and into my inner well. The way a human bond works is it primarily allows the Fey to wield more of their own power safely. If I bonded with a human, it would allow me to draw on more magick through my oak.”

“Where does your oak get magick from?”

“Bronwe—that’s the name she whispered to me when her first leaf began to sprout—my oak,“ Namjoon explains, “draws her power from deep below the ground. Her roots reach for many miles in all directions, feeding on the life force of nature itself. Though, the more magick I draw from her without having some sort of stabilizer, the weaker her roots become. That is why her branches have begun to droop so low. I have been trying to take too much from her.” Namjoon drops his eyes from yours, resuming his study of his plate. “So, yes, to answer your question. A human mate would help—if just to give her a break.” 

“Can more than one fae be bonded to the same human?”

Jungkook chokes on his mouthful of food. Namjoon reaches over and hammers a fist against his back, suddenly feeling like he can’t breathe himself. “Why would you ask that?”

“I’m just curious,” you declare. “I still know very little about this world and how it works. Just asking questions.”

“Sounds to me like you are causing trouble with your questions,” Jimin’s amused voice carries from the porch just before the door opens, and in steps the Fey himself.

“Mini!” You shove back from the table and skip to the door, pulling Jimin into a hug. Namjoon watches you, thankful for Jimin’s interruption and amused at the look of surprise on his face as you press your face against his chest and inhale deeply. You’ve been gravitating toward scents recently, primarily seeking clothing worn by Yoongi or left here by Jimin. It’s made Namjoon curious if it has anything to do with the deep connection between Jimin and Yoongi, despite there not being an actual bond between them.

Jimin pats your back. “At least one of you is happy to see me,” he teases.

“What news do you have for us?” JK asks, standing up and grabbing another plate from the cabinet. “You must be starving, have a seat. Eat.”

After settling down beside you, once you resume sitting at the table, Jimin fills his plate with food before he begins. “I expect you got my Ravens Word messages?”

“Sun Solstice.” Namjoon confirms, “We did. What is happening?”

“Chaddick has announced a marriage decree to Yoongi’s mother come the Sun Solstice, an act of unification, he claims. It will coincide with his public execution before the whole of both courts. The end of the Min line to finally bring true peace to both Courts. A blessing and a curse.” He pauses, taking a moment to meet everyone’s eyes. “I saw him.” 

“You saw him? How? Where?” Jungkook’s hand tightens around his fork so tightly that Namjoon hears the wooden handle creak.

Jimin visibly shivers. “It was requested that my family be present for the announcement. Chaddick presented the decree and began working with the Seelie Court advisors on a power merger. He intends to be the first Seelie to sit on the Unseelie Throne. This is exactly what he has wanted all along, but he knew as long as Yoongi was still alive, there was no way he could lay claim to the Min throne—regardless of Yoongi’s exiled status.”

“How did you manage to see him? Surely they have him locked away in the dungeons?” Namjoon questions, knowing full well the typical etiquette observed for prisoners.

The sigh Jimin lets out is hollow, exhausted. “Chaddick is bold. He was parading him in the open, shackled in iron like a beast. His eyes were so—they were so…empty. I could feel the taint of darkness surrounding him, bleeding from him. It stank of a swamp,” he sneers.

“Borgia. She must be using some sort of witchy shit on him.” You shove away your plate in frustration. “Ugh! I wish I knew more about this bond. If it gives him access to more power, shouldn’t he be powerful enough to break free from it or something?”

Jimin gives you a sympathetic look. “Was there anything you all found out that might help? Anything about the bond we can work toward? The Sun Solstice is just a week away.”

Namjoon has an idea, but he’s unsure how receptive anyone else will be to it. You gave him the idea, actually. Even then, it’s a long shot that anyone would be comfortable agreeing. But, then again—he glances at Jungkook, who is staring at you like he wants to hold you and soothe your worries. Jimin, well, he already knows Jimin will do anything for Yoongi. And, as far as himself…

“I think I might know of a way to help,” Namjoon admits, his voice wavering slightly with nerves. “But, it is a bit eccentric.”

🌸🌸🌸

Jungkook

“You want us to do what?” Jungkook can’t believe what he’s hearing.

The tips of Namjoon’s ears blush as he stammers out his idea again. “It might be possible for us to all bond with Beautiful, giving Yoongi unfettered access to our magick through her. It would have to be enough for him to overpower whatever enchantment Borgia has over him. There is no way she is more powerful than four Fey combined.”

“I’ll do it,” you don’t hesitate to state. “If it can help, I’ll do it. I’ll fuck all of you at the same time if it means helping Yoongi, if it means we rescue him and send Chaddick to the fiery pits of Hell…or wherever it is that bad people from here go.”

Jungkook can’t help the smirk that tugs at his lips. He knew he liked you from the moment he laid eyes on you. The fact you were meant for his best friend didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate you. Spending the last several weeks holed up in Namjoon’s house with you only intensified that appreciation. Since Namjoon said your side was healed well enough, you’ve asked Jungkook to help train you with a sword every morning. And fuck if he doesn’t like how your body moves when you swing it. You might be no better than a child playing with a toy sword right now, but you don’t give up—which is what makes him keep agreeing to train you.

“Are you certain this would work?” Jimin asks, his untouched plate of food forgotten on the table.

Namjoon stands up from the table and moves over to his stack of books. “I came across it a few days ago. It is not a definitive account but a speculation based on transcribed scrolls in an abandoned temple found near the Dread Court. There is a small passage about ‘Circle Bonding’,” he explains, flipping through an old, tattered book. The pages are barely staying within the binding. Dust drifts down from the book with each additional page Namjoon turns. “Here.” He turns the book around and gently lays it on the table.

Looking at the page, Jungkook can see it is in a standard script, likely part of the translation process. “‘A practice observed mostly by lesser Fey seeking more power’,” he reads off, skimming over the small paragraph. “‘Although the effects may vary according to the Fey involved, it is believed to be most effective with at least one Greater Fey’. Well, we got that covered, at least. Twice over,” he muses, glancing at Jimin.

Jimin lightly brushes the edge of the page. “Is it so simple?”

“I am willing,” Namjoon says. “It may also help with my magick. I do not know how long I can keep us concealed here.”

“With luck, my friend, you won’t need to keep the ward up much longer. If we bond and Yoongi gets the boost he needs, I say if he doesn’t make it out by himself, then we orchestrate an attack the night before Sun Solstice. The Seelie Court will be in attendance. I’m sure there will be a feast in preparation for the sun to rise…the perfect distraction and opportunity to slip in and make some noise.”

You’re nodding along to Jungkook’s plan, a sparkle of light shimmering in your eyes. He knew you liked this kind of stuff. There’s no way you wouldn’t with all the stories your grandpa told you. You’ve shared a few with him over the weeks. His favorite is The Young Tamlane of Carterhaugh. He wonders how long it will take you to realize that story is, in part, based on himself.

“So, we agree, then? We try to bond and give Yoongi the extra oomph he needs to escape. If, for some reason, he doesn’t, we say fuck it and storm the castle in a last-ditch effort. If they’re going to try and execute him anyway, it’s not like we have other options.” You look at Jimin, the only one who hasn’t voiced his agreement yet. “What do you say, Mini? We didn’t start on the right foot, but I no longer care about that. I just want Yoongi to be alive and happy.”

“It would mean I am connected to him, too. So, if sharing a bond with all of you saves Yoongi, then of course I agree.” Jimin smiles. It’s soft and sweet, something Jungkook hasn’t seen from him in a while.

Jungkook begins clearing away the dishes from the table, uncaring of the uneaten food. “Well, no time like the present. We need to find implements to use. Joon, do you have anything?”

“I believe I know just the things,” Namjoon replies. He heads straight for the small box on the mantle, where he pulled the bag of Ravens Word from. “I have been saving these for a long time.” Returning to the table, he opens his palm and reveals three near-identical purple and white crystal shards. Delicate silver chains crisscross over and around them, securing the stones at the ends as the pendants of necklaces.

“Those are beautiful,” you say, looking at the stones in Namjoon’s palm. Your lips make this cute ‘o’ shape, parting just enough for Jungkook to see the tip of your tongue.

Jimin grabs the bag he discarded on the floor by the door when he first came in. “They will match perfectly with this.” He pulls back the clasps on the bag and reaches in. “I got something for you. I figured you would be tired of having to roll up the sleeves on the tops and cuffing the pants of these giants.” Purple silks and velvets come out of the bag, silvery and light blue accents peeking through here and there. “Some blouses, fitting of your beauty, and some tapered trousers more suitable to your stature.”

“Oh, wow. Mini, you didn’t have to do that.”

The smile that graces Jimin’s face reminds Jungkook of just what made Yoongi so goo-goo-eyed, to begin with. Jimin has an ethereal beauty that goes beyond even that of a Fey.

“Perhaps not. But I wanted to. I want you to be comfortable and well cared for, truly.” A bit of color creeps into Jimin’s cheeks, further brightening his smile. You roll your lips between your teeth and do this little shoulder swish that’s just so fucking cute. Jungkook’s sure he could swoon over the Seelie Prince himself if he weren’t so caught up in watching your reaction to Jimin. You disappear into the bedroom to try on the new clothing.

“Okay, Prince Charming,” Jungkook teases. “A few weeks away, and you come back a different Fey.”

“Not different, just more accepting, perhaps. She is forever a part of Yoongi, and I love him—all of him.” Jimin sets his bag back down, brushing his hands off on his pants. “I know I was wrong in the beginning, I let my emotions cloud my judgment, and I will forever be embarrassed and sorry for my actions. I am simply doing what I can to rectify it.”

Jungkook steps around the table and places a hand on Jimin’s shoulder. “Yoongi would be proud of you.”

“I hate that he is not here for this. Do you think he would be accepting? She is his mate, his bond…would he be okay with us making that connection, too?” The worry in Jimin’s voice is evident.

Namjoon moves to stand beside them, the necklaces dangling from his hand. “I believe if Yoongi were aware of ‘Circle Bonding’ before all of this, it would have been his idea. You know how much he loves you, Mini. He and JK have been inseparable since they were younglings. Of course, he would want him to be a part of his bond.” It’s not lost on Jungkook that Namjoon doesn’t include himself in the assurance.

“Do not leave yourself out of that, Joon. He would want you, too,” Jimin responds immediately, clearly having caught it the same as Jungkook. “You have done more for him in the last ten years than JK, and I combined. If anything, you would be his first choice.” They both chuckle, knocking shoulders playfully.

“How do I look?” you call from the bedroom as you step out.

Jungkook swallows thickly, subconsciously licking his lips as he takes you in. The lilac top hugs your figure, accentuating your waist, flaring over your hips, and pushing your breasts up. He sends up a silent thank you to the Moon for Jimin choosing those trousers. They hug your legs, making them look like they were dipped in starlight.

Jimin breaks the silence first. “Exquisite.”

“Thank you, good sir.” You give an exaggerated curtsy, your fingers pinching at the flared fabric over your hips, making them all melt into laughter. “Now, who’s ready to do this?”

🌸🌸🌸

You can’t believe what you’re about to do. When you slipped into the bedroom to change into the beautiful clothing Jimin brought you, you nearly panicked and climbed out the window. Since the moment JK dumped you through the gateway and into the loch, your entire life has been one giant tailspin. It’s only been recently that you’ve managed to stop the nauseating swirl and begin to get a grasp on things. Now, you’re about to take another nosedive into the unknown. 

It’s not that you don’t want to bond with these fae—you don’t mind that part—but you can’t seem to get rid of the tingling beneath your skin when you think about how Yoongi might react. You’ve been trying to remain positive, spending a lot of time reaching out to the bond and frustrating yourself over and over again when you run into the same foggy wall as before.

Jimin’s news of Yoongi made your stomach churn. You immediately grabbed for the bond and threw everything you had against the wall separating you, but it was useless. If you’re being honest, the reason you agreed so quickly to try the circle bonding was the thought that maybe if someone else is part of the bond, then they can use their magick to break through the barrier and finally communicate with Yoongi. From what JK explained and what little you could read of the book Namjoon had, in theory, it should work in a way that allows them to feel the bond you have with Yoongi and each other.

“We should start with JK,” Namjoon suggests. “Go in sequence of ability.”

JK huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I guess that makes sense. Are we all going to do the rites first?” 

Jimin looks to Namjoon, and they both nod. “I think that might be for the best. We can begin the bonding process all at once and then…umm, the other.”

“Foursome,” JK chirps. “The other would be what they call a foursome.”

“You do not have to be so crude,” Jimin murmurs. “Besides, what if we do not want to do that together?”

“Are you worried we’ll laugh at your little cock?” JK pokes his lips out in a faux pout. “It’s okay, Mini. I promise not to laugh too much.”

Jimin raises a slim brow, his lips tipping into a smirk. “I was thinking more along the lines of not wanting to make you feel inadequate in comparison.”

“Okay, okay, enough dick talk,” you laugh, thankful for the banter that has eased the tension. “If it’s any consideration, I wouldn’t mind if everyone was present. Based on my experience, inhibitions seem to have no place during a bonding. I doubt any of you will even care if you accidentally cross swords.”

That earns you a loud, full laugh from JK and curious looks from Namjoon and Jimin. “That has to be in reference to sex of some kind,” Namjoon muses. “I will have you all know that I have never—well, I have never experienced copulation with another being.”

“Fucking knew it!” JK exclaims.

This makes you pause. “Are you sure you want to do this, then, Joon? The bond…it, well, it is very controlling.”

Namjoon clears his throat. “I know. If I am being honest with you, with all of you, I have taken quite a liking to you, Beautiful. I do not believe in coincidences, the sun and moon move in mysterious ways, but the stars are always aligned precisely how they are meant to be. You were destined to come here, to be a part of this world, and now you are making it tilt to rotate on your axis.”

You can feel it, the rightness in his words. You didn’t travel to Scotland on a whim as you thought. No, you were inevitably drawn to this time and place as a beacon of hope and change. Everything your grandpa ever told you has prepared you for these very moments. You know how this story is supposed to end.

When you lead the way to the garden, the moon is high in the sky, the air warm and humid against your skin. Beautiful ivy vines, fragrant jasmine, and drooping wisteria cover the moon gate. The flowers have bloomed fully over the last week or so, creating a magnificent backdrop as you stand with your hand clasped in JK’s. Jimin gently wraps the delicate silver chain around your hands, much like he and JK did for you and Yoongi.

You can’t help reaching out to the bond again. Trying to somehow let Yoongi know what you’re about to do is meant to help him. Being of the Unseelie Court, the words JK speaks mirror the ones spoken by Yoongi, vowing to be like the moon that gives way to the sun. You feel the same draw, reciting the words you also spoke to Yoongi. As the last word leaves your mouth, you gasp, stumbling forward into JK and clutching your chest.

The bond undulates, swelling inside you with the onslaught of new feelings. It’s like JK has reached under your ribs and is squeezing your heart. “Fucking hell,” you rasp as your body finally adjusts to the new sensations. “Is that normal?”

JK’s eyes are wide and full of alarm as he clutches you to his chest. “Like being hooked up to a car battery.” Usually, that would make you laugh, hearing JK speak so casually about things in the mortal world, considering the amount of time he has spent there during the last ten years. But, now, it barely registers over the ocean roaring in your ears—only, they’re not your ears.

🌸🌸🌸

Yoongi

Standing on the rocky precipice, looking out over the deadly drop into the crashing waves below, he feels something inside of him change. Sweat beads on his forehead, and his manacled hands grow clammy, having nothing to do with the ocean mist that lingers in the air.

“Would you like your body to be dumped into the ocean once I finish with it?” Borgia asks, sucking her teeth as she ambles over the craggy rock face to sneer at him. “I would shove you over right now if I could get away with it.” She uses a high-pitched mocking voice, “Oh, no, he jumped! I could not stop him!” Her laugh is like the crumbling of dead leaves, raspy and hollow. Yoongi barely registers the fire lancing through his wrists when she tugs on the iron chain, making him stumble behind her like a dog on a leash. He’s so focused on the new sensation in the bond that he doesn’t mind when she forces him onto his knees, the barnacles on the rocks cutting through his pants. “Collect those for me, dog, and I will let you have a bite of bread for dinner.”

His fingers dig at the crustaceans, trying to pry them from the rock. He doesn’t care that it’s nearly impossible to do with just his fingers, as long as Borgia doesn’t touch him. Because, right now, he is leagues away…standing in front of a moon gate, looking into the eyes of one of his best friends.

🌸🌸🌸

The sensations level out, letting you get a better grasp on them. After Jimin unwinds the necklace, JK slides his hands up your arms, sucking in a breath when his fingertips graze the exposed skin of your neck. He licks his lips and jerks back, releasing you. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, reluctant to let him step away. The connection between you urges you to go to him. Now that it has tasted his magick, it wants more. It needs you to complete the bond to his inner well.

Your eyes drift to Namjoon as he takes JK’s place before you. He offers you his hand, a warm smile on his face. “May I?”

Instead of answering him, you feel a need to be honest with him about something that has been eating away at you for a long time now. “Joon, I—I need to tell you something.”

Namjoon’s brow pinches and his hand slowly lowers to his side. “What is it?”

You chance a glance at Jimin, who is watching you with an open expression of genuine support. He nods his chin slightly in further encouragement. You reach for Namjoon’s hand, taking it up and holding it between both of your own. “When JK and I first came back after Yoongi was taken, there were some things I overheard during all the chaos. Things that I do not think I was supposed to hear but that were said accidentally with all the stuff going on. Joon—Namjoon,” you pause, letting him take in the realization, “I hope you are not too upset with me.”

His eyes drop like he’s taking a moment to filter through his feelings. “No control,” he finally says. “You know my true name, but still, you hold no power over me for it.” He looks up at you, and a slow smile spreads across his face. “I am thankful for you telling me. You are full of surprises, you sweet, wonderful being.”

“Do you know my real name?” JK asks, drawing your attention.

You shake your head. “I do know Jimin, though. Those were the only two names I heard that night. I don’t know if it was because someone else said them, and that’s why I don’t have power with them. Or, Jimin thinks it might have something to do with me slowly growing into my own faeness. Either way, it’s not my intention to have that kind of power over any of you. I didn’t want to ask you, and it somehow not be the same as with them. I would never have asked it of Yoongi if I thought there was any other way to guarantee my safety at the time.”

“Tell her,” JK urges, nudging Jimin with his elbow. “I want her to know my name, too.”

Jimin chuckles softly, giving JK a knowing look. “His name is Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook of the Unseelie Court, Royal Guard to the Crowned Prince.”

“You didn’t have to get all proper like that,” Jungkook says, rolling his eyes, but then he quickly looks to you, hopeful.

“Jungkook,” you test out his name, liking how it feels on your lips. “I like knowing your name without having some control over you with it.” That makes Jungkook positively beam, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes and over his dark hair. He may not be a fae prince, but he sure looks like it to you. You turn back to Namjoon, intimately aware of the butterflies that sweep through your belly when you meet his gaze. “Shall we?”

The words Namjoon chooses are different but no less potent in their meaning. “As all living things need the sun, water, and nutrients to grow, so too do I need you as my mate to grow beyond what I am now. I open my heart to you so you may gaze upon my grove and find shade under the branches of Bronwe. You are now the blood of my blood and bone of my bone. I give you my spirit till my life shall be done.”

It’s so natural now, responding to his vow with your own. “Whether as a mighty oak or a delicate rose, I come to you as tender hands of care. I will be the cooling shade to searing heat and the suckle of water when it's dry. I will protect you and Bronwe with all that I am and ever could be. You are now the blood of my blood and bone of my bone. I give you my spirit till my life shall be done.”

Namjoon’s hand tightens around your forearm as you both sway from the impact of the tether beginning to form. “Wow,” he says. The sentiment of his surprise and awe echoes inside you as the bond changes again. Your nose twitches as you catch the faintest whiff of briny ocean air.

🌸🌸🌸

Yoongi

Something is happening to the bond. The harder he pushes it down to mask it, the harder it pushes back. It’s clear to him that you’ve accepted a bond with Jungkook, though the reasoning alludes him. He trusts his friends implicitly. Whatever it is they are doing with you, he knows it’s for the benefit of everyone.

The moon is bright overhead, something that used to bring Yoongi immense amounts of joy because it would revitalize his inner well and make him feel refreshed, even when his magick was at its weakest, right before you got dumped into his life—literally. Since he’s been taken, Borgia has made sure to only take him out at night when she feels like he’s extra compliant. Tonight is one of those such instances. He’s been feeling listless the last day or two, using all of his reserved strength to keep the bond masked, long having given up trying to fight the nightmare of the night he escaped the castle that she makes him relive constantly.

“Scrape at those faster, boy. We do not have all night.” Saliva splashes onto his boot as she spits on the ground beside him. He ignores it, digging his now bloodied fingers around a particularly stuck barnacle, his eyes focused on the moonlight glinting off the ocean in the distance, but all he can see are a beautiful pair of turquoise eyes that are so full of love as they move to in front of him—but not him.

🌸🌸🌸

Jimin is the last to step in front of you. Unshed tears are glistening in his eyes as Jungkook helps Namjoon twine the third necklace around your clasped hands.

The words Jimin says are similar to Yoongi’s but from the sun's perspective as opposed to the moon's. “As the sun provides light for the moon to glow, so too will I shine for you as my mate. I open my heart to you so you may gaze upon my stars and find warmth within my soul. You are now the blood of my blood and bone of my bone. I give you my spirit till my life shall be done.”

You combine your own words, feeling like that is the right thing to do. “The moon spends its entire life reflecting the light of the sun so that others may see, even in the dark. I offer myself to you as an equal to shine for the moon. I open my heart to you so we may both be bright for him, even in the darkest of times. You are now the blood of my blood and bone of my bone. I give you my spirit till my life shall be done.” The inclusion of Yoongi is automatic, offering Jimin not just a bond but a promise that you will never try to be more prominent in Yoongi’s life, instead standing as an equal to Jimin.

The bond shivers, bringing an added warmth that shines brighter than the midday sun. Jimin closes his eyes and murmurs, “Yoongi. I can almost feel him.”

🌸🌸🌸

Yoongi

“Put them in the jar,” Borgia huffs, kicking the glass bottle closer to where he kneels. His hands are a mess, bloodied and aching, as he grabs the jar and begins to stuff the crustaceans he managed to pry from the rock.

Sweat is pouring down his neck and soaking his shirt. The last change to the bond is making it so hard to hold back. Jimin. He has barely thought of him since he’s been captive, lest he falls into a bottomless pit of despair. Yoongi can feel them, all three of his best friends, glittering like an oasis in the desert on the other side of the mental wall he’s erected within himself.

He aches to drop the wall and reach out to embrace the warmth it offers. But he’s not sure what will happen if he does. The bonds are faint, incomplete—just a tease at this point. Yoongi grits his teeth, shoving the last of the sea creatures into the jar before staggering to his feet and holding it out to Borgia. She gestures wildly down the coast, a silent command for Yoongi to walk. He clutches the jar to his chest, takes a step forward, and once again finds himself with his unfocused gaze staring into familiar turquoise eyes and the faint taste of chamomile on his tongue.

🌸🌸🌸

“He’s there. I know he is. Why isn’t he letting us in?” Jungkook presses a hand to his chest, a look of confusion on his face.

“The bond is not yet complete. That could be holding him back,” Namjoon suggests. His breathing is a bit ragged as he works to unwind the necklace from around your and Jimin’s hands. “There is so much power.”

You can feel him now. Yoongi is there, a muted presence, but you feel him more prominently than you have the whole time he’s been gone. The taste of salt lingers on your lips, and for some reason, the tips of your fingers ache with phantom pains. “He knows,” you whisper, licking your lips and savoring the tangy flavor that shouldn’t be there. “I can feel him.”

“Whoa,” Jimin gasps, pulling you closer. His eyes bore into yours. “Your eyes, they—they are his. Oh, Yoongi.” Before you know it, Jimin’s lips are pressed to yours. The touch ignites something in you. You lean into the kiss, letting Jimin slide his tongue between your lips. “You taste the way he does, like the darkness just before dawn and morning dew,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling away to catch his breath.

Gentle fingers brush across the back of your neck, eliciting goosebumps down your spine. “You smell even more divine than before. Is it because of the bond?” Namjoon audibly swallows, the sound quivering his breath as he exhales. “Perhaps we should go inside.”

All you can do is nod. The force of three new bonds is far more intense than one, each playing off the need of the next. As you follow them back into the house, you can feel moisture already gathering between your thighs. Namjoon leads the way, his broad shoulders seeming even more expansive now that you’re looking at him through a bond haze.

Jungkook has been uncharacteristically quiet since he questioned why Yoongi wasn’t letting them in. You put a hand on his arm to draw his attention. “You okay?”

“What? Me? Oh, yeah, I’m more than okay.” That boyish grin you first saw all those nights ago at Bowhill House settles on his lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrug. “You don’t even know my name.”

His eyes flick to yours. “Sure I do. You’re Beautiful.”

“I mean my real name,” you laugh. Namjoon pushes open the door to the bedroom, and you continue in behind Jungkook.

Jimin shrugs off his overcoat and tosses it on a wooden chair in the corner. “We do not need to know your real name for this to be what we want. At least, that is how it is for me. And if I am being even more honest, I do not want to know your name until you are ready to give it, and even then, I want Yoongi to know it first. He deserves that more than we do, but only when you are ready for that…if you ever are. We are all perfectly content with calling you Beautiful, as that is exactly what and who you are.”

“He’s right,” Jungkook agrees. “Now, quit stalling and get on the bed.”

“Excuse me?” you ask with an awkward laugh.

Jungkook pokes at the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue. “I said get on the bed. Now.”

“Hold up a minute, I don’t thin—“

His chest is against yours in the next instant. He steps forward, forcing you back until your thighs knock into the edge of the bed. “Seeing as how I am the only cock in this room that has any experience with pussy, I think it would be best if I called the shots. Besides, I like being in charge.” He emphasizes that statement with a gentle push to your shoulders, easing you back onto the bed. 

You glance at Namjoon and Jimin. Their eyes are locked on Jungkook, watching his every move as he slowly begins to relieve you of the clothing you put on only hours ago. The buttons on your blouse pop open quickly under his deft fingers, exposing your bare breasts to the heat of the room and their gazes.

Being bold, Namjoon steps forward and perches on the bed beside you. “Are they as soft as they look?”

“It’s okay to touch,” you tell him before giving Jimin a look that means those words are for him, too.

Your boots come off next. One at a time, they thump onto the floor, discarded by Jungkook. His fingers tickle along the arch of your foot, making you squirm. You open your mouth to tell Jungkook to stop, but Namjoon’s fingers pinching one of your nipples steals your attention.

“Touch her, Jimin. I know you want to. Stop resisting.” Jungkook smirks as he trails his hands up your legs until he gets to the fastening on your pants.

Jimin reaches out a tentative hand and cups your other breast, squeezing lightly. You both shudder from the contact. “I can feel you feeling me,” Jimin observes, experimenting by flicking his thumb over your nipple until it pebbles tightly.

Your body jerks as Jungkook tugs your pants down over your hips. Namjoon sits up a little straighter. He cocks his head to the side, sliding his hand down from your breast to splay across your stomach.

“What you’re looking for is the clit,” Jungkook casually tells Namjoon. “Listen to the sounds she makes. Watch her reactions. You’ll know when you find it.” 

“Why am I the only one naked?” you huff, biting your bottom lip as Jimin continues teasing your nipples, and Namjoon’s hand moves lower. Your pants hit the floor, Jungkook finally getting them down your legs. He stands back, looking smug as he watches Namjoon’s hand intently.

It’s a soft touch at first, the way Namjoon’s fingers sweep over your skin. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly as he becomes more confident with his exploring. Jimin leans in and captures your next exhale, breathing you in before devouring your mouth in a brutal kiss. He follows you down as you lose the will to continue sitting upright. Hands trace over your knees before firmly pushing them open, exposing your throbbing core.

You track Namjoon’s fingers, letting your body and the bond guide your sight even behind closed lids. You’re distinctly aware that it’s Jungkook’s hands on your knees. The sound of Namjoon’s sharp inhale when he finally slides a finger through your wetness, mixed with the sensation of it, has you moaning into Jimin’s mouth.

“Listen to her moan for you,” Jungkook whispers, his voice dark and throaty.

Namjoon drags his finger through your arousal again, eliciting another moan from you. Jimin breaks away from the kiss, panting against your cheek before pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. He alternates with tongue and teeth, leaving playful marks in his wake. “Kiss her when you do that, Namjoon,” Jimin stops his kissing to murmur into your skin. “It is exhilarating feeling the vibrations of her moans.”

“Take off your clothes first, lover boy,” Jungkook suggests, the words hooked on a groan he tries to hide. “I have a feeling once you start, you won’t be able to stop.” His hands are still on your knees, and without looking, you can tell he’s staring at where your arousal is beginning to drip out and down your ass. You can feel his penetrating stare, the way he’s holding back his desire so Namjoon and Jimin can enjoy themselves before he does.

The finger that was tracing circles around your clit disappears. Your eyes flutter open, intent on getting your first real glimpse at Namjoon’s body as he begins to slip out of his clothes. He’s always worn neutral earth tones that compliment his easy-going demeanor. The fact he’s hiding such a beautiful body under so many layers of linen should be marked down as a cardinal sin.

His eyes meet yours as his shirt hits the floor, and his thumbs hook into the waistband of his pants. With teasing slowness, he slides them down inch by inch until they come loose around his knees and fall to puddle around his feet. Namjoon is as glorious naked as he is kind in spirit. You’re utterly at a loss for words, so you just reach out a hand to him in offering.

Jimin leans back, propped up on an elbow, as he watches Namjoon take your hand, and you guide him up onto the bed. The bed dips, and Jimin scoots back a little to allow your legs to open further as Namjoon kneels between them.

“Are you sure?” Namjoon asks you, his eyes searching yours for assurance.

The bed shifts as Jungkook settles above you. He holds up a single white, dusty petal. You automatically open your mouth and stick out your tongue to receive the Silver Ward, internally grateful someone thought to grab it. The creamy taste of the flower petal melts in your mouth. In response to Namjoon, you grip a handful of his hair and pull him down, guiding his mouth to yours.

The scent of pine blooms heavily around you, and the taste of orange floods your mouth. Namjoon tastes and smells as sweet and comforting as you thought he would. With your other hand, you work it between your bodies until your fingers graze along his erection. He shudders, stomach clenching as his hips jerk forward.

“Easy,” you whisper between kisses. “Nice and slow.” His velvety skin is warm and smooth as you slide your hand along his length, marveling at the amount of sticky wetness already seeping out from the tip.

“Seven Suns!” Namjoon curses, his lips popping off of yours as you shift your hips up, and the head of his cock presses into your wetness. His eyes widen as your other hand lands on his hip, encouraging him to thrust forward. Inch by inch, he fills you until you’re both writhing, and he’s all the way inside. “It feels—it feels, I do not…the words…” he trails off, jaw going slack as he slowly pulls out and pushes back in.

“Good pussy is supposed to make you speechless,” Jungkook comments slyly. “Now, make her cum like a good mate.”

🌸🌸🌸

Yoongi

His steps falter as his body locks up, rocketing through a sensation he hasn’t felt since the night he bonded with you. Alarmed, he holds the jar of barnacles over his crotch and quickly continues walking before Borgia can bark at him for stopping.

Pine and orange blossoms. The scent is so intense, Yoongi could almost believe he was somewhere deep in a spring orchard instead of walking along the rocky coastline of the Unseelie Court. You have fully bonded with Namjoon. The idea that his best friend just made love to his mate doesn’t phase him. He welcomes the additional feeling of Namjoon in the bond. Though, what is most surprising is the energy Yoongi now feels. His exhaustion is waning, and the ache in his head lessening.

🌸🌸🌸

Namjoon pants heavily into your neck, his body still quivering on top of yours. You can feel his cock still pulsing, filling you with thick jets of cum. The orgasm tore through you and ripped right down the bond connected to Yoongi. You hadn’t even considered that could happen. But, as you recover from the post-orgasm haze, you realize the foggy wall separating you from Yoongi has depleted significantly.

That revelation excites you. “I think it’s working,” you say breathlessly. “Namjoon, do you feel him?”

Pushing up on trembling arms, Namjoon slowly pulls out of you, sitting back on his heels. His cock is still hard, jutting up against his stomach and smearing your combined releases across his skin. “I do.” There is evident amazement in Namjoon’s voice, his face splitting with a huge smile. “It is beyond what I imagined. I can feel him, just as I can feel you.”

Your body kicks back into overdrive, reminding you there are two bonds you’ve yet to complete. “I should clean up.” You sit up to slide around Namjoon, but a hand on your shoulder pulls you back.

“If you think Namjoon’s cum will stop me from fucking you, you are mistaken.” Such dirty words coming from Jimin’s sweet mouth have you moaning softly. He’s almost possessive in how he grabs your ankles and pulls you over on top of himself. You straddle his stomach; hands pressed against his chest for support. “Claim me. Mark me as yours,” he demands. 

You shift back, feeling his hard length slide between your thighs until it pops out and slaps against his stomach. Jimin grunts, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, prominent canines—making you think so much of Yoongi’s—indenting the plush flesh. Wrapping your fingers around his cock, you give it a firm squeeze, watching as a bead of pre-cum oozes out.

You can feel Jungkook’s and Namjoon’s eyes on you as you lean forward and flick your tongue over the tip of Jimin’s cock, collecting the glistening moisture. The taste alone makes you moan, like the best blend of warm spices you’ve ever had. It complements the clove of Yoongi and the orange of Namjoon so well.

“Fuck,” Jungkook moans. You glance at him, smirking before swirling your tongue around Jimin’s head. All three moan then, Jimin’s hips bucking up and pressing his cock more firmly against your tongue.

“I will not last if you keep doing that,” he whines beautifully.

Sitting up straight, you keep your hand wrapped around his cock and adjust your hips until you hover over him. “Look at me,” you tell him. Those turquoise eyes lock onto yours. The rapture that takes over Jimin’s face as you begin to lower yourself onto him is something that will be ingrained in your memory forever.

He stretches you perfectly. Despite having just been filled with Namjoon, your body needs a moment to adjust. You begin to move, rocking slowly until Jimin starts to rock his hips to go deeper.

“Play with her nipples,” Namjoon suggests.

Taking the direction, Jimin captures one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, tugging gently. You throw your head back, moaning loudly. Encouraged by your reaction, he does it again. “Jimin!” you cry his name, undulating your hips in a way that has the head of his cock rubbing all the right places.

He stiffens under you when you cry out his name, growing impossibly harder. “When you say my name like that, it does something to me. Seven Suns, say it again!” he begs.

“Jimin, Jimin, Jimin,” you string together his name like a prayer, repeating it with each thrust until you’re nearly sobbing his name, begging for relief yourself.

You hadn’t realized Jungkook moved to kneel behind you, only becoming aware of him when one of his hands slides around your hip and his thumb presses against your clit. “Make him cum, Beautiful. Claim that cock as yours.”

The sensation of Jimin tweaking your nipple and Jungkook rubbing the pad of his thumb against your clit has your next orgasm careening through you. Black dots spot your vision, your body pulsing around Jimin and encouraging his release. His mouth opens in a silent cry, head thrown back against the mattress.

Before you have time to register what’s happening, Jungkook grabs your hips and pulls them up. You fall forward, landing on Jimin as your ass goes into the air. “Ju-jungkook, wha—OH!” you moan, sucking in a breath and trying to orient yourself.

Heedless of the cum dripping out of you and Jimin’s hard cock just inches away, Jungkook shoves down the front of his trousers and pushes into you in one swift motion. “If I had to watch anymore, I was going to cum in my pants, and well, that would be a waste of a perfectly good bonding orgasm.”

You mewl from the overstimulation, fingers scrabbling over Jimin’s shoulders, searching for purchase to keep yourself from sliding forward. Jungkook’s fingers dig into the meat of your hips as he sets a relentless, pounding pace.

“He is like an animal,” Namjoon muses, though clearly being turned on by the display. He fists a hand around his own erection. “Do you feel it, Jimin?”

 Jimin just grunts, wrapping his arms around your back to help hold you in place. You meet his eyes, watching the swirl of emotions in their oceany depths. “Let go, Beautiful. Give in to it,” he whispers, his lips brushing over yours with each word.

You do. You give in and open yourself to Jungkook. Jungkook’s hips stutter against your ass as your body commands his, drawing forth his orgasm to crest with yours. The final bond slams into place, exploding through your body with pleasure and intensity.

For a moment, you’re shuffling along a desolate shoreline. The moon is high overhead, the ocean screaming as it throws itself against the bluffs a hundred feet below you. “Where am I?”

“What did you say, boy?”

You jerk around, startled by the voice, and meet a wicked set of yellowed eyes that instantly go wide with understanding.

🌸🌸🌸

Yoongi

He was ready the second time you accepted a bond, silently rejoicing in being connected to Jimin. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he kept his face forward so Borgia wouldn’t grow suspicious. The third bond came so quickly after the second that he let his hold slip. Those terrifying moments when he watched as you looked through his eyes, spoke with his mouth…

“Fuck you!” Yoongi yells, throwing the jar of barnacles as hard as he can at Borgia’s face. The glass smacks her in the mouth, shattering. Shards of glass rain down on the rocks at her feet as she screams.

Opening himself to the full power of the bond nearly sweeps Yoongi off his feet. It barrels through him, and he has to step back to keep his balance. Focusing on his strength, Yoongi pulls against the cuffs around his wrists as hard as possible. They are iron, but the strongest Fey magick has been known to break it.

Borgia swipes a hand over her mouth, trying to dislodge errant pieces of glass. “You stupid, stupid worm! I do not care what Chaddick wants. I will see you in pieces before the night is over!”

She lunges at him, hands hooked like claws, aiming for his face. Yoongi grunts, ignoring the bite of iron ripping into his skin as the shackles groan and creak from his efforts. He might not know how to control his power fully, but with the additional potency from the bond now, he only needs a small amount to make a big difference.

The cuff on his right wrist snaps, the iron pieces crumpling in his hand. As Borgia collides with him, he brings up that mangled piece of iron and drives it down as hard as he can into her back. Her fingers dig into his cheeks, the nails slicing through his flesh, but he forces his hand down harder. Yoongi feels the metal pierce her skin and grind against the vertebra in her spine.

“You may not care what he wants, but you should care about what I want!” Yoongi snarls, jerking his hand from side to side to do as much damage as possible. “Your life, you foul bitch! I hope you rot!”

Borgia spasms, her legs jerking wildly as her hands slide down his face. She gives one last snap of her teeth in his face before her body lists to the side and thumps solidly against the ground. A wet cackle bubbles past her lips, her eyes darting up to him. “You are a f-fool if you think he will not find y-you again.”

“You will be lucky if anyone finds you,” Yoongi sneers, crouching down and promptly giving her limp body a push. She rolls, her arms and legs flopping with each turn before disappearing over the edge.

Yoongi stands there momentarily, contemplating the likelihood he could make it to the castle and get his mother out undetected, before deciding against that plan and turning west to begin picking his way across the uneven ground—letting the bond lead him home to you and the three males that mean the most to him in his life. With Borgia gone, Chaddick’s deception will be swift to crumble. His mother will be safe enough, protected by the lies that have kept him away all these years. He only saw her a few times during his time of capture but never was able to get close enough to talk to her. As he twists off the remaining cuff from his left wrist, he wonders if everyone in the castle will be able to feel his increase in magick. That also might mean Chaddick can feel him, too—all the more reason for Yoongi to get home as soon as possible.

He begins to run.

🌸🌸🌸

Everyone is milling along the edge of the meadow surrounding the house. Namjoon increased the radius of the ward, pushing it out to where it used to be, where you’re all now standing. 

Jungkook is pacing, his feet kicking in frustration through the ankle-high grass. “We should go find him,” he grumbles for at least the fifth time.

“Be patient,” you insist. “He’s close, but so is that patrol that went by earlier. The last thing we need is multiple bodies out there making noise or accidentally running across the wrong trail and putting them on our scent.”

You can feel the irritation coming from Jungkook, he knows you’re right, but that doesn’t mean he won’t press your buttons. That’s something he’s becoming increasingly good at over the last forty-eight hours.

Once the bond was completed, everyone could feel Yoongi with stark clarity. You felt the moment he drew their magick through you and used it in bursts and fits of strength. Even now, he’s drawing on it to propel himself forward faster through the woods of the Hollow Lands. With each breath you take, you can feel him moving closer.

A noise catches your attention, drawing your eyes to the tree line. There is movement a few yards in. You can see and hear at greater distances, far more than you could days ago. Adding three bonds has seemingly kicked your transformation into high gear.

Finally, you see him. Yoongi peeks out from around a tree. His eyes scan the immediate area, checking for any sign of threats before he takes off in a sprint, coming right for you. He may not be able to see you through the ward, but you know he can feel you.

“Faster,” Jimin urges in a frantic whisper.

As Yoongi draws closer, you have to suppress the urge to scream. He looks barely alive. His clothes are ripped and tattered, hanging loosely from his thin frame. His weight has dropped considerably; his shoulders and collarbone stand out in high contrast through the thin material of his shirt. Angry red rings circle his wrists, and his lips are bruised and cracked.

You open your arms, prepared to grab him as soon as he stumbles through the barrier of the ward. He slumps into your arms, and you nearly drop him, but thankfully Jungkook is there and catches you both.

“Seven Hells,” Yoongi rasps, clutching at your shirt. His eyes flutter, trying to focus on your face before they roll back in his head, and he goes limp in your hold.

Jimin keens in distress, quickly sweeping up Yoongi’s legs. Jungkook takes over for you, holding Yoongi’s torso, and he and Jimin begin to carry him toward the house.

As soon as Yoongi’s eyes rolled back, you felt the bond connected to him shiver and pulse weakly before dropping to a low hum in your chest. “Namjoon,” you say more as a plea than anything. The nymph pulls you close, wrapping his strong arms around you as you watch Jimin and Jungkook work their way up the porch stairs with Yoongi slung between them.

“All will be well, Beautiful. Come, let us go help our mate.” Namjoon ushers you across the yard and into the house, where Yoongi is laid out on the dining table, much like you and Jungkook were. You’re not sure if you can appreciate the irony or not.

The fact Namjoon called Yoongi our mate still resonates with you as you pick up one of Yoongi’s hands, clutching it in your own.

“Namjoon, you know best. What can we do?” Jimin asks as he rips the tattered remains of Yoongi’s shirt off. Yoongi’s chest is like a macabre version of a Klein painting, blue and black with bruises and dried blood.

Namjoon moves around to stand at Yoongi’s head and places a hand on his forehead. “He is burning up. A fever. Most likely infection from the iron that was around his wrist. Exhaustion, certainly. He did not stop running the whole way here, meaning he made a nearly three-day trip in less than two. I think what he needs right now is some rest and an infusion of vitamins, nutrients, and something for the infection.”

Jungkook finishes taking off Yoongi’s pants. “Beautiful, want to help me get him cleaned up?”

You startle, tearing your eyes away from staring at the myriad of discoloration covering Yoongi’s body. “Yes. Yes, of course.” You gently set Yoongi’s hand back down on the table and follow Jungkook into the bathroom to retrieve towels and a cleansing bar.

“He’s strong. He’ll be okay.” Jungkook moves back to the dining table, setting the supplies down. “I’ve seen Yoongi in a worse state than this.”

“Worse than this?” You can’t imagine that.

Jimin looks longingly at Yoongi before pressing a quick kiss to his forehead and follows Namjoon outside to collect everything needed for the infusion.

Filling a bowl with warm water from the solar tank by the sink in the kitchen, Jungkook sighs. “Yeah. Hard to believe, but when we first escaped from the Unseelie Court, the first few weeks were not kind to us at all.”

“What happened?” You dip a cloth into the warm water and begin to gently clean the various cuts and wounds littering Yoongi’s body.

“I remember being woken up by Yoongi tipping my bed onto its side. I was spitting mad, cursing at him, and yelling until I saw that he was covered in blood from head to toe. I still can’t recall the exact words he said to me, but I didn’t need to hear them. I just knew I had to follow him, do whatever I could to protect him from whatever was happening.” Jungkook works diligently with tender touches, careful not to jostle Yoongi too much. “My bed was in the royal barracks, but thankfully in one of the outer wings. I don’t know that we could have slipped out had my bed been somewhere deeper in. We managed to slip out through an unmanned postern gate.”

You tilt your head, watching Jungkook and feeling your appreciation and affection for him grow with every word. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Jungkook snorts and shakes his head. “I was a shit friend most of the time, especially in the beginning. Mad that he wouldn’t tell me everything that happened and then horrified when he finally did. What Chaddick did to his brother, right in front of Yoongi’s eyes…that’s not something you can move on from easily. Yoongi was in a bad place for a long time. He barely ate anything unless Namjoon or I forced him to.”

“I’m glad he got better.”

“All thanks to Jimin. It wasn’t until Jimin finally made it into the clearing—once the immediate danger had passed—that Yoongi got some life back into him.”

You let that thought soak for a while, ruminating and sitting with it while you and Jungkook finish cleaning Yoongi up and wrapping him in a blanket. When Jimin and Namjoon come back in, their arms ladened with baskets from the garden, they agree to move Yoongi to the bed to afford him the best chance at resting comfortably.

“Beautiful, there is a ceramic bowl above the kitchen sink and a mortar and pestle. Do you mind bringing them to me?” Namjoon asks as he and Jimin begin to sort the things in the baskets on the bed.

The bowl and tools are easy to find. You pull them down and take them to Namjoon. “Is this something he will need to ingest?”

“Not necessarily. Much like the poultice I made to help heal your side, this works through dermal absorption. It can be ingested, but it more or less works the same either way. Though, it can be a bit vile tasting, so through the skin is best in my opinion,” Namjoon explains as he begins to crush different sprigs of greenery and colorful petals with the pestle.

He continues to work in silence under the watchful eyes of Jimin and Jungkook. You spend most of your time staring at Yoongi, watching his chest's shallow rise and fall. His silvery hair is longer, greasy, and disheveled, but he’s still no less handsome than before.

Jimin holds out a small glass tube with a cork stopper to you. “For his lips. It is a moisturizing oil that he favors. Just a drop will do.”

You unstopper the glass and press your finger over the opening, upending the tube quickly before righting it again. A small drop of oil sits on the pad of your finger. It smells like honeysuckle. You gently rub the oil across Yoongi’s lips, being extra careful around the swollen split on the right side.

When Namjoon is done mixing the infusion, he begins to rub it into any exposed skin methodically. Jungkook pulls the blanket back, giving Namjoon access to Yoongi’s legs and stomach. The mixture smells like bitter greens with the faintest hint of mint.

“And now we just wait?” you ask when he’s done.

“Unfortunately, that is all we can do for now. He needs to rest. His magick, the bond, and the infusion will do the rest.” Namjoon gathers the empty baskets and the used tools with Jungkook’s help. “We will be outside. You two should get some rest, too. Call if you need anything.” He presses a brief kiss to your forehead before starting for the door.

Jungkook blows you a kiss over his shoulder, giving you a look before he disappears behind Namjoon. It was a look of contentment, assurance that everything would be okay. You’re grateful for their optimism and support.

“I will go as well,” Jimin murmurs, a forlorn expression on his face as he begins toward the door.

“Jimin, no, wait. Please stay.” You settle on the bed beside Yoongi and hold a hand out to Jimin. “He would want you here when he wakes up.”

“But you are his mate,” Jimin murmurs and purses his lips. You can tell he’s hesitating.

“And you are my mate…but most importantly, you are his love. Now, get your ass over here, or I’ll be forced to make you.” You raise your eyebrows, daring him to argue.

Jimin’s lips quirk in amusement. “You drive a hard bargain.” He kicks off his shoes before climbing onto the bed on your other side. The uncertainty in his touch is gone as he presses up against your back, draping his arm over your side so his hand rests on Yoongi’s chest. Your cheek rests against Yoongi’s shoulder, and your eyes slide closed as you sigh and relax into Jimin’s hold.

Bonding with Jimin, Jungkook, and Namjoon is something you will never regret. Not only did it help bring Yoongi home, but it also has broken down every barrier ever erected between you. The connections to Namjoon and Jungkook hum with potent vitality, letting you know they are drawing on small measures of their magick—probably working in the garden.

“Jimin?”

“Yes, Beautiful?” he murmurs against your neck, his voice soft and sleepy.

“Will you take me to see the Seelie Court someday?”

Jimin shifts behind you, pressing even closer. His lips tickle the back of your neck as he speaks. “Of course, you are my mate. You belong by my side.” The words are breathy, half coherent as he fights the pull of sleep—but you hear them clearly, right down to your soul.

The blanket shifts, almost drawing you out of your half-sleep. Lips brush over yours, making you hum. “Jimin,” you breathe as another kiss presses against your lips. “Go back to sleep.”

“Not Jimin.” Your eyes snap open and meet those green and gold ones you have dreamt of nearly every night. Yoongi presses his lips to yours again, his tongue teasing along the seam. You automatically open for him and can’t help the moan as his alluring clove scent floods your senses.

You pull back, but Yoongi follows, reconnecting your lips in a desperate kiss. “Yoongi,” you try for firm, but his name comes out more like a needy mewl than anything.

“Please do not stop me. I need you.” He pleads between kisses. Yoongi shifts more, rolling onto his side. The movement dislodges Jimin’s hand, jolting him from sleep.

“Y-yoongi?” Jimin murmurs. “What—wow, okay.” Jimin presses a hand against Yoongi’s shoulder. “Slow down, Yoons. We will take care of you.”

The grunt of frustration that comes from Yoongi is cute. He reluctantly pulls back, breaking the kiss and letting Jimin push him onto his back. “Mini, my love,” Yoongi whispers like he’s finally registering who has their hands on him.

“Just relax,” you coo, smoothing a hand across Yoongi’s forehead and pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Tell us what you need.”

“I need to feel you,” he states, reaching for you again. You let him draw you in, the bond blooming tenfold as you give in. His hand reaches out, searching until Jimin grabs it. “I thought all was lost.” The words are whispered fervently against your lips. “Never again.” Yoongi breaks away from the kiss to pull Jimin in. You sit back and watch as they come together, their lips molding and moving with familiarity.

The bond pushes and pulls in an all-consuming way. After you were bonded with Jimin, Jungkook, and Namjoon, you spent the rest of the night in the throws of passion, much like the night you bonded with Yoongi. It’s a visceral thing, a baser instinct that is in control. They each watched as you pleasured and received pleasure in turn but never went so far as to touch each other. So, seeing Jimin and Yoongi get lost in the feel of one another brings a new sensation to your body—one that has you squeezing your thighs together and pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Beautiful,” Jimin catches your attention. He presses light kisses across Yoongi’s chest, his half-lidded gaze sliding to you. “Suck his cock and remind him who he belongs to.”

Yoongi groans. “Yes. Please,” he begs. “I need to feel your mouth on me.”

You sit up on your knees, working with Jimin to shove the blankets back. Yoongi’s body is no longer a patchwork of colors. His skin is now smooth and blemish free like before. Kneeling between Yoongi’s thighs, you marvel at him and the wonder of the infusion Namjoon made.

Before you can give any attention to Yoongi’s straining erection, Jimin catches your chin with a finger and slowly brings your lips to his. He tastes faintly of chamomile and clove, a taste combination you will never grow tired of. All that’s missing is orange and coconut. At the thought of Namjoon and Jungkook, you feel the tethers of their bonds pinch with barely concealed amusement. They know Yoongi is awake and are very aware of the state he’s in—that all three of you are in.

“Be good for Yoongi, little mate, and I will give you your own reward,” Jimin promises with an encouraging smack to your ass.

You need little encouragement. Leaning forward with your eyes locked on Yoongi’s, you run your tongue along the underside of his shaft, earning a guttural moan from him. “No teasing,” he whimpers.

The look on his face is desperate, tugging at your heart. Wrapping a hand around him, you swirl your tongue around the head a few times before taking him into your mouth. His pre-cum is sweet, driving you to seek more. You take him as far as possible, letting your throat convulse around him with the intrusion.

“Perfect,” Jimin says. “You are so perfect.” You can’t tell if he’s talking about you or Yoongi, but either way, the praise makes you moan around Yoongi’s cock. “You like that?” He punctuates his question with a tug on your pants, working them down over your ass until they’re caught mid-thigh. “I think you do.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he runs a finger between your thighs, delighting in the sticky moisture he finds.

You work over Yoongi, using your hand to squeeze and pulse in time with the suction from your tongue and lips. Yoongi throws his head back and curses when Jimin’s cock pushes into you. “Oh, Jimin!” All three of you shudder, overwhelmed by feeling each other physically and through the bonds.

The tightness in your lower belly increases with each thrust from Jimin and moans from Yoongi. “Make him cum, Beautiful. Do it.”

Yoongi jerks under you as you take your other hand and cup his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze. He moans, his whole body going rigid as the first gush of cum hits your tongue. Jimin’s hips crash into your ass as he follows Yoongi over the edge. The feeling of Jimin pulsing inside of you triggers your own release. You hungrily swallow down all Yoongi gives you, licking him clean between shaky breaths as your body just as eagerly milks everything it can from Jimin.

“Holy fuck,” you pant. Your whole body feels like jello, trembling as Jimin helps you lay back down beside Yoongi. Your pants are still around your thighs. You can’t be bothered to fix them yet.

Jimin stands up from the bed. His half-hard cock glistens in the light coming in through the crack in the curtains over the window. “Are you okay?” he asks Yoongi as he delicately tucks himself away and does up the laces on the front of his pants.

“Much better now,” Yoongi sighs with contentment. “I apologize for my behavior. I was away from you for too long. There was something inside of me, some pent-up possessiveness…When I awoke, I could think of little else besides claiming you in any way I could.”

“You should never apologize for that,” you assure him. “Are you well enough to tell us what happened? What do we need to do? Is everything okay in the Unseelie Court?”

Yoongi holds up his hand, slowing down your questions. “Peace, my mate. I feel well enough to tell you all what happened. Let us begin there.”

🌸🌸🌸

Yoongi

His best friend. His claimed brother. His lover.

Mates to his mate.

She looks so radiant sitting among them, arrayed as they are around the table in front of him. They insisted he sit in the rocking chair to continue resting as much as possible. Jungkook drags the chair closer to the table, fluffing the pillows in the seat and draping a blanket over his knees.

“First, I would like to leave for the Unseelie Court once we finish this conversation. The sooner we arrive, the better. When I escaped, Chaddick was supposedly overseeing a command change within the border guard.” Yoongi shifts in his seat, adjusting the blanket in his lap. “By now, I imagine he is aware of Borgia’s death—“ 

“How did you kill her?” Jungkook asks.

Yoongi gives Jungkook a knowing smile. “Iron through the spinal cord, pushed her limp body over the cliffs along Tidal Bluff.”

Jungkook whistles appreciatively. “Damn. I wish I could have seen that. Good riddance.”

“I was able to confirm that it was through some of her dark magick enchantments and glamors that Chaddick has been able to lie and deceive openly. They”—he pauses and takes a deep breath—” they had been working on experiments. Ones that would allow him to take the magick of another Fey through their death. The first attempt was when he murdered my father. Apparently, Father learned about Chaddick having Borgia try it out on lesser Fey—pixies and dryads from the eastern regions. It is what started everything. Now that Borgia is dead, the truth will reveal itself as the glamor and magick begins to fade.”

Namjoon leans into your side, something that greatly warms Yoongi on the inside. “Good riddance indeed.”

Jimin clears his throat, garnering everyone’s attention. “Well, Yoongi, my love, are you ready to take back your court and greet your people?”

🌸🌸🌸

The journey to the Unseelie Court takes two full days of continuous walking. Approaching the border had you on the verge of panicking, thinking back to the last time you crossed it. But there isn’t a single guard in sight. In fact, you haven’t seen a single other being, other than the occasional woodland creature, since leaving Namjoon’s glade.

“Where is everyone?”

You stand beside Jungkook, his hand tucked into yours, staring up at the vacant battlements along the curtain wall surrounding the castle of the Unseelie Court. The portcullis is up, leading directly into the equally as empty inner ward.

“I do not know. Keep your wits about you,” Yoongi says softly before leading your small group under the barbican and through the front gate.

There is an eerie feeling, standing in the middle of the ward, and the only sound you hear is the breathing of your mates and the crunch of their boots on the pavers. “Something isn’t right,” you say, your voice sounding too loud in your own ears.

“I can still feel the taint of darkness covering the grounds. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth,” Namjoon agrees with your assessment.

You notice a few broken pieces of furniture scattered around the inner walls like it was tossed from windows and balconies above to shatter in the courtyard. Spots of color peek out from the around the furniture. Children's toys and trinkets litter the walkways between the turrets like they were hurriedly abandoned. It’s unsettling. It feels like a tomb; you hope that isn’t some ridiculous foreshadowing. As much as you love a good plot twist, you’ve had just about enough of them lately.

Movement from one of the upper doorways of a balcony draws your attention. You gesture up to where you see another flash of movement. “Yoongi, look.”

“Yoongi, is that you?” calls a soft voice from the balcony. The door opens, revealing a handsome woman with silver hair piled on her head and familiar green-gold eyes. She’s wearing a midnight blue gown, the line of the bodice embroidered with silver stars.

“Mother!” Yoongi exclaims.

“Oh, my boy!” she cries, disappearing back through the doorway in a flurry of skirts. “Yoongi!” You can hear her calling his name from within the castle. It echoes down and through the main hall, where the door is propped open.

By the time Yoongi reaches the entrance, she’s barreling through it. Her loud cries shake her whole body as she clings to Yoongi. “Mother, peace, please. Be calm. I am home.” You can hear the choked emotion in his words as he tries to soothe her, but more prominently, you can feel his flood of emotions through the bond. It nearly buckles your knees.

Jimin cups your elbow, steadying you as you sway on your feet. “Use our strength,” he murmurs into your ear. With a calming breath, you reach out to the other three bonds, letting them stem the tide from Yoongi, each sharing in his sorrow, pain, and joy.

“What has happened here, Mother? Where is everyone?” Yoongi finally pulls away but keeps his hands braced on his mother’s shoulders. Her eyes flick around, taking in the rest of your group.

“Jungkook? Jimin? Seven Hells, what are you two doing here? And a woodland nymph?” Her eyes find yours, and she stiffens. “And her—she, is that—“

“Mother, please, I will explain it all. But, first, what is happening here?”

She gestures vaguely over her shoulder toward the castle. “Chaddick—something went wrong. He flew in on that damned serpent of his and began screaming about how you escaped. I did not know if it was true, but I prayed it was. I tried to rally The Guard, but they would not listen to me. He fled, taking them all with him! Hundreds of Unseelie–everyone from the castle–they emptied the armory and the coffers. I am only glad they left the city alone. I have not yet had the heart to tell our people. They do not know what has happened within the walls, only that the guard marched out the gate.” Her face darkens with anger. “I watched them move south from the parapet. I sent word to the Seelie Court as soon as I could. What did you do? How did you escape? Who is this human?”

He fled to the south. Chaddick is gone. You can feel the disappointment and anger radiating off of Yoongi. “I escaped by killing Borgia. Her body is surely rotting at the bottom of the Lunar Sea by now. The truth will be revealed now. Her glamour died with her. That is what sent Chaddick into a panic. He knows it is over for him. His plans for taking over the Unseelie Court are ruined.” Yoongi takes a step back, letting his hands drop from her shoulders. “As for the woodland nymph, Mother, let me introduce you to one of my best friends who has helped save my life over the last ten years. If it were not for Namjoon offering me sanctuary in his home in the Hollow Lands, I would have had no place to hide. Jimin and Jungkook have been with me every step of the way, guiding me and reminding me to keep fighting. They were the ones that helped me find a way to access my power—all of my power. They brought me her.” He gestures to you. “My mate.”

“I see,” she says, giving you a strained smile. It’s polite but not warm. “Come inside. Tell me everything.”

The inside of the castle belongs in one of your grandpa’s stories. Soaring ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers and halls that extend into darkness, lined with life-sized family portraits spanning generations. If it weren’t for the haunted feeling from being so empty, you would be far more intrigued with what you pass as you follow along with Yoongi holding one hand and Jimin holding the other.

You stand with Jimin, Jungkook, and Namjoon just behind Yoongi, who is at the base of a dias where his mother sits on her throne—the only place she says doesn’t feel like it has darkness still clinging to it. It takes Yoongi nearly an hour to recount everything for his mom. He leaves out very few details, stopping to answer her questions whenever she asks them.

“It was Jimin’s idea that I try to find a human mate. We knew the possibilities, the potential for access to more power. It was figured that if I could access my inner well and wield more of my power safely, I could use it to defeat Chaddick. At first, that was all I wanted. I did not care who it was or whether or not they stayed after giving me what I needed. But she made me realize that I did care, and even though our time together has not been long, she means more to me than I have the words to express. Someone could argue it is only the bond causing me to feel this way, but I can speak plainly that it is not. Her tenacity and spirit intrigued me before we said our vows. The moment she opened her mouth and cursed at me, I yearned for her fire. She is my reason for breathing, what pushed me to beat Borgia and finally free our people from Chaddick’s control.”

Yoongi’s mother slowly stands up from her seat, her sapphire gown rustling over the stone steps as she comes down to stand before you. “My dear,” emotion and tears choke her words. “I did not mean to judge you. I had always imagined my boys–my boy, finding a mate whom he loved. His love for you is clear regardless of how you found yourself in his life.” She clears her throat, blinking away the emotion in her eyes. “Would it—is it okay if I hug you?”

You laugh, nodding enthusiastically as tears threaten to spill down your own cheeks. She wraps her arms around you, squeezing and whispering her thanks over and over again. When she finally steps back, Yoongi takes her place, burying his face in your neck. You feel three other bodies press in around you, cocooning you in safety and comfort.

Leaning back, his green and gold-flecked eyes meet yours. “Welcome to my home, Beautiful. The home you helped save. You may have it if you wish. You deserve it. Or I will build you your own if you want it. Just stay. Please, stay with us,” he says. Even with darkness brewing to the south, the bond floods with hope, filling you to the brim with possibilities.

“All of us together?” “Forever,” comes three very enthusiastic answers, though they can’t entirely hide the tiny grain of worry underneath it all. You know as long as Chaddick is alive, regardless of how far he runs, none of your mates will be truly safe.

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#bts fanfic #yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #yoongi smut #jungkook smut #jimin smut #namjoon smut #yoonmin smut #bts fantasy au #bts fanfiction #yoonig fanfic #jungkook fanfic #namjoon fanfic #jimin fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts magic au #bts fae au #bangtanwhq

[opbackgrounds]

This might just be an impression since viola has stitches around her boobies & the paintings are really small, but doesnt she seems to have a notably bigger chest as a zombie than she did alive?

I don’t think it’s substantially different, but Hogback definitely gave Cindry a post-mortem boob job. Not to be crass, but we really know how long she was dead and buried, so rot may be part of it

#sarc talks

[crassstitchbeetch]

another aquatic pattern!

#oceangate #cross stitch #cross stitch pattern #eat the rich #titanic #bee’s patterns #crass stitch

[rustbeltjessie]

A bit of a backstory: in late 2015/early 2016, I got on this very intense pop/popular music kick. Basically, I let myself listen to all the pop artists I'd been Too Punk to listen to prior to that*, and got pretty into some of it. Including T*yl*r Sw*ft. And during that time, I found this guy who made parody t-shirts that were mashed up punk or metal bands logos/aesthetics with the names and lyrics of pop singers. One was a Crass/T.S. mashup, and I got it because I thought it was hilarious. After all, I'd always loved Crass and their aesthetic, plus I thought it would be funny to wear it and piss off some Punker-Than-Thou Dudes**. I cut the sleeves/collar off right away, because I do that to almost all my t-shirts, but then I only wore it once or twice in public because...I got over that pop music kick really fast. Especially in the case of T.S., whose music I now find boring (except for maybe a few songs), and who just...kind of grosses me out as a person. I no longer fuck with T.S., but I still fuck heavy with Crass, so over the past couple days I modified the shirt to make it into a straight-up Crass shirt/something I will actually wear. I cut some pieces from an old leopard print tank top I no longer wear (because it was stretched all to hell), and stitched them over the stuff relating to T.S. Then I used some stencils and a fabric marker to add: DESTROY POWER NOT PEOPLE to one of the patches, threw a few safety pins on each side, et voila.

(*I'm still glad I went through it, even though a lot of the stuff I briefly got into then no longer interests me, if only because now I'm sightly less of a music snob and will no longer dismiss something offhand just because it happens to be popular.)

(**Something I still wholeheartedly support doing whenever possible, by the way.)

#rust belt jessie #my photos #selfies #diy #clothing #crass #pop music #punk #aging punk #diy? because i gotta! #sorry for censoring a certain pop singer’s name #i just reallly don’t want her fans to find this lol

[madamescarlette]

Actually one thing that fascinates me about the shift between the book and the movie for TBoSaS is the actual intent put behind two of Snow's biggest game-changing (ha) actions, dropping the handkerchief in the snake's tank to save Lucy and recording Sejanus' confession and subsequently betraying him.

Obviously with the shift of medium they have to make things more obvious, but it's just opened more depth of thought to me because in-book how he recounts these actions are as reflexive, things done in the moment without really thinking about it (when using the remote he literally says his hands "acted on their own [...] before he had been aware of deciding to do it") vs. how in the movie he seems to actively think through and enact them knowingly. You can still make an argument that the Sejanus situation is pretty much the same, especially given that he more goads Sejanus into talking, but with Lucy's situation he literally RACES out, tears his stitches and finds the tank and doesn't just drop the kerchief, he literally has to stuff the stupid thing in a side vent, a far cry from the book's version, where he drops it and wonders if he hallucinated the entire thing.

I actually really, really am intrigued by it as a narrative change though because a) him actually consciously doing these things puts more weight behind them, they're not just things that HAPPENED to him (a common stance he takes internally), they're things he cared about making happen so he did them, but also b) it places Lucy Gray as continually the one being who makes him most human, so it makes sense that his most kind-hearted action is a decision to try to save her.

One thing that made me saddest about his character from the book was that he has this seeming inability to view anybody as a fully-fledged human besides himself (even his Capitol classmates are differing levels of crass or try-hards until he needs a reason to be emotional about them, and THEN what he cares about with them is their shared childhood memories, almost never anything about them in the present day) but when he's a mentor is the time that he becomes most fully-fledged, he has sympathy (however fleeting and easily retracted) for Clemensia and Jessup besides wanting Lucy to survive. And perhaps he only does it because he feels that he owes Lucy a debt for saving his life, but it still happens, and he still ends up seeing them.

To me, this disproves his and Dr. Gaul's thesis; I don't really think the most base human instinct is for us to hurt each other, I think it's closer to not wanting to leave each other behind. When he has the least to gain from these people, what he cares about is their survival, the least amount of their pain. What we want from each other is for you to get home safe. That's what gives it such beauty that he would risk so much to get Lucy home safe, and so much more damning that he would throw Sejanus to the wolves. That there is equal impetus behind the choice to save somebody at risk to yourself, just as there is behind condemning somebody who placed their absolute trust in you; these are the choices that make a man. Sometimes, even a flicker of humanity can save your soul within you. The tragedy is he simply didn't want it to be saved, so the flicker burnt out before it could even take shape.

#this is not to minimize tigris' lifelong efforts of essentially squeezing her cousin's face between her hands #and shouting GET SOME MORALS!!! KEEP THEM IN YOUR POCKET ALWAYS!! #but sjdhakshdjkjh you know #tbosas #this is useless mind wandering of mine as always but being jolted back into my hunger games consideration is doing a lot for my brain #very nourishing in some base way. you know?? #(wrote this yesterday and i don't know if it's insufferable of me but slamming that post button anyway why not) #this post is way nicer to him than i actually feel by the way #but also i think thematically. there's a lot to dig into how he acts and what his actions say

[uglyscrawl]

is this anything. from a late night start-writing-and-see-what-happens session

“No,” Kendall interrupts Roman mid-bargain, boring his eyes into the blank screen of the TV, palpably angry despite the aggravating blah of his face. “I’m not talking to her.” Roman suppresses a groan of frustration. His fucking brother. “You’re talking to me, aren’t you? And you hated me so much you tried to gouge my eyes out like last week.” “It’s been longer than that,” Kendall says, voice so low that he might as well be communicating in grunts. Still no apology, of course. For the attempted eye-gouging and the broken stitches and the sitting in Dad’s chair, putting his feet up on his desk, stealing his voice and his all-knowing stares and his rough hands. Roman hadn’t minded the hands so much, truth be told. He maybe hasn’t stopped craving the feeling of being strangled, his incriminating cacophony of words finally dying in his throat and his heart pumping so hard and fast that he feels it in the plates of his skull. He maybe craves it from Kendall specifically, Kendall who had looked at him with a rage so primal and deep that Roman wanted to drown in it forever.

Anyway, Roman isn’t apologizing either. Because fuck his stupid brother and the stupid unfinished shape of him and the stupid goddamn hole in his chest he’s shamelessly asking Roman, of all people, to fill. Stringing him along his whole life, feeding him false hope from the palm of his hand. “So, what, you’re not gonna have a relationship with your future niece or nephew?” Kendall gives Roman a look like he just pissed on his shoes. Wrong angle, apparently. “Have you considered that she might not actually be pregnant?” Roman scoffs mightily. “Please. I can think of no greater humiliation for Shiv than being unwittingly impregnated by Conventional Corn-Fed Tom. She’d never make that up. Unlike you.” Kendall pauses. “I’d…lie about our sister’s fuckin’ bloodsucking cockblock husband putting a baby in me?” “You’re a liar, period. You’ve got lies coming out of both ends. I can’t believe a single word you say.” Kendall’s face falls somewhat. “Nothin’ to lie for anymore, Rome.” “Yeah, yeah. Save your droopy woe-is-me thing for Shiv, you’re gonna need it. Don’t think she’s on standby to massage your broken dick just ‘cause I was. She’s mad.” To his credit, Kendall doesn’t bother pretending to be offended by Roman’s crassness. “So the fuck am I. If she cared about me at all she wouldn’t have - ” “Nope,” Roman says. “We’re not doing this again tonight. God, you’re both just the worst.” Kendall sort-of-smiles, his tension giving way to a loose-limbed softness that tends to come out only on frozen mornings in Roman’s living room; the two of them sharing a couch and a drink and an apathy for the future so vast that it’d suffocate them both, if not for their fingers mingling over the glass they passed back and forth and their eyes meeting and embracing a million times over. “You might be the worst of all, Rome,” Kendall says, his voice dropping to a devoted murmur that reveals his innermost gratitude. “Sleeper hit of the family, huh? Everyone wanted a piece of you, and I didn’t even notice.” “‘course you didn’t notice,” Roman grumbles, blushing fiercely, glaring down at his own lap. “I fucked it all up anyway. None of ‘em would touch me with a ten-foot pole.” “Good,” Kendall says simply. Roman can’t decide what he means by it, and is slightly terrified to ask.

#kenrome #bc of course it is. you guys are keeping it in the back of my mind #m: fic #if i were to turn this into something though i think it'd be abt all 3 of them

[edotfightme]

Do Sinners Belong In Heaven?

In which Alastor makes different choices and faces new consequences, ones he never really faced before.

This little thing is something I came up with during the Hazbin Hotel season 1 finale. Idk why I came up with it but I did. As usual I’ll be noting down the warnings.

Major Character Death

Blood and Gore

Introspection

War

Self sacrifice

Idk how y’all will like the ending

Featuring my bible headcannons that will probably get their own fic soon lmao.

Btw I am willing to bet that everyone has written this before lmao let’s go!

——<>——

Hell was quiet for a change. Millions of sinners and demons holding their breath for the fight of the… there would be no good term to describe what was taking place on those forsaken grounds. Angels and demons conflicting in a way that was never seen before. Hell would not be entertainment tonight, angelic blood would be shed and the sinners would take their pound of flesh.

That was the thought that comforted him the most as he prepared for the fight of his life.

Crimson eyes were locked on his opponent, that annoyingly arrogant angel. The first man, the second to doom humanity to a life outside of Eden.

Adam.

In all honesty, watching said angel destroy his force field with a single punch was daunting. He was not a fool, he knew just how strong a being like him would be. Facing him would be like facing Lucifer in combat.

Alastor’s smile turned into more of a grimace as he glared at his new opponent. If he could, he’d snarl, but that would be weak. He was not a weak man in life, nor was he a weak demon in the afterlife.

The angel alighted on the hotel’s signature sign, crouched and just as ready for combat as the radio demon felt. As a leader in hell’s entertainment, Alastor felt like he simply had to get out a few witty one liners.

“Adam!” He greeted, eyes locked on the angel and noticing every little detail. As he called his name, he saw his wings flex and his head raise in a form of confusion. “First man, next to die!”

Alastor could’ve laughed at his own joke, would’ve if this conflict hadn’t been so serious. A lot was at stake here.

“Who the fuck are you?” It continued to surprise the demon that angels could get away with being so crass. Was it just because Adam was god’s favourite?

Well, no need to keep his unwelcome guest waiting. “Alastor!” He lowered himself into a bow, “pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure.” And with a flourish, he slammed his cane into the ground. Alastor relished in the feeling of magic curling at his beck and call. Lightning crackled and sparked, lancing around like green bolts of death as tentacles rose up to answer his demands. If there was one thing he loved most about hell, it was the power it granted him.

“Nice voice, don’t you know jazz is for pussies!” Adam’s weapon was drawn and the fight began.

Shamefully enough, the fight was a blur. The focus he had to hold over his creations was nothing to scoff at, no matter how easy he made it look. His mouth moved in reaction to the angel’s quips as his mind was far away. Shards of his mind in each attack as he flung everything in his arsenal at the angel. His body was on autopilot, only coming back to himself to dodge and duck under stray swipes. The constant shattering and mending of his mind had been a labor of love, driving most who tried it insane, but that dedication only served to make him more deadly. And if a few screws had to stay loose to make things easier, that was for him to know.

“You should know better than anyone what a soul can accomplish when they take charge of their own fate.”

He heard that statement of his clearly, his own focus and thoughts in his shadow as he struck the first man in the chin. The fight was going well, so maybe he could have a bit of fun with it.

He pulled himself in, gently stitching his mind together as he leapt forward and taunted Adam. Alastor enjoyed himself as he ducked and dodged under the angel’s axe. He had him desperate.

“And worst-“ he unraveled again, slicing his mind apart with careful precision as he summoned multitudes of minions to rain hell on Adam “- you’re sloppy.”

It was difficult to manage so much at once, as well as keeping tabs on Adam’s movements in relation to his body. He had so many perspectives of the battlefield, and only one of them really mattered. He held himself up- he ran forward- he lashed- an axe cleaved through him- he jumped- he- who- too much!

He pulled himself in again. Not as much as before, but enough that he wasn’t so scattered. Alastor wrapped a tentacle around Adam, grateful that the conflict of his own thoughts never managed to interrupt the battle against the angel. His strength was too great for that.

He threw Adam into the sign, keeping careful focus on being able to move his true body if he needed to. The exorcist reared up for a strike, his words lost to Alastor. Alastor brought spare limbs up to block, confident that he-

His mind screeched as he slammed into himself, only years of practice allowing himself to slot everything in place correctly without destroying his entire identity. He glanced around himself, staring at the roof of the hotel that was a lot closer to him than it should’ve been.

“What just happened?” Alastor asked himself with thinly veiled alarm. His alarm increased tenfold as he spoke.

What happened to his voice? Where was the crackle of the radio? What happened? He blocked the strike so why did things go wrong-

Alastor’s gaze dropped to the broken staff in his hands. “Fuck.” He’d used the wrong limbs. Scattering his mind so much never went well, and he’d gotten careless. His strength was in his staff and without it he was-

Light flashed across his chest, making the radio demon cry out in pain. He felt his flesh sizzle under the holy power, the force of the attack sending him into the wall. Alastor groaned, blindly reaching for his staff as he pulled himself together. He was fortunate enough that he still had one trick up his sleeve. The first thing he had by his side upon landing in hell, before even his staff.

His body responded as his mind searched for a safe spot to retreat. He narrowed his focus on one of the many empty rooms of the hotel. By a window so he could make a second emergency escape, while also keeping his eye on the battle. Perfect.

“- but it is ending this broadcast…”

He pulled himself through, finally stitching his mind together once and for all. Immediately, pain crashed into his senses. He keened, low and horrifically animalistic as he hunched over himself.

“Fffffuuuuuck.” He whined, reaching for something that could possibly help. He’d never been struck with a holy weapon before, and he never wanted to be hit again. This was worse than torture.

At least he’d managed to land hits on that demented exterminator. He could at least trust that the people of hell would defeat that insufferable angel.

He gave another ungodly screech as the pain flared again. His hand landed on something soft and he got to work securing whatever it was around his wound. The jagged cut turned his suit crimson, and he winced at the knowledge that it would stain. What a hassle.

Battle raged on outside as he tended to his injury. As the pain finally began to ebb he blinked in mild surprise. Somehow, he had ended up in a bathroom. The object he had just bandaged around him was a black towel.

“Well that was a rather fortunate coincidence,” He muttered to himself. He coughed a few times, unsuccessful in bringing his voice back to normal.

He couldn’t go out there without it. Without his signature cane and his voice he was-

A crash sounded outside, making Alastor jump. He hastily scrambled to his feet, running into the main hotel room in time to watch an angel fly past. The angel was grinning.

Not very many people had the discipline he did. If the angels were loosing then they would frown.

The radio host slid towards the window, peering down at the battlefield below. Even from what he guessed was 12 stories up, things weren’t looking good. Charlie and Vaggie were occupied. The cannibals and the other hotel staff were being slowly overrun. Adam was still holding his own.

He twitched.

There was an angel aiming at Charlie Morningstar.

His claws scrapped against the glass as he watched the little brat level their spear at the princess of hell. The holy weapon was positioned well, and by how the battle was flowing.

Little Miss Morningstar was going to find a hole in her chest in just a few moments.

The deal burned in his very soul, marking his charge with a knowledge he both coveted and cursed. He knew exactly where she was at any given moment, and how much danger she was in. It was this unfortunate knowledge that told him he needed to act.

It was something else that made him want to act.

White hot rage coursed through him as he focused his mind. It took less effort than usual to split himself into his shadow and drag himself to face the wretched exorcist.

He drew his secret weapon from his coat, launching himself forward to strike his opponent. The angel was caught off guard, hastily readjusting to meet him. His holy dagger found his target first, sinking deep into the exterminator’s chest. That dagger had seen the flesh of overlords in the past, it was fitting enough that it should find angelic blood as well.

Gold leaked down his hands, no doubt staining his gloves. Alastor stepped back, prepared to vanish once again to the safety of the hotel room-

He was stuck.

Peculiarly, he was stuck.

The injury he sustained from Adam seemed to be getting worse as well, so he chanced a quick glance at his predicament.

“… Oh…” his voice still sounded off, though that in part may be due to the spear sticking out of his gut.

The odd calm that had briefly overcame him vanished, replaced with an emotion that was nearly crippling. He screeched as pain filled him, worse than before. He barely managed to pull himself to a more secluded spot of the battlefield. Snapping a piece of his mind free from the pain did nothing to alleviate it. His strength fled abruptly, his body collapsing beneath him as he crumbled to the ground.

Alastor gasped, hands shaking as he touched the weapon still protruding from his stomach. Someone was laughing in the distance, their haunting cackle somehow tuning out the sound of the battle. His eyes flicked to every little thing he could see. His crimson blood hitting the ground where he knelt, the soft glow of both the spear and his own knife, the scorched battlefield around him. All of it painted the image of the last things he would ever see.

The laughter stopped, the world was silent. Was he the one laughing? Did it matter?

He was dying.

Death was a strange concept for Alastor to grasp. Before, death looked like his mother. Old and gray, lying on her deathbed with his hand in hers. She had smiled at him, with tears in her eyes, and made him promise something that stuck to his very soul.

“Please, Alastor, my baby boy. Please, never stop smiling”

Then, death looked like countless victims. People who didn’t deserve their lives. Screams and pleas filled the air as he raised his knife with the accuracy of a man making it his profession.

“PLEASE, SIR! PLEASE HAVE MERCY!”

Strangely enough, Death’s next face was invisible to him. Humming in the woods as he dug a grave for his latest victim. The snap of a twig reaching his ears, causing him to stand up straight and alert. A loud noise, and the world changed around him.

“What just happened?”

Death’s new face bore down on him. The first man, Adam, and his axe. He’d died once before, he’d seen many people die. This time seemed different though. His heart was racing, making more blood leak out of him. His eyes kept darting around and his mind just wanted an out. It felt as though his life was flashing before his eyes. It felt like-

His gaze cause a piece of glass, clear enough that he could see his reflection. Clear enough that he could see the fear in his eyes.

Fear. Dying felt like fear.

His smile remained, but everything inside went still. For the first time in either life, he was being faced with his mortality.

Raged filled him once more. He would not fall like this, not as some self-sacrificing idiot too weak to live. That was not who he built himself to be. He was Alastor, the Radio Demon. Renowned for broadcasting the screams of his victims across hell. Sinners feared him!

If he died like this, he was just Alastor. He was just some weak sinner who failed to do his job. His reputation would be in the toilet!

Alastor dragged himself to his feet, hissing in pain. It took everything in him not to drop his smile could he drop his smile. He started shambling forward, frantic eyes searching for an out. Medical supplies, some sort of mythical healer maybe? Demons and magic existed, so it stands to reason that healers did too. The battle behind him was ignored as he tried to put one foot in front of the other.

He had to make it out alive. He had things to do. He had lives to ruin! He had to- he had to…

The fight left as quickly as it came, the pain quickly becoming to much. He landed on his side with a grunt, the spear shifting in his chest. He stared at it, thinking.

He was dying. The great Alastor was dying, for his friends. What would they call him once they found out? Heroic? A martyr? Altruistic?

His laugh was subdued this time, the mania from earlier bled away with most of his lifeforce. All that was left was a wet chuckle. Altruistic Alastor, died for his friends.

Somehow he felt a little less resentment at that.

He sat up once again, filled with something else now. Acceptance? He placed a hand on the protruding weapon, finally tuning back into the sounds of war. He figured they’d do just fine without him.

For once, he probably overstayed his welcome.

“You’re never fully dressed without a smile…”

Later on, someone would find him with a spear and a broken staff clutched in his hands. His smile was softer in death, strangely kinder with his eyes closed. There were three lives lost in the Hazbin Hotel.

——<>——

Most people don’t wake up after dying twice. Most people aren’t Alastor.

When he pulled himself to his feet, he felt off. The first thing he did was check his wounds. Miraculously, they had vanished. He felt like the fresh sinners he watched on occasion, checking themselves over a panicking.

Alastor refused to panic. He’d done enough of that for a lifetime.

The second thing he did was check his surroundings. The world was shrouded in a dense fog, strangely bright and dark at once. Chills ran down his spine as he spun around. He felt a million eyes on him at once.

“Hmm? A visitor?”

Alastor hadn’t lived nearly a century in hell for his reflexes to be slow. He turned on a dime, reaching for his holy dagger so he could face his new opponent. His death was still fresh in his mind.

Instead he was faced with a man. A seemingly regular human man, maybe Jewish in decent. He wasn’t anything special. His skin had a desert tan while his brown eyes twinkled on his wrinkled face, full of smile lines. A full brown beard, partnered with brown hair, completed the look. He only looked like he was in his late fourties, early fifties.

Something deep inside the demon, something ancient and feral, warned him that whatever the man was, it was old.

Alastor found himself pausing, having to take a second to remember his manners. “Ah, pardon me. My name is Alastor. And who might you be?”

“I am Joseph, I have been watching this place for a very long time. Not many come here, you are one of the first in a while now.” Now that he was listening properly, Joseph’s voice was as kind as his eyes. Forgiving, in a way.

“What is this place exactly?” Alastor inquired, “to me it just seems like a place of nothing.”

Joseph laughed, and even then he sounded kind. “I suppose you could call it that. I would prefer to say this place is a crossroads of sorts. Somewhere where even nothing could be something, given that nothing wants to be something.”

And despite that description, it only left Alastor confused. Where exactly were they?

“You’re getting confused,” Joseph pointed out out keenly, “Why don’t you walk with me? I’ll explain everything on the way.”

Alastor fell into step beside the strange man, still running through the answer in his head. A crossroads where nothing could be something, what a strange answer for strange man.

“I suppose I’ll start with how you are here,” Joseph began, “simply put, you died.”

“I gathered that,” Alastor grumbled dryly.

“While you died quite selflessly, protecting your friends and charge from certain death, there are complications. On one hand, if you had let them die then you would have been freed from your debts. You didn’t have to save Charlie Morningstar, but in doing so you died a hero’s death. Well done.” Joseph talked about his death so candidly, as though he were talking about the weather. It felt like Alastor should be offended, but his voice was too calming for that.

“On the other hand, your repertoire of crimes proceeds you. Hundreds of murders can be attributed to you directly, and that isn’t taking into account the souls you enslaved. One good deed doesn’t erase the suffering of many, you know?” Their surroundings changed. Now they were standing in a room, pure white other than two doors.

One door was blue, golden lettering sketching out the destination. The other was black, red details describing the fate of those who entered in one word.

“And so, I stand before you to offer you the choice,” Joseph continued talking, possibly ignoring Alastor’s whirling mind, “which afterlife do you believe suits you now? Heaven, or Hell?”

Heaven or Hell.

It’s a question people ask themselves when they are alive. They tell themselves their answer and move on. When you’re dead, you don’t get to choose.

“You want me to choose where I belong?” Alastor asked, looking at the man incredulously. What on earth was his goal?

“Yes. I only want you to pick a door and walk through it. It shouldn’t be hard.” Joseph’s patient smile was getting to the point of unnerving.

Alastor stepped back, “This is ridiculous. Only an utter buffoon would choose to go to hell.”

“Then have you made your choice?”

Alastor sent a withering glare at the man. When he looked thoroughly chastised, the demon began to pace.

Heaven or Hell.

A simple question. Heaven is the best answer. Everyone wants to go to heaven. The kindest, greatest people end up in heaven. It is a luxury that is unmatched by anything on earth or below it.

Hell is the worst answer. Hell is a fight for survival. It is drugs and depravity and demons clashing for power. Hell is the place he was trapped in for almost a century.

Hell was a hotel where a little maid cleaned. Hell was a place where a cat tended a bar, chatting away to a spider with a smile on their lips. Hell was a place where a snake spoke to a girl with a nervous smile. Hell was a place where a disgraced angel and a demon found love. Hell was a place where a radio host would tease his rival without a care in the world.

Hell was a hotel, and hell was a little less hellish than the world made it out to be.

“I would like to say that certain doors come with certain constraints. If we let you back to hell with everything intact, things could go bad fast. To make things easier you wouldn’t remember this, nor would you remember your previous life in hell. Everything would be reset to zero. No souls to own, no deals to uphold, and no power to your name. You would just be Alastor, practically a new sinner,” Joseph’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Just Alastor. Would anyone have “just Alastor”?

Charlie would. She’d probably pluck him right off the street. She’d take him to the hotel and reintroduce him to everyone. She’d get Rosie and he’d end up befriending her again. Husk would hate him at first but eventually he’d probably worm his way into people’s hearts. His early days self was charismatic without the reputation.

He stepped towards the door, the decision clear. However, just before he stepped through he paused.

“You aren’t just Joseph, are you?”

The man laughed, “I suppose you’re correct. The stories didn’t to me much justice when I was mortal. Though that was on purpose.”

“Hmm. Well your ‘first man’ was a bit of a dick.”

That earned him a chuckle, and he took it. He pushed the door open, prepared for the memoryless future waiting for him.

——<>——

The door clicked, finally startling the inhabitants of the room into action. The eldest grabbed her younger by the arm, tugging her towards herself. The redeemed sinner turned around, frill flying upwards into a threat display, his mind still spinning from the events of earlier.

An angel stepped into the office.

His coat was a brilliant pure white, complementing his mostly monochrome colour scheme. Light gray skin worked well with darker gray pants, bow tie making a nice touch. A blue vest slightly peaked from beneath the coat, decorating the whole outfit with golden clasps, buttons, and glasses. Silver hair was adorned with a crown of ebony antlers, perfectly framing pale blue eyes that scanned the room.

As the angel left the safety of the doorway, Sir Pentious couldn’t help but look at the splendor that was this angel’s wings. Large and white, they were something to behold.

That and the cane the mystery angel held in a death grip. He’d see a cane too similar to it in hell for it to be some strange coincidence.

“Alastor?” He hissed, catching the angel’s attention.

Sir Pentious heard one of the Seraphim behind him squeal, the other one muttering a prayer under her breath. He ignored them in favor of the seemingly redeemed radio demon in front of him.

“… I am not supposed to be here.”

——<>——

If you made it to the end, well done! I used the redeemed Alastor found on @hazbinmo-tel ‘s blog.

Check it out there tbh, I didn’t draw it. Don’t like me for the artwork, like me for the writing. I did that. Anyways the Bible headcannons are me. I will definitely do a sequel! I mean, someone like Alastor can’t have just gotten into heaven without strings attached right?

… Right?

#writing #fiction #alastor #hazbin spoilers #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin god #god #the bible #I’m over here writing bible lore lmao #main character death #graphic depictions of violence #contemplating death #what does death mean? #hell #purgatory #it’s 3am I should sleep #or I could post this #I’ll kill off Alastor #as a treat #redeemed Alastor #bro didn’t even want redemption #god didn’t care he gave you redemption anyway #probably will write a sequel #this is filled with my bible headcannons #Joseph is god #god can be a mortal #sera hazbin hotel #emily hazbin hotel

[jonmyblaze]

Uncle dent :au

And (The quest for mother )

Location: Arkham asylum

Cell block number '22--222-22

Harvey dent sat in his cell. Flipping his coin idlely waiting as the clock to tick by.

(Face: liberty)

(chance Scratched)

( face )

Scratched

Face

Liberty and Justice (face)

Or greed and chance (scratched )

It was pointless to him, he couldn't find the will to escap

"Harvey dent you have a visitor." A small speaker in his room notified him in a monotone slight east gothamite voice.

It wasn't like a harvey had anything better to do, so he went to the front of his cell.

Two police guards proceeded to take him to the visitor center. As were there job.

Harvey as he was perp walked he Wondered .

who the hell would be visiting him at this hour.

"At least Wayne had his visits on normal hours.' Harvey dent thought to himself

"But we already played chess that week! ' Big Bad Harve countered.

'So it has to be someone else. But whom?'

Harvey approached the visitation window

Harvey dent looked at the kid on the other side of the visitors window.

He looked vaguely familiar. he's seen that face before , a boy he watched grown up under his gang

"Well wat doya want kid" Harvey's gothamite accent sung through his voice.

He was Gotham's deputy the people's elected district attorney. He had to sound like them

"Information, as much as you got"the kid responds

Harvey balked

"Aren't you a little young to be propositioning super villains for information?" He questioned rhetorically,

"I'm as old as the lawyers allow for visitation alone"

"You barely looked like you can jack a car! let alone convince a guard that we are family.

"Hey I got off the streets with my jacking skills" he defended himself,

Well bully for you kid! your parents must have been proud at your jacking skills."

Harvey chuckled with a bit of childish humor he asked" and Sense you brought it up which hand do you jack best, with lefty or.-"

"Can it dent" the boy cut off the mobster before he could finish his crass punchline. "all I want is information, nothing more "

I think a kid as old as you should know the prison rules by now. snitches and stitches and all"

The boy looked into the partition. huffed a laugh

"No not anything of the mob, this is I something that's rather more mundane that I need to ask"

Harvey cocked his unscarred eyebrow.

"what information would a young man like you come all the way out to Arkham asylum in order to ask me known mob boss Two-Face"

The kid placed a small book in the small open section of the divide..

It was a photo album. The Cover looked slightly burned and dirty but for the most part it was genuine. Two-face idly flip through the pages annoyed that this is what this strange visitor wanted

mostly baby pictures and likely pictures of young man in front of him.

"You were asking about a photo album? "Two-faced asked

"Flip five in from the front. ,"

It was there that he saw the photo.

.

Recognizing the photo

Huh

It held three people in the image. One former goon named Willis todd, his young son and Harvey dent himself.

Harvey remembered that day, Catherine (was that her name) had taken the photo. A smiling young woman. Willis's fiance if he remembered correctly.

Such a shame that Willis died in a gang encounter between his and cobblepots goons.

"You recognize that man?"

"Course I do it's it's good Old Willie Todd. Best gun runner and international arm dealer I had."

" Yeah and my old man too" the boy said blunyly

"No way" Harvey denied at first then he whispered

"Son of a bitch" he said in amazement!

There he was Jason Peter Todd, son of Willis and Catherine, the current adopted son of Bruce Wayne.

(this is a slight au of death in the family, Harvey and Jason has a better relationship then Canon.)

Harvey haven't seen the boy in person in ages

" Yes shit that baby there is me. "

" Well You grew up kid, congratulations"Two-Face said matter of factly, leaning forwards he asked jovially like a cranky cool Uncle. "got a car yet?"

" Nah, I'm only 15, do know how to hotwire one though."

"AH They keep getting younger" Harvey smiled ironically .

" Now what did you come all the way here. Besides reminiscing about old Times"

I'm trying to to find my mother"

" Pretty sure Catherine died of a drug overdose from the papers I read." Two-Face didn't often read obituaries but that was one of the more sad ones he read.

" It was cancer, she died of the pain meds she was given to help relieve the pain from the cancer."

"Sorry kid but if that's the case your ma's Dead and gone, what about trini and Joe? What happened to them "

Harvey remembered that lengthy custody battle with Willis, being unable to afford to take care of the boy and thus having to put him up for foster care temporarily. He was lucky that that boys measly acrobatic Aunt and Uncle to take him in as a way to keep him from experiencing the worst of the foster system .

This in turn forced Willis to take the more dangerous jobs that Two-Face had. And earned him much respect. Dent never got to hear the end to that story.

"unfortunately, they fell to their death when I was nine"

“Huh... Went out like the graysons. " Harvey commented nonchalantly.

Harvey, before the acid, had seen the flying Grayson's last performance.

He remembered the gasps of the crowd, the look of horror as they fell, the sickening sound of their landing. The cries of traumatized civilians

He distinctly recalled Bruce's expression of sympathy looking at the newly made orphan of the Grayson family.

And he recalled The pride on Bruce's face when he revealed that he adopted the kid to save him from the Foster system.

He may not have gotten the boys official custody in merely a wardship at the time but there was still so much pride in his face so much help in a brighter future.

" is that why Wayne took you in?" Harvey asked. He he may have missed a few things during one of his breakout and was way behind the papers..

Jason todd looked confused

“No, why would you say that “

"You lost your parents because of a acrobatic accident, you know what they say '

once is incidental

"twice is a pattern"

"Bleh I haven't met Bruce until after I was at 10 and already an orphan twice over."

"Really ?.So how did you catch Wayne's eye? "

"Wait You mean he hasn't told you? I thought you two were friends.

Nope, all he said that he found you and took sympathy in yout plight. Are you implying there's more to that story?

Definitely"

" So tell it kid”

And tell it Jason did. And it was the funniest shit Harvey ever heard.

‘See, remember how I said I got off the streets thanks to my car jacking skills.

" No way, what did you do?" Dent asked, like a schoolgirl wanting more gossip. Which was as par for the course in police work, they were just as bad when it came to gossip.

‘I jacked the tires of one of his muscle cars when he was visiting Crime Alley.. “

“You jacked his muscle car?” he asked in almost amazement. Bruce love those things it was one of the few things that showed that he was a fucking multi-billionaire with hobbies.

“Yep took the tires and everything, nearly got away with it too."

Harvey burst out laughing, nearly worse than the clown. It was a low baritone laugh but it seemed to echo throughout the room

Harvey didn't care it was fucking hysterical.

SOME PUNK ASS KID STOLE the tires of his best friend's multi-million dollar muscle car and the man decided to adopt the kid

It was funny, objectively funny

It took Harvey a few moments to calm down. Other inmates looked at him with sympathy.thinking he might have got Joker gassed.

“Sorry sorry that's the funniest thing I've heard all week”

“That's what Bruce said too. I think that's kind of why he adopted me.”

“He took you in immediately?”

"He tried the system first the place he sent me was a child to the criminal pipeline system that Batman broke up. Bruce decided if the system ain't going to work for him then he'll do it himself. And that's how I got to stay at Wayne Manor."

“Well aren't you the quintessential orphan Anne, “

“Yep, I even got the Daddy Warbucks too.”

“Haha haha real funny now I only have one thing to ask, why was my boy Wayne in crime Alley in the first place..”

“If I remember correctly it was the 26th of june at 10:27 pm. One the alley right Behind an old theater in crime Alley. I was a petty kid who didn't know any better. Said it was his first time having that happen. “

Harvey sobered up

No wonder why Bruce saw so much in the boy, Wayne found the kid on the anniversary of his parents' death.

It was funny, on one of the most crime ridden parts of this hell hole of a city, the famous multi-millionaire who rarely got into trouble with crime, on on the anniversary of one of his most tragic days .saw some young orphan kid jacking his tires as something deeply sympathetic. And funny

whereas most people his status would have loved to see the kid behind bars for mildly inconveniencing them.

Unlike most, Bruce chose empathy and Mercy instead of petty vengeance.. (he was much better than Harvey ever was.)

Harvey had decided long ago his friend was a saint but this took the cake.

On the anniversary of Wayne's death of all days. It was tragic yet funny.

—----

Jason Todd was lying

Only partially.

Bruce as Batman had found him on a normal day. It was weeks before the anniversary of the elder Wayne's death. But he wasn't lying about anything else. He jacked the tires off the batmobile Batman found funny and took a liking to Jason enough to later try and adopt him. This was a story they told the press.

It can coincided with the anniversary of the Wayne's death, and told the story of a young kid being adopted into gothamite royalty purely out of the sympathy of his big childish heart

As Bruce's media manager had told Jason. It's good to sell a story but it's even better if the populace wants to believe that story. little details being fudged are fine so long as the greater narrative is intact.

Ultimately it was harmless of a lie nobody noticed but still it was a lie nonetheless to be noted

—------

" So both sets of your parents are dead but you said you were looking for your mother? What's wrong with living with bruce.

I think I should clarify .

I meant.. my biological mother. The one who gave birth to me,'. not, the ones who raised me.

As much as I like Bruce, I just can't help but wish to have some closure. I want to know where I came from. it feels wrong without at least knowing a little bit about her.

This is all I ask. It's why I came here.

Do you know anywhere where l can go to get that info." Two-face contemplated the request for a few seconds before relenting

" You know what? sure. I'll help." There was a brigh light in the boys eyes.. there was hope

Harvey had to temper that." keep in mind, kid that these details could be outdated, they are a few years old after all."

" Please. I'll take anything at this point" Jason looked happy. He cherished Catherine,he loved his foster parents/uncle and Aunt Joe and Trina Todd(before they ultimately demise) he genuinely enjoyed Bruce as his father figure and he respected his bio dad Willis Todd. He just wanted closure, that was all.

Harvey would give him the details to one of the more secure bases. Jason would visit once again and with Harvey's help succeeded in narrowing down the three ladies until he came across the final one, Sheila Haywood. currently in Ethiopia.

--------Weeks later-----

Jason Todd would go alone to Ethiopia unknowing the tragedy that would occur

--------in death in the family telethon-----

Call now Gotham will the bird Boy live or will he fry!

HAHA-HAHA-HAHA-HAHA!

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

Harvey watched the television screen in the horror everything clicked into place. Jason Todd was the second Robin. A boy that he accidentally sent to his death. The clown viciously beat Jason Todd on one of his sick deprived telethons.

Where would Joker be hiding he couldn't be in Gotham Sheila wasn't any where near Gotham

."Unless the clown and jay never were in Gotham in the first place." Big bad harv suggested.

Joker's Gambit ultimately implied he was in Gotham but last he heard of Jason he was heading for Ethiopia to find Sheila.

He even saw that bitch Sheila taking a cigarette break! while Jason was being beaten and broken

Harvey try to call and hope that the vote would end up with a boy living. He Tried to call Bruce but the line ended up dead.

Batman was too busy hunting for Jason. He doesn't know the truth Jason isn't even in Gotham he's in Ethiopia

Harvey wanted to shoot the damn TV but he couldn't, his eyes were addicted to the screen hoping that Jason would live.

(Bruce Wayne had just confirmed that the bird that was being a beaten was a runaway Jason Todd, who dressed up in the robin outfit

at that moment it was very easy for Harvey to put together Bruce Wayne was Batman but to the crowd and inmates in Arkham

Bruce was just Batmans sugar daddy. And the punk kid from the streets was a sympathetic story to some in Arkham. Especially to Harvey himself.)

Harvey prays that Bruce would end clown this time.. for if not he would do it himself.

Harvey would watch in horror as the clock struck zero.

The vote said he should have lived. But the vote counter just kept going, even after the clock struck Zero.

----------

Joker had given Batman one final chance to save his bird tying up both Sheila and leaving Jason broken

He set the counter to explode

And yet somehow the boy struggled but escaped. Only for a locked door to keep them in the way.

------live from Ethiopia--------

Harvey watched as the screen faded to Black vowing he would kill that clown once it breaks for free

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