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sad-sweet-cowboah · 2 years

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Where We Rest in the Storm

Summary: As a female Alpha, life certainly didn't hand you a good deal. You're a loner by choice, but what happens when you meet an Omega with similar choices?

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, drinking, swearing, smut

Word Count: 7,220

A/N: This is the first of a handful of requests I received, by someone who wishes to remain anonymous. I'll admit this one took longer than usual; for some reason my creativity didn't want to cooperate. So I apologize for the wait!

Rhodes.

Not your favorite town, although beautiful in passing, you were all too familiar with the racism and questionable acts that held influence amongst its citizens. Red dust billowed around as your horse trotted along the well-beaten path into the somewhat bustling town.

The general store to your left was your first destination, having emptied your rations just that morning. Your stomach growled incessantly for food. With the hot sun beating down, you were beginning to feel light-headed.

You slowed your horse as you came up to the hitching post, dismounting and tying your mare before giving her a pat on her sweaty neck, you then turned to enter the store. The inside was slightly cooler yet still held the heaviness of the thick air, hardly a relief. The storekeeper greeted you and you responded with a short nod, focusing more on the canned fruits.

After gathering a few cans, you took them up to the register. The shopkeeper didn’t speak much, avoiding your gaze and quietly speaking out your total. He placed your change on the counter rather than handing it to you directly, only offering a polite half-smile before wishing you a good day.

You nodded again, silently, taking your change and product before walking back outside. It was not an unusual occurrence for you, being an Alpha.

Society held respect for Alphas, specifically male Alphas. They were generally held with high regard, often holding positions of power and well respected amongst their peers. A female Alpha was rare, and were often ignored or shunned compared to their male counterparts.

Those who came across you were often wary, hiding their caution beneath a veil of politeness. Your scent, as you’ve been told, would either attract or cause unease, usually being the latter.

Eventually you’d given up on maintaining friendships, as in your adolescence, most of your schoolmates were Betas, or other male Alphas. They viewed you as an oddity, despite how “unique” your parents called you.

Female Alphas were often lonesome, without much of a place in society aside from the rare few who made a name for themselves by some miracle or another. You yourself have never met another one, yet subjected yourself to near isolation, traveling across the map to take odd jobs in order to keep your stomach full and your back clothed.

You didn’t mind, it only meant you could see the world without obligations holding you down. That however didn’t account for the loneliness you felt on some cold nights.

Placing all but one can in your bag, you retrieved the knife from your gun belt and stabbed into the soft tin of the lid, sawing away until revealing the contents inside. You brought the can to your lips, gulping down cut peaches as the syrup quenched your parched mouth. The sweet scent overtook you with pleasantry, quelling the pangs of hunger in your stomach within seconds.

As you lowered the can, you scanned across the road, noting the few people bustling about. Rhodes was a town of mostly Betas with a few Alphas mixed in. Omegas didn’t come to town much; preferably remaining on the outskirts. The familiar masculine and musky scent of Alpha carried through the breeze, pulling your attention to three men on horseback, riding side by side.

They seemed to be speaking amongst one another, at least, two of them were. One of the men however looked in your direction, perhaps catching your own scent.

It was unintentional, but the two of you locked eyes. Your heart skipped a beat in anxiety and you looked away. Sometimes Alphas were competitive, and the last thing you wanted was to draw attention to yourself by causing an issue with a presumed local.

---

Despite your original intentions of wanting to resupply and leave, the sweltering day soon melted into a severe thunderstorm, prompting you to seek shelter for the night. The local hotel had a room open and you begrudgingly rented for the night, as well as paying for a refreshing bath.

After settling your belongings in the room, you decided to head to the bar portion for a drink since it was a little too early to retire for the evening. It seemed as if half the town had the same idea, and it was bustling as you passed through the threshold from the back half of the hotel.

Idle chatter and the creak of the floorboards filled the air as you moved through, finding an empty spot at the bar to hail down the bartender. He passed you a bottle of beer without issue, and you took a swig before turning to peer out at the crowd.

Despite the downpour outside, most people were smartly dressed; a stark contrast from your dusty denim pants and sun-faded blouse. A simple yet comfortable outfit in lieu of how other women appeared, especially in a town such as this. That didn’t stop the quick, judgmental glances while your back was turned. You ignored them as you tipped the bitter liquid down your throat.

The upside of being in a crowd was that you could mask your scent, and blend in with others if needed. Your scent, while easy to distinguish alone, was not as fragrant as your male counterparts. Lost in the muted aromas of Betas and the strong musk of other Alphas, you could just pass off as another Beta.

The more you drank, the easier it was to drown out the background noise. You were sporting a light buzz and even more uncaring of the occasional glances. By every hour newer faces appeared accompanied by a gust of humid air from the opposite side of the building.

Once again the sticky breeze wafted across the already stuffy atmosphere, carrying the fresh smell of rain and the faint aroma of farm dirt. You tipped the opening of your fourth bottle to your lips, long since immune to the less desirable pungency that carried with it.

However, you detected another scent.

Faint, sweet, as if someone opened a can of peaches. You blinked in confusion and took a whiff from the bottle –no, still bitter. Yet the sweet scent lingered, growing stronger by the second.

Out of the corner of your eye, someone else stepped up to the bar. You’d grown used to this by now, except the fact that the smell seemed to originate from this newcomer.

Curiously, you turned your head to look. It was a man, large and robust in stature. He was dressed simple; a blue shirt and worn jeans with an old leather hat upon his head.

It was then you realized, it was one of the men you’d seen earlier today, specifically, the one you’d made eye contact with.

But why did he smell so…so good?

A blue eye swiveled to once again meet yours, too fast for you to turn away to feign disinterest. Yet rather than focusing elsewhere, you held it.

“Evenin’, ma’am,” he spoke with a deep drawl.

You smiled politely, acknowledging him with a short nod. “Hello, mister,” you said right back.

He then turned to catch the bartender’s attention, ordering a shot of whiskey for himself. Once the glass was placed he downed it within seconds, practically licking the inside clean. He slammed the now empty glass down with some gusto, and his gaze drifted to you again. “Got somethin’ on my face?”

“Huh?” you blinked, just now realizing you’d been staring just a beat longer than intended. “My apologies, you…you just look familiar,” you feigned, hoping he’d buy it.

His thick eyebrow quirked. “You got the wrong guy, ma’am. I don’t make it a habit to make m’self familiar to most folk.”

Curiosity peaked. “Why is that?” you asked without second thought.

He placed his hands on the bar and leaned back. “Not a people person.”

Not one for company? You quickly glanced around, noting the crowd still holding a strong presence. You looked to him again. “So you chose to come to the busiest bar in the town,” you stated.

He chuckled without humor, his lips forming into a half smirk. “Don’t change the fact that I like a good drink,” he said before procuring a second drink.

Hell, you understood that more than anyone, choosing to travel alone and not mingle with the general public. It seemed as if you and this newcomer had something in common. “Cheers to that,” you say with a smile, holding up your beer.

He looked at you with slight confusion, and then mirrored your smile. Clinking his shot glass against your bottle, the two of you simultaneously took a drink, him slamming the glass back down in a similar manner as before, and you finishing off the beer.

---

Time had become lost to you, having become absorbed by chatter with your new acquaintance, whom you learned his name was Arthur. He, like you, travels with the wind, having lived in multiple states. He was vague on why, only hinting that he’d do odd jobs here and there that often took him far and wide.

Not much too different than your own life.

The two of you shared stories from across the states; where and what your travels have brought. The beautiful scenery and memories to hold. Arthur mentioned that he loved and missed being out West, reiterating his desire to be around less people.

Despite Arthur’s only growing inebriation, his demeanor to you retained a decent charm. For someone who preferred to be alone, he certainly held a good conversation. You weren’t a novice to speaking with men; sometimes having to dissuade a drunken Beta trying to lure you into his bed. Arthur’s slurred words and hearty laughter didn’t seem to deter you.

Perhaps it was the ease of speaking with him. Something about him compelled you to stay and continue to talk. As the night wore on you were learning more and more about this stranger, including his distaste for Rhodes.

“I’ll be honest, this…this town n’ all,” Arthur scoffed. “Ain’t my favorite. Can’t wait to move on.”

You smiled and nodded in understanding. In the meantime you were damn close to his level of drunk, having lost count of how many beers you ordered. “Trust me, I know. I…I plan on leaving once the sun’s up.”

“Where you headed?”

“Toward Saint Denis,” you answered. “Figured I’d get some money for traveling before I head to my next destination.”

Arthur mumbled something. With the distinct chatter still clouding the atmosphere, you couldn’t even catch what it as. You automatically leaned in closer to listen.

Your nose was overwhelmed by a sweet scent. After hours of drinking and dulling your other senses, you’d gone nose blind to it until this moment. After an involuntary deep inhale, you caught the lingering of other scents. Leather and tobacco.

“Uh, what’re you doin’?”

Embarrassment protruded like a spike in your stomach, and you sat up immediately. “S-sorry!” you spluttered, face heated after realizing.

You expected him to be annoyed with you. Instead there was a look of perplex on his face. Perplexed and…sort of curious?

His eyes were beautiful, swirling pools of blue and green like the sea, staring unblinkingly at you as neither of you said anything to one another.

His lips were slightly parted, rosy and surprisingly full. Would it be so bad if –

He broke the gaze abruptly, stepping away from the counter. “I should go.”

Confusion washed over you. “Why?”

“Gettin’ late, gotta get back home,” he answered quickly, unwilling to look back at you. With swift movement he made a beeline for the door, attempting to disappear in the slowly dissipating crowd.

“Wait –” you tried to say, reaching out only to swipe empty air.

A tiny, nagging voice told you to go after him. Why though? You’d only just met the man. You shook your head, attempting to push free of that thought.

Even though the patrons were beginning to dwindle with the night growing later, it suddenly felt too crowded.

You retired to your room shortly after. Even after changing into your nightwear and laying down, nothing would quell your running thoughts. Arthur seemed to be in your head, and every passing moment you couldn’t find any rhyme nor reason why.

Sure, he was nice. He provided good conversation, but he was no different than any other passerby you’ve met over the years.

Hell, he was one of the few that didn’t treat you differently because of your status.

Did he even know your status?

You thought back to the moment where you leaned close to him. Close enough to smell him, perhaps he smelled you in that moment too.

Did your behavior scare him off? Did your scent deter him?

You huffed to yourself, rolling in the bed rather aggressively. Another potential friendship ruined because of something you couldn’t control. The next morning couldn’t come soon enough to hightail it from this town.

---

Vivid dreams clouded your mind that night. Between the mess of colors and a myriad of indistinguishable sounds and voices, something soon appeared clearer than the rest. A deep growl soon formed into a voice, accompanied by a chiseled, handsome face and the sweet, musky scent of peaches and leather…

Your eyes opened with the morning birds singing just outside your window. The sun had just barely come up, yet you were not hesitant on preparing to leave. You stood up with a groan, annoyance already taking its hold on you. A small echo of a headache was beginning to form. Rhodes had already worn its welcome.

You exited the hotel just as the sun peered over the mill across the way, mounting your horse and trotting off. As you tried to focus on the road ahead, your subconscious would drift further, shrouded in the memory of the man from last night. Remembering part of the prior conversation, you vaguely wondered if he was still in the area or if he too was planning to move.

It surprised how similarly he lived his life to yours. Not that nomads were uncommon, but in today’s society their lifestyles were a more unpopular choice. It was refreshing to meet someone with not only a similar interest, but with a personality that wasn’t overbearing.

Perhaps you may run into him again.

The quickly risen hope was soon extinguished with a scoff. It was ridiculous to even consider it. You most likely scared him off, and why even have that thought in the first place? You shook your head in self-disappointment, bringing your attention toward the road ahead.

The sun slowly climbed the sky and you sought shelter beneath the trees, taking your horse from the beaten path into the cool shade of the green canopy above. Today was even hotter than yesterday despite last night’s storm, allowing dampness to uncomfortably gather between you and the saddle.

The heat, the humidity. The dull ache in your head was forming into an acute pounding.

You tried your best to ignore it, yet even the hoof beats on the soft forest floor below was too much movement for you to take. It came in waves, washing over the crown of your head and seemingly settling in the pit of your stomach. You halted your horse and slid off, reaching out to lean against a nearby tree trunk. Pounding like a herd of horses galloping, you grit your teeth and closed your eyes, willing for the pain to go away.

A fresh wave, agonizing and piercing, so powerful it shuddered your entire body. As it faded slightly, you reached out for your saddlebag and dug out a tonic, clumsily uncorking it before pouring the liquid down your throat, hoping it would provide some relief.

Leaning against the tree again, you sunk down to relax against its sturdy trunk. Trying to continue your ride in this condition would certainly end badly for you. Crossing your arms along your folded legs, you rested your forehead against them, waiting for the tonic to take over.

---

A soft brush against your shoulder roused you. Your head shot up immediately, blinking away the sleep you hadn’t intended to take. Bleariness disappeared from your eyes as you focused on the woods surrounding you. The pain had vanished without a trace, thankfully. The area in particular was well-shaded against the sun, already providing some muted light. However, the scenery seemed to be five times darker. The space between the trees gave way to an indigo sky.

You jumped to your feet without second thought, scaring away the curious squirrel at your shoulder. You’d lost almost an entire day of travel! You groaned in annoyance and kicked at a pebble laying by your toe before storming over to your gazing horse not too far away. You mounted with a disgruntled huff, spurring your horse into a fast trot, dodging between the trees before finding a break to a clear, open field.

Glancing left, right, and left again, it had occurred to you that you had lost your bearings. How turned around did you get with that damned headache?

You snarled out a swear, pushing your mare into a gallop in hopes to come across a road or a familiar landmark. The warm air breezed across your face, swirled through your hair, pressing the folds of your clothes against your damp skin. The atmosphere was once again thickened with humidity while the last rays of the sun disappeared in the horizon.

Soon something on the landscape stuck out in the distance. A field marred by the evidence of a war long since passed. You recognized it in an instant; having seen it once or twice in your previous travels. All you had to do was find –

Your thought process took a sharp turn when something else drew your attention. A hint of a scent filled your nostrils and left just as quickly.

It was familiar to you.

And you wanted to smell it again.

Your horse slowed to your command. Tilting your head up and opening your mouth, inhaling as much as you could to further detect it. No such luck.

Had you imagined it?

Another breeze carried through, gracing your lungs with the scent again. Stronger, fresher…sweet.

A strong shiver traveled down your spine involuntarily, tingling along your entire body. It were as if you were electrocuted; lightning coursing through every nerve. It soon condensed deep within your guts; a sensation you’d never experienced before.

How could you explain it? Both new and not. It was akin to a want, a desire.

Tugging your reins to face against the wind, the scent curled around you with the ever-shifting breeze. Your mouth watered like a starved wolf awaiting its meal. Your stomach burned like it was empty, yet hunger wasn’t what plagued you.

Emptiness. A need to fulfill and satiate. Your heels twitched in another tap to urge your horse forward. As she rolled into a smooth lope, the scent became stronger, only driving forth your need to find its source.

As you skirted the edge of the battlefield, your sight locked on to a crumbling ruin of what seemed to be a church on the opposite side. Your instincts told you to head for it, despite its decrepit, unwelcoming appearance. With each stretch of your mare’s legs, the more intense the scent grew. A mere short moment passed before you arrived within the ruin’s shadow.

Your mouth opened again, drinking in the near intoxicating aroma. Beckoning to you like a fresh pie out of the oven, ready for you to sink your teeth into. Your feet slid onto the grass below, the overwhelming desire and curiosity drowning out any last ditch effort to adhere to your better senses.

You stared the entrance, or rather the multiple entrances that Mother Nature and manmade destruction created. Not even halfway decent to host as shelter in any means. In any other instance you’d turn away and continue with your journey.

You would have, if your feet hadn’t carried you to one of the archways. The lovely fragrance wafted toward you, almost as if it were tangible enough to wrap around you. And that’s exactly what it did.

Not even two steps in, and the cock of a firearm ripped you from your enchantment.

Every muscle in your body froze in place.

A gruff voice sounded to the left of you, speaking in a hushed tone.

“Don’t gotta make this ugly,”

Wait.

Against your better judgement, you turned your head to take a clearer view of the threat. Standing against one of the many broken walls, his silhouette was quite large. The faint glimmer of the barrel of his gun was only inches from your face.

Your eyes adjusted to the dim rather quickly, revealing the finer features. The shadow of a dark, brimmed hat. Your eyes traveled to his face. A sharp jaw and a handsome face.

“Arthur?”

He didn’t speak at first, holding his position silently for what seemed like a full second before he lowered his gun. From what you could tell, he seemed to be surprised.

“Arthur,” you repeated. “Right?”

He nodded before holstering his gun. “I shoulda known you’d find me.”

You frowned in confusion. You opened your mouth to answer, yet your senses were once again flooded with that amazing scent. It was at its peak, fresh and familiar, and…

“You smell so good,” you said automatically, and surprised yourself that it was uttered out loud.

He scoffed, taking a lateral step yet keeping his body facing you. “Listen, you ain’t gotta be here. Don’t wanna be ‘round…someone like me.”

“Like you?” you echoed, ignoring the stirring that began in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

Even in the dim, you caught his eyebrow cocking. “I know you ain’t stupid. I could see it in your eyes when you smelled me the first time, last night.”

You frowned even more with growing confusion. “I…I assumed you were an Alpha.”

He shook his head with a wry smile. “Never met no Alpha smelled like me, not even you.”

You blinked in surprise. “You could tell –“

“’Course I could, especially now!” he interrupted. “I got a whiff of ya last night too. Clever, hidin’ in those Betas. Wouldn’t a’ guessed if you hadn’t leaned closer to me.”

You bit your lip, hesitating to respond for a second. What he said before was true; no Alpha you’ve ever came across never smelled as enticing…as desirable. That only meant one other thing.

“You…you’re an Omega?”

He looked away. There was silence for a good half a moment before he muttered a, “Yes,” through gritted teeth.

The realization crashed into you like a freight train. His scent was irresistibly alluring, enough to drive you from your intended path to his very location. It made sense as to why you held attraction to him even only knowing him for the night. Being near him for that long sparked something deep within you. An ancient instinct known to Alphas as a Rut. The beginning of a supposedly sacred ritual between an Alpha and an Omega.

A mating ritual. You’d never experienced it yourself, only having been around female Omegas in the past. Their scent, while inviting, was nowhere near as pungent as Arthur’s.

That meant he was in heat.

You stared at him, observing him from head to toe. A male Omega was just as uncommon as a female Alpha. Hell, this was your first time even meeting one. Omegas were known to be lean and small, and Arthur was the complete opposite. He could easily mask his scent and portray himself as Alpha if needed.

What were the odds that the two of you were to end up in the same town?

A million questions flitted through your head, some you wanted to voice, others directed toward yourself. The two of you were drawn together by forces beyond control. An Omega’s heat was damn near impossible to avoid if in the presence of a receptive Alpha.

And it just had to be you.

“Look, we can jus’ go our separate ways,” he began. “Forget we ever met one another.”

His voice was strained, breathless. He was avoiding inhaling your scent. His solution was the most sensible here; two strangers drawn together by forces neither of you had control over. Instinct was telling you to find him, to breed with him.

You swallowed a lump rising in your throat. Primal thoughts and urges were tugging at your consciousness like puppet strings. The stirring beneath your navel continued to grow. “I –“ you breathed, shuddering, that gulp of air filling your entire being with his pheromones. You fought the instinct to breathe again, knowing damn well it would worsen. Your mouth watered.

His words echoed in your head. This was not the ideal situation. You could turn back and have a straight shot to Saint Denis within a few hours if you just kept to the path. Your feet however, remained rooted in the spot.

The air was heavy. Still. His aroma hung like a fog. Your heart pounded like a drum. He could have moved too, but he didn’t. Staring unblinkingly at one another, waiting for the opposite to make a decision.

Finally, he moved. Turning within the blink of an eye, he was drifting away.

No.

A sudden rush of panic coursed through you. Before you could process it, you lunged forward to swipe out at him, finding purchase on his forearm.

His bare skin was hot to the touch, muscles taut and coiled beneath. He froze in place, his arm tensing even more. His head turned to stare at you, jaw clenched and eyes wild.

Stay.

You couldn’t explain it. Well, you could, but there was no viable reason as to why you wanted him. No, not want. You needed him. The forces of God’s will and nature itself were crushing upon you. The stirring had grown into an incessant pulsation. Blood boiled through your veins, searing and quick. Those carnal desires were all but bursting at the door of higher thought.

Take, take.

You lunged again, your body thudding into the wall that was his torso. In a quick second his arms were around you. That sweet intoxication surrounded you at an instant, vanishing any other forethought.

His blue eyes stared at you, observing your face. His lips were slightly parted and his chest heaved with a deep breath, indubitably inhaling your own scent.

He hissed out a swear, grinding his teeth together. He mumbled, stuttered, unable to even finish his sentence. His arms tightened around you, nails digging against your lower back that stung through the fabric of your shirt.

It stung so good.

Take him.

Your own arms wrapped around his neck, pulling his lips to meet yours without hesitation. A split second of surprise soon melted as he reciprocated, equally meeting your enthusiasm.

But this wasn’t excitement, it was carnal. It was lust. Pure need.

The kisses were sloppy, open-mouthed, demolishing the walls carefully built to avoid this very act. His essence clouded your mind, your senses, pushing you to have him. His large hands clawed at your back, attempting to tear at your clothing. An audible growl reverberated from his throat, sending chills down your spine.

He walked forward, carrying you with ease until your back met the solid cool stone. His mouth did not leave you. His arms released you and were instead caging you in. He pulled back to look at you, his gaze bright and burning.

“Fuckin’ Alpha,” he grunted lowly. “Can’t believe I’m doin’ this.”

You could only scoff in response before his lips were on you again, finding home on your jawline, sucking at the junction of your neck. It spurred you to grind against him, already hyper aware of the straining against his pants. Your hips pressed forward to grind against him, your lower region now completely pulsing with need.

He groaned against your skin, his teeth grazing against your flesh, your nerves singing from his touch. Your blouse had come off at some point. A hand yanked at the constraints of your corset, yanking the ribbons free. As the whalebone loosened, you breathed in deeply, drinking in yet even more of his essence. Red clouded your vision as a spurt of energy coursed through you. A growl of your own ripped from your throat, detached from your brain completely. You shoved against his chest, earning a slight cry of surprise from Arthur.

Before he could even steady himself, you sprung forward, once again connecting with the brick wall that was his torso, with enough force to send the two of you tumbling. He landed on his back with a huff while you effortlessly straddled him, precariously resting against what was blocked by a few layers of clothing.

Staring into his eyes, a toothy grin spread across your face.

Omega.

Alpha.

He gave no qualms about this. His eyes instead remained on you silently to see what you would do.

And you wanted to claim.

It didn’t take much effort to unbutton his shirt and push away his suspenders, revealing just how gorgeous his body was. Your fingers trailed lower to the waistband of his pants, unbuttoning even quicker now. Arthur released a low rumble once the constraints freed him, impatiently reaching for himself, wrapping a hand around his thick base. Just watching him pleasure himself in your presence increased your need for him threefold.

Knocking his hand away to favor your own, you explored every inch of his length in your palm. His skin was hot, velvet, beginning to dampen from a small stream of his slick. Your thumb traced it along every vein, every curve and wrinkle. His soft, deep moan rattled you to the core.

And you continued, pumping against him like your life depended on it. His figure trembled beneath you, his breath catching and uttering groans. That’s it, that’s it.

His large hands began to wander with aim to finish what he started. With one harsh tug your breasts fell free of your chemise. Rough digits roved over the sensitive skin of your nipples. He squeezed, he pinched, gaze fixated toward your chest. Your teeth grazed your bottom lip as your own sweet moan joined his.

The pulse in your very center now ached, pulling your attention directly to yourself.

Fuck him.

And you wouldn’t sooner heed.

You were on your feet in seconds, making quick work discarding your gun belt, jeans and bloomers, all of which fell in a haphazard puddle around your ankles. Taking your spot, Arthur’s desperate hands found purchase on your thighs and yanked you down the rest of the way. You hovered over his awaiting dick before allowing yourself to sink down further. The head – oh, so thick – parted your lower lips, conjoining the two of you until you bottomed out against him.

There was a pregnant pause, your eyes never daring to leave his. Together just as nature and forces above had intended. This moment felt so…so right, so complete. It were as if you’d waited your whole life for the one.

You began to move, rolling your hips against his in a near vain chase of pleasure. He groaned once again, his hands gripping your thighs to clever himself to sync with you.

Sweet, pure pleasure rippled through your body, tangling with primal thoughts. Omega, my Omega, the urge to take, to claim, powerful and demanding.

Your hands rested on his chest, nails raking down the expanse of his chest and abdomen. He hissed out loud yet never uttered a complaint, his own nails producing welts against your thighs. Oh, that stinging pain only enhanced your drive, an overwhelming desire to show the world your marks.

Your hands moved to his shoulders, pushing against him to pump even faster, harder. His strained gasp sounded beneath you, his head tilting back to expose the vulnerable part of his neck.

Leaning down, your tongue trailed along his pulse point. Your teeth graze against his flesh. The sharp taste of salt blended with the ever-so tantalizing scent of his, no one else should have him.

Your mouth hovered against the junction of his neck and shoulder. Take.

Arthur’s hands flew to your sides, pushing you back upright –never missing a beat of constant thrusting. Aquatic blazes staring into the depths of your soul, ripping you from your previous train of thought. Your breath shuddered and you pulled yourself back, once again falling into the grip of erotic excitement.

Hands once again found purchase on different parts of your body. Your thighs to your waist, your breasts to your nipples. Rough skin dragged against your soft mounds, squeezing and kneading and pulling. Ecstasy spilled over at an instant, manifesting deep in your core, stoking the embers that have grown into a blazing inferno.

You were barreling for your release. Rolling and intensifying, ready to spring loose. You selfishly chased after it, grinding hard against his pelvis. Just seconds away, from –

It crashed over you like a train, a full-body orgasm shaking you down to the bone. A high-pitched mewl clawed from your throat, singing above to the walls that once held the confessions of sinners. Even coming down from your high, the dance did not falter.

“Fuck,”

Arthur’s growl was guttural; beastly even. His eyes were still fixated on you, as is mesmerized by your climax. His parted lips trembled, teeth gritting as his palms fell back to your hips, gripping for what seemed like dear life.

He was close.

With the last of your own dripping from your filled crevice to his hips beneath, you pressed on to encourage his. Pushing past the moment of sensitivity, bringing forth a new wave buzzing through your veins.

You whispered out his name, a voice detached from your own consciousness. Every nerve, every muscle ready for his release. His breath stuttered, nails like claws against your supple curves. He tensed –hips snapping upward once, twice, three –

His grip loosened as he gave one choked sigh, hips stuttering with one last weak thrust. He was spent, and a new sensation appeared –a tightening from below. Knotting, locking in place to ensure effectivity.

And so you were stuck like this, at least for a little while longer.

Silence surrounded you. Warmth spread from between your legs, accompanied by a certain moisture. Fluids slowly trickled to his skin beneath you, though nothing compared to the sheen of sweat coating both of your bodies.

Intrusive thoughts and the driving force had melted away completely, clarity returning like a breath of fresh air. The sights, while familiar, seemed completely new. It were almost as if your higher self had been locked away and reemerged at this moment, seeing things for the first time.

Arthur’s chest heaved as he attempted to catch his breath, eyes staring up at the stone ceiling. His arms sprawled on either side as if you’d knocked the wind out of him.

Finally, he gave a small groan. “Shit,” he sighed, lifting his arm to wipe away the sweat from his face. “Can’t believe I jus’ did that.”

“Me neither,” you agreed shortly, wallowing in both satisfaction and self-shame. That carnal desire had dissipated completely, leaving no trace and filling you with less than ideal afterthoughts. “Guess there was no avoiding it…”

“’Spose not,” he murmured. “Ain’t run into many lady Alphas, been lucky ‘nough to avoid ‘em ‘til now.”

“I could say the same,” you sighed. “Never met a male Omega…”

“I ‘spose it was wrong place, wrong time for both of us,” he continued, pinching the bridge of his nose with a small frown.

“Ain’t that an understatement,” you grumbled, eyes drifting aimlessly around, until you’d focused on the junction of his neck. A memory spiked through, pulling along a wave of embarrassment. You’d almost marked him, if he hadn’t pushed you away in that moment. An Alpha’s mark would have bound him to you more than just physically. Too many tales of Alphas forcefully taking their mates had left its impact on you, and you were ashamed to have almost slipped up.

“I…” you took a deep breath. “I almost marked you, didn’t I?”

Even with your gaze away, you could feel Arthur’s eyes on you.

“Yeah,” he confirmed quietly.

You bit your lip, cheeks flushing slightly. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t intentional. It’s just –“

“Jus’ the way it is,” he finished for you. “I know.”

You waited for him to yell at you, or deliver a reprimand at the very least. Instead, you were met with a yet soft touch against your knee. You turned your gaze to his hand, resting very lightly against you, as if trying to comfort you despite the awkward circumstances.

“Can’t blame ya for what –hell, God? Nature? Made us into,” he began. “How else would we have ended up like, like this?” his free hand gestured to your joined torsos. “Can’t be mad if somethin’ we got no control over.”

How could he be so forgiving? You all but threw yourself at him earlier. Shaking your head, you said, “But it’s my fault we’re like this in the first place.”

“And my fault for not refusin’,” Arthur pointed out. “Ain’t no point o’ goin’ back n’ forth ‘bout this, might as well jus’ accept it.”

You blew a puff of air in defeated exasperation. He was right, and arguing about it until next Sunday would prove fruitless. The only thing left was to wait for the tie to release, and you could finally be on your way.

It’d fallen quiet between the two of you again as the chorus of crickets resumed their nightly song. Sweat slowly began to evaporate despite being surrounded by humidity. You were growing uncomfortable from having straddled him for a while, yet you knew movement would cause discomfort. Ties could last for hours from what you’ve heard, and you hoped that wasn’t the case.

“You know, you did provide some good company last night,” Arthur’s quiet voice sounded in the darkness once again.

You turned your head to look at him. You hadn’t expected him to speak again, especially not about last night; the root of this entire ordeal.

Despite it all, a small smile touched your lips.

“You did too,” you complimented. “I…thought about going after you when you left so quickly.”

“Probably cause I smelled so invitin’,” he responded.

“Well yes,” you confirmed. “But also because I was having a good time. Ain’t too often I find someone I can just sit down and have a decent conversation with.”

Arthur’s smile matched your own.

The conversation continued from there, essentially picking up where you’d left off the night before, sans inebriation. Even without the influence of alcohol, Arthur remained just as charming as he had before. Gruff at times, yet even then, a sense of comfort settled within you. Transparency wasn’t an issue as he listened to you, and you to him.

Almost an hour passed before you’d realized the tie had vanished. A small wiggle confirmed your suspicion, and you carefully stood up, acutely aware of the essence dripping from your lower lips. Arthur was slow to follow suit, grunting as he sat up.

You heard him inhale, and out of the corner of your eye, watched as he leaned close to your core, his eyes closed. Your heart skipped a beat.

He leaned back suddenly, shaking his head as if in a daze. “Sorry, damn heat,” he cursed under his breath before standing up himself, though appearing rather sheepish.

You couldn’t be angry about that. Instead, you smirked and joked, “I think we’re past apologies at this point.”

A chuckle was his response. “Yeah, you’re right.”

The two of you re-dressed in silence, aside from the occasional stumble from having to make yourself decent in near total darkness. Once finished you turned to face him again, the stranger from the bar, in his blue button-up shirt and worn black leather hat.

Suddenly, you were at a loss of words.

Arthur seemed to sense that. He took one step toward you and reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Take care o’ yourself, n’ good luck in Saint Denis.”

You nodded silently, opening your mouth and subtly drew in his scent. Once strong and overwhelming, now had dulled to a pleasant lingering. “Thanks, Arthur. You too,” you finally said.

His arm fell away to give you a two-fingered salute, and the two of you finally parted ways.

---

The subtle sound of horse hooves trotting against the cobblestone and squeaky wagon wheels filled the air in the dense, foggy morning. The bell of the trolley rung clear from the adjacent street, an indication that the work day has begun. You sat before the vanity within the hotel room that had been your home for the past two weeks, tying your hair up in preparation for the day.

In your time here you’d procured a job as a barmaid and occasional bath girl for the saloon below, normally inhabited by the ritzier citizens, which meant decent tips. It was easy to blend into this crowd; drunk men never turning down a pretty face or soft hands as they melted in the tubs.

It was too early for any patrons, but there was plenty of time to get some errands done. You hoped another week or two worth of work would bag you enough money to start your move to the next place, wherever that may be.

Once done fussing with your hair, you stood back up and wandered over to the balcony doors, which had been cracked open for a small breeze overnight. You opened them wider, greeted by a warm gust of wind, thick with the smell of a storm in the horizon. You breathed it in, always loving the smell of a good thunderstorm, thankful it dulled out the acrid smog of the city.

Another scent caught your attention, mixed in the undertones of the oncoming rain. It was dull yet all too familiar. You stepped out automatically, moving around the chairs and tables to lean against the golden railing to peer below.

Amongst the few along the sidewalk, a figure in the distance immediately drew your eye. That familiar hat, that stature. He was making his way toward the very saloon beneath your feet.

A smile crossed your lips. Arthur had visited your thoughts and dreams on more than one occasion despite assuming never even seeing him again. You had to admit you missed him, more than anyone else you’d met in your life. Though you refrained from the effort of finding him again, knowing your encounter was exceptional and very much a one-time deal.

Suppose it wasn’t too unusual; his desire to leave Rhodes behind was as strong as yours. What were the odds of him ending up in not only the same city, but the same saloon?

Another gust of wind picked up, this time stirring strands of hair and the folds of your clothing, surrounding you for a brief second and carrying off –in his direction. Just seconds later did his head lift, eyes focusing directly to you.

Even from your height, you could see his eyes light up.

#abo dynamics #a/b/o dynamics #Arthur Morgan x reader #Omega!Arthur x Alpha!Reader #Arthur Morgan x female reader

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novaiya · 3 years

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Diamonds and Rust - Arthur x Reader (NSFW)

Summary: It’s been six years since you left it all behind; the Van Der Linde gang, the outlaw life and Arthur Morgan. Since then you’ve gone straight, becoming a rancher and a wife. What will happen to all of it when Arthur comes bursting back into your life, bringing with him all the feelings and desires the two of you once shared?

Words: 3,274

Warnings: smut, female reader, pregnancy.

A/N: I’m very, very proud of this fic and I really hope you guys like it as much as I do. I wrote the entire thing in basically one sitting (blame it on excitement and inspiration). The idea came to me after listening to Joan Baez’s song Diamonds and Rust (and that is of course where the title comes from). Give it a listen, it’s a beautiful song! If you prefer, you can read it on AO3 here.

Well, I'll be damned, here comes your ghost again - Diamonds and Rust

You knew he was around as soon as you heard about a big group of people, men, women and children, passing on wagons through your town. The shopkeeper in the general store said that the group looked like bad news, the look with which they eyed everything and everyone belonging only to people who were running from something. On another day, you were at the train station, posting a letter, when you heard one of the postal workers say the name “Tacitus Kilgore” while rummaging through a bin. That sealed the deal for you, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he found you.

For the next few days you couldn't do anything but wait, expecting him to barge back into your life at any moment. Your husband noticed your absent-mindness, and tried to inquire, but you waved him away, blaming your mood on overworking.

Your husband didn’t know your past. You told him that you ran away from home when a group of outlaws attacked your house, killing your parents and stealing anything worth selling. That wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. What you omitted to mention was that later when you had nowhere to go, another group of outlaws found you, took you in and became your new family. You spent the next few years with them, moving from place to place, robbing, killing, and stealing. It was there that you fell in love for the first time.

Shortly after you joined the gang, you and Arthur became a great team, and later on, a strong couple. As the time went on though, you realized that you couldn’t live on the run forever; you wanted a family, a stable life, a house with a kitchen and a bath. You shared your feelings with Arthur, and he promised you that everything would change, that the two of you would run away, to Mexico, or maybe California, and start a new life. The new life was always at the end of “one last score,” which never seemed to come.

After yet another similar conversation, you realized that if you didn’t leave at that moment, you never would. The moonlight casted its light on Arthur’s sleeping face as you looked at him one last time, burning the image of him into your memory. Without turning back, you mounted your horse and left.

Although seeming asleep, Arthur was awake the entire time. He felt you leave the cot, stand next to it for a few minutes and then leave. He heard the hoofbeats in the quiet night, becoming softer and softer until they completely disappeared. He wanted to go after you, bring you back, but he realized it would be selfish. What you wanted, what you deserved, he couldn’t give.

It's been a week since you heard the name “Tacitus Kilgore” in the post office, and Arthur still hasn't shown. You let yourself relax, thinking that maybe it wasn’t him in the first place, or maybe he has forgotten about you. It’s been six years after all.

Few days later, your husband had to go take care of his mother couple of towns over. He asked if you wanted to go with him, but you declined; someone had to stay and take care of the ranch, protect it from cattle rustlers and wild animals.

You helped him load up the wagon, making sure to pack extra clothes and food for the trip. You kissed him, the kiss being longer than what was necessary for a trip that would probably take only three days at most.

The wagon disappeared in the tall trees as you stood at the entrance of your ranch, waving your hand until there was no one to wave to. The cold, fresh morning air filled your lungs as you took a big gulp of it. You turned on your heels, heading back inside and preparing for a day of work.

Your day was mostly spent tending to the cattle and cleaning up. When the sun started to set, painting the sky a mix of purple and red, you went into the main house and prepared dinner. You pushed the food around on the plate. The suffocating emptiness of the house made you once again think about expanding your family. The time was perfect; the ranch was making money and the house was the right size with two extra rooms sitting unoccupied and being used for storage. But, it seemed that it wasn’t for you to decide; you and your husband have been trying for months now, yet nothing was happening.

Trying to muffle the thoughts in your head, you got up from the table and took your plate to the sink, leaving it there to be cleaned tomorrow.

The cotton nightgown felt cool on your skin as you changed into it. The oil lamp on your bedside table was just bright enough to illuminate the clock on the wall, indicating that it was far past your bedtime, and if you wanted to get anything done tomorrow, you should go to bed right away. You sighted, getting ready to go under the covers when you heard a knock on the front door, as sudden as thunder on a sunny day. You froze, your body trying to decide whether to fight or flee. You carefully left your bedroom, mentally cursing when the floorboard creaked under your feet as you inched closer to the front door. Another knock came. Your eyes flew to the shotgun by the door. Your breath came out shaky as you were preparing to grab it, open the door and shoot straight through whoever it was.

And then you heard it, his voice saying your name. You felt like you were drenched in cold water, six years worth of bottled up emotions and feelings flooding straight through you. Without thinking, you opened the door, meeting face to face with his blue eyes.

"Arthur."

The only thing illuminating the living room and the two of you was the fire from the fireplace. You could feel the heat from it kissing your bare arms. You went into the kitchen, bringing back one shot glass and a bottle of whiskey. You poured a glass for Arthur, placed the bottle on the table, and sat down on the couch next to him.

He downed it in one go before silence fell over, nothing but the occasional sound of wind howling outside.

"Beautiful ranch you got."

"Thank you," you said, keeping your answer short and not looking at him.

You could feel the weight of his stare on you; it’s been six years since he last saw you. You've changed so much, and at the same time, haven't changed at all. You still kept your hair the same length, still had the same longing gaze in your eyes, yearning for more in life. He saw that you still had a scar on your hand, the one you got when an O'Driscoll pierced it with his knife. Arthur said it would fade with time when he was bandaging it. Looking at it now, he realized that things don’t fade away so easily.

His eyes lingered on your hand for a moment, noticing a ring on your finger, the gold band shining brightly in the dimly lit room, taunting him.

"So, you got married?" he said, his voice laced with venom as he spoke the last word.

"I have," you replied, casting your eyes down to the golden band. "Couldn't wait for you forever." Your words pierced right through him, leaving yet another wound he would need to tend to later. For the past six years, he held a naive, wishful hope that when the time would come, you’d be there, waiting for him. The idea, as absurd and foolish as it was, kept him hopeful for the past six years.

"What's his name?"

"Don't," you said, turning around to Arthur for the first time since you sat down. "Don't do this."

The two of you fell silent once again, and you used that moment to look over Arthur. You could see the traces of the person you loved six years ago; he still had the same scars scattered across his face. His eyes, although sadder now, still had the same color to them. His arms, the ones that held you on many nights, still had the same muscular shape.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, catching your eyes. "It was my fault the things ended up the way they did."

You didn’t say anything, casting your eyes downwards, so he continued.

“I was awake, you know, the night you left.”

You gulped down, the memories of your departure from the camp filling your mind.

“I should’ve never let you go.”

"I should’ve never left." The words left your mouth before you could process them. You have promised yourself to never vocalize these thoughts, the thoughts that a part of you that never left him, that have been longing for him for the past six years, felt.

The atmosphere in the air shifted. You could feel the change in Arthur's eyes and his demeanor. He reached out and took your hands in his, running his thumb over your knuckles and your golden band. His other hand reached up to you, cradling your head and bringing the two of you closer. You could feel his breath on your lips, smelling of the whiskey you poured him a few minutes ago. Your mind was on fire. For a moment, you felt that you were six years in the past, sitting on a bed in a crummy hotel room in some beatdown town. The law was on your tail, but you didn't care. Nothing mattered when you were with Arthur.

He pressed his lips against yours and in an instant, you forgot where you were. Your hands moved on their own, reaching and waving your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss. He groaned against your mouth, his hand leaving yours and moving up the curve of your body, over your hips and your waist, stopping around your chest. You felt him palm you over your chemise, and for a second, you felt your mind clear. The guilt came in flooding. You felt his tongue lick over your bottom lip and you winced, breaking the kiss and trying to get away from him, pushing yourself deeper into the couch.

"I can't do this," you said, more to yourself than to Arthur.

You felt his hand on your knee, hot against the cool skin. You wanted to move, wanted to slap his hand away, but you didn't. His hand inched higher up your leg, reaching the end of your chemise.

Arthur looked at you, his hand still on your thigh. "You tell me to stop and I will. I will leave and never bother you again."

You hesitated for a moment, battling with yourself till you finally said, “Stay.”

He covered your body with his, pinning you against the couch. His lips moved against yours in a dance that the two of you knew well, having rehearsed it for years and years before. One of his hands was back on your thigh, massaging the skin as he moved dangerously close to your heat. You felt his fingers run over your clothed slit, pressing against your clit and making you push your hips towards him.

His lips left your mouth, moving to your neck, kissing down your throat and to the crook of your neck. You could feel yourself getting wet as he kept kissing you all over, his fingers drawing lazy circles over your clothed clit. He removed himself from you and pulled off his suspenders. You sat up, your fingers reaching out and working on the buttons of his shirt before throwing it on the floor. You ran your hand up his body, through his chest hair and stopping over his heart. You could feel it beat wildly against his rib cage.

You felt hazy as he kissed you once again. In a minute, your chemise was on the floor, joining his shirt in a pile and leaving your top half naked to him. He laid you back down on the couch, sitting on his hinges between your spread legs. He made sure to burn this moment in his memory, the image of you spread under him for what was probably the last time.

He pulled your drawers down, revealing you completely to himself. You felt like you should cover yourself, not let a man that wasn't your husband see you like this, but this wasn't just another man, it was Arthur. Being like this with him felt natural.

He paved his way down your stomach with kisses, finally reaching your glistering cunt. The first touch of his tongue against your slit made you moan, and you instinctively reached out with your hand, waving your fingers into Arthur's hair. He kept going, lapping at you and pushing all the buttons he knew would have you coming apart in minutes. You threw your head back, moaning his name when you feel him push a finger in you, his tongue turning its attention to your clit. You could feel your release approaching when he added a second finger, picking up the pace. The movements of his fingers were deliberate, working in tandem with his tongue. You started to move your hips in time with his fingers, your body giving in to your carnal desires.

Your toes curled and your whole body shuddered as you came. Arthur kept going, heightening your pleasures until it all became too much and he retreated. The sight of his lips, wet with your juices, made a fire ignite in your belly once again. You pulled him down, crashing your lips against his, moaning at the taste of you.

He was grinding his hips against you, the bulge in his pants hard and heavy. You broke the kiss, reaching down with shaking hands towards his pants, popping the button open and taking out his cock. He moaned your name, closing his eyes as you wrapped your fingers around him. You ran your hand up and down, relishing in the sound of his debauched voice moaning your name. After a while, he took your hand away from his length and kissed over your knuckles. Letting it go, he pulled down his pants, the last article of clothing joining the others on the floor.

He sat in his naked glory between your legs. He was just as you remembered him; big, strong and muscular. The air around him was filled with virility. Your primal urges filled your mind as you wanted nothing but to be filled by him. He sensed your longing, seeing it in your eyes, and smiled.

His lips found yours once again, kissing you so much that you couldn't think about anothing but him. You felt the tip at him at your entrance, slowly pushing in. Your hands found his biceps, holding on to him as he pushed deeper, stretching you around his shaft. He stilled when he was all the way in, trying to compose himself. For a moment, all that could be heard where the sounds of your combined breaths, haggard in the quiet living room. The light from the fireplace illuminated your naked bodies.

Finally, he moved, pulling halfway out of you before slamming back in. You clung to each other, your bodies molding into one. Your legs wrapped around his waist, letting him deeper into you as your hands clawed at his back, leaving red marks behind. The feeling of him inside you was intoxicating; he was made for you, hitting all the right spots, the sheer girth and length of him filling you perfectly. His lips were on your neck as he thrusted in and out of you, taking in your scent and the taste of your skin under his lips.

Arthur couldn't get enough of you; his eyes raked over every part of your body, taking it all in. You could feel his hands everywhere, holding on to your hips, massaging your sides, cupping your breasts. He wanted to feel every part of you. His touch was inebriating, heightening your pleasure to an unimaginable level.

You could feel yourself nearing the edge, and so did Arthur. His movements became sloppier and out of rhythm, his desire for peak overwhelming.

He moaned your name, bringing your attention to him.

"I'm gonna cum," he said breathlessly, "where-"

You didn't let him finish, cutting in and saying, "Cum in me", not thinking about the repercussions of your words, your mind high on desire.

He dropped to his elbows, crashing his lips against yours as his movements became slower but rougher. You moved your hips meeting every one of his thrusts. The feeling of your tongue against his, your hands on his back and your warmness tightening against his shaft all became too much, and he came with a moan of your name, spilling his seed inside of you. The feeling of him coating your walls drove you wild, and you came a moment later, your legs shaking.

The weight of Arthur over you felt like a warm blanket, keeping you safe and shielded from the world outside. You could feel his staggering breath on your neck as he tried to bring his breathing down. You held each other like that for a few minutes, not moving. Two sweaty bodies, entangled in each other.

At some point in the night, the two of you moved to the bedroom, soiling the bed that you and your husband shared with your combined moans and desires.

You spent the rest night in Arthur’s arms. He held you tight against him as he told you about his travels and the state of the gang. You told him about the ranch, and how fulfilled you felt by the work. Both of you tried to avoid the subject of marital status.

You fell asleep to the beat of Arthur’s heart, your head on his chest, his in your hair.

In the morning, the two of you had breakfast, and he stayed till the evening, helping you with some of the chores around the ranch, playing family that the two of you never had a chance to become.

You watched him drive away on his horse, following the speck of him with your eyes all the way over the plain till it completely disappeared. You stood by the entrance of your ranch for a few more minutes. Out in the distance the chickens chirped. You still had to milk the cows and go to the general store. Breathing out, you looked up into the sky before turning back towards your house and your life.

Few months later.

You stood at the top of a hill, overlooking your ranch with your husband next to you. Cold wind blew through your hair. Winter was coming. You had to start making preparation for the colder months; make sure the cattle were healthy, create a water plan, add feeders and forage among other things.

Another rush of cold air made you shiver and pull your shawl tightly over your shoulders. Your husband's hand found yours, interlocking your fingers and making you look at him. He smiled at you. his eyes full of love and excitement, before turning back towards the ranch. You held your gaze on him for a moment longer, studying his features, before too turning towards the pasture, one of your hands in his, the other on your growing belly.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x y/n #rdr2 headcanons #arthur morgan headcanons #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan one shot #arthur morgan drabble #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfic

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tchallasbabymama · 3 years

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Troubled Waters Chapter Four

Hey, yall! Here’s the next chapter of Nia and T’Challa’s journey. I’m super proud of this one (I’m proud of all my work, but still.) With the help of @wordsfromthelivingghost being a bomb ass beta reader, I think this is some of my best work yet. And I’m only gonna get better!

Check out my masterlist to read my other stories (and catch up on this one if you’re new here.) I love when y’all talk to me and share my work so others can discover it, so hit those comment and reblog buttons. Also, be sure to let me know if you want to be tagged in anything. Enjoy!😘

Word count: 8,894

CW: A little blood and cutting but NOT for self-harm reasons. If it bothers you, skip the second half of the scene at Kokou’s temple.

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Nia pressed her cheek to the window, careful not to smudge the thin line of white clay painted down the center of her face. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth hung slightly open as she watched Wakanda zoom by from hundreds of feet in the air. She had always loved seeing what the world looked like from above, but it had been years since she last got to enjoy the view. When she was young, Amare would carry her in his arms as he flew high above the ground to give her a taste of what she so desperately wanted: to feel the wind beneath her nonexistent wings.

T’Challa half-watched Nia from his seat off to the side of the cabin as he flipped through news articles on his kimoyo beads. As they flew over a statue of Bast in her full panther form, he could tell the bright blue light radiating from the tunnel beneath the goddess intrigued her. Her head tilted slightly to the left, and he turned off his beads right as she turned around with a question on her lips.

“That’s Mt. Bashenga,” T’Challa answered prematurely as he stood and made his way over to the window, looking out at his kingdom as Okoye steered the Royal Talon over the Mining province.

“Why’s it glowing?”

“Vibranium.”

“Ohhh.” Nia thought back to the human history books she read as a child that told their story of the founding of Wakanda. Obviously, they had censored the part about aziza, but she still found their revisionist history fascinating. “That’s where the meteorite landed, right?”

T’Challa nodded, impressed by her knowledge.

“Ubaba always said vibranium was ‘the humans’ magic’,” she whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

T’Challa was mildly shocked. He had never considered it that way, but he supposed it was sort of otherworldly what they were able to do with the substance. In comparison to other humans, anyway.

Okoye kept her focus on flying the ship, but T’Challa couldn’t help but spot the slight glow that emanated from Nia’s skin while she ogled the scenery. The king reflected on the description of aziza he had read the day before and remembered that it mentioned their luminous skin. He had noticed that even when she was standoffish towards him, she seemed to radiate light from the inside out, but seeing her literally light up in excitement brought him joy.

When Birnin Zana came into view, Nia’s eyes curiously trailed along the tributaries that moseyed through the metropolis and she was reminded of the magic realm’s big city, Birnin Umlingo. She smiled fondly at how similar they were despite the fact that Birnin Zana was so much bigger. It was nestled between rolling hills and sharp cliffsides, and she was pleasantly surprised to see all the lush greenery dispersed throughout the city. There were small parks everywhere and most of the roofs were topped with well-kept gardens. The skyscrapers and apartment buildings stretched to the sky like the trees that lined the streets, but Nia was almost blinded when the sun bounced off of an impressive structure in the middle of the city. Two almost conical, shining towers spiraled up from an ancient foundation that swirled around the base like the flowing tributary that surrounded most of it like a moat. The towers were connected by a long bridge about a third of the way up and despite her amazement, Nia couldn’t help but wonder why they had to build two towers instead of just one.

“Bast, is that the palace?” She pointed up ahead.

T’Challa smirked proudly. He never tired of seeing the dual vibranium spires that towered over even the tallest skyscrapers throughout the city.

“It is,” he said proudly.

“It’s so big,” she whispered, then turned to look at him. “Does it ever feel empty?”

He furrowed his brows, making a little crease appear between them that Nia found endearing. “How do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just you and your family that live there, right?”

The king nodded.

“Then why do you need so much space? And why two instead of just one? It seems so unnecessary.”

Okoye bit the inside of her lip to keep from snickering at Nia’s sincere inquiries. She wasn’t too keen on Nia and wasn’t quite sure why she was there, but she had worked for T’Challa long enough to know he didn’t like people questioning him.

“I don’t- it’s not just...look.” He pointed back out the window to distract her, and Nia whipped her head around to watch their descent to the landing pad in front of the palace.

The three of them exited the Talon, but instead of entering T’Challa’s gratuitously large home, they made a left and walked through the palace gates and into the bustling streets of Birnin Zana. Nia had been to the big city before when she was young, but it seemed like it had exploded over the last couple of decades. It had always been a busy hub of commerce for the Merchant tribe, but business owners from the other tribes had moved there in droves over the past few years to get a piece of the pie.

The three of them passed through the financial district with ease. Nia kept her neck craned to look up at the tall banks, corporate offices, and massive parking garages filled with hovercars. In the distance, she saw an arena and she wondered what took place there. Did they have many concerts? Sporting events? She made a mental note to ask about that later and continued to take in her surroundings. The maglev trains zooming by high above the street caught her attention, and her eyes widened. She had never been on a train before.

They eventually made it to Three Step Town, the cultural hub of the city and Nia looked on in awe at the various businesses that surrounded them. Once again, she was reminded of Birnin Umlingo as she looked around at the diversity that surrounded her. Most of the older folks were dressed in the traditional clothing of their tribes, but the younger Wakandans seemed to prefer a more modern look. They really were a spectacle. Some people had brightly colored manes and shining vibranium tattoos that decorated their skin, and the sight had Nia’s wheels turning. She had never really experimented much with her look, but they were giving her the inspiration to try something different.

Just as Nia began to ponder what body modification would look good on her, she felt someone grab her and yank her to the side of the street. She began to protest right as a streetcar full of people rolled by. Nia turned to thank her savior, smiling sheepishly when she realized it was Okoye.

“Watch where you’re going,” the general warned harshly and let go of Nia’s arm. The two of them joined T’Challa as he spoke to a snaggletoothed young boy who had proudly shown him the Black Panther action figure that he carried everywhere. The boy’s parents thanked the king for being so polite before they said goodbye and went on their way. Nia’s heart warmed a little at seeing T’Challa be so kind to them. He could have easily ignored the family or had Okoye intervene, but he seemed to enjoy interacting with his people. As the three of them continued on their journey, a small smile pushed up the corners of Nia’s mouth knowing he wasn’t as arrogant as she assumed.

Nia was almost overwhelmed by the many shops they passed by. She could buy anything she wanted: jewelry, instruments, furniture, hats. It seemed like they had everything. However, she came to a halt when they walked by a store with colorful, hand-woven baskets hanging out front. The old lady that ran the shop noticed Nia staring and came forward to help her pick one out, but paused when she saw that the king was standing beside her. She saluted him fondly and turned to face his companion.

“Excuse me, how much for this one?” Nia asked the shopkeep as her fingers ran over the intricate patterns along the sides of a mid-sized sweetgrass basket.

“For you it is free,” the older woman said through a bright smile that crinkled her eyes. Before Nia could protest, she had already taken it down and pushed it into her arms.

“Are you sure? I can pay-”

“Just tell people where you got it,” the woman winked before going back inside to help a customer that was ready to check out.

Nia couldn’t believe how kind the woman had been to give her the gift, but her amazement was cut short by T’Challa leaning in close and ruining the moment.

“Just one of the perks of traveling with the king,” he teased.

Nia rolled her eyes and stepped away from him, continuing down the street with her basket swinging in the crook of her elbow. She had been so caught up in her surroundings that she hadn’t noticed the stares from passersby and began to get a little self-conscious. A few people even snapped a picture or two of the king and his elusive friend, some of which would surely end up on gossip blogs by the end of the day.

Her nervousness was short-lived and quickly got replaced with longing when they turned the corner and walked right through the food district. Not only did the colorful produce stands call to her, but the smells of curries and grilled meats continuously pulled her attention from left to right. However, when a deliciously sweet aroma tickled her nose, she stopped dead in the middle of the road.

“Where is that coming from?” Nia sniffed the air and veered off the main street as she followed the scent to a man that was serving up deep-fried sweet plantain on a stick, drizzled with chocolate. T’Challa kept a close eye on Nia but stayed back and let her wander up to the dessert cart alone. He watched as she engaged the man in conversation and saw her come alive when she tasted the sample he provided her. A small smile crept up the king’s face, but his amusement was cut short by Okoye clearing her throat next to him.

“My king,” she started, and he turned slightly in her direction, nodding for her to continue as he kept his eyes on Nia. “If I may...what exactly is her purpose here with us?”

“Nia is a devotee of Bast, and I believe she may be helpful in our attempts to understand what has happened to her,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Okoye sensed his unwillingness to go further into detail and grew quiet again as Nia damn near skipped back over to them with her hands full.

“Here you go,” Nia sang as she held out two of the desserts for them to take. “He saw I was with the king and gave me three for free!”

Neither of them was hungry, but they just couldn’t say no to her big, childlike eyes.

“Thank you,” T’Challa waved to the man behind the counter and took a bite of the dessert, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. “Mmm”

“See? It’s amazing,” Nia said with a mouth full of plantain. Even Okoye had to agree.

The three of them ate their midmorning snack as they strolled through the streets, eventually making their way to a much quieter section on the outskirts of the busy city center. Just as Nia finished licking the last bit of chocolate from the wooden stick, she came face to face with an ancient-looking stone building that didn’t quite fit the vibe of the modern neighborhood. Her eyes zeroed in on the large statue at the entrance. It was a being with the body of a man and the head of an ibis holding a scroll in one hand and a staff in the other.

“Welcome to the flagship branch of the Wakandan Public Library,” T’Challa said proudly.

While Nia loved a good library, she was a little confused about why they were there. “I thought we were going to a temple.”

T’Challa wiggled his eyebrows as he stepped past her, climbing the steps with Okoye in tow, “This is the temple.”

Nia’s curiosity got the best of her, and she followed behind the king and his general. They threw their sticks away in the trash cans outside of the doors that swished open as they approached. Nia hadn’t expected the building to have such modern technologies based on the look of it, but she surmised the library would have a few more surprises up its sleeves.

“Kumkani wam!”

All three of their heads turned towards the woman behind the large marble desk as she scrambled to salute the king, dropping the small stack of books from her arms. T’Challa quickly rounded the desk and smiled at her as he crouched down to pick the books off of the floor. Before she could stoop down to help him, he had already placed them neatly on the desk.

“T-thank you, my king,” the woman stammered and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Never in her life had she imagined she would be so close to royalty, much less her biggest crush. “What can I do for you?”

“Well…” he started, trailing off to get her name.

“Fatima, sir.”

“What a beautiful name,” he flirted innocently and leaned on the cool marble as Nia and Okoye both fought their eyes from rolling to the ceiling. Okoye was used to his flirtatious manner making women swoon at his feet, but it still irked her to no end. They had a job to do, and he was wasting time. Nia, however, felt the tiniest tinge of something deep in her gut as she watched him make eyes at the beautiful librarian. She waved it off as annoyance since she still wasn’t the king’s biggest fan. Adding “womanizer” to her list of reasons not to like him certainly tipped the scales further away from him, balancing out his actions from earlier.

Fatima giggled as she struggled to make eye contact with the handsome king, “Thank you, your highness.”

“Please, call me T’Challa,” he implored, resting his hand over his heart and flashing his irresistible smile.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t do that-”

“I insist.”

Okoye cleared her throat, and T’Challa’s eyes reluctantly shot in her direction.

“Anyway, Fatima, we were wondering if Abdu is in today,” T’Challa continued as he straightened up and stood to his full height, making Fatima swoon even more in his presence. Her eyes wandered down to his chest, but she snapped out of it and attempted to look him in the eye. Her knees nearly buckled under the intensity of his gaze, but she stood firm.

“Y-yes, he is, my ki-”

T’Challa reprimanded her with a simple raise of his right eyebrow, and she quickly corrected herself.

“I mean, T’Challa,” Fatima giggled once more. “I’ll go get him for you.”

“Thank you, Fatima,” he smiled down at her, watching as she walked away with a pep in her step and her hips twitching just a little more than usual.

Fatima disappeared behind a green velvet curtain, and when they were sure she was out of earshot, Nia and Okoye both turned to look at the king. They wore matching expressions of disapproval, but, for some reason, it stung to see on Nia’s face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her.

“Must you flirt with every woman you see?” Okoye butted in, clearly exasperated by his antics.

Nia’s eyebrows jumped as a teasing smirk settled on her lips. “Oh, so this is a common occurrence?”

“You wouldn’t believe how many-”

“General,” T’Challa warned, and Okoye stopped talking.

Nia tried to contain a laugh, but it came out more like a snort than she intended. Just as T’Challa opened his mouth to make fun of her, Fatima appeared from behind the curtain with a heavy-set man with tortoiseshell glasses just a few steps behind her.

“T’Challa, my boy! Oh, excuse me, my king.” The man bowed sarcastically and crossed his arms in a salute. T’Challa waved him off with a smile and a click of his tongue, and the two men embraced each other. Nia had noticed T’Challa wasn’t really one to demand formalities, but the man’s familiarity with the king intrigued her.

“Abdu, how have you been?”

It had been several months since T’Challa last visited the library. Abdu had worked and worshipped there for decades and had watched the king grow into the man before him. Some of T’Challa’s fondest childhood memories consisted of him spending hours curled up in the stacks, flipping through whatever book caught his eye that day. Abdu would bring him story after story for him to get lost in, and the older man never tired of T’Challa’s curiosity. No matter how many questions he threw at him.

“Getting old, but I can’t complain,” the much shorter man said as they pulled apart. He looked around T’Challa and noticed his company. “Okoye, a pleasure to see you as always.”

“You as well, Abdu,” she smiled.

“And who might this lovely creature be?” Abdu asked as his gaze fell on Nia. She bristled at his choice of words but said nothing. Even as a child, she had always been sensitive to the word “creature” and felt it offensive to refer to non-humans as such. She knew he had no idea about her bloodline, though, and since he meant no harm she simply ignored the terminology.

“Nia Olu, sir,” she introduced herself with a nod of her head, and he returned the gesture.

“Ah, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. And what is it that you do, Nia Olu?”

“I am a healer and a devotee of Bast.”

“A devotee, huh? Well, I think we will get along nicely,” he smiled warmly at her before turning back to the king. “What can I do for you all today?”

“Well, actually, Nia is a big part of why we’re here,” T’Challa began. “It seems Bast has gone missing. Neither of us has been able to contact her as of late.”

“Are you a priestess?” Abdu asked Nia, confused as to why a simple devotee would be partnered with the king for such a task. Okoye felt vindicated by his questioning but stayed quiet.

“No, sir.”

“Then, I must say, I’m a little confused on how you would have a direct connection to her-”

“She is highly favored in the goddess’ eyes,” T’Challa cut in, hoping his vague answer would be enough to dissuade Abdu from asking too many questions. He knew it wouldn’t be easy to hide anything from a priest of the god of wisdom, but he also knew he couldn’t give away Nia’s full identity. “We were wondering if maybe you could see if Thoth knows where she is or why she isn’t answering.”

Abdu could tell there was something else to the story, but decided not to press the subject. He figured that if the king felt it was important enough to keep from him, then he had to trust his judgment.

The priest nodded and motioned for the three of them to follow him. T’Challa winked at Fatima before falling in step with Abdu, and once again, Nia’s and Okoye’s eyes struggled to remain straight ahead as they followed behind the two men.

Nia couldn’t help but stare in awe at the rows and rows of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves they passed as they walked through the centuries-old library. She imagined herself spending hours combing through the texts and soaking up whatever knowledge held, just like she did with the many books Amare provided her with as a child. Her daydreaming was cut short when they passed through the children’s section, and she noticed a display of picture books, one of which caught her eye. There, on the cover, was a colorful illustration of an aziza sitting in a tree, watching over a group of children as they played in the grass below him.

Before she knew it, Nia had grabbed the book and started flipping through the pages, scanning the words and pictures for any sign of historical truth. She found none, but her hope didn’t die out. Maybe, just maybe the library held onto more of the past than the Wakandans realized. She knew magical creatures were relegated to folktales, but she began to wonder how many of those tales were historically accurate, if any. She hadn’t noticed that the others had stopped and were watching her tear through the book like it held the secrets to the universe.

“You like that one? It’s a fairly new release. Very popular with the children,” Abdu said, but his words fell on deaf ears.

“Nia?” the king called out to her.

She jumped and dropped the book, but T’Challa caught it before it could hit the ground.

“Yeah? Sorry, I just…” Nia trailed off, unsure of what to say. All three of them looked at her curiously, but when T’Challa’s eyes graced the cover, he understood why she had been called to it. “Are there many stories like this?”

“Of aziza?” Abdu asked for clarification, and Nia nodded. “Sure! Kids love fantastical creatures. You know, some of them even swear up and down that they’ve seen them in real life.”

T’Challa and Nia shared a quick glance as he set the book back where she found it. Of course, Okoye caught their quick exchange.

“Such wild imaginations,” Nia murmured, and the group continued on their trek. She was quiet for a moment as she tried to figure out the best way to word her next question when she decided to just go for it. “Abdu, is there any mention of, um, species that are no longer around in any of these books?”

T’Challa looked at her knowingly out of the corner of his eye. He knew what she was getting at, and he was curious about Abdu’s answer. After seeing Nia’s book the day before, his mind had begun to wonder about ancient Wakandan texts. She had told him that they coexisted long ago, so there had to be some evidence hidden deep in the bowels of the library. If there was proof anywhere, it was here.

“Of course!” Abdu said excitedly and pointed to the far left wall. “Species naturally go extinct all the time. If that interests you, check out our history section over there.”

Nia and T’Challa both cataloged that information for later and started mentally planning their next visits.

The deeper they traveled into the vast library, a tingling grew in Nia’s stomach. There was great power there, and she could feel it. The tingling intensified as they arrived at a large door with an image of Thoth that had been hand-carved by artisans long ago.

“We’ll take it from here, Okoye,” T’Challa ordered, and the general nodded before standing at attention with her back to the door. Then, his eyes fell to Nia. “Ready?”

“I think…”

“That’ll serve you well here,” Abdu joked as he pushed open the heavy door.

Nia wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting to see, but a winding staircase certainly wasn’t on her list of possibilities. The three of them quietly descended the steps, and all that could be heard was the sounds of their sandals connecting with the stone as they went. After what seemed like forever, Abdu came to a halt at another large door and turned to face his visitors.

“You must enter with pure intentions and a cool head, or he will not answer. Understood?”

Nia and T’Challa answered in unison.

“Yes, sir.”

“Of course.”

“Good,” Abdu smiled at them and reached for the handle, pushing it open and revealing what looked to be a private study. The lamps along the stone walls lit up when they entered, and Nia was once again amazed at how the ancient seemed to flawlessly combine with the modern. As she looked around, she noticed that instead of books, there were scrolls stacked neatly on the shelves. A high-backed chair sat behind a large wooden desk with several scrolls strewn about it, and in the center of the room, there was a stone lectern that looked like it had been there since the dawn of time. Colorful pillows surrounded it on the floor, and next to it stood another statue of Thoth. This time, his hands were out and he was holding a staff that resembled the one from the statue out front, except this one was made of gold. This one was real, and it made the hairs on the back of Nia’s neck stand at attention.

Abdu made his way over to the closest shelf and grabbed a scroll from the top of the stack. He then crossed the room again and stood behind the lectern. When he unrolled the scroll, Nia and T’Challa were both surprised to find that it was blank. They watched with bated breath as he produced a shiny gold pen from his pocket and removed the staff from the statue’s arms.

“You two, come sit down,” Abdu said to them, pointing to the floor pillows.

They obeyed his order, and each grabbed a pillow. T’Challa sat cross-legged while Nia carefully placed her new basket on the floor and tucked her feet under her. They waited patiently while Abdu mumbled a prayer under his breath. Despite T’Challa’s enhanced hearing, he could barely make out what Abdu was saying, but the more he spoke, the colder the room became. The priest continued his prayers for several minutes until the staff began to glow with blinding orange light and his mouth snapped shut tight. A soft breeze blew through the room as his eyes glowed the same color as the staff, and the pen in his left hand started to frantically scribble words onto the formerly blank scroll. His hand moved faster than humanly possible, and Nia recognized what was happening as a possession. She bowed her head in the god’s presence and nudged T’Challa in his side to do the same. He followed suit, but neither of their eyes left Abdu, too curious to look away.

It seemed like forever had come and gone as the two sat in silence, watching in awe while Abdu filled the scroll as he channeled Thoth. The only sound that filled the air was the fast-moving pen on the papyrus and a faint humming from the staff, but suddenly, it all stopped. The staff’s light waned, and Abdu blinked his eyes back to their normal shade of hazel. He carefully placed the staff back in the statue’s hands and read over the words he had been given from his god. A frown appeared on the priest’s face, and Nia made eye contact with T’Challa. Neither one felt good news was coming.

“Well,” Abdu broke the tense silence, “to sum it up, it seems Thoth hasn’t seen or heard from Bast in several weeks. He says that’s very unlike her, as I’m sure you know, T’Challa.”

The king nodded. “Is there anything else? Did he say where she might be?”

“Oh, he said plenty, but not about your question. He can be quite long-winded at times,” Abdu murmured as he scanned the text once more to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. He then looked down at his two visitors with an apology in his eyes. “I wish I could’ve been of more help.”

T’Challa stood from his seated position and reached a hand out to Nia. She swatted it away and stood on her own, straightening out her long, flowing skirt before sending Abdu a warm smile. “Thank you for trying.”

“It was a pleasure, my dear.”

“So,” Nia turned to the king, “where to next?”

--------

The smile never left Okoye’s face as she landed the Talon in an open field and proudly led them to their next destination. They had traveled to Okoye’s hometown in the Mining province, and she nodded at her former neighbors as they waved to get her attention. It wasn’t often that she could return to Birnin Djata, but since she was on duty, she had to remain professional.

The town was much smaller than Birnin Zana, and the walk to the temple was much shorter this time around. A few moderately-sized dwellings lined the road to the temple, and Nia could see the town square in the distance. They passed groups of miners boarding and exiting the trains that took them to and from work, and Nia couldn’t help but wonder what all that vibranium looked like up close.

When they arrived at the temple, Nia was pleasantly surprised that this one actually looked like a place of worship. The wall that surrounded it looked as old as time, but the vibranium door in the center had to be no more than a hundred years old. A strange sound echoed from inside, and although Nia thought she recognized it, she was confused on why it was coming from a temple of all places.

“Is something wrong? What’s going on in there?” she asked with concern, making Okoye’s smile expand and her eyes light up.

“Sparring.”

Nia’s confusion grew, and she turned to T’Challa for clarification.

“Kokou is the god of war. Fighters often train here, and many of his followers go on to become great warriors. Including Okoye,” he explained.

“Ohhh, ok.”

Okoye led them up the temple’s steps, and Nia’s attention was drawn to the rows of fire that lined the walkway. As the party of three got closer to the doors, they slowly parted to grant them access. Loud shouts and grunts came from the right, and Okoye led them down the hallway, directly towards the noise.

Nia watched excitedly as the warriors-in-training sparred with one another. Fists connected with flesh, spears sliced through the air, and fighters seemed to glide across the padded floor. She recognized some of the fighting styles and thought back to her younger days when Amare took it upon himself to teach her some of the combat skills he had to learn for his days as a secret operative. Even though she was a healer, Nia sure was scrappy and could hold her own. It had been a while, though, and she was sure she had forgotten her training over the years.

A bell rang on the other side of the training room, and all of the fighting ceased. Okoye bowed her head in deference as a tall, muscular older woman in red emerged from an observation room and smiled softly in her direction.

“My king,” the woman saluted T’Challa, making all of the fighters whip their heads around and salute him as well. The woman crossed the floor as her trainees stood at attention, and grabbed Okoye’s hands in hers. “Okoye, my dear, it has been too long.”

“Priestess Yaa, how good to see you.”

“And my king, welcome to the Temple of Kokou.”

“Thank you, priestess.”

“What brings you here?” she asked before shooting a sly glance at Okoye. “You never come visit anymore, so I know it must be important.”

“My apologies for keeping her from you,” T’Challa interjected.

“None needed. I knew when Okoye became general that she would have little time for us anymore,” Yaa waved him off and smiled proudly at Okoye before her eyes fell to Nia. “And who is this?”

“Nia Olu,” she respectfully bowed her head.

“And you are a fighter too, no?”

“Um, not exactly. My father taught me how to fight when I was young, but I am a healer and a devotee of Bast.”

This was the first T’Challa had heard of her knowledge of combat, and he wondered what else he didn’t know about her.

“I’m sure it’s still in there somewhere. You have a warrior’s spirit.”

Nia was surprised by the priestess’ comment but thanked her nonetheless.

“Priestess Yaa, we have a problem that you might be able to help us solve,” the king stated.

Yaa nodded and called to her class, “Keep sparring. I’ll be back.”

The room came alive again, and Nia couldn’t help but watch the dozens of bodies moving about with powerful grace as they fought.

Yaa gestured for them to follow her, and she led them around a corner to get away from all the noise. “How can I help you, my king?”

“Bast is missing, and we would like to ask Kokou if he knows where she is,” he cut straight to the point, and Yaa appreciated his brevity.

She gestured again, and the four of them relocated to the other side of the temple. They entered a large, empty room with nothing except a wall of ancient weapons and a huge, raging fire pit in the center.

“This eternal flame was gifted to us by Kokou many millennia ago as a way of contacting him,” Yaa narrated. “In order for him to answer, you will each have to give a sacrifice.”

“I didn’t bring anything to-”

“Blood, dear. You sacrifice blood. He is the god of war, after all,” Yaa chuckled as she glided over to the wall of weapons. Her fingers danced along the flat side of the blade of a vibranium dagger with a red and gold hilt before wrapping her hand firmly around the grip and removing it from its position. Yaa tested the weight of it in her hand as she rejoined the group. Without warning, she sliced her palm open and allowed her blood to drip into the flame. The priestess noticed the look of horror on Nia’s face and attempted to quell her fears. “Don’t worry; you’ll only need a drop or two.”

Okoye was first to step up, pressing the dagger’s tip into her hand and drawing a small amount of blood. She handed the dagger to T’Challa as she made a fist and let her blood droplets fall into the fire pit. The king did the same before passing the dagger to Nia. She looked at it apprehensively, but T’Challa continued to hold it out for her to take.

“Go on, dear,” Yaa urged. “We will heal you up after.”

Nia and T’Challa locked eyes as they were both reminded of the night they became reacquainted with one another. T’Challa’s wound would quickly heal on its own, but she wouldn’t be able to use her powers to heal herself in Yaa’s and Okoye’s presence. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the feeling of her palm stinging with the memory of alcohol pads. T’Challa knew where her mind had wandered to and took her formerly injured hand in his as he ran his thumb over her palm.

“It won’t be as bad as last time,” he whispered so only Nia could hear him. “Just a little cut, ok?”

Nia’s mouth dried up, and her eyes traveled to Okoye and Yaa. The priestess seemed intrigued by his tenderness towards her, but the irritation on Okoye’s face was clear as day. Nia remembered that he was a serial charmer and removed her hand from his. She reached for the dagger and quickly pricked her finger, squeezing a couple of droplets into the flame.

Yaa set the dagger aside to be cleaned and watched as the flames grew in intensity. All four of them stepped back when the fire surged towards the sky and took the vague shape of a man.

“Kokou,” Yaa fell to her knees, and the others followed her lead. “Thank you for answering our call.”

“Where is the fight?” his voice boomed around the expansive room as what looked to be his head swiveled from side to side taking in the four who summoned him. He had no eyes, but Nia felt his gaze land on her and linger for a moment too long.

“There is no fight this time, but we have an inquiry,” Yaa said as she stood.

“Very well,” Kokou’s voice rang out again, and the flames whipped in T’Challa’s direction. “What is so important that the king requires my assistance? Have you not a god of your own?”

T’Challa looked to Yaa for reassurance as he began to stand, and she nodded for him to continue. “Yes, I do, but she is missing.”

“Missing?! What do you mean missing?”

“She has not spoken to me in weeks, and Thoth has not seen or heard from her either.”

Kokou turned back to Nia. “And you have not heard from her?”

“No, sir,” Nia stood tall as she answered him.

“I am surprised she has not spoken to you of all...people,” he said with a mischievous lilt in his voice. Nia stilled as she realized that he knew what she was. She slyly made eye contact with T’Challa, and though his expression was unreadable, she knew he had to have heard it, too.

“You know, blood can tell you a lot about a person...or being,” Kokou began to pace around the large fire pit. “Who they are, what their lineage is...you, Nia, are very special. But I am sure you know that already, don’t you?”

Nia ignored the confused stares from Yaa and Okoye and stared straight into where she assumed Kokou’s eyes to be. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

“Kokou-”

“Patience, your highness,” the god chastised T’Challa, “I was getting to it. I just had to take a little detour first since you brought me such an interesting young lady. Now, to answer your question: sorry to disappoint, but no. I do not know where Bast is. I wish I did, though; she is an excellent sparring partner.”

Nia and T’Challa both deflated a little bit. They had hoped for a better answer than that.

“Thank you, Kokou,” T’Challa spoke with his head bowed to the god. The others did the same, and just as quickly as he had appeared, Kokou was gone.

--------

“Third time’s the charm,” T’Challa mumbled as he held the intricate iron gate open. Nia and Okoye walked through, and the general was blown away by the beauty before them. The botanical gardens sat on a protected stretch of land on the border between the Mining and River provinces, but people from all over the country traveled there to witness its splendor.

Nia, however, was no stranger to the gardens. She made sure to visit a few times a year just to sit and commune with the diverse group of plants, but she never knew it doubled as a place of worship. She liked that the gardens were never full of people, and depending on how deep she veered off the main walkways, she could avoid the public altogether. Except for the delightful presence of one of the attendants, Nia always managed to find solitude and serenity among the plants of the botanical gardens.

“Has this always been Mujaji’s temple?” she asked as the three of them followed the long, winding path that led to the greenhouses in the back of the gardens.

“As far as I’m aware. Why?”

“It’s just that I’ve been here before, and I never knew. I always felt like there was...something here, but I just assumed I was feeling the energy from all of the plants.”

“You can do that?” Okoye asked, and she caught another shared glance between Nia and the king. They had been doing that all day, and she was growing tired of it.

Nia opened her mouth to try to fix her slip-up, but she was saved when a young woman about her age emerged from behind a mango tree and recognized her colorful headwrap.

“Nia?”

“Sukutai!”

Nia ran over to her, and the women embraced. A smile crept up T’Challa’s cheeks at seeing Nia’s faint glow again, but, unfortunately, it seemed that Okoye might have seen it as well. The king ignored her pointed stares and continued to watch Nia and the woman from afar.

“What are you doing here? It’s been months since I saw you last!” Sukutai playfully scolded her before leaning in like she had a secret to tell. “You have to see the new fire lily blooms; I know they’re your favorite.”

“They are,” Nia chuckled, “but I’m here on business today.”

“Business?”

Nia gestured behind her, and Sukutai’s eyes widened in shock as she finally noticed T’Challa and Okoye standing in the distance.

“My apologies, my king,” she quickly saluted him, but he waved her off.

“None needed. Any friend of Nia’s is a friend of mine.”

Sukutai’s eyebrows almost reached her hairline as she turned back to Nia. “I know we don’t know each other very well, but how come you never told me you knew the king?”

“He’s new,” Nia shrugged nonchalantly.

Sukutai shook her head fondly at her friend as T’Challa and Okoye came to stand next to her.

“What brings you to my humble garden, your highness?”

“I would say this is anything but humble, priestess,” he chuckled. This time it was Nia’s turn to be surprised.

“Priestess?!”

“Yeah, I don’t like to advertise it,” Sukutai shrugged.

“Well, I guess we both have our secrets,” Nia teased, making her friend giggle.

“I guess we do.”

“Sukutai, we are here because we need to speak with Mujaji. Bast is missing and-”

“You need to see if he knows where she is.”

“Yes,” T’Challa nodded.

“Right this way,” Sukutai said as she stuck her elbow out for Nia. She wrapped her arm around it, and the two of them took off, chatting about the flora they passed on the way.

Sukutai led them to the back of the botanical gardens towards the greenhouses. There were several smaller ones scattered around that were about the size of Nia’s home, but the very last greenhouse was huge. It stood about two stories tall and expanded across an acre of land.

“How did I miss this?” Nia wondered aloud.

“You weren’t looking for it,” Sukutai winked. “Too distracted by the pretty flowers, as usual.”

“You should really pay more attention to your surroundings, Nia,” T’Challa teased, and she narrowed her eyes at him. Despite the fact that she was still very hesitant to trust Nia, Okoye had to stifle a chuckle at her attitude. It was refreshing for her to see a woman that seemed to be immune to his charms.

The four of them entered the greenhouse, and Nia was amazed at what she saw. Instead of beautiful flowers and lush trees and bushes, there were rows and rows of crops.

“I knew you had some fruit trees, but I didn’t know you grew other foods here, too,” she said with her mouth wide open.

“We have to. Who do you think taught us how to work the land?”

Nia nodded as she soaked up Sukutai’s words. It had never occurred to her that the humans had to learn agriculture from somewhere...or someone. She wondered if aziza had learned from him, too, and if so, why hadn’t she heard about it? Were their history books incomplete, too? Nia’s train of thought was cut short as they arrived at the center of the greenhouse. There was a large patch of soil surrounded by an old stone wall no more than two feet tall. A small plaque near the opening caught the visitors’ eyes, and they crowded around to read it.

“The first garden?” Nia gasped, and her eyes traveled to the rich soil.

Sukutai smiled proudly, “That’s right. This is where Wakandans first learned how to grow sorghum. Mujaji’s magic still inhabits the land, and he allows us to speak to him through it.”

“How does it work?” T’Challa asked, equally in awe of the plot of land that allowed his people to prosper. Yes, they had vibranium, but what use would that be without the ability to feed themselves? Had they remained hunter-gatherers, they never would have gotten to where they are today.

“I’ll show you,” Sukutai said as she untied her shoes. “Nia, would you like to help?”

“M-me?”

“Yes, you, silly. You have the heart and hands of a gardener.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“First thing’s first, shoes off,” Sukutai instructed, and Nia slid out of her sandals. “Now, you see those jars full of seeds over there?”

Sukutai gestured behind them, and they all turned around to follow her line of vision.

“Yes,” Nia’s voice shook as she spoke.

“Don’t worry about what each one is. Just go pick whichever one calls to you.”

Nia nodded and padded her way over to the table covered in glass jars. She felt the power radiating from each one, but she felt compelled to pick up a small jar full of green coffee beans. Her hand instinctively reached out to touch it, but she pulled back and looked to the priestess for permission.

“Go ahead, take one,” Sukutai urged, and Nia carefully screwed the top off. She reached in and grabbed one of the beans, and walked back over to Sukutai.

“Ok, how does this work?”

“We start with a yes or no question. Let’s try ‘Do you know where Bast is?’ and go from there, ok?”

“Ok.”

“Follow me.”

Sukutai stepped onto the sacred land, and Nia did the same. The ground seemed to vibrate, and Nia’s face lit up. The slight glow returned to her skin, and this time Okoye was sure in what her eyes beheld. She quickly turned towards T’Challa, who looked at her out of the corner of his eye but kept quiet. He shifted his weight away from her nervously and continued to watch Nia and Sukutai work.

“You feel it too, huh?” Sukutai asked with a sly smile on her face.

“It feels...it feels like my feet are buzzing.”

Sukutai’s head cocked to the side, and her eyes narrowed as she tried to understand exactly what was happening. Nia obviously wasn’t a priestess of Mujaji, yet his magic spoke to her in some way. That wasn’t normal, and neither was the faint highlight that appeared on her skin.

“Yeah, it does,” she agreed and shook the suspicions out of her head. She knelt to the ground, and Nia followed suit. “Hold the seed in your hands, close to your face- yes, just like that. Now, close your eyes and let it feel your energy. When you are ready, speak to it. Ask your question.”

Nia shut her eyes and focused on the feeling of the seed in her hands. She pictured it growing big and strong, and after a few moments, her mouth was filled with the taste of coffee. It was ready. She brought it closer to her lips and whispered, “Do you know where Bast is?”

When she peeled her eyes open, she saw a huge grin on Sukutai’s face.

“You’re a natural.”

“Thanks,” Nia giggled. “What now?”

“Now you plant it.”

“Anywhere?”

“Wherever you choose.”

Nia studied the ground around her and turned a little to the left. She held the seed in her left hand as she made a small mound in the dirt with her right. She gave the seed one last glance before pushing it into the soil.

“No water?” she asked.

Sukutai shook her head with a mischievous smile, “No need.”

“Ok...so now we wait?”

“It won’t take long. Usually about-” Sukutai’s eyes widened. “Look!”

Four sets of eyes trained on the tiny green sprout that pushed up from the ground.

“It’s never happened that fast before.”

The sprout turned into a seedling, and the seedling matured right before their eyes. Just as hope began to fill the air, it left, and the coffee plant shriveled up. The leaves turned brown, then a murky black before decomposing entirely. Everyone’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and silence descended upon the group. Without even asking, they all knew it was a resounding “no.”

--------

The silence was thick on the ride back to Nia’s. Okoye flew the Talon with a million questions running through her mind, all of which seemed to come back to Nia. Who is she? What is she?

Nia left her position by the window, no longer interested in the ground below, and met T’Challa by his sand table. She watched for a moment as the molecules dispersed and recollected themselves in the shapes of the temples they just visited and the gods they just contacted. He chewed on his lip as he tried to put the pieces together, but there just wasn’t enough information.

“T’Challa?” Nia spoke softly to keep Okoye from hearing.

“Hm?” he grunted without looking up.

“What if the problem isn't in this realm?”

The king tore his eyes away from the table, and the sand fell flat.

“You are suggesting we go to the magic realm?”

“Again with the ‘we,’” she sighed. “No, I’m suggesting I go to the magic realm.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment before calling out to Okoye, “General?”

“Yes, my king?”

“You will travel back to the palace alone-”

“No-” Nia tried to stop him.

“I will be staying with Nia a little while longer. I will call when I need you.”

“Yes, my king.”

Nia dragged her hand down her face, then immediately looked down and noticed the clay that had transferred to her palm. She pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned in frustration, both at the king and at her careless mistake.

“T’Challa, I just said-”

“I know what you said,” he snipped, “but this is my kingdom, and I need to know what’s going on.”

“But-”

“I’m going with you, and that’s final.” He turned away and joined Okoye in the cockpit.

Nia sat off to the side and pouted the rest of the way home. When they arrived, Okoye reluctantly left the king behind and flew off to the palace.

“She could’ve just stayed outside, you know,” Nia fussed as they entered her home. “Now she definitely knows something is up.”

He rolled his eyes, “She knew something was up the moment you started glowing.”

Nia froze and mentally kicked herself for not using the glamor spell her ubaba had taught her. She was in such a rush that morning that it completely slipped her mind. The smug look on T’Challa’s face made her want to slap him, so she stormed down the hall to her bathroom to fix her facepaint. As soon as she finished, Nia heard the king make a strange noise and looked out to see what he had done. A laugh erupted from her belly as she watched the king stand on the couch to get away from Sego. He glared at her, but his eyes promptly fell back on the python that was too close for comfort.

“Call off your snake!”

“Python,” she giggled. “Sego, stop messing with him, please.”

Sego turned her way, and Nia could see the playful look in his eyes. He thoroughly enjoyed messing with the king. T’Challa climbed down from the couch and let out a calming breath as Sego slithered away to the kitchen.

“So the mighty Black Panther is scared of pythons, huh?” she mocked him as she leaned against the doorframe.

“Not scared...I just don’t like them.”

“Mhm. If it makes you feel any better, he’s not fully a python. He’s a shifter.”

“Meaning…”

“Meaning sometimes he’s in his human form, sometimes he’s in his python form.”

T’Challa thought about it for a moment. “Actually, that does make me feel better. Thanks.”

Nia smirked and rolled her eyes.

“So,” T’Challa cleared his throat, “what now?”

“First, we go see my ubaba, then the queen.”

“Ok...how do we, you know, get there?”

“It’s easy,” she bragged as she walked over to him. “Give me your hand, and I’ll show you.”

Nia reached out to him, and when their hands connected, an image of the two of them sharing a feverish kiss popped into her mind. She gasped and pulled back as though she had touched a hot stove.

“What is it?!”

“N-nothing, I just,” she had to think of something quick. “My headwrap. I take it off when I go to the magic realm...to, uh, let my ears breathe, you know?”

“Um, ok.”

Nia hurried from the room and left T’Challa standing there, confused about what just happened. He knew she was lying despite the fact that her excuse had some semblance of truth to it. Thanks to the heart-shaped herb, T’Challa could hear her heartbeat, and something had caused her heart to almost beat out of her chest. His suspicions didn’t last for long, though, because when she came back from her room, his jaw dropped. Of course, he had noticed her beauty the first time, well the second time, he laid eyes on her, but as she came down the hallway fluffing her coils out into an afro that framed her face like an obsidian halo, he felt a knot form in his chest.

“Ready?” she asked, obviously over whatever had been bothering her.

“Yeah,” T’Challa cleared his throat. He was suddenly parched. “Ready.”

“Ok.” She grabbed his hands again, but this time there was no vision. Nia sighed in relief and looked him dead in his eyes as the atmosphere around them began to thicken. “Be cool. Don’t embarrass me.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me, @toni9, @bribrisback, @dersha89, @impremenior, @ljstraightnochaser, @love--life--passion, @yourstrulybrii

#cecewritessometimes #troubled waters #tchalla x oc #black!oc #black panther fanfic #black panther au #Youtube

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 3 years

Text

Meeting and Dating Andy Cavenaugh

(My shitty gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- Living in the middle of the desert was an interesting experience. You’d lived in the same home since you were born and yet there were still occupants of your town that you’d never seen or met; even though there was only a meager population of under 50.

- It was the sheer size of your state that did it. Everyone lived miles away from each other and any shop that was considered to be “nearby” was still at least a thirty minute drive so you only ever went into town a couple times a month. Which is how you met Andy.

- You’d driven into town with a list of supplies you’d needed and a wallet full of that months savings, ready to get your stuff and go as quickly as you could; hoping to get home before the sun rose all the way and baked you alive.

- Coincidentally, Andy was in town at the same time, loitering around the store you were attempting to shop at. You paid him no mind and went about your business until you were ready to check out.

- Once the shopkeep had rung you up, you found that you didn’t have enough money for all the things on your list and reluctantly told the man to keep something as he helped you pack up what you could afford.

- Andy watched the entire interaction from somewhere behind you as he pocketed whatever he felt like. Once you headed towards the doors of the building, he picked some cheap thing off the shelf and went to the checkout, watching you as you packed up your car.

- While the store clerk was preoccupied with the cash register, the boy snuck whatever you’d left behind into his jacket and waited another few moments for the man to hand him his actual purchase before he made his way outside.

- You were just about to get into your car when he came up to you, greeting you casually before he held out his hand and offered you the thing that you’d left behind. You looked at him in surprise before you thanked him and took it, shifting it to your other hand so that you could offer him yours in a handshake.

- The two of you introduced yourselves and he asked if you’d be interested in going out sometime. Since all you knew about him was that he was attractive and sweet enough to “buy” you the thing you couldn’t afford, you agreed and wrote down your number for him, telling him that it was nice meeting him and saying goodbye before you drove off.

- He calls you a couple days later while out with his friends, a little liquid courage in his system and a bit of peer pressure from his buddies leading to his wonderful decision making.

- You’re clueless and he thinks his friends will stick to their word of “heading out before you show”, which obviously doesn’t happen. You arrive and they’re still there, almost immediately inviting themselves to what was supposed to be your first date and making the night rather uncomfortable at times.

- You can tell that your date is just as uncomfortable as you, but that doesn’t exactly make things any better. By the time the night ends, you’ve already decided that you’re probably just gonna count your losses and find a potential boyfriend elsewhere.

- But fate seems to be on Andy’s side because the two of you find yourselves face to face a few days later. He gives you an apology, explaining everything before telling you that he’d like to see you again.

- It takes you a minute to decide but you finally agree and tell him that you’ll give it another shot, bringing up your own idea for a date in hopes that you won’t be bothered by his buddies again. He gives you a wide smile, asking when he should pick you up and thanking you genuinely just before he leaves.

- So, for your second date; though you like to consider it your first, the two of you go to whichever place you chose and wind up having a really nice time. He seems to be on his best behavior but his real personality shines through as well; and it’s one that you really enjoy.

- You probably give him a kiss on the cheek as a goodnight but the two of you share your first real kiss on your next date. You’d spent pretty much the entire night together and wound up parking off on the side of the road to stargaze for a while.

- You were leaning against the hood of his car with him, looking up at the sky before your gaze shifted to the man beside you. He was preoccupied with watching the stars, leaving you to let your mind wander.

“I’m glad we gave this another shot.” You said and watched as his focus shifted to you instead.

- He gave you a smile and told you that he was too before he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.

- Congratulations, you caught yourself a firebird in the middle of the desert.

- Andy really doesn’t give a shit about how other people feel like 80% of the time, and he’s just a fan of affection in general, so there’s going to be a lot of Pda in your relationship; if you’ll allow it.

- Handholding. He likes keeping you close to him and making sure that you aren’t getting into any dangerous trouble; especially if you’re around his friends. Although he does wear his gloves a lot so; even though he gives you the occasional reassuring squeeze or strokes his thumb across your knuckles, you’ll most likely be feeling leather more than his skin.

- If someone’s kissing a face, it’s you. His lips are for your lips only, he doesn’t bother touching them to anything else; though he does enjoy when you kiss him on the cheek or jaw.

- Deep, slow kisses.

- He calls you honey or baby more than he calls you by your name. And as tough as he likes to pretend he is, he’d love to have you call him by pet names too.

- Cuddling is one of his favorite pastimes; he absolutely loves it. Most of the time, he’ll pull you in, pressing his cheek/jaw to your head and letting you lay right up against him, your head resting against his shoulder or in the crook of his neck.

- A lot of the time, he prefers to be loving in a more reserved way. He tends to show that he cares through his actions and by doing little things to make your life easier. Things like waking up early to put gas in your car or picking up things that you need from the store whenever he’s in town so that you don’t have to go.

- Sometimes, he’ll set up a sentence like he’s about to say something really sweet or you’ll ask him something expecting a cute response and he’ll just say something crude or lewd instead.

“How do I look.” He turns and looks at you, a smile gracing his face.

“Your tits look great.” He replies, barely holding in his laughter.

- He indulges you more than he cares to admit. He might occasionally act like he’s too cool but he’s too in love with you to say no and potentially make you sad.

- Tv dates. There ain’t shit else to do.

- Cruising around in his firebird; and sometimes parking somewhere to makeout.

- Going on road trips or long outings. There isn’t a whole lot to do in your town so you’ll occasionally take the long ride over to the next town in hopes of finding something fun.

- He’ll never tell you that he does but he always dodges potholes and bumpy areas during these trips so that he doesn’t wake you up while he’s driving.

- Driving out to the middle of the desert with a bundle of blankets to watch the sunrise; or stopping on the side of the road during one of your trips.

- Sitting with him while he works on his car.

- Going out into the desert to shoot or smash random junk. Vases, porcelain, tin cans; stuff like that.

- Playing pinball and other convenience store arcade games.

- Every now and again, he’ll get some money from his pops and take you out to a nice dinner; especially if it’s after the two of you are pushed into doing something you dont like and he can see that you’re upset. It’s usually because of Sam but he still feels the need to try and make it up to you and make sure that you aren’t gonna ghost him.

“Hey, why don’t we go and get some dinner,” he’ll say, a hint of nervous desperation in his voice as you walk out to his car. “You can get whatever you want. Dessert too.”

- It isn’t clear exactly how rich Andy actually is but it seems like he’s sort of embarrassed to have wealth in such a poor town. Because of this, I feel like he probably wouldn’t mention it and would try to dodge questions that would lead to him exposing the truth, maybe acting like he’s less wealthy than he is until Sam “outs” him and causes an awkward situation.

- Him stealing things for you. You’d much prefer if he just bought them but at least he doesn’t tell you whether or not he’s stolen it most of the time.

- Likes to fool around a lot; he’s rarely ever fully serious and he’s always trying to make you laugh.

- Can quote just about any western film you can name and does impressions of all the characters. He grew up on those sorts of things so he’s practically an expert by now.

- He likes messing with your stuff: putting on your clothes, using your mirror for random stuff, picking things up off your dresser and toying around with them, etc.

- My god, the change of character he has when he’s with his friends and you, compared to when he’s with his parents gives you whiplash. It’s hilarious seeing him lie and act like an angel during family dinners.

- His dad probably lectures him about manners whenever you’re with them: things like putting his elbows on the table, saying grace, how he treats you, etc. Its pretty amusing to see.

- He seems like a good guy who got mixed in with the wrong people. Sure, he enjoys a little chaos and trouble making like the rest of them but he doesn't like hurting people and you can tell from the way he acts afterward that he isn't proud; especially when you give him a look in the middle of the situation and sober him up.

- You’re dragged along with him and the boys a lot; or he’s forced to ditch you to hang out with them whenever Sam calls.

- Sam flirting with you. You know damn well that he’d make you compliment him or get you to agree with his praise of himself; and Andy would be miffed but unable to do anything besides listen to him while his knuckles whiten on his steering wheel.

- There aren’t a lot of people in your town for him to get jealous of but whenever there is, he does. Most of the time, it’s Sam or some flirtatious traveler but other times it’s your celebrity crushes or old boyfriends. He usually just bites his tongue or makes some kind of sarcastic, passive aggressive comment; it depends on who it is and how you’re reacting to them.

- He’s always looking over at you and making sure you’re alright whenever he can; especially when you’re out with his friends. He knows that getting into the trouble that they do can be dangerous and he doesn’t want anything happening to you just because Sam doesn’t know when to stop.

- The two of you get into a lot of arguments but they’re rarely ever serious. You mostly just bicker before the two of you give up and decide that it’s a pointless fight.

- Whenever you do have an argument, one that he causes and upsets you with, he always feels guilty and finds himself unable to stay mad at you. He might not verbally apologize but he will try to make it up to you in some way and tell you that he’s sorry.

- He’s not big on saying he loves you but he does say it on occasion; and definitely shows it more than he says it.

- The two of you probably get engaged on a whim a bit too early into your relationship but he’s promising to take you out of that desert city and along with him to Hollywood so the ring is a nice symbol of that oath.

#andy cavenaugh imagine #andy cavenaugh headcanons #andy cavenaugh headcanon #andy cavenaugh imagines #creepshow 2 imagine #creepshow 2 headcanon #creepshow 2 headcanons #creepshow 2 imagines #80s movie imagines #80s movie imagine #80s movie headcanons #80s movie headcanon

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weirdlandtv · 4 years

Text

Vintage mall interiors.

(This is a follow-up to THIS post.)

My parents were used to the old-fashioned familiarity of neighborhood shops. Local clusters of friendly retail and service establishments, where every shopkeeper knew your name. To them, malls were ominous abominations. Dark terrestrial city-caves of the future. My mother would say something like, “Welcome to Depression Valley” whenever we stepped inside the large new mall that had sprung up a few miles from where we lived. I heard her say it, but I didn’t feel it. Malls, like airports, felt like home to me. I had fantasies of living inside a mall.

(Heaven, to me, is a huge labyrinthine mall designed by Piranesi.)

I feel this is going to be a long post. Whenever I mentally transport myself inside that mall, I just don’t want to leave anymore. I’m not going to edit anything, it will all come out the way it comes out, tangents and all.

I was browsing a bookstore when I picked up a copy of Bridge of Terabithia. I had never heard of it, just something about the cover drew my attention. Suddenly this woman who seemed to have been following me around said, “That’s a really good book. My kids love it.” She didn’t look at me, just sort of glanced in my direction. There were no kids with her.

The blond elf-like girl who fascinated me so much. A sighting of her always was the biggest reward of the day. I didn’t know her name, nor did I know where she lived. But I knew where to find her. Not just her hair was blond, her skin was too; head to toe, she seemed to have been sculpted out of pure blond sandstone. One late afternoon, most people had gone home, she was sitting on one of the stone benches that ran alongside the sunken sitting area, alone. A filtered sunlight came in through the skylight above her, lighting up the thin fuzz on her bare legs. She was like a white vision in the dark space of the mall. A fleeting creature made out of thin phantom light. As I walked past her she smiled at me. It lasted less than a second, but I’ll never forget it. It wasn’t personal: she would have smiled at anyone walking past. But right now she smiled at me. I nodded, maybe I smiled back, like an alien trying to mimic human behaviour. Our paths crossed and then they diverged again.

(Years later I did learn her name. It was an ugly name: a crooked combination of harsh sounds that didn’t befit this shimmering being.)

My cousin was a nerd. The real thing, not the ironic kind. I was feminine, strangely angelic, and considered pretty with my long eyelashes and bright blue eyes. I was always kind of embarrassed to be seen with my cousin. I was underweight, tall, he was overweight, small, and there wasn’t a second I wasn’t aware of the comical difference between us. We were like the reflections of two funhouse mirrors that had come to life. But then I was always overly, ridiculously aware of myself and of everyone and everything around me anyway. I couldn’t take one step without seeing myself taking that step. We went to INDIANA JONES AND THE LAST CRUSADE at the mall, and the opening, young Indy with his heavy friend, reminded me of me and my cousin: there we were on the screen, having adventures. My cousin went to visit the comic book store afterwards, I tagged along. I loved going there, but not with him. He kind of lumbered through the store, buying comics, apparently against his will. Everything he did seemed to be against his will. He was alive against his will. He didn’t lumber just through the store, he lumbered through life. Back home, he didn’t seem to be happy with the comics he bought. He stored them somewhere and went on to play a computer game, against his will.

Evening at the mall. The weak twilight, the empty cars in the parking lot, gloomily reflecting the street lights, the people with their nondescript faces, everything seemed hollow to me. Like a shadow world that never sees daylight. We went to see BACK TO THE FUTURE PART II: me, my brother, and his friend Marcus. Marcus, who was black, was a movie buff. He was always going on about Spike Lee. He told me once that the Emperor from Star Wars was a clone, he said it like everyone knew that except me. He pronounced “Jedi” like “Jay-dee” for some reason. He could be outrageously funny, but whenever you tried to remember afterwards what exactly had been so funny, you could never really pinpoint it. Marcus’s humor didn’t manifest as specific jokes or quotable oneliners, rather he provided a general air of hilarity, where everything around you suddenly seemed like the absurd products of pathetic human endeavour. He saw right through hypocrisy. He was one of those people who could have become anything they wanted: surgeon, rockstar, landscape architect, comic book artist.

BACK TO THE FUTURE II. We were waiting for the movie to begin. In the row behind us, there were three girls. Who knows how those things start exactly, but suddenly Marcus and my brother were turned around in their seats and talking to the girls, teasing them, flirting maybe. One of the girls said “smartass” to my brother, he grinned. I hadn’t said a word, but as the friendly confrontation wound down, and Marcus and my brother turned to face the screen again, I felt a tap at the back of my head. It was the girl who sat in the middle. She had tapped me with the point of her boot. She looked like she might be a somebody at her school, not because of her looks, which were robust, but because of her confident attitude and her two wingmen. She looked at me and said, “Hey. You.” It sounded like a challenge. Or like she couldn’t really figure me out. I didn’t reply, and she left it there. Her friends laughed now and then during the movie, but she herself remained silent throughout.

All of this took place in the year of Our Lord 1989. These stories don’t go anywhere, they don’t conclude with a funny punchline or a weary sigh and words of wisdom. They are merely fragments of the Cubist jaggedness of life, where things just happen, or not. We all carry a mental library of such images and scenes, some random, some significant, and when we die, they die with us. These however, these 30-year-old glimpses, have now been saved from sure extinction, as, like everything we do online, they will be digitally stored forever—they will outlive all of us, and it amuses me to think that someone in the year 2137 might come across this post and read these very words with a kind of puzzled interest.

#malls #interiors #vintage #tales from weirdland #weirdland tv

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change-the-world-someday · 4 years

Text

Don’t You Go

@ogmilkis asks:

hey i love your writing b (your last one(all of them really) was *chefs kiss*)💕 would you be willing to do 10 from the John Mulaney promt list?? no specifics i just wanna see what you do with it 😂

A/N: You're very kind about my work, thank you :). Keep sending these requests in, guys, they really help my imagination run.

Prompt: 10. “I am very small and I have no money, so you can imagine the kind of stress that I am under.”

BAU x GN!Teen!Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Your parents are linked with four murders around town. However, things aren’t as rosey as they seem in your house...

⚠️TW⚠️ Child abuse mentioned, General Criminal Minds things, Murder mentioned

Masterlist

—•—

You shift in the uncomfortable seat, your wrists aching from the handcuffs. You play with your hands, fiddling with the ring on your right hand, twirling it and shifting it up and down your middle finger.

You weren't planning on being caught. Hell, you weren't planning on stealing in the first place, but life has a way of twisting things and somehow pulling the worst from every situation. You just needed something to eat and drink.

The door opens and your head snaps up and two people walk in. There's a younger, pale woman with blonde hair and an older man who's more tan with grey, swept-back hair. They take a seat opposite you and the man opens a file.

"So, Y/N L/N, the only child of Sandy and Darren L/N. Do you mind telling us why you were stealing from the store?"

You sit back and sigh. You don't say a word. The woman who asked the question huffs, making the older man place a hand on her shoulder.

"Okay, let's try something else," he starts. "JJ, do you mind leaving us for a few minutes?"

The blonde, JJ, nods and stands, leaving to presumably stand behind the one-way glass you’ve been staring at intently since you were forced into the interrogation room.

"My name's Dave Rossi. Now, why did your parents hide you from us? I mean, surely you know your parents are under investigation..."

Your attention is grabbed by this, and though you try not to show it, Rossi picks up on the subtle shift in body language. "Wait, you don't know?"

You speak up. "N-No. I b-barely see them."

Rossi raises an eyebrow. "Is that why you were in the store, trying to steal some food from the top shelf?" He bites back a smirk as he remembers how you were caught—you were trying to reach the top shelf and fell into it, crashing to the ground and your backpack opening, spilling out stolen food.

"Look, I'm very small and I have no money, so you can imagine the kind of stress that I am under," you scoff out, still playing with your jewellery. Rossi leans forward a little, trying to close the gap between you.

"Don't your parents give you money for food?" Rossi asks. You shrug.

"They spend it...elsewhere," you reply and try to stop fidgeting. "I don't see them, and they don't tell me anything."

Rossi nods and pulls something out of his pocket; a key. "They must hurt." You nod and lean forward, letting Rossi unlock the cuffs. You smile a little, muttering a quiet 'thank you' before you rub your wrists, soothing them. That feels better.

"Are they ever around?" Dave asks. His tone of voice has shifted from slightly harsh to softer, almost fatherly. You shake your head and Rossi sighs. He leans back.

"Is there anywhere you can stay while we investigate your parents?" You shake your head again. "Okay. We can keep you here until the shopkeeper decides if she wants to press charges. We can make sure you're fed, too."

Rossi gets up and walks out, leaving you behind. He bumps into his team in the other room, who was watching through the one-way mirror.

"What are we going to do?" He asks Hotch. The unit chief sighs.

"The shopkeeper doesn't want to press charges. Y/N’s known for stealing small amounts of food from shops around town. They tend to just ignore it since they know what their parents are like. I say we keep them here, make sure they’re comfortable at least, and then we can see what Garcia's pulled up on the parents." Hotch gives the rundown and the team nod.

Suddenly, his phone rings. He picks up. "Garcia? What have you got?"

He puts her on speaker. "Sir, it turns out Y/N’s parents are related to the distribution of heroin around the country and guess what? Three of our four victims were involved in it too," she explains quickly, keyboard clacking in the background.

"And what about the fourth, baby girl?" Morgan asks.

"She knew the mother."

"It did seem that the fourth victim was a more personal attack. She was stabbed fifteen times more than the rest," Spencer pipes up. Hotch nods.

"Okay, thanks, Garcia," Hotch thanks and hangs up, turning back to his team.

"Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to go to the house with a warrant and search top to bottom. Check Y/N’s room, too. JJ, release a statement to the press that we want to find these two. Dave, you're with me. We'll search the town and go over the crime scenes, see if there's anything the police missed. Reid, I want you to stay with Y/N. You're the youngest and they'll probably be less standoffish with you. Try and ask them some questions about their parents and the fourth victim. JJ, join him after."

Everyone goes their separate ways and Reid goes back into the interrogation room. You look up and relax a little, seeing it isn't the local PD.

"Hi Y/N, I'm Spencer," the young man introduces himself. You nod.

"Hi," you mumble.

"Do you want anything to eat or drink? We can get you pretty much anything," Spencer asks. You think for a minute and nod.

"C-Can I have some...ramen, please?" You ask shyly. Spencer gives a bright smile and nods, quickly texting JJ to pick something up.

"Can I ask you some questions please?" The doctor asks. "You don't have to answer any if you don't want to, but it could help us."

You think before nodding, messing with your ring again. "C-Can you..." You trail off.

"Can I?" Spencer asks.

"Do you have...something I can mess with, p-please? The ring's hurting my finger." Spencer nods and digs into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys and handing them over.

"They okay?" You nod. "Okay. Do you know Caitlyn?"

Silence. You’ve stopped messing with the keys. You nod. "How?"

"She...She's my friend. She told me..." You pause. "She told me she'd help me get away."

Spencer nods. "Get away from where?"

"My...my parents," you finish, messing with Spencer's keys again.

"Did your parents ever...come home with blood on them?"

You look down and nod. "When did that start?"

"Erm..." you think, "a-about a month ago. I wasn't allowed t-to ask." Your hands start to shake. "They...they..."

"Hey, Y/N? You're okay. Everything's okay," Spencer starts to reassure you. "They can't get you. You're okay."

You let out a shuddering breath and nod. Suddenly, the door opens and you jump out of his skin. It's the blonde woman from before, and she's holding a cup of ramen, steaming, with a plastic fork sticking up in it.

"Spencer? Hotch wants to talk to you," she says. The young agent nods and leaves, letting JJ take his seat. She hands you the ramen and you give a grateful nod, slurping it.

"S-Sorry," you mutter. JJ gives a soft smile and shakes her head.

"It's alright. I don't mind," she replies. You nod and continue eating, only stopping to take a breath now and then. In five minutes, the food's gone.

"W-Where is everyone?" You ask after a little while. JJ looks up from her phone, pausing the video you’re watching together.

"Well, Spencer's with Hotch, and the other one you've met, Rossi, is talking with the police to see if we can get you a bed set up in here. It would mean you don't have to go to the cells and you don't have to sleep in that chair," she explains.

"Hotch?"

"He's our boss. His name's Aaron, but Hotch is his nickname. Do you have a nickname?"

You shake your head. "N-Not really. My parents call me names, but n-not a nickname."

"How about N/N?" JJ asks. You think about it for a moment, before a small smile breaks out on your face.

"I-I like that," you mutter. "Yeah."

"N/N suits you, kid," a voice says from the door. You look up to see Rossi. He's holding a folding camp bed in his arms. Behind him is a sterner-looking man with a blanket and pillow. "We've got you a bed. None of us want you to go to your parents' house, and CPS can't come until morning."

You nod and lean back, playing with something in your hands.

"What you got there?" The other man asks.

"K-Keys," you reply. His eyes narrow.

"They're mine," someone says; Spencer. "I gave them to them to play with."

"S-Sorry. You c-can have them b-back. I'm s-sorry," you stammer out. Spencer shakes his head and walks over.

"It's okay. I don't need them at the moment," he reassures you. You nod.

Suddenly, radios flare up and almost everyone bolts out the room, leaving behind you and Rossi. Your eyes widen.

"W-What g-going on? D-Did I-"

"No kiddo, you haven't done anything wrong," Dave cuts in as he makes up the bed. "We've just had a hit on your parents..."

—•—

Part two anyone? Let me know if you’d like to see it :). Also, let me know if you want to be on my taglist. Just drop an ask :)

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stillunpainted · 3 years

Text

Postmortem

cw for implied suicide. 1.8k fic under the cut baby. Pretty much Neku dealing with the aftermath of the game and then having a conversation with Joshua.

Neku couldn’t take sudden noises anymore. It’d always been somewhat of a bother, and his music had helped him block out the little surprises that’d make him jump, the startle like a lightning bolt, but now it was agonizing. It was as if at any time, he could be seized by the hand of death, freezing his blood like a blizzard. Though he’d made a promise to himself to wear his headphones less, especially in public, it wasn’t easy.

Shibuya was vibrant and busy, but it was also overwhelming. There were times where after simply going to Mr. H’s cafe with Shiki or Beat and Rhyme would result in him having to go lay in bed for hours afterward, staring at the ceiling until he was able to think again. His parents were worried. They’d noticed that he was going out more, and generally seemed to be happier than before, but the exhaustion, the anxiety, those weren’t things he could hide. He enjoyed spending time with his friends, but he wasn’t used to them. He felt out of place, worried that he’d somehow mess up and they wouldn’t want to be with him anymore.

He’d picked up an old acoustic guitar, and spent about thirty minutes trying to figure out how to tune it. That was all he could bring himself to do for the day. He checked his messages, and it was much of the same. Shiki had sent an update on her most recent project with Eri, and was still trying to convince him to try it on. He wasn’t adamantly against the idea, he just wasn’t sure if it was his thing. He’d had to expand his fashion sense during the Game, and he wasn’t sure where to go with that now. Was it something he wanted to pursue on his own, or did he want to be influenced by the people around him?

Though Neku had avoided Udagawa like the plague, he still could see CAT’s art when he closed his eyes, peering over him as he stared up at the painted walls. He wanted to see it again, as his mind could only replicate everything with a certain degree of accuracy, but the thought of going back made him feel sick, sick enough to rush to the bathroom and wait for it all to come up, but nothing was there.

The Composer often lingered in his mind, interrupting his normal thought processes. In this moment Neku was staring at the ceiling again, tapping his fingers to the beat of a song, when he suddenly remembered Joshua off-handedly mentioning that he liked it. Neku took his headphones off. He still hadn’t forgiven Joshua yet. There was so much pain, so intense that even though those bullets left no scars now, he could still feel them. He sat up, deciding that today he would face it. He wasn’t sure why, but felt if he didn’t go to Udagawa now, these thoughts would never stop, haunting him like old ghosts over and over.

On his way through Shibuya, he kept his headphones on around his neck, ready to put them on if necessary. He walked past stores he’d come to know well, absentmindedly trying to spot the faces of the shopkeepers he’d spoken with over and over. There were so many people. Even though he couldn’t hear their thoughts anymore, it floored him how they all were living their own lives, their own narratives that he would never be privy to. Their secret gardens.

It was a conversation he thought back to at times. He’d wondered if not being able to cross into someone’s garden was even a bad thing. Was trying to understand someone enough, even if it wasn’t actually possible? He felt he knew Shiki and Beat pretty well, and Rhyme and Eri to an extent. His memories of Joshua though… Joshua at times felt completely alien yet familiar, almost like a trick mirror.

Neku arrived at Udagawa, and saw that the art had changed significantly in his absence. CAT’s work was still there, some of it new itself, but there were other artists who had added to the wall. Nothing unusual, but the change made Neku’s chest feel heavy. He was used to seeing everything shift gradually, not only see the end result.

It was still beautiful, he decided, just different. Still the same wall, marked by the same kinds of people. He wondered if one day he would get some spray paint himself, though he had no idea what he could create. It wasn’t a part of himself that he’d explored in a long time, not since…

Even now, he felt the empty space within his heart. He still had the last message his friend had sent him on his phone. “See you there,” it’d read. An interaction that had never been complete, a day that never happened.

“Well, you’ve brought yourself back here, haven’t you?” A recognizably smug voice rose above the background noise of everyone else passing through.

“Look at what the cat dragged outta the sewers,” Neku retorted dryly. Joshua crossed his arms, but there was the tiniest hint of a smile on his face. Neku was tense, but this relaxed him somewhat. He figured Joshua hadn’t merely returned after what, months, simply to antagonize him. Though he didn’t rule it out of the realm of possibility, “what brings you out here, anyway?” Joshua put a hand on his chin.

“I was intrigued as to why you returned here. It seems like a morbid place to go by yourself. I thought that maybe you’d need supervision,” Joshua said. Neku pulled at his hair, trying not to visibly give Joshua the satisfaction of annoying him. Though he supposed that Joshua could read his mind, which agitated him further.

“I don’t need- whatever, it’s just that I kept thinking about everything that happened. I dunno if closure is exactly what I’m looking for, but it’s something like that, I think,” Neku shuffled his feet. He was never especially good at reading people, but Joshua was always a special kind of enigma.

“There’s nothing I can add to that. You already know why I did what I did,” Joshua said, “neither of us can take that back.”

“You can’t take that back. All I did was survive,” Neku said. He didn’t expect an apology, nor was he surprised by Joshua’s nonchalant attitude towards it all, but it still stung a little.

“Oh come on Neku, we’ve both made mistakes,” Joshua said, wrapping a hand around his neck. A flash of guilt washed over Neku, but he let it pass. He’d talked about it a lot with Shiki after the game, though it was still something he’d never fully forgive himself over. He’d found that he had a pattern of hurting people. He’d finally stopped at his duel with Joshua, but still. He wondered if that old self was buried within, ready to rise at any time. I killed him- “Neku? Locked up in that head of yours again?”

“What would’ve happened if I’d shot you?” Joshua didn’t even flinch at the question. But he wavered a little.

“I would’ve been erased. I would’ve lost that game, yknow. That’s how the rules are,” he says.

“I know, but-”

“The UG would’ve been destroyed, but I can’t say I’d know what would happen after that,” Joshua says, “I can’t give you a real answer, even if I wanted to please you that way.”

“So even you don’t know,” Neku said.

“Yes Neku, you’re a fantastic listener,” Joshua replied. His normal grin is back, though something about it seems off.

“So why would you do that? If you’d actually gone through with destroying Shibuya or whatever, it wouldn’t have mattered at all if I’d pulled the trigger or not. Not much of a crossroad, really,” Neku put his hands on his headphones, contemplating putting them on.

“It was all a game. My bet with Megumi. You were my proxy,” Joshua said, crossing his arms again.

“What were you even trying to prove with me? That I’m terrible and representative of Shibuya’s evils, or something? I was just trying to live and help Beat get Rhyme back at that point.”

“That’s spot on.”

“Then did your proof involve me shooting you at the end?”

“Yes.”

“Then your plan would’ve killed you no matter what,” Neku said.

“What do you mean?”

“No UG means no Composer, right?”

“Correct indeed.”

“So you were planning on dying.” A silence settled over the two of them.

“Well, I didn’t,” Joshua says. Neku thought of how he initially saw the game as a dream that he dreaded the end of. There was nothing he had to worry about other than missions, nobody to talk to but Shiki, nobody to nag him. It was the closest he’d ever been to whatever his own ‘world view’ had been.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but,” Neku paused, wondering if it was even worth saying. Joshua had killed him twice over, but still, “I’m glad you didn’t die.” Joshua narrowed his eyes. The Composer wasn’t alive per se, but even he knew that wasn’t exactly what Neku had meant.

“And that’s that,” Joshua said, turning away.

“Don’t think I’m going to take that as an excuse. You didn’t have to turn it into some big game with my life,” Neku said.

“Well aren’t I alive because I did, based on your logic?” At this point, Neku wanted to tear out his hair. Joshua was the same as always, so he didn’t know why he was expecting anything different. But surely something had changed within the Composer, as he had preserved Shibuya and brought everyone back to life.

“Dammit, do you even realize what all of that was like? You killed me twice, and- and…” Neku trails off, shuddering. Joshua’s hands ball up into fists and he stares at the ground for a moment, frowning. He almost seems small, completely losing the aura of being something beyond the fifteen year old standing in the streets of Udagawa, the mural hanging over his head. He straightens his posture and he’s the Composer again.

“I do realize. I’m not incapable of understanding pain,” Joshua says, “hmmm. Maybe that worsens my case.” He turns to face Neku once again, who wants to back away, but doesn’t.

“I guess it’s hard to keep going. I’m not on my own anymore, at least. Shibuya’s felt bigger than it ever has for me, and that’s exciting on one hand, but overwhelming. There’s so many places I could go, but I also feel like something terrible is always on the horizon again,” Neku says. He doesn’t know why he’s telling this to Joshua of all people.

“Could I be the cause of that terrible something? Is that what you fear?”

“No. I still don’t… I don’t know if I’ll ever fully forgive you really, but I trust that you won’t use me again. I’d be lying if I said being around you doesn’t make me nervous, but I still trust you. We were partners, right?” Neku says. Joshua tilts his head.

“Right, we were.”

#twewy #the world ends with you #neku sakuraba #joshua kiryu #writing #my writing #if i should add more cw let me know. it has literally been years since ive written fanfiction so im not super familiar with what should be #tagged

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 76: The Weighing of the Wands

Dust sparkled like raw glitter as it was thrown asunder from the surfaces they'd once sat upon, the eight teenagers began sneezing in painful succession and several of them yelped in pain as even more boxes piled atop them.

Danger came and went so frequently during these travels, none of them ever rarely felt safe enough to stow theirs away, though in a place like this it seemed more prudent just not to misplace it lest they pick the wrong one up. They were in Ollivander's.

Remus' breath caught in his throat, only causing him to cough harder and hopefully hide the look on his face. The place looked exactly the same as the first time he'd stepped in here, right down to the spindly chair he'd accidentally exploded on his second unclaimed wand. By the fourth one he'd been in a panic, casting anxious looks at his father to please tell him this was all still going to work out, that he did deserve a magic wand, he just wanted one normal experience. His father wouldn't quite meet his eyes when Ollivander came back with the fifth box, not looking nearly as deterred as Remus would have thought.

"Here we are then, let's have this a try. Cypress wood, 10¼", unicorn hair, nice and pliable." He'd been cold and stiff, this had been the most he'd been around others in so long, and they'd come here at the crack of dawn before most of the shops even opened so that they could be the first into each. Lyall Lupin hadn't looked him in the eye all day, he'd been too busy casting suspicious glances at everyone around him, his hand never leaving his son's shoulder.

Ollivander knew, he was instantly convinced of that from those perturbant eyes, but when he'd finally wrapped his fingers around the bulbous end, the grooves already perfectly fit to match his fingers, warmth shot straight up his arm. With a surprised smile and a bit of prompting from Mr. Ollivander, he gave a little twirl and laughed in delight as the shop's lights all flared brightly as the sun and flashed every color of the rainbow before settling back. He'd hardly let it out of his sight since then, afraid the Minister or any person really would point out the very obscure law of nonhumans having wands, and where exactly he fell into that category...

Sirius watched the indecision flashing across Moony's face, like he couldn't decide if he was happy to be back here or not as he held his wand protectively instead of for protection. He understood why of course, they all nicked each other's stuff countless times, but never that. He shuffled all the closer to him now, keeping a leery eye on Regulus, Longbottom, or even Evans in case any of them dared say anything about it now that they could possibly guess the same, keeping his own very obviously at his side, running his hand down the ruins engraved in it he'd still yet to decipher.

Cedar and 12 1/4th'', dragon heart-string, very rigid for a wand of this wood. The words played back to him clear as day back in this place, it had been the first disappointment of his parent's magical life after all. They would have expected him to have possessed a wand of Elder or Larch, those woods associated with power. He scoffed now as he had then, vividly remembering Ollivander's delight he'd gotten young Sirius' wand on the very first guess as he caused the shadows to flicker on the wall with purpose, all enfolding each other in the shape of snakes and almost scaring little Regulus.

Regulus, of course, would have denied that now had he been so informed, but the shop remained as vastly silent as ever. Even their ruckus of entering without its shopkeeper couldn't permeate the sheer magic in the air, the infinity of the shop's endless wand cases. He couldn't help himself from exploring at once, if there was one person he'd have voluntarily pulled along for his experience it would have been Garrick Ollivander. The man had fascinated him upon their very first meeting, being able to perfectly recite both of his parents and his brother's wands, and as many generations back as Regulus asked. The wandmaker had seemed delighted by him, pleasing his parents immensely as they began making rather transparent comments about bringing their youngest back around for Ollivander to take under his wing.

He thought back to that day with feelings as mixed as ever, Sirius had already been showing a pension by that time for his troublemaking ways, unwilling to conform to what their parents expected of him. It had taken the master three try's to be given his own wand, "Apple, 13 1/3'', unicorn hair and vastly flexible to suit your needs," he recalled with perfect clarity. He'd gone home that night and looked up every bit of wandlore book his father owned and even sent out to their Uncle Alphard for more. He'd been pleasantly smug to find apple a rarer wand wood, no wonder his parents had left beaming, but the more he dug the more he began to wonder if even the great wandmaker of their time could make a mistake. After all, when he'd taken his extension to magic, smooth all the way to the end where it got the slightest of twists, there had been no gigantic display of magic as he'd once seen Sirius produce. All that had really happened was a sweep of wind blowing through the store, blowing robes and hair about sure, but nothing too memorable.

All the studying he'd done had said wands of apple went well to those who had high aims, but did not mix well with the Dark Arts. What other path was there that the two didn't mix?

Peter didn't feel the need to hide away from anyone anymore, but still he sought no one out for now as he stood looking over Ollivander's work station. He dared not touch anything, but inspected everything with intimate detail regardless. A wand was halfway through its shaping, the core still half shown in the top half yet whittled together, a bright phoenix feather-like his own, but of cherry wood instead of his red oak. His was also slightly shorter than this one was apparently going to be, and he had no way of knowing the flexibility of the wand, he wasn't even sure what his own meant yet. Malleable, something you could shape as you wish. It sure didn't feel as if he had any say in what he wished as of late. The design almost embodied his nickname, he noted ironically, the wood was weaved as if with the movement itself and had ringlets along the entirety of it.

What happened to it in this future? Had he lost it in his fight when he framed Sirius? Kept it to help resurrect the Dark Lord before returning that wand and then continuing with his own? The same wand he'd used to help him create his masterful disguise that had allowed his cowardice to be his life while hiding out at the Weasley's? A rat he'd gifted himself along with his friends help to aid Remus. He gazed miserably at his left hand, the one he'd accidentally made vanish from sight when Ollivander had taken six tries to give him his wand. He'd been too shy to ask at the time what the record was for how long it had taken him to find a matching pair, but he was sure his was up there, he was always an in-between it seemed.

Alice was growing quite weary of constantly finding herself alone and meandering around strange places looking for anyone else. If the goal of the book was for them to be getting real-life experience of how Harry was feeling, she'd say congratulations long before now. She still looked around with keen interest, as she'd actually never been here. She'd inherited her wand from her grandmother, and it suited her well, but even she hadn't gotten this wand from Ollivander himself, but overseas from Japan of all places.

"Reed and 14'', with a unicorn hair. It's a steady wand for a steady hand now," she'd been warned upon her eleventh birthday. She'd heard from others it wasn't prudent to use another's wand, but it had always suited her fine, and she rather liked the almost candy cane design of the wand, though it dipped in a slight hook instead of inwards at the end. She wondered what Neville's was, the fond thought flitted through her mind as she continued walking past endless rows of yet unclaimed wands. From what little she'd heard of Augusta, she had managed to grow more stern with age, but surely even she'd managed a smile for Neville like he deserved when gifted a wand as well, possibly from this very shop? She certainly wasn't going to complain about the chance to look around regardless.

Frank stayed where he was for fear of disturbing any more dust and sneezing his face off next. The boxes and uncovered wands lay scattered around him, and he eyed at least five that happened to be pointing at him with exhaustion. He dared not move them away though, he didn't want the wands to think he was trying to claim them and causing something else to go wrong. Exhaustion was stopping him from moving away entirely, he hoped dearly they landed someplace they could kip down soon.

He wished he could get up and go find Alice, or even Lily, but remembered well his mother's warning about staying right beside her and getting lost, especially in this place. He already was though, so what was the harm? He nudged a wand with his foot as he began moving around, and it sparkled red in protest, so he slowly lowered himself back to his previous position and waited it out instead.

"Apple, 12 1/4'', Phoenix, a very austere wand while I was creating it, but I'm sure you'll manage." Ollivander's words seemed to mock back at him now, his wand certainly did seem as strict with him as his own mother. It took intense concentration to manage even the simplest of spells, he didn't dare try it now when all his heavy-lidded eyes wanted to do was slide shut. Evans's voice, while uneasy giving poor Harry's accounts going through this, still had a charming, mellow sort of quality he was quickly nodding off to, only missing the warmth of Alice's hands to really help him relax.

Lily twirled her wand about in her hand, getting it caught between her ring finger and pointer and holding it like that for several minutes while reminding herself there was nothing to curse in here she should. No Charm she could utilize either to help. Just another surprisingly yet ill-received connection she felt to her son, over how lonely he felt. The way Sev had been freezing her out with increasing frequency lately to hang out with those others instead, well, he may as well have accused her of doing something she'd never do as well. Why was she the one being punished when she'd done nothing wrong?

Things had been so much simpler back when they'd just started school, they'd done everything together then, even here. The old man had smiled kindly at her starry-eyed gaze upon everything, it had only taken him his second try to fit her up. Willow, 10¼", unicorn hair*, a quite swishy wand upon development. It was her dream come true, the soft brown wood had intricate swirling designs like water inlaid in it, she'd taken him literally and began enthusiastically swishing it everywhere of course, and much as she'd imagined that first time in their grove, it finally happened as sparklers trailed after the end in a truly magical display, from her! She still remembered Ollivander giving such details to Harry when he'd come for his, a little Muggleborn like her had even been as memorable as all the others who came across this shop.

It made sense, of course, that when Harry was called for his wand to be inspected it was the best Britain had to offer to do it. She wondered what he thought of Harry now, had he and his wand lived up to the great things he expected of him? She still wished for him to have a more normal life than he was getting first.

James continued rummaging behind the desk, determined to find the bloody list. Surely the man had to have a list of all wands in this shop and keep a record of who he sold them too, there was just no way he simply memorized it all?! Evans had long since picked up the book and was reading it, he was too disgusted by the world Harry was living in to even consider it. Now his own son's friends were turning against him along with the rest of that mad school, thinking that kid would do this to himself? There was enjoying being the center of attention, and then there was his offspring, and he knew quite well which side of the line Harry stood on. Why wouldn't his best friend know that? 'No friends are perfect,' his own snide voice reminded him as he avoided looking at his own for now as well while he continued his solo quest.

Sirius and Remus were huddled up together and he had no idea where Peter landed. Seemed even this mad charade was giving them some breathing room for a few more moments, and he took to that while he could by continuing his search manually along the shelves now. He'd tried summoning it of course, with the very wand Ollivander had gifted him, mahogany, 11", dragon heartstring*, nice and supple. He'd even guessed right on his very first try, and the spurt of water that shot the man in the face was his reward as James ran from the shop in delight before his parents could even pay.

The reddish-gold wood that had an almost spiderweb-like pattern inlaid in it remained in his pocket for now though as he traversed the endless shelves, none of which were even marked, each box identical to the last. Only cracking one open revealed the wand inside, and he just didn't know enough about them to even guess at which could be Harry's, if it was even here. Merlin knew exactly when they were in this shop, Tom Riddle's could still be here for all he knew. He didn't even have a good excuse for why he was looking for it, just another way to connect to his son? As his days at Hogwarts grew more dangerous, and even cruel from the student body within, he wanted to punch Ron in the face more every second for not exactly being helpful when Harry needed him now more than ever, what with Sirius' insanity not exactly helping his son in their time.

HPHPHP

The ones noted with an * are of my own decision, the rest is cannon. Hope you enjoyed!

Alice Smith* - Reed, 14'', Unicorn, Steady, thicker at the base and thinning as it ended in a hook with one deep groove spiraling the entire thing.

Frank Longbottom/ Neville Longbottom's 1st Wand* - Apple, 12 1/4'', Phoenix, Austere, a very plain wand with no extra designs except at the very base of the wand where small scratches marked it as if the wood were already peeling.

James Potter- Mahogany, 11", (Core Unknown)/ Dragon Heartstring*, Supple, spiderweb pattern inlaid across the middle of it.

Lily Evans- Willow, 10¼", (Core Unknown)/ Unicron*, Swishy, little water like waves etched into it in a dizzying pattern when twirled around.

Peter Pettigrew's first wand*- Red Oak, 11'', Phoenix, Malleable, ringlets along the entirety of it.

Regulus Black* - Apple, 13 1/3'', Unicorn, Flexible, smooth all the way to the end where it got the slightest of twists like a star about to burst

Remus Lupin- Cypress, 10¼", Unicorn, Pliable, bulbous at the end with finger groves only to the halfway point

Sirius Black *- Cedar, 12 1/4th'', Dragon heart-string, Rigid, ancient ruins etched in

Mine is: Hornbeam wood with a dragon heartstring core, 12 ½" and surprisingly swishy flexibility, and I like to think the design would resemble a turtles shell pattern.

Let me know yours?

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #wands #headcannons #Ollivander's #GoF #Wolfstar #Jilly #Marauders #reading the books #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew #Regulus Black #Lily Evans #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith

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verai-marcel · 4 years

Text

Rewarding His Pet (RDO OC x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You listened. You did as he asked. You stopped stealing. You got an actual job, honest work, and you are actually feeling pretty good about it. You weren’t expecting any kind of reward in return, but Everett thinks you deserve one.

Author’s Notes: This is for the millennium giveaway fic; I can no longer reach this requester, but they had previously asked to remain anonymous: id like to request a gentle nsfw thing from Everett please, if that’s okay? Maybe the readers been really good and gets rewarded with slow paced edging and after care? I know it’s not the spiciest of asks but I guess I’m a sucker for the soft stuff.

Tags: fluff, gentle sex, edging, aftercare

Word Count: 2719

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A month has passed since you left St. Denis. You had made your way to a small town up northwest where news of your thefts were non-existent, and decided to start over, try to lay low for a while. You changed your hair, stopped wearing make-up, and became just a simple woman looking for work. Because this was such a small town, you figured staying out of trouble here would be easy. You had made up a pity story about being abandoned by your brother after your parents had passed, and started asking for a job around town and a place to stay. After you proved your ability to do basic calculations, you were quickly offered a job at the general store. You seemed like such a pity case, a lone woman just trying to survive.

The first week was the worst as you resisted the urge to just take items that were lying around. Forcing yourself to not slip things into your pockets, even as you eyed the chocolate longingly, was one of the hardest things you had ever done. The compulsion to take was something you fought hard against, but by the second week, it became easier.

By the third week, you felt the compulsion settle deep inside, locked in a box that you buried deep in your heart. The urge never went away, but with practice, you overcame it. You were quietly proud of yourself for not taking anything the entire time you had come to this town.

Of course, no one would know except you.

You were a little surprised that no one had come to find you yet. Perhaps those bounty hunters who were chasing after you finally gave up.

Unless Everett had been telling the truth and had taken them all out.

Thoughts of the blue-eyed hunter usually stoked a fire low in your belly. But these days, they also made your heart skip a beat, remembering how he had looked at you right before he had walked away, leaving you in that abandoned building, alone and unsure of what to do next.

Shaking your head, you focused again on the stacks of supplies that had just been delivered. You were helping take inventory, your board clip in hand, counting up everything and recording it precisely. You were also a little bit obsessive about it, checking everything twice to make sure you had it all correct.

It was while you were doing this that you overheard two men as they stopped under the shade of the general store to hide in the shade and smoke.

“Y’hear? Ed's boy is back in town."

"Really? After all that, he really came back?"

"He's an Osborn, what'd you expect? That boy loves his family."

They kept talking as they walked away. You had delivered supplies to Ed, an old man who lived on the outskirts of town with his wife and daughter.

His last name was Osborn? And he had a son?

Was fate so cruel to put you in the same town as that man's family?

You finished taking inventory and went back into the general store, making your way to the counter where you could hear your boss laughing.

"Was a good thing you did. None of us blamed you."

"I'm just glad I finally paid off my bounty," a familiar voice said.

You immediately stopped walking, but your boss had heard your footsteps and called out your name. Hanging your head, you came up to the counter and handed the inventory paper to him.

"Supplies are all accounted for. I'll go help bring things inside," you said quietly, quickly turning and fleeing to exit out the back of the store without a second look.

***

Everett looked past the shopkeeper as she ran off.

"So, uh, how long she been working here?"

"Hands off."

He held his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I ain't that young playboy any more," he said defensively.

The shopkeeper glared at him. "I saw the way you looked at her." He sighed, contemplating for a moment before deigning to answer. "She's been working here for three weeks. Comes early, stays late. I don't even have to check her inventory count anymore, she's as accurate as a ruler."

"Really? Nothing missing?"

"Nope, not a thing."

"Huh."

The shopkeeper looked at Everett, who was still peering at the back door. "If you want to talk to her, fine, but she's had it rough. Be kind to her."

"C'mon, you know me. I'm always kind to ladies."

"I mean it, Everett."

Everett waved his hand dismissively as he walked out the front door. "See you 'round."

The shopkeeper shook his head; the boy could never keep his head on straight when it came to women.

***

You had just sent one of the delivery men away with a shipment of supplies when Everett walked up to you.

"I see you've been busy," Everett said, glancing around.

You shrugged. "You told me to lay low. So I am." You fought the urge to boast about not stealing anything for the part four weeks. He would probably scoff. Why would he praise you for doing something that most people considered normal?

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

You glanced back up, not even realizing how your shoulders had slumped and your gaze had fallen until you saw his boots in your view. He gently touched your cheek, his fingers caressing your skin.

"Nothing," you mumbled, trying to turn your head, but he suddenly gripped your jaw so you couldn't move.

"Tell me," he rumbled.

You huffed. "I haven't stolen a damn thing since I came here. But no one's going to praise me for that."

Everett's gaze turned soft as he looked at you, your emotions wavering between anger and frustration. His grip loosened, his fingers moving to cup your cheek instead.

"I’ll praise you, sweetheart."

You glared at him, looking for even one iota of condescension. Surprisingly, you found none.

“It’s hard to change. I understand,” he said quietly, a weight to his words that felt like a lead vest. He moved in even closer, until his lips were brushing against your forehead. “You want a treat for doing so good, right?”

“I’m not some kind of pet,” you tried to say with venom but it ended up coming out breathy, as if you actually wanted his treat.

“But you’re my sweet puppy, ain’tcha?” he teased, his lips now running along the shell of your ear. “I’ll give you a real good reward, what do ya say?” he whispered.

You stepped away from him. Being so close, breathing in his scent, it was too much. You couldn’t think. With him standing before you, his knowing smile and his cocky stance, it was still too damn hard to think. What would a reward from him feel like?

You shuddered with barely contained anticipation. “Alright. I accept.”

***

He told you to meet him at the saloon after your work shift, and to come around the back where no one would see you. He knew your skills; you’d never get caught by these small town folk. So you snuck around and saw him leaning against the wall, waiting for you. He quickly gestured for you to follow him up the stairs and across a small balcony, passing a couple of doors until he reached the last one. Pulling a key out of his pocket, he unlocked it and led you inside.

A small room with just a bed and a basin. Not even any decorations, just a place to sleep and clean your face. Perfect for travelers needing a place to stay.

Or in this case, for a quiet rendezvous with a lover.

“Not the most luxurious place, I know. Next time, when we’re not sneaking around in my hometown, I’ll treat you to something better.”

You looked at Everett, who was admiring you as he took your hand and led you towards the bed. Standing together, he cupped your cheeks with both hands and kissed your forehead tenderly.

“Tonight, let me take care of you,” he murmured. His hands slowly made their way to your collar, where he started to unbutton your shirt, glancing up at you with each button undone. When he got halfway down, he pulled the shirt out of your skirt and continued to unbutton until he was done. His hands slowly skimmed up your sides as he spread the fabric open to reveal your thin chemise and corset.

“My sweet pet,” he crooned as he slid the shirt off your shoulders, dropping it to the floor. He started to undo your corset, his deft fingers making quick work of all the clasps. You let out a breath when it fell from your body, feeling like you could finally move freely. But as soon as you had taken in a breath, Everett took you by the chin and kissed you. He didn’t stop his mission to remove all of your clothing; his hands pulled on the sleeves of your chemise, dragging the whole thing down your shoulders.

Then he stepped back and grinned. He grabbed your hands and placed them on the collar of his shirt. Wordlessly, you unbuttoned your way down, revealing a muscled chest, hard from physical work. He took off his gloves and shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, tossing them aside before he pulled you into his arms, pressing his chest against your bare breasts. His hands ran up and down your back, feeling your soft skin, cradling you against his larger body with a tenderness you hadn’t felt before. You looked up at him, drunk on his soft touch.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss you, slowly at first, coaxing your lips open before he devoured you, his lips wandering from yours to trace a wet trail down your neck to your collarbone, where he sucked greedily at your skin, leaving love marks.

“Everett!” you cried out as he sucked particularly hard at the junction between your shoulder and neck.

“Just a little gift, to keep the other men away,” he said as he pulled back to look at your skirt. “Now, where were we?”

His hands made quick work of the buttons on your skirt, kneeling down as it slid down your legs. Leaning forward, he kissed the exposed skin of your waist as he pulled the ribbon of your drawers, pulling them down to expose you completely to his gaze.

“Get on the bed, sweetheart,” he gently commanded as he got up and started to take off his pants. You did as he said, your eyes riveted to him as he stripped, every inch of his body muscled and toned and, at least for tonight, all yours. He reached down to stroke his cock slowly, a smirk forming on his handsome face.

“Spread your legs,” he said as he climbed onto the bed. Laying between your knees, he kissed around your inner thigh, nuzzling your skin with his stubbled cheek. Then, as his eyes locked with yours, he lowered his mouth to your core and gave you the most intimate kiss, open mouth with tongue.

“Oh lord,” you uttered between moans, Everett’s tongue and lips making you whimper helplessly, his merciless ministrations leaving you panting with pleasure. Just when you were reaching your peak, he pulled away and started to kiss a line up your body before reaching your face.

“Kiss kiss,” he mumbled before he locked lips and breathed you in, pressing his tongue into your mouth and making you taste yourself. When he pulled away, he gently rolled you over to one side. With one arm snaking under your neck and around your shoulders, his other hand lifted your leg up. You felt the tip of him nudging your wet slit, gently sliding around you.

“Ready for me?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

He pushed inside of you easily, as if your body had been ready and waiting for him this whole time. Rolling his hips, Everett held you close, keeping a steady pace as he filled you, over and over again, his lips brushing along the shell of your ear.

“You’ve been so good, haven’t you?” he murmured. “Controlin’ your urges, not giving in…” He trailed off, nuzzling you instead, his hand gripping your shoulder. You reached behind you and fisted his hair as he let go of your leg and reached around to finger your core. Rubbing you expertly, knowing the exact pace and strength with which to touch you, he nearly drove you to completion, your peak just with reach…

Then he stopped and slowly pulled out of you. Whining, frustrated that you were so close again, you slapped his chest as he rolled you onto your back.

Grabbing your hand, he glared at you with an intense look in his eyes.

For a few seconds, you forgot to breathe. This was the Everett you first met, the one who had devoured you, and you had begged for more.

Then the look in his eyes softened and he brought your hand to his lips and kissed your fingertips. “All in due time, sweetheart.”

Spreading your legs, he drove himself inside of you again, and this time, he gave into his own carnal needs, fucking you wildly, crushing your body as he fell upon you and pumped his hips, desperate to feel your tightness around his cock.

“You feel so good, so fucking good,” he growled. “Come for me, sweet pet.”

You had been edged long enough; the sweet release flooded your body, the wave of euphoria making your mind go blank as you clung to Everett as you cried out, wrapping your legs and arms around him and holding on for as long as your release continued to shake you. Trembling as the aftershocks rumbled through you, you finally let go of him, your limbs falling to the bed with an audible thump.

Everett murmured your name as he pulled out of you, lifted himself up on one arm, took himself in one hand, and finished onto your stomach. His face of pure ecstasy, his eyes fluttering shut as he sighed and moaned, was followed by a satisfied smile that brightened his cornflower blue eyes and made his smolder twice as devastating.

“You’re beautiful,” he said reverently as he leaned in to kiss the tip of your nose. You watched as he got up to get a washcloth, wet it in the basin, and came back to you to clean up his mess. He rubbed you gently, being careful not to push too hard against your now sore areas. Afterwards, he cleaned himself off and went to his satchel. He pulled out a bag of candies and sat on the bed, tucking you into the covers and pulling you onto his lap. Taking out a small white mint, he held it to your lips.

Without being asked, you opened your mouth and let him feed you the soft mint candy, letting it melt in your mouth as he stroked your back.

“This is perfect,” Everett said absentmindedly. “I love takin’ care of you.”

You turned your head to look at him, and the tenderness in his gaze made your face heat up and your heart race. He took both your hands in his and hugged you.

“I don’t know why you make me feel this way, but I ain’t lettin’ you go. You just feel right.” Using one hand to tip your chin towards him, he stared at you intently. “I want you to be mine. Only mine.”

“But I might steal again.”

“Do you want to?”

“No…”

“If you don’t want to steal, then I’ll help you stop yourself.” He kissed your cheek tenderly. “I’ll help you. So rely on me a little more. Please.”

In this new town, with this new life you were carving out for yourself, you truly believed that you could change. What you were before, who you were before, these were things that Everett knew about you and yet he still accepted you.

“Alright, Everett. I’ll stay with you.”

He smiled and kissed your forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

The warm feeling in your heart that flowed through the rest of your body made you feel comforted and accepted.

It felt like you had come home.

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End Notes: I hope everyone who likes Everett enjoyed this fic! This is probably the end of this little series, just a nice conclusion to this trilogy of self-indulgent fics. Onwards and upwards!

#everett osborn #f!reader #everett x F!reader #everett x reader #writing #fanfic #nsft #lemon fanfic #tumblr gift #rdo oc

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sumisuchan · 4 years

Text

First Name Basis Ch.1

Hey y’all just thought I should post this to Tumblr as well, but here’s the link to the ao3 for people who are more interested in that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25889923/chapters/62913253

I don’t know what to say for myself other than I love Kaiba and Jounouchi, and I hope you enjoy this fic <3 Also feel free to leave me a comment. I cherish all of them forever.

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It was a quiet winter morning, the second Monday of January, when Mokuba pushed open the double doors to Seto’s room. However silent he tried to be, they still scraped across the hardwood floor. He had cast a light that shot from the hallway to envelop Seto’s figure in bed, buried beneath a plush comforter.

“Seto — ” Mokuba tried to keep his voice low, leaning culpably against one of the doors. “I'm going to head out.”

Without throwing off the comforter, Seto rose as if accused. The pale morning light made him squint. “I thought I was taking you.”

“I know, but I was going to meet a friend a little bit early. I'll meet you there, I promise.”

“But it's snowing,” Seto laid his head back down. Even with centralized heating, the air was cold. His alarm clock read 6:46 a.m., which made the comforter seem warmer and the mattress more generous.

The door clicked softly shut again. Seto had lost. He closed his eyes and let Mokuba go, the bed’s hold too strong to break. Maybe he would wake at 8:00, or 8:05, or 8:10...

***

It was 8:15 when Seto had hit snooze for the third time, and had finally managed to sit up. He opened the curtains behind him to a chalky sky and a Domino City winterscape, draped in snow. It even obscured the faraway mountains whose dark grey bodies wore pure white caps. Seto sighed visibly into the glass. Another harsh one.

Seto ate, washed, and dressed, finding himself in a partially cloudy bathroom mirror. He had put a sharp white suit over a blue shirt speckled with gold, and fixated upon the second gray hair he had found that month. He leaned in, making the mirror fog up more. Though his hair was still a little damp, there it was — front and center, mocking him.

Seto straightened himself out, turned the bathroom light off, and went downstairs. He could see from the top of the staircase that Mokuba had taken the kimono from its resting place upon the front room sofa—garment bag and all, his geta disappearing from the entrance evidence that it hadn't been just a dream.

***

The traffic to the ceremony was hell. Every damn car in Domino City had congested the roads leading to town hall, each of them progressing only about a meter before stopping again. Snow fell as a light powder, dusting the shoulders of young men and women dressed in expensive suits and long-sleeve kimono. Seto estimated that at least 3/4 of them were rentals. Their parents walked alongside them, shielding them from the snow with clear convenience-store umbrellas, and Seto realized that he had forgotten one himself.

Finally, his driver reached town hall and held open the car door. Parents, brothers, sisters, cousins, who had come to support their own twenty-year-olds, all seemed to turn around at once, then double take. “Isn't that Kaiba Seto?” They whispered too loudly as he passed them. Seto was certain he could feel someone's phone camera pointed at his back as he entered. His watch read 10:37. The ceremony would start soon.

***

The mayor, a slightly overweight man in a gray, cheap-looking suit took the stage, adjusting the microphone and clearing his throat. Several rows of newly-minted adults straightened their backs and lifted their heads. The entire auditorium stopped talking, and the mayor preemptively set his short-fingered hands on the podium. For the final time, he adjusted his legs, shoulder-width apart. Seto noticed a bald spot at the very back of his head, bordered by thinning white hair.

“Everyone, thank you for attending today's ceremony — ” He spoke in a coarse voice.

Seto began searching the first three rows for Mokuba. The young men and women had formed clusters, some still chatting quietly to one another. They made a patchwork quilt of solid black suits and explosions of flowers in red, white, and gold.

Mokuba would be in white. He had insisted. “I'm going to wear a suit for the rest of my life, but I'll probably have far fewer opportunities to wear a kimono.” So Seto took him shopping at one of the most expensive boutiques in Domino City, their winter line of handmade kimono on display. Most of them were furisode — sleeves to the floor and soaked in snow flowers, chrysanthemums, tsubaki .

Mokuba looked uncomfortable. He tensed at the extremely attentive sales assistant, who asked them in exquisite keigo what they needed. He tensed even more when Seto replied bluntly, “he needs an outfit for coming of age day.” He tensed while they brought out the entire cavalry of men's kimono — admittedly plainer than the women's, but just as elegant. Almost all of them bore complex patterns that fit seamlessly into their solid black or white fabrics, allegedly handmade. The shopkeeper ran her hand over each of them as if playing an instrument. It was genuinely surprising when they didn't respond with a musical phrase.

“You’re more than welcome to try on any one that you like, and one of our male employees can help you dress if you require assistance.” She had nearly reached the end of her, “please take your time,” when Mokuba pointed to the one on the very end.

“Uh — that white one looks nice.”

“Oh,” the shopkeeper had to walk to the far end of the table to reach it. “Do you mean this one, sir? Would you like to try it on?”

“Sure. Yes, I can try it on.”

Without prompting, yet another attentive male employee rushed over to lead him to the dressing room. “Please follow me this way, sir.” Seto got a glimpse of the kimono. No discernible pattern. Nothing extra. Just white silk adorned with the shop’s brand insignia embroidered in gold at the end of the sleeves.

Mokuba left the dressing room without the kimono on, yet claimed that he wanted that one. When Seto asked him if he was certain, he only nodded and tensed even more once Seto paid one million yen in cash straight from his wallet.

From his place in the third row of guest seating, Seto searched for that kimono, the stark white against both plain black and noisy flower patches, and found him sitting amongst a group of young women. One of them whispered something to him and Mokuba turned around, missing his shoulder-length hair. Sometime that morning he had gotten it cut. The woman at his side adjusted his bangs, giggling. She said something. “You look like your brother,” Seto imagined. Mokuba pulled away, brushed it off. That must have been it.

***

The ceremony ended and its attendants came gasping into the freezing winter air. The families occupied the bottom of the staircase as their children emerged at the top, posing in formation for pictures.

Mokuba had found a place in the second row, his hands at his side for the first serious photo and then with his tongue out and fingers forming a heart for the silly one. The same girl from earlier in a red kimono and thick-rimmed glasses made bunny ears above his head — something he would find later when they received the photos. They posed for one more before the crowd dispersed and Mokuba turned to her before coming downstairs. He must have promised to rejoin her, but then met eyes with Seto and began his descent.

Finally, Seto witnessed the full body of his kimono, its white sleeves and gray pants making him resemble the snow-covered mountains in the distance. He treaded so carefully down the steps, responsible with his new-seeming long legs, but he had been chipping away toward Seto’s height for a while. That fact hit especially hard when Mokuba ran to embrace him. His long strides had brought him so smoothly.

Someone snapped a picture.

“How did you manage to get a haircut?” Seto asked, maintaining his balance. “Every salon in the city must have been booked.”

“They were.” Mokuba set his hands on top of Seto’s shoulders, negotiating himself against the icy sidewalk, “but I had reserved my appointment months ago. I wanted to surprise you. I guess…” He paused, touching the back of his head. “I didn't realize how much I would resemble you.”

“It suits you,” Seto said. “You look grown up.”

Mokuba smiled but furrowed his brows. Someone shouted, “Kaiba- san ! May I please take a picture of you and Mokuba?” and someone else added, “to commemorate the occasion!”

Seto, who would normally have walked away, turned toward the crowd. He put his hand upon Mokuba’s back and found it to be rigid. Yet, Mokuba smiled for them. There would be articles written whether he did or didn't, so he chose to be pleasant. He grinned into the flashing lights, into a future of magazines that would compare their heights, their faces, weigh their fortune, pondering if Mokuba had found a girlfriend yet and commenting on the fact that Seto never had. It would be a thing for months until it wasn't at all, until something else happened, and the cycle would start over.

Seto felt Mokuba inflate with a sigh that no one would notice. He had become so good at letting it deflate slowly from his nose that only someone standing as close as Seto would hear it.

He called off the pictures and they loaded into the car, leaving barely enough time for Mokuba to wave to the young woman he had left up on the staircase.

#Seto Kaiba #jounouchi katsuya #katsuya jonouchi #puppyshipping #violetshipping #yu-gi-oh #Gay #Mokuba is a character as well

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knamjooned · 4 years

Text

Frosty Seduction

pairing: WinterSpirit!Namjoon x Human!reader genre: Fantasy AU, Christmas AU, Smut, Crack, Fluff. tiny bit of Angst words: 16K+ warning: making out, flirting, oral (m and f), fingering, cold (ice?) play, light dirty talk, masturbation, semi-public sex, making love, creampie,

author’s notes: hey so this has been in the works for a long time! I want to thanks @uwugalore for accepting me into my first collaboration. i met some awesome writers. also, i have never been this invested in a story as this one. usually i just write and then post, but this one was beta’d AND edited, so that’s ....a big change lol. I hope you enjoy it!

part of the 25 Days of BTS Christmas collaboration

Summary: You want to spend this Christmas enjoying the moment without stress. You find a beautiful snowglobe that may lead you to your wish being granted by a mischievous winter spirit.

If kisses were snowflakes, I’d send you a blizzard.

Everything about the holiday season made you feel good, like everything was alright in the world. Strings of lights glowing brightly in the evening as the sun went down; the smell of delicious treats wafting all around you; the taste of a peppermint hot mocha on your tongue; the sounds of Christmas music playing in various shops. Your favorite part was wrapping the presents you would exchange on Christmas morning with your family and your boyfriend’s family, your heart filled with love as they got a look at what you hoped was the best gift ever.

Unfortunately, this year seemed to have taken a wrong turn and landed you in the opposite mood you usually felt at this time of year. Christmas Eve was only a week away. The only thing you had in your apartment was a decorated Christmas tree. You had finished it while your boyfriend still wanted to be with you at the beginning of the month. A few days after that, he apologetically stated that he wasn't ‘feeling it anymore’ and you hadn’t heard from him since. That spurred on a case of the holiday blues, so you hadn’t been in the mood to put up your beloved decorations.

It didn’t help that your family was out of the country, enjoying a tropical vacation your parents had won at a bingo game. Your sister and her husband had gone with them, a late honeymoon they said. Unfortunately, you couldn’t afford to tag along with your income, so it also turned out you didn’t have family to comfort you through all of this. Still, that didn’t mean you couldn’t try to finish your usual routine of wrapping presents.

That’s what led you to this new antique store on the other side of town. Your mother and sister both enjoyed old jewelry, postcards, and first edition books, while your father was a fan of collecting old pens and silverware. This new shop seemed to be a treasure trove of gifts you knew your family would love. You might even be able to find a gift for your brother-in-law, although you weren’t entirely sure what exactly he’d like from here.

After spending more time than you thought you would, wandering through the aisles, you had found at least two gifts per family member and were on your way to the checkout counter. As the bell rang over the door to signal more customers, you looked toward the sound and were distracted by an item sitting among christmas tree ornaments. You changed your direction and ended up next to the table, crouched down, studying the inside of the snowglobe.

It was a lovely setting, a picturesque winter wonderland, with a few generic one-story homes, a park area, a street, and some kind of store. The small figurines scattered across the scene depicted a happy family sledding in the park, a young couple decorating a christmas tree in one of the yards, and a young man leaning against the wall of the shop. The bell over the door ringing pulled you out of your thoughts, and you glanced over to see a young woman with a toddler in her arms, asking if there was a bathroom. You felt a soft smile pull at your lips as you turned back toward the snowglobe.

Frowning, you stared at the scene in front of you. Something was different, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. You looked over the setting, then the figurines in the fake snow. It hit you after a moment of staring at the shop. The figurine of the young man you were sure was there before wasn’t there now. Standing up quickly, you swallowed down panicked thoughts. After a moment of taking deep breaths, you let out a quiet chuckle. All this stress was going to make you lose your mind if you weren’t careful.

Without another thought, you picked up the snowglobe and purchased it with your other items. This little gift was for yourself.

It wasn’t until two days later you found time to wrap the gifts you bought for your family. After a long eight hour day at your temporary customer service holiday job, the idea of sitting down with a cup of hot chocolate, with soft Christmas tunes playing in the background, was the only thing keeping you from passing out from exhaustion. You sat near your window, on a pillow, a video of a fireplace on your television. The only lights were those on the Christmas tree and a handful of candles on your coffee table, along with street lights shining through your window.

Six different kinds of wrapping paper sat next to you on the floor, along with a pile of tape you seemed to always have lying around. The gifts were laid out next to the tape pile. On the coffee table next to the candles was the snowglobe you had purchased. As you carefully wrapped each item and sipped at your hot beverage, you found yourself glancing toward coffee table. Nothing seemed out of place in the globe, although you felt silly even thinking about it. Even as you chuckle to yourself, placing the last piece of tape on the second gift, you saw something shift out of the corner of your eye.

Immediately, your gaze fell onto the snowglobe, eyes wide as you waited for something to happen again. Slowly, you sat down the wrapped present, and crawled toward the globe on the coffee table. When you were only inches away, with it eye level, you stared into the glass. Something was off once again, and it only took you a second to pick out it out. The young man who had disappeared from in front of the shop had appeared, sitting on the bench in the park, looking upwards. You scrabbled back, gasping as you fell on your ass, almost making a mess of your carefully arranged wrapping station.

“I need a drink.” Blowing out a big breath, you stood and made your way toward the kitchen. As you passed the window, you saw a shooting star. You stopped and turned for a moment, looking out the window and up at the sky.

“I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight. I wish my Christmas will be stress free for 24 hours with someone who enjoys Christmas as much as me.” With a wistful sigh, you turn away from the window and head toward the kitchen once again, where you knew you’d find one of your favorite cocktail ingredients.

Ever since the snow globe had been brought into your home, Namjoon had been fascinated. You seemed to be having a difficult time, which was unfortunate during the holidays. Finally, though, he saw you start to become much more cheerful. It made his frosty heart warm when he saw you smile as you wrapped the gifts. Because of the magical aura surrounding the snow globe, Namjoon knew there were four full days until Christmas Eve. He amused himself by sitting on the bench in the park, watching you wrap with purpose. You stuck out the tip of your tongue as you concentrated at making just the right crease.

Without thinking anything of it, Namjoon looked up, feeling the magic of falling stars coming close. Tonight was a special night, apparently. When he heard you moving toward the globe, he froze in place, looking up at the curvature of the glass, as you studied the scene. He felt your eyes on him, trying not to laugh as you scrambled back and your butt hit the floor. Only when you were distracted by the star finally falling did he relax and look toward you once more. He stood and walked close to the glass, close enough to touch it, and listened to you speak to the star. As you finished your wish, he felt his heart grow warmer than it had ever been.

Namjoon knew, without a doubt, it was his job to make your wish come true. He ran toward the shop, bursting through the plastic door that was made to look like wood, startling the short, stout shopkeeper. Namjoon sheepishly grinned as the elder elf jumped at the sound of the door opening, hitting his head on the shelf above the one he was stocking with Christmas decorations. Grumbling to himself, the shopkeeper rubbed the top of his head as he shuffled toward the winter spirit.

“Santa’s Bells, Namjoon, you scared me! What has you up in a tizzy,” Sowon huffed, wincing as he came to stand near the counter. He was two feet shorter than Namjoon, with a bushy white beard, pointed ears, and wire-framed glasses on his nose. The spot he was rubbing on his head was bald, although bright red now.

“I want to decorate the park.” The old elf stared up at him, blinking his eyes. After a long moment, Sowon frowned, arms crossed in front of him.

“What,” he asked, confused. “What do you mean, decorate the park? We don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t. This place... it’s the way it is.”

“Okay. I hear you. But what if… we decorate the park,” Namjoon insisted, gesturing toward the decorations that lined the shop shelves. In all the time he’s been here, nothing left the shelves. It was part of the curse of being in the snow globe - nothing changed. Now, though, he had a purpose, a reason to change the status quo.

Sowon stared at him a few seconds longer, eyes narrowing as he studied him. Namjoon felt the judgement rolling over him, his excitement over his plan declining with each passing moment. His upturned lips slowly fell into a frown, his shoulders slumping. Sowon let out a sigh, a sympathetic look in his eyes.

“Look, young spirit, I understand. But, the gods have put us here for a reason. We need to fulfill our duties, serve our penalty.” He reached up and patting Namjoon on his arm. “This is what we are, what we have.”

Dejected, Namjoon sighed heavily as Sowon shuffled away, moving toward another shelf to restock for no other reason than routine. While the elder elf was busy, though, Namjoon’s lips slid upward in a smile once again. A plan worked in his mind, and he quickly acted on it. He made his footsteps silent with what little magic he had, grabbed a large container of tinsel and round ornaments, and scrambled away.

Sowon sputtered and called out his name as he ran out the door, eyes wide with shock.

Retail work during the holidays was made for those who had strong wills. Unfortunately, you were hanging on by a thread by the time you made it home after a long seven hour shift. The day had been filled with nothing but stressers: children running around screaming, parents acting like the world would end if they didn’t get that toy, and a sleazy coworker who hadn’t stopped bitching about Christmas the whole time.

When you entered your residence, you let out a groan of frustration as you slumped onto your couch. You went limp, letting the cushions support your aching body. You looked toward the snowglobe on your coffee table tiredly, ready to fall asleep right where you were. You stared at the area where the park was put, the tiny, coloring round ornaments making the scene more festive. You narrowed your eyes as you remembered….

The trees hadn’t had any ornaments this morning.

“What the fuck,” you cried, putting the palms of your hands against your eyes. “The universe really wants to screw with my head!”

You forced yourself to stand from the comfortable couch, knowing you needed a shower. It would help wash away the aches and pains of your day, along with giving you time to rationalize the difference in scenery once again in the snowglobe.

Namjoon grinned with glee as he looked over the trees in the park across the street from his house. He held onto a mug of hot apple cider, imagining how you’d react to the new development. Absentmindedly, he sipped at his drink, then flinched, making a face. Using his ice cold breath, he blew on it lightly, hoping to cool it enough to be able to drink. He took another sip and sighed, wrinkling his nose. It was cold now, which didn’t taste as good. Still, he drank it, not wanting to waste the magic he had used to make this. As he stared out the window, he heard the bells on his christmas tree jingle in a gentle breeze. Frowning, he turned, knowing it hadn’t come from outside. When Namjoon saw who it was, he gulped and put down his mug on the window sill.

Straightening his back, he bowed his head slightly, then kept his eyes down. Namjoon had already gotten on their bad sides, pissing off the winter god today wasn’t on his list of things to do.

“Uh… hey, Boreas, how’s it going?” He tried to keep his tone light, but Namjoon knew it was a serious issue when the personification of winter appeared to him. He licked his lips nervously.

“You know why I’m here,” he responded, his gruff voice sounding tired. The personification looked like what the humans would call Old Man Winter. He was a mix between Santa Claus and Dumbledore, with long white hair and beard.

“Is this about the park decorations,” Namjoon asked innocently. Still, he didn’t look Boreas in the eye.

“You can’t just change the snowglobe. The human thinks she is losing her mind, Namjoon.” Boreas took a step toward him, and he lifted his eyes finally. He was surprised to see the god with a tiny smile on his lips. Namjoon’s mood perked up.

“But…? There’s a but, isn’t there.” Namjoon felt a smile coming out his lips. Boreas pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and letting out an annoyed sigh. He chuckled, though, as he looked back toward Namjoon.

“You’ve been a good spirit, serving your time well, without incident.” Namjoon shifted bashfully on his feet, looking pleased. Did this mean he was done? Boreas seemed to read his mind, continuing. “Because of the seriousness of your crimes, your time has not been considered completely served. But, it seems the Fates have found this situation to be amusing.”

“Okay… what does that mean?” Namjoon started to lose his patience, waiting for the old man to tell him what the hell was happening now.

“This human, it seems, made a wish the Fates think you can help grant.”

Namjoon blinked, frowning for a moment. A wish? His eyes widened and his mouth opened in surprise as he remembered the wish you had made at the window two days ago. A huge smile come to his lips, realizing his instincts had been right.

The first major snow of the season fell heavily outside your window. Snuggled deep into your bed, with a heavy blanket and freshly washed pillows, you dozed comfortably.

You sat on a bench in a park, the trees decorated with spherical ornaments and strings of lights. The sweater you were wearing was knitted, with an overexaggerated face of a reindeer on the front. Your feet were warm in snow boots, with jeans tucked into them. Your dream outfit was exactly what you would wear during the holidays.

Beside you sat a figure. You felt their eyes on your face. Turning your head to the side, you caught their gaze, the plush lips pulling into a smile, revealing deep dimples, one on each cheek. His skin had a blue tint to it, almost like he was perpetually cold. You felt yourself smiling back, heart beating fast and butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It had been a while since you felt the emotions of a new romance.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I did it for you.” His voice was almost sheepish and unsure. His eyes flitted away nervously as he played with his own fingers.

“It is. I love it. Thank you,” you assured him, reaching out and putting a hand on top of his clasped ones. His skin was chilled, but it didn’t bother you at all. You squeezed his hand. “I needed to see the beauty of the holidays, the love and happiness I haven’t been feeling lately.”

“I know,” he replied, frowning. He unclasped his hands and turned one palm up. You intertwined your fingers, holding his hand. His gentle grip seemed to lift some of the darkness inside your mind, helping the holiday cheer slide into its spot. “I’m sorry you’re feeling so sad. The holidays were your favorite time of the year, but then all this sorrow was brought about.”

“I don’t want to think about that, not here, not now. Tell me, what’s your name? Why are you here? Why am I here?” Your hand was still within his, and you had no desire to release it. This dreamworld was almost perfect, this blue-tinted man smiling beautifully at you. His eyes brightened at your requests. He leaned forward, his face close to yours.

“I’m Namjoon, a winter spirit. This is my home. And I think you’re here because the Fates know you need some cheering up. And I’m the one who will do it the best.” He shrugged, his words confident. His voice lowered, his cool, minty breath playing over your cheeks. “Anything you want, you can have it.”

You stared into his light blue eyes, shining with amusement. You knew, instinctively, that his words were true. Anything you wanted, Namjoon would give it to you. After a long moment of staring, he leaned closer still and brushed his lips against yours. When he pulled back, the his smile had turned into an ‘o’ of surprise, eyes wide. You licked your lips and leaned forward for another kiss, his pull too strong to resist. He straightened, shyly pulling away, let out a nervous chuckle, and let go of your hand.

“Namjoon?”

“Bora is coming with her sled, see, over there?” Namjoon pointed to a spot behind you, and you turned your body to look.

A family was coming towards you, a young girl dragging an old wood and metal sled. She marched happily a few steps in front of her parents. The woman waved toward Namjoon, and he responded with a flick of his wrist. The man nodded with a smile, and Namjoon repeated the gesture back. The family ignored you and started to get ready to use the sled.

You turned back to him, knowing the intimate moment was broken. Still, you grinned at him, happy to be in his presence, pleased to have his bright eyes looking at you like you were the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

“It’s time for you to go,” Namjoon sighed, his grin falling into a pout. “I’ll see you soon, though, I promise.” Hesitantly, he lifted his hand toward your face. You leaned forward, silently giving him permission to touch you. Namjoon cupped your cheek, his hands ice cold but not unpleasant. “I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry.”

Before you could respond, he pulled back and your eyes closed slowly.

When you faded from the bench, Namjoon let out a heavy sigh, squeezing his eyes shut. He slouched on the bench, leaning back and let his head fall back. He knew if he opened his eyes, he’d see the curvature of the globe, but he didn’t want to be reminded of his prison at the moment. The laughter of Bora and her family was normal, but the pounding in his ears was not. His heart was echoing in his head, his mind unable to erase the feeling of your lips against his. They were warm, a strange feeling against his own lips. He wanted to feel them again, the heat once more.

“Fudge,” he murmured, eyes finally opening. He stood up and walked past the family, who sent him a wave. He didn’t see them, too focused on what had happened to wave back. Namjoon entered his home, absentmindedly wandered to the couch in front of the fireplace, and stared into the magical flames.

Why are you here?

Namjoon swallowed as he suddenly felt shame for his actions. It had been a long time ago, although not long enough for a god to forget. He had moved forward, understanding the reasons why he was here. Namjoon understood the effect his past actions had on humans, and he felt regretful of the outcome. He had never felt shame before, though. He didn’t want you to be disappointed when you found out, which was a weird thought in itself.

When he was an even younger winter spirit, he enjoyed fluttering around with his brethren, the famous Frost family, helping Boreas bring in the winter season, making those intricate designs on windows out of frost for those who loved them. Being second to the Frost family in terms of Boreas’ favor, though, had always been a point of bitterness between the other winter beings.

To prove he was good enough to be on the same level as Jack Frost, Namjoon had decided to go off on his own and bring holiday cheer to a nearby town. Unfortunately, his own confidence had wrought his own hubris: causing his powers to inflate to the point of being uncontrollable.

“Nope,” he murmurs to himself, jumping up. “Can’t think about that. Hot chocolate? Hot chocolate! That’s what I’ll do. Hot chocolate and reading!”

He scurried toward his kitchen, almost like he was running from something. And, in a way, he was.

The morning of the day before Christmas Eve, you talked to your vacationing family through video chat, putting on a large smile and waving away any concerns they might have had. You wore your favorite sweater, red with Santa’s face on it, and showed off your Christmas tree. You also teased the gifts you had placed under the tree, which they would open in a few days after they got back. You started your morning in a relatively good mood, the dream from the night before causing you to laugh at yourself, but speaking with your family reminded you how alone you were at this moment.

Taking a deep breath, you placed your phone on the coffee table, picked up the snowglobe in your hands, and sat on the couch. You looked into the globe, shaking it, then watching the fake snow fall onto the cheerful scenery. You had been in the park of the globe in your dream, the little family sledding appearing as well. The bench you had sat on was empty, not that you were expecting anything to be there. It was almost hypnotizing, the fake white flakes falling slowly, soothing the clouds in your mind.

You forced yourself to leave your apartment during the day. Many shops were closed, but you knew of one place that was always open: the local shelter. You enjoyed visiting from time to time, especially during the holidays, where you would have pleasant conversations and stories with the residents. You arrived and started to undo all of your snow gear, scarf, hat, gloves, coat, and even your sweater. The building was toasty warm.

“Oh, it’s Miss Holiday Cheer, herself!” shouted a man in the corner, near the decorated tree, who you recognized as a regular. He was a struggling widower, who had trouble with alcohol until about three years ago. He had lived here for a time, and now came by to keep the current residents hopeful.

“Good afternoon, Nelson. You’re looking handsome, today.”

You spent a couple hours there, the gray skies inside your head dissipating little by little. The sun was sinking below the horizon as you entered your apartment once again. The intense feeling of loneliness beared down on your shoulders, making you groan. You took a deep breath and blew it out, like you were blowing away the heaviness, and went to get yourself a drink. Settling on the couch with your favorite alcoholic beverage, you found yourself looking into the snowglobe in front of you, the fake snow falling as if it had just been shaken.

“Merry Christmas,” you murmur, lifting your glass up before taking a drink.

A clock chimed in the back of your dreams, officially starting Christmas Eve. One. Two. Three…. It was almost too quiet to hear, but the clock stopped making any sound after the twelfth chime. You stayed in your dream world as snow began to fall on your covered body. If you had been awake, you would have noticed it was not cold, but simple plastic that lightly floated down.

The room filled with soft blue light, the fake snow falling without leaving a trace on the floor. It became heavier and heavier, until nothing could be seen in your room.

Blinking quickly, you sat up, confused, as you turned your head this way and that. It took a moment to recognize the trees covered in ornaments and lights. The last time you had seen them, it had been a sunny, beautiful day. Now, though, it was dark, the only light coming from the streetlights that followed the road toward a handful of houses. You realized your butt was on something hard. Looking down, you were once again on the bench.

“Back in the dream,” you murmured to yourself, patting the wood. When you heard snow crunching, you turned to look behind you. Grinning, you held up a hand, waving toward Namjoon.

“You’re here! Actually here! This is fantastic.” He jogged throw the snow without any hesitation, stopping in front of you with his hand held out. His skin was blue-tinted, just like the other dream, but his cheeks had a tinge of purple. He almost looked flushed. “Come with me. I promise to make your wish come true.”

As you took his hand, you realized you were in your pajamas, blue and white snowflakes all over the cotton long sleeved top and bottom pants. Last time you were here, you had been decked out in all the holiday swag, ugly sweater and all. Now, though, it seemed your mind went completely casual. Namjoon tugged at your arm, happily gesturing his head toward the rows of houses down the street. You let him lead you toward them, running up the steps and into the second house. His hand stayed clasped around yours as he closed the door behind both of you.

“So, this is your place, Namjoon,” you asked, glancing around as you pulled your hand away.

You spun in a circle slowly. It had a cozy cabin feel to the inside, with a small living room and kitchen attached, with a set of stairs in the far corner that led up to what you assumed was a loft. You were going to comment on the scenery, but you remembered something he had said before you followed him here. “My wish?”

You turned toward him once again.

“Yeah, you’re wish.”

He seemed a little nervous, with his hands in the pocket of his jeans. He glanced around before his gaze landed back onto you. He sent you a crooked, bashful smile. “You wanted to spend Christmas Eve stress free, with someone who loves Christmas as much as you.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but then you shut it. How did he know? This was a dream, though, so it made a little bit of sense. Your mind giving you what you wanted, maybe? You stepped closer to Namjoon, catching his gaze and putting a hand on his arm. He sent you a relieved smile and lifted his other arm, palm up. As you watched with wide eyes, a frosty mist swirled above his palm, the ice crystals hardening into a shape. When he was finished, Namjoon raised the ice rose to face level.

“Will you allow me to share Christmas Eve with you?”

He waited patiently, his dimples framing a small smile. You slid your hand down his arm, keeping your eyes on his, and took his hand. The small smile turned into a large grin as you used your other hand to take the ice rose from his. The stem was cold to your touch, but it didn’t bother you. Surprisingly, a rose-liked scent wafted from the petals.

“I think I’d like that,” you replied in a low voice, mirroring his grin.

Namjoon could barely breathe, the excitement of you consenting to staying with him for twenty-four hours almost overwhelming. He wanted to press a kiss onto your lips as soon as you said it, but held himself back. After telling you the ice rose wouldn’t melt without him doing it himself, you sat it down on a small table in front of a fireplace. He wanted to show you the wardrobe room, so he pulled you up the stairs and into the loft. There was a door on the back wall, in the middle, and he flung it open, spreading his arms proudly.

“Anything you want to wear, it’s here. It’s magic. Think it, and it’ll appear. Would you like to change?” Namjoon looked over your adorable outfit. He didn’t care what you wore, you were a beautiful human, but he wanted you to be comfortable with him.

“Really,” you asked, eyebrows raised. “Anything?”

“Absolutely.”

He stood at the door as he watched you stride into the room. It was bigger on the inside, with clothes hanging on either side of you. Crossing his arms, Namjoon leaned against the doorframe as you fluttered around the room. You looked so excited, with a giddy grin and a bounce in your step. What would you pick? Namjoon was curious, but was completely surprised when you stopped in the middle of the room and closed your eyes. Frowning, he took a step forward, but saw the clothing you were wearing started to glow.

A red velvet dress appeared on your body, the skirt ending above your knees. The edges of the garment had white puffy material, and your collarbones showed pleasantly. A santa hat appeared on your head, and black heeled boots appeared on your legs, stopped at the knees.

“What do you think? Fits the season, right?”

You posed, turning back and forth, looking down at yourself.

“It’s stunning,” he replied, his voice catching. He cleared his throat, feeling his body flush unusually. He felt the heat blooming from the top of his head down to his feet, and everywhere in between. His heart beat furiously, which seemed to be a common occurrence around you.

“Cookies and hot chocolate? On the table downstairs, in front of the fireplace.” As he smiled, Namjoon used a thumb to gesture over his shoulder.

“Yes, please!” you cried, running past him and down the stairs. He followed, chuckling. As soon as you were both settled onto the couch, Namjoon positioned himself so he could look at you, turning his body so he sat sideways on the couch. You mirrored his pose, ignoring the treats on the table as you stared at him.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“You’re kind of purple.”

“What?”

Namjoon frowned, looking down at his hands. His blue-tinted skin had a tiny bit of pink mixed into it. “Huh. That’s never happened before.”

“You’re blushing. Do you like my outfit that much?”

Namjoon looked back at you, smirking back at him. He swallowed thickly as the skirt of your dress slid up as you wiggled a bit on the couch. His eyes stayed on your exposed thighs as he spoke.

“You seem very relaxed. Am I helping grant your wish?” Namjoon placed his hands on his knees, squeezing tightly, to keep from reaching out and caressing the soft skin of your legs. He couldn’t turn his gaze away, almost hoping the skirt would move upward further.

“Yes,” you murmured. He lifted his gaze to your face again.

“You’re really breathtaking,” he whispered, using your name.

“Is it against the rules if I kiss you?”

Your question made his breath catch and eyes widen. Namjoon shook his head slowly back and forth, but not really knowing the answer. He suddenly realized he’d do anything to be able to kiss you right now. “Okay, good, cause I’m going to kiss you.”

You leaned forward without hesitation, sure of what you wanted. This was a dream, anything could happen, right? Reaching out, you grabbed Namjoon’s sweater and brought him closer. Tilting your head, you kissed him. He responded immediately, a hand rising to cup your cheek as his lips moved. His other hand moved to your calf, slowly sliding upward. A sigh fell from your lips as Namjoon’s large, cool hand squeezed your thigh. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip, and you nipped at it. Namjoon pulled away with his eyebrows raised.

“It’s going to be like that,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your kiss swollen lips. He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, then stood, taking his hands off you. You frowned and looked up to him, confused. His eyes had darkened and his playful grin had turned into a devious smirk. He reached out, and you left Namjoon position you so you were sitting forward on the couch, with your legs spread open. The short skirt left little to the imagination as he knelt between your legs.

“It’s going to be like that,” you repeated back in a teasing tone.

Breathlessly, you reached down and held onto the hem of your dress. Namjoon stared into your eyes as you slowly pulled the material up your legs, exposing more of your thighs. It was almost a competition to see who would look away first. You stopped moving your skirt when it barely covered the apex of your thighs. Namjoon’s jaw flexed as he took a deep breath, eyes still on yours.

“Is this a power thing?” He chuckled, each hand moving to your thighs. He splayed each hand on your thighs. Your body shivered with anticipation, his fingers so close to your intimate area. His voice lowered. “What do you want, angel? Do you want to fight for power? Or do you want to pick a side? Either way, I’m looking forward to playing with you.”

Biting your lip, you pulled the hem of your skirt up over your hips, showing off your exposed slit. Apparently, the materializing of this dress hadn’t brought about underwear.

“Make my wish come true,” you whispered, eyelids fluttering close as Namjoon’s hand flexed on your skin.

“It’s all I want to do,” you heard him breath, his thumb rubbing circles now. The coolness from his skin caused goosebumps to appear all over your body, but it also made your clit begin to ache. When his lips touched your left thigh, you jumped, sucking in a breath. His hand tightened to keep your leg still as he pressed a few more kisses, then raked his teeth against your skin. “I want to taste you, every part of you, angel.”

“Yes,” you whimpered. You kept your eyes shut, enjoying the sensations of touch as his lips, teeth, and hands pressed against you. “Will you touch me? I want your fingers….”

“Be patient,” Namjoon chuckled, his breath only inches from your opening. Without realizing it, your thighs spread wider, opening you further in front of him. He groaned, gripping your thighs tightly. “Want my fingers where?” he asked, voice heavy with lust.

“Inside,” you replied hurriedly, eyes opening to look down at him. His skin was more purple than ever before, which confirmed he was as flushed and heated as you were. Your hem was fisted in your hand at your waist. “I really like your hands…”

“And I really like you.” He trailed his first finger up toward your opening, watching your face as he slowly rubbed against your opening. A yelp fell from your lips, the ice cold digit a surprise, although you should have known. He squeezed with his other hand, still holding your leg, and pressed a kissed right next to his hand. “Does the cold bother you?”

“No, it actually feels really good,” you gasped as he kept moving his finger from top to bottom. After a moment, he pressed a thumb against your clit, moving in a slow circle. One finger pressed against your opening, then slipped inside. Your slippery walls took him in without hesitation, causing you both to groan.

“Fuck, angel, you’re so warm… but you’re also trembling.” Pulling his finger out, you almost whimpered but stopped when he slid it back inside. Moaning, you threw your head back against the couch and reached out one hand to fall into his hair. His soft, short, brown hair tangled in your fingers as you squirmed under his scrutiny. Thighs shaking, you lifted your hips to match his slow rhythm. “Am I making you feel good? Is that why you’re shaking? Do my fingers feel good inside you?” As he said this, Namjoon slid another finger inside, stretching you further. His thumb continued to work your sensitive nub, arousal starting to leak from you.

“Jesus, Namjoon,” you breathed, watching his lips turn into a smile. His eyes moved between his fingers working you and your face.

“I wonder what you’ll taste like? I have no doubt you are delicious.” He let his gaze drop to look lovingly at your opening, his fingers dipping down to the last knuckle and pulling out. He turned his hand and curled his fingers upward, causing you to cry out. Your eyelids closed, making you miss out on his face moving close. When his tongue replaced his thumb against your clit, you shudder and tugged at his hair. He wrapped his lips around your nub, a groan rumbling from his chest. Moving his fingers faster, Namjoon sucked slowly, pulling back to probe the opening above his fingers. Your thighs twitched, and he held down one with his hand and one with his shoulder.

A warmth began to spread in your lower stomach, with his tongue and fingers probing inside. You moaned and whimpered, lifting your hips. He continued his assault, moving his fingers faster, breathing in your scent.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he rasped, pulling his face back for oxygen. Namjoon’s tongue roamed over his own lips, licking up your juices. His voice made the warmth turned into a blaze, but the fire died down slightly when his fingers pulled out. He lifted his fingers to his lips, licking with his eyes closed, a delighted moan escaping.

“Why’d you stop?” Unable to stop the pout on your lips, you made to close your thighs. Namjoon chuckled and prevented the action with his broad shoulders.

“You are so fucking adorable with your lip pushed out like that, angel.” He leaned forward once again and pressed his lips against your slit. Your hands gripped his hair once again as his tongue dove deep inside, plunging over and over. Shuddering, you cried out loudly. Namjoon slid his hands under your ass, bringing you even closer to his mouth. He devoured you, causing you to fall into a sobbing mess as the fire begin to rage hotter and hotter inside you.

“Oh god, don’t stop,” you repeated helplessly, held down by his shoulders and arms. Your fingers stayed tangled in his hair, like you were afraid he’d pull away.

“Come on my tongue, angel,” he growled, voice muffled. His raspy voice build the fire to the perfect peak, causing you to shudder and buck your hips into his face. Namjoon gradually slowed the movement of his tongue. Whimpering, your whole body trembled, spent but still pulsing with electricity. He finally pulled back, breathing heavily, grinning up at you and licking his lips once more. “You look tired, darling, let’s rest.”

“W-what?” you stuttered as Namjoon stood and sat next to you on the couch. He scooped you up with his arms and settling you across his lap. Automatically, your arms went around his neck and your face buried into his neck. The coolness of his skin was welcomed against your heated forehead. He rubbed your back, lips pressed against your head, as your body stopped trembling and your mind cleared.

“You’re going to ask about my own pleasure,” Namjoon stated after a few moments of comfortable silence. You smiled against the skin of his neck and nuzzled it with your nose. A soft hum of enjoyment came from his lips as he squeezed you in return. “We have many more hours, I’m definitely not concerned.”

Namjoon reluctantly stood with you in his arms a few minutes after you fell asleep, your breathing gentle and calm. He carried you up the stairs and onto the loft, where his large bed sat in the far corner. As he laid you down carefully, he licked his lips, your taste still lingering on his tongue. He bit his lip to keep from groaning loudly, focusing on tucking you into bed. He took your boots off, then made sure the blankets were surrounding you with shaking hands.

He walked away before he gave into temptation and slide into the bed with you. Sex wasn’t something that came often for him. Namjoon knew if you had gone further, he wouldn’t have lasted long.

He hurried down the stairs and sat on the couch, slouched with his hands over his face. Blowing out a breath, he pulled them away and cupped himself through his jeans. Closing his eyes, he rubbed himself, your face in his mind. Your mouth opened in pleasure, legs spread out before him, holding tightly to his hair, lifting your hips to give him as much access to your wet opening as he could get. Namjoon muffled a moan as he undid his pants and pulled out his cock. It was already aching, his dick hard and flushed blue-tinted purple as he gripped it in his fist.

“Fuck, angel,” he murmured, furthering the memory into a fantasy of his own, where he stood, pulled his member out, and lined it at your entrance. You would be as breathless as he was now, with your trembling legs wrapping around his hips as he pressed forward. While he imagined this, Namjoon’s hand pumped his cock. He used his own leaking precum to lubricate himself. You’d be warm, slick, accepting him without hesitation. The way you responded to his mouth told him that.

Closing his eyes, Namjoon let his head fall back. His mouth fell open, breathing staggered, as the vision of you taking him completely, whimpering and clinging to him, brought him close to his release. It didn’t take long for him to furiously pump his cock, biting his lip and whining as he lifted his shirt out of the way. He imagined you crying out, milking his cock as he came. The warm spurt of his seed on his hand brought him out of his fantasy, trying to catch his breath. His ice blue semen ended up on his stomach, as well. Letting out a tired moan, Namjoon decided a shower was the best course of action.

Your first thought as you came out of sleep was how comfortable you were. On your side, you were wrapped up in a soft, thick blanket, one hand under your cheek and the other wrapped around your bed partner. You squeezed him, rubbing your face against his naked chest. It was cool to the touch, but it didn’t bother you. In fact, the touch of his skin on yours made an ache appear between your legs. You absent-mindedly placed a kiss on his chest, eyes still closed, and let out a soft sound of contentment. A well-muscled arm wrapped around you, splaying his hand on your back, and pulled you close.

You breathed in the scent of a fresh winter breeze as you opened your eyes, tilting your head up. Namjoon’s pale blue eyes met yours, a sleepy smirk on his lips. You blinked up at him, your mind trying to remember everything that had happened in the last six hours. He waited patiently, a sparkle in his eyes. Finally, a smile came to your lips. It wasn’t a dream. Wait, not a dream? I fell asleep… and now I’m awake…

“Angel, what’s on your mind? The light in your eyes became a bit more dull,” Namjoon asked, frowning. He brought a hand up to cup your cheek. His large hand, cold but comforting, seemed extremely real, as did the memories of the sensations you had left hours earlier.

“Am I dreaming?” you quietly asked, holding his gaze.

“No. This is real. Magical, but real. And you have plenty of time to enjoy your Christmas Eve some more.” His hand left your cheek. Namjoon rolled onto his back, pulling you close. Your head ended up on his chest, with one leg thrown over his thighs. He played with the strands of your hair as he continued. “Look out the window, see the curvature of the glass?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, shifting only your eyes toward the window. Sunrays fell into the room through the curtains, hitting the floor. You saw a house a few yards away, and then the park. Two families were out, one familiar and one not, laughing and having fun throwing snowballs and sledding. The curtains blocked you from seeing anything definitively.

“Oh, yeah, curtains.” Namjoon lifted his free hand and swiped his hand through the air. The curtains parted enough for you to see the events happening, as well as the trees. He pointed with the same hand, showing you something. “Above the trees, if you look at it just right, you can see the light of the sun bounce off the glass.”

You followed his finger, watching the spot curiously. After two seconds, you saw it. The light glinting off something round. Eyes widening, you sat up, the blanket falling off the top half of you, and looked down at Namjoon. He raised an eyebrow as he put his hands behind his head. For a moment, you were distracted by his broad shoulders, oddly tinted smooth skin, and almost defined abs. You blinked, making yourself focus on this new information.

“Snowglobe,” you stated, looking back out the window. “Wait… could you close the curtain? I don’t want them to see...”

“Sure,” Namjoon chuckled, lifted a hand to swipe the curtains closed, then putting it back under his head. “Yes, the snowglobe. We are in the item you purchased last week.”

“How?” You didn’t know what else to say, staring down at him beside you. He studied you for a moment, his eyes moving over your face, searching for something. Seemingly satisfied, he continued in a patient voice.

“Magic. I… was put here as a punishment for something I did a very long time ago, when I was still very young.” As he said it, you saw his eyes shift away. He bit his lip nervously, and you wondered what kind of things he did to be punished in something like this. You opened your mouth to ask, but he started to talk once more. “I wanted to one-up the Frost Family, to put it bluntly. My actions caused harm to humans indirectly.”

“Oh…” You reached out a hand and placed it on his chest. He moved a hand to rest on top of yours. “How long? Are you in here, I mean?”

“Aren’t you going to ask what I did?” He grinned with surprised amusement, furrowing his brow.

“Would you be comfortable telling me?”

“Not at the moment,” he stated, closing his eyes. A stuttering breath left his lips, causing your hand to rise and fall with his chest. After a moment, Namjoon opened his eyes. “I don’t want to cause your wish to be unfulfilled. No stress, remember?”

“Could you… can you see me through the sky?” You glanced toward the window once again.

“Yes, but not often. The fates seem to decide when it’s appropriate. Anyway, it’s Christmas Eve Day! Sowon gives out delicious treats in the morning.” He stood from the bed and put his hands on his lean waist for a moment. In a moment, his dark blue sweatpants had changed to black jeans, and a long-sleeved sweater with Santa on the front appeared on his torso. He turned and held out his arms, showing off. “We should hurry before they’re all gone. Bora and the other kids might get there before us..”

“Can I do that? Like I did last night with the red dress?” You looked down and realized you were still wearing it. Namjoon nodded and beckoned you with two fingers. You pushed the blankets off your body and stood next to him.

“Close your eyes and imagine what you’d like to wear.” You did as he suggested. You felt his chilly hands wrap around yours, and you took a deep breath.

Namjoon held your hand the whole walk to the store, where a short christmas elf stood just outside the door with a large tray in his hands. Four young children were bouncing around him, almost the same height, grinning. It was alarming how pleased he was with your outfit choice. You had chosen almost the exact same outfit, and Namjoon couldn’t help but think of the phrase couple’s outfit as you walked together. Your hand was warm and inviting, a touch he hadn’t felt… well, ever. He was extremely happy you kept your hand in his, squeezing when you wanted to show him something, or just swinging it playfully between the two of you. When the children and Sowon saw Namjoon and you walking toward them, Sowon stood tall - all four feet of him - and held the tray above his head.

“Ah, Namjoon! There you are! I was worried you weren’t going to make it this morning…” He trailed off as his eyes caught sight of your hands together. Raising his eyebrows, he looked questioningly at Namjoon. “That’s… I mean… you’re….”

“Yes, this is her.” Namjoon felt your steps slowing, so he tugged on your hand gentle, throwing a smile over his shoulder to reassure you. You walked a little faster, squeezing Namjoon’s hand with nervousness. You stared at Sowon, mouth open, surprised.

“Elf. You’re an elf,” you state. The children giggle, and come up to you. They introduce themselves, lifting their hands to shake yours. Namjoon reluctantly let’s go of your hand for you to respond to their actions, stepping up beside Sowon as you introduce yourself to the kids. As you’re finding out all about them, Sowon leans a little closer to Namjoon.

“The human who bought this globe. Why is she here? And not during a dream?” he whispered, holding the tray tightly in his hands.

“Boreas visited me a few days ago.” That made Sowon turn his head completely to Namjoon, eyes wide with wonder. Namjoon glanced at him and then turned his gaze back to you. “I thought I was in trouble, too, but it seems the fates have decided to give me a task.”

“And what is this task?” he asked, still shocked about Boreas visiting him. He set the tray on a small table that was near the door.

“Make her wish come true.”

“Oh.” Apparently the Christmas elf didn’t know what else to say, so he turned back and tilted his head, studying you as the children waved goodbye. He lifted a hand to wave back, and the children ran off toward their own houses. Before he could ask anything else, you appeared in front of Namjoon and Sowon. “Hello, my dear, I am Sowon, the owner of this store. Yes, I am an elf, an elder, actually. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He said your name slowly, making sure he pronounced it correctly. You nodded politely and shook his hand.

“Namjoon told be about your treats. May I try one?” you asked, glancing at Namjoon. He flushed, embarrassed to be caught staring at you with a goofy grin on his face. Sowon held back a little smile as he saw Namjoon’s face. Namjoon silently cursed his blue skin being so obviously flushed purple. Sowon lifted the tray back up, allowing you to look over the treats.

“All of these are made by myself,” Sowon stated proudly. He began to point out each type. “We have peppermint patties, hot chocolate cookie cups, red velvet cookies with frosting, christmas bark, vanilla shortbread cookies, candy puffcorn, and ginger spice cookies.”

You tried a small bite of everything, offering a bite to Namjoon each time you took one. You gestured for him to open his mouth, and he did. You put each small portion of the treat into his mouth, eyes locked on his mouth. Each time, he resisted the urge to bite playfully at your fingers, wondering if they’d be sticky and sweet with the crumbs. With each treat, Namjoon felt a rare warmth spreading in his chest, and further down his body.

“I… think we’ve tried all of them,” he stuttered, clearing his throat. You turned to him, licking some sprinkles off your lips. He wondered if you knew what you were doing to him, teasing him with your pink tongue against the lips he wanted to kiss very much right at this moment. “Come with me,” he suddenly said, taking your hand and pulling you into the shop. Sowon blinked as Namjoon pulled you away, then shrugged, going about his business. He walked away, taking the rest of the treats with him like every morning, offering them around the tiny globe town.

Meanwhile, Namjoon pulled you across the store, knowing exactly where he was going. You followed curiously, not saying anything as he finally came to a stop in front of a door. He opened it and turned toward you.

“And now what?” you asked, chuckling with amusement. “Joon, your face is all purple. What’s on your mind?” You walked past him, into the little storage room. He followed, closing the door behind him. Now alone with you, Namjoon realized the name you had called him. A nickname, as if you were familiar with him, as if you were in a close relationship. He liked it.

“I really want to kiss you. I didn’t think doing it in front of Sowon would be polite.” He took a few steps toward you, then put his hands on your hips. You placed your hands on his arms and grinned up at him.

“You’re so considerate,” you reply, standing on your toes to brush your lips against his. Namjoon moaned gently, turning your body so your back was against the door. He pressed his body against you, so close you could feel his erection. You squeezed his biceps as his lips crash down onto yours. This kiss was much rougher than the kisses from before, all tongue and teeth, with Namjoon’s fingers diving into your hair to hold your head still.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, pulling his lips from yours for breath. His body trembled. Namjoon flexed his hips so his dick rubbed against your stomach. “Should I stop? I don’t want to stop, but we’re in the store closet and -”

“Are you saying you want to fuck me in the closet, where someone might hear us through the door?”

The words that fell from your lips made your whole body heat with excitement. The chance of getting caught had never been something you’d wanted to try, but now that you were here, with Namjoon…. You licked your lips as you raised your eyebrows at him, waiting for his answer. His pupils were blown wide with desire, hands still in your hair. He placed his forehead against yours, your noses touching and his breath on your lips.

“I would fuck you any place you’d let me,” he murmured with a smirk, lips brushing against yours. You sucked in a breath as his hands fell from your hair and landed on your hips. “Hold tight.” You wrapped your arms around his neck as he lifted you, biting your lip to smother a squeak as your legs wrapped around his own waist. His clothed erection pressed directly against your clothed opening. You groaned, nuzzling his neck. “This isn’t the place to go slow and steady, angel. Let me get you off now and then we’ll head back home.”

“I think I want to get you off,” you teased, grinding yourself against him. You unhooked your legs around him and placed them on the floor. Namjoon let you turn your bodies until his back was on the door. Blinking, as if he wasn’t sure he heard you right, Namjoon stared at you as slowly slid to your knees.

“You do remember this is about you, right, Angel?” Namjoon’s breath staggered as you began to undo the button on his jeans. He reached out and swiped some hair behind your ears as you pulled the zipper down. “Your wish, pleasing you.”

“I would be very pleased if you put your dick in my mouth, Joon,” you grinned. Namjoon growled a curse and let his hand fall to his side. As you pushed his jeans down over his hips, stopping just enough to pull his dick out, the main door to the store was heard opening. Namjoon froze, but you kept your eyes locked with his and wrapped your hand around his thick, hardening cock. He swallowed hard.

“Angel,” he whispered, hands fisted at his sides. He didn’t say anything else as he gazed down at you with heavy-lidded eyes. You turned your attention to his member in your hands, your fingers unable to curl completely around him. It was turning almost the color of lilac, the blue mixing with redness of blood that was flowing into it. You slowly slide your hand up, and then down.

“The skin is cool, but it’s also warm underneath,” you murmured, moving your hand a little faster. His dick was now completely hard, with a drop of icy blue precum at the top. Your eyes widened with interest. Namjoon sucked in a breath through his nose as your tongue came out to taste the small drop.

“Fuck, angel, fuck,” he murmured, bringing his hand up to bite the knuckle of a finger. You saw his thighs shudder as your blew on the head of his dick. His cum had a cool flavor to it, almost like peppermint. You hummed your approval as you looked up at him, all the while moving your hand up and down his member.

On the other side of the door, probably near the store counter, you both heard Sowon humming to himself. The shuffling of his feet, then the sound of a mop hitting the floor, told you he was cleaning up the shop at the moment. Your gaze moved back to his member as you licked against the head once more. His hips jerked as you took the tip into your mouth and sucked lightly, rolling your tongue against it. You let spit fall from your mouth as you tongued him, lubricating the shaft as you continued to pump with your hand.

As the humming and shuffling of Sowon came closer, you lowered your lips more and more onto Namjoon’s cock. One hand of his came to lay on the back of your head, the other still against his mouth. When the humming and sound of mopping was right next to the door, you took as much of his dick as you could, almost to the point of gagging. Namjoon shuddered as his hand pressed the back of your head gently, asking for you to go deeper. You did your best, only a couple of inches to go. His fingers tangled in your hair, hands trembling, as you swallowed and had to stop with an inch left. Cursing, Namjoon’s eyes closed and his hips jerked. That caused you to finally gag, and you pulled off his cock, a long strand of spit connecting his member and your mouth as you sucked in oxygen.

The sound of humming stopped a moment, causing both Namjoon and you to lock eyes, holding your breath. His lavender cock twitched, your hand holding it’s base. The link of spit broke as the humming started up once again. It stayed near the door, but that didn’t stop you from licking your lips and grinning. Namjoon’s hand fell from his mouth as his jaw tightened, both hands falling to your head.

“More, Angel,” he whispered harshly, eyes pleading. “Please,” he added, biting his lip as he guided you back toward his cock. You happily took him back inside your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat as Namjoon’s head fell back quietly against the door. A soft whimper came from his mouth as you bobbed your head, your tongue stroking as you moved. “Don’t stop,” he breathed, hand guiding your head gently. His hips bucked. The peppermint taste of his precum started to cover your tongue, telling you he was close.

You pulled back for air, fisting his cock and pumping it quickly. Namjoon lowered his eyes to you. His cock was right in front of your face, his hands cupping your head as you both locked eyes. His jaw twitched and a low hiss escaped him. You opened your mouth, settling it just under the tip of his dick, still stroking his member as Namjoon’s eyes widened. He struggled to keep his eyes open as his whole body shuddered, icy blue cum spurting from his cock and into your mouth. You kept your mouth opened as he finished, muffling his grunts with his lips tightly closed. His hips jerked once more, his cock jumping in your hand, as the last shot of cum landing on your tongue. You swallowed as he gasped for air, hands lowering from your head and falling to his sides.

You licked your lips, enjoying the strange taste of his release, as you stood. Shakily, you pressed yourself against him, wrapping your arms around Namjoon’s waist. His member was still out, pressed between the two of you, but you didn’t care as you held his trembling body. Namjoon’s head fell to your shoulder, and his arms circled you and squeezed. With his nose buried in your neck, you both held each other as your breathing slowly became normal once again. The noises of Sowon cleaning was still happening, but on the other side of the building.

“Did you like that?” Namjoon whispered against your skin, almost hesitantly. You chuckled pulled away so he would look at you. You cupped his cheek and brushed your nose against his. He waited patiently for the answer, looking almost worried. It was endearing.

“I loved it,” you murmured. He opened his mouth, and then pulled back, glancing away sheepishly. You pressed your hand against his cheek to get him to look at you again. “What?”

“I’ve...um. Never done that,” he admitted, pressing his forehead against yours with his eyes closed. You took a moment to think over his words. Did that mean he’d never done what he had last night, either? Does that mean he hasn’t done anything before?

“Wait, really? What about last night, with your mouth…” His eyes fluttered opened and his eyebrows lifted. “Never?”

“No,” he murmured, looking proud of himself. “Surprised? Did I do well?”

“Well?” You burst out laughing, kissing him quickly, then pulling away. He let you tuck his member back into his pants, and zip them back up, smirking. “More than well, eleven out of ten, can’t wait to do it more.”

“Same,” he agreed.

The movements of Sowon had ended moments ago. He could now be heard whistling as he unpacked items onto the shelves. Namjoon winked at you as he opened the door. You followed him out, closing the storage room door, and took his hand. Walking confidently, you passed Sowon at the counter, who looked up, perplexed. Sputtering, he tried to ask where you two had been, but Namjoon just waved and shouted a cheery goodbye, pulling you with him.

He dropped your hand a little ways from the store, stopped, and crouched on the sidewalk. You stopped beside him, frowning. A high he had never felt made it seem like electricity was buzzing around his whole body. Scooping up a handful of snow, he quickly made it into a ball and stood. Before you could realize what he was doing, he took a few steps forward and turned, throwing it at you. It hit your shoulder, breaking apart into powder. Your mouth opened in surprised, eyes shining with excitement. He feigned innocence, shrugging and jogging backward with a grin. Namjoon’s heart bounced as your surprised expression turned into a devilish smile. He couldn’t help think it was adorable, even as you scooped up a handful of snow and patted it into a ball, stalking toward him as he walked backwards with his hands up. You chucked it at him with a gleeful shrieked, and he took the hit, knowing full well he could have just sidestepped it.

The snowball fight had started, and you spent a good half an hour tossing snowballs at each other as you made your way toward his home. You were both giggling and out of breath as you entered, the powdery faux snow covering your clothing. Namjoon shook his head, trying to get it out of his hair. It only got part of it out, so you stood on your toes and reached up, running your hand through it. Namjoon held back a groan as he did the same, pushing his fingers into your hair and shaking the strands to get the powder out of it. After a few moments, your breathing had returned to normal and the snow was mostly off of you.

“Hot chocolate?” he asked, pushing some hair behind your ear.

“With peppermint?”

“Your favorite, I think,” he replied with a wink over his shoulder. You snorted, knowing exactly what he was talking about. You watched him wander into his kitchen and open a cabinet, pulling out two mugs, both christmas themed. You sat on the couch and he sat beside you, placing the mugs on the coffee table. You looked at the empty cups, then back at him. He bent close and kissed you quickly. “Magic. Remember?”

“Oh, right,” you laughed. Namjoon waved his hand over the mugs, and suddenly steam appeared over them. They were automatically filled with the creamy, sweet drink, a stick of peppermint against the side of the cup. “Thank you,” you said, reaching for your drink.

You both sat for a while in comfortable silence, enjoying the warm beverage, sipping quickly. You ended up leaning against him, knees up and feet on the edge of the cushion as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, holding you close. Your body felt heavy, the craziness of everything in the last twelve or so hours sneaking up on you. The sun shone inside through the windows, the sheer curtains floating in a non-existent breeze. Namjoon knew from the angle of the light it was almost lunch time.

“Do you need to eat?” you randomly asked, placing the empty cup on the table. He did the same with his, then pulled you back against his side. You yawned, although you didn’t feel too tired.

“Not necessarily,” he said slowly. “I suppose I’m immortal, especially being in here. I do enjoy food, though I’m not much of a cook. I guess I’ve counted on my magic to make delicious meals.” He chuckled, absentmindedly running his hand through your hair.

“I see. I do need to eat, though. I’m starving. What kind of food can you make with magic right now?”

It was mid-afternoon when you finished your lunch with an impromptu magic show. Namjoon had made a simple sandwich meal lunch appear, with your favorite sandwich and sides, which you specifically had asked for. After he was finished, and while you were still chewing, Namjoon decided to show off some of his special talents. First, he took the ice rose he had made you the night before - which was still on the table - and had it dissolve into ice dust, gently falling through the air and disappearing. Next, he created a dazzling display of sea creatures seemingly swimming in water, but it was made out of ice and ice dust in front of you.

Lastly, Namjoon snapped his fingers and decorated the whole house in christmas lights, blinking a peaceful rhythm, making you smile as the main lights turned off and the curtains closed. All that was on now was the small christmas lights, throwing colorful, dim light all around you. You felt Namjoon’s eyes on your as soft snow-like dust fell all around just you, disappearing before touching the floor. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and stretched. You hadn’t been this calm, this relaxed, in what seemed like forever. Opening your eyes, you saw Namjoon standing in front of you, eyes widened with curious wonder.

“What?” you asked softly, not wanting to break the beautiful spell all around you.

“Have I granted your wish?” he asked, just as softly. He licked his bottom lip, hands tucked into his jean pockets.

“Absolutely. Why do you ask? Everything is perfect.”

“Just making sure,” he replied, a smile pulling at his lips. Unfortunately, you saw that it didn’t reach his eyes. Your chest started to ache, although you weren’t entirely sure why. The thought of Namjoon not being happy, like usual, made you sad.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, frowning as you reached up to cup his face. He placed a hand on your hand on his cheek, the sadness in his eyes disappearing. His grin lit up his face once more.

“Just thinking how beautiful you are, Angel.” His eyes started to sparkle with mischief. He turned his head and placed a kiss on your palm, and then moved your hand to his mouth, kissing each fingertip. The soft brush of his lips caused butterflies to flutter in your stomach, plus a warm ache between your legs. His teeth nipped at the tip of your thumb, then his tongue came out to slide over your finger. You breath caught in your throat as you watched his plump lips take the tip of your thumb into his mouth, sucking gently.

“J-Joon,” you stuttered, the warmth building to a blaze.

“I like that,” he murmured against your hand, moving his mouth back to your palm, kissing it gently. Finally, he let your hand fall as he cupped both of your cheeks with his hands, stepping closer. “That nickname. It makes it feel like we’re close… in a close relationship.”

“I think we are,” you murmur as his face comes closer. The dim Christmas lights are still lit up around you, but the blinking rhythm had stopped. His nose brushed against yours. “I want to be close to you.”

He only answered with a hum, then his lips fall upon yours. This kiss was different. It was slow and languid, like he was memorize your taste. You sighed against his lips, and his tongue entered your mouth without hesitation. Tilting your head, you opened your mouth and tangled your tongue with his. His arms went around you, holding you tightly against him. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he lifted, hands holding your ass as your legs went around him. As you continued to kiss, he walked effortlessly up the stairs toward the bed on the loft.

Slowly, gently, Namjoon set you upon the sheets, and laid next to you. On his side, he cradled your head in the crook of his arm as you got comfortable with it under your neck. He brushed your hair off your face and looked down at you. Yawning, you stared up at him, not wanting to break whatever magic that surrounded you two.

How many hours did he have left? Seven, six? It didn’t seem like enough time, to be honest, but there was nothing he could do. The fates had done this, let him bring you here, let him feel things he hadn’t ever felt before. He could chalk it up to magic, but what would happen when you left? Would he forget? Would the feelings go away? Would he remember? His heart aching to feel these wonderful feelings again? His thoughts must have shown on his face, because suddenly you frowned. Shit, he hadn’t meant to make you sad. He leaned down and placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Take a rest. You’re going to need it tonight.” He winked at you and stood. You propped yourself up by the elbows, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“What if I’m not tired?”

“Then you don’t have to rest.” You stared at him, and Namjoon stared back, a small smirk on his lips.

“You didn’t enchant me with sleep magic, did you?” you yawned, falling back onto the bed. You turned to your side and snuggled deeper into the blankets. Namjoon lifted a hand and magically moved the blankets to tuck around you comfortably.

“No,” he chuckled. “You’ve been through a lot in the past 18 hours. Your body is probably overwhelmed, even if your mind isn’t.”

“Fuck, you’re right,” you replied with a sigh. You closed your eyes, letting the bed cradle you into a gentle sleep. Namjoon watched you from the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He sighed heavily, then turned away, going downstairs. Namjoon found an ipad-looking item, sat on the couch, and stared at the black screen. After a long moment, Namjoon swallowed and straightened his back, steeling himself against the anxiety settling into his stomach.

With a press of a side button, Namjoon turned on the magic tablet, then pressed on the screen. He selected the icon to call the one who represented him so long ago during his trial. After a few tinkles of bells sounding, the face appeared. It didn’t look any different from the last time Namjoon had seen him, with a large grin and blue-tinted skin.

“Namjoon! Wow, it’s been… well, a long time. How are you? What are you calling me for? You didn’t get into trouble, did you?” He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. Namjoon chuckled and shook his head.

“No, Hoseok, I didn’t get into trouble. But… I do have a request. I need your help.” The dark-haired man opened his mouth, then closed it, mulling over Namjoon’s words. Leaning back in the desk chair he was sitting in, a small smirk came to his lips.

“Interesting. Tell me what you need, and I can tell you what I can do.”

“I want to be human.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened as he straightened with a jerk, almost causing him to roll away from the screen in the chair. Namjoon waited patiently as his friend kept opening and closing his mouth. Finally, Hoseok scooted closer to the screen and placed his face close enough to almost see up his nostrils.

“Why would you want to be human?” he whispered harshly, confused. “That’s... that’s a punishment in itself. Do you know how hard I worked to keep you from becoming a human?” He leaned back, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I know, I know. And I hope you know how grateful I am towards you. Now, though….“ Namjoon hesitated, glancing towards the loft above him. Hoseok gestured for him to continue. “The fates have connected myself with a human woman, and -”

“Oh. Namjoon, you didn’t…” Hoseok sighed, his voice turning sympathetic. He rubbed his temples, which Namjoon took as a not-so-good sign. “Okay. Let me think. I… I’ll have to bring up your case again, talk to the magistrate. You’ll probably have to go tell them what you want and why they should give it to you. You’ll also have to face the Frost family.” Namjoon pressed his lips together in a thin line, narrowing his eyes. Hoseok shrugged helplessly.

“Fine. Can you get the process started?”

Your dreamless sleep was gently interrupted by the bed dipping beside you. Sighing, you rolled onto your side, toward the body that had stretched out there. Muscled arms wrapped around you as your cheek pressed against Namjoon’s chest, your arm laid over his torso. You nuzzled his chest, the scent of peppermint tickling your nose. Eyes still closed, you felt his fingers gently running through your hair.

“You smell good,” you mumbled into his shirt. Namjoon chuckled, his chest moving slightly. You lifted your head and moved toward his face, placing your lips on his for a moment. Soft smiles passed between the both of you as you pulled away. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb running over your bottom lip slowly. You nipped at it playfully. Namjoon’s eyebrows raised.

“If you keep teasing me like that, I’ll return the favor.” He smirked, gazing at you with an intense stare. Your grin fell and you sucked in a quiet breath, noticing the change in the air. Pushing yourself onto your hands and knees, you manuvored yourself so you straddled his hips, leaning over him. His hands gripped your hips as you hovered over his body. “What do you want, angel? Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you.”

“Right now?” you asked innocently, letting your hips fall onto his. The apex of your thighs pressed against his member, which was hardening quickly. You wiggled, keeping your eyes locked with his. Namjoon’s eyes darkened and his fingers gripped your hips tighter, making you stop wiggling. “I want to feel you… inside me.”

“Same,” he growled, rolling over without hesitation, trapping you underneath him, your back pressed against the sheets. His hands found yours, settling them above your head, fingers entwined, as his hips flexed. You shivered, feeling his dick straining against his zipper. A shiver of anticipation went through your body. “How do you want me? Slow and soft, fast and hard?”

“All of them,” you replied, not able to chose. They were both equally desirable. Namjoon let out a laugh, then bent down, nuzzling your shoulder. He let the tip of his nose run over your shirt and then onto your skin as it pressed against your neck. You turned your head, giving him better access. Breathlessly, you let out a soft whine.

“Does that mean I get to pick?” His voice was deep, slightly muffled from your skin. You swallowed and nodded, lifting your hips to press even harder against his. He kissed your skin, then scraped his teeth in the same spot before pulling away. Hovering over you one again, he winked. Suddenly, both of you were naked, your clothes disappearing. As soon as his cool skin pressed against yours, you gasped.

“Joon!” you cried, feeling his hard cock rubbing against your opening as his hips jerked. Namjoon seemed to be as affected by your skin touching his because his eyes were closed tightly. Wiggling your body underneath him, you pulled your hands from his and wrapped them around his neck, pulling his forehead down to yours. His hands fisted the blanket on either side of your head. Sharing soft pecks on the lips, Namjoon opened his eyes. His light blue eyes had darkened to navy, his dick twitching as the head pressed against your opening.

“Not yet,” he rasped before covering your mouth with his. Immediately, you opened your lips and accept his tongue inside. Tilting your head, you clung to him with your arms as your hips moved desperately, the feel of his member sliding against your clit beginning to become overwhelming. Namjoon growled against your lips, biting the lower one, then devouring your taste once again, tongue exploring every corner of your mouth. He pulled his hips away, causing you to groan into the kiss.

“Inside, please, Joon!” Whining, you tried to press his body back against you. He groaned and resisted your tugging, dipping his head so his lips pressed against your collarbone. You groaned and held onto his broad shoulders as his mouth moved lower, kissing down your chest. He placed an open mouth kiss on top of your right nipple and brought his fingers up to the other to give it as much attention.

“Gotta taste you first, Angel,” he panted between nips and licks against your breast. You groaned and tangled your fingers in his hair as he blew against the tip. After a while, he switched to the other nipple. “I can already smell your arousal. I know you’re so slick for me, ready for my cock to slide right inside.”

“Yes,” you gasped, tugging at his hair. He lifted his head, a grin on his face, and pressed his lips to yours once again. As he slowly savored your mouth, one of Namjoon’s hands ran lightly over your torso, making goosebumps appear everywhere. “Please touch me. I love your fingers…”

“I know. I’m glad,” he murmured as he pressed a finger against your aching clit. You groaned and kissed him harder, biting his lip. He chuckled as he flexed his hips against you, his dick warming against your skin. He began to make figure eights with his finger, looking proud of himself as he looked down at your face.

“You’re so beautiful, Angel. Responding to my every touch.”

He leaned forward, his finger still moving as you shuddered under him, and pressed his lips against your cheek. Whispering, he placed his lips near your ears to say, “I can’t wait to cum inside you, to truly make you mine.”

“Yes,” you repeated, sloppily kissing him deeply. You put one hand over his hand between your legs, and pressed it lower, asking without words for more. Namjoon hum in appreciation, nipping at your lips, and slid two fingers over your opening. You both groaned at the same time, your hips jerking.

“Fuck, Angel, I was right. I’ll have no probably sliding completely inside you.” He pressed his two fingers inside, slowly moving them in and out. You spread your thighs wider. Namjoon pulled his fingers out suddenly.

“Don’t stop!” you cried out, reaching for his hand to place it back between your legs. Namjoon avoided your hand and brought his fingers to his mouth. Grinning, he licked your juices off.

“I’m not going to stop….”

“Can you please put your dick in me, Joon?” you pleaded desperately, squirming under him. Namjoon seemed surprised, but only for a moment. He spread your thighs with his knees, eyes widening in with anticipation as he lined the head of his cock against your slit. You shared a final look between the two of you, then he pressed forward slowly.

You both let out a heavy sigh of pleasure as he slid into you. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you angled your hips to allow him deeper access. He pressed his forehead against yours, his cock fully entered you. Even though his body was cool, his dick was hot and throbbing in you.

“I promised to give you anything you wanted,” he whispered against your lips. You flexed your hips, causing his dick to shift against your walls. “Let me lead, Angel, please. I won’t last long if you keep doing that.”

“I’m gonna go crazy if you don’t start moving!”

Namjoon laughed at your demand, rubbing your noses together as he slowly pulled out. You both groaned as he stopped halfway and pressed forward once again. Slow and steady, he pushed then pulled, repeating the movement as his lips explored your mouth and the skin of your neck. He sucked there as he began to pick up speed, this time pulling his dick all the way out before thrusting inside. You shifted upward on the bed with his hard movement, but held on tightly as he continued his rough pace. As he sucked and bit bruises into your neck, you tried to catch your breath as the smell of peppermint surrounded you.

“You’re so warm, so inviting, so wet. All for me, only for me, Angel,” Namjoon panted and pulled his face from your neck, pausing his thrusts to use his hands spread your thighs wider. Your knees pulled up toward your torso, opening yourself to him as much as possible.

“Yes, yes,” you chanted, hips lifting to meet his quickening thrusts. One hand pressed your thigh down, holding yourself open for him, surely leaving marks to see later. His other hand held himself up over your, giving himself a good lever to use as he fucked into you over and over. Your shut your eyes tightly, burying your face into his chest as you cried out with each movement. You felt and heard his hips slapping against yours. When one of his fingers pressed against your clit, you jerked and bit into the skin of Namjoon’s shoulder.

“That’s it, Angel. Let go. For me. Let go for me.” He continued to whisper encouraging, sweet words down toward you, hips and fingers moving in a rhythm of intense pleasure. A familiar feeling of pleasurable warmth started to grow in your lower body, spreading steadily as Namjoon continued to touch and talk to you. His thrusts started to grow uneven, whines coming from his lips.

“Oh, god!” you cried out, cursing as you shuddered and clinched against his cock, surrounded by his smell and whimpers as he sloppily thrust into you, about to reach his own peak. You rolled your hips as another small tremor slide from your head to your toes. You nuzzled Namjoon’s cheek with your own as he cried out, his release coating your walls. He jerked against you, holding you tightly as you continued to move your hips to help him as much as possible.

Gasping for breath, Namjoon’s head spun, his release sending him into some kind of euphoric state, where nothing mattered except you and him, your bodies wrapped around one another. He couldn’t hold himself up, so he fell on top of you, mumbling an apology. For several long moments, he listened to your heartbeat, ear to your chest, as you both worked to breath normally. Your fingers ran through his hair, both of you quietly enjoying the soft moment. Finally, Namjoon began to worry he was hurting you.

“Sorry, Angel,” he sighed, pulling himself off of you. Before he could completely leave, though, you smiled tiredly at him and wrapped your arms around his neck. You pulled him back toward you, and Namjoon didn’t want to deny you anything right now. He went right back to where he was, cheek on your chest, listening to your heartbeat as you stroked his hair. “Sure I’m not hurting you?”

“Nope,” you mumbled. “I love to cuddle after sex. Especially with you.” The last part was added after a moment of hesitation.

The words caused Namjoon’s chest to ache with both happiness and sadness. Your time was coming to its limit soon, and the thought was edging it’s way to the surface. He suspected you were now thinking the same thing, from the way your fingers stopped for a moment before starting once again moving through his hair. “How much longer?” you asked after a while of silence.

“I….” Namjoon trailed off, shifted slightly to look toward the covered window. He lifted his fingers to use magic to pull the curtains slightly away as to see the sky. “I think… four hours, maybe?”

“Ah.”

“Angel,” Namjoon softly said, lifting himself enough to hover over your, his face now just above yours. He brushed his nose against yours, and then his lips against your own. Namjoon closed his eyes, enjoying the simple touches as he kissed you. This kiss was much less passionate than the ones earlier. He wasn’t sure what this one was filled with, honestly. He opened his eyes and rolled onto his side, arm still over your torso. He didn’t want to stop touching you.

“Joon,” you answered with a grin, rolling onto your own side to face him. His chest ached heavily now, and he did his best not to show it, not to let you notice he was starting to hurt from the thought of you leaving. “I would be happy to spend the rest of my night right here, in your arms.”

“Perfect,” he murmured. You buried your face into his naked chest, not seeing Namjoon bite his lip hard enough to make him visibly wince. He held you tightly, and you returned with the same.

Neither of you awoke when an unseen clock starting to chime twelve times. One… Two… Three… With each chime, the faux snow fell heavier and heavier, just as it had the time you had came here twenty-four hours ago. Neither of you felt each other fade from your arms, but the ache of separation from someone special wasn’t something that would go away as soon as everything went back to normal.

With sunlight slipping through the sheer curtains on your window, your eyelids flutter open. Blinking, you take a moment for your mind to become clear from sleep. Sitting up, you take a deep breath and stretch your hands over your head. You look down and see yourself in your usual snowflake pajamas. Everything seemed normal, but your mood was much brighter than it had been in the weeks before. Rolling your neck, you catch the sunlight glinting off something. Looking fully toward your side table, you see the snowglobe. The world inside the glass globe was calm and serene, just as it should be.

Checking your phone, you realize it was Christmas Day, not Eve. Frowning at yourself in the mirror, you wondered if the holiday depression you had felt had made you pass through the day without realizing. As you got ready for your day, tiny snippets of your dream from last night built into a full memory. In the shower, you looked wide-eyed at your thighs, seeing small bruises where fingertips could have been. While you brushed your teeth, you eyed the hickies on your neck, flushing.

As you finished covering them with make-up, you froze, staring at yourself. Suddenly, you started to laugh, a full belly laugh that seemed to take over your whole body. After a long moment of laughing as tears streamed down your face, you finally calmed, the dream fully coming back. It hadn’t been a dream, you knew it. You also felt an ache in your chest when you thought of him, the winter spirit who had made your wish come true. Wiping the tears off your cheeks, you walked back into your room. The globe on your table hadn’t moved, nothing inside had changed. Letting out a mournful sigh, you reach your fingers toward the item, but stopped just before you touched the glass globe.

As you left your bedroom, you saw a beautiful etching of frost on your window. You recognized the landscape that appeared - the park of the snowglobe. You wondered if Namjoon had done it, although you knew you had no way of knowing if he truly had.

Swallowing, Namjoon stood tall in the middle of the room. The raised stage in front of him had all the Winter Council members, as well as Boreas the Winter God, seated to face him. He also felt the eyes of the Frost Family behind him, only allowed into this because of the fact they were the Frost Family. Usually, no one except the Council, the accused, and their representative would be allowed in this room. Hoseok had done his best to convince the Council to get rid of the Frost Family, but the winter council seemed to like smug spirits more than the law of their beings. Boreas, as an observer only, couldn't do a damn thing, although he looked as annoyed as Hoseok and Namjoon did.

“His actions led to the deaths of thousands of humans, Council Leader,” said Jack Frost, the leader of the famous family, stood next to Namjoon. “As winter spirits, we need to be in control of our powers. It seems only the Frosts are able to do that.”

“So it seems,” Namjoon murmured. Everyone looking at him raised an eyebrow. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. He forced himself to unclench his jaw. “I am not here to deny these events. I understand my actions contributed to the deaths of humans.”

“Then why are you here?” the council leader asked, sighing with boredom.

“I want my sentence to be changed.”

“You can’t be trusted out in our world,” Jack hurried said, glaring at Namjoon.

“I don’t want my powers anymore.”

The room fell silent, with everyone but Namjoon, Hoseok, and Boreas staring at him in shock. Boreas actually had a smirk forming on his lips, but he hid it quickly. Namjoon waited a long moment for anyone to say something, but when no one did, he relaxed his whole body. Jack snapped out of it at that moment and started to laugh. Namjoon glared at him, but decided to keep talking.

“It seems the Fates have shown me a different life that may be available to me. I’m going to trust the Fates, but only you can change me into a human to follow that path.”

“You don’t want your powers anymore,” the Council Leader repeated.

“No.”

“You want to be human?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” The council leader furrowed his brows and leaned forward, suddenly interested. “Humans are… well, mortal, living short lives, with no magic. At all. No magic.” He repeated the phrase like it was the most important issue here.

“You guys don’t want me to have powers anymore, so just take them. The Frost Family can rule over the winter realm like everyone wants, and I don’t have to deal with the drama that comes with that.”

Boreas let out a snort, causing all eyes to rest on him. He fixed his face quickly, staring blankly back at everyone. Eyes turned back to Namjoon.

“Maybe you do have common sense,” Jack muttered. He shrugged. “Fine. Take his powers, make him a human. The Frost Family is fine with not being responsible for keeping him locked up. Good luck, Namjoon.” Jack obviously didn’t mean it, though. He quickly held up his middle finger, hiding it enough for only Namjoon to see it as he left the room.

“Boreas, sir,” the Council Leader stuttered, turning towards the God. “What do you make of this?”

“I’m only an observer, here in case nothing is worked out.” The Council Leader opened his mouth, but Boreas continued to talk. “You’ve wanted to do it since he was sentenced. Now that he wants it done, why are you hesitating?”

Usually, during Christmas evening, you would be with your family, playing board games that turn into huge competitions long into the night. This time, since they were on a cruise and enjoying the sun, you were alone. Still, you had a plan. After speaking to your family through video chatting, you made your way to the large hospital of the city. You hadn’t been there for a long while as a volunteer, so it took a while to get your information straightened out, but finally you made your way to the children’s oncology department.

Even though these children and their families didn’t know you, they welcomed you with open arms. Other volunteers were around the large conference room. A huge christmas tree was in the middle of the room, allowing everyone to wonder around it to see the different areas. There were places to read to children or read alone, do an art project, play instruments, write letters to Santa, take pictures with Santa, and many other activities.

You divided your time between all the booths for a while, helping with keeping snacks and water stocked for everyone. You hadn’t had this much fun-- this much happiness-- around you in such a long time. It seemed like everything was back to normal, except for the ache in your chest you knew was for Namjoon. As the sun was setting, and the booths were being packed up and closed, you stepped out into the hallway that lead to an exit, wanting some fresh air. Even though you had on your warmest outerwear, it still stung your nose and ears as you stepped outside. You saw a figure near you, seemingly doing the same thing. He looked familiar, and you recognize the coat and hat he was wearing. He had been reading to the kids for the last hour, when you had been helping with the letter writing booth.

“The kids loved you reading to them.” The figure turned, looking fully toward you. Your eyes widened and your mouth fell open. His grin turned to confusion, although his deep dimples never disappeared.

“Yes… are you okay? Do I have something on my face?” Immediately, he lifted his gloved hands, patting his cheeks. You swallowed and waved your hands.

“No, no! No, you don’t, you just… you look familiar. Do I… know you? Do you know me?”

“I don’t... think so? But, you do look familiar. And I don’t think it’s because of the previous hour I was here….” He looked thoughtfully out into the parking lot, then turned his gaze back to you. “I’m Namjoon. I was going to get some coffee before heading home. Would… would you like to join me?”

When he said his name, you froze, unable to breathe. Namjoon seemed to take it as something else, because he was suddenly backtracking his question, stuttering over his words. “You don’t have to, I know it’s late, you’re probably heading back home to your family and- ”

“I’d love to,” you interrupt, the ache in your chest turning to hope. Namjoon grinned. As you walked beside him, you wondered if this was really what your heart was wishing for days ago. The Fates had listened to your words, but seemed to delve even deeper than you had intended. You had wished for a companion, but maybe it was meant to be more than just one day.

#25DaysofBTSXmas #bangtanhq #btsguild #btswriterscollective #hyunglinenetwork #namjoon x reader #m: namjoon #t: fic #fic: namjoon

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inmyownlittlecorner5 · 4 years

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libera nos a malo Chapter 3: Holly Wreathes and Humbug

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 3/20

libera nos a malo Masterpost+

Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object Masterpost+

<< Chapter Two+

Chapter Four+ >>

Miranda landed in Mr Clarke’s General Store in the little hamlet of Edgewood at one o’clock in the morning, Kansas time. She held onto the ruby slipper long after the portkey had stopped glowing, letting her stomach settle from the trip. The store hadn’t changed much in the two years since she’d last seen it, when she’d been making ready for her expedition to the United Kingdom and beyond. The wooden floors were laid in a herringbone pattern, and they gleamed from their weekly polishing. The smell of cinnamon brooms and the warmth from the radiators wrapped around her, and she smiled to see the barrels of Christmas candy amid the more practical necessities of life that were piled neatly on every surface.

“My Lord, Miranda, but it’s been a long time,” said the sturdy man behind the counter. He was dressed in faded denim and a plaid flannel shirt, unchanging as his store.

“Mr Clarke, it’s good to see you,” she replied. "Thanks for staying up to meet me, I know it’s after hours.”

“Not a problem at all, I’m happy to do it. Gave me a chance to polish the floor before the Christmas rush.”

She brought him the slipper and he headed into the back to lock it in the iron safe—one of MACUSA’s stipulations to his being allowed to have it in the first place—and she perused the shelves while she waited for Finn to arrive. Although she could easily have Apparated the few miles to Gortpúca, her parents' farm, it was tradition for her to wait to be collected in the No-Maj fashion. She fingered the bright-colored linens, and selected sugarplums and marzipan for her nieces and nephews, recalling other Christmases when she’d waited here for the sound of the old pick-up truck ready to bear her home.

“How’s business?” she asked when Mr Clarke returned from the back.

“Can’t complain,” he replied, perching on his stool and watching her fondly. “England treating you well?”

“It’s been fine.” Much as she liked the kindly shopkeep, she didn’t want to unload her problems on him tonight. She started flipping through the record bin standing between the paperback novels and the latest films on tape, feeling like she’d left her mind back in the UK. “Has Seamus already been through this box?”

“He has, but I kept one hidden for you to give him.”

“Perfect. I’ll take the candy and the record then.”

He added up her purchases and she paid him in galleons instead of greenbacks. While he was wrapping everything in crisp brown paper, a flash of yellow light reflected off the gold painted letters in the frosty window. Soon the old pick-up truck was idling outside, and a tall figure emerged from it, sending the bell jingling as he ambled indoors.

The new-comer was careful to stomp the snow off his work boots before venturing from the welcome rug, and his sharp blue eyes were shining as he shook his dark brown hair out of his face. He wore it just long enough to bother their sister-in-law, and he hadn’t troubled himself to slick it back with the hair pomade he favored tonight. He had acquiesced to the demands of the weather and put on his leather jacket; but he steadfastly refused the tyranny of a hat. He’d hacked off the jacket’s right sleeve at the elbow the winter that he’d lost the majority of that same arm in a job gone sour, and he liked to see who blanched at the jagged edge, and who pretended not to notice.

“You look a mess, Mira,” he pronounced after giving her a once-over.

“So do you, Finn,” she replied, leaving her packages on the counter in order to fling herself into his embrace.

He smelled of tobacco and hay, and her heart felt so warm that it hurt. When he let go of her, she could tell that he was blinking back tears, and he brushed past her, gathering her packages like he didn’t want her to see.

“Let’s get you home. It’s late and Mama’s not going to go to bed before she sees you.”

“Fine by me. Goodnight, Mr Clarke.”

“G’night Miranda. G’night Finn,” the shopkeeper called after them.

The air was cold and heavy, and the clouds were hanging low over the quiet downtown, reflecting the lights from the street lamps and promising snow. Miranda climbed up into the passenger seat, slinging her bag into the back and buckling in out of long habit. The inside of the truck was warm enough that she cranked down her window, lighting a cigarette and letting her arm dangle as Finn pulled out onto the empty road. The Christmas lights in the store windows and winding along the lampposts thrilled her now just as much as they had when she’d been a little girl, and she watched them flash by until they were out on the country roads, looping away from town.

“I missed you, Finn,” she said, glancing over at his lanky form lit by the glow of the dashboard.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied.

There were many words hanging between them; and they knew them all by rote. Miranda reached over and turned on the radio, letting the music fill the cab as they flew through the night.

“That old fashioned Christmas is a sweet memory, except for all the Christmas that you weren't there with me…”

*****

Gortpúca clung to the one group of hills interrupting the miles upon miles of flat Kansas farmland. She was bounded by a forest to the north and a river to the south. Her cattle pastures and horse runs were scattered over the lowlands, while the house and the outbuildings claimed the high. By the time Finn parked the truck in the carport near the brick farmhouse, the snow was falling lightly; adding to the piles already covering the frozen earth. Miranda was barely out the door when a pair of golden retrievers rushed her; jumping and barking wildly as she attempted to pet both of them at once.

“Down Failinis! Down Banshee!” she ordered, but she was laughing too hard for either beast to take her seriously. Defeated, she knelt down between them; scratching behind their ears and accepting kisses from their eager tongues.

Finn whistled sharply, and the dogs sat long enough for Miranda to regain her feet and start towards the house. After a few steps, the delighted animals came bounding behind, their nails clicking on the hardwood floors of the entryway as they came into the kitchen by the backdoor. The lights were dimmed to a soft glow, and the breakfast table was set with hot cocoa, clementines, and cheese. Walls were hung with garlands of fresh holly, there was chicken stock bubbling away on the back burner of the range, and Mama was putting the last touches on the marinade for the roast they’d eat later in the day.

“Everything looks just right, Mama,” Miranda breathed, wrapping her arms around the shorter woman and savoring the smell and the warmth of home.

“It does now,” Monica replied, hugging her daughter fiercely. “How was your trip?”

“Fine. Fast. It’s going to be a long day. As far as my body’s concerned it’s eight in the morning.”

The three of them sat down at the table together, helping themselves to plates of food and mugs of cocoa. Miranda swore she could feel the house enfolding her in its protective circle as though she’d never left.

“Please sleep whenever you need to,” Monica said.

“I will. I’m good at catnaps, remember?”

“I do. You take after your father that way. I’ve never been able to nap myself.”

Miranda patiently worked at the peel of a clementine, trying to bring it off in one spiraling strip. “Is Papa working tonight?”

“He is. But he shouldn’t have to do much for the rest of the time you’re here. Patrick’s with him, too.”

“That’s good. Which Mass are we going to?”

“The late one. And then Patrick and the girls will come over for the afternoon. And everyone will be here on Christmas Day.”

“That sounds perfect.”

Monica stifled a yawn and ruffled Miranda’s hair. “I’m going to head to bed now that you’re here. Do you need anything before I do?”

“No, I’m good. See you in the morning.”

She kissed both of her children goodnight and the stairs creaked softly as she went up to bed. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour, and Finn and Miranda sat quietly together, soaking up each other’s presence.

“You should get some sleep too, Finn,” Miranda said at last.

“I will when I want to,” he replied. “Besides, I hear you’ve got a lot to tell me.”

“I guess I do. What do you want me to start with? The vampires or the wizards?”

“The wizards. Mama’s been going on and on about some professor you’ve been seeing on the sly. Says he’s saved your sorry hide more than once.”

Miranda’s heart sank. “Oh, him.”

“Yeah, him.” Finn took a drink from his mug, and his shrewd eyes glinted at her over the rim. “Why didn’t he come with you?”

Leave it to Finn to go for the jugular. “He’s busy.”

“So busy he can’t be bothered to meet your people for a day or two?”

She shifted in her chair and kept her hands occupied peeling another clementine. “I didn’t really ask him to come. I didn’t think he needed to be subjected to a family Christmas at this point in the proceedings.”

Finn let her excuses hang in the air until they sounded like the paper tigers that they were.

“What’s he like?”

Her cheeks were starting to get hot. “He’s an ass.”

“Figures. What’s his name again?”

“Severus Snape.”

He snorted. “Wizards have some ridiculous names.”

“I like it. It suits him.” She wished she didn’t sound so defensive, and she let out her breath in relief when Finn took mercy on her and turned the topic.

“How long are you staying?”

“I have to go back early on St Stephen’s Day. I’ve got an appointment at St. Mungo’s and a job later that night.”

“You never stop, do you?”

“Nope. It’s the Rose way.”

He plucked a clementine off the platter, working it until the peel snaked off in a neater spiral with his one hand than Miranda could manage with two; and he flipped half of the segments to Miranda with a flick of his thumb. She caught them easily, and reflected that clementines always tasted better this way.

“I was thinking I’d come back with you,” he said, his casual expression daring her to contradict him.

“You were?” She raised her eyebrows; this brother wasn’t one to travel.

“Yeah. I’ve never been to England. And if you’re thinking of setting up shop there, it’s probably worth a look.”

Her defenses snapped back into place. “I wouldn’t say I’m setting up shop.”

“No? You been there almost two years,” he said pointedly. What would you call it?”

“I’d call it a good business decision. There’s a lot of work there.”

“And Severus Snape.” Finn adopted a foppish posture as he lisped through the name. Miranda kicked him under the table for his trouble.

“Fine. Come if you’re coming. It’ll be fun.”

“Glad you agree, cause you didn’t have a choice.”

“Whatever. But you aren’t tagging along on any of the jobs. Things are hot over there right now.”

“Why am I not surprised?” He stretched like a cat and rolled out of his chair, kissing her on the top of her head with a gentleness that was at odds with his sharp exterior. “I’m gonna hit the hay. See you when the sun’s up.”

“Night Finn. Sleep well.”

She lingered in the kitchen for a long time, petting the dogs and resting in the quiet. The clock struck the next hour before she got up to do the dishes. Too restless for sleep, she wandered into the parlor, admiring the naked fir tree that awaited the frenzy of decorating that the next days would bring. The fire was nearly burnt out, but she coaxed it back to life with another log and a quick charm before curling up in her father’s favorite chair. Banshee laid down at her feet and promptly went to sleep, and Miranda stared into the fire, putting her decisions on trial in a way that she rarely bothered to do.

She knew that, if she had asked him earlier, or if she’d pressed the matter, Severus would have come with her. Much as he liked to snipe at her, she had a sneaking suspicion that he would do almost anything to please her, and that knowledge chilled her to the bone. She hadn’t asked for his heart—and she was trying not to break it—but she knew the prognosis was grim at best.

She could bluff with a pair of deuces as well as any Rose—but when you’re up against a Royal Flush, you’ve got to know when to fold.

*****

Narcissa Malfoy’s ability to maintain a stiff upper lip never ceased to amaze Severus. She was the embodiment of the unruffled hostess tonight, blond hair tidy, dress robes pressed, an expression of gracious solicitude for her guests' comfort on her face. When he saw her this way, it was sometimes hard to remember that day when she’d thrown herself at his feet in anguish for her son.

That same son was sitting at the foot of the table, sullenly refusing to contribute anything to the conversation beyond a sneer or a monosyllable. The fish was superb though, and Narcissa had apparently troubled herself to read the latest issue of The Potions Journal. She was feigning an interest in the retrospective on Nadia Angouleme so well that Severus almost believed her sincere.

“Of course, Nadia took umbrage with the Journal for implying that she was living in complete retirement,” he concluded.

“I quite understand,” Narcissa replied. “I would certainly have wished for the Journal to refrain from painting me as being firmly in my dotage if I were in her place.”

Bellatrix scoffed loudly. “Really, Cissy, don’t you think the four of us should be discussing something more important than magazine articles?”

“I would never presume to dictate the dinner conversation; however I had thought that we all might desire this evening to be filled with recreation rather than business. Draco only returned home from school on Saturday, after all, and the Holidays are short this year.”

Before Bellatrix could offer an opinion on the state of the Holidays, Severus stole the conversation away from her.

“However short they may be, a reprieve from the students is always welcome,” he said wryly. “Although Horace has seized the opportunity to conscript me into inventorying the potions supplies.”

“One would think you have enough to do teaching the DADA classes,” Narcissa observed sympathetically.

“I would agree with you, however Horace had other plans.” Severus paused long enough for the house elves to scurry through the room, changing the fish course for the Beef Wellington before he continued. “Horace was concerned that someone was pinching hemlock from the store cabinet, but he did not wish to make any accusations without being reasonably sure of the offense.”

He let his eyes fall on Draco, and the boy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. If Narcissa understood the implications of the moment - and he did not think her so dense that she would fail to grasp them - she did not show it.

“How disturbing,” she said. “What did you conclude?”

“There was a mistake in the ledger, nothing more,” he replied. “I will say that I am pleased to have the privilege of confining my potions work to my own office and my private stores at last.”

“It must be a relief for you to experiment without being bothered by the students, sir,” Draco said, breaking his silence with a pointed barb.

Severus raised an eyebrow at the boy. “Indeed it is. And I, unlike Horace, am sure to protect my store cabinet with the Slytherin password.”

It was heavy-handed, and Severus covered his grimace at his own bluntness by indulging in the excellent dinner. But he did catch the glimmer of a smirk that crossed Draco’s face, and he doubted that he would have to concern himself further with covering the boy’s tracks, at least as far as Horace Slughorn was concerned. Merlin, he hated it when Miranda was right. It made her insufferable.

Bellatrix would be denied no longer, and she launched into a diatribe against the current Ministry and Wizard culture at large. She was as dull as she was passionate, and Severus allowed his mind to drift from the conversation to Miranda in the bosom of her family. As he imagined the bustle his lover was no doubt surrounded by, he was once again surprised by the strength of his urge to join her there. Had he gone, he would surely be suffering from a migraine by now; but even that would be preferable to this evening’s strained play-acting. It was not so much that he disliked Narcissa’s company; he simply wanted to be wherever Miranda was with a desire that shamed him with its strength.

When the crêpes Suzette had taken the place of the empty dinner plates, Severus pulled his mind back to the room and attempted to divine a subject that would derail Bellatrix’s harping. He was debating the idea of inquiring after her husband, when one of the cut-glass doors to the dining room flew open with a violence that caused it to crash into the wall behind it. The four of them shot to their feet immediately, and Severus’s wand was in his hand before he registered the Dark Lord, gliding over the marble floor like Death come to collect his due. Nagini slithered in after him, her scales rippling and twisting to hypnotic effect. Severus, Draco, and Bellatrix immediately fell to their knees where they stood, bowing their heads, and allowing Narcissa, as acting head of house, to speak first.

“My Lord,” Narcissa said, dipping into a deep curtsy before him, “you honor my house with your presence.”

“Do I?” Voldemort’s high voice dripped with irony, and Severus could not stop himself from tensing in response.

Narcissa did not waver in voice or body. “Would you care to eat? It would be the work of a moment to bring dinner for you.”

Without releasing any of them from their obeisance, the Dark Lord circled the group, letting the hem of his robes brush against them as he passed. Nagini lagged behind, swaying drunkenly from side to side, her black tongue testing the air. Suddenly she darted under the table, snatching the blue-furred Russian cat hiding underneath, and swallowing her whole. Severus heard Narcissa cough softly, and he remembered how Lucius had gone on and on for months about that feline and how he was going to surprise his wife with it for her birthday.

“How good of you to offer, Narcissa. Nagini, as you can see, is happy to take you at your word,” Voldemort commented, completing his circuit to stand before Lucius’s disgraced wife. He put the tip of his wand under her chin, guiding her to stand. “I think I will join you, after all.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

He kept his wand beneath her chin for another moment, and then withdrew, allowing her to see to the mundane business of conjuring another chair, and summoning a house elf for a repeat of dinner. When all was ready, they gathered again at the table; with Voldemort accepting Narcissa’s place at the head of it, and Draco sequestering himself between his mother and aunt, that Narcissa might take his place at the foot. Voldemort ate with surprising gusto and paltry manners while Bellatrix gazed at him adoringly, and the other three kept their expressions as neutral as possible. Even Draco, new to this game of hiding his thoughts, presented as blank a mask as could be expected of one so young, and with so much to lose.

“What a comfortable party this is,” Voldemort said, picking his teeth with his dinner knife. “To think I might have missed it.”

Narcissa could not ignore this prompt. “I beg your pardon, my Lord. I had not thought…”

“I realize that you did not think, dear Narcissa. Such a gathering of my faithful friends—how could I wish to miss it?” His red eyes flickered in the candlelight. “Or, perhaps you intended to discuss matters without my knowledge.”

“We would never do such a thing, my Lord,” Bellatrix insisted fiercely.

“No? That remains to be seen.”

Voldemort held Narcissa’s gaze for a painfully long time, and she gasped softly, sinking back in her chair when he turned his eyes to Draco. The boy put on a brave face, but soon he was trembling and clinging to the edge of the table.

“Tut, tut, my child,” Voldemort chided. “Aunty Bella said you were her best student. How disappointing. But what is this—you’re angry—with Severus. What has he done? Don’t bother hiding; that meager defense will not shield you, and it will hurt more if you resist.”

“Let him in, Draco,” Bellatrix ordered. “I didn’t teach you Occlumency so that you could hide things from him.”

The boy put his chin up, and Severus could see him bracing himself for another assault, but the Dark Lord broke eye contact, leaving Draco to collapse like a marionette with its strings cut.

“I do not wish it to be said that I never consider the needs of my followers,” Voldemort said solicitously, but Severus knew better than to trust the sudden change of demeanor. “Of course you would want the company of the Potions Master to while away your lonely hours when your loving husbands are languishing in prison.”

Bellatrix made a sound of disgust, and Narcissa kept her eyes on her hands in her lap. Severus was hard at work shuffling his mind into an order fit for the Dark Lord to see, but he was having difficulty bringing it under control. Voldemort’s eyes drifted over to his, and he tensed for the invasion. Miranda was being especially stubborn tonight; flashes of her scent and her smile kept breaking across the fore of his mind like lighting across a summer sky. But the time he spent cloaking them in memories of Lily left him vulnerable to Albus’s secrets springing up like mushrooms after a storm. Given a choice between the two, he would have to leave Miranda to fend for herself and focus on keeping his allegiance to the Dark Lord crystal clear. Perhaps he would not care to waste time upon the women of Severus’s fantasy world. Perhaps he would not notice how desperately Severus wished he were ensconced in a Muggle farm half a world away.

“Leave us Severus. I have nothing to say to you tonight,” Voldemort said at last, dismissing the professor like an unwanted servant without bothering to enter the younger man’s mind at all.

“As you wish, my Lord,” Severus replied, rising from his chair and bowing low to the ground before taking his leave of the company, his hands shaking as his relief crashed through him.

Voldemort started talking again as though Severus were no longer present. “Narcissa, I trust that you will be pleased to know that I have decided to make Malfoy Manor my new residence.”

“We are honored beyond our deserving, my Lord,” Narcissa replied.

“And now, Draco, I think it is time we discuss your lack of progress, and how we might encourage you to do better.”

Even Narcissa’s practiced calm could not withstand the Crucio the Dark Lord cast upon her next. Her screams followed Severus out of the Manor, and he kept his pace unhurried, that they might lacerate his spirit. There was nothing he could do to help her now; interfering would only inspire the Dark Lord to dole out the punishment with a heavier hand.

But he cursed himself for a coward all the same.

*****

By afternoon on Christmas Eve, Rachel had given up trying to put Maggie down for her nap. The busy seven-month-old was far too excited, somehow sensing that it was not a day for trivial things like schedules. She was sitting on the shag rug in the living room, playing with a brightly painted peg doll Nativity set while Rachel hurried to put the last ornaments on the tree; guiding them into place with careful wand flicks. The Nativity set had been meant to be a present for Christmas Day, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

The arms of the tree were too full to hold anything more, and Rachel stepped back to admire her handiwork. Maggie was still engrossed in her project, and Rachel was weighing out the likelihood that the new toy would occupy her little one long enough for her to make some afternoon tea, when a knock at the front door interrupted her musings. She scooped up Maggie, who protested briefly, clinging to the gray donkey and the shepherd girl in in the pink pinafore as they made for the door.

“Narcissa! It’s been so long. How are you?” Rachel said, balancing Maggie on her hip while she opened the door.

The pale witch gave her a polite smile, but her eyes seemed miles away as she drifted into the kitchen, murmuring, “I’m sorry to disturb you. Is it nap time? I should have sent an owl before I came.”

“You’re not disturbing me at all,” Rachel insisted. “Maggie’s refusing a nap today, so as long as you don’t mind if she starts to fuss, we’d love to have some company.”

Narcissa absently stroked one of Maggie’s plump arms and the child dropped the shepherdess doll in order to catch hold of an elegant finger. “She’s grown so much since I saw her in May.”

“Would you mind holding her while I make tea?” Rachel asked, studying the other witch’s pinched forehead.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Narcissa replied, taking the child eagerly. Maggie started to babble and soon exchanged Narcissa’s finger for a lock of her shining blond hair.

Rachel sent the the shepherdess back into the living room with a flick of her wand, and set the water boiling for tea with a second flick. A quick rummage in the icebox produced a collection of sushi, and there was an extra tin of ginger snaps that she thought she could sacrifice to the afternoon. Narcissa was fully absorbed in a game of peek-a-boo with Maggie, and it wasn’t until the tea things were placed in the living room, and Maggie set up in her high chair with some biscuits to gum, that Rachel was able to converse properly with her unexpected guest.

“I’m so glad you came by today,” Rachel said when she and Narcissa were settled on the sofa. “I’ve missed our teas.”

“So have I,” Narcissa replied. “I didn’t want to be bothersome. I remember being so tired when Draco was a baby.”

“I am tired, but it’s getting better.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

Silence fell, and Rachel was debating the best way to bring up the topic that must be pressing heavily on Narcissa’s heart. She didn’t want to pry, but she didn’t want to seem indifferent either.

“Is Draco home for the Holidays?”

“He is. He’s at his friend Vincent’s for the day, so I thought I’d finish some shopping in Diagon Alley.”

“It must have been so crowded.”

“It was. I’m happy to have some quiet here.”

Maggie dropped one of her biscuits and started wailing loudly, and Rachel’s cheeks pinked as she hurried to send it back to the tray with a wave of her wand. This did not please the little one, who refused to be consoled until she was released from the prison of her highchair to nurse at her mother’s breast.

“What was that you were saying about quiet?” Rachel asked, embarrassed.

“She’s perfect,” Narcissa reassured her. “Every day felt endless when Draco was Maggie’s age. He started crawling and walking so early, and he wanted to explore everything. I spent most of my days trying to keep him from hurting himself, and I would be so exhausted at the end of them. Then I blinked, and suddenly he was nearly grown and thinking he doesn’t need protecting any longer.”

“Maybe he does think he needs protecting, and he’s afraid to show it,” Rachel said carefully. When she saw how bright Narcissa’s eyes became, she decided to take the plunge. “I’m so sorry about Lucius.”

“Are you?”

“Of course! It must be terrible for you and Draco to have him in Azkaban. I wouldn’t wish that place on my worst enemy, let alone my friend’s husband.”

Maggie had fallen asleep at the breast, and Rachel gently unlatched the child and adjusted her clothing. Narcissa was watching her with a closed, calculating expression, and Rachel wondered if the English witch were in more trouble than she was letting on.

“Thank you for that. I have been somewhat wanting for friends of late.”

“Then please don’t forget to count the Lees among their number. If you need anything, you only have to ask.”

“That means more to me than you realize.”

They sat together for a few moments in a silence that was heavy with questions that Rachel was too circumspect to ask. It seemed that Narcissa was weighing out the risks of saying more, but she set down her teacup and saucer on the coffee table without venturing any further into what might have been an enlightening conversation.

“I should be going,” she said. “Thank you for the tea.”

“Anytime, and I mean it,” Rachel replied. She carefully laid Maggie on the sofa and cast a Shield Charm to keep her from rolling onto the floor while she slept. “Let me see you to the door.”

They passed through the kitchen in silence, and Narcissa hovered on the threshold, seeming uncertain.

“Would you and Draco like to come over for dinner on Christmas Day? We’d love to have you,” Rachel offered.

“Thank you, no. I’m afraid we are otherwise engaged,” Narcissa replied distractedly.

“I understand. I hope you’ll come back for tea sooner next time.”

“I’m afraid I can’t make any promises about that.”

There was something ominous to that answer, and Rachel put a hand on Narcissa’s shoulder, wishing there were more she could do.

“Narcissa,” she asked carefully, “are you safe? Because I meant what I said. If you ever needed help, Aaron and I would do everything in our power to give it to you.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened and her lips parted, and Rachel held her breath as she waited for the other woman’s answer.

“I appreciate your concern. Please be assured that Draco and I are quite safe,” she replied calmly. "Good afternoon, Rachel.”

“Good afternoon, Narcissa.”

Rachel had a difficult time tidying the flat from the last-minute decorating and the impromptu tea after her guest had departed. Her mind was working furiously, turning over their conversation, searching it for clues. She had a strong suspicion that Narcissa was lying, or at least not telling her the whole truth. After the third time she’d washed the same teacup, she abandoned the sink to curl up on the sofa next to her sleeping baby. The worries of a new mother suddenly seemed trivial when compared to the worries that the mother of a grown child faced. Now it was easy to keep her daughter safe; but one day she would be grown, and Rachel would not be able to protect her from harm with a kiss and a Shield Charm.

It was a humbling thought, to say the least.

*****

“Nowell, Nowell, Nowell, Nowell sing we loud! God today hath poor folks raised and cast a-down the proud!”

The spacious parlor in the farmhouse at Gortpúca was ablaze with life late in the evening on Christmas Day. The space was decked with holly and evergreen, and candles burned in the window, lighting travelers home. The fresh-cut fir tree presided over the whole, bearing all of the ornaments that Monica had collected through the years. It was a charming mishmash of boughten trinkets, blown glass, multicolored lights, and handmade treasures that ran the gamut from the whimsical efforts from childhood, to the smoothly executed carvings of Conor and Seamus.

The turkey had been eaten, the plum pudding flamed, the presents all opened and admired. A merry tumult of song, lead by Conor with his trusty fiddle and Seamus with his custom-made guitar, reigned over the din of conversation and laughter. Finn was in an armchair, cradling Anna and Patrick’s youngest girl, who was somehow managing to sleep through the chaos, and the dogs were panting at his feet, worn out from the madness. Miranda and Anna, her favorite sister-in-law, were dancing with the children, spinning round and round like tops over the kilim rug. There was a collision at the end of the carol, and Miranda went down under a pile of her older nieces and nephews, sending the company into shrieks of laughter.

“Levicorpus!” she shouted gamely, lifting Chiara, the second eldest of Anna and Patrick’s brood, up by her ankle and dropping her on the sofa with the counter spell.

This only increased the riot, with children crying out for their turns and Anna spotting them as they rolled off the sofa and out of the way for another go. Miranda could feel her shoulder start to pinch as she fought to keep up with the demands of her kinfolk, but Severus wasn’t there to chastise her, so she forced her magic a little and let the laughter wash over her in a warm, silvery wave.

“Who wants cookies?” called Monica, braving the storm with an enormous tray.

“Me!” was the unanimous response, and the children dashed towards the coffee table, descending on the cookies like a swarm of locusts.

“I’m sorry that Patrick had to run off,” said Anna as she helped her daughter Veronica manage the mug of cocoa and the peanut blossom cookie the child was clutching. Veronica was a beautiful girl of five, with her mother’s dark eyes and hair.

“I know how it goes. Work doesn’t stop just because it’s Christmas,” Miranda replied, taking little John on her knee, and holding his mug for him while he gnawed on a jam-filled pastry that was so big it required two of his tiny hands to hold. “Did he say when he’d be back?”

“He’s going to try to be home by midnight. That’ll give you a little time before you have to go back to England.”

Miranda let her eyes drift around the room, drinking in the sight of the family she’d missed. “I wish I could stay longer. But the Healers at St. Mungo’s are drill sergeants.”

“Good. You need a firm hand.”

“Don’t all the Roses need a firm hand?”

“Patrick certainly does!”

“Thank you for the chess set Aunt Miranda,” said Brendan, the second oldest of Seamus and Susan’s progeny. Tall for a nine-year-old, and studious, he had been one of the most excited to see his aunt come home at last.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it,” Miranda replied.

“Do you think we could play before you go back?”

“Of course! Why don’t we set it up in the kitchen, it’ll be easier to think in there.”

“Great! I’ll go get my set.”

He trotted off to his father’s old bedroom, where the coats and sundries were being stored, to gather his present, and Miranda waded through the mass of children with John on her hip and Chiara trailing behind. Soon John was perched on a chair before a fresh plate of cookies with Chiara close at hand to prevent his curious fingers from upsetting his older brother’s game, and Brendan was setting up the polished wood figures that Miranda had labored over during her convalescence. Susan, a woman so beautiful it hurt your teeth to look at her, was at the sink, avoiding the madhouse in the next room by burying herself in the dirty dishes.

“You’re going back tonight?” she asked without looking up from her work.

“I am. I’m sorry I’ll miss your dinner tomorrow,” Miranda replied.

Susan shrugged. “I’m impressed you managed to tear yourself away even for this long. I was starting to wonder if you were ever coming back at all.”

Chiara made a face at her aunt’s sharp words, and Brendan’s freckled cheeks pinked at their tone.

“I’ll always come back, no need to worry about that,” Miranda said evenly. “You can leave the dishes too, if you like. I’d be happy to finish them off when the party’s wound down a little more.”

“I don’t mind doing them. We get along fine all by our No-Maj selves, you know.”

“I do know.” She turned her full attention to the children at her elbows, and left Susan to stew alone. “Alright Brendan, your move.”

*****

As the clock drew near to midnight, the children were finally tucked into their sleeping bags in the upstairs parlor for a Christmas sleepover, and Susan had gone home to prepare for the next day’s festivities. Anna, Monica, and Conor had said their goodbyes to Miranda and headed to bed as well; and Miranda was sitting with Seamus and Finn before a dying fire, waiting for Patrick’s return. Seamus’s fingers drifted over the strings of his guitar, strumming idly while the three of them watched the embers glow. None of them spoke; and none of them needed to.

When they heard the sound of a truck pulling up next to the house, the siblings gathered their boots and outerwear, meeting Patrick, the eldest of their number, as he came into the kitchen. The spitting image of their father, he stamped snow from his boots, but didn’t venture beyond the welcome mat in the doorway.

“How cold is it?” asked Miranda, coming to meet him.

“Not too bad,” Patrick replied, chucking her chin lightly with his fist. “The wind’s let up, and you can see every star in the sky tonight.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Come on, you lazy bums, gimmie a hand with these,” said Seamus as he attempted to balance mugs, a whiskey bottle, and a tin of cookies.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Finn replied, swooping in to snatch the whiskey bottle while Miranda took the mismatched mugs.

“What time do you have to be at Clarke’s?” Patrick asked as they headed out into the starlit night.

“Not ’til three. I hate getting him up, though. MACUSA is so obnoxious about scheduling,” Miranda replied.

“You know he don’t mind.”

“How was our little friend tonight?” Seamus asked.

“Same,” Patrick shrugged. “I think we can wait until the morning. Let the fella have one more Christmas at home before we haul him in.”

The waning moon soared through the sky, flanked by her celestial cohort, and the snow crunched under their feet as they tromped over the length of Gortpúca. The other inhabitants were all abed, animal and human alike; although they could hear the lonely yipping of a coyote in the distance from time to time. The cemetery was bright when they reached it, nestled in a grove of naked apple trees. The gravestones huddled together in meandering rows, and each one was decorated with snow-dusted holly. They stepped lightly over the path that their parents had tread earlier that day, until they reached a bench facing the lone marker in an open patch of snow. Here Miranda drew her wand, conjuring blankets and casting warming charms as she and her brothers settled down on the bench and wrapped up tight. She charmed the cookie tin to hover before them, in arms reach of everyone, and Finn poured measures of whiskey into the mugs as she passed them around.

“In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan. Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone.”

Seamus intoned their fallen brother Columba’s favorite carol, and the others joined him by the end of the verse. They had spent far too many Christmases without Columba, and this graveyard visit was but a shadow of the joy they had experienced when their family had been whole. But in this vale of tears, sometimes a shadow is the best you can do.

A heavy silence fell for a time after the carol was over, and the whiskey burned through the tightness in Miranda’s throat. Her eyes were fixed on the Celtic cross and the Fiat Voluntas Tua carved into Columba’s headstone; for she knew that if she looked at her earthly brothers, she would find their eyes wet with tears.

“I think Brendan might be like you,” Seamus said ruefully, as though hesitating to disturb the quiet.

“Really? What has he done?” Miranda replied, unsurprised.

“Little things. His lost books and toys always seem to show up in a place you know you’ve already looked for them. And last week Susan got rid of this ratty t-shirt he loved to wear. I saw her put it in the trash right before the garbage truck came to take it away. Come Monday, Brendan pulled it out of his drawer, like it’d never been gone.”

“That’s auspicious. Susan won’t be happy about it though.”

“You leave Susan to me. She’ll be fine once she gets used to the idea.”

If anyone could handle Susan, it was Seamus. “I’m sure she will. What do you think about it?”

Seamus shrugged. “It’ll be an adventure, that’s for sure.”

Miranda finished her whiskey and balanced the mug on her thigh while she pulled her cigarette case out of her pocket. Finn immediately snatched it out of her hand, his eyes glinting deviously.

“Hey, I was going to share. No need to be grabby,” she grumbled good-naturedly.

“Never mind that, what have we here?” Finn mocked.

The sphinx mosaic was rearranging itself into a coded message, and Miranda groaned inwardly, even as her cheeks grew hot.

“Give that back!” She made a grab at the case, but Finn easily held it out of her reach, craning his neck to make out the message.

“What is it?” Seamus asked eagerly, while Patrick looked on, obviously entertained by the shenanigans.

“Don’t look now, boys, it’s from Severus Snape.” Finn lisped the professor’s name in a high-pitched sing-song, drawing snorts of amusement from his brothers.

“Oooo,” Seamus said, “What does he say? Does he miss is widdle wove bird?”

“Ahem.” Finn cleared his throat dramatically, and Miranda crossed her arms, indignant but resigned. “Miranda, Miranda, wherefore art thou, Miranda?”

“It does not say that!” Miranda snapped, lunging for the case again.

Finn swung over the back of the bench, dancing out of her reach, but Patrick intercepted him and plucked the case out of his brother’s hand.

“Give it back, Patrick,” Miranda demanded, but Patrick ignored her, studying the message.

“He wants to know what time you want him to come over, and to wish you Happy Christmas. And he misses you. And damn, but he writes like he’s got a stick up his ass,” Patrick reported.

“Just because he has a decent vocabulary and doesn’t have to cuss every other word doesn’t mean he has a stick up his ass,” Miranda countered defensively.

Patrick flipped open the case, distributing cigarettes which Seamus lit with a rose-embossed Zippo lighter. He surrendered the case when he came to Miranda, and she confirmed the message before quickly returning her property to the safety of her pocket.

“Aren’t you gonna answer him, Sis?” teased Seamus.

“He can wait a few minutes,” she replied, her face still hot.

“Cold.”

“Can’t wait to meet him,” Finn said devilishly.

“You’re going to hate him,” she observed tartly.

“Yep, reckon I will.”

“Look, it’s not serious.”

“Whatever you say, Sis,” Seamus said, ending the debate. “Finn, while you’re over there, there’s a record I need you to pick up for me.”

The conversation mercifully abandoned the topic of Miranda’s thorny love-life in favor of the much more important one of music. From there it was a short skip to discussing the children, and from there the only place left to go was business. By the end of their second round of cigarettes, the cookie tin was empty and the warming charms were beginning to fade.

Miranda vanished the blankets and Seamus refilled the mugs. The four of them gathered close around Columba’s headstone, and Patrick led the toast.

“Merry met, and merry part, I drink thee with all my heart,” he said.

“Sláinte,” his siblings replied, clinking their mugs and sipping deeply, before pouring out a libation over their sleeping brother’s grave.

Without her having to ask, Seamus emptied the whiskey bottle into Miranda’s waiting mug. She cradled it close to her heart as she broke away from her brothers, padding over the snow to a pair of matched headstones in the row beyond. These two were also decorated with holly and evergreen, and she crouched down before them.

David Nathaniel Clearwater b. April 25, 1965 d. May 1, 1985 More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world

Isaac David August 21, 1985 His eye is on the sparrow

She pulled a little wooden bird from her pocket, the last of the toys that she’d whittled during those dark November days, and placed it carefully on the raised edge of Isaac’s marker. As she murmured a sticking charm to prevent it from falling over, or being snatched away by a curious creature, her heart turned to lead in her breast.

“I miss you,” she said to David’s stone, unable to bear the sight of their son’s name heartlessly inscribed in granite for the weather to beat into dust.

The snow melted in spirals as she poured out a libation for her dead. Her limbs were stiff when she pushed herself up from the ground, and the snow stung her hands where she’d touched it. Finn was at her shoulder, wrapping his arm around her and bringing her back to the here and now.

“It’s time, Mira,” he said gently.

Her throat was so tight that it hurt to talk. “Let’s go then.”

The temperature had dropped as they made their way back over the empty fields. Miranda’s cheeks grew raw, and her breath floated before her in white puffs. She didn’t bother to look back, knowing that she would find neither David’s nor Isaac’s spirits waiting to comfort her.

They had crossed over long ago, and taken her heart thither, with them.

*****

End Notes:

Gortpúca: Pooka field. Pookas are spirits from Irish folklore that bring luck, both good and bad.

The song quoted playing on the radio is “Christmas With You” by Johnny Cash.

St Stephen’s Day is December 26th.

The carol that the Roses are singing in the parlor is “Masters in this Hall” by William Morris.

The carol that Miranda and her brothers sing in the graveyard is “In the Bleak Midwinter” by Christina Rossetti.

Fiat Voluntas Tua: Thy will be done (from the Our Father prayer)

The toasts are both traditional Irish ones. Sláinte literally means health or safe.

The epitaph on David’s grave is from the poem “Dirge without Music” by Edna St Vincent Millay:

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground. So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind: Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned. Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you. Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust. A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew, A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost. The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,— They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve. More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world. Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

The epitaph on Isaac’s grave is from the hymn of the same name; the full line runs:

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

*****

libera nos a malo Masterpost+

Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object Masterpost+

<< Chapter Two+

Chapter Four+ >>

#ocappreciation #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #snape #pro snape #snape x oc #snape fanfic #snape fanfiction #severus snape fanfic #severus snape fanfiction #romance #adventure #espionage #ilvermorny #second wizarding war #christmas

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mandos-little-friend · 4 years

Text

The Mission

Rating: General Summary: Din goes on an important mission for the covert; The Mandalorian pre-season one Words: 1418 Day 1 general prompt for The Mandalorian Ficathon: target, child

“Beroya!”

The Mandalorian once known as Din Djarin stepped into the forge and inclined his head slightly towards the armorer. “Yes, alor?”

“You understand your mission?”

“Yes, alor,” he responded. “I’m ready to leave now.”

“I don’t need to tell you how important this is?”

“No. I will not fail you.”

“It is not me who you would be failing,” she said crisply in that voice that could be chiding or teasing in equal measure. Not that he would ever describe the armorer as teasing, but she did sometimes seem to hide a dry wit behind her bronze helmet. It was one of her greatest gifts in keeping her often volatile covert in check; no one could really tell where they stood with her. Best to simply obey all instructions, follow the Creed to the letter, and never assume anything.

“It will be done, alor,” he assured her.

“Very well, you should be going then. Time is of the essence.” She handed him a pouch of credits, which he deposited into a slot on his belt. He once again lowered his head in deference and touched his fist to his chest in salute. Then he turned around and walked out.

He was near the exit when a gruff voice called out, “Djarin.”

Din sighed. One of the benefits of being tasked as the covert’s income source was being away most of the time. Din felt a great sense of honor in being a Mandalorian; he was, however, less enthusiastic about being around other Mandalorians.

Paz Vizla, leader of the infantry unit, stalked towards him. Paz was tall and broad and made a point in towering directly over Din. Paz did not like Din. Din did not care about that. What he did care about was his time, and this was wasting it. “I’m on a time crunch,” Din said, hoping to put the big man off.

“I know,” Vizla said with disdain. “I just wanted to make sure you get this right.”

Din sighed and rolled his head towards Vizla, not bothering to hide his irritation. “You really think I can’t handle this?” That was a bad idea, and Din knew it as soon as the words left his mouth.

“You hear that, boys,” Vizla mocked over his shoulder and several infantrymen standing against the wall behind him chuckled. “Our bounty hunter thinks he’s too good for this job.”

“That’s not what I said,” Din said, jaw tense. Deep down he knew the aggression was a product of the men being stuck underground indefinitely. They were itchy to flex their muscles and fire their weapons. Hiding underground was no way for a Mandalorian to live. He made himself relax in empathy. “I know how important it is. I won’t let the covert down. This is the Way.”

Vizla stood straighter. Beyond all his bravado, Paz Vizla knew the Way better than any of them, to his very core. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” the others murmured.

Din nodded to them. “I’ll be back soon. Every thing will be perfect.”

With that he swept out. He passed by the bar that served as the Guild headquarters without stopping. He wouldn’t be picking up any pucks for this run. In the ‘Crest, he quickly initiated the ignition sequence and lifted out of the atmosphere. He didn’t have far to go, and a quick hyper jump later had him landing on a moon in the Cadeus system.

Din set down in a starport of medium size, paid a berth fee for the afternoon and headed into the bustling town square. Cadeus IV had virtually no residential population; it however boasted merchants from nearly every system in the galaxy, selling anything imaginable. Beings came from all over to do nothing more than spend money. The wealthy would make a sport of impulse shopping. Those of lesser means searched for specific items or sought make use of the competitive atmosphere to get the most value from their currency of choose.

Din knew what he needed and found the first store quickly. He entered and spoke with the shopkeeper, giving very specific instructions. The shopkeeper made quick notes and nodded enthusiastically. Din handed him credits and was told to return in three hours.

Din left the shop and walked several meters looking for his next target. A brightly-colored sign drew him into another store. The clerk behind the counter blanched slightly at his interest, but he only nodded and perused the shelving. This purchase was the more delicate of his mission. He had been given only the vaguest instructions, told to use his own judgment.

He picked up an item. He looked at it with an objective eye and shook his head. He picked up another – too small. Another – too large. Din sighed and moved down the shelf.

“C-can I help you?” the clerk asked timidly from the end of the aisle.

“Hmm. What do you think of this?” he asked holding up an item.

The clerk blinked at him. “For you?”

Din growled softly, but swallowed it down. “No.”

“Oh, well that is a popular choice. It’s from a holo-vid serial. One of my best sellers, in fact. Can’t go wrong with it.” The clerk smiled knowingly.

Din eyed it again. “Alright, I’ll take it. Can you wrap it up?”

“Certainly, sir.”

After browsing a few weapon sellers, enough time had passed and Din was able to revisit the first shop to pick up his order. The shopkeeper smiled happily as he handed him the rectangular box. Din opened it up, found the contents satisfactory, and thanked the shopkeeper, who waved him off cheerfully.

Din stowed the items safely in a compartment in the ‘Crest and made the return trip to Nevarro. The sun was setting as he landed; he would make it just in time. He gathered his purchases and walked quickly to the bizarre. Eyes followed him with a variety of looks – from horror, to amusement, to disbelief. As usual, he didn’t bother to dwell on it. Walking the Way of the Mandalore meant putting aside the insecurities of the self in service of the Tribe; Din did that very well.

He took turns, doubled back when necessary, and when he was certain no eyes were on him, entered the secret entrance and walked down the stairs to the sewer hideout.

He walked to the large room set aside as a communal gathering place, which was full to near capacity. Adults stood around the perimeter as the foundlings and creed-born children sat together at a central table. They were in full spirit, all seemingly talking or laughing at the same time. At his entrance, all turned to face him. The children screeched in glee and ran to him jumping up and down. A little girl of about four with dark blonde hair pushed through and reached up to him. “You got it?” she squeaked.

“I did, ad’ika. Your favorite, chocolate.” He handed her the square box and she giggled triumphantly.

The armorer appeared at her side as if from the air itself and plucked the box out of the child’s hands. “I don’t think so,” she said with a softness rarely heard in the forge.

“Buir, please, I want some,” the child wheedled. The rest of the children echoed the sentiment loudly.

“You will all get a piece of cake. Patience, ade.” The armorer handed the box off to another Mandalorian to carefully cut and distribute slices of the confection. The armorer turned back to Din. “And the other?” she asked.

He handed her the second, wrapped package. “I’m assured it’s very popular.”

“Hmm,” she replied. “I trust your judgment, beroya.”

She walked to the table and placed the package in front of the little girl, who already had chocolate cake smeared over her face. “Happy birthday, cyar’ika,” the armorer said and placed a hand on the girl’s head.

The happy child took the package and ripped open the wrapping. Inside she found a doll about half her height, with black string hair and blue painted eyes. She wore a flight costume and came with a removable helmet. “I love her!” the girl shrieked and hugged it to her chest. “Thank you, buir!” She jumped up and threw her arms around the armorer.

The armorer turned and nodded a thanks to Din. He nodded in return and then backed out of the room. It was time to visit Greef and get back to work; the covert needed him.

Mando’a translations:

beroya - bounty hunter alor - leader ad’ika - little one, child ade - children buir - parent cyar’ika - darling, sweetheart

#mandothon2020 #the mandalorian #fanfiction #general prompt #day 1 #target; child

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ladynestaarcheron · 5 years

Text

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Two

hi everyone!! thank you all so much for the amazing onslaught of support you gave me for the first chapter!! I was totally overwhelmed!!

so you can read chapter 2 of like pristine glass on ff.net or ao3, and chapter one is here!

enjoy!

(oh and some lovely people asked me to tag them! @humanexile @skychild29

@rhysandsdarlingfeyre there you go!!)

---

October 14 - 4 years after

Years ago, before she had children, in a different body, Nesta didn’t know there was a difference between quiet time and quiet time alone and just being by herself. In her first years as Other, she found she favored quiet time alone, but could only find it at the bottom of a glass. Now, as a mother she tries not to dwell on any of the three, because she rarely experiences them.

There’s always someone making noise in the background. Generally shrieking, mostly with laughter, though, for which she is eternally grateful. There are times when the noise is of pain, which never fails to rend her soul in two. Sometimes there is silence, which nearly always sends her into a panic and frantic searches.

Rarely, when she’s lucky, if she’s lucky, she gets a quiet moment. Quiet time, not by herself. With three tiny angels. All blessedly, miraculously, asleep.

Simultaneously.

This isn’t free time, Nesta knows. She’s got plenty to do. But she takes a moment to just gaze at her children, sleeping on their respective beds, unaware of the world around them.

Avery, her eldest, stirs a bit, and Nesta’s heart does, too. But she settles soon after, moving a lock of her deep brown hair--Nesta’s hair--out of her face.

Nesta knows she can gaze in wonder at her triplets the whole day through, but she knows that’s a luxury for another day. So she bends down to kiss Avery on her forehead.

“Good morning, ladybug,” she whispers to her.

Avery groans a little and writhes under her covers. Nesta laughs; another thing she bequeathed her daughter.

Nesta makes her way to Nicholas’ bed, and she lightly runs her fingers over his stomach as she kisses him. He giggles as he wakes up, opening his eyes and smiling widely. “Good morning, Nicky,” she says to him.

“Good morning,” he says, stretching out the vowels as he always does, in his sing-song tone. Nesta smiles again at his Gilameyvan accent. She knows her children can mimic hers, and they generally do, when they spoke to her, but they always sound Gilameyvan when they chatter amongst themselves or to their fellow townspeople.

When she makes it to Ollie’s bed, he’s already awake, as she knew he would be, his brother and sister’s early morning antics having roused him. “Good morning,” she says to him.

Ollie reaches up to kiss her cheek, as well. He doesn't say anything. She doesn’t expect him too.

“All right,” Nesta says, standing up to leave the room. “Brush your teeth first. Then come downstairs.”

Nesta knows it useless even as she says it. Nicky never brushes his teeth before coming to breakfast, and sure enough, he grabs her hand and bounds down the stairs with her.

He’s babbling somewhat coherently, and Nesta joins in when necessary, most of her mind focused on breakfast. Ollie doesn’t eat enough in the mornings, she thinks, but she’s not sure if that’s just because he isn’t hungry. She wonders if she should take him to see their family healer, a female recommended to Nesta by the female who delivered the children.

But if she does take him, she’ll have to ask Zeyn to watch the other two. Perhaps he can pick them up from their nursery, if he leaves work early tomorrow. Or perhaps she’ll bring them all in to work with her and leave Avery and Nicky there with him? She’ll discuss it with him today.

“And I would like to go the store sometimes,” Nicky is saying.

“Oh?” she says. “What store?”

“Just for some groceries.”

“What groceries do you need.”

“I need some oranges.”

“You need some oranges?” she says to him. “I think that can be arranged.”

“I would also like to go to another store sometimes,” Nicky starts again, and Nesta half-listens to him, but now she’s mostly thinking about how Avery needs to drink more orange juice, but she will only do so out of a specific purple cup, and perhaps she should send that cup in along with her to nursery, perhaps that would be better than having the cup her at home.

“Mummy,”says Nicky, cutting into her thoughts. “Is Zeyn coming to our house?”

Nesta turns around to face him. Her expression is neutral. “Do you want him to?” she asks, placing a plate of pancakes in front of him.

“Yesh,” he says through a mouthful of sugarberries. He swallows. “Because he’s going to show me something.”

“Something.”

“It’s a secret.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. Zeyn is always making up secrets to share with each of her children. It only mildly irritates her, though. She actually likes that they all feel comfortable with him.

Well. Sometimes she likes it. Other times it scares her.

And that is one thought Nesta will not let herself wander towards. Because it’s another routine day in Sugar Valley, one she worked to make perfect for her children’s safety and happiness. There’s nothing here to threaten that, and she certainly will not let herself sabotage it with her own fears and weaknesses and insecurities. Not for the past three years. Not today.

And so she continues on preparing her children for the day, entertaining Nicky’s babbling, and Avery’s too, when she joins them. She encourages Ollie to take part in the conversation. She wraps them all in their winter coats, taking care of their wings as she does so. And she walks them to the Sugar Valley Nursery: outside their standard red-roofed house, past the others that look more or less the same, into the town square, where Avery and Nicky shout their hellos to the various shopkeepers and townspeople they have seen every day of their lives.

And like every morning she drops them off, her smile grows wide as Avery and Nicky rush inside, one of them taking care to rush Ollie along in with them.

Some days she’ll stop and chat with another parent, generally Classia, a female who emigrated from Prythian, or Ramilya, a Sugar Valley native. But today she doesn’t. She’s got extra work to do today, and she doesn’t want to leave any till tomorrow.

So she turns her back on the nursery. It doesn’t hurt her nearly as much as it did on the first day, just over a year ago, but there is still a twinge of longing. She misses them whenever they’re not with her. Every morning.

As per routine, Nesta does not let herself think about the people who no longer miss her.

Nesta’s persona at home--Mummy, really, not Nesta--is quite different than who she is...well...anywhere not in front of her children.

Nesta will not lose her temper with her children. She made that decision long ago. And she’s kept true to her word. She doesn’t yell or grit her teeth or mock or threaten. She’d lost too much in her journey to holding them in her arms to do so. She’s a good mother. She has to be.

But only a few short hours at Sugar Book Manufacturing and Archiving, and all the patience Nesta has instilled in herself has evaporated.

“What the hell is this?” Nesta hisses, slamming a crate of books down on a table.

The male sitting at the table blinks up from his spining and meets her eye. He sticks his chin out. “Those are yours,” he says, his voice insisting.

“They’re short stories, Donmaz,” she says, her temper rising. “Do I look like I’m in charge of short stories?”

Maz folds his arms defiantly. “They’re romance short short stories. They’re yours.”

“Romance novels,” Nesta practically snarls. “Not short stories. Are you--?”

“Ah, let’s try for a little mercy on Maz this morning, Nesta. What do you think?”

Nesta shrugs off the hand on her shoulder and glares up at Zeyn. “Do I look like--”

“Like you’re very beautiful and very tired and overworked and you missed your morning coffee? Yes, you do,” he says, grinning as he hands her said coffee.

Nesta glowers at him, but takes the coffee. It’s her usual order from Samir’s, she knows.

“Take this over to Leyla, please, Maz,” Zeyn says cheerfully, pulling out two chairs at the table.

Maz gets up, shooting Nesta a glare which she returns. She sits down next to Zeyn when Maz is out of sight.

“He’s such an idiot,” Nesta says, venom in her voice.

“You just use up all your patience with Ava, Nicky, and Ollie,” he tells her, as he has many times before. There’s no judgment or malice in his tone, though. Only ever amusement and jest with Zeyn.

And kindness and sympathy and an eternal flow of patience he never uses up, not with her children and not with her.

Her gaze softens a bit. “I have so much work to do today,” she says.

“I know,” he replies. “Good find, though. I know you’re excited.”

Nesta allows herself a brief, small smile. She is excited. She’s been an archivist at Sugar Books for four years now, in charge of romance novels and anything human-authored. Obviously, most of her work focuses on the former, but Adil, their Head Archivist, has just brought it in a crate of human-authored novels from decades before Nesta was born. Her job is to restore them--reapplying ink if necessary, spining, applying new covers--and set a price. The other archivists participate in sales, but Nesta rarely does.

“No patience left for customers,” Zeyn likes to say.

Of course, Nesta is also in charge of reading them.

Nesta will always have a soft spot for human-authored books, no matter the genre, no matter if she even likes the book or not. Even reading something she doesn’t like...just feeling proof of human ingenuity and creativity and art in her hands...something she once thought she’d have to live completely without....

“Adil’s called a meeting for later today,” he says.

“What about?”

“Don’t know.”

“Is it going to run late? I have to be at the nursery--”

“At four,” Zeyn says, a lazy smile on his face. “You think I don’t know your schedule?” He lightly tugs on a lock of Nesta’s hair that’s fallen out her coronet.

His touch is warm and familiar. Comfortable. Nesta doesn’t shrug him away this time, and his fingers linger on her cheek.

Zeyn is a lesser faerie--though of course, they don’t call themselves that in Gilameyva. They uses the term nagil. The finger lingering on her cheek is warm, warmer than Nesta’s body is, and his skin is brown and spotted white, like a deer. He has ears like one as well, and horns. Antlers , he calls them, but Nesta disagrees. They curl twice around, planted in his white hair, which is short and has the same texture of fur. His legs are muscular and humanoid down to his knees, where they switch to those of a deer, too, and end in hooves.

It’s never bothered Nesta. She’s never differentiated between the different types of faeries--first, because she feared and loathed them all, and now, because her town is full of nagil, and these are the people who helped her build a home for her children.

“How are your new mystery novels?” Nesta asks.

“Coming along,” he says, drawing his hand away from her cheek and draping it over her shoulder. He likes to always be touching Nesta, she knows, and she lets him, sometimes. “I’m glad they’re getting more popular.”

He tells her about the influx of customers from Wintergreen Glen, how their town’s bookstore wasn’t keeping up with their sudden demand for one of his genres and one of Leyla’s as well (horror).

She listens to him. Mostly. As she does with her children.

She just has so much work to do. And more to do when she gets home. She really can’t spare a moment to think.

“Hey, you two,” Xeyale Mammadov, calls, walking in. “Come to the front of the shop. Adil wants to start.”

Some of the nagil, like Zeyn, don’t spark anything in Nesta’s mind. They are faerie, yes, but not so faerie that she could not have imagined them as a human. But some people make her remember that humans know nothing of faeries.

Xeyale and their sibling Amir, their twin marketers, remind her.

Born to a nagil people with no sex markers, they each have black eyes, with no irises or whites, and deep blue skin. Their similarities end there, though, with Xeyale being a few inches taller than Amir, a longer face, and darker hair.

“Do you know what it’s about?” Nesta asks them.

“Yeah. And it’s quite grim, I think. Morrisey’s not signing with us.”

“What?”

“Really?”

Xeyale nods. “And Adil knew when I told him.”

Nesta stands up and stalks into the front room of the shop, where most of her fellow staff are already gathered. Adil is sitting quietly, ignoring Miri, the archivist in charge of faerie-authored human fiction and historical novels, talking animatedly with Leyla.

Maz and and Amir are talking as well, Maz still working on the spine of one of his new nonfictions.

Nesta jerks her head upward. “Is it true we’re not publishing the next Morrisey novel?” she demands.

At this, everyone stops talking. Leyla’s mouth drops open.

“What?”

“How can he do that?”

“Don’t we have a clause?”

“Is that true, Adil?” Miri says, in a calmer tone than the others, still sounding concerned.

Adil meets her warm brown eyes with his own near-black ones. “I’d prefer to wait until Hazar is here to discuss the matter.”

Hazar, their publishing agent--oh, yes, Nesta wants to hear what he has to say about this.

And after a few minutes of uncomfortable murmuring (mostly from Maz--“What about the clause?”), Hazar walks in as he always does: unhurried, dressed impeccably in ostentatious City fashion favored by the young, later than everyone, and completely oblivious. In this case, it’s to Nesta glaring daggers at Adil and Adil’s pointed look at the ceiling.

“Good afternoon, lovely people,” he says, practically chirping.

“Right,” says Xeyale, clapping their hands. “To business, yes?”

Adil finally looks at them, his staff. He meets each of their eyes, takes a breath, and says, “We have competition.”

The archivists and agents are all quiet for a few moments. Then Leyla says, “Well, sure.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Adil says. He purses his lips. Miri strokes his arm with her hand, but Nesta doesn’t have the patience for this.

“Out with it, Adil.”

“I mean...” he says, and he looks right at Nesta, “we have competition in Chokecherry.”

Nesta sees Zeyn frown. She doesn’t think he understands. But she does, and her heart sinks. Images in her mind appear like flashes: Ava spinning around in her new City dress, Nicky laughing at the tumbling classes he’s only just started, and Ollie finally talking to another child at the local pool without following his brother and sister.

“Chokecherry doesn’t do publishing, though,” Maz says.

Nesta rolls her eyes, the biting reply an easy outlet for her heartbreak. “They’ve clearly begun, Donmaz. And they’re stealing our clients.”

“Morrisey’s signed another contract,” Adil says. “With them.”

“I don’t understand how he’s allowed to do that with our clause,” blurts out Maz.

“For the Mother’s sake, Maz,” Nesta says. “The clause only prohibits him reselling the novel we published.

“Well, why didn’t we put in--”

“My fault,” Hazar says, and his face has fallen, for the first time since Nesta has met him. “I just...I never even thought...we have no competition. Not west of Anvernessa City.”

“I don’t want us to start blaming each other,” Adil says sternly, and he looks each of them in the eye. “Now, this is going to be a fight. But we are not going to lose. We have the best team of archivists, the best set of marketers, and the best publishing agent in Gilameyva. We have the support of the town. We have loyal authors who won’t even consider signing with Chokecherry, and we’re going to write new contracts for those who might leave. We’re going to do better in sales, and we’re going to be all right.”

The pep-talk is all fine and good, but Nesta needs to feed three children and she will not drop any of the new things she has finally been able to provide for them. “How are we going to do better in sales?” she says.

“We’re going to travel,” he answers. “We’re going to go to berry fairs and open booths up. Amalike Orchards has one in two weeks and I’ve got us registered.” Adil continues telling them about his plan, about how this is going to work for them, but Nesta can’t hear him. She can only see the three of them, her children, her babies.

If they lose publishing, they will lose archiving and marketing. They will lose money. There will be pay cuts. And Nesta cannot have one. She has nothing to fall back on. She has savings, sure, but not enough forever, and they’re mostly for the children when they get older, when they want to start their lives--

“You’re spiraling,” Zeyn mumbles in her ear.

Nesta tucks a stray lock back. She struggles to keep her voice low and calm. “I’m properly concerned.”

“Do you really think any of us are going to let Ava or Nick or Ollie starve?” he says. “Do you think I’m going to let anything happen to you?”

Nesta’s heartbeat quickens. She knows he’s waiting for an answer. “I’m worried,” she says.

“I know,” he says, voice still low. “But you’ll be all right. This whole town adores your children. People love you. Even if they’re a little scared. You make them feel safe. Do you really think we’ll let you lose your house?”

She’ll never have the blind faith in people he has. But that’s one of the reasons she likes him around her children. She hopes they’ll be more like that. Trusting. Hopeful.

“You’ll be all right,” he whispers again.

The meeting ends rather unceremoniously, with Adil clearly not knowing whether or not he should apologize. Which he shouldn’t. She knows, perhaps better than the whole staff, how hard he works for them. How much he gives them.

She’s not naive. She knows full well the more than generous deal she made with the bank on her home was not in thanks to her salary as a then four-months-employed archivist.

And so she says to him, mumbling, “Thank you,” as she leaves.

But Adil is like her, and so he barely nods his acknowledgment and hurries to do something very urgent in the back room.

“Nicky wants you to come for dinner,” Nesta says to Zeyn as they gather their coats when it’s time to leave. “So you can show him your secret.”

Zeyn grins at her. “Of course he does.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. “Are you coming, or are you breaking my son’s heart?”

“Breaking his heart, unfortunately,” he says, his voice in mock sorrow. Then he grins again. “Promised Maz I’d meet him at Jamal’s.”

“You’re ditching us for Maz?”

“I know you secretly love him. I’ll come over tomorrow.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Nesta says as they leave the store and head toward the nursery. “Can you pick up Avery and Nicky tomorrow? And just be with them for a bit? I need to take Ollie to the healer.”

Zeyn frowns, his ears quivering as his brow furrows. “What’s happened to Ollie?”

“He’s not eating.”

“Oh, Nesta, he’s three, he’s not starving himself. He’s just not hungry.”

“Well, Avery and Nicky eat a lot more than he does...”

They talk all the way to the nursery. It’s not so much bickering for Nesta as it is her thinking aloud and consulting, sharing her ideas and getting feedback in return.

Having Zeyn around is like having a partner, Nesta thinks.

“Zeyn!” Nicky cries when he spots them at the nursery. “Are you coming to my house?”

Zeyn scoops him up. “No, I’m sorry, little chief, I can’t today. But we’re going to be together tomorrow after nursery.”

“Can you!” Nicky cries out, then lowers his voice. “Can you show me our secret then?”

Zeyn lowers his voice to match Nicky’s. “I sure can.” He looks at Nesta and winks.

Nesta rolls her at him. “Hi, Ollie,” she says, crouching down to help him into his coat. “How was your day?”

“Good,” he says to her. His voice is small and high-pitched and he uses her accent when he talks to her.

“What did you do that was good?”

“I colored,” he says.

“You colored? That does sound good. Did you play with anyone?”

“Ava and Nicky.”

“Anyone else?”

“Emilia,” he says, naming Classia’s daughter, the female from Prythian.

“You did?” she says, smiling, pleasantly surprised.. “By yourself and Emilia or with your brother and sister.”

“By myself because Nicky was with Oz and Ava was with Ramil.”

Nesta beams at him. “Let’s get your sister. We’ll go home and eat something and maybe we’ll go to the park. Maybe we’ll pick up Emilia. How does that sound?”

“That sounds good!” Nicky says.

“All right, where’s Avery?”

It takes a little while longer to get back outside, and they split ways at the entrance to the housing section, with Zeyn turning around to meet Maz at whatever they’ve planned.

“Oh, and could you bring by some oranges?” Nesta calls after him.

He waves to show he heard her and she nods. She picks Nicky up, because he keeps walking to far ahead, and holds onto Ollie’s hand, because he keeps lagging behind, and says to Avery, “So, you were playing with Ramil today?”

“Yes, I was,” she says. “I was playing with him and with Nicky and Ollie and Kamrin and Zehra--”

“Avery, ladybug,” she says. “Can you tell me how Ramil’s doing?”

Ramil’s mother was alone, like Nesta was. They had just moved here. Nesta didn’t know from where, but she suspected Anvernessa City, Gilameyva’s capitol. She felt for the female.

Avery starts to tell her, but she doesn’t hear. Because her heart has stopped in her chest. Because Cassian is standing on her porch.

---

September 23 - Year of

Nearly two weeks Nesta had been in Illyria, and though she did not think it comfortable in the least, she had found herself a routine.

Every morning she would stay in her bedroom in Cassian’s home and ignore his incessant knocking until he left to go do whatever it was he did. After she heard him--felt him--leave, she made her way to the kitchen to find herself something to eat.

It appeared that she left whatever little appetite she had back in Velaris and she could not keep what she did manage to swallow down. Generally a bit of dry toast. Then she’d head back to her room and try to concentrate long enough on a book to read, until it was time for lunch. Then she again try to force something down, something warm. Try to read again. Until she fell asleep.

She skipped dinner. Cassian was always there for dinner.

And all this while trying to avoid the mind-splitting headaches.

She knew what was causing them. She needed a drink.

There was no reprieve. She wanted a drink every second; she did not care what kind. She could feel every drop of blood in her body circulating and every drop hurt. Every bit of her screamed for it, demanded it.

But she had searched the entire house top to bottom multiple times, even though she knew it was no use. There was no way Cassian would keep anything even similar to alcohol. Not while she was here. And certainly not if her sister had anything to do with it.

She had sent letters. They both had, Feyre and Elain. Cassian left them for her in the kitchen. They made her freeze the first time she saw them. She hadn’t realized what she was doing, but she was suddenly aware of herself holding them, moving to open them. She had dropped them just as suddenly and turned on her heel, back into her room.

She did not even let herself think what was in those letters. She couldn’t even bear to summon their images in her mind’s eye.

The throbbing pain in her head, in sync with her aching blood flow and the chokehold she felt beating at her throat never wavered, and she did not know if they ever would.

She was sitting in her room, book open in her lap, staring at the wall, when she heard him walk in the door.

He did everything so loudly...each step thundered through the house, shaking the desk a bit when he knocked on the door.

She did not know why he bothered. She knew he was home, obviously, and they both knew she wasn’t going to open the door. She did not enjoy their fights nearly as much as he clearly did, and she was too tired, anyway.

“Nesta, I know you’re up.”

That’s what he said each time. And it was such a stupid thing to say, it almost earned him a biting reply. I know you’re up.... She wasn’t hiding it! She wasn’t too scared to talk to him. She just could not have been bothered.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

She almost scoffed aloud.

“About... I’m going to Velaris.”

At that, she responded. Not to him, of course, not in words. But she jerked her head towards the door.

He was leaving to Velaris? He was...leaving her alone? Or would he send someone in his stead? Someone from Velaris to take his place here, or some other brute from Illyria?

Of course, if he was going to Velaris, that meant Feyre had summoned him. Feyre would not have some Illyrian stay in the house with her, would she? She hadn’t let Lucien, the Autumn male, talk to them when they were all staying in the House of Wind, and they had been friends....

“So you’ll be alone for a few days.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. A few days? Alone?

“I’m leaving now. I’ll be back before the week is over.”

And what day was it? She did not know, she was not keeping track. She only knew she had been here about two weeks because a few days prior had asked her if she wanted to do something special for their one-week anniversary.

Prick. Sometimes he made her angry enough to want to break out of the quiet she had sunken herself into.

“Something’s come up. It’s urgent.”

I don’t care, she almost said, but she bit her tongue.

“Well, I’m going now.”

She heard him leave down the hall into his own room. After a few minutes, she heard him reenter the hallway and linger for a few moments. She knew he was debating going to knock on her door again or just leaving.

He decided to go. She heard his retreating footsteps, and the front door open and shut. She was alone in the house.

Nesta closed her book slowly.

Being alone in the house did not mean very much to Nesta. She did, of course, prefer it over being with him. But it’s not like there was anything she did while he was gone.

Still, it seemed a shame to waste these precious few days...whole days with him gone, in Velaris. Hours of flight away.

Illyrians were a warrior race; these mountains clearly had nothing to offer her. But she might like a walk outside. And she might...possibly...find a tavern.

That thought was enough to set her in motion. She grabbed her coat and and made her way to the door.

She opened it and was startled by how cold it was. And the wind. Nesta had never lived in the mountains before, she hadn’t realized how windy it could get. And this was the northernmost area of Prythian. It was only September...how cold would it get?

If she was going to spend more time outdoors here, she would certainly need heavier clothes. But she had no money, and it would have to be a lot colder than the windchill for her to ask Cassian to take her shopping.

Cassian’s house was separate from the others in the camp. That’s what he called it, a camp. Not a town. Not even a village. A camp. A war camp.

The houses in the camp all circled the center. It was easy enough to find, and she remembered Cassian pointing it out to her as they flew in.

“It’s got all the stores,” he told her. “Clothes and food and...” he had trailed off, and standing in the center, Nesta knew why. It was because it didn’t have much else.

The clothing stores were clearly nothing like the ones in Velaris--they weren’t even better than the market booths in her little human village. Just looking in through the windows, she could see they sold things people would need for the cold in the mountains and fighting gear. Nothing fashionable or fun.

Nesta had liked wearing pretty things, once. She may not have cared for her appearance anymore, but she quite suddenly found herself missing just wanting something new.

The food shops weren’t much better. Nesta passed a few butchers’, two produce places, and a fish market. There was a place Nesta knew would serve drinks, but it was too big, it would be too crowded, too noisy. Not what she was looking for.

There were dozens of Illyrians around, of course. Nesta had forgotten how much they had feared her last time.

But she did not spare any of them a second glance. Most High Fae in Velaris had been frightened of her as well, and she learned how to let that roll off her, as well.

After a few more minutes of wandering, on the edge of the shops, she found it. It wasn’t clearly advertised as a tavern, but that was how she knew: Nesta had done a good job of familiarizing herself with shoddy, unmarked buildings.

Some of the Illyrians around her--mostly female, the males were probably off training for whatever war they planned to fight next--mumbled as she steered herself towards it, but she didn’t care. She was thinking only of her next drink.

Finally. It had been far too long.

No bell rang as she entered, but the door creaked. The few patrons there were inside did not look up, but the male at the counter did. His chin set and he squared his shoulders. Summoning his courage to face her, undoubtedly. Ridiculous.

Nesta looked around as she approached him. The chairs were mis-matched, but mostly all red, and looked comfortable enough. There were two males in the far corner playing a card game--not one she recognized, but she was a fast learner. They had a plate of what looked to be thinly sliced roasted potatoes. She wasn’t sure how clean they were, but she always appreciated when a tavern offered something more than assorted nuts.

“What’s your house drink?” Nesta asked the male as she slid into a seat at the bar. All the abandoned gods, she was finally going to have a drink. She hated even wasting time to ask! Because anything he would give her would be good enough.

“Not serving,” he said carefully. His eyes flickered around the room, but they kept darting back towards her.

“All right,” she said, frowning a little. The whole point of the house drink was that it was served all hours the establishment was open, but whatever, she didn’t care. “Do you have any white liquor?”

He shook his head.

“Ale?” she said.

He took a deep breath and a step back. “No, lady, I mean we’re not serving you.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes and angled herself forward. “You’re not serving me?”

The male took another deep breath. “Commander’s orders, lady.”

Nesta’s lip curled. Commander’s orders. She would kill him. She would kill Feyre and her stupid new High Lord. And most of all, she would kill for a drink.

As she opened her mouth, ready to shred into the barmale, an old expression her mother used to use floated into her mind: you catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.

“Look,” she said, and she tried to make her voice sound less... frightening. “It’s been a long few weeks. I just want one drink. Your Commander’s been hounding me... I’m sure you can understand.” She tried to laugh a little at the end.

Was she flirting? She didn’t know. She had never been good with any of that stuff, anyway. Feyre and Elain, sure. But she had never really engaged in a courtship.

With Tomas... she didn’t like to think about it. But in hindsight, it was clear to her that no, she didn’t really captivate him with any wit. And it made her feel stupid to think back on it, so she steered her mind back towards the bar.

“He’s not my Commander,” grunted the barmale.

“What a coincidence,” she said cooly. “Neither is he mine.” She drummed her fingers on the bar. “Come on, then.” She pulled a silver piece out of her pocket, grossly overpaying for one glass. “Just one drink... I’ll even buy you one.”

There. That was flirting, wasn’t it? And she was still beautiful, even if she did terrify him, and anyway, males liked feeling scared. Didn’t they? Wasn’t it part of the excitement for them?

That’s what had driven all those males in Velaris to her bed. She certainly hadn’t made any effort to romance them.

Would she take this male to bed? The thought of being with an Illyrian... Cassian would lose his mind, surely. Which had its appeal. But Nesta didn’t think she’d be able to stand it, either.

With a start, she realized she was thinking of doing something solely for the purpose of irritating Cassian. Just being in a tavern was making her feel better.

Well, perhaps not solely that purpose. Sleeping with a barmale would have other obvious perks as well.

“What do you say?” she tried to sound coy. She wagered she did not.

“I say get out,” he said, flatly. Then hurried to add, “Lady. Commander’s orders... as I said.”

Commander’s orders. Nesta clenched her jaw, angry thoughts swimming in her mind.

So he just brought her here, dumped her in his war camp, and cut off all resources to her only vice?

Nesta turned herself around, stiffly. There was no point in arguing with him. He was clearly more scared of Cassian than he was of her, and she did not have enough control of her magic to threaten him properly. There were not enough patrons to sneak in and convince one to buy her a drink--but later, tonight, perhaps, there would be. Yes, she would come again tonight, find someone, a group of males, eager to impress her and one another, and she would beat them at cards and they would buy her a drink.

She stopped at the door. There was a corkboard with papers pinned to it. Some notices in Illyrian, some in the common tongue. One in particular caught her eye. She turned back around to the barmale.

“What is this?”

“What?” he said warily.

“This,” she said, pointing at the flyer in question.

“Oh,” he said. “Ships out to Gilameyva every two months. You can ship something. Or you can book passage.”

“Gill-ah-may-vah?” Nesta said, trying out the new word.

“Aye, lady. On the continent. No more than a month by ship.” He looked at her expectantly, but still wary. “Will that be all? Lady?”

Her eyes trailed back to the paper. The date read for two weeks from then. The cheapest ticket price was...more than Nesta has on her.

Somehow she didn’t think Cassian would fund this.

She didn’t answer the barmale. She just left, and she ignored the Illyrians who pulled themselves out of her way as she stalked back to the house.

Her mind was focused on the paper. It advertised Gilameyva as the berry lands. There had been a drawing of a berry field on the bottom, with smiling faeries.

It sounded ridiculous, as a country. And the only lands she knew of on the continent had sided with Hybern in the war. And she didn’t have near enough money to buy her way there, let alone support herself when she arrived

But the idea was there. And it wouldn’t go away, not if she knew herself.

Which, she mused, she wasn’t quite sure she did anymore.

---

October 14 - 4 years after

Cassian has spent the entire flight from Velaris with Nesta’s likeness in his mind’s eye. In different forms. Her snarls from when he had known her in her father’s estate, her blank nothing in her crumbling apartment, and her eventual comfort in Illyria. Or so he thought. Before she fled.

And of course, he thinks of the Nesta he hadn’t seen. He imagines her wandering Gilameyva, pregnant and alone. Hungry and poor and scared and calling for him. Wanting to come back. Sending letters and crying when no response came.

Of course, that image is barely reconcilable with the Nesta he knew, in any of her states. And she has a home, as he knows from the Veritas. And she does look well enough, from what he was able to make out. A bit heavier than he remembers her, which is good.

But the fact remains. He has become everything he has raged against. He has abandoned his pregnant female to rear their children alone.

Rhys, he knows, will plead his ignorance of her pregnancy, but it doesn’t matter. Not to him, not as he sees her lost and afraid the whole way over to Sugar Valley. And certainly not as he finally sees her in person, when she turns the corner to her house, her--their--children in tow.

Everything he planned on saying falls out of his head. There is simply Nesta. Nesta, her hair in her usual coronet, framing her face, paler in Gilameyva’s autumn than it had been in Illyria’s. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, and then they are white, and then very red.

He can’t take his eyes off her. He can’t speak.

Until he hears a small voice say, “Who’s our neighbor, Mummy?”

And he looks down. At his son.

The one who spoke has black hair-his black hair--loose around his face, almost rectangular with the chubbiness of his cheeks. Wide grey eyes. Red lips. And Cassian realizes the combination of pointed ears and Illyrian wings, which he has only seen on two other people before, is in front of him threefold.

Nesta says, softly, “He’s not our neighbor.”

Her voice. He has not heard her voice in four years.

“Does he live here?” pipes up the girl.

And Cassian nearly breaks down in tears when he takes in the girl. Because she is Nesta, with her sharp chin and sloped nose and full lips. The same brown hair. But she is slightly darker than her mother...and she has hazel eyes.

“No,” Nesta says, her voice still quiet.

He looks at the third child, the other boy. Slightly smaller than the other two, with a thinner face than his brother and darker skin than his sister and his eyes, again. His hair is lighter than any of theirs, more reminiscent of Feyre and Elain than Nesta.

They are all so perfect, beautiful, small, and Cassian’s about to fall to his knees and beg Nesta for her forgiveness when she locks eyes with him and opens her mouth and says, “Let’s go inside.”

“Can we say hello?” the girl asks her.

“You can say hello. Then go play upstairs.”

“Is he coming inside? Hello!” The greeting is directed at him when they reach the door.

Cassian tears his stare from Nesta and looks down to the girl--his daughter. “Hello,” he says, and by some miracle he manages to find his voice and sounds normal.

But then she smiles at him and Cassian doesn't know what to do because he can feel his heart break again--

“Inside,” Nesta instructs. She is seemingly unaffected, ushering the children in as she opens the door.

“I want to say hello too!”

“You can say hello, then go inside and let Mummy talk.”

“Hello! What’s your name?”

“Are you our neighbor?”

“Inside,” Nesta says firmly, and closes the door. She turns to face him.

Neither of them say anything.

Until he does. He says to her, “Hello.” And his voice is as soft as hers was with the children.

Her is not. “Why are you here?”

He blinks. Is she serious? “That’s all you have to say to me?”

“I said everything I wanted to four years ago. There’s nothing left to say.”

He supposes she’s right but it still hurts, cuts sharply into his heart.

“Are you all right?” he asks her. Because that’s surely all that matters here.

“Am I all right?” she asks, blankly, as if not understanding what he means.

“You and the children,” he says. “Are you all right?”

Nesta purses her lips--Mother, he’d forgotten she did that. “We’re...fine,” she says slowly.

“Let me help,” he says immediately. “What is it?” He prays it’s money, because he doesn’t know what else he can do. What if she says she can’t take care of them by herself anymore? Will they move to Velaris? Or will he have to move here? Or what if...what if she says she can’t at all anymore, and the children are his fault and he left her, really, because of the letters, and now he has to take care of them alone? He doesn’t know how. He’s nearly five hundred fifty years old and he’s never had children to take care of.

She looks up. Looks back at him. Her eyes tell him she hates this. “My...place of work,” she says carefully, gritting her teeth, “may be coming into some...issues.”

Relief hits him like a blast of cold wind. “I’ll give you money,” he says. “I’ll--you can have access to my entire account. It’s in Velaris’ bank--I’ll set it up so you can use it here.”

“I don’t need your entire account,” she starts to say.

“Please let me be in your lives,” he blurts out. “Please. Please, Nesta, sweetheart, please.”

Her eyes widen. He bites his lip. Please he wants to say again, but he doesn’t let himself.

She takes a deep breath. “I can’t...discuss this...right now.”

He seizes the meagre bone she tosses. “When can you?”

Nesta brings her hand to her face and rubs the bridge of her nose. “Um,” she says, eyes shut tight. “Tomorrow...noon.”

“Lunch?”

Nesta opens her eyes. He can’t quite read them, which is another twist inside. He used to know all her looks, all her poses. He used to name them.

“Sure,” she says. “Lunch. There’s a place in the square. Jamal’s. We can meet there.”

He sucks in a breath. This feels surreal. He’s making plans with Nesta for lunch tomorrow and his children are inside.

“Nesta--”

“I don’t care what you think of me, but I am a good mother,” she cuts him off. And there’s fire in her eyes, the fire that burned in a body far weaker than the one before him, burned all the way through he feared it would destroy her. “I am doing this for them, you understand?”

“I understand,” he says.

“Where are you staying?”

“I, ah....”

“There’s an inn. Just outside town. Sugar Valley Inn.” She gives him the address. “Tell no one who you are. Tell no one where you’re from. Do not mention my name. In any capacity. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Then...go. And...I’ll...see you. At lunch.” She looks at him for a moment, on the verge of something, but then pushes past him, enters the house and shuts the door firmly behind her. He can hear her turn four locks.

He knows he could stay here on her porch all night, so he throws open his wings and flies in search of the inn, before he hears one of their voices and breaks down the door, begging her to let him in.

He sees the street name Nesta gave him before he even realizes he doesn’t know their names.

---

Chapter Three

#lizo writes #nessian #acotar fic #nesta archeron #cassian #like pristine glass #you guys tysm for real!!!!!!!!#people who are like fandom faves of mind started following me so that was v v exciting!!!#lmk what you think of this chapter #but thank you all so much for your kind words after chapter one I am still thinking about it!!!#also this is the longest chapter I have ever written for anything

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