#once had someone offer to be my 'witch mother'
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A constant thing that I tend to run into irl, whenever I meet a new person who also has an interest in the occult and/or magic, is the immediate assumption that they are more educated or experienced than myself.
It's like- guys, maybe, just maybe, in the era of the internet and information, perhaps we can give people the benefit of the doubt? That they might be educated? At least until they've shown otherwise?
Not every new person you meet is a "baby witch" and, even if they are, not every "baby witch" is looking for help from some random practicioner they just met.
#this kinda goes back to what i was saying about wisdom#its something that happens a lot#idk how many times people have given me advice without#you know#actually knowing what my practice is#or how it works#or who i work with#once had someone offer to be my 'witch mother'#she was two years older than me#anyways#this is called 'playing the sage'#and its not a particularly fun game#magic#folk magic#spirituality#magic practitioners#witchblr#rant
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Think I need someone older
𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙰𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗 𝚡 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛
𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙰𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛.
𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 18+, 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝, 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 (𝙰𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗...), 𝙰𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝, 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚢, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚜𝚖𝚜
𝙰/𝚗: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎. 𝙰𝙻𝚂𝙾! 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌 (𝙸 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗), 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍!
Few people were unaware of Aemond Targaryen's obsession with his older half-sister. He identified her every breath and word as a blessing from the gods.
Alicent was not against uniting with the Blacks, she herself had proposed marriage! But she didn't want her son to marry a woman twice his age. She loved him and offered various daughters from different houses that matched his age. But Aemond gave the invited guest a bored look every time.
Y/n Targaryen was the king's eldest daughter, he loved and praised her. She was a woman of intelligence, she gave up the throne and married a lord, it was said that they loved each other, which was very rare in their time. But alas, the man died in the war, leaving a young wife and three children.
As she walked the halls of the castle, she greeted every servant. She knew every servant by name. She was not afraid of dirty work, once some people from the court saw how the first princess helped the laundress to collect the laundry, which fell in the mud, that day it rained heavily.
Aemond had followed her around like a duckling following his mother since he was young. She defended him from the attacks of the bastard Strongs, told them off and reported to the mother of the family.
"I will marry you, sister!" shouted the boy in a burst of ebullience.
"Oh, my prince, but I will be old by then," the eldest princess laughed, stroking the prince's ruffled hair.
"I will love you always. I don't care about age!" said Aemond just as reverently.
The princess laughed at him, not taking him seriously. After all, he was not the first boy to declare his love to her. She knew that soon he would forget about her and marry a girl his own age.
Sitting at the family table, Y/n felt his intense gaze devouring every inch of her body. Aemond had grown up. And grown into a fine young man. Returning to King's Landing, the eldest princess had hoped that Aemond had married a lady from another house. But the young prince remained lonely and was clearly waiting for something, or rather someone.
From her close servants, Y/n learned that all the women his mother had suggested, he had rejected. And kept asking to send the marriage proposal to her. But the Queen refused because of the age difference. And Y/n supported her.
The first princess was not much affected by age, sometimes thought to be only twenty and five. Because of that, there were rumors of a curse, a witch, etc. But Y/n was not a young lady. And she thought it was ridiculous for her to marry a second time. She had children who were the same age as Aemond!
The princess watched her family who were talking amongst themselves, laughing and having fun. Y/n smiled, realizing that this was the only peaceful moment after all these years.
She shifted her gaze again to Aemond, who continued to stare at her. The woman stiffened but smiled, then turned her back to her eldest son, who distracted her with a question.
"Oh, Your Grace, we meant to make a little announcement," the queen said quietly but loudly, the table fell silent.
"Right, wife, thank you for reminding me," Viserys exhaled heavily.
"What kind of announcement is this?" laughed Rhaenyra nervously.
"I realized that almost all of my children and grandchildren have found a mate, it is very important to me. Today I wanted to announce that my son Aemond is also getting married," muttered the king.
"Oh that is wonderful news," Y/n pressed her palm to her chest and turned to the prince, she smiled affectionately at him. Viserys was unable to continue his monologue.
"Let me do this, my love," Alicent spoke softly.
"Please," the man exhaled tiredly.
"We've found him the perfect match. We have been discussing this with the King for years," Alicent turned her attention to the first princess, "We have decided that, you, Y/n Targaryen will be perfect for my son," Alicent smiled affectionately again, excitement and fear frozen in her eyes. This decision was much harder for her to make than many thought.
The table fell silent. Rhaenyra looked at her sister with fear, the latter looked at the girl as well, then shifted her gaze to Daemon, who frowned.
"Your Majesty...do you understand the risk?" y/n's voice trembled.
"We understood, but lately many families have refused to accept a marriage proposal. So we decided to choose someone from a close circle," the Queen smiled nervously.
"I am not young. Aemond would be suited for a girl his age," for the first time in her life, the princess wanted to escape this room and run away to her chambers.
"We know..." Alicent pressed her lips together.
"I'm not sure I can give birth because of my age," the woman's brain was tossing ideas of retreat to her, but all those ideas ran into a high and solid wall.
"We've talked about this. If it doesn't work out, Aemond said it doesn't matter to him and he's willing to be the father of your children," Alicent exhaled convulsively.
"But..." the older princess wanted to continue.
"Y/n!" came the squeaky voice of the king.
"Father!" shrieked the girl similarly.
"This decision is not negotiable! I want happiness for you," Viserys coughed.
"I'm sorry," y/n got up from the table and hurried away so as not to cause a scene.
The next day the woman did not come out until the evening. Throughout the day she had been visited by her children and her younger sister, who was in shock and angry at her father's decision.
It was cool in the garden, the woman wrapped herself in her silk robe, she nodded to the knight who stood guard in the garden and went deep inside.
"It's dangerous for such a beautiful woman to walk at night without knights," a voice sounded somewhere to her left, Y/n turned around.
"Aemond..." the princess squirmed.
"Sister, I haven't seen you all day," the young man stepped closer.
"I wasn't feeling well today and decided to rest," y/n walked forward.
"Is it because of the news?" asked the obvious thing Aemond.
"Yes! How could they? They condemned you to live with an old woman who can't give you anything!" the princess exploded and turned to the young man again.
"Don't talk about yourself like that!" raised his voice to the prince, frowning.
"But it is true! You weren't looking hard enough, perhaps you would have found the one and only!" y/n wanted to scream, but she realized she would wake up the entire castle.
"I found my one and only long ago...and no one can compare to her," whispered Aemond and moved even closer to the woman who was standing with her back to him.
"Why then..." the princess turned to him, and saw that very look in his eyes.
"I told you sister, I will find any way that we can be together,"
"No...Aemond...you don't realize what you are condemning yourself to,"
"I don't want a baby, I just want you!"
"Aemond...do you hear me! I'm an old widow who could die at any moment!"
The prince doesn't hold back and reaches out his hand to the woman's neck, squeezing it but allowing her to breathe.
"Don't you dare! If you die, I will follow you," Aemond looked into the girl's eyes with fury.
"You fool!" she whispered.
"I'm a fool! I love you so much and you can't understand that," the young man moved closer to the princess's face and then slowly began to lead her towards the tree, keeping her throat down.
He hid them behind bushes and other trees. Aemond pressed his whole body against his lover. Then he nestled his lips to hers. His kiss was inept and rough, he pressed hard on the girl's lips, making it impossible to move them. Unable to hold back, Y/n bit Aemond's lip, the prince pulled back. He exhaled heavily. Even the bite of his beloved was a blessing to him.
He let go of her neck, sliding down and lifting her robe and night dress.
"Wait!" the princess startled.
Aemond piled his entire body on top of the woman again, preventing her from moving. He snuck further in, touching her womanhood. She sighed convulsively.
"No underwear?" grinned the prince, embarrassing the woman.
He ran his index finger along the Y/n's folds, again pulling a sigh from her lips. Then again and again until the her juices began to show. He teased the pearl, squeezing it between his fingers and pulling it away.
Y/N grasped the man's shoulders and nipped at the spot between his shoulder and neck, holding back a moan.
Aemond continued to slide and pull away from the woman's bead.
"Aemond," sobbed the princess, she felt herself surrendering under the onslaught of these beautiful sensations.
"What is it my queen?" the prince asked and smirked "Tell me. What do you want?"
"Inside...touch inside. I want to feel you inside," the girl breathed heavily, grasping at his black leather tunic.
AEmond slowly slipped two fingers into the woman's womb. This time the Princess didn't hold back a moan. She hadn't felt these feelings in a long time, she hadn't touched herself and she hadn't brought anyone into her bedroom since her husband's death. But now...Aemond made her remember these sensations.
The prince sped up his movements, wet and squelching sounds echoed through the garden, speeding up every second.
This sound excited Y/N even more, she began to squeeze the young man's fingers, no longer holding back her moans. If anyone saw them, they would think the prince was having fun with a Silk Street prostitute.
Y/N threw her right leg over Aemond's thigh, pressing her closer to him. She could feel the bump against her thigh. The princess reached her hands out to the guy's face, guiding him to her face, she connected with him in a kiss, schooling him.
The woman's legs began to tremble, Aemond noticed it, so he put his free arm around her waist, holding her.
"Aemond, I'm about to..." the princess gasped, she was short of breath.
"C'mon, I'm here, let it go," the young man whispered caressingly into her ear, and the girl let go.
A groan caught in her throat, her legs shook, and the walls enveloped Aemond's fingers, squeezing them convulsively. The prince waited for a while, then stuck his fingers out. Y/N thought he would say goodbye to her now, or escort her out, but he knelt down, spreading the legs wider. He nestled his lips against the woman's nub, sucking and drinking all of the girl's juices. The princess sighed sharply, not expecting this.
"Wait! Fool! There...There...It's all sensitive in there! No!" the woman tried to move away or push the prince's face away, but Aemond pressed down harder and harder.
The prince drove his tongue back and forth, circling the lovely pearl, and then went further, thrusting his tongue inside.
The prince drove his tongue back and forth, circling the lovely pearl, and then went further, thrusting his tongue inside.
Y/n was thrashing in an agony of pleasure, she was in pain and pleasure, she wanted to run away but at the same time press the prince's face closer. She could feel Aemond moving his tongue, it was a delightful feeling. The prince was touching all her sensitive spots. Involuntarily, the princess began to move her hips, enjoying herself. Aemond groaned as he felt his lover's involvement. Y/n felt the pleasure forming into a tight lump again, and then that lump unleashed. The girl let out a sound, it resembled both a cry and a scream.
Aemond drank all that poured out of his woman's womb, licking the inside of her thigh gently. He rose from his knees, holding the woman who was piling on top of him due to her orgasm, unable to keep herself on her feet.
"I love you, sister! You are everything to me. And you will be mine..."
#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond fic#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond smut#aemond targaryen#x reader
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hii sweets!! can i request a percy jackson x child! of hecate reader? maybe reader is a witch?
percy jackson dating a child of hecate
pairing: percy jackson x child of hecate!reader
content warning: nothing
word count: 835
author's note: hi! i love this request sm, children of hecate have a special place in my heart <3 sorry this took a bit. hope you like it :)
you + percy jackson = best couple ever!!
he is SO whipped for you, it’s insane. you could ask him to be your guinea pig for the new spells you’ve been working on, and percy would immediately agree. he trusts you wholeheartedly and knows you would never intentionally hurt him.
percy loves seeing you use your magic. it’s so alluring to him and if he could, he’d watch you practice all day. when percy sees how passionate you are, your boyfriend thinks he’s fallen in love all over again.
he is your #1 assistant!! whenever you’re working on some sort of spell or potion, percy’s always right there to help. it’s like he can read your mind. somehow your boyfriend always knows what you need because before you can even say it, he’s handing you the next ingredient.
“uh…” you quickly scan your work table while moving various jars and vials, “love, where’s the-”
“the rosemary?” percy asks.
looking at him, you realize that he’s holding the sprigs of rosemary you need, “oh yeah thanks.”
you take the herbs from his hands and strip the leaves into the wooden bowl. percy comes up behind you, he snakes his arms around your waist and rests his head on your shoulder. he’s always intent on watching you work like this.
turning your head, you look at your boyfriend, “percy?”
“hm?”
“how’d you know i needed the rosemary?” you question.
percy shrugs, “just had a feeling.”
you two are constantly messing with people around camp!! with percy’s hydrokinesis and your enhanced ability to control the mist, you guys are enemies to the public.
one time a new camper had the audacity to make an off-putting comment about you to their friend. little did they know, percy was in ear-shot and heard everything. let’s just say, the next few weeks were definitely not fun for them!
your boyfriend was out there making their sinks and toilets explode. (chiron was not happy with the plumbing issues that ensued) you certainly had your fair share of fun, too. you had enchanted their hairbrush to do the opposite of its purpose; it only tangled their hair more instead of untangling it. seeing them around camp with their hair looking like a rats nest had you and percy on the floor.
percy will ALWAYS have your back. especially when people have negative things to say about your mother, he will defend you like no other. he hates the thought of someone judging you solely based on your mother’s choices.
he was not lying when he said his fatal flaw was loyalty!!
“how about me and you, plus the fireworks show tomorrow?” the girl offers.
oh. percy thinks, maybe she doesn’t know it’s normally a couples event? he scratches his head, “uh, like as friends?”
she giggles at his “cluelessness” and playfully pushes him, “no silly! i obviously meant as a couple, duh!”
he takes a step back, “no thanks, i already have a date to the show.”
“well,” she crosses her arms, “ i don’t see her.”
percy points a thumb in your direction. her eyes widen at the sight of you on the training field, summoning multiple mistforms at once.
“whatever. you aren’t even that cute anyways,” she says before frantically walking away.
foraging dates!!
when your supplies run low, you and percy take advantage of it and turn it into a cute little date.
when you two initially became friends, percy asked—practically begged—you to teach him how to control the mist. ever since then, you’ve become his teacher, and you're definitely a proud one!
at least once a month, you two have self-care nights. you’ll mix up a certain tea blend depending on what your guys’ intentions are. it’s one of percy’s favorite traditions that you guys have. you’ll also perform a little protection ritual!! he always has the best sleep on your self-care nights.
star gazing dates!!!!
your guys’ favorite kind of dates when you just need to decompress and relax. laying in percy’s arms while gazing upon the stars is your favorite form of therapy.
you sigh, melting into percy as he holds you tight.
“long day?” he asks, smoothing out the blanket underneath you two.
you nod, “yeah.”
the chirps of crickets and croaks of frogs fill the air. the water below the dock reflects the moon and the stars; you notice they shine particularly bright tonight.
percy interrupts the silence, “do you wanna talk about it?”
“it’s okay,” you say, shaking your head, “i just wanna lay here with you.”
you feel percy pull you in closer, kissing the top of your head.
“okay. i love you y/n, i hope you know that,” he responds.
you tiredly gasp, “no way. you only ever tell me like ten times a day.”
percy chuckles at your sleepy attempt at a joke. a comfortable silence settles between you two.
minutes pass before you break the stillness, “i love you too, percy.”
uncontrollably sobbing. i need a relationship like you two
#percy jackson#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson x y/n#percy jackson fic#pjo x reader#percy jackson fluff#heroes of olympus x reader#hoo x reader#heroes of olympus#percy jackson and the olympians
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M.I.A. Homelander X Reader X Steve Roger
Title: Missing In action
Pairings: Homelander X Reader, Steve Rogers X Reader, Dark Steve x Reader, Dark Homelander x reader [Crossover]
Summary: You were an avenger, one of the more magic ones. People called your name in excitement and felt safe being around you, then thanos happened… when you weren’t snapped and after a police call you were somewhere else. Now all you know is there is a man with a cap calling himself Homelander calling himself “Americas Hero” and the world is different… is it isn’t so bad though.
I made this is 2022, It’s been sitting in my drafts for that long… so yeah!
[Part One] -> [Part Two]
It was overwhelming at times. Cameras in your face after a mission were you were left battered and bruised, nevertheless you smiled, you gave a proud smile to the reporters reporting. They had risked things coming here did it make your job harder, yes, the helicopters flying around while you try and fly. It added pressure to keep people in the air safe. At least you weren’t Steve, they made him do dumb shit, like that time he was in a Detention video spouting nonesense. You job was only to keep people safe. People may offer you movie rolls but you always decline, you weren’t an actor your a hero. Even if declining meant buying an okay-ish apartment with a broken Landry machine. You weren’t a millionaire, just a lady with the power to say “bang” and a mans head would explode if you wanted to. Even then, you had the option to live in Tony’s tower. Maybe then some random wouldn’t show up ever week looking to kill you. A sigh left your lips as you looked down at the TV, Thanos killed half the population and vanished. That is what’s in the News again. Men lost daughters, mothers lost sons but everybody lost someone. Even so it still stung he wouldn’t pick up your calls, you wanted to shout at him ‘your not dead yet and neither am I! stop ignoring me before one of those things change!’ Missions still came in, unsteady but they did come in.
“Maybe I should get a real job, part time.” You mumbled to yourself while you stared at the TV. Everyone you ever knew had distanced themselves or been snapped, maybe getting out would be good… people have been starting to expect that this is life, ‘maybe thanos was right my gym has been less crowded lately!’ Kinda people, jokes that might not be jokes anymore.
You still think about it, maybe he was right. It was horrible, you know. So many people lost and yet you didn’t lose anyone significant, Bucky of course but you were only just starting to get to know him… Steve maybe but you could still see him, feel him breathe, he didn’t get snapped. He was just distance, like he wished he did get snapped…
Witch hurt…
You didn’t have a family, friends outside of the avengers, hell you never had a boyfriend before Steve. How could you? Caged and trained like a dog, feed needles and pills like food. Given faces and names to quietly kill, you never had your own name till the avengers… Y/N… it was a nice name though. you named yourself off the first person you ever killed, you didn’t know if they would ever have agreed but they were dead… so it didn’t matter.
Steve and therapy, You remembered. Keep breathing don’t think about it. Or maybe it was think about it regret is good? Your therapist had been snapped so it’s been a while. The police called you once in and while about cases. Maybe answering back wouldn’t suck? You were lonely and bored, nothing to do then unsteady mission that lacked any sort of life.
Grabbing your phone you called a man. He was your contact to the police, you could never remember titles or anything like that but he was pretty high up.
“Thank god you called, you use to be so active I was starting to worry you got snapped too.” He joked, people cope with humor, you know that. Still, it irritated you that you and your friends put your life on the line and failed only to be joked about by people who didn’t know anything. Nevertheless, you gritted your teeth and held your tongue. “More and more people are disappearing. We think it may be an aftershock effect of some kind.”
“I doubt it.” You mumbled to yourself, he didn’t hear you and went on about the investigation. A group of people who agreed with Thanos’s ideals has been here and there, left and right. They think a select group talking it too far and hurting or making more people disappear. That sounded more likely, he told you about peoples corpses. Looked like they had been shot with high power lasers, or they’re heads have been smashed in. They had a certain person in custody, maybe if you worked with them you could find a way to undo the snap? That’s what the officer proposed anyway. You said your goodbyes and hung up the phone, you would be their for the interview is what you told them.
You should call Steve. This looked like such an important case, he had to know people were making more people disappear… it could lead to something. He would want to know.
So you did call him. He didn’t answer, instead you were greeted by the all so familiar call after the beep speech. It was nicer then actually speaking to him nowadays, though. “Heya, it’s Steve. Leave a uh… voicemail..? After the beep? Did I do that right?” You’d hear him call to someone in the background, “yeah, other then forgetting what a voicemail was called.” You heard your own distant voice greet you, “Steve you have to-“ you were the last thing you hear as the beep signalled the end of the recorded ‘can’t get to you’ message.
A sigh left you when you realized you’d have to speak now, “Hey Steve, the police called me and they have a case of more disappearing people. A group of Thanos supporters popped up making even more people disappear.” You paused, “I think it’s something you’ll be interested in, might lead to something, heh… listen, I miss you, it’s been so long since we’ve spoken. I… can’t…” your voice trailed off, you breathed in deciding not to do this over a call. “Anyway, call me when you get this. Can’t make it too long.”
That’s right. You couldn’t keep the police waiting… So you grabbed your bag and left. Off to the police station.“Hey, we put the suspect in the interrogation room.” The man spoke, he opened the door to a standard interrogation room. Blue walls, four barely cushioned chairs and a table in the middle closet to a wall. The suspect looked like a regular man. You frowned.
This all felt too… cultish? It made you uncomfortable, the look in his eye. He looked at you like you were a god among men.
#homelander#homelander x reader#steve rogers#captain america x Reader#cross over#avengers endgame#the avengers#the seven#the boys#marvel
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Venomous - Part Eight
Masterlist, Part One
Summary: A wife. A mother. A witch with someone else's name. That’s the life you didn’t want. So Tom offered you more.
Word Count: 3,494
Warnings: 18+, arranged marriage, a dash of paranoia, age gap relationship, assault, terrible parenting. Minors DNI.
A/N: "You fucker" has been echoing in my head for days.
Christmas came to Hogwarts with a flurry of festivity. Miniature trees decorated in House colors lined the tables of the Great Hall while their grander counterparts found homes in all the corridors and darkened corners throughout the castle. Snow had fallen continuously for days, only giving the briefest reprieve to allow the final Quidditch match of the semester the last Saturday before break.
Abraxas had been there, as he had for every other match that had happened since the announcement of your engagement. In fact, he had been there for everything since your engagement. Every party Slughorn hosted and every Hogsmeade trip. He’d even taken over his father’s role on the Board of Governors to perform surprise inspections on the professors. Most didn’t mind, they had adored him as a student and his winning smile was difficult to overcome. It was only Professor Dumbledore who seemed to find issue with it.
“Ahh, Mr. Malfoy,” he had greeted one mid-November morning when Abraxas strolled in unannounced. “I was wondering when you’d be stopping my class. What a coincidence it also happened to be during Miss Selwyn’s period.”
Giggles and whispers had broken out around you.
“A coincidence indeed,” Abraxas had replied back easily, sending a cheeky smile your way. "It was the first time our schedules overlapped, seeing as you've been in France so often."
Several hours later Dumbledore had summoned you into his office. He’d always been your favorite professor and you’d once had a decent rapport with him. But, much like with Rick, he’d been busy dealing with things related to Grindelwald recently.
“I would like to apologize,” he had said as he placed a cup of tea in front of you, “for this morning. I shouldn’t have made any mention of you to Mr. Malfoy. Especially in front of other students.”
The spoon stirred on its own after you added a dollop of milk and a single sugar cube. “It’s alright, Professor. You were just saying what everyone else has been thinking.”
“Yes, I suppose I was. That’s actually what I wanted to speak with you about.” He sat on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms across his chest. “It seems there’s been quite a bit of talk about you recently. And I'm concerned.”
The cup paused at your lips momentarily before you forced yourself to sip. The warm tea did little to calm the rising anxiety. “If this is about my relationship with Abraxas, I can assure you he has been nothing but a gentleman." Not even a real kiss yet.
He shook his head. "As outdated as your engagement may be, Malfoy is not the person I'm most concerned about."
The cup clinked loudly against the plate as you sat it down. “I'm sorry, I'm not following."
He sighed, his leg bouncing as he looked out a window. "I have heard that Tom Riddle has taken an interest in you recently."
You folded your hands into your lap, fingers twisting at the Malfoy heirloom on your finger. "Has he? Seems like poor timing on his part, considering." The rumors surrounding him and you had settled, people more interested in the abrupt engagement. But Tom still watched. Not as often or as overtly, just more maliciously. A snake stalking wounded prey, waiting for the chance to strike its final blow.
"Yes, it would appear so." His leg stilled. "But, I promised your brother I’d keep an eye on you and I feel that I must warn you Tom…he isn’t all that he appears."
You wanted to scoff. His warning had come months too late. Whatever gossip he'd heard was outdated.
But no one had ever warned you about Tom before. Abigail had disliked and discouraged associating with him, but that had been about his unknown blood status. Dumbledore's tone suggested something more sinister. You knew he was dangerous. But how did Dumbledore?
You couldn't stop yourself from leaning forward, voice lowered. "Is there something I should know, Professor? Has he done something?"
"No," he said, finally pulling his gaze off the window with a tight grin. "It's just an old man's intuition." The smile didn’t reach his piercing gaze.
The ghost of a hand gripped your throat, the cold anger in dark eyes seeping into the blue of Dumbledore's. He was going to kill you. He was going to kill you. No. No.
No.
You blinked, shaking your head as your back met the chair. He didn't kill you. He'd never have that chance again either. "You have nothing to worry about then. I have no interest in engaging in any sort of relationship with Tom Riddle."
The conversation had been strange. In the end it left you with more questions about Tom and that sort of curiosity was dangerous.
Dumbledore's meeting had proved useful, at least. He understood an inquisitive mind and, with a simple promise of a future essay on whatever you found, you left his office with a note allowing nearly unrestricted access to the Restricted Section to research Old Magicks.
Not that you found much time to use it. The future Mrs. Malfoy was in high demand. Gossiping gaggles of girls wishing to be seen as part of your circle. Boastiters bustles of boys who wanted to get in good with Abraxas. Predictably pompous packs of Purebloods who thought they were important enough to take up your time. Perhaps it wasn't fair to shove them all into such narrow groupings, but the sheer amount of them had become so overwhelming that it had was impossible to separate the individuals from the mob.
It was only now, the few hours between the final exam of the semester and the beginning of Christmas Break, that you'd managed to steal away to the library without notice. Books were skewed across tables, parchment splattered unceremoniously with notes in nearly illegible script of anything that could be useful for the future. Unlike the main library, the Restricted Sections held no catalog. It seemed a terrible oversight. Perhaps you could help Madam Gormount create one.
You were bent over a table, flipping through the index of another book you’d pulled off the shelf when soft footsteps broke through the silence. Muscles tensed as your eyes flew frantically to your wand that lay discarded two tables away. The steps grew closer and closer and you scrambled to it, your fingers grasping the wood just as a figure darkened the gaps of the shelves.
"Little Bird?" Abraxas paused in the space between two shelves, eyebrows raised at the wand pointed at him.
"Brax," you breathed, dropping the wand back onto the table. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was you."
He chuckled. "I feel privileged to have been spared your wrath. From what Merrythought said, I can imagine the damage you would have done to some other poor soul who interrupted your studying."
"I was only going to incapac—" you cut yourself off and stared back at him in disbelife. "Have you been asking about my grades?"
He grimaced, having the decency to look ashamed of himself. "Once or twice."
"Perhaps I should start calling you my father rather than my fiancé," you teased as he joined you.
"Then I would be forced to tell you it is well past your bedtime, young lady," he retorted, pressing a kiss against your forehead. Your hair jostled as he laughed at you swatting his arm.
The rumors surrounding the engagement hadn’t been as egregious as they could have been thanks to your forethought, but there had still been whispers surrounding it. Some afraid you were being taken advantage of, others wondering what sort of blackmail you had to force Abraxas Malfoy into the arranged marriage. Those rumors were easy to refute without uttering a word. Abraxas, above all else, was your friend. Smiles came naturally, an ease between you that had been built through the years. Of course, that only led to rumors of an Imperious Curse or love potion.
"Looking for your mysterious old magic?" he asked, eyeing the mess of books, parchment, and an ink bottle knocked over with its spillage dripping off the table.
Tapping your wand against the table, the mess began to right itself. Ink retreated back into its bottle. Parchment straigtened itself into a pile. Books closed. "In vain, so far."
“Perhaps we can spend some time in the library at the Manor over your break."
You gazed up at him fondly. "You certainly know how to woo a woman, Mr. Malfoy."
—
The silence was deafening as the compartment door slid shut. It had been weeks since you'd said more than a couple words in passing to Larissa and even longer since you had spoken to Abigail at all. You had been determined to make that even longer, but you'd come back from breakfast to find two small presents sitting on top of your trunk. Larissa had given a framed photo of the three of you from Third Year, smiling happily in a booth at The Three Broomsticks. A sweet momento of a happier time.
Abigail's gift was a romance by one of her favorite muggle authors. "A Marriage Not-So-Convenient." A gift had never made you laugh so hard before. Only Abigail would think to give a novel about an arranged marriage to apologize for her part in creating yours.
"I'm sorry," Abigail spoke quietly as you sat across from her.
"Me too," Larissa added.
You reached out and gripped their hands. "I'm sorry." That was all that needed to be said between you.
"I'll be with the Malfoy's for most of break, but I want a day for us in Diagon Alley. My treat, whatever you want."
"We can go look at wedding dresses!"
“Too soon, Issa,” Abigail scolded Larissa like she hadn’t gifted you a book about an arranged marriage this morning.
“It’s fine.” You squeezed their hands. “But I think we should save the dress shopping for summer. I need a day to be a normal eighteen year old.”
Abigail gave a sad smile. “Of course.”
“Are you going to tell us how it happened?” Larissa asked. “How it really happened.”
They must have heard the rumors. Of course they had. “He did it to protect me.”
“How roman—“ Larissa’s squeal was cut off by Abigail’s elbow to her side. “Ow!”
“It is romantic,” you said, leaning back into the seat. “Brax is…perfect. I’m almost glad this is happening.”
Abigail always knew you better. “Almost.”
Your eyes dropped to the ring that weighed heavily on your finger. A witch of someone else’s name. “Almost.”
—
“Don’t you think it a tad selfish, my dear, to deprive Abraxas of his wife for so long?”
The grip on your drink tightened at the question. Velena Fawley lacked the skills many in her position as the Minister’s wife should have. Her hosting etiqutte left much to be desired, with her half drunk before half her guest had even arrived, but the most egrigious was her lack of subtletly in conversation.
“Yes, it is nice for a young woman to have her education these days, but you certainly won’t need it.” A splash of her drink landed on your bare arm as her hands gestured mindlessly. “But a man, well, he has certain physical needs and unless you want him looking to others to fulfill them...”
You almost missed the days when you avoided these parties, (rightfully) frightened of Tom. At least you had not been subjected to these sorts of interactions. Now and for the foreseeable future, however, these sorts of events would be completely unavoidable as Mrs. Malfoy. Abraxas had promised to stay by your side the entire night, but he'd been pulled off somewhere by someone minutes after your arrival and you hadn't seen him since. All evening you'd been pestered with talk of your engagement. Some were simple congratulations. Others were like Velena, questioning why the wedding needed to wait for schooling to finish when you were already of age. A few had already begun to blindly attempt to curry your favor.
The worst had been Cantankerus Nott, a widower with children older than Abraxas, who had expressed his displeasure at not having the opportunity to bid for your hand. A shiver ran down your spin remembering the way he’d leered. The teal gown you wore seemed too thin, too revealing under his gaze.
“—no one likes to think about their husband—or fiancé for you, I suppose, going off and getting it wet, but he very well could if you are forcing him to wait more than a year—“
“I appreciate your concern,” you cut in, unsure how much longer you could bear to hear her prattle, “it is an honor to have the Minister's wife of all people worry for me. But I have taken up too much of your time. So many of your wonderful, important guests must crave even a fraction of what you've given me.”
She blinked several times, her alcohol addled mind needing a few more seconds to take in the words. Her eyes widened as she finally comprehended. "Oh, yes! I am the hostess, aren't I? Well lovely chatting with you dear!" Someone behind you caught her attention and she was off.
Navigating through the horde in the opposite direction, you kept your head down to avoid being stopped and dragged into another mind-numbing conversation. How anyone thought a political spectacle like this was a proper way to spend Christmas Eve you could never comprehend.
Larissa had told you rather happily of her family’s traditions that involved only themselves, seasonal treats, and silly children’s games. Abigail rarely spoke of her home life, knowing neither you nor Larissa could quite understand the Muggle world she’d been forced to grow up in, but you recalled her fond smile once when she spoke about getting to help with a play every year.
Downing what was left of your drink, you set the glass on one of the trays that floated by and scanned the room for a friendly face. A cousin from school hopefully. At least they'd gotten their fill of your engagement already. Instead it was your mother's disapproving glare you found.
The days you’d spent at Malfoy Manor hadn’t saved you from her presence and it seemed a party full of people wouldn’t either. “Enjoying yourself, are you?" she asked as you came to stand beside her.
"It was rosewater."
Her contentious huff made you wonder if Velena had a point in being blissfully drunk. Perhaps then you could have some tiny enjoyment in your mother’s company. “I have not seen Abraxas with you since we arrived. Did he bore of you so quickly?”
You bit your tongue. Selene Selwyn, you'd realized recently, was bitter. Bitter at the life that had been forced on her, the man she had married, the children she did not want, the expectations put on her that were impossible to reach. She was bitter that she’d done the same to you, but you’d managed to secure the Malfoy heir while all she'd gotten was one of the Selwyns.
“I’ve monopolized much of his time recently, he deserves some with his friends.”
"Find him," she instructed, "people are already talking about him regretting the engagement." She leaned in and lowered her voice. "For once in your life don't embarrass this family." She left you with one last sharp look before pulling her face into a smile and walking off.
Bitter old hag. You hated her. Gods, did you hate her.
The night's air stung as you stepped out of the party onto the balcony. During the summer and spring, it would be packed with people enjoying the view of the blossomed Fawley Garden. Few dared to brave it in the frigid temperature for the decayed scene it held now. Long, thin, shafts of light spilled across it from the half draped sets of glass doors that lined it, the rest of it barely lit by the sliver of waxing moon. In the darkness between two beams of the light, you rested your back against the stone railing.
It had been a bitter discovery when you'd stepped off the train to find your mother with Abraxas. You'd expected to see her for a dinner or two, in passing at parties, for the annual New Year's Lunch with her parents, but that you'd be mostly free of her. You weren't. Your invitation to stay at Malfoy Manor during the holiday had been extended to her. The scrutiny you'd been under at Hogwarts was nothing in comparison to her's. Every insignificant detail of your appearance and interactions with Abraxas and his parents was nitpicked. Any free time you'd hoped to have with Abraxas perosing his library was thwarted by her desire to carve out the details of the wedding that didn’t even have a date set yet.
Even now, of age and engaged, your mother had control of everything.
A familiar flash of silver blonde hair caught your eye. Your first sighting of your fiancé in hours. Vaguely familiar people of status and wealth surrounded him. If you stared long enough you could probably recall their names. You turned your back to the window to stare over the dead foliage instead.
In a few days you’d be with your friends. In a few more you’d be back at Hogwarts. There was a New Year’s Eve party you were meant to attend between then, but maybe Abraxas could be convinced to slip away early and enjoy the beginning of a new year tucked away in his library. All you needed was to get through the night.
Two figures appeared with loud pops in the middle of the lifeless garden. It was one thing to be late to a party, but this late? You straightened trying to make out who they were, but they were too far and there was too little light. They walked quickly and their voices carried, but not enough to hear what they were saying or identify who they were.
You stayed hidden in the shadows until finally you could make out their faces. One was Theseus Scamander, Head Auror. The other was your brother.
“Rick!” You nearly tripped down the stairs as you ran to meet them and smashed into your brother. It had been so long, too long, since you’d seen him. You held him tight. And as his arms wrapped around you tears welled.
"Hey, kiddo," he said with a hitch in his voice. ���I’ve missed you.”
More words caught in your throat, too overwhelmed to speak. Rick was here. A bit shaggier, his beard scratching against your scalp, but here.
He pulled away too soon.
“Why are you here? Weren’t you avoiding parties?”
“I was.” Your fingers flexed at your side. “But I can't really do that anymore.”
Warrick’s brows knitted together, but his response was interrupted.
"I'm very sorry to cut this short, but we're already late." Thesesus gave a tight lipped smile.
He sighed as he checked his watch. "Right.” He squeezed your arm lightly. “We're here on business. But I’ll be by tomorrow and we’ll catch up then. Okay?”
He was already following his boss up the stairs. Their stride was much quicker than yours and you struggled to keep up. "Okay, but I'm not at home for break."
"Really? Mum finally let you stay at Hogwarts?” Blast his long legs. He was nearly at the top.
"No.” You caught yourself against the rail, tripped by your dress catching under your shoe. “I’m staying with Abraxas.”
He stopped. “Why?”
“Have you not read a single letter in the past few months?” You were more out of breath than you liked when you caught up with him. The emerald caught the moonlight as you held up your hand. “We’re engaged.”
Warrick stared at the ring. “Engaged?”
“Merlin, Rick! It’s all anyone’s been bloody talking about! I’ve written three times about it!”
He didn’t have the decency to apologize. Instead roaming his harsh gaze over the doors until he found what he was looking for. He set off without a word.
“Rick!” Theseus called, clambering after him. He tried grabbing his arm, but your brother slipped out of his grip easily.
You too scrambled after him, lifting your dress. You couldn’t quite understand what was happening, but you knew it was not good. “Rick, stop!”
He swung open a set of doors. People were shoved out of the way and a chorus of annoyance sounded. You got to the doors just in time to see him approach Abraxas.
"You fucker," Warrick thundered before pulling back his arm and smashing his fist into Abraxas' face.
Abraxas stumbled backwards knocking into more guests. Blood seeped out of his nose.
Warrick raised his arm again. "My sister! My little sister! She's a child you sick—" His voice cut off and his entire body froze.
Theseus lowered his wand.
The sound of clicking followed a dozen flashing lights.
Next
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#tom riddle fanfiction#tom riddle x reader#tom riddle x ravenclaw!reader#tom riddle#abraxas malfoy x reader#venomous
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Break | ksj (m)
☾ Pairing: Witch!Seokjin x cursed!reader
☾ Summary: Seokjin has been at your side for the last few years. He’s your closest friend, and the one person you don’t think you can live without. But what happens when you discover that he might be the source of the curse he’s been trying to help you escape from?
☾ Word Count: 18,990
☾ Genre: Supernatural, smut, angst
☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
☾ Warnings: Death and implied accidental murder of a sibling, childhood trauma, creepy vibes, heavy angst, a lot of internal monologue featuring angst, physical and verbal abuse from members of the town toward reader, sometimes confusing mentions of magic systems, explicit language, explicit sexual content including vaginal fingering, nipple play, oral (m. receiving), rough fucking from behind, dom/sub dynamics if you rEALLY squint, subspace/blacking out post sex, unhappy and ambiguous ending!!!!!!
☾ Published: May 22, 2023
☾ A/N: Hi hello this is one of the most random things I’ve ever written. I made a last minute choice to nosedive into this fic at the last second, which was certainly a choice. While it’s not my favorite work because of how hard I struggle to write it, I have a feel people are going to like it regardless and I shouldn’t be so hard on myself about it. Once again, Hali writes way too much for a small project and doesn’t even dip into the lore the way she wanted to! Thank you to @here2bbtstrash who was the amazing beta on this and fixed easily over 200 errors that I made while rush typing this. I handed this over unedited and unread from myself and they put this through the wash to have it in tiptop shape!
❀ A/N 2: M created their own Little Hut rhyme and I have opted to feature it here for reader’s enjoyment:
Little hut, little hut
Killer dick game
Little hut, little hut
All men is the same
Little hut, little hut,
Murdered your twin
Little hut, little hut
Time to fuck Jin
❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.
Masterlist | Ask | A Spring Offering Collab
Seokjin is good at holding grudges. Even as a child, his mother always said he had a tough time letting things go. He never knew how right she would be. His mother’s words are all he can think about as he storms through the dark of the forest, shadows whispering about him as he looks for the lone hut in the very dark of the woods.
Little hut, little hut
Hidden in the wood
Little hut, little hut
Up to no good
If his parents could see him now, he knows they would be broken. Tear-streaked and shaking, a lost boy alone in the woods and drowning in anger so hot that the ground scorches beneath his feet. Looking for a salve. Looking for vengeance.
Little hut, little hut
Alone in the gloom
Little hut, little hut
Silent as a tomb
Blood witches are dangerous. Seokjin knows this, everyone knows this. A blood witch is the reason why his parents are dead and he is storming through the darkness in the throes of madness. But Seokjin is only thirteen and full of pain and desperation, vowing to never let something happen like this again. If he has to use a devil to defeat a devil, he will.
Little hut, little hut
Across the dark stream
Little hut, little hut
Wait for the scream
A dark stream wends its way through the trees. Seokjin gets a running start and jumps across the whispering waters. When he lands on the other side, he waits. It took a lot of searching to find someone to tell him how to find the witch in the woods. No one comes here, especially not in the dead of night on Beltane.
They say only evil comes from the little hut in the woods. Seokjin knows now that it isn’t true. Evil comes from anywhere and everywhere, even from the people that one least expects. Evil killed his parents. Evil is why he is alone, crying on the edge of the stream, waiting for the sound of a banshee's call.
He hears it then. A one-note wail, thin and high-pitched. His blood goes cold and the fight in him nearly goes out at the sound. His heart begins to pound so loud that it’s all he can hear, the thundering beat of panic and terror as he realizes what he’s about to do.
“Little hut, little hut,” a voice that he cannot see calls to him. There is no hut that Seokjin can see. Only omnipresent darkness, cloying the air in front of him. A tingle skitters over his arms and he becomes acutely aware of another presence there with him in the dark. “I call to thee. Little hut, little hut, come to me.”
Seokjin blinks rapidly a few times and sees the outline of a hut in front of him. It has a blurry shape like it’s really the idea of a house. It’s so shadowed and opaque that he’s not entirely sure if it’s really there. He walks toward it anyway, one foot in front of the other, looking at the hut.
If a home could be a phantom, he thinks this is what the hut is. There is a vibrational pull here, a dull buzz in his veins as he gets closer and closer to where the blood witch lives. His stomach turns and his instincts beg him to leave. There is evil in this place. He knows it. Can feel its oily presence like a poisonous slick in his veins.
A door - or rather what he imagines is a door shape - stands open in the hut. Inside is eternal darkness like Seokjin has never seen before. The buzzing in his veins has become stronger, an itch he can’t scratch. A ringing in his ears.
Sometimes to beat evil, you must use evil. So Seokjin steps into the house despite all the reasons he should turn around and run. Because he is alone, he is in pain, and he needs some sort of penance. Justice.
So he asks the blood witch for a favor.
Little hut, little hut
Hear my strife
Little hut, little hut
Ruin this life
-
When the rock hits you right at the top of your spine, you know it isn’t an accident. All the same, you spin on your heel and look at the edge of the lake where the kids are skipping stones. They squeal and look away from you, huddled together as they giggle and look over their shoulders with frantic and excited faces.
You clench your fists and keep going. What can you do to a group of kids? Tossing them into the lake while you’re an adult seems unfair, though it certainly crosses your mind. It isn’t necessarily their fault that they were taught to have such hate in their hearts at a young age, after all.
So, you keep going, grinding your teeth as you march up the slope toward the main pathway that cuts through the park, gravel crunching beneath your feet as you quicken your strides to put distance between you and the cackling children. You’re not positive they won’t throw another rock at you, and you think that it might send you over the edge.
Early preparation for the Beltane festival is in full swing all over the park. There are trucks unloading carts and piecing together stalls, vendors and contractors with clipboards walking through spray painted grass with city officials, and a giant maypole waiting to be constructed.
Living in a town of witchy folk can be fun, you suppose. The only downside is that most of the witches in your town despise you and think you’re an abhorrent blight to the earth. If killing and sacrifices hadn’t been outdated and frowned upon, you’re sure they would have stuck you to an altar as a child the first time you showed signs of being a leech.
Leech.
It’s an unkind thing to call witches who siphon magic. It isn’t something you can control - it isn’t even something you were born with. Most witches who siphon magic are born that way. A sort of magical defect in the way they interact naturally with the world.
Most think of siphoners as a plague to the witch community. Thieves and monsters who can only feed on magic to make magic, a perversion of the natural balance of things. The way you look at it, witches who siphoned aren’t really any different from the natural order of the world. All living things need an energy source: food for animals, sun for plants, bacteria for amoebas. It isn’t different, really.
Perhaps you would not be so kind to leeches, though, had you not began your existence as a siphoner at thirteen years old.
It isn’t a night that you enjoy remembering, but it is certainly a night you can’t seem to forget. One moment you could command your magic like most other witches. Most, because you were a blood witch with raw talent and a powerful relationship with the earth’s energy.
Blood witches were as revered as they were feared, witches who needed no spells. Who could use the magic within them instead of their connection with the earth to conjure. To blood witches, all other witches were leeches, really. You didn’t tell that to your coven, though you thought about the irony often.
Your blood magic had vanished, though. It happened while you lay asleep in your bed, pressed up against your twin sister. Twins were a special thing in covens, a rarity in the magical order of the world that was seen as a good omen. There was a connection you shared with her deeper than the connection to your own magic, a bond that rooted the two of you together. That made you seek one another out for comfort.
It had been storming that night and you had sought out the warmth of her bed and the vanilla sugar of her hair to soothe your nerves. You didn’t like storms and thunder very much, but she was wide awake in her bed, watching out the window as purple lighting cracked across the sky and thunder shook the house.
You’d slipped into her bed without a word and she stood guardian over you, hand tucked in yours as she watched the sky light up. You remember her laying down next to you after the storm passed. The warmth of her breath on your cheek as she fell asleep. The hum between the two of you, soul recognizing soul.
She’d been dead by morning, magic siphoned and drained dry in the middle of the night.
The memory of it is metallic in your mouth. You head toward your apartment, hands tucked into the pockets of your jeans, head down. Beltane always makes you think of your sister. Makes you think of the morning you woke up on your thirteenth Beltane to find her cold and dead, magical signature gone. Severed. Torn away from you.
Losing your ability to generate magic was only second to losing your sister. You still feel adrift fifteen years later. Moving through the world with a piece of you missing. Two pieces of you, if you count the fact that you can feel the magic around you but not reach for it. You never reach for it, though you suspect that no one believes you.
Except maybe Seokjin. But even he doesn’t know the story of how you became what you are. All he knows is that you can’t create your own magic, and yet he’s never shamed you for it. Never turned his back on you, or berated you or bullied you.
That sort of kindness is a rarity in your world.
Your small northeastern town is easy to navigate. There’s not much that happens that doesn’t immediately become the knowledge of all citizens, and there’s not really a way to get lost unless you’re a tourist coming to visit the country's spookiest and most magical town. The locals are pretty firm believers in magic, but the out of towners don’t really believe. They just want camp and kitsch.
It’s busy season, the streets filled with people buying decorations to celebrate Beltane, restaurants full of tourists trying out local fare between going shop to shop. The festivals always draw a big crowd to your corner of the world, making it easier for you to blend in with all the rest of them. It almost makes you feel normal when someone doesn’t recognize you and immediately scowl. Sometimes you can even get away with eating at places that wouldn’t normally serve you, the workers too busy to really look at your face and see you.
A few people have taken pity on you outside of Seokjin. Namjoon and Jimin would never turn you away, always welcoming you with open arms, a warm cup of tea and free books for as long as you like at their bookstore. You’re not technically allowed in the metaphysical store on Fourth, but as long as Yoongi is working, you can walk through the rows and rows of crystals, grimoires, spices and charms. Seokjin is where you’re really home, though, his bakery a place of safety and fresh-smelling sugar cookies.
It’s where you go now, sticking to the shop windows and away from the tourists flowing all over Main Street like ants. There’s a line stretched out the door when you get to Magical Moon Bakery, and Jungkook looks helpless behind the counter as he nods while taking an order, wide-eyed and terrified.
Seokjin is at the delivery counter, flour staining his cheek and brow as he nods politely and hands a box of cupcakes over to his customer. As though he can sense you, he lifts his head and swivels, eyes scanning until they land on you, immediately shining. Your stomach leaps the way it often does around him, especially when he breaks out into a beautiful smile and jerks his thumb at an apron.
You roll your eyes. You’re not technically an employee at the bakery, but you help often enough that you tease Seokjin sometimes that he should start paying you. You never mean it, of course. Your reward is his unearned and unlikely friendship, and the fact that his friends have taken you in even when other covens have turned their backs on you.
Perhaps if he’d grown up here he’d hate you. It’s a thought you have often, even when you’re pulling the loop of a lavender apron over your head and tying it around your waist. You can’t imagine Seokjin ever hating you for no reason, but sometimes you wonder if he had the influence of the other kids of your town if it would be different.
“Can you take over the order counter?” he asks, the blush on his face the only sign that he’s getting a little frazzled. You nod and he winks at you, leaning over to press a quick, chaste kiss on your cheek. “Worldwide best friend.”
“Mhmm,” is the only response you manage to string together, flustered by his proximity.
It’s no secret that Seokjin is one of the best looking men in town. Even among witches, who are unnaturally beautiful to begin with, he stands out. Dark, silky hair swept back off of his forehead, dark eyes with a spark of caramel right around the pupil, lips full and lush like Aphrodite, and a face molded from the finest clay, glazed and perfected.
Loving him isn’t hard. He’s as kind as he is beautiful, and Seokjin is silly. Able to make you laugh and draw you out of the melancholy that is permanently affixed on your person. It’s been that way since you met in your early twenties right after he moved to town, and you’re grateful for it.
Even if loving him is pointless. He can never be yours - would never want to be yours in that way, anyway.
So you settle for less. Settling for crumbs is what you’re good at. What people think you deserve, being the little leech that you are.
No one you’re serving at the bakery knows you’re a leech, though. All they know is that they are eager to try the best baked goods in town, wondering at the menu as each item has a list of things it’s good for. Rose scones to make someone fall in love, marshmallow fluff cupcakes to soften the blow of bad news, gumdrop cakes to summon rain.
Everything on the menu has a charm to it, both literally and figuratively. Seokjin is wildly creative in his carefully crafted menu, and he imbues magic in everything he makes from the eggs to the whipped frosting.
Being here is nice. Jungkook grins when he sees you behind the counter, happy for the help. He still gets overwhelmed behind the till, and he’s more than happy to step back and chew his lip nervously when he processes a discount wrong. You’re up next to him before he can ask for help, typing on the screen while gently walking him through it again.
Jungkook is a good kid, an elemental witch who is prone to cause rainstorms when he gets stressed. For now, he is a bottle of sunshine, thanking you shyly and letting you know that he saved you a bag of butterscotch cookies in the back.
“I put in a little extra sunshine,” he promises. By that, you know that he means magic. To give you. You open your mouth to scold him but he shakes his head furiously, long, wavy locks shaking. “I wanted to do it. Please don’t yell at me.”
That gets you. It’s hard to be mad at him, especially when anger is likely to set him off into a rainstorm. Jungkook’s round eyes are pleading and he pouts, a tactic you know he has learned from his boyfriend to use as a weapon. You think about sending Taehyung some choice text messages but instead, thank Jungkook for the cookies and continue to help him.
This is what keeps you going most days. The unfettered kindness that Seokjin and his friends show you. None of them are locals to town, but they had formed their own coven a little at a time, a circle under the broad umbrella of the town's overall witch population.
Covens are difficult. You’re both in and not in Seokjin’s coven, an unofficial member by friendship. But you don’t practice anymore - won’t let yourself - so you’re on the outside looking in most weekends and during spiritual times of the year.
But by witch standard, you are a part of the covenstead of the town, the larger collective of witches who are loyal and responsible for one another, all answering to the high priestess. Who has begrudgingly let you stay as a member of the covenstead for the sheer fact that you’re her niece and nothing more.
When the rush of customers and crinkling to-go bags slows, you lean against the counter and reach a hand out just as the door to the back swings open. Seokjin has a glass bottle of soda ready for you, and he blinks in surprise when he sees your hand ready for it. You’re a little surprised as well. Though you have no magic on your own, you still sometimes predict things before they happen. Or at least, your instincts do.
“It’s freaky when the two of you do that,” Jungkook comments, eyes bouncing between you and Seokjin as the older hands you the bottle. “You’re always so in-tune.”
“She’s a witch,” Seokjin snorts, leaning against the glass case of mostly empty dishes as he takes a swig of his own. “Divination and all that is sort of what we do.”
“Yeah, but it only happens with you.”
You don’t meet Seokjin’s eyes as you swig from the bottle, the carbonation fizzing on your tongue. “I can’t help it that I inspire magical abilities,” is Seokjin’s answer. Always deflecting. You're grateful for the way he rolls with the punches, easily accepting the way others talk about you two as an item so you don’t have to. “Plus, even witch-adjacents have the ability of foresight.”
What he doesn’t say is that even in your dishonored position as a siphoner, you can get sensations and feelings. While you can sense magic and you’re still in tune with the world around you, Jungkook is right: you only have this sense of knowing with Seokjin, like there is a tiny string of fate connecting the two of you.
When it’s time to close down the shop, you help the two of them out. Seokjin goes to the back to begin batching things anew: fondant, bread, frosting - anything that he can let sit overnight or prep while the lights are out and he’s gone home. You focus on cleaning with Jungkook, letting him put on a pop playlist while he sings along, siren voice lulling you into a steady rhythm.
Part of you wants to ask what they’re doing for Beltane. Celebrating the holidays use to be your favorite, threading flowers through your hair, blessing your hearth and home, weaving new spells of prosperity and happiness alongside your sister. Now you don’t participate in any of the rituals with the others.
Most of the time, you celebrate alone in your room. Mark the points of the elements and the compass on your bedroom floor alone. Sit in front of a single candle, watching the flame flicker as you draw your circle of salt, murmuring blessings. It isn’t a powerful place of practice and you have no alter to command, but it's something. It’s yours.
Instead of asking, you follow Seokjin and Jungkook out of the door on the promise of dinner. It is the one thing that does feel like a ritual you’re allowed to participate in, holding chapel at Seokjin’s dining room table and elbowing with Jimin and Taheyung to reach for the food piled high.
Evening sky stretches overhead as you walk between Seokjin and Jungkook. You cast your eyes upward, watching the gray clouds float by. Seokjin throws an arm around you, pulling you in close and squeezing you to his side. He smells like vanilla and sweet orange from making his tangerina vanilla cakes for Yoongi. You breathe in his scent, letting it wash through you like a balm.
His arm presses a little too hard on the bruise where the rock from earlier nailed you, and you hiss, reaching behind your head automatically to adjust his hold on you.
“What?” he asks, lifting his arm and slowing his gait. Seokjin’s face is picture-perfect concern, mouth tilted downward, a crease in his brows. Before you can explain, his hands are pulling at the collar of your shirt. “You’ve got a welt here, what the hell is that?”
You smack at his hands and step away from him, pulling his warm fingers from your shirt. “It’s nothing.”
“Whenever you say ‘it’s nothing’ it's always something. Why do you have a lump on the top of your spine?”
Dancing away from him, you grab Jungkook who grunts, mouth full of corn chips as you shove him between you and Seokjin. More unhappy noises come from the youngest as Seokjin grabs for you but you squeak and use Jungkook’s broad body to block him again.
“Yah!” Seokjin yells, reaching both arms around either side of Jungkook to grab you. He manages to get one of your arms, pulling you toward him - and by default, Jungkook - and keeps a firm grip while you swat and fight back.
“Nooo!” Jungkook howls between the two of you, adding to the chaos as he shoves both of you away from him. “Stop using me as a battering ram! I’m going to drop my chips! Guys!”
“Tell me why you have a wound!”
“It isn’t a wound!”
“It’s a type of wound!”
“Ugh let my arm go, hulk!”
“Stop hissing at me like a rat!”
Jungkook drops his bag of chips and lets out a long, forlorn wail. “My chiiiiiiiiips!”
After a struggle, you manage to shake Seokjin off of you, taking a few steps back as you huff angrily, fists at your side. Seokjin sidesteps Jungkook who is pouting and looking at the ground, wavy bangs falling in his eyes as he stares at the spilled corn chips. Seokjin makes it worse by stepping on them, earning a shriek from Jungkook that goes ignored.
“Did someone hurt you?”
A rumble rolls through the sky from up above. You cast your gaze upward, looking at the clouds that are a little more swollen than they were a few minutes ago. You can sense the static in the air, a promise of lightning if you don’t diffuse Seokjin’s anger quickly.
Similar to Jungkook, Seokjin is sensitive to the elements. Where Jungkook has an affinity for the sky and the rain, Seokjin has a lot more skill with fire. Still, Seokjin is a powerful witch and his rage on more than one occasion has disturbed the sky and the lake in the middle of town.
It’s partly the reason he works so hard on never getting angry.
“It’s nothing, Jin,” you answer softly, eyes pleading. You desperately want him to drop it. Part of you is honored that he cares, but the other half of you can’t bear the way he looks at you. “Please drop it.”
“Someone hurt you. Again.”
Thunder echoes across the sky. Jungkook looks upward. “That isn’t me, even though I am mad about my chips.”
“Jin, it isn’t a big deal. Please.” You glance upward, thunder rolling again. “You’re going to make it rain.”
“I’ll make it do more than that when I find out who did it.”
“They were just kids, Jin. You can’t-”
He swears loudly and there’s a flash of lightning above your head. It makes you think of that night with your sister, laying in bed to let the storm pass. You clap your hands over your ears and squeeze your eyes shut, automatically crouching to make yourself small.
Behind your shut eyes, you try not to let the memories come. Try not to imagine the vanilla scent of her hair, warm hands on your skin turned cold the next morning. You block out the screams, the way your mother shoved you away and your father yelled and yelled and yelled.
Above, the thunder stops. The rain doesn’t fall, and the air pressure returns to normal. Shivering, you crack an eye open to look at Seokjin, terrified at what you might find. His anger is so rare but flips on a dime, catching you off guard any time it happens.
Jungkook is murmuring in Seokjin’s ear now, voice hushed and urgent. Seokjin’s eyes become unfocused as he nods, Jungkook’s hands grasping the older’s biceps firmly. When Seokjn’s eyes find yours over Jungkook’s shoulder, they’re fathomless. Endless pools of black and something else that you can’t decipher as he murmurs something back to Jungkook, who steps away.
Licking his lips, Seokjin offers you a hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry.”
You swallow thickly. Reach out a tentative hand. “It’s okay.”
“You know I would never hurt you?”
Of course you know that. You aren’t afraid of Seokjin or the power he holds. You aren’t afraid of what he can do. You are afraid of the memories that nip at your heels like a pack of jackals, waiting for you to grow weak and fall before they attack. You are afraid of the way that it makes you feel when he cares about you.
“I know that,” you murmur, letting him pull you to your feet. “It’s just the thunder, that's all.”
His smile is soft. “I know, I’m sorry.” He squeezes your hand. It’s a perfect fit, your palm in his. His skin buzzes with magic and you’re careful not to take any, always keeping your guard up so that you can never siphon again. “Let’s go home, yeah?”
-
Home isn’t the small apartment on the west side of town that you keep by yourself. Home is Seokjin’s two-story house in the suburbs made of brick and mortar. It’s the crowded dining room with eight chairs pulled close to the wooden table and a chandelier full of burner candles and incense. It’s Seokjion’s cat familiar running yowling down the corridor as Yoongi’s maine coon chases it, hissing.
Home is seven witches who don’t care that you can’t generate your own magic, all of them laughing and pushing empty plates toward the middle of the table where Namjoon collects them with a snap of his fingers, the cutlery lifting and stacking neatly with the soft click of ceramic.
Bloated and overly satiated, you lean back in your chair, sighing heavily. Yoongi is next to you, quiet and staring off into space the way that he often does. Next to him, Jimin and Namjoon have their heads bowed together whispering, a blush flushing across Namjoon’s wine-glazed expression and tops of his ears.
Namjoon and Jimin strike something in you. A longing that tugs at your heart strings, drawing your gaze to the man sitting on the other side of you. Seokjin is leaning back in his chair, arm stretched over the back of your seat as he yawns mid-conversation with Hoseok.
Seokjin is barely touching you, but just the warmth of his arm is enough to make you dizzy. It’s barely there, just against the top of your back. You lean into him a little, resting your head on top of his arm. He maneuvers his hand to scratch the top of your head lightly. It feels so nice that your eyes flutter shut, letting him play with your hair as the noise in the room drifts to a dull buzz.
In another life, you think that this touch could be something more. Sometimes, you let yourself wonder if it is. Let yourself pretend that maybe Seokjin’s lingering gaze and lingering hand is more than the platonic affection he has for you.
It’s a silly dream.
When the dishes are washed and the others have said their goodbyes, it’s just you and Seokjin leaning against the counter in the kitchen. He has a glass of wine, sipping it thoughtfully as you put the cork back in the wine bottle. When you meet his gaze, you see something there. Hesitance. Anxiety.
Seokjin chews on his lips and swishes the wine in his glass. The red arches elegantly along the sides of the glass, slowly dripping back down to pool in his cup. You remember once at a winery you could measure the legs or something when swishing wine in a glass to learn some small factoid about the wine, but it’s far from your memory now.
“What’s wrong?” you ask, taking a sip of your own. It’s a strong mulled wine with notes of cherry, you think. “You look nervous.”
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Your heart beats hard once. Then twice. Speeds up. Instead of answering right away, you take a sip of your wine, mind running through all of the things you think he might say. Maybe this is it, he’s going to tell you that you can’t come around as much. That though you’re his best friend, you have to stay away from his coven.
Instead, Seokjin says, “You know I’ve looked into your situation.” You wince when he says it but he pushes forward, leaning off the counter as he grows eager. “You said you weren’t always a siphon, that you could control your own magic as a child. I’ve been researching similar cases, and there is a lot of evidence that supports that it might be a magical block.”
“Jin.”
“Look, I’m happy with the way you are. There’s nothing wrong with you. But I know that you aren’t happy with it.” His jaw flexes. “And I care about your happiness. I just… Yoongi and I have been reading up on rituals to release magical blocks, and with Beltane in a few days, we thought…”
Warmth bubbles in your chest. You know how much this means to him, trying to help you. To free you from the burden that you carry with you wherever you go. This is not the first time he has brought up trying to figure out your ailment. Your situation. And though you’re glad he cares about you enough to try, there is something humiliating about it.
“You don’t have to decide tonight,” Seokjin murmurs. You look up at him and his gaze is soft. Vulnerable. “But if you want us to try, we discussed it. And our circle is strong enough to try it on Beltane.”
Licking your lips, you nod once. “I’ll think about it. Thanks for thinking of me.”
“I’m always thinking of you.” You give him a look and he smiles, a little sad. “What? I am.”
“Stop trying to be charming. I’ll only say yes if I want to.”
“I have no doubt about that. However, it is impossible for me to stop my charm. It is a natural gift.”
You roll your eyes. “Along with your insufferable humor.”
“There is nothing insufferable about me. Especially with Yoongi around.”
You don’t push the argument. Seokjin grins again before opening a drawer in his kitchen, pulling out a small, cloth bag. There’s a green ribbon tying the top of it shut, and you smell the herbs inside of it immediately: cedar, bay leaves, mugwort.
Seokjin holds the bag out to you and you frown, taking it. It’s weighted with crystals. You squeeze the bag a little, feeling the crunch of crystal fragments and herbs. There is a vibration that travels from your fingers up your arms and you feel a sense of solid warmth.
“A protection bag,” you deadpan. “Really?”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t need this.”
“The welt on your neck says otherwise.”
“Please stop!” Your voice is loud in the empty kitchen. He pulls up short, leaning against the counter and watching you with wide eyes, lips parted slightly. You sigh deeply and close your eyes for a moment, calming yourself before you open them and say, “I don’t mean to yell, it’s just - it’s hard when I feel like all of you coddle me. It’s humiliating.”
“It wasn’t my intention. I’d never want to make you feel that way.”
“I know.”
You do know. The intentions are good, but you can’t help the raw, venomous edge of frustration. It makes you feel less than, this constant need to help you. To do things for you.
“I don’t want to be a problem that everyone feels like they need to solve. There’s more to me than being the covenstead’s leech.”
“You know that isn’t how we think of you.”
You give a frustrated noise. “Then please. Let me ask for help when I need it.”
Seokjin is quick to catch the protection bag when you toss it back to him. He nods silently, eyes fixated on the floor. It feels like a hot stone has been dropped in your stomach, burning and weighing you down. How quickly a good dinner has turned sour, how the light air between the two of you has gone cold.
“Thank you for dinner. And for looking into a way out of this,” you gesture wildly to yourself. He nods, but there’s no mirth in his face. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah of course. Let me know about… you know.”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
That night, you have trouble sleeping, just like that night when you were thirteen years old.
-
The back door to Shadow Metaphysical opens, creaking as Yoongi sticks his head out. His long hair is styled behind his ears and he’s in a soft-looking black sweater and jeans. He smiles when he sees you, gentle and kind as he opens the door a little wider, beckoning with his head to enter.
Slipping through the back door, you enter a dark office. It’s only lit by candles spread over various shelves and desks, and a few hovering candles near the ceiling. It’s warm and cozy, and you spot Yoongi’s familiar napping on the chair pulled up to the desk where a computer shows some sort of accounting system.
Yoongi leads you to the front of the store. It’s closed for the evening and he has receipts and cash laid out on the counter as he balances his drawer for the day. The shop has tall ceilings and is lined with rows and rows of dark shelving. The lighting here is not powered by candles or magic, but rather golden cafe lighting strung on the ceiling.
Shadow Metaphysical is one of your favorite places. It smells different each time you go in, the magic and the herbs and the spells inside of its four walls shifting with the energy of its employees and customers at all times. Today, it smells like night rain and crackling lightning.
Wordlessly, Yoongi gestures at the shelving, signaling to do whatever you need. He busies himself with going back to counting bills, head down and trusting you not to steal anything. Not that he would care, as he’s always emphasized he has no problem not taking your money.
Still, you always pay him, especially since he lets you in after hours where no one can yell at you for being inside. The covenstead has barred magical stores from siphoners, convinced that they would cross the threshold and drain the shops of magic.
It isn’t true, though you can feel the ebb and flow of open magic sources around you. You’re not here for magical purposes, specifically. There are things you can buy yourself and keep in your apartment to ground you to the earth, and there are still rituals and practices that you keep up with, even as your connection is severed.
As you pass rows and rows of books on rituals, you think about Seokjin’s offer to help you figure out your block. It wouldn’t be the first time you tried and failed to figure out what happened. With magic, the point of origin is always the key to any spell. The how and the where of your condition are important elements to figuring out the solution, but no one really knows the how and the where.
Your friends don’t have full clarity on that night. You’ve never told them in explicit detail of how you woke up, full of your sister’s magic. The town calls you a kin killer and a leech, so you’re sure they know enough to know the source of your hesitation is violent and personal.
Still, you slow as you pass a grimoire. The runes on it shine gold when you pause, winking at you, begging you to touch it. You feel the whisper of the spells of dozens of witches inside of it, their phantom fingers brushing down your arms. Your spine. You shiver and look away from the book, pressing on to the herbs section.
It would be nice not to feel the lure of power. Not to feel the itch and the cunning voices of magic begging you to use them use them use them use them-
“Stop,” you growl out loud. You don’t know who you’re talking to - yourself, the magic in the store, the universe. Taking a deep breath, you gather your wits and complete your shopping, moving with a robotic pace around the store to get what you need.
At the register, Yoongi gives you a wary look as you set things down on the counter. He takes his time scanning them, glancing at you occasionally. You can sense he wants to ask a question, dark eyes lingering a few times. That’s the thing about Yoongi, though. He’ll never ask, he’ll just wait until you give up.
Which you do, sighing and saying, “Ask.”
His lips twitch as he bags a few jars of thorns. “How often do the books in here talk to you?” You level a stare at him and he rolls his eyes. “I can hear you. And every time you’re in here, it’s like they all turn to look at you. Is it often?”
“Yeah,” you admit. “Since it happened, there’s always been a pull or like magical objects to taunt me.” You chew your lip and rub your sweaty palms on your jeans. “It’s worse around the sabbat holidays.”
“Stronger magic.”
“Yeah.”
“Did Jin explain what ritual we talked about?” You shake your head. He pushes over a paper bag filled with all your things and you hand over your card. As he swipes it, Yoongi explains. “Two smaller rituals wrapped into one. Namjoon found a really old binding ritual that was used to form a bridge between multiple rituals.”
“So like when you chain spells together,” you offer. “Impressive. I guess that would be used for improving upon old rituals?”
“Yeah, exactly that. Seokjin had been doing some research on magical blocks and shit, and found one that locates a point of origin of the block whether it’s internal or external.”
“External?” He nods. “Like a curse?”
“Yes. Any reason anyone would want to curse a thirteen-year-old?”
Yoongi phrases it like a joke and chuckles. But you don’t laugh, stilling as you think about his question. Your immediate answer is no, at thirteen there was certainly nothing you could have done to be cursed. But you think about your parents, thinking about the fear revolving around their gifts for blood magic, think about the way they were always regarded with equal parts fear and reverence as coven leaders.
Curses aren’t common. It would take a coven of extremely skilled witches to curse someone, but it could take a single very skilled blood witch to toss one. Hexes aren’t long-term and are far more manageable, but you think about the way your power vanished, the way you bled your sister dry.
The misery you’ve faced since, the loss of your parents shortly after, the hatred from the covenstead.
“Holy shit, you don’t think you’re cursed, do you?” Yoongi’s question brings you out of your daze. All of the amusement has been wiped clean from his expression, eyes deadly serious. “Who would curse a child?”
“People were really afraid of my parents,” you admit. “My mom used to lead the covenstead here, you know?” That surprises him and you nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Yeah, before my aunt. She isn’t a blood witch. My mom was and led the covenstead until um - my sister died.”
“I never knew that. No one talks about it.”
There is a question there. Yoongi won’t say it outright, but you sense the curiosity nonetheless. You feel your throat constrict a little as you murmur, “She stepped aside when my sister died. It was more political than anything, but no one talks about it out of respect for my aunt.”
“But still, to curse a child?”
“There was…” You think back to the time when you were thirteen. Those days are painted so painfully when you think about them that it is hard to remember anything else. “My parents were involved in the Trials that were going on at that time. Hunting Dissenters.”
Yoongi’s face darkens. “I see.”
“They had a lot of enemies. So maybe… I don’t know.”
For a few moments, Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He busies himself with packing away the rest of the till and waving his hand, dousing all the lights in the store with ease. There’s a little pang as he does it, such simple magic that costs him nothing. That you have no access to.
“Well,” Yoongi sighs, a little awkwardly. “Think about it. If - and it’s unlikely - that someone cursed you, you’ll know if we go through with the ritual.” He pauses and levels you with a look. “It is dangerous though. So consider the risk before you agree, hmm?”
You nod and thank him. He leads you out of the store and gives you an awkward smile goodbye. Never affectionate, but always polite and warm nonetheless.
Sunset-purple skies stretch above you. It smells like fresh rain and earth outside. Town is quieter now that the evening crowd has finished dinner and gone home or back to their accommodations for the evening. You pass places with patio seating and small diners tucked between stores, wary eyes of the workers following you as you walk down the sidewalk.
No one says good evening. Some don’t look at you at all.
Curse.
The word weighs heavy on you. You’d never considered that your condition could be from a curse before, but now that you think about it, you can’t stop the thoughts racing through your mind.
The Trials had been a scary time for witches, Dissenters leaving covensteads to start their own, dark and forbidden spellwork becoming more and more popular among covens. Your parents - especially your mother and her sister - had been a huge part of cleansing the covenstead from witches who practice dark magic.
Especially the few blood witches.
You had been a blood witch, though. Like your sister, like your mother. People had always been wary of them, which is why your mother worked so hard to get rid of the Dissenters when she was the head priestess.
They give us a bad name, she would say darkly when you and your sister asked why she was getting rid of witches like you. Like her. In times like this, we have to work extra hard to prove we aren’t evil.
And then you bled your sister dry. Drained her magic until she couldn’t fight you back and you woke up to that feeling of her cold hands on your overwhelmed skin. Your mother had never really looked at you the same after that, stepping down as the high priestess immediately.
You suspect she protected you in the only way she could. Disallowing you to use magic of any sort, placing hard restrictions on how you could live, outlawing you from spaces where you had grown up. It was better than death.
At least, you used to think so.
Yoongi’s words weigh heavy on you as you sit in your apartment alone. You don’t bother to put the TV on, knowing that you won’t be able to pay attention to anything. Magic always comes at a price, and two rituals wrapped into one is going to take a toll.
And yet, you think about getting to the bottom of this sickness, this curse. This inability to do anything but steal magic, to leech off of others. You think about how your magic used to feel, the way you could command fire with a snap of your fingers or make stars fall from your bedroom ceiling.
An ache settles in your chest as you lay back on the couch and close your eyes, throat tight and eyes burning. You have been without magic for so long. Part of you thinks what's a little longer? But deep down, you crave it. The spark, the life, the touch of magic.
You want to be able to enter stores without the itch underneath your skin, an addiction you can’t cure nor divulge in. You want to be able to be a part of a community again, to do rituals with Yoongi and Jungkook and Seokjin. You want to be able to help him in his bakery, imbuing his scones and cupcakes with love and a little spark of something extra.
Tears flow hot on your face. You know what you want, and you know that it’s going to cost you to get it. You know that to do this, you’ll have to be open and honest, because there are only two possible options for your magic block: you are cursed or you have a mental block.
It’s hard to know if being cursed as a result of your parents’ policing is worse than potentially having an internal block, an innate refusal to do magic because of what you did.
That night sits at the back of your mind like a stone, sinking sinking sinking. Pulling you under as you think about it in explicit detail. Maybe you simply killed your twin. A horrible accident, but perhaps it was just you. Your magic. Your fault.
And your magic had fled because of it, a self-inflicted punishment.
Before you’re aware of what you’re doing, you have the phone in your hand, sniffing and wiping your tears with the back of your hand. Your face feels swollen and sticky with tears and overwarm and it’s hard to get a breath as you press the phone to your ear, listening to the ringing.
Seokjin picks up on the fourth ring, his voice cheery. “What, did Yoongi forget to let you in the store?”
“No.”
“I’m coming now,” Seokjin says, completely forgoing humor when he hears you sniff, hears the waver in your voice. “Are you home?”
“Yeah.”
“Did anyone hurt you?”
“No,” you hiccup. “I’m just really sad and I don’t want to be alone.”
“I’ll be there in ten. Do you want to stay on the phone?” You shake your head and let out a little sob. Something about knowing he’s coming over to be with you cracks your resolve a little more. You realize he can’t see you when he prompts, “Hey, you there?”
“Sorry, no. Drive safely, please.”
“For you? Anything.”
Despite your tears, your mouth wobbles into a weak smile at that. It makes your heart squeeze just a little, underneath all the hurt.
It doesn’t take him long to let himself in the apartment. You can sense him before he even gets to the stairs leading up to your unit, his crackling energy like a beacon to you. When he opens the door with the key you gave him, he fills the space with static, magic snapping and tinged with worry.
Magic always belies how Seokjin feels. Like now, as he rushes across the apartment, he is lightning, all energy and anxiety popping and snapping as he sits on the couch next to you, pulling you into his chest.
Seokjin is warm and smells like vanilla and sweet orange from the bakery. It’s soothing. You close your eyes and clutch the hem of his shirt, resolve cracking the rest of the way as he becomes your anchor as you drift out to sea, holding you so that you can be lost in the overwhelming feeling of loss without getting too far.
He doesn’t tell you not to cry. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Seokjin leans back on the couch, pulling you into his lap, holding your knees so that he can hold you. One hand rubs your back and he rests his chin on the top of your head, leading you to use the crook of his neck as a place to hide - and turn into a waterfall for your tears.
This is what you love about Seokjin though. He doesn’t pry. He just lets you use him, lets you cry it out and he waits.
When the tears begin to dry and you find it easier to breathe again, you shift away from Seokjin and wipe your face. He smiles down at you, eyes glittering and expression so fond that you find yourself staring blankly into his face.
“I’m sorry,” you sniff. “And thank you for coming.”
“Anything for you.” You hate the way it makes your heart flip when he says that. You start to pull away from him to sit on the couch properly but his arms constrict you, keeping you to him. You frown but he asks, “I want to know what happened, if you’re ready to talk about it.”
Seokjin is so close his breath fans your face. You look up at him. Silky, long lashes that you could individually count with your proximity, beautiful tan and smooth skin with a glow all witches have, strong brows that you always thought made Seokjin’s face the perfect balance of boyish and beautiful.
Your heart starts to speed up and your mouth dries out with the way he looks at you, intense and searching. Suddenly you’re afraid if he looks too hard, he’ll see down to your core.
“I- yeah. I need some water,” you croak, pulling away. He lets you go this time, unaware that what you really need is space between the two of you, a barrier so he can’t see. So he won’t know. “Turns out sobbing makes you thirsty.”
Before you can get all the way to the kitchen, there’s a soft clink accompanied by a full glass of water on your counter. You glare at Seokjin over your shoulder and he winces and shrugs in apology.
As you gulp down mouthfuls of cool water, you wonder how to word exactly what you’re upset about. How you’re tired of existing in the world without your magic but you’re also unsure if you want to know the truth about why your magic left you.
Seokjin is iffy on the details about the night your sister died. He’s never asked you explicitly for the story before, but if you want to go through with finding out the root cause of your block, you know you’ll be exposed. To him. To all of them. To his coven.
The desire to be one of them is so strong that it makes your knees weak as you walk toward the couch. You sit abruptly on the couch arm, staring into the distance as you drink the rest of the water. You want to join them so much, to celebrate the sabbat holidays, to feel the rush of a closed circle of magic and yet…
Would they accept you if they knew you killed your sister? You’re not so sure.
You look at Seokjin. He waits patiently, watching you with soft eyes. Moonlight seeps in through the blinds behind him, wreathing him in silver light. He looks like a god, then. Of shadows, of night, of mystery. This best friend of yours who you love so much and who has loved you indiscriminately when he didn’t have to.
“I talked to Yoongi about maybe doing the ritual,” you start slowly. Seokjin nods, encouraging you. “And I think I came to the conclusion that I want to do it. I’m tired of feeling everyone’s magic pull at me, like a vice that I have to ignore every day. And I’m tired of wanting to do things I used to, to feel the world around me. But most of all, I just want to be a part of something. A part of a coven, a family.”
Understanding paints Seokjin’s face. He reaches a hand out and takes yours, giving you a firm squeeze. “You know even with no magic, you’re our family, right?”
“It’s different.” He starts to protest but you shake your head. “I want to be in a coven and to feel the power of a circle. I want to celebrate and do rituals with you, I want to be a part of something magical. I can’t do that like this, not without the fear of draining everyone.”
He nods. “Of course. We’ll have you either way, you know? We’d still welcome you like this.”
“But I’d never be able to close your circle.” Seokjin nods. He knows the truth of this. “But this ritual requires truth, and there’s some things about me that I’ve never talked to you about. Things about the night I… I could no longer do magic. I want you to be informed, to know what we might find if we do this.”
“Only if you want to tell me.”
“A coven and a working circle requires trust and honesty. I can never be one of you if you don’t know me completely.”
He nods. “That is true.”
“I’m going to tell you about the night that my sister died.” He squeezes your hand and nods, but says nothing else. “My sister and I were twins, both blood witches. Unusual enough for our parents and the covenstead to be incredibly proud of us, but not unusual enough for people to be afraid, you know?”
“Twins… That’s incredibly powerful.”
“Yeah,” you agree, throat tight. “We were really fond of the connection too, you know? It was nice to always have someone to rely on who was my perfect balance. We were never-” You take a breath. “Neither was more powerful than the other. There was never any jealousy or overpowering the other. We were always evenly matched.”
“Whenever it would storm,” you continue. “I would go lay in her room. I hated storms but she loved them. I did this countless times up until we were thirteen. I don’t know… Jin, I don’t know what was different that night. I think back to it every single day, what did I do differently, was there an object I touched, a spell I used? And I come up with nothing. But on Beltane when we were thirteen, it was storming. We’d already finished the festival and our parents were out doing their duties and I went and I fell asleep in her room and… and I woke up…”
For a moment, you can’t get the words out. They get trapped in your throat and you stare, unseeing. You imagine the lightning against the window. The warmth of your sister's hands. The tree tap tap tapping against the window with the strength of the wind.
“I drained her in the middle of the night,” you whisper. It’s out now and you can’t stop, can’t look at Seokjin’s face to see his reaction. “I went to sleep as normal and when I woke up, she was freezing and lifeless and I felt more powerful than I ever had before. Like I was this magical battery charged up and sparking.”
For a moment, you pause and look at Seokjin. You expect to see horror or disgust or a variety of negative emotions, but he’s still watching you. Fond. Waiting. No judgment. When he sees you staring, he gives you a tiny smile and a squeeze of your hand.
“I’m still listening.”
“Aren’t you…” You trail off and shake your head. “I killed my sister. Are you not horrified?”
He frowns then. “You didn’t kill your sister.”
“Yes I did.”
“You weren’t born a siphoner, how could you possibly predict that would ever happen? You didn’t get in that bed with her and then leech her magic, no matter how much it must feel that way. It wasn’t your fault, though I know hearing me say that doesn’t make it feel any less true in here.” He reaches forward and taps your heart lightly. “There is nothing I can say to ease the pain and guilt of that, but what you’re describing to me isn’t the tale of a murderer. It’s the story of someone who had a freak accident, which is more common among the magical community than one might think.”
“I don’t know what happened,” you admit, a tear escaping your eye. Before you can wipe it though, Seokjin’s thumb is there, swiping across your face and collecting it. You watch with wide eyes as he cups your face, looking at you with so much something that your head spins. “But in the morning, I was alive and she was dead. And my parents and everyone else hated me for it. That’s why they treat me the way they do. That’s why my mother stepped down as high priestess, why my parents were driven to grief. Why I’m alone.”
“You’re not alone. Not anymore.”
“How can anyone accept me like this?”
“Because it isn’t what defines you. We are not made up of only the things we do and the things that happen to us, and I promise you, this is something that happened to you.”
“But why? Why me?”
“I don’t know,” Seokjin admits. “But we’re going to find out, okay?
“What if the others don’t want me?”
“They would never,” he’s quick to say. He’s still holding your face, wiping tears from your eyes. “And if they did, I don’t care. I’d do the ritual myself, just to prove to you that this burden you carry isn’t your fault.”
You crack a grin, despite the dark topic. “Yeah? You’d try and do a circle for you?”
“I would walk through fire for you.”
You pull your face out of his hands and shove him a bit. “Fire is your favorite element, Jin. That’s not impressive.”
His laughter fills the room and he tugs at your hands. You grapple with him as he tries to pull you down, your ache forgotten as you laugh and squeal. “Yah! Let me try and be poetic! It was the first thing that I could think of.”
“You’re a witch, you’re practically impervious.”
Seokjin overpowers you and pulls you down against his chest. Suddenly you’re very close again, your palms pressed against his chest, the thrum of his heartbeat vibrating through your fingers. You make a surprised sound as he looks up at you, gaze a little darker. A little hazy.
Gently, Seokjin reaches up and brushes his fingers across your chin. It’s featherlight and more intimate than you expect, making you blink in surprise. You’re frozen, limbs stuck and heart racing as you watch the corner of his mouth twitch upward. Suddenly the moment feels different - this feels different.
“Not impervious to you though.”
When he says it, you don’t answer at first. You think you imagine him saying it. That suddenly this has blurred into a fantasy of yours. Perhaps you’re actually asleep, soothing your pain with dreams of Seokjin. Of being like this with him, pressed closed and intimate with his gaze burning.
“What?” you whisper back, unable to string together a better response.
He doesn’t seem offended though, huffing a laugh. “Fire might not get to me,” he says. “You certainly did, though.”
“I don’t…”
“We’re practicing honesty because you’re right. If we’re going to lift this block on you and let you join our circle, there can’t be secrets between us. There’s so much to tell you, but I need you to know before we do this how I feel.”
“How you feel?”
“Yes. As the leader of our circle, it’s my duty to be honest with you and to give you an out. I don’t want you to cast our first circle and suddenly be able to see - feel - how I feel and then there’s no way out.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’d walk through fire for you - hey, stop laughing at me! Because you are an amazing person. But I would also do it because I have fallen head over heels for you. Chaotically so. Painfully so.”
This is a dream. It has to be, because there is no way that Seokjin is lying under you, face so close to yours, hands gripping your forearms, and staring at you like that, gaze dreamy, smile on his face.
“It’s not a dream,” he laughs, making you realize you’ve said it out loud. “Or perhaps it is a dream and I am once again imagining that I am the hero to your tale, a knight saving you because he likes you and you will let me because you like me. But that would be a silly dream, because you have always been the bravest person I know and you have always refused to be saved.”
“You like me?”
“I do. And it’s okay if you don’t like me back. But I wanted you to know before you step into a circle with us. The others know - can see it light up inside of me every time we cast. But I didn’t want to surprise you with that. Not with this, not when it’s about you. It would have been cruel.”
Seokjin could never be cruel. The word cruel doesn’t even exist in the same plane of existence as this man. This witch who has never done anything but ask if you need help. Who simply enjoys baking things for the community and its visitors, filling every good with magic. A little extra something to make their lives more manageable, more fruitful.
This man, who would have you even as you are in his coven of witches. Even if a circle couldn’t be drawn and salted correctly. Even if they have no use for you. This friend, who has heard what you’ve done - or didn’t do - and looks at you all the same. Doesn’t see a monster or someone terrible, doesn’t see someone capable of murder.
The very thought of Seokjin loving you even as you are is enough to send a shiver through you.
“You know why I thought I was dreaming, right?” you ask him. Seokjin shakes his head, watching your every move. “Because I have dreamed of you saying that often. It was always a comfort to me when I was sad or my longing to have you was intense. I just thought I never could. Wasn’t worthy of it, wasn’t-”
Seokjin moves faster than you can finish your sentence. He surges forward, hands skimming up your arms roughly to cup your face and pull you down to him. He presses his lips firmly to yours and anything you were going to say vanishes, thoughts a wisp of smoke.
Sparks fly quite literally. Seokjin’s magic crackles and you resist to pull it in and consume it, too distracted by the soft feel of his lips. It’s just an innocent press of mouths at first, making your head spin as you realize you’re kissing Seokjin.
Then, he pulls away to look at you, face aglow. You’re a little breathless and reeling when you open your eyes to see his grin.
“You’re worthy of so much more,” he whispers.
There’s no time to respond as he pulls your lips to his again, this time kissing you properly. He tastes sweet, like one of his meringue treats. The slide of his plush mouth against yours makes you dizzy. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping slightly and you become ravenous.
Your tongue brushes against his teeth and he makes a throaty sound, opening up to let you deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping against his. He’s a slow kisser, dragging his tongue against yours and letting you fall fall fall into him.
Seokjin’s hands slide from your face down your shoulders and past them, stopping only at your hips where he squeezes. Your stomach flips at the contact and you twitch a little bit, grinding down into him as his kisses go from languid to a little needier.
“Fuck,” he gasps, head tilting back. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” you ask, mouth going to his jaw. You press wet kisses there, messy lips followed by your tongue, leaving a spit-slick trail. His skin makes your tongue tingle, magic vibrating.
He slips his hands under the hem of your shirt and digs his blunt nails into your hips. “You know what?”
Grinning, you bring your mouth up to his. Slowly, you lower your hips so you’re pressed flush to his, rolling them again, this time painfully slow. Your breath catches in your throat at the slow-drag friction, the feeling of him shivering underneath you.
“That?” you ask, breathless against his mouth.
“Enough,” he hisses.
The world spins. Seokjin grabs you and in a single, swift movement sits up and stands, carrying you with him. You squeal, hands shooting to grasp at his shoulders as he walks toward your room. He kicks his shin on the coffee table as he stumbles with you, balance off with the added weight.
He curses loudly and you can’t help but laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth when his sharp gaze snaps to yours. His eyes are dark dark, hungry and fathomless now as he raises a brow. “Yeah, you’re laughing?”
“Sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
“No, I’m not,” you admit.
“You’re gonna be.”
A wild thrill shoots through you as he carries you to the bedroom. You forget how strong he is, muscles flexing as he shifts you again, careful not to drop you. It makes you feel giddy, but you squeak in a moment of terror when he drops you unceremoniously on your bed, the brief moment of freefall startling.
You land with a huff and he grins down at you as he stands up against the edge of the bed, knees squeezing your legs together as he reaches behind his neck to yank at his t-shirt. You watch, slack-jawed as he pulls the material up and over his head in a way that is somehow hot, as benign as it is.
Seokjin is all gold and tan planes, body perfect in the low light of your room as he tosses his shirt. You take a second to admire his broad chest, dark nipples pebbling in the cool room. Dark hair trails from his belly button and vanishes in the waist of his jeans.
Seeking warmth, you reach for him. He leans forward, pressing his palms into the mattress to hover over you, knees placed on either side of your thighs. His muscles jump when you brush your hands up the softness of his stomach toward the harder muscle of his pecs.
It feels like the sun is trapped underneath his skin, burning its way out of him as your fingers explore. You’ve never touched him like this, slow and reverant and full of unbridled desire. He watches you, drinking in the way you take him in. The way you take your time.
“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, looking up at him. His ears turn red and he rolls his eyes. You grin, dragging your hand up to rest over his chest where his heart thuds wildly beneath your palm. “I mean here, idiot. Yeah you’re hot too, but you’re beautiful in here.”
Unreadable emotion flits across his face. Something like joy and pain - the pain of wanting to hear that for so long, waiting for the admission. You understand the same pain of desire filled so unexpectedly that it hurts.
Seokjin kisses you again and this time with intent. He shifts and slides a knee between your legs, pressing up to the apex of your thighs. You groan and lift your hands, sliding them through his hair. The strands are silky soft and long. You twist your fingers at the nape of his neck, pulling him to you as the kiss turns messy.
Whatever this is between you is more magic than you’ve felt in years. You feel breathless as he kisses across your jaw and toward your neck, sucking harshly on the soft skin underneath your ear. You whine and he chuckles, hot breath hitting your ear.
“Why don’t you do that thing you love so much, hmm?” he asks, nipping your ear lobe. “Are you shy now? Don’t wanna grind on me?”
You do want to, but you hesitate. He encourages you, taking a hand and skimming down your waist to your ass, sliding under and squeezing your cheek as he lifts your hips in a motion to grind against him. The friction is good but not nearly enough and you let out a pitiful sound.
“Come on,” he urges. “Do it right, then.”
Fuck. Fuck.
You grind your cunt on his leg properly, planting your feet on the edge of the bed for leverage as Seokjin’s mouth ravages your neck. You’re lost in him, letting your mind go a little empty as you seek friction, needing to relieve the pressure throbbing in your cunt.
Arousal gathers in your stomach and you feel yourself slow-drip into your panties, so turned on by the sudden confidence Seokjin has when kissing you, when telling you to move. This is a side of him you’ve never explored and you dive in head first.
One hand leaving his hair, you grab his hand that’s on your ass as he continues to nip your collarbones, tongue laving over the sting of his bite. He lets you lead him by the wrist, and you guide his hand between your legs where you press his fingers to your zipper.
“Please,” you rasp. “I need more.”
He sinks his teeth into the top of your right breast, tongue tasting your skin. “Is that so?”
“Please. You said you’d walk through fire for me.”
His laugh is loud and he buries his face in your neck. You can’t help but laugh too, pausing your greedy hands in exchange for mirth. “Yeah,” he agrees with a chaste kiss to your throat. “I did say that, huh?”
“Yes, so gimme.”
“Yah. Of course I am.”
Years of friendship have erased any ability to feel awkward with Seokjin but for a moment, you’re afraid it’ll be weird, touching one another like this. Seokjin has no such qualms, unbuttoning your pants and yanking them down your legs with ease.
When he comes back up to lean over you, he doesn’t slot a knee between your legs. Instead, his fingers press firmly to your clothed cunt, a curse falling from his mouth as he feels how damp you are. You’re hot all over and yet you feel hotter still as he circles his fingers gently over your clit.
“Fuck,” you sigh, lids fluttering closed. “Feels good.”
“You’re fucking drenched, all from a little kissing huh?”
“And grinding,” you add.
“Yeah, like a hungry little vixen, huh?” You nod, biting your bottom lip as you get lost in his lazy ministrations and pressure on your clit. It’s relieved some of the ache, but not nearly enough. “I can see on your face you already want more.”
This time, Seokjin doesn’t make you ask for it. He hooks a finger in your underwear and pulls them to the side. Immediately you feel cold air against you, but he’s quick to slide his fingers up and down your wet folds, slicking them up to trail back up and circle slowly around your clit.
“Damn you’re fucking wet,” he curses. He leans up a little, eyes fucked out. “Take the rest off for me, baby.”
Baby. It shivers through you and you comply, though a little haphazardly. It’s hard to remove your shirt and bra with the way his fingers are slowly pressing your clit, making you thrash and gasp.
As soon as you lay back down, no shirt and no bra, Seokjin is leaning forward, tongue darting out to flick against a stiffened nipple. You let out a loud moan and he hums in response, attacking his mouth to you and sucking. Fuck it feels good. You arch off the bed and his fingers leave your swollen clit to slide down your sticky mess to circle your entrance.
Gently, he sinks in a single finger. Your eyes roll back a little, pussy fluttering as he strokes your front wall. You’re tingling all over, buzzing with pleasure as he slowly fucks you with his finger, mouth busy plucking at your nipple with his teeth.
You’re lost in it, melted into the bed as Seokjin plays you like a well-tuned instrument. The heel of his palm presses against your clit, providing just enough pressure as he fingers you to send the room spinning on its axis.
He tongue-kisses across your chest, mouth ravenous against your heaving gasps as he finds your other nipple. The tip of his tongue circles, making you keen and squirm underneath him. He watches you with dark eyes, teasing the aching bud before nipping you lightly.
“Sensitive,” he mumbles, dragging spit-slicked lips against your breast. “Can you take another finger?”
You nod eagerly, hungry to be filled. Your orgasm is starting to build slowly, worked up by the way he mouths at you, by the way Seokjin’s fingers reach so deep, pressing against your g-spot as he sinks another into your heat.
“Shit,” you pant. “That feels so fucking good, Jin.”
“Mhmm.” He brings his mouth up to yours and your tongues tangle, teeth clinking together as he fucks you harder, the wet smack of your pussy against his palm loud. “Tight fucking pussy,” he pants, pressing hard against your front wall. Your heels dig into the bed as you try to keep up with the pleasure blooming in your stomach. “Gonna need to fuck you open a little if you’re gonna take me.”
If you’re gonna take me.
The promise of more has you rolling your hips up to meet his hand. He lets you fuck yourself on his fingers, dropping his gaze to look between your bodies. Your thighs and his stomach are slick with your juice, leaking around his fingers uncontrollably.
When Seokjin introduces another finger, you hiss. The stretch is hard and it burns. He doesn’t keep thrusting right away, letting your cunt stretch around his three digits. But he’s pressed up against your soft spot, making you see stars as he puts unrelenting pressure on your nerves.
It feels like insanity, the way he does this to you. The way Seokjin buries his face in your neck, your chests pressed together to provide friction against your teeth-marked nipples as he starts to build up a pace again, thrusting.
“I’m gonna come,” you whisper, hands grabbing frantically at his sweaty shoulder blades. Your thighs are shaking and it’s hard to get a breath in. Your voice quakes as you gasp. “Fuck, Jin I’m - ah ah ah.”
“So come,” he says, as if it’s that simple. He puts weight behind the hand fucking you, quickens the pace. Presses so fucking hard you think you might blackout. “If you’re gonna come, then do it.”
And you do. Just like that, nails digging into his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched, you come around his fingers. He fucks you through it, breath hot in your ear. Your knees squeeze around his hips until you’re spent, collapsing against the mattress, boneless.
Seokjin retracts his fingers. The sudden feeling of being empty makes you huff in protest and he laughs, lifting his face from your neck. You pout up at him and he kisses you again before leaning upward, straddling your legs.
Your eyes zero in on his hands as they undo the top of his belt. His hand is covered in a wet sheen, cum-slicked and sticky. He doesn’t care, popping up the belt and pulling down the zipper of his pants. You grow eager, leaning up as he pulls the waist down, revealing the dark briefs that do nothing to hide how hard he is.
With no warning, you reach for his clothed cock, squeezing firmly. He hisses and drops his hands, jeans only pulled halfway down his thighs. Seokjin tips his head back and moans at the ceiling as you lean forward and mouth at the damp spot on his briefs, tasting salt.
“Fuck,” he swears and you grin, pressing and holding the flat of your tongue to the cloth to wet it. “You’re a little slut, huh?”
You hum in agreement. Fingers dancing up his thighs, you pause at the elastic band, looking up at him through your lashes. “Can I?”
Seokjin tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes half-lidded. He nods, watching and dazed as you peel the elastic down his hips slowly. You lean forward as you do, pressing a soft kiss to his hip bone. He twitches and sighs in response.
You look at his cock as it bobs against his stomach, brown tip smearing precum against his navel. You lick your lips and drag your hand up, fingers gripping his velvety shaft. He’s thick and heavy in your hand as you grasp him firmly, stroking upward.
“Oh fuck,” he whispers, hips twitching. You grin up at him, swiping a thumb over the crown of his cock to spread the wetness down his shaft. He hums, entranced. “More.”
You don’t have to ask what he means. You lean upwards, pulling the tip of his cock toward your mouth. You slide just the tip into your mouth, suckling generously and running your tongue along the slit. His hand slips to the side of your neck, resting there but not doing anything. It’s a comforting weight as you take him in your mouth properly.
Seokjin is art above you. Chest flushed, mouth open, eyes closed. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was on his knees at worship. It is a sort of worship, the way you sink down on his cock, lips stretched wide, drool dripping down the side of your mouth and running down your jaw and neck. Is it not the spirit of loving him moving through you? Is this not heaven, looking up at him and seeing someone that has chosen you over and over again?
No pagan ritual in your life as a witch has felt like this. You swallow around him, eyes watering as you choke on his length, pulling back a little to catch your breath. Your hand squeezes him at the base, slick with your spit and his precum. Your mouth is wet and swollen as you lick the underside of his shaft, never looking away from his face.
“Fuck that mouth,” he sighs, eyes opening and looking down at you. He squeezes the side of your neck a little, fingers right against your throat. “Come on,” he murmurs. “I can’t hold out if you keep going. How do you like it?”
Instead of answering him, you pull off of him with a sloppy, wet noise. You make a show of running your tongue along your lips before turning around and crawling up the bed, wiggling your ass a little. Seokjin groans as he sheds his jeans and briefs the rest of the way.
The bed sinks when he crawls behind you. You go down on your elbows, ass up high. He smacks each cheek firmly with both hands, making you yelp as he grips the stinging flesh, squeezing. “You have a good ass.”
“You have a nice dick.”
He laughs loudly at that. Seokjin’s hand skims down to your thighs, grabbing them and pushing them open. You sink a little lower on the bed, face pressed to the sheets and letting your eyes shut. The hair on his thighs sends a shiver up your spine as his legs brush against yours, hands roaming and squeezing your hips, your butt, your thighs.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters. His hands come back over the globes of your ass and sink toward your wet cunt. You moan as his thumbs peel you open, pressing around your clenching hole. “Shit.”
The bed bounces as he moves again and then your eyes are snapping open, fingers twisting in your sheets when you feel the flat of his tongue swipe up your pussy. He hums in delight and you’re reeling, trying to catch your breath as he licks at you.
“Just wanted a taste,” he says, more to himself than you. He sucks your clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it a few times and you nearly crumble right there at the unexpected stimulation. He slow-licks up to your hole, tracing it once before retracting his mouth. “I have all the time in the world for you to come in my mouth. Right now I just wanna feel you.”
“Yes, please.”
Your breath gets stuck when you feel the head of Seokjin’s cock catch your entrance. He’s thick, and even though you’re dripping down your thighs and stretched from his fingers, the pressure of him sinking into your heat slowly sends you moaning like a wanton whore, unable to stop the sounds escaping your mouth.
Seokjin is precise, hands holding your hips firmly until he’s fully seated in your cunt, your walls fluttering around him. You feel so full, his cock reaching deep enough to feel in your gut. When he pulls all the way out, you think something is wrong, but he fucks back into you hard.
“Oh shit,” you gasp, feeling the full weight of him spear you. “Holy shit.”
He doesn’t say anything but he grunts, setting a slow but deep pace. His hips snap into you with force, your knees spreading a little bit wider. He leans into it more, moving his hands to press into the small of your back. The full force of his weight pushing your hips into the bed as he slams into you makes you dizzy.
An orgasm starts to build deep in your stomach. You claw at the bed, breaths coming out in a hiss. Seokjin grabs one of your hands, pulling it backward to pin it against your lower back before doing the same to the other. You’re completely pinned under him, pushed so far into the mattress you think you might fade and vanish into foam and sheets.
Nothing here matters but the way he fucks into you, unrelenting, heavy, precise. He says your name and it rolls off his tongue sweeter than any pastry he’s ever made. Your orgasm creeps up on you, shaking and thunderous. It feels stronger than before, a pressure that makes you start to shiver, feet kicking under him.
For a moment, he slows, pulling off you a little. “Okay?”
“Keep going,” you beg him, voice high-pitched and strange to your ears. “Please don’t stop, I’ll tell you if I can’t take it.”
That’s all he needs. He redoubles and this time, changes his direction, hits that spot inside of you head on with his cock and you think you’re going to pass out. You become lifeless under him, unable to do anything but take it. The wave of your orgasm builds and builds and builds until finally, it breaches.
You come for a second time, no noise coming out of you. It’s all white vision and squeezed thighs and ringing ears. You think you feel something like a bolt of lightning, a snap of power so strong as you clench around Seokjin that you taste static in the air.
It’s hard to know how long it lasts. One moment you’re shaking and the next, you’re drifting, feeling weightless and exhausted. The weight of Seokjin’s touch keeps you tethered and from straying too far, but you’re somewhere in between nonetheless.
Slowly, reality drips back to you. You think you may have dozed a little, your eyes dry as you blink them open. Seokjin is lying next to you, arm wrapped around you and eyes closed. He’s not breathing deep enough to be asleep, confirming it when his eyes open, sensing your gaze.
A smile lights up his face and you smile tiredly at him. Your cunt aches and your legs and arms are sore from being pinned, and you’re still a little shaky. Thoughts of your orgasm make you twitch, post-sex tremors that you can’t escape.
“Hi,” you rasp. “Did I fall asleep?”
“I think you blacked out.”
“I- what?”
“I sort of…” he frowns. “There was like this electrical snap when I came. You clenched me so fucking hard I just… let go. I think we sort of had a magical orgasm.”
“A magical orgasm.”
He grins. “Just say thank you for the witch orgasm.”
“Ugh.” You smack his chest and he laughs hoarsely.
It did feel like that though. Like a crackle of energy, like being struck by a storm of electricity and heat. You feel tired and heavy-limbed, but you feel sticky and sweaty too. “I need a shower.”
“Mhmm. I was waiting for you to come to.” He starts to sit up. “Come on, I’ll shower you. Then we need to sleep. We have to prepare you for your big day.”
“My big day?”
Seokjin grins as he reaches a hand for you. There’s a spark again when you touch and you hesitate, feeling the well of his magic there. It hums in him, a thunderhead of power and fire. He sees your expressions and softens. “You can’t hurt me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Baby, I just fucked the everloving shit out of you and you know what you didn’t do?” Your brows pull together and he smiles. “You didn’t pull an ounce of my magic from me. I think you’re a lot better at control than you think you are.”
Licking your lips, you nod and let him pull you from bed. You are good at control. You had to be after your sister. It’s something you’ve practiced nonstop, the unconscious control of your desire for magic. Even when you sleep, you wake up often, fearful of losing your grip on yourself while you slumber.
It hasn’t happened yet. And as Seokjin leads you to the shower, you think… maybe it never will. Especially if the ritual goes right. Especially if you can get your magic back.
Perhaps for the first time since you were thirteen, you feel a sliver of hope. When you look at Seokjin and you feel your heart stutter, you know that even without your magic, you’ve found something.
-
“Oh for the love of the land,” Yoongi groans when you appear in the basement of Seokjin’s home. “Look at the two of you.”
Everyone swivels to look at you and Seokjin, who are hand-in-hand. You freeze, pulling up short to take in the candle-lit room and the six other men who are all looking at you with equal parts happiness and a little bit of amusement.
You shift from foot to foot and chew your lip. Suddenly you want to turn tail and run back up the stairs and away from the watchful eyes of your friends - of Seokjin’s coven members. But Seokjin holds your hand tight, tugging you down the rest of the stairs into the gloom of the room.
Perhaps gloom isn’t the right word. The room is much too warm and smells of sage and thyme, a good feeling if not a little overwhelming. Outside this house, there is an entire festival going on at the park. The covenstead witches were furious when Seokjin let them know that he and his six would not be participating this year, as they had private matters to attend to.
It’s common for covens to use the holiday for something specific. Perhaps to bless a witch in need, or to strengthen a spell, or to defeat some evil. You remember that night that your parents left you alone for Beltane duties to fight and remove Dissenters, and how that turned out for you.
Magic hums all around you. It’s in the sigils on the ceiling of Seokjin’s sanctum and it’s in the ley lines that you can feel now more than ever as the veil between worlds thins. Each member of the coven has magic humming in their veins, a sort of signature taste and feel to it. You sense Yoongi’s deep shadows and Namjoons vibrant green, taste Jimin’s clean water and feel Hoseok’s pure air. Taehyung and Seokjin are the flickering flame that fills the room with light and heat, and Jungkook’s crackling storm greets you in the corner.
It’s hard to imagine where you fit in with them. But they don’t have a blood witch, who is all of these things wrapped into one. You know that they support you. The eight of you have gone over the ritual what feels like a hundred times at this point, perfecting it and making sure you know it inside and out.
The two rituals are wildly different. One to seek and find the source of your pain, led by Yoongi and Hoseok. Yoongi’s shadows and connection to the other side will help seek answers and provide clarity on whatever signs and hints come through the vision you’re supposed to have, and Hoseok’s strength with air will help keep you protected and clear of any negative energy.
Then, a small spell to build a bridge between the two rituals that Namjoon will handle with Jimin. Namjoon has it down to a science and has previously used it to link spells, and his affinity for earth will ground the entire circle. Jimin’s skill with water is to help guide you from ritual to ritual with ease and clarity.
It’s the second half of the ritual that’s the most demanding, which is why it’s Taehyung and Jungkook conducting the destructive half, breaking whatever stands between you and your magic. Two warriors meant to sever your block or the target of your curse, whichever it may be.
And it’s possible that you’re cursed. You have briefly spoken about what that means. About what to do. It will most likely mean something damaging and life-threatening for whoever did curse you, if you forcefully try to shatter it instead of finding the cause.
But there’s also potential for you to be harmed if the two of them try to break it and it’s too strong. It’s a risk that you have to assess in the moment, which is terrifying. You want to do it anyway, and you’re happy to find that they support you. That they’re there for you.
Coven members already, really.
All seven of them are dressed to perform a ritual. Dark robes, anointed element symbols in dark ash on their brows. Yoongi has a small circlet around his head, making you pause and tilt your head as you glance at Seokjin. He sees your confusion and smiles. “Yoongi is our high priest tonight,” he murmurs. “He will start and end the circle so I can be here with you.”
Yoongi is blushing and looking up at the ceiling when you turn back to him. For him to step up and hold the circle as the beginning and end is a huge risk on him. He’ll be providing the most magic and taking on the most risk second only to you, all so that Seokjin can move freer and have more control.
“Yoongi is a very powerful witch, as you know,” Seokjin murmurs, steering you to the center of the room. “He holds circles for a lot of our rituals when we feel he’s better suited.”
“Which is often,” Yoongi mutters at the ceiling where he keeps his gaze.
“Yah, shut up, hag. Everyone get in their places.”
Seokjin puts you in the very center of the room. There is a pentagram chalked in powder, but there is no glow to it, no light to signal that it’s being used. He squeezes your shoulders and you look at him, wide eyed and afraid. His smile is warm and a little nervous, but he leans in and kisses you once.
“Trust us,” he says. “This will be hard on you. But we’ve got you.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t break the circle,” he reminds you. “If you have to break, do it when Namjoon is at the middle part and before we start the second ritual. He will open the circle a little, but it’ll be just for a moment before the second is started and locked.”
“Right. Ten second escape if I need to.”
“You only have that window if we need to stop. Once we start the second, there is no stopping until the full ritual is complete.”
“Got it.”
“Good luck,” Seokjin whispers and kisses you on the brow. “I’ll be right here.”
With a deep breath, he steps to the side and grasps your hand. The two of you stand alone in the middle, you and your anchor. Silence settles over the room. You haven’t been in the middle of a circle since you were a little girl receiving her first welcome into the coven. You had done that with your sister by your side and your mother at the head of the circle.
Now, you’re with Seokjin, with Yoongi at the head of the circle. Yoongi doesn’t really make eye contact with you, but you sense his calming aura even from where he stands at the first point of the circle. He rolls his shoulders and closes his eyes, lifting his palms upward. “I stand at north, the beginning and end, start this circle, spirit ascend.”
You feel the ripple of magic in the room. Fire crackles at Yoongi’s feet, making you flinch. You watch as the red flames lick toward Hoseok, who is quick and light as he murmurs, “I stand northeast, to cleanse and protect, continue the circle, spirit to the next.”
You watch the flame as it sparks to life, moving clockwise around the room. Every time a member joins the circle, you feel the power thrum through the room, the pentagram beneath your feet beginning to glow. The flame comes all the way back around to Yoongi and he closes it, eyes opening and looking right at you.
Yoongi looks different than before, eyes shadowed and full of stars. “Begin,” he commands, voice like a thousand whispers.
A little spike of fear goes through you as Hoseok begins to chant. You recognize the Latin immediately but your unpracticed ears lose trace of the meaning. It’s picked up slowly in the room and you feel your palms slick with sweat as the light of the pentagram pulses beneath your feet, the flames flickering around the feet of the coven members.
Yoongi’s voice picks up the chant like you’ve never heard him before. It’s uncanny and you lean into Seokjin, who squeezes your hand and looks down at you.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “This happens when he leads a circle. Veil is thin.”
Nodding your head, you turn to the front again, feeling the itch to pull power from the circle, to draw their magic into you. There’s so much of it filling the room, an open tap of water spilling into the sink. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, worried that you won’t be able to resist, worried that you’re going to pull from the magic and-
A wave of dizziness hits you. You gasp and bend over, hand circling your middle as though you’ve just been punched. Seokjin’s hands are on your back but you can’t hear him, a high-pitched ringing drowning out the sound of his voice. For a second, you’re lost in the sensation of having the air sucked from your lungs and the whine in your ears getting higher and higher.
Just when you think that your ear drums will burst, the ringing stops. There is a hushed whisper filling your ears and you still can’t catch your breath. The room spins a little and when you look up expecting to see Yoongi, all you see is dark trees and a blurry shadowy… building. Something.
The whispers creep up on you. There are so many of them, hundreds - no, thousands - of voices brushing against you, dragging their fingers along your skin, touching you, hissing, singing, screaming. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced and their words are jumbled, sliding over one another.
Terror begins to claw at you. You try to remain calm, remembering that these are not the voices of spirits or something evil. Hoseok is commanding this ritual, an element of purity and guidance. He won’t let anything bad happen to you.
With faith in your future coven member, you try to focus on the voices. Try to decode them. Namjoon warned you that the messaging might be confusing. That you might not follow or understand what it’s saying. Symbols, images, key words. You need to reach for anything that seems like something, that can point to the origin of your block and follow it.
Yoongi’s presence presses at the back of your mind. It startles you at first, to feel who you know is innately Yoongi. You follow the press of whatever he’s doing and you catch a few words that fly by you: little hut little hut. Little hut little hut. Little hut little hut.
Unsure what it means, you cling to that. Little hut. It means something… you remember something about it. Yoongi’s presence fades away, satisfied that you’ve picked up on whatever it is he sees or senses.
Flipping through memories, you try to remember why a hut might mean anything to you. There were no huts by your town… nothing that you can remember no one you know of.
Little hut, little hut.
One memory sticks with you. Your sister playing in the background, hopscotching to a little tune that Mila down the street whispered to her about a witch in the woods.
Little hut, little hut
Hidden in the wood
Little hut, little hut
Up to no good
Yes, you think. A rhyme about a witch who lived in the woods. More thing than witch, really. A shadowy being that took the shape of a hut, a creature of magic and curses that could be found in the darkest part of the woods when the veil is thin.
Little hut, little hut
Alone in the gloom
Little hut, little hut
Silent as a tomb
You see it now. The blurry shape of a house that’s not really a house. The witch in the wood was a blood witch once, it was said. A witch who had long since dissented and practiced arcane magic, following a path that led her here. That led her to this. A thing of the woods.
It occurs to you the weight of the appearance of her. This hut in the woods. Yoongi’s flippant remark about you being cursed is suddenly real.
Dread drops down in your stomach like a weight. You can’t hear anything beyond the rhyme, the chant to find the witch of the woods. You’re cursed, you realize. All the fear that your condition was self-inflicted, that it was your fault, that this was something you did.
This is something that happened to you, Seokjin had said.
And he was right. Someone cursed you - did this to you. A child.
Out there in the world, there is someone responsible for the death of your sister. Someone who took your magic, who turned you into a leech. The reason for your family's pain, the reason for them throwing you away. For your father and mother being driven mad, for the town turning against you.
You think about the rock that hit you just days ago. Thrown by a child taught to hate you. Taught that it was okay to hurt you because it was you. The town siphoner. A witch who couldn’t make her own magic, a parasite.
Anger wells up inside of you and you latch onto the rhyme swirling around your head, clawing through it. This is the thread you must follow to find your curse giver. This is the clue.
Little hut, little hut
Across the dark stream
Little hut, little hut
Wait for the scream
Dully, you are aware that Seokjin is next to you. You see him from the corner of your eye but it’s not Seokjin at all. Well - not as you now know him. This Seokjin is younger - a teenager by the looks of it. He’s not doing anything except staring out into the darkness. He fades in and out like a bad TV picture, glitching and blurring. But you know it’s him.
His face is different though. Twisted in grief and pain, a frozen picture of angst. You imagine this is what you looked like when your sister died, a tableau of hurt and hate.
Little hut, little hut
I call to thee
Little hut, little hut
Come to me
The Seokjin in front of you fades away. You reach out for him but your hands cut through empty air and darkness. He’s not really there and you have a hard time grasping the meaning of this. The voice sounds almost like Seokjin but not quite. Not as mature.
Young Seokjin doesn’t show up again. You can feel the real Seokjin somewhere in the mess of the vision and the darkness, but you can’t hear him. Can’t see him. There is only the omnipresent darkness of the hut and the whispers of voices.
Little hut, little hut
Hear my strife
Little hut, little hut
Ruin this life
There’s a flash of lightning. A storm in the darkness, splashes of purple and blue electricity. You cover your eyes as you hear thunder, low and soft somewhere. Across from you, your sister appears. She’s a fraternal twin who looks nothing like you except in the eyes. Your eyes look right back at you.
She’s the same age she was when she died. When you took her magic away. When you were cursed. She looks the same age as the apparition of Seokjin, and you try to understand. To make the connection from what you're seeing as the lightning lances again like it did that fateful night.
The rhyme keeps circling in a hurricane of whispers.
As the ritual comes to a close, the vision begins to fade. You’re no better off than where you started and in a panic, you reach for the vision of your sister. You just want to hold her one last time, to feel the warmth of her skin.
But she isn’t real and she fades as Hoseok’s chanting falls to a murmur and then to a whisper, the air returning to normal. You can breathe again, and as you look up from where you’re bent over, you see Seokjin kneeling on the ground in front of you, holding you by the shoulders. His face is swimming with fear and concern, gaze searching.
Seokjin looks so much like his younger self. He’s matured into his face and is a handsome man, but he was a cute teenager. His face now is full of love and concern, but you think about his face in your vision. Twisted in pain and years.
Little hut, little hut
Hear my strife
Little hut, little hut
Ruin this life
You straighten up suddenly, knocking him over on his ass as you do so. It feels like you’ve been slapped as you stare at him, a sudden buzz in your ears as you stare and stare and stare. The ritual comes to an end and Namjoon opens the circle - a foot in the door, more like - and begins to start his spell for Taehyung and Jungkook to weave the new ritual into the circle.
Without thinking about it, you dash for the edge of the circle. Seokjin yells but you’re fast, surging between Namjoon and Jimin where the door exists. Namjoon’s head snaps to look at you, eyes wide and mouth open.
“Close it and close the circle,” you pant.
“I-”
“Close the fucking circle!”
Seven pairs of eyes look at you then. They hesitate for a moment, the flames around them wavering. You can feel the power licking at their heels and something like rage shudders through you. You don’t know where to channel it yet and you begin to pace as Namjoon recloses the circle and turns to Yoongi.
Slowly, Yoongi begins to finish the ritual. They work backward from Yoongi to Jungkook to Taehyung to Jimin. You don’t look at them, wringing your hands as you pace back and forth, heart reaching a wild beat.
Images fly by. The hut, the whispers, Seokjin’s face, the thunderstorm, your sister.
The narrative isn’t straightforward. You don’t quite understand the rhyme, or its function, but the second half sounds bad, sounds perhaps like a plea. A bargain. A need for a curse. You recall the thunderstorm on the night of Beltane, the way your sister watched with wide eyes while you sought her out. You think of Seokjin’s affinity for fire and storms, the way he can command thunder just by being upset. You think of his face, so full of pain and hate.
Finally, they finish the circle. Seokjin rushes to you, hands outstretched and a question on his mouth but you jerk away from him.
“Did you curse someone?” you demand, making him pull up short. He opens and closes his mouth. The silence in the room is deafening. You can hear your own heartbeat, pulse throbbing in your ears. “Seokjin, did you curse someone?”
“I… what does that have to do with-”
“Little hut, little hut. Hear my strife. Little hut, little hut. Ruin this life.”
Three things happen then. The first is Seokjin’s confusion as he shakes his head, lost as to why you’re repeating a rhyme back to him. Then a flicker of memory followed by the drain of color on his face. He straightens up, blanched and shaking his head back and forth as he takes a step away from you.
“No,” he says and takes another step back. “That’s not right, I didn’t curse you.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t curse you,” he says again. He seems lost in it though, like he’s saying it to himself. Yoongi takes a step toward Seokjin and he holds out a hand, warding Yoongi off. “I cursed the witches responsible for killing my parents. I didn’t curse you.”
“You cursed someone?” Taehyung hisses from across the circle. “And you never thought to mention it in preparation for this?”
“Shut up, Taehyung,” Seokjin snaps. “I didn’t curse her. I did go into the woods that night to find the hut witch and I cursed the people responsible for killing my parents. I didn’t even know you then.”
“Did you give a name? What did you say?”
“I didn’t know their names!” He answers, frantic and looking at you pleadingly. “I didn’t - no. I remember it, I shared my blood with her, to show the memory. I saw their faces, but I didn’t know their names. We were -” his voice cracks and he clutches his hands against his chest, tears in his eyes. “I was so afraid when they came. We’d been going from town to town, trying to get away. My parents wanted to go back home, overseas. We just had to get there and then these witches, they came and blew down the door and they killed them.”
“So you cursed them based on a memory?”
“Yes,” he insists. “Baby, I didn’t curse you. How could I? How would I?”
Little hut, little hut
Hear my strife
Little hut, little hut
Ruin this life
“Seokjin.” You say his full name, voice ringing and calmer than you feel. Your stomach is in knots and you feel your mouth water, hinting at the nausea working its way up your throat. “Did you ask the blood witch in the hut to ruin the lives of the witches who killed your parents?”
“Yes.”
“Were your parents Dissenters killed on the night of Beltane?”
A long stretch of silence takes up the space between you. You stare at Seokjin and he becomes a stranger. Become another person on the street that looks at you with hate. Another face in the dozens of the town who don’t care if you exist.
When Seokjin says nothing, it says everything. The final piece of information slots its way in and you feel like you’re going to crack open like an egg and spill out. Gooey and yolk-yellow.
“That was why there was a storm,” you whisper. “Because you were angry and upset, wherever it was that you were. And you cursed my family. Not my parents. Our entire family. That’s why I lost my magic and siphoned my sister to death. That’s why my parents were driven to madness and their eventual end. It’s why everyone hates me. You cursed me with ruin.”
“I…” Seokjin shakes his head but can’t make the words come out.
There is no way out now. You get everything picture perfect for the first time. It’s the perfect curse, really. Driving your family to ruin in different ways. Pushing you, the final member of the family, to the person you would eventually fall in love with, to the person that cursed you.
You can’t break it. Not knowing that it’s most likely at the cost of Seokjin’s life. Giving his blood to the witch was a terrible thing. She used it to cast the curse and likely to bind it to him. Which means if you want your magic, you must kill Seokjin.
Instead of standing there to consider the possibility, you turn and run. He tries to run after you but someone stops him. He has his coven to comfort him for what he’s done and you have nothing and no one. Just how you started.
Your runaway is messy. Tripping over thresholds, slipping down stairs. Night stretches over the world and the air is thrumming with energy. You think it would be so easy to tap into, to take and take and take the magic around you that echoes from the Beltane festivals. Would anyone even notice if you took a little?
Still, you don’t. Hot tears blind you as you stumble into the woods behind Seokjin’s house. It’s not the best shortcut when you’re distraught and overcome with tears, but you think you can get to your apartment building by memory alone.
Around you, the world grows darker and quieter. Eventually, all you can hear is your ragged breathing and sniffling as the tears freefall. Something prickles on your skin and you slow your tangled escape to look around you.
The woods are unfamiliar. At least, they seem darker and hazier, like you’re somewhere that looks like the woods behind Seokjin’s house but isn't quite right. You’re more careful as you move forward, one foot in front of the other.
A breeze cools the back of your neck. It makes you shiver, feeling more like a finger running down your spine than the actual wind. A whisper of noise wisps by you and you stop, frowning. Trying to grasp the words as they float by, indiscernible.
You start walking again, following the sound of a voice that is always just a little too far ahead. A little too soft spoken for you to make out the words. When you do manage to catch up, you hear a soft little rhyme.
Little hut, little hut
Hidden in the wood
Little hut, little hut
Up to no good
Little hut, little hut
Alone in the gloom
Little hut, little hut
Silent as a tomb
Little hut, little hut
Across the dark stream
Little hut, little hut
Wait for the scream
Something like a high-pitched wail rings out behind you. Your limbs lock and goosebumps explode over your arms and legs as you slowly crane your neck to look in the direction that you came. There’s no clear path, just tangled trees and darkness.
A soft buzz tingles along your skin. You sense the magic, static that you can’t hear but you can feel and taste on your tongue. Slowly, you turn back to face the direction you’re walking. There is a tiny little stream in front of you, trickling and black.
Carefully, you step over it. Your hands quake. Sweat gathers on the nape of your neck and your upper lip, your mouth trembling as you see the vague shape of a hut. Or perhaps it's just the idea of a hut, with a hole for a door that looks endless. Void. Dark.
You think about your sister. See her face swimming in front of you, so full of life. Then it drains of color as you bleed her dry and steal everything from her. Every drop, turning her from a beautiful girl full of the sun and the sky into a husk.
You clench your fists.
Vengeance can’t bring her back. Vengeance can’t make them love you. But it can take away this fucking hurt inside of you, the pain that you have carried for so long that it feels like a wound that will never close. So you decide to take a page out of Seokjin’s book.
“Little hut, little hut,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Feel my ache. Little hut, little hut, make him break.”
#seokjin smut#jin smut#jin bts smut#seokjin angst#jin angst#jin bts fanfic#seokjin bts fanfi#kim seokjin smut#jim seokjin fanfic#jin x reader#jin you#minors dni#minors do not interact
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Which Image - A Chzo Mythos fanfic
Title comes from the song Witch Image by the band Ghost. If there's interest I'll write more and explain to my followers what this game series is.
Apologies to the people who wanted to be tagged in this, Tumblr isn't recognizing your urls. I'll try to tag in a reblog. Also apologies to the British if my American ass screwed things up. I'll make edits as needed.
London, 2015
In between the crackling thunder, a young man screamed in agony, sweet as the music of a harpsichord.
Footsteps pounded like the rain through the stolen, repurposed corpse of a building. An office, once, now a shell like any other mortal body. Down the many stairs the footsteps carried, sneakers squeaking wet on dirty tile. Down the stairs and through the halls, she ran.
Why the persistence? Too late, far too late, to save her friend. But the young woman resisted the obvious. Dark of hair and pure of heart, he could not harm her yet. He watched the sweat drip down her warm brown skin, how she brushed the strands of hair from her face. Standing, kneeling, struggling, suffering.
He watched and he wondered. Yes, he did wonder.
It'd been a strange choice, to offer up an American for a sacrifice, but Chzo was not a picky god. This young woman could not have looked more different from her light-haired friend. But in her eyes, a desperate fire burned, and looking away proved a challenge.
That fire… She reminded him of someone. How distasteful.
Of course, of course, too late for her friend. She opened the door to strangers standing over the remains. Of course, of course, too late for her. The cult would spare her, when they caught her, he would ensure it…
They did not catch her.
They did not even notice her, too consumed with their own escape. The Ministry agents closed in, fortune smiling upon them once again. She fled, they fled, and it had all gone wrong.
He could've been furious.
He could've been.
Instead, he stood upon the old building, his shadow stretching long in the light flashing overhead. He stood, and he watched her race into the darkness, her parcel, their parcel, clutched to her frail body.
He watched, and yes, yes he wondered.
She reminded him of someone… Cabadath wasn't sure he liked that.
It'd been almost twelve hours before anyone realized the girl was gone. Far too late to save her life. The Order of Blessed Agonies worked fast. But so did Trilby.
The Order must've been desperate to prey on tourists. They had to have known who they were choosing. The accents on these kids weren't subtle. Five of them came overseas on spring holiday, bright eyed and oblivious. Three headed home tonight. The other two would follow in coffins.
“Trilby,” one of his supervisors said, “I know what you're thinking. Don't put yourself at risk to try and save this kid.”
“I'm already at risk,” he'd said. “What's a little more?”
“We need you alive - and so do they.”
And that was the thing, wasn't it? The Order wouldn't keep this girl, this Jillian Taylor Cortez, alive, but he couldn't say they'd do the same with him. Damned prophecies…
Her name was Jillian Taylor Cortez. She just turned 19. Mexican-American mother, British father. Got her middle name because the latter died before she was born, so said her friends.
She looked nothing like Simone Taylor. If she had, Trilby might've lost it again.
Twelve hours, they found the boy, or what was left of him. They'd followed the muddy footprints from the ground floor all the way to the altar. Trilby followed them back up, frowning. Pretended he didn't see the glances between the ones around him.
He had a hunch.
Just a hunch, but he'd been doing this for almost twenty years now. Just a hunch, he'd say later… but he'd been right before.
“Don't you dare!” Someone shouted at his back. “Damn it, Trilby! Get back here! It's not worth it!”
He ignored them, ignored the rain soaking his suit. Wasn't breaking the rules if nobody up top told you not to. Besides, he was just following a hunch. Just giving a quick check around the buildings. No harm in that.
No harm on her, when he caught her dead center in the light of his torch.
He stared at her and she stared right back, her eyes wide and hollow. The rain soaked her right through, plastering clothes to skin and hair to her cheeks. The bow in her hair, half undone. The fear in her eyes, too painful, too real.
Trilby raised a hand.
“Jill-”
She bolted.
“Wait! No!”
Trilby followed.
The kid knew how to run. Ran through the streets like the world was ending. Trilby kept up. He wasn't young anymore, he'd feel it for the next few days, but he kept up. So did the rain.
Only took a few wrong turns. She didn't know anything about the area - neither did he, to be fair. Was only a little bit of a surprise to find themselves in another alley, to come across the fence blocking their way. Was a very big surprise when the girl ran right for it.
“Jillian!” He shouted over the thunder. “Jill!”
Did she even hear him? She didn't stop. Lunged for the fence, one hand grasping the chain link metal. Trilby moved faster than her.
He grabbed her around the waist. She screamed. They both hit the ground, he let her go and she scrambled backwards. He shifted, sat up, looked her in the face again.
Terrified eyes, wide and wild. It wasn't just the rain soaking her cheeks, the spring weather shuddering her shoulders.
Trilby raised his hands.
“Jillian,” he said. “It's alright, Jill. I'm with the Ministry of Occultism. We're here to help you. I can't believe you're still alive…”
She breathed. She held the book in her arms tight. Book? He looked down at it. Heavy, large, leather bound. Some kind of writing on the cover.
Oh my God, he thought. Did she steal that from the Order?
Trilby looked up to her face again. Her eyes locked onto something over his shoulder.
Trilby jerked out of the way. The blade buried into the ground he'd stood moments before. Trilby moved, backed away as far as he could go, the blood draining from his face.
“Oh, hell,” Trilby said.
The featureless face of the Prince of Pain tilted towards him. Cabadath had not changed at all in the last twenty years. Bone chilling, even after all these years and all their meetings. Still ever the same, nine feet tall and dressed in black, the rain coursing down his long coat and leaving the fabric dry. The Prince straightened in slow motions, raising the four pronged scythe and resting it by his side.
Still the Prince stared at him, though he had no eyes to do so. He raised a hand and pointed to the girl.
Jill. She'd gotten out of the way just in time. Trilby couldn't risk looking away from the Prince for longer than an instant, Cabadath moved too fast, but she still breathed, standing against the fence. Her eyes, still wild, locked onto the terror between them.
Had Cabadath been chasing her too? The Prince had powers like no human ever could. Hallucinations were a favorite, Trilby knew that from experience.
The Prince waited.
Trilby took a breath.
“Jillian,” he said. “Give him the book.”
She did not move but her whole body shuddered with her breath.
“He's playing nice right now,” Trilby said, eyes locked on the Prince, “but he doesn't have to. You don't know what he's fully capable of, you've just seen part of it.”
Jillian did not move.
“There's nothing in that book that can help you,” Trilby said. “You don't want to get involved with this more than you have been. I don't know how you got it, but you need to give it back. Before he takes it from you.”
Her body shuddered. Jillian blinked, hard. The Prince did not move. He did not look away.
Her arms unlocked. She took another deep, shuddering breath. Holding the book in careful hands, she laid it upon the ground at her feet, and stepped away. And away. And away.
Trilby watched the Prince. He did not notice where the young woman moved to, until she stopped. Stopped between him and Cabadath, facing the Prince, her arms stretched out as if she could protect Trilby from the monster watching them.
Protect him from Cabadath. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at the thought.
The Prince tilted his head. His gaze shifted towards the girl. Trilby placed a hand on Jillian’s shoulder. Cabadath’s shoulders shook, as if in silent laughter. But of course, no sound came from the Tall Man. They were not worth the effort.
Turning away from the mortals, Cabadath stepped toward the book. He knelt, and with one long free hand, picked it up. Turning fully back towards the two humans, he bowed a mocking thanks. Trilby set his teeth, held Jill's shoulder as she flinched.
As the Prince straightened, he vanished. The rain poured down over them and the tension disappeared from Trilby's body. Cabadath truly was gone. For now.
Jillian sobbed.
Trilby's focus snapped to her again. Shit.
“Jill?”
She placed her hand over her mouth as the sobs shook her body.
“Cal,” she whispered the name of her friend. “Cal, I'm sorry.”
He couldn't think of anything to say. Trilby wrapped an arm around her and pulled out his phone with the other. How long had it been ringing?
“Yeah?” He said. “Yeah, I'm alright. Yeah, we're both okay. I found the girl, she's alive. It's… it's a long story. I'll explain everything back at headquarters.”
Trilby held the young woman against his body as he led her back into the light. He glanced uneasy at the roofs above them, expecting a tall shadow staring down, but only the rain waited overhead, the drops falling down between her tears.
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Centuries Apart Part 2 || Aemond Targaryen x got!Reader
CHAPTER LIST (plz read or it might not make much sense)
A/N: here’s part 2 lovelies xx hope you enjoy how the story unfolds
Lmk if u want part 3
Summary: How are Y/N and Aemond going to react to their betrothal and will Y/N learn how to adapt and survive in this era of ambition and cruelty and can she learn to tolerate her husband to be?
Warnings: angst, forced marriage, idk if this would be considered incest tbh lol
“Perhaps becoming your wife and bearing your heirs will keep her faithful” Otto grinned, caressing Y/N’s silver locks.
These words, these damned words, they echoed through the throne room like a curse, all faces, once again staring in disbelief.
“Father, you don’t mean this” Alicent’s eyes widened as she walked in front of her younger son as if trying to protect him from a dangerous beast “You won’t sacrifice my son to this witch”
“Mother” Aemond whispered, gently placing his hand on Alicent’s shoulder “With all due respect, grandfather, don’t you believe there are more favorable options for a union that could actually bring forth valuable allies?” The prince scowled with disgust as he glanced at Y/N.
“The decision is final and I believe, his grace, king Aegon would agree to its benefits” Otto raised his voice, turning his head towards the young king with a stern look on his face.
“And what makes you believe I’d agree to this?” Y/N finally spoke up in disbelief, after the initial shock of the news had just washed away “I’m a Targaryen princess, the blood of the dragon, not a slave or a broodmare for sale. This was never part of my offer of alliance-”
“Silence woman” Aegon stood up from the throne, making his way towards the girl “We are being merciful enough to spare your life and put our trust in your guidance. You are to marry my brother and pledge your loyalty to the crown if you so value our house’s future, as you claim” he smirked, locking his gaze with Aemond’s displeased one “Right, dear brother?”
The one eyed prince scoffed at the king’s words, the very same king who moments ago was desperately begging him for help to flee the Crownlands, now playing the part of a ruler. But Aemond knew better than to disobey the crown, he nodded and gave an almost unnoticeable bow to Aegon before storming out of the hall, the same way he had entered.
“It is settled then, the wedding will take place in a fortnight” Otto smirked deviously “Lady Y/N we will be sure to provide you with a maid and a private chamber, that is until you are to share the one of your future husband”
The girl wanted to protest, she wanted to scream or run far away, she had seen what her sister had endured after being sold as a bride to Khal Drogo and now this same fate seemed to come upon her. This was not how things were supposed to go, none of this was according to her plan but she knew there was no way back she knew that this was her only chance to change the fate of House Targaryen.
-
Her chambers were modest in size yet still lavishly decorated with gold and expensive fabrics. Y/N was sitting on the small daybed, gazing through the window. Her whole life she had dreamed of living in this very castle, the home of her ancestors that was taken away from her family, but now this beautiful childhood dream had turned into a cruel curse.
“M-my lady” the timid voice of a young girl brought the princess back from her thoughts “I-I’m Lysa, I was appointed to serve as your maid”
She looked no older than five and ten, a scrawny thing with golden locks, tied into two simple braids.
“That won’t be necessary” Y/N mumbled, returning her attention towards the view from the window “I’m perfectly capable of handling myself”
“Please my lady, the hand will punish me if I defy his orders” Lysa fell to her knees, her eyes filled with desperation and dread “I promise to be loyal and serve you faithfully”
These words made Y/N stand up from her spot and approach the young girl, perhaps having someone loyal by her side, could prove beneficial in this realm of ambition and cruelty “Ok then, but you’re to serve only me, you’ll be my eyes and ears in this castle, I am to know everything that goes on and I will swear to protect you” she whispered, a slight smirk playing on her lips. If they wanted her to play a part of their game by their rules, she was sure to do so.
“Of course my lady, I promise, thank you” Lysa hastily nodded in relief.
-
A feast was to be held in honor of the new king, a deceitful attempt to bring forth alliances from the noble houses.
“Your dress for the feast, my lady” Lysa entered Y/N’s chambers, holding a simple emerald green gown with gold stitchings “Her grace, queen Alicent chose it for you”
“I want another dress, bring me the dressmaker” the princess furrowed her brows “Those are not the colors of my house”
“But, t-the queen”
“You serve me, Lysa. Don’t you forget our deal” Y/N whispered, a dark smile lingering on her lips.
-
An elegant black dress with striking red embroidery was the one she chose, her silver looks tied into intricate braids, mimicking the ones her sister Daenerys always used to wear. Many heads were turned as Y/N entered the great hall, all curious eyes, staring at the unknown Targaryen maiden.
She looked over at the table of the royal family, meeting the disapproving gaze of Alicent.
“Ah, glad to have you join us, lady Y/N” Aegon sneered “Why don’t you sit by your future husband”
The girl mumbled something under her breath as she took her seat besides Aemond who was yet to acknowledge her presence.
“I see you’ve worn a different dress” the queen flashed a fake smile “Was the one I sent, perhaps not to your likings?”
“It was a lovely garment, your grace, but I deem it more appropriate to represent the colors of my house as you do yours” Y/N grinned slyly, taking a sip of her wine.
“I think you look ravishing in it, my lady” Aegon smirked “Don’t you agree dear brother? Or perhaps you’d rather see your lovely betrothed without it?” he laughed, nudging at the younger prince’s arm.
Y/N cringed at the indecorous remark, briefly glancing at Aemond who seemed uninterested in the whole ordeal, yet she could have sworn that just moments ago, he had been eyeing her.
“Let’s have a toast to the betrothal of my beloved brother” Aegon stood up lifting his golden goblet “May you have a very progenitive marriage” he glanced at Y/N with a sly grin.
“Thank you, your grace, I would also like to toast to my future wife who is at last to become a true member of house Targaryen” Aemond smirked deviously, finally allowing his gaze to openly travel to Y/N’s face.
This crude insinuation ignited a fire of rage in the young princess as she abruptly got up, splashing her wine at Aemond’s smug face.
The entirety of the hall fell silent, Y/N could almost feel Alicent and Otto’s angry stares burning holes on her back while Aegon was sniggering like a child.
The realization of what she had done in front of all those noble houses suddenly hit her and before the prince was able to curse her out, she was kneeling before him with a small rag in her hand.
“Oh, forgive my clumsiness, my prince, here, allow me to help you” the girl innocently batted her eyelashes at the one eyed prince who was staring back at her in disbelief.
Promptly, the feast endured, people long forgotten about the incident. While Y/N was wiping away the wine off Aemond’s face, she carefully examined his features. His expression was blank but she could sense the anger and humiliation through his presence.
Her eyes fell on the deep scar, appearing from under his eyepatch, she had heard tales of how the infamous Targaryen prince had lost his eye and she knew of the precious sapphire that had taken its place, making her wonder if she’d ever see it.
As she gently slid the rag near the scar, unexpectedly, Aemond’s hand firmly grabbed hers.
“Be careful next time, my lady, this ‘clumsiness’ could cost you much one day” he smirked
“I’m not a mere lady, my prince, I’m a princess” Y/N hissed, abruptly pulling her hand from his grip.
-
The remainder of the feast was rather uneventful in comparison to the prior affairs. Y/N had decided to take a small stroll through the keep in hopes of clearing her mind, oh how she wished Dany could be there with her. The princess’s eyes welled up at the thought of her sister but something or rather someone lurking in the shadows brought her back to reality.
“Up so late, dear bride” the dreadfully familiar voice of Aemond echoed through the corridor as he revealed himself “Don’t you deem inappropriate for a betrothed lady to wander alone at this hour?” His taunting words sent shivers down her back.
“I don’t believe I shall need your permission, my prince”
“Oh but you do, am I not to be your lord husband?” He sneered, twisting a silver lock of her hair between his pale fingers “You got what you wanted, didn’t you? At least now your babes will be true Targaryens”
“Gaomagon daor tymagon lēda nyke, ñuha dārilaros. Kesā jiōragon zaltan” (do not toy with me, my prince; you will get burned) Y/N spat, taking a step towards him.
For a mere second, a look of disbelief washed over Aemond’s face, but he was quick to pull back his composure.
“Oh, sīr īlva riña gīmigon se Valyrīha ēngos?” (oh, so our lady knows the Valyrian tongue?) the prince inquired, the sly smirk returning on his lips.
“Dōrī nārhēdegon, ñuha dārilaros, eman se ānogar hen zaldrīzes isse nyke. Valyrio muño ēngos ñuhys issa” (never forget, my prince, I have the blood of the dragon. Valyrian is my mother tongue) she deviously grinned back at him before heading back towards her chambers. ‘Twas a game, she was prepared to play.
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#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x oc#house of the dragon#hotd x reader#house targaryen#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon imagine#house of the dragon fanfiction
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riddle Rosehearts with a mitsuri kanroji s/o
Him learning that they staved themselves because eating that much as a woman is not normally (witch is not okay ) and she used to dyed her hair to be normal because she is looking for a husband.
Then she gets taken to twisted wonderland and meting him him faking out becous of her uniform.
Him learning about her inhuman strength du her having 8 time the mussels mass unlike normal humans and her having to eat so much to maintain it. Them eating sweets together on dates him trying💮 sakura mochi 🌸
Him learning about their love breathing And her unique sword and flexibility how would he react to the truth behind there hair colour
( imagine him giving them the nickname my beauty flamingo🦩💀because poor boy doesn't know much about love but don't worry the love hashira enterd his chat )
This is actually so adorable.
We all know Riddle is not that well acquainted with the concept of love. You both are like the north and south pole of a magnet; opposite but attracted to each other. He is nothing short of a tyrant, and you are the kindest soul anyone has ever met.
You try your best to not break any rules and you even attempt to memorize at least half of them, and Riddle can see that you are trying your best and will be less harsh on you. In return, you are always present at the unbirthday parties and are seated next to Riddle as his queen.
However, he notices that you don’t eat as much during the parties. He would offer you some of the tart that was on his plate, but you would politely decline, opting to start a different conversation and change the subject.
When he confronted you about it, you told him that it wasn’t very lady-like to eat a lot, which is a habit you picked up. However, Riddle was horrified. His mother controlled his diet when he was younger, but to learn that you were doing this to yourself… he got Trey to make a lot of tarts and had you eat them. He then made sure you ate everyday.
He also learned that you used to dye your hair to make yourself seem more “normal” so that you could find love. Riddle has heard about tales involving true love, but he never really considered how hard it was for the main character to find it.
However, he is glad to know that your search for that special someone was over when you met him. The memory is a tad embarrassing, but he’s glad he met you. You were isekai’d to Twisted Wonderland while traveling to defeat a demon, so you were in your Demon Corps uniform.
When Rosehearts first laid his eyes on you, he started blushing because your uniform was a tad too revealing. He further melted when you asked him if he was okay in your soft voice. However, he took note of your brightly colored hair and your sword that was sheathed.
When Riddle invites you on a date, it usually is in the center of the Queen’s Labyrinth. No one can easily make it there, so it’s the perfect place for privacy. You and him both prepare sweets and tea to enjoy during your time together. You even had him try sakura mochi and he enjoyed it a lot.
Once in PE class, Coach Vargas had everyone lifting weights so that their arms could build some muscle. You got an easy A+ that day because of your Demon Slayer Corps training. You explained to your boyfriend that you eat a lot because your immense strength calls for it.
When the students overblot, you usually have to weaken them to the point where they can’t fight anymore. When Leona overblotted, he was able to see your technique with your whip-like sword. He watched as you - seemingly - easily took down Leona. You told Riddle that you trained under another Hashira, and through that training was able to create your Love Breathing.
As for his rather… unique nickname for you, you don’t mind it. You know that relationships and love are hard for Riddle because he has no experience with it, so you are very patient. You call him ‘sweetheart’ most of the time for obvious reasons, so yeah.
#twst wonderland#twst x reader#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#twisted wonderland x reader#twst riddle#riddle rosehearts x reader#riddle rosehearts#riddle x reader#fem reader#female reader
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If you are still taking prompts: 'new mythologies', focused on the witchy trio. Curious to see what you come up with if you wind up selecting this prompt! I greatly enjoy your writing. :)
There is a woman in the moon
(the second moon, that is.)
she waxes, she wanes
shies and flares but she always stays
tethered to one spot and tired of running away.
Where she paused her orbit centuries ago crystal arms and legs sprout from the grass
and the tides of rivers are pulled, evaporate from heat into clouds that mass.
If you do no cover her from your view you will not sleep
if you look to someone with her over their shoulder you will not need to speak
and if her lightning were to strike, the gemstone-limb-lands will become the petrified home you did not seek.
There is a woman in the sun
(there is a second-sun, too.)
feels close enough to reach, though she can’t be lassoed
she doesn’t spend all of her days here
steals - what is offered - takes, often disappears
to a more peculiar sky where she instead anchors in time
and the flora and fauna with petal trumpets and sinew harps dance and dine
on top of beds of canopied candied leather leaves and filigree skeleton branches
then returns, here, intermittently, with what she had taken and what was newly granted
jewellery adorning flaming tendrils that smelts and pours liquid gold between the fault lines and the landfills
Sometimes the sun stays late to greet the moon, others she arrives early to share the sky of the long summer days with her
But the sky is still a sky they cannot often share, so once a century they shadow one another
reach out for each other with hands of flame and lightning
when their fingers converge they tie in knots and bows, in threads red and ribbons green
and all who are bound will be unaware, gift-wrapped in what is reality and what is dream
can unveil bliss or purgatory there in the in-between-
- there is a woman in the sun, another in the moon.
They have been there longer than I can remember…
longer than my mother can
and hers, too
There is a woman in the moon
and she is always blushing
‘Red sky at night - shepherd’s delight
Red sky at morning - shepherd’s warning’
mourning
a crack, a howl, a breeze
can be heard from the densest of city cobblestones and the highest of mountain peaks
a lonely tune
bereft of its melody
searches out shadow and turns it to static energy
There is a woman in the moon
-a woman in the sun, too
and ruins
of temples to old gods (I’m told)
glass panes long dissolved from between lead canes
corners of masonry rounded by rain
shingles masking floor tiles carpeted in ivy, grout replaced by root and rot
and if you were to build the moon an alter
lightning will sunder, shatter, strike it down
but the sun accepts offerings, bleaches colours to keep the hues for her own collection, peacocks them as a crown
There is a witch in a cottage in the woods
in a clearing, on stilts and platforms and pontoons
her garden grows, in both the light and shadow
and she wears death like a lace fine-spun from her own marrow
land flush with lilac, lavender and violets
here it is, where the moon is moored above the glade
where the sun passes often on parade
and the witch knows both the sun and the moon by name
strings up tapestries and dolls from between the branches so that they both can see
of friends and loved ones between threads of red and ribbons of green
#Imodna#Imogen Temult#Laudna#Fearne Calloway#Critical Role#Emma writes#Sorry you got a poem.#Prompt fill
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A Song for the Drowned: I (The Daughter of the Rivers)
Series Synopsis: As the Principessa of a country situated in a world full of enemies, you must rely on the few allies you have in order to protect your home from the threat of a devastating war.
Chapter Synopsis: You must leave your home and your life behind in order to travel to the castle of your future husband, the esteemed Prince Satoru.
Series Masterlist
Pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x Female Reader
Chapter Word Count: 7.1k
Content Warnings: swearing, period-typical sexism, period-typical homophobia (side character relationships), angst, forbidden relationships, original characters included
A/N: hi everyone!! so this is a rewrite of one of my older stories, though there’s plenty of changes so previous readers are (hopefully) not bored. it’s set in an alternate world; consequently, there will be many original characters used alongside the canon characters in order to flesh out the world. also, in order to fit the setting, the characters have been aged up. sorry if that’s not your thing!!
And so Ixdes did drive the Stormsword into Khialdir’s heart without remorse, for he had said in the beginning that those who opposed Brusmuide would surely fall, and verily his brother was no exception. But if only he could find the witch that had cursed Khialdir in the first place! He had sent the finest horses and men in her pursuit, yet it was all for naught. There was nothing left of the woman bar her final words, etched into his mind forevermore — that one day, when no men as noble as the good Ixdes remained, she would return, and on that day, she would once again spell ruin for the great empire he and his brother had built.
(Excerpt from The Book of Ixdes)
You thought that drowning might be a preferable end to this. Staring at the rushing waters of the River Vier, you shifted from foot to foot and contemplated it. Would it go quickly? Though, that didn’t really matter. At any rate, it would be quicker than a lifetime spent married to a man you did not love.
So many princes. So many lords. There were a multitude of people you might’ve been engaged to, and yet — and yet your parents settled on Prince Satoru of Naratori to be the one whom you wed.
It was not as if you had ever met Prince Satoru, so you could not honestly judge him, not by character nor face. Regardless, there was this one particular aspect that you were altogether opposed to: namely, his age, which was equal to that of your mother’s. And you! You had only entered adulthood a few days prior, and already the date of your departure from your home country of Thiorhiel to Naratori, the country of your future husband and the land in which you would now reside, had been set.
Your mother had insisted on your marriage to Prince Satoru specifically. You had begged her and your father, told them that you wouldn’t mind so much if it was someone like Prince Choso of Ranhoro or Prince Hadrian of Athyae — men who were closer to you in age and closer to Thiorhiel in distance — but she rebutted every suggestion you made.
Ranhoro is rumored to be allied with Brusmuide. You’d just be a political hostage with Prince Choso. Athyae will likely never raise arms against anyone. Why should we give up your hand in marriage and our greatest bargaining chip to that lackadaisical prince of theirs? It was like that for every single other man you brought up, too. Your father didn’t seem to care much either way, for he was even more your mother’s elder than Prince Satoru was yours, and the support of Naratori would be hard-won without a marriage offer to incentivize them.
Certainly, though, if your mother had not been there, you might’ve been able to convince him. He might’ve been generous enough, magnanimous enough, or perhaps irritated enough by your constant nagging to allow you to choose someone of your liking to wed. It wasn’t as if he was generally benevolent, but he had the kind of short temper that was easy to bend to your liking, as long as you were careful.
There was no arguing with your mother, though, not once she had set her mind to something. She had declared that you would marry Prince Satoru, and so it would definitely be done in that way. Your words were futile against her will. You had realized that recently, and it was then that, to her great satisfaction, you had stopped trying.
“Thinking of going for a swim? This is hardly the place to do it, Principessa Y/N,” a voice said from behind you. You knew who it was by the sound alone, and though you whipped around as if you were angered by his presence, it remained that you were actually quite relieved that he had arrived.
“Sir Ino!” you said, rushing from the edge of the bridge and pausing just before you reached him, maintaining a respectful distance between you both as you waited for him to bow and smiling when he did so. “Hello.”
“Hello, your royal highness,” he said. “No tiara today? It’s a miracle that I recognized you without it.”
“It felt a little heavy, in truth,” you said. “I couldn’t bear to wear it.”
“Ah, it happens. I can’t blame you; there are days I cannot stand my helmet and must take it off as well,” he said.
“Yes, yes, naturally. Well, anyways, have you been doing alright? It’s good to see that you’re back in one piece,” you said. He clutched his heart as if you had wounded him greatly.
“Have you been worrying? There was no reason to, your royal highness, I’d not dare let Emperor Sukuna and his forces lay a hand on me! Also, you know I was only passing through Barlezia, so there was nothing in the way of danger for the entire trip,” he said.
“Did my lady’s message reach the Ferraros?” you said. Sir Ino nodded, expression solemn.
“I delivered it myself. The young lord was overjoyed to hear from his little sister; as for the Marchese and Marchesa, they did not seem upset to hear that their daughter would be moving to Naratori. I believe they expressed a wish for her to find a suitable husband, though,” he said.
“Of course. She will have a greater chance there than here, at any rate,” you said.
“It is so strange to think that you will be leaving so soon,” Sir Ino said, and you did not miss the way that he strategically maneuvered himself between you and the edge of the bridge. It was subtly done, and you almost had to applaud him for it. “You should not be upset, though.”
“Shouldn’t I be?” you said, taking his arm and motioning for him to escort you back to the palace. “I am leaving my entire life behind to marry a man that was my mother’s childhood best friend.”
“If you put it like that, there’s certainly a lot to be angry about,” Sir Ino said, using his free arm to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. You actually laughed at that.
“What other way is there to put it?” you said. He gave you a charming grin.
“You know, I’ve heard some of the other knights call Naratori the ‘crown of the Versivara’. It’s supposedly such a beautiful place, so you should be excited about getting to see it!” he said. You raised your eyebrows at him.
“Perhaps that kind of a justification would cheer me if I were from one of the northern countries, where there is nothing but snow to be seen, but do recall that I am the Principessa of Thiorhiel, Sir Ino. If Naratori is the crown of the Versivara, then Thiorhiel is the crown of all civilizations. There is nowhere more beautiful, I am certain,” you said.
“I could never forget that, Principessa, sworn to your father as I am,” he said. “I am only trying to offer you some comfort. I agree that nothing can beat our rivers, but the Versivara Mountains certainly have their own charms, and Naratori is no exception.”
“It is so far, though,” you said, looking up at him plaintively. “Sir Ino, Naratori is so far, and I’m told their winters are colder than ours. How shall I survive in that kind of condition, especially if I do not have you or Rhea with me as consolation?”
Sir Ino scoffed. “It is so flattering to know that you value me as much as you do that horse of yours.”
“Rhea is likely worth more,” you said. “Since she will eventually also be a broodmare.”
This earned a snort from the knight, who was always very easily amused. He was the only one who could be reliably counted upon to laugh at your jokes, which had endeared him to you very long ago.
“Such a generous lady you are, Principessa,” he said.
“You’re sure you can’t come with me?” you said.
“My duty is here, shielding the people of Thiorhiel. Especially now that the threat of war with Brusmuide is so immediate…I could not live with myself if I left the country and something were to happen. You needn’t worry about protection, though — those Naratorese knights are separate beasts entirely, so you’ll be well-defended,” he said.
“What does that mean?” you said. He shuddered comically.
“The Royal Guard of Naratori. Surely you’ve heard of them?” he said. You shook your head. He beamed, always eager to educate you. “Then let me tell you! They’re ordinary men, you know, never come into contact with the rivers or anything of the sort, but they’re widely regarded as demigods just for their power.”
“Demigods,” you said. “How could men so far removed from the rivers be considered blessed like that?”
Sir Ino shrugged. “I’m just telling you the rumors. I don’t know if they’re really demigods or not, but it’s true that they’re frightening. Apparently, just one is enough to take down an entire army.”
“Really?” you said, eyes wide at the thought. One single man, capable of taking down an entire army! It was such a fantastical idea, more myth than reality.
“Really,” he said. “I’m sure the Gojos will assign one of them to watch over you, and they’ll keep you much safer than I ever could.”
“How many of these Royal Guards are there, that they can get one to watch over me?” you said.
“Not very many, though that makes sense when you think about it. The selection process itself is so intense, and then I’m sure most don’t last through the training,” Sir Ino said. “Of course, the entire castle is staffed with regular knights, but when it comes to the Royal Guard proper, there’s only four.”
“Four! And you think one of them can be spared to watch over me?” you said.
“You will be their future queen,” Sir Ino reminded you. “It would not do for them to allow any lesser of a man to protect you.”
“I see,” you said. “So I will be stuck with some brute watching my every move. What ghastly men they must be, capable of defeating entire armies! How will I talk comfortably with this Royal Guard?”
“You needn’t. Actually, it’d likely be better if you don’t. From what I’ve heard, they’re a lot stricter in Naratori regarding the separation between the nobility and the servants, so whichever guard you are assigned, whether a usual knight or a Royal Guard, will probably on the whole ignore you,” he said. You made a face.
“Ugh, that place seems so horrid,” you said. “I will go from having so many friends to having none.”
“That’s not true. At least your ladies-in-waiting will go with you, and they will always be your friends, won’t they?” he said.
“Yes, they will,” you said. “They’re more excited than I am about all of this. I guess it’s not that different for them whether they’re here or there; they call neither place home, so going to Naratori will just be a change of scenery.”
“You really should think of it positively, too. It’s the chance to explore a new place! Besides, if Prince Satoru really was your mother’s childhood friend, then there’s no reason to believe he’ll be anything but kind to you,” Sir Ino said as you reached the palace doors.
“I hope so. At the end of the day, though, it’s entirely out of my hands now, so I suppose there’s no point in worrying. I will go to Naratori, whether I like it or not. That’s the fact of the matter,” you said. “By the way, I think my father is holding a farewell banquet for me on the night before I leave. Will you attend?”
“You can count on it,” Sir Ino said as you reached the point where the palace hallways began to split off. The left left would take you to your chambers, while the right would take Sir Ino to the training courtyard located on the palace grounds proper.
“I will see you there, then. Farewell, Sir Ino,” you said.
“Farewell, your royal highness,” he said, waving as you parted ways and you were left in the silence to once again ruminate on your thoughts.
“Principessa Y/N! Where have you been?” Elakshi said furiously. Your room looked like it had been hit by a storm, clothes strewn everywhere, your jewelry haphazard on your dresser. Elakshi stood in the middle of the mess, hands on her hips, face scrunched up in a displeased frown.
“Elakshi,” you said, stepping delicately around a fallen nightgown and walking over to your bed so that you could sit upon it. “I was debating casting myself into the River Vier.”
Her face reddened. “You had better put such thoughts out of your mind entirely, your royal highness! I’ve spent the entire day packing, and if my efforts go to waste, I shall be very displeased indeed! I’ll — I’ll have my cousin declare war on Thiorhiel!”
“We can’t have that,” you said. “Khulashab is one of our few allies, after all. It’s fine. Sir Ino came and stopped me.”
Elakshi Sakhare was the cousin of the Maharaja of Khulashab, a country to the east and south of Thiorhiel. She was the closest thing to lesser nobility that the country had, so in his declaration of support for Thiorhiel, the Maharaja had sent her as a gift for your family. Your mother had swiftly declared her to be your lady-in-waiting and therefore off-limits for any man to touch.
It wasn’t as if any man could’ve touched Elakshi if they tried. She had a sharp tongue and, despite her charming demeanor, was a generally self-involved girl who had no time for anyone outside of those few that she cared for. Your mother needn’t have worried, but you were sure that Elakshi did not mind the additional imperviousness that being associated with you afforded her.
“I’ll be sure to thank him,” she said. “Now, tell me which dress you’d rather take with you: this one or this one?”
You scrutinized the options she had presented you with. “They’re both too thin for the Naratorese climate, I think.”
Elakshi huffed in disappointment. “I guess that’s true. We’ll all have to have the tailor come visit us once we arrive in Naratori; none of us have anything suited to cooler places.”
“At least that will be something to look forward to,” you said. “A visit from the tailor is always exciting. Do you think the Gojos would pay for it?”
“Maybe for you,” she said. “Not for Tullia or I, though.”
“Hm? What about me?” From inside of your bathroom, your other lady-in-waiting stuck her head out. “Oh, you’re back, Principessa Y/N.”
“Yes, I am,” you said.
“I was just saying that we’ll need new clothes once we’re in Naratori, and that the Gojos would probably pay for the Principessa’s, but not ours,” Elakshi said. Tullia hummed.
“It wouldn’t be sensible for them to pay for us, indeed,” she said. “It’s fine. Neither of us is in dire need of funding.”
Tullia Ferraro was the daughter of the Marchese and Marchesa of a march located in one of the countries which neighbored Thiorhiel, Barlezia. Just like Elakshi, she had been sent as proof of the Barlezi people’s support of Thiorhiel, though unlike Elakshi, she had been sent to be your lady-in-waiting from the start.
“I’ll entreat the Gojos to pay for you, as well,” you said.
“You needn’t do that,” Tullia said.
“Though we wouldn’t complain if you did,” Elakshi added, earning her a look from Tullia.
“It’s the least I can do, since you both are leaving your lives behind once again, just for my benefit,” you said.
“If you insist,” Tullia said, training her gaze on the ground. She was not the kind of person that took well to generosity; often, she thought it to be excessive, thought herself to be undeserving of the lavish gifts that were frequently showered upon her.
Many Thiorhieli lords had tried to sway Elakshi and Tullia’s affections. Both of them were attractive — Elakshi was the ideal of Khulashabi beauty, with silky black hair that reached her shoulders and warm eyes the color of the earth, and Tullia was exactly the kind of girl that people pictured when they thought of Barlezia, all golden haired and green-eyed — but, more importantly, they would come with substantial dowries. The daughter of a Marchese and the cousin of a Maharaja: no doubt, whoever they married would come to advantage by the union.
Of course, Elakshi had no interest in any of it, and she used her role as your lady-in-waiting to accept the gifts without ever accepting the unwritten proposals that accompanied them. Tullia, for her part, would try to send the gifts back, citing that she was much too young to make such an important decision by herself. Privately, she had confessed to you that she had no interest in marrying any of the Thiorhieli lords, who were years older than her. You could sympathize with her in this wish, so you did your best to shield her from the eyes of the many men that trained their attentions upon her.
At least for Elakshi and Tullia, marriage was a bit more of a choice than a compulsion, in the sense that they could have some say in who it would be. You did not even get that much, but you did not resent them for it. Instead, you guarded their rights with as much zeal as a northern hound, baring your teeth at any who might force them into a union in which they had no interest.
“As I said, you all are doing me a great favor in coming to Naratori with me. This is nothing more than what you are owed,” you said. “The Gojos are more than wealthy enough, so it’s not an issue.”
“That’s true. Are you excited to be marrying into one of the wealthiest families in history?” Elakshi said. You rolled your eyes at her for the insensible question.
“No, why would I be? The additional wealth won’t give me anything that I don’t already have, except a ring on my finger and a contract binding me to Prince Satoru,” you said. “Neither of which are things to be excited about.”
“That’s the case, but you know one thing I’ve heard? The library in Naratori Castle houses one of the grandest collections in the world,” Elakshi said. She knew the way to your heart better than almost anyone, and true to form, you perked up at the thought.
“Grandest…collections?” you said slowly. “Even — even better than Thiorhiel’s?”
“Much better,” Tullia chimed in. “It’s not to say that Thiorhiel’s is in any way lacking, but my brother’s visited Naratori once or twice, and he said that their royal library is three times larger than our manor’s entrance hall.”
You had never visited the Ferraro Manor, as it was of course located in Barlezia and you had never left Thiorhiel. You knew that Tullia’s family was well off, though, and if her brother was telling the truth and the library really was that much larger than their home’s entrance hall, then it was definitely far beyond the scope of anything you could conceive.
You swallowed. “I suppose it might not be so bad there.”
“And the gardens!” Tullia said. “He said that every flower in the world grows there. Blooms of every color of the rainbow — and some of shades that you cannot even imagine — all grow there. Won’t it be wonderful to see them?”
“It will be,” you admitted. Elakshi beamed.
“Then! Enough moping around, and not another word of returning to the waters from which you came, do you hear me? It’s not the ideal situation, but we’ll find what benefits we can and make some happiness out of the ordeal,” she said.
“That’s right,” Tullia said. “It’s very easy to focus on the negatives, but there are some positives. You will get through this, Principessa,” she said.
“Yes,” you said, and it was not their words but they themselves that you were so heartened by. “I think I just might be able to, at that.”
The feast that your father had prepared for the night before your departure was something out of one of the old stories. The banquet hall had been transformed into something even more lovely than usual, with thousands of candles lining the walls and glimmering in the crystal chandeliers which hung overhead. The firelight reflected on the jeweled mosaics and lush tapestries of the hall, bringing out the sapphire of the repeated river motif, the marble of the swans and the emerald of the water lilies’ leaves.
In that hall, in that moment, you had never felt more pride in your own country. What a beautiful place it was! The artificial opulence of Naratori would pale in its natural splendor. What was a garden of a thousand flowers when compared to the simple pleasure of finding a hidden lily in a pond? What was a library when compared to the weeping leaves of a willow tree? Nothing. These man-made wonders were nothing compared to the blessings that rivers had bestowed upon Thiorhiel.
“Daughter,” your father said. “If you could lead us in the prayer…”
This meal was not something to show his fondness of you; rather, your father had planned it in order to keep up appearances, to show off Thiorhiel’s wealth to anyone that might doubt it. There had been whispers, after all, that you were marrying Prince Satoru in order to settle some old debts of your family. You could not be sure of this, but you were reasonably confident that it was untrue, as even if you married into the Gojo family, you doubted that they would help your own family in that way.
“Yes, father,” you said before clearing your throat and waiting for everyone to grow silent. They did so in due time, quieting and quieting until there was an unnatural hush settled over the hall. You looked around until you caught Sir Ino’s eye, his reassuring smile giving you the conviction to continue. “In the beginning, the world was composed of nothing but water. This water is where we came from, and it is where we shall return.
“Eventually, the water took shape into the Rivers Vier and Orube, and it is from these rivers that all life comes. They have shaped the world into their throne, with Thiorhiel as their ever-grand crown. We must remember, then, that all we have, we owe to them. Thus, please join me in giving thanks to the gentle Vier and the tumultuous Orube, for providing us with joy in our lives and grace in our deaths.”
The entire hall rumbled in assent, a confirmation of your words, which were really nothing more than a bare summary of the myth of the twin rivers that surrounded Thiorhiel. But it seemed to count as prayer enough for your father to be pleased, leaning back in his throne with all the majesty that one would expect from the Re of Thiorhiel.
“Let us begin the feast, then! In honor of the Principessa Y/N L/N’s departure to her new home, Naratori!” he said, raising a glass full of wine in toast. You smiled demurely as everyone raised their glasses at you, wishing they had cared for you this much before you had had to leave them all behind for good.
That night, once Tullia and Elakshi were fast asleep, you slid your feet into a pair of muddied boots that’d make your father throw a fit if they were ever brought before him. Creeping out of your room, you glanced down the hallways to ensure that no late night wanderers would see you, and then you took the opportunity to sprint down the corridors until you reached a small exit in the back. Wincing as the door creaked, you slipped out of the palace and tiptoed your way to another, slightly less stately looking, building.
The warm, musty smell of hay and grain hit your nose, and you inhaled it for what might be the last time. Padding through the swept stone aisle, you made a beeline for a particular stall, clicking your tongue to wake the dozing mare.
“Rhea,” you murmured, opening the stall door and walking in so that you could stand beside her. She blinked her eyes open, flicking her ears towards you and nickering in greeting. “I’m sorry for disturbing your sleep, my dearest girl.”
She nosed at your hands and pockets, searching for treats. You tried to laugh, but it was a choked sound, tears dripping from your eyes as you played with her forelock. Finding nothing of note, she raised her head, letting out a defeated exhale. You lay your cheek against her white forehead, wrapping your arms around her face and kissing her nose.
Rhea was a grey mare that was a part of an experimental breeding program started by your father. The result of crossing northern horses with the ones from Athyae and Barlezia, she possessed the strength and power of the sturdier northern stock, while still remaining refined and sensitive due to her southern blood. She had been foaled right before your eleventh birthday, and knowing of your fondness for horses, your father had given her to you.
You had raised her. You were the first person to ride her, the only person to ride her, and most of your happiest memories included her. Days spent having picnics with Tullia, Elakshi, and Sir Ino, riding to the riverside and then returning home on her back. Finding places where the currents were calmer and urging her into deeper parts, clinging on to her as her powerful legs churned the water so that the two of you could stay afloat. Spending nights in her stall when you were too upset with the palace to stay there for any amount of time. Yet despite all this, you could not even take her with you to Naratori.
“I hate them,” you said, letting go of her head when she snorted in irritation, moving so that you could throw your arms around her muscular neck. She pressed her head against your back, and the weight felt as if she was hugging you, too. It was the most affection you had received in so long that you burst into sobs at it. “Rhea, Rhea, I hate them so much. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to go.”
Rhea was such a fine example of what your father wished to reproduce in a horse that he had told you, in no uncertain terms, that he was going to keep her so that she could be used as a broodmare to further her breed. She was set to be covered for the first time in the next year’s summer. The ride you had gone on last week was probably the last time she’d ever be ridden, the last time she’d ever even leave the stable and pastures that the broodmares were confined to. It was a fate not dissimilar to yours, and this only made you cry harder.
“Why must it be like this?” you sniffed. Rhea had no response, but this actually made you happier. She never lied. Rhea was one hundred percent honest, never trying to console you with false platitudes. She just stood there and existed, and you found that that was much more effective than anything anyone else could’ve done.
The journey to Naratori was not a short one. First, you had to cross through all of Thiorhiel until you reached the River Orube, whereupon you would have to go over an enormous stone bridge named after one or another of your ancestors. But you were only able to get halfway through Thiorhiel before nightfall, and so you spent the night in an inn, resolving to continue onwards to the Orube in the morning.
By the next night, you were in Tullia’s home country of Barlezia. As you progressed through Barlezia, nearing the Versivara Mountains, it began to cool down, an ill omen of what it would be like in Naratori, which was located on the other side of the Versivara and colder than even Barlezia.
Crossing the Versivara took the most amount of time, especially considering the amount of things you were bringing along with you. The horses pulling the carriages were tough, though, with hooves the size of dinner plates and shoulders that bulged with muscles, so they did not complain as they dragged you up the mountains and then down again.
Then, you were finally in Naratori, but it was not the royal capital, so it seemed to be an entirely ordinary country, nothing like the stories you had heard about it from Sir Ino and Tullia and Elakshi. Was this really the country of gardens with thousands of flowers? With libraries as large as manors? With men who could defeat entire armies?
The architecture was a little different here, but otherwise, you saw no differentiating factors between it and the parts of Barlezia closer to the Versivara Mountains. It was only as you drew nearer and nearer to the castle and the capital city that you began to notice some changes.
The trees were towering evergreens, with songbirds tittering as they flew between the branches. Occasionally, a kestrel’s screech could be heard, the birds of prey soaring through the open sky and dancing amongst fleecy clouds. Peony bushes lined the streets of the towns you trotted through, the petals covering everything and perfuming the air with their fragrance. Everything was perfectly in order, the stately purple and white flag of the country flying in the center of each town square.
And the capital itself! It was the grandest place you had ever seen, with towering white walls protecting it. The streets were narrow and bustling, but immaculately kept, and more than once you spotted someone sweeping the cobblestones to keep them clean. The roads were all uphill, leading towards the massive stone castle located on a steep cliff that dropped into nothingness on its other side.
The buildings petered out in front of the gate to the castle proper, and as you were let in, you opened the curtains of your carriage even further, craning your neck to catch the first glimpse of your new home. The driveway was lined with juniper trees and carefully trimmed hedges, more peony bushes blooming in front of them so that there were bursts of color interspersed with the green. These peonies were all white or purple, though, the signature shades of Naratori, an obvious reminder of just who this castle belonged to.
Your carriages stopped in a wide courtyard which was filled with nobles, no doubt amassed to see you, the Principessa of Thiorhiel and their eventual queen. The first thing your eyes leapt to when you stepped out, however, was not the gathering of lords and the ladies but instead the massive fountain in the middle of the courtyard. It was a kestrel, the national bird of Naratori, its beak opened like it was mid-shriek, but instead of a scream, it was water that poured out. Its unfurled wings cast a shadow around it, and it was so masterfully done that it looked like the sculptor had just taken a real bird and frozen it before enlarging it so that it could decorate the castle in such a way.
“Principessa Y/N! I trust that your journey was comfortable?” The woman who spoke must have been the queen, Koume Gojo. She had eyes as blue as diamonds, her black hair streaked through with silver, her face a strange blend of aged and youthful. Her elaborate dress was purple silk, and an amethyst crown was nestled in her braided updo.
You immediately dropped into a curtsy. “Thank you for inquiring, your majesty. Yes, it went very well. We have all arrived without delay or injury, so I certainly cannot complain.”
Queen Koume smiled. It was surely meant to seem magnanimous and non-threatening, but all you could focus on was how, in the light, her teeth shone like the fangs of a snake, so it was more unsettling than anything.
“It’s good to finally see you, Principessa Y/N,” a man said, his voice jovial and deep. “We have missed having your mother around, eh, Satoru?”
There was no one else he could’ve been but King Iwao. His hair was thick and white, though from what you had heard, this was actually just the natural hair color of the Gojos and completely unrelated to his age. His eyes were a sparkling violet, and his purple mantle was velvet, lined with white fur. Just like his wife, a crown studded with amethyst was balanced artfully on his head, though his smile felt less false than hers had.
“Yes, father,” the man beside him said, politely, detachedly. It was in such a way that you first saw your future husband, the infamously handsome Prince Satoru Gojo.
That rumor was true. He was definitely handsome, his face pointed and dainty, his body slender, the white embroidery on his purple tunic matching his hair. He had not inherited the violet eyes of the Gojos; instead, he had the same diamond ones as his mother. Instead of something to be mourned, though, it created a pleasing effect, as if he had not been born but created, sculpted by the same person who had made the kestrel statue behind him.
“Go on, then, greet her,” King Iwao said, elbowing Prince Satoru in the side. The prince flinched before striding forward, dipping his head at you, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to it. It was harsher than it seemed, his grip nearly crushing the bones in your hand, his kiss bruising from its force. You bit your tongue to avoid yelping, doing your best to smile at him.
“I am glad to finally be by your side, your royal highness,” you said. “The years without you have been long.”
It was the kind of perfectly packaged sentiment which should've appealed to him, but the only response you got was a grunt. It was the first inkling you had that you were not the only one displeased by the match, but instead of satisfying you, it made you feel terribly forlorn.
“My mother made sure that your quarters are up to standard. If you need anything else, please send a servant to speak to her,” he said, straightening to his full height, tilting his chin so that it was like he was looking down at you.
“Very well,” you said, focusing on the kestrel statue so that you didn’t have to look at him. “I will do that.”
“As for protection, we have assigned one of the Royal Guards to watch over you,” he said.
“One of the Royal Guards!” you said. Sir Ino had said it would be like that, but it still came as a shock. “Just for me?”
“Just for you,” Prince Satoru affirmed, though he gave you a curious look when he did so. “Are you opposed to it?”
“No, I’m only a little surprised,” you admitted. “I should’ve expected it, but it’s an honor I was not fully prepared to receive.”
“It is an honor,” he said shortly. “One of only four in the entire unit has been devoted entirely to protecting you. You should do your best to make his life easier.”
“I wouldn’t do anything to make it harder,” you muttered, but Prince Satoru was already walking away, leaving you behind without a second glance. You watched him return to his parents’ side before turning to Elakshi and Tullia.
“Ready to go?” Elakshi said, completely oblivious to the interaction between you and Prince Satoru. Tullia gave you a worried look but did not otherwise say anything, waiting for you to respond.
You gave the now-empty carriage a final look. What if you ran to it, demanded the driver carry you back to Thiorhiel? Would he oblige? You supposed he likely wouldn’t. You supposed you were far enough from your home now that your words and demands meant very little, if they had ever meant anything at all in the first place.
“Yes,” you said. “I guess I have to be.”
The windows of the castle were almost exclusively stained glass, so that when the sun shone through them, it was in a myriad of colors that were nearly blinding in their brilliance. The floors were covered in thick rugs with woven patterns, muffling the tapping of your shoes as you made your way towards your room, following after Queen Koume and her guard, a quiet man with dark hair in a ponytail and a scar on his left cheek.
“I hope you like it here, my dear,” Queen Koume said. “Oh! Is it alright if I refer to you as such?”
“You may refer to me however you wish, your majesty,” you said.
“Good, then! Anyways, we’ve all been so excited to have you. I promise you, you will have the most beautiful wedding the world’s ever seen, so don’t fret about that. It’ll be quite a bit easier to manage, since you’ll already be such a beautiful bride without much alteration,” she said.
“Thank you, your majesty,” you said, unsure of how else to react to the praise.
“But those clothes of yours! Dear girl, you will freeze in them,” she said, shaking her head in disapproval. “No, they won’t do at all. We must have the tailor out to see you at once!”
“I was going to make that request myself, but I thank you for suggesting it, your majesty,” you said.
“Of course. We cannot have the future queen wanting for anything,” she said. “You deserve beautiful clothes, so it’s no issue.”
“Thank you,” you said again, for lack of creativity in coming up with another response. The queen did not seem to mind, though, nodding at you firmly.
“These are your chambers! I’ll take your ladies to theirs and allow you to familiarize yourself with the place in the meantime. Your guard should be along shortly, and he will escort you to dinner,” Queen Koume said, stopping in front of an elaborate door made of carved wood. You hesitantly opened it, giving Elakshi and Tullia a worried glance. Elakshi nodded at you encouragingly, and Tullia smiled slightly.
Much like the rest of Naratori, the room screamed extravagance. There were not one but two chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the candles already lit in anticipation of your arrival. The ceiling itself was covered in embossed gold designs, the walls in pale brocade. There was a floor to ceiling window in the wall beside your bed, purple and white curtains pulled back to let the sun in, peonies blooming in pots on either side of it. The canopied bed had fluttering white curtains drawn around it, and there were rugs underneath it and in the sitting area. A set of couches, a desk, a vanity table, a mirror, a wardrobe, a door leading to a bathroom…it was a sheer display of wealth and power, in that overbearing manner that was characteristic of all things Naratorese and Gojo.
It actually made your head hurt, just because of how much it all was. You could not stand the depth of the purple, the brightness of the white, the radiance of the gold. How were you supposed to sleep in such a distracting room?
The man who entered your chambers just then was so silent that you did not even realize that he was in there until you turned around and locked eyes with him, prompting you to scream. He was entirely unphased, watching you with an impassive look as you jabbed your pointer finger at him.
“Just who are you?” you said shrilly. "My guard is on his way, so you ought to identify yourself before he gets here!"
“I am your guard,” he said promptly. You paused, narrowing your eyes as you took in his appearance, attempting to ascertain if he was telling the truth.
Well, he certainly looked the part of a Royal Guard. His spiky hair was dark, as were the thick eyelashes that brushed his cheeks when he blinked. His shoulders were broad, his arms clearly muscular, his expression serious and still. He wore a black tunic, black pants, and gleaming leather riding boots, with a sheathed sword hanging from his belt. There was a billowing cape draped over his shoulders, nearly touching the floor and the same black color as the rest of his clothes, fastened at his neck with a gold pin that had the seal of Naratori on it in alabaster. His indigo eyes at first seemed dispassionate, but on reexamination held the slightest bit of disdain, though you could not discern if it was directed towards you specifically or just towards the world around him.
“What’s your name?” you said. He furrowed his brow.
“Does that concern you, your royal highness?” he said. It was your turn to frown.
“I’d assume it does,” you said. “I mean, I should know what to scream if I am to be attacked, yes?”
“‘Help’ would suffice,” he said. You blinked at him. He did not blink back. The seconds passed in awkward silence before he finally sighed. “Fushiguro.”
“I’m Principessa Y/N,” you offered.
“I know that already,” he said. You realized that that was true and felt entirely foolish, but to his credit, Fushiguro did not mock you for it, his regal face still set in that same blank look.
“So you’re one of the Royal Guards,” you said. He nodded. “Is it true that you can defeat an entire army by yourself?”
“I’m sure I could,” he said. “Let’s not test that theory out, though. As long as you stay in the castle, you’ll find no armies will come for you in the first place, so it’s not something that should be at the forefront of your mind.”
“I don't have any plans of doing otherwise. I've heard a lot about you and the rest of the Royal Guards, so I was just curious,” you said, put-out at the clear dismissal, when you had just been trying to be friendly. He bowed, though his jaw clenched slightly at the gesture, as if he despised performing it very much. It was the most emotion he'd likely ever show you.
“It would be for the best if you save your curiosity for the prince,” he said. That said, he swept out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him with finality, leaving you once again standing there, entirely alone.
#megumi x reader#megumi x y/n#megumi x you#reader insert#royal au#a song for the drowned#m1ckeyb3rry writes
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To Owe An Orc
Once the sun sets, the forest belongs to the Orcs.
This it what your mother taught you, what her mother before her had taught as well. You wonder now how far back the warning went.
And they believe, my child, that any pretty little thing stumbling around in it belongs to them as well.
You are a witch living alone in the deep dark wood. Perhaps you care for and heal the people in the surrounding villages. Perhaps you don't. Either way it was well known for miles around that this was the witching wood, your home. Except for when the sun set, and you retreat to your cosy little cottage.
For your family had a deal with the monsters that came out at night, and you minded it well.
Then one night word reaches you of a young woman in desperate need of your help, and she cannot wait. You'll have to brave the night or leave her to her fate.
But someone waits for you. And they would love to keep the pretty little witch that has wandered into their forest.
-
To Owe and Orc is an in progress 18+ interactive romance featuring explicit sexual scenes and a single gender selectable orc love interest with optional sexual encounters with other characters. The story will feature dark themes, with a full list of content warnings to be added in the future.
-Characters-
MC
Play as male or female and customise your appearance. The player has a certain level of control over how the MC reacts to the RO and the optional sexual encounters, generally how submissive they are.
Ranash (M/F) (RO)
Though the subject of cautionary tales told to you all our life, Ranash is the first orc you've ever met. They manage to be at once everything you were warned of and completely different. Commanding and possessive, frightening even. Hopelessly lost in their forest, they offer to help you. Is it worth being in their debt?
Sol (M) (Optional sexual encounter)
A close friend of Ranash, Sol seems to be their opposite. Good natured and easy going, he is very curious about you. Despite yourself you feel comforted by his kind presence, but part of you is unsure. The way you sometimes catch him looking at you and Ranash makes you wonder.
Naz (F) (Optional sexual encounter)
Lost in the woods, Ranash had scared you terribly. You thought they were the very picture of the monstrous, awful orcs you had been warned about. You were proved wrong as soon as you laid eyes on Naz, almost seven foot of pure muscle and an aura of ice cold intimidation. She's taken a liking to you. It isn't comforting.
-
I’m unsure at the moment how long this is going to be, so as of right now I don’t know if I’ll be releasing any kind of demo. I’ll let you know as soon as I know.
#interactive fiction#choicescript#interactive games#if games#if wip#wip#monster fucker#monster over#monster x reader#orc#orcs#to owe an orc
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Bride
Atreides!Reader x Feyd Rautha Harkonnen
____________________________________________
Chapter II
____________________________________________
The sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway. Shuffling feet, hushed voices. Or not. Some did not bother to talk quietly.
Whispers of shocking news coursing around the keep.
“-married to a Harkonnen..-”
“..terrible, terrible news-”
“I heard that the young mistress..-”
Gasps and shushing being uttered was as common as the rain on Caladan the past week, it seems.
Specifically, the young Miss did not exit her room if not directly summoned. Rumors that she was sulking, plotting an escape, or anything else did not help with the recent news of her arranged marriage.
Most of the servants avoided entering your room as they would hurry to tell everyone how depressed you had been. It was more of a mix of anxiety and sheer fear, but nonetheless not aiding your situation.
Paul has been great company, bringing you most meals and eating next to you. You enjoyed spending some time with your cousin, as it was likely he'll never be able to contact you once you’re shipped off to the hell hole.
News of who your betrothed would be had not arrived yet, but still, you were still quietly hoping it would not end up being Glossu Rabban.
The Bene Gesserit witches seemed to be coming to your home planet much more often these days. Always one or two spotted around your home. Watching.
But who?
Assuming it was you, no reason could be found except maybe a plot for escape. Your aunt? You knew she loved you very much but would not do anything to stop them. She had already disobeyed direct orders by birthing Paul, or so you have heard.
It was all irrelevant anyways. It was as if you could feel the phantom touch of the cursed promise on the nape of your neck. Quietly hovering there, the disgusting breath of it making you nauseous.
Your room felt eerily empty as you looked at it thoroughly. Almost naked. One of the things the cursed witches made you do was pack. Clothes, belongings, everything was packed.
They were ready to just ship you off as a moment’s notice. Why was this marriage so urgent to them? Why you, out of all people?
Your parents’ will. They had offered it to you to read, but you declined at the sight of dried brown blotches on it. A digital version was promptly sent to you, with no blemishes. Kindness? Or a silent reminder?
The doors to your room opening abruptly startled you, as it took quite some force to open them as swiftly as your guest did.
Paul stood in the doorway, looking at you with a wild glint in his eyes. You stood up from your place on the bed as he nodded quietly.
“A message from Geidi Prime has arrived. My parents and the witches are holding a meeting, I was told to notify you, you will be told as soon as they finish.”
He approached you, sadness taking over his gaze as he embraced you. You returned it, reveling in what could be one of the last moments with your dearest cousin. Your best friend. Your other half.
It was more than probable the beasts wouldn't allow you contact with family.
Paul was breathing deeply, you felt the rapid beats of his heart. Frustration. Fury. Pain. Anxiety. It pained you to see him like this.
For years you spied on whatever lessons Jessica had with him, as she was insistent to not include you. Paul would usually tell you afterwards anyways, but it did not have the same effect.
You spied in on them as a child, learning some of the witch-teachings. How to pitch your voice to make someone do your bidding, how to speak in secret languages known only to some and much more. Hopefully enough to help you survive when they throw you to the dogs.
Paul let go of you, holding onto your hand.
“I know my mother did not birth you, but you are and forever will be my sister. My kin. I truly love you as my own, and I will never allow any Harkonnen to lay hands on you, lay his gaze on you the wrong way.”
His eyes screamed fury, a raging promise to the threat looming not so far away. You laid your other hand on top of his.
“I will do my best to make this house proud, brother. I will not allow myself to be walked upon like a doormat by the rabid animals. If they wish to cut me off, my letters will be smuggled to you.”
Paul nodded in approval, smiling the true smile of the duke he would grow to be. A formidable ruler. You envied him a bit, for he did not have deceased parents that decided to marry him off out of lunatic depression.
A knock sounded at your door. You knew who was summoning you even before you stepped foot out of your room, Paul following suit.
As you walked towards your uncle’s council room, you traced the rough rock from which the keep was hewn.
From which your home was hewn.
Caladan.
The place where your heart lay, since birth and until your death. No other planet in the universe could compare to the green, rainy plains of Caladan.
Both you and your cousin remained silent the entire trek to the room. Your fate would be determined in that place in no more than half an hour. Such a small period of time, you thought to yourself. Only a week ago you thought you had all the time in the world.
Tiles that made up the colorful floor beneath seemed so dull coloured in the setting sun as you made your way over to the meeting.
Searching for that pang of horror, of the shock, only for it to be nowhere found in the pits of your stomach was surprising. As if it were a silent reminder this was your duty as an Atreides, and no amount of sulking would change it. Sulking would not prove useful to you anyways.
Your femininity were the chains that bound you to the promise your parents made. In a twisted way you envied Paul, for he could choose what, or rather who he could marry.
The large windows of Caladan castle illuminated the dust in the air, warm light falling in streams on the stone floor. You felt the warm, moist air setting down like a draped curtain over your senses.
A few hooded women stood before the doors of your uncle’s council room. Guarding? Or making sure you came?
It did not matter anyways, running away from this marriage would be considered treason over the Harkonnens, and would surely deepen the feud of your two families, if not even open a war.
You entered the room, your aunt and uncle sitting at the head of the table, the Reverend Mother taking a place to their left.
Mistrust.
You and Paul hot seated to their right, taking note of the metal scroll laying proudly on the table. Unopened. You looked at the blood red wax that held it closed, Harkonnen emblem engraved in it. Angular droplet fiercely staring back at you from the wax. It looked like blood.
Without bothering to ask for permission, you reached for it, snapping open the lid and watching the wax tear from its sides. Sliding out the letter, you skimmed your eyes over its contents.
The room was in stiffening silence, only the steady rhythm of rain trickling on the windows cutting through the silence.
“Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear.”
A clang echoed through Castle Caladan as you tossed the message on the rock hewn table. It bounced miserably a few times, then landed at the hands of your family.
“Feyd Rautha Harkonnen.”
You announced as your uncle and aunt read through the scroll, eyes darting over the text inscribed on its smooth metal surface. The letter was handed over, circling as you sat opposite to the Reverend Mother.
Her eyes glittered like jewels under the layers of veils she wore. Boring into you, as if her arms stretched through your chest and penetrated your very soul.
“Feyd Rautha Harkonnen.”
You repeated, eyes flying to your face. You would not let them see any fear, for sniveling wouldn’t do anything.
You almost felt embarrassed for acting like a child at your family meeting. A shaking mess. You must have appeared a scared little girl.
“I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path.”
Paul stood up and left the room. You knew he would be reprimanded for it later, but it made no use to hide how upset he was
Your eyes followed him as he left, your uncle following suit soon. Most probably for show, but still the room remained silent. The doors slammed after them.
Jessica took hold of your upper arm, tugging you with her as you shuffled out of the room, casting one final look at the veiled witch in the Duke’s council room.
She stared back.
____________________________________________
“Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”
The halls echoed as your aunt half tugged, half dragged you to her morning room.
You obeyed.
What else was there to be done? Fight back, scream at the injustice? You weren’t stupid, you knew nothing you did from this day forward mattered.
It was silly, truly.
“Aunt, where are you taking me?”
Jessica stopped in her tracks, casting you a pained look. Her hand took place at your shoulders, giving a comforting squeeze, smoothing out the ruffled fabric of your dress clothes.
“Listen to me carefully, the Reverend Mother has requested to personally test you. It’s of the utmost importance. Remember whose child you are. We see you as our own. Don’t keep her waiting.”
She pushed you forward, the doors to her personal morning room only a few steps away. How had the Reverend Mother gotten here before the two of you?
Don’t keep her waiting.
You opened the door and saw the old crone sitting at your aunt’s desk, the evening light illuminating the river flowing by your castle in shades of pastels through the high windows.
“Sit down.”
Body lurching forward, you found yourself sat in the chair directly in front of the old lady.
“How dare you use the voice on me?” You spit out, hating the Reverend Mother more with every appearance she made. Not only is she disrespecting your aunt by sitting in her chair, but insulting you in this way?
“Put your right hand in the box.”
She ordered, without using the voice this time. Looking down to see a box materialize in her hand out of seemingly nothing, you hesitate. It was tiny, how would your hand fit in it?
“What’s in the box?”
You asked cautiously, looking at the weather worn metal object, green corrosion crusting it. A shudder ran through you at the mere thought of touching such a dirty thing. What if you get an infection from it?
“Pain.”
You saw her hand no longer rested by her side, rather stilling itself next to your neck. A shiny needle glimmering in the dusk.
This test is very important…
Recalling your aunt’s words, you placed your hand into the box. A tingling sensation ran through it, like being pricked.
“At your neck I hold the Gom Jabbar, poisoned enough to give you a quick and silent death shall you move. It is simple, remove your hand from the box, and you die.”
At the sight of the needle you felt a feeling long forgotten stir in the depths of your gut. The blade awakened horrid memories of matted hair, the slit necks…
The prickling sensation shifted to that of numbness, before pain, hot and searing enveloped your entire hand. Any thought before was quickly replaced by that of utter terror.
Your hand was being ripped apart, skin torn and your muscles ripped apart savagely, as if something were gnawing on your bones.
It was agonizing. Soon the pain turned to that of fire, the blazing heat attacking what was left of you. The flames seemed to lick your entire hand, scorching it so deep, burning off the flesh from your bones.
As if the entire flame of the universe was biting at your hand, tearing apart the nerves, pulling at them, seeping into your blood like venom.
You wanted to scream. Tear your vocal chords to shreds with the agony coursing through your arm in rapid beats. Yet only choked, pathetic noises came out.
“You’ve heard of animals chewing off a leg to escape a trap? This is an animal kind of trick. A human would remain in the trap, endure the pain and feign death to kill the trapper.”
A wrangled scream finally managed to escape your lungs, the Reverend Mother giving you a look that made you shut up again and push through the fire that surely melted your bones away.
“Silence.”
The cursed jolts of pain seemed to devour your wrist, pulling on the exposed nerves, unraveling your muscle fibers.
Then just like that - it stopped.
“Remove your hand from the box, silly girl.”
You pulled it out as fast as possible, expecting your hand to be missing, a charred mess. Yet - shaking, it was whole, the skin glistening with sweat but otherwise unharmed.
“What is this witchcraft?” Your voice cracked as you asked, throat sore from the little screaming you could accomplish.
“Pain by nerve induction.”
A simple answer, she did not deign you worthy of more. It would have offended you, had you not been preoccupied with checking if your hand is functioning as it should.
Your aunt opened the door, exchanging a few quick, hushed words with the Reverend Mother then watching her leave.
As soon as your figure straightened her arms were there, tightly embracing you. One was stroking your hair as she obviously forced herself not to weep.
“I am so sorry my dear. I did not wish for this to happen, but my hands are tied.”
You hugged her back, tears pricking your eyes. It was nice knowing she did not do this to you willingly.
The sun had long set when she let go of you.
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The dual doors of your bedroom were locked and secure, as now the vulnerability of anyone walking in on you would not be pleasant.
Still shaken from the previous encounter, you calmed yourself by watching droplets of water race down your window as the wind howled outside.
Your wardrobe lay open, almost empty save for a few garments that lay scattered in it and on the floor below.
You were sitting on your bed when the weight of everything seemed to dawn before you.
Or rather, crashes upon your shoulders with such force you fell down between the pillows and layers of sheets, sobbing.
You were off to be married to a sadomasochist freak like cattle for breeding. Is that not what it is? You’re simply a puzzle piece in some grand plan of the Bene Gesserit.
Everything seemed to accumulate to this particular moment in your life. The test, the marriage, everything.
You wished for a minute with your parents before they died, to stop the madness they brought to you. For more time. With Paul, with your uncle, aunt, anyone.
You wished for a normal life.
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#feyd rautha#feyd x reader#feyd fanfiction#dune#dune part two#feyd x you#fanfic#x reader#house atreides#feyd rautha harkonnen#arranged marriage
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Dark Magik
Lani, a teenage witch trapped in the spirit world, must escape and stop her powerful warlock of an ancestor (Erik Stevens) from wreaking havoc.
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
15-year-old Lani Stevens was not your typical moody Brooklyn teen. Her fascination with gothic culture and occultism inspired her to embrace her family's history of darkness rather than shun it.
CHURCH or NOWHERE, her parents insisted, knowing full well that she wouldn't be caught DEAD in a Christian sanctuary. That meant she'd soon be trapped in the house. No graveyards, no trespassing in haunted places, no parties, no trick or treating, and no fun.
"That's fine," she'd pre-determined angrily. "If I can't go out, I'll do it here."
The time on Lani's phone was 11:59 PM, on October 30th. There was one more minute before the living and dead would be able to mingle once again for better or worse.
Lani sat in her room with the lights out, cross-legged and surrounded by lit black candles fixed in the center of and around a carefully drawn pentagram. Her candles were actually from Amazon, and her grimoire was moreso a collection of pinterest and tiktok posts... but they had to work for someone.
Per a website she'd visited, each candle was to guide the way for the spirit she was inviting to sit with her for the night. Tonight, for her first try, it would be her great-grandfather. Though hated by the family, he was her biggest role model, and stories of him only increased her admiration.
He'd rejected the church and, as an extension, his own family. He'd abandoned Granny as a child and left home to "worship the devil" as a warlock. To Lani, it was a blueprint for how she wanted to live.
She hoped he'd offer grandfatherly wisdom. She needed badly for someone to relate to and understand her. So she repeated the name, focused on the old black and white photograph that she'd found hidden in her mother's old family scrapbook. He looked to be in his early 30s when it was taken.
"I call upon the spirit of Erik Stevens. Erik Stevens, you are welcome here."
She didn't know what else to say. She'd never attempted to contact a spirit, and her parents would have her exorcised if she ever brought an ouiji board.
"I call upon Erik Stevens... I call upon Erik Stevens."
-SHATTER-
Lani flinched as her window burst, shards of glass scattering into smaller peices on the floor, inviting a strong chill from outside. The wind went through her body to her bones, the small room suddenly freezing cold. Lani scrambled to her knees, feeling the icy floor through the holes in her black webbed stockings.
The air was full of whispers, which turned to scratching in the walls. The sound migrated and surrounded her. The door squeeked, and no one was there.
-RINGTONE-
Lani flinched at the sudden sound. Who would call her past midnight? It was an unknown number.
"H-hello?" Her breath was a fog from the sudden temperature drop. All at once, the candles flickered and went out, leaving her in complete darkness except for the moon and stars. There was feedback, distortion, heavy breathing, and whispers on the line.
Hearing her own gaspy breathing, she tried to be quiet.
"I'm not alone."
"Grandpa?" Her heart pounded.
"What have you done?"
She twisted the knob of her door and shook it violently, trying to escape to her parents' room, but it wouldn't budge. "MOM! MOM! DAD!" Her heart sank. She turned to find her great-grandfather standing in the center of the pentagram, looking exactly as he had in the photo. He hadn't aged a day. A fearful whine was all else she could manage.
"You're Lani, my great granddaughter."
"Yes," she whispered, choked up with fear.
He raised a finger to his lips, and when he reached out, she was pulled by an invisible force into the pentagram. He grabbed her hands, muttering strange words, his eyes blackened. He inhaled deeply, and the more he chanted, she began to vanish. Powerless to stop it, she faded into nothingness and awoke violently inside of a chaotic and lawless world filled with evil spirits. In her place, Erik Stevens, a once powerful warlock, exited the pentagram free to roam the mortal world, causing mayhem and terror.
He descended to where he found a couple in bed asleep. He could easily recognize the woman as the grandchild he'd never got to meet.
"Sharon."
He reached out to cast a spell that would assure her allegiance with darkness, but to his disappointment, there was a Bible on her bedside table and a cross around her neck. Hallowed ground, holy objects, and those protected by them.. he couldn't touch.
Quietly, he left and closed their door, sweeping his fingertips along the walls where the scratching resided. He could feel Lani inside trying hard to get out.
Lani wasn't a true witch... yet, and she lacked the knowledge of voodoo practiced by her own bloodline, which is why she'd mistakenly freed a hoard of spirits along with his. Messy ignorance. The most Lani had ever done right was burn sage..
But in the spirit world, there were tons of spirits to meet, fight, flee, and conquer. She could learn a lot trapped in a place like that. Information, spells, and contracts. It was all there for her to take and grow from if she could manage it within 24 hours before they switched places once more.
"Enjoy, my child. Learn well," he whispered. Finally, someone he could pass his power and connections onto.
If they switched back.
@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @goldieccentric @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybeee-blog @playgurlxoxo @beaut1fulone-blog @blackerthings @syndrlla97 @ladymac82 @browngirldominion @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @xsweetdellzx
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My Cold Dead Heart
Word Count: 1.1k
Summary: Klaus spent nearly six centuries searching for one thing. His wife. But he never expected that someone would come along and hand her over to him. Him being Klaus, his next actions are driven only by instinct to wake his wife up from her deep slumber.
Warnings: Swearing, violence, Klaus being desperate and a simp
Masterlist
I knew my most fatal flaw. I could never fully trust anyone. Not even my siblings. I was careful not to let my enemies catch wind of my only weakness, the only thing that I would bow down for. My wife.
The Original Heretic, as it happened. In 1496, my wife, (Y/N) Mikaelson, was taken by a coven of witches when she was at her most vulnerable. She’d wasted all of her magic trying to break my curse without the Petrova doppelganger, and was left with nothing, not even her vampiric strength.
All I knew was that she was placed in a tomb, sealed by the magic of the entire coven. That was how much it took to keep my dear (Y/N) inside, an entire coven of witches. I never knew the location, and try as I did, I couldn’t get her back, I couldn’t find her. If any of my enemies caught wind of her existence and found her before I did, well, it would be bad.
Even in six centuries of looking, (Y/N) was nowhere to be found. It felt like I’d searched the entire world, dragged every ocean, she was just gone. Until I returned to Mystic Falls, broke my curse and decided to stay, making more hybrids with Stefan Salvatore as my accomplice.
When Stefan returned to Elena’s side, I soon realized what it would take to make more hybrids. I was draining Elena’s blood in my living room when I heard a squishing sound, liquid dripping and then saw hearts fly across my hardwood floors.
“Let her go, Klaus,” I heard Damon Salvatore growl in his usual arrogant tone, it was like he didn’t understand that I could squash him like a bug. I turned around, Elena tried to groan out something like a warning to the eldest Salvatore brother, but it just came out as an inaudible mumble. I expected to find him alone, but no, there was Stefan standing there, holding a fine casket in his grip, there were wheels on the bottom of the cart it laid on top of. I could have sworn I’d undaggered all of my siblings, even my mother, so whose casket was it?
“Do I want to know whose rotting corpse is sitting in there? Or perhaps,” I laughed, “that’s the casket you plan to use for me when you ‘kill me.’”
“No, Klaus,” Stefan interjected before Damon could open his big mouth. “We’ve come to offer you a deal. An exchange, if you will.” I raised a brow, urging him on. “You give us Elena back in exchange for the lovely lady in here.”
I chuckled, “I’m afraid that dead women aren’t my style, fellows. Elena is just my speed, at least when she’s like this.”
“I think you’ll find that you enjoy dead women a lot more than you think when you see her,” Stefan shoved the cart toward me, I managed to grab it before it slammed into me. I glanced hesitantly up at him before I grabbed the door, lifting it open. I could have sworn that my heart stopped for a moment.
I released a shuddering breath as I took in her face, the curve of her jaw, the color of her skin, her lashes that twitched in the throes in whatever sleep she was in. I raised my hand to softly touch her cheek, not quite believing she was real. I vaguely heard Damon sneaking past me to get Elena, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
My wife was right there. I was touching her, I could feel the warmth of her skin. I looked up at Stefan when Damon left with Elena, Stefan was watching with a look of longing, sadness. “Where?”
“She was in the same tomb that I thought Katherine died in,” Stefan told me, “she was right here this whole time, Klaus.” Stefan turned around and followed after his brother.
I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I took in her features. It had been nearly six hundred years since I last saw her. And it was all my fault. I remembered what she’d once asked of me after Katherine escaped my clutches.
“Please, Niklaus,” she pleaded. Gripping at my arm when I tried to turn away from her, “please, just let me try.”
“No, (Y/N),” I cut in before she could try to convince me some more. “This feeling of wanting to break my curse will turn into an obsession,” I turned and placed my hands on her face. “And that obsession will drive you mad.”
But she’d managed to convince me. Despite every instinct in my body and soul telling me that I shouldn’t have allowed her to. She delved into dark magic, delved into sacrificial magic in the hopes that it would be enough to break my curse. She’d been close when she was snatched. She was weak enough that a coven was able to overpower her, and that made it my fault. Because she was only trying to help me.
I rushed out of my house and grabbed a random woman off the street, dragging her back to the coffin, kicking and screaming. “Please, please don’t hurt me,” she shouted desperately, looking into the coffin, “I haven’t done anything, please!”
I flashed my eyes at her as my fangs extended, I lifted her wrist to my mouth, not bothering to compel her to be quiet or to not be afraid, I wasn’t in the mood to toy around. I ripped her hand away from my mouth and placed it over (Y/N)’s, praying that she’d drink.
Blood spread over her supple lips, I saw her eyes move behind their lids. Just before her hand flew up and grasped at the screaming woman’s wrist. The strong grip made the woman scream all the louder, I snapped her neck and held her body up so that her wrist wouldn’t be dragged away from (Y/N).
It took a solid minute before all the blood was drained from the woman, (Y/N) dropped her wrist and I let her body go. I witnessed more color flush (Y/N)’s cheeks, and then her (e/c) eyes flew open and met mine after a brief moment of looking around.
She swallowed audibly, licking the blood off her lips. I surged forward and gathered her up in my arms, lifting her out of the coffin and holding her against me. She tried to pry my arms off of her, but I just held on tighter. Then and there, I swore that I would never let her go again. I swore that no one and nothing would take my love away from me again, absolutely nothing.
#klaus#klaus mikaelson#klaus fluff#klaus mikaelson fluff#klaus mikaelson x reader#klaus mikaelson x y/n#the originals#the vampire diaries#hope mikaelson#y/n mikaelson#hayley marshall#elijah mikaelson#elena gilbert#stefan salvatore#damon salvatore#rebekah mikaelson#new orleans#mystic falls
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The Witching Hour: Chapter 2
Pairing: Detective!Bob Floyd x Reader
WitchAU
Warnings: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Witchcraft, Cheating, Mentions of Death, Alcohol, I think that's it?
-- Chapter 1 Here --
__________________________
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Bob mumbled as he walked up the path onto the clearing. "Were you talking to someone?" He asked, looking around the ledge.
You shook you head, quickly realising he probably couldn't see the subtle movement. "No, uh, just my dad. We used to come here together sometimes..."
"I'm sorry." Bob offered sympathetically, "May I?"
You moved over and motioned for him to sit.
"So, what brings you here, Bob?" You chuckled, trying to change the subject.
"Not sure." He chuckled back, "Must be fate, I guess."
You grinned, "Yeah, must be. Thrice in one day, it's like you're stalking me or something." You joked.
Bob let out a surprised chuckle, "Yeah, sorry about that, it must seem weird. Totally coincidental I swear."
"How did you know my nickname, anyway?"
"Would you believe me if I told you I just did?" He looked over at you.
"Nope." You grinned at him.
Bob breathed out a laugh and it was silent for a moment.
"So where's your girlfriend tonight?" You asked, immediately wishing you hadn't, as the words came out almost accusatory.
"She's asleep. I couldn't, for some reason, kinda just had the urge to get up and walk."
"Yeah, I know the feeling." You mumbled. "What brings you to Whidbey, anyway?"
"Uhh, well... I kinda just wanted to get away for a while, from work and life and all that, and drive until I found someplace nice. I saw the sign for the island and something told me it was where I needed to be. Roxy decided last minute she wanted to come." He shrugged.
"Roxy." You rolled your eyes as her name slipped out of your mouth. You bit your tongue as you realised your slip up, and that you were seconds away from hexing a woman who had done nothing to you.
Bob looked at you, amused.
"Jealous?" He joked, you flushed bright red.
"You wish." you chuckled.
But maybe you were jealous, and there was no way you'd admit it, especially not to your mother, but sitting this close to Bob the total stranger, it felt electric.
"You should probably get back soon, before she starts to worry." You smiled at Bob once more before you stood, and you turned to walk back towards the path, "Goodnight Bob."
"Wait, Bree, before you go..." Bob stood.
You turned back around, your arms now crossing over your chest as a cool wind began to lap around you.
"Am I crazy to think we've met before? I mean, I've been trying to shake this feeling since I got here, that I've been here before. And then I see you, and I'm filled with this strange... I dunno, sense of familiarity and nostalgia I guess. Is that possible if I've never met you before?" He rambled, a sudden urgency in his voice which you felt may have had something to do with his late night explorations.
You thought for a moment, and took a deep breath through your nose.
"Do you believe in fate, Bob?"
He nodded, "I guess, in a way."
"Well, maybe you were meant to meet me. Maybe what you're feeling isn't familiarity or nostalgia, maybe it's precognition. Dunno what for yet though." You grinned, and you turned and left.
Bob stood on the ledge for a while after you disappeared from view, going over your words in his head. Precognition. Did he somehow know he was going to meet you? Was he meant to meet you?
Before you came into his world, Bob Floyd had felt... something. He could never quite shake the feeling and it was always there, in the back of his head, like life was never perfectly complete. No matter how good things were, how exciting a new relationship felt or the rush of that new promotion, a piece of him yearned for something he could not quite place.
That was until this morning, when he drove into town. The sun drummed down on the car and the aircon had long stopped working.
Roxy complained about the heat, and she swore it suddenly got worse as soon as they got onto the island.
"I can't take it anymore, Bobby, I need water." she whined. Bob sighed, they weren't far from their Bed and Breakfast, but he knew he'd be in for a long evening if he didn't appease her now.
Bob pulled the car up alongside the curb, a small convenience store nearby.
"I'll be back in a sec." Bob mumbled as he got out of the car.
He walked down the curb to convenience store, but as he passed a small alleyway that led down towards the docks, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He stopped suddenly and he watched you through the window of your store, laughing and chatting away as you restocked the shelves.
He didn't realise he was moving until he was crossing over the threshold and the bell jingled, snapping him out of his trance.
The moment you turned to face him, the feeling of something missing suddenly disappeared, and for the first time in Bobs life, he felt he was exactly where he needed to be.
_____________________________
It was a few days later when you saw Bob again, only this time he hadn't spotted you first, and so you hung back as he walked out of the Bed and Breakfast, Roxy hot on his tail.
"I told you I'm sick of this place. We've been here 4 days and we haven't done anything! I want to go home." She demanded, dropping her already packed suitcase, and crossing her arms across her chest.
Bob rolled his eyes and turned to face her, "Look, if you want to leave, then take the car and I'll get a Greyhound or something. I'm not ready to leave yet, Rox."
"Why? What's so special about this place?"
Bob was about to answer, when he spotted you out of the corner of his eye, and turned to make eye contact. You smiled awkwardly as you pretended not to eavesdrop, browsing the colourful bouquets in front of ‘Mrs Montgomerys Floristry and Cupcakes’. You tried to appear busy and uninterested.
Roxy noticed the small interaction, and shot you a glare. You didn’t blame her, you seemed to be everywhere they were.
“Get in the car, Robert. We’re leaving, now.” She demanded, snatching the keys from his hand. She opened the trunk of the car and lobbed her suitcase inside, slamming the trunk shut. Bob didn’t move.
She opened the drivers side door and stood waiting for him to move, but he stood in front of the car and shook his head.
“I’m not leaving yet, Rox. To be honest I think it’s better if you go, if you’re not enjoying yourself.”
“And leave you to do what, exactly? Huh?” She shot you a glance again, and this time you decided it best to walk inside the florists and out of sight.
“Is there something going on here that I should know about?” She pried further.
“No, Roxanne. I just… I need a break, and I like it here!” Bob shot back defensively. “I never asked you to come in the first place.”
Roxy bit back a hurt chuckle, “Okay, sure. Well I’m sorry for thinking maybe you’d like your girlfriends company on your random-ass road trip, Bobby! But if that’s how you feel, I’ll go. See you at home.” She mumbled, climbing into the car and slamming the door.
Bob watched as she drove away, and he felt guilty. There was something going on, he didn’t mean to lie, but he didn’t know what it was himself so how was he meant to explain it to her?
He sighed and brushed a hand through his long, sandy hair, a silent war raging inside of him.
He suddenly remembered you were stood watching the entire fiasco, and turned towards the florists find you.
Inside the florists, you browsed through the colourful arrangements. You really should get something for your mom, she loved fresh flowers at the dinner table, but never wanted to pick her own. Her garden was too precious.
The door opened and you tried not to pay any mind to whoever walked through, already feeling nosy enough having eavesdropped.
You picked up a mini bouquet of lavender and baby’s breath which you thought would go well in your room, when you felt a hand on your arm, an electric shock jolting through you. You dropped the bouquet and Bob immediately dropped down to his knees to pick up the scattered flowers.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you. I… I just wanted to apologise for what happened out there. I don’t make it a habit to have arguments in public.” He chuckled nervously.
You dropped down to help him pick up the bits of lavender. “Don’t apologise, I shouldn’t have been listening in the first place. I might have made it worse by being there.” You mumbled, your eyebrows furrowed.
Bob looked up at you and bit his cheek. He wanted to tell you that if anything you made it easier for him to tell Roxy to leave, but he knew exactly how bad that sounded, and shook the thought from his mind.
You stood once you’d finished bundling the flowers back together, and looked at Bob for a long moment. Bob nodded awkwardly and turned to leave.
“Do you wanna come over for dinner tonight?” You blurted out.
Bob looked surprised, but a smile suddenly spread across his face. “Sure, that’d be great, thank you. What time?”
“Any time after 6 will be fine, we tend to eat late but we can have some drinks when you get there.” You grinned. You were so going to hell.
“I’ll see you then.” He grinned back, and walked out of the store.
You smiled to yourself and bit your lip as you walked over to the counter to pay.
“Hi Bart, just these two please.” You said as you plucked a yellow arrangement from the nearest shelf.
The door suddenly flew open again and Bob stuck his head through the gap with a slightly amused expression on his face, “Uh… I just realised I don’t know where you live.” He chuckled.
“Oh, right, yeah sorry. Bart have you got a pen and paper I could use?”
Bart slid over a notepad and pen and you drew Bob directions to your house.
“Thanks Bart.” You smiled, and handed the paper over to Bob. “See you later, Robby.”
Bob went bright red and disappeared, you turned to Bart to pay and toted your flowers up the hill to get ready for dinner.
———————————
“Bree I told you I’m going visit your grandma to pick up the last of your dads stuff before she moves, I can’t host a dinner party tonight.” Your mom huffed, running around the kitchen to pack the last of her things before she left for the week.
“You don’t need to be here, I’m just letting you know there will be company so can you… ya know, hide your spellbook and anything creepy?” You joked with her as you chopped a carrot and threw the little cubes into a pot.
“The only creepy thing I have is you.” She joked back, kissing the side of your head. “Alright, I gotta go. I love you and call me if the house burns down… after you call the fire brigade.”
“Ok love you! Drive safe!” You called after her as you licked sauce off of your thumb. You did a little jiggly dance at the taste, you were so good!
You were excited for Bob to come over, but you were a little nervous. He was, after all, off bounds. A taken man, but you found yourself getting giddy every time he was around.
You threw ingredients into the blender for your margaritas later, and went upstairs to change as the food simmered.
You flicked through your wardrobe and tried on a few different outfits, eventually deciding on a long sleeved mesh black dress, with a small cami dress underneath.
The sound of a broom clattering onto the tile floor downstairs alerted you that Bob was near, and the hair on the back of your neck stood up. Your blood felt electric.
Running down the stairs, you scanned the house quickly to make sure there were no spellbooks or anything out of the ordinary on display, before making your way to the kitchen to stir the pot on the stove.
The doorbell rang and you quickly picked up the fallen broom and went to answer it.
You opened the door and your breath was knocked out of you. Bob looked beautiful.
He had his hair tucked behind his ears, little curls poking out below them, and a white shirt which he unbuttoned slightly, his toned, tanned chest slightly on display. Did he know what he was doing to you? He held a bottle of wine which you took from him and placed on the hallway table.
“You looked… beautiful.” He breathed
You bit your lip to stop the grin that would surely threaten to split your cheeks, and invited him in. Bob hugged you, and you felt the electric shock run from his fingertips through to your waist. You pretended not to notice but you could see Bob was surprised.
“You look great yourself.” You said softly, distracting him. “Shall I open this now? We can have margaritas later if you like.”
“Yeah that sounds like a plan.”
Bob followed you into the kitchen and you uncorked the wine, pouring two glasses for you and Bob.
He sniffed the air and wandered over to the pot of food.
“That smells great, what is it?”
You chuckled as you walked over and handed Bob his wine. “It’s just a vegetable stew, we grow a lot ourselves. I’m also baking some bread to go with the sage and rosemary butter, hope you don’t mind.”
Bob stared at you for a moment, an expression of curiosity and awe awash his face.
“What?” You asked, suddenly shying away from the intensity of his gaze, “Have I got something on my face?”
“No.” Bob laughed, “This is just…”
“Too much?” You worried.
“It’s perfect. You didn’t need to go through all of this effort for me though.”
“It’s no effort, I enjoy it.” You smiled, sipping on your wine. The two of you stood for a second in silence next to the stove, and you realised you were drifting dangerously close to Bob. You took a step back and pulled in a deep breath.
“So dinners gonna be another 20 minutes or so, do you wanna go outside and drink in the garden?” You asked, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Yeah I’d like that.”
Bob followed you out into the garden where you’d set up a little table and two chairs, the sky hadn’t darkened yet and the sun was just beginning to dip over the sea, casting a bright golden light over everything in its path.
The way the sunset made your eyes and skin glow took Bobs breath away.
You sat down and made polite conversation for a while, but your eyes kept drifting to the exposed skin on his chest, and the veins that ran down his forearms. You caught yourself more than once imagine what his lips would feel like against your-
“Bree?” Bobs voice snapped you out of your dirty daydream. “Are you okay?” He looked worried, you must have really zoned out.
“Yeah! I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
Bob grinned, “I was just asking what kind of music you liked.”
“Oh, well… all sorts, I don’t really have a favourite, but I have got a lot of Fleetwood Mac on CD.” You laughed.
“I love Fleetwood Mac.” He mused.
“Wait here, I’ll grab my CD player.” You grinned, and you sprinted towards the house.
You rifled through the storage cupboard and pulled out your old CD player and some new batteries, and checked your Rumours CD was still inside.
You walked outside and placed the player on the porch, and pushed play.
‘You Make Loving Fun’ began to play through the tinny speakers, and you laughed.
“I promise I didn’t pick this song.” You sat down as Bob began to sing along to the song.
You groaned, “You actually know the words?”
“You bet your pretty little self I know the words.” He grinned, standing from his seat and holding out a hand to you.
You eyed him cautiously, but decided to take his hand anyway, and he pulled you to your feet, the electricity buzzing through your veins.
He gently slid a hand around your waist and pulled you into him as he began to move to the upbeat song as he sang.
“I never did believe in the ways of magic, but I'm beginning to wonder why! Don't, don't break the spell. It would be different and you know it will. You, you make loving fun! And I don't have to tell you but you're the only one.” Bob sang along, his voice as playful as the expression on his face as he twirled you around and pulled you back to him. You laughed, and couldn’t help but sing along.
You were both in fits of laughter by the time the song came to an end, you playfully shoved him away as you fought to catch your breath.
“Don’t quit your day job, Bob Floyd.” You grinned, as you continued to move slowly on your own as Rhiannon began to float through the speakers.
Bob stood watching you, a smile plastered across his beautiful face as he enjoyed the way your body swayed and twisted softly in the golden sunlight.
“You’re something magical, you know that.” He said earnestly.
You stopped and turned to face him.
Bobs expression was now a mixture of desperation, sadness and adoration. You weren’t in control when your legs began to move you towards him, or when you grabbed him by the collar and pulled his lips to yours.
Something otherworldly was at play in that moment.
But you weren’t pulling away either.
————————————
- Chapter 3 Here -
I don't have a Taglist for this series but I will be updating my Masterlist as I go! <3
#lewis pullman fanfic#lewis pullman x reader#lewis pullman#robert bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd fic#robert bob floyd#bob floyd#bob floyd fanfiction#bob floyd imagine#bob floyd x you#top gun bob#robert floyd x you#robert floyd x reader#robert floyd#practical magic#top gun maverick#magic#witchcraft
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