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kaicubus · 11 months

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Golden Hours | Urogi

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warnings ✩° : 18+ smut, fucking from behind, size difference, sex with a demon obvi, cursing, calling reader toy names, creampie, a bit of a breeding kink, cervix kissing, possessiveness, praise praise praise, consensual sex, treating reader like a toy/ragdoll, biting and marking.

pairing ✩° : urogi x fem hashira!reader

premise ✩° : in your chance to flee from hantengu, his most happiest clone ends up finding you. with the ground nor air being safe from his territory, you’re met with the chance to fight him mid air, but quickly realize that your life is nothing but a toy meant to be played with. to him, some toys are meant to break.

word count ✩° : 5.9k (holy shit)

authors note ✩° : 3/4 LETS MAKE IT BACK HOME SOON!!! i realized ive never explicitly said that these clones are taller than the reader, but they are. i figured it out btw and from now on you guys are my succubabes or succubabies depending on which one i feel, so no anon its just...succubabe...yk?

©kaicubus do not steal

part one here!

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Was this the same demon from before? There was no way. The demon standing in front of you looked no where near as miserable as he did before. Rather than a look of dejection and fear, the demon smiles, his golden eyes glistening with delight. You’re unable to look away from his horns and golden eyes as his smile just grows wider and wider. Was it really the same demon who was crawling on the ground before?

Except, only now, this demon had the ability to fly. The ground was no longer safe, and that meant on all levels, you were certainly not. Upon looking closer, the demon’s feathered, burgundy wings weren't the only avian trait he had as his arms were replaced by a talon-like appendage complete with a soft, yellowish, scaly texture. There was only one clone Hantengu was capable of creating that looked like this, and it was Urogi, the demonic representative of joy.

The mere sight of his demonic appearance makes your chest tighten. How could there be such a beast hidden inside a frail, old man? Urogi was tall, boisterous, and smiled so wide, you’d think that was his natural face. He was nothing like Hantengu, which all the more frightened you. With open, golden eyes, his stare is similar to that of an eagle, hyper-focused and tactile.

Urogi also seemed to jingle when he walked, or at least stood still since he appeared to be studying you from afar. With only black pants and a chain of yellowed pearls around his waist, Urogi’s wings flutter, giving you only a second to leave the ground before he wraps his arms around you and flies upwards. You scream out as the wind cuts your face, using a natural force so strong it blows your sword right out of your hand. One glance at the demon wrote your fate, and you could tell he wasn't planning on letting you down at all. His yellow eyes instantly meet your scared, frightful ones.

Seeing the horror on your face, Urogi laughs, showing off his razor sharp fangs, “Oh~! I caught myself a cute one! Aren’t I lucky today~!” He says and tosses you up for a second, “She’s so small! Wow~! No horns, no wings, you’re a human, aren’tcha? What a lucky find!” He can barley contain himself.

You scream in response, clinging onto his exceptionally muscular arm in hopes to pierce his tanned skin with your nails to do any sort of damage, “LET ME GO! LET ME GO! UROGI!” You curl your fists and try delivering several blows to his back, but he doesn't seem the slightest bit bothered. Urogi just continues to laugh.

“What’s that? You want to be let down? But we’re having so much fun! Why stop?” The demon catches you in his arms and squeezes you tightly, “I bet you just want to go higher, right? Then let’s go!” He flies higher and higher, removing the noises of all your screaming and replacing it with thick sounds of ‘fwoomp!’ ‘fwoomp!’ ‘fwoomp!’ of his browned wings, each time getting louder than the next. You try to kick and scream, and fight back most of all, but to Urogi, it only seems like you’re having the time of your life. So he flies higher, higher than the trees, higher than the mountains, and higher than the clouds.

You can feel yourself getting dizzier by the second thanks to his speed and fondness of swirling in circles. Maybe you could somehow cut off his wings? Boil him in a hot pot of water and cook him? No, it was impossible to even get a look on this guy. He’s too fast.

“Wahaha~! How delightful! I haven’t felt the air like that in so long. I almost forgot how fun that was!” His grip tightens around your hand, taking the opportunity to lock his talons between the spaces of your soft, now sweating hand. The slightest bit of strength could send streams of blood running down the creases of your palms, that’s the part that makes your blood run cold. Urogi keeps you in his hold, similar to that of a death grip, gripping onto its prey.

“L-Look!” You shriek, managing to catch your breath, “Urogi, right?”

The demon slows down and looks at you now hovering in the air, his eyes glowing in the night sky, “That’s me!” He chirps, “How do you know my name, human? Oh, could it be? You’re one of those hashiras? Demon slayers?” Urogi asks and suddenly tosses you in the air, adjusting his hold on you when he catches you again. Now, you're directly against his chest, up close and personal with the demon who you’re sure is about to kill you.

“That’s right! B-But, you want to live right? Fly around some more? I can make that happen. My name is Y/n and—”

“You’re a human! But you’re so...small. I’ve never seen someone like you around, did you come all this way to find me?” Urogi swoons and twirls around again, making you scream, “For some reason, I really like that. I like how you scream like I’m going to kill you! It makes me so happy.”

You hold onto the demon, clinging onto his shoulders and staring at him in shock. Only now do you realize how, pretty? he looks.

“I’m not going to drop you! I’m nice with my toys, don’t you trust me?” For your sake, you had to trust him, so you nod, “That’s good, I’m glad you do. But you see, Y/n, the thing about me is that...you shouldn’t really go doing that. But it’s so fun to make humans think they can trust me! But, you are different. You’re my favorite. You stayed this long, right?” You nod again and look up at the demon, who’s still holding onto you with his talons biting at your flesh.

Happy with your answer, and blind trust, a grin spreads across his face and his golden eyes widen owlishly, letting his tongue fall loose and hang off his bottom lip, offering you the sight of his branded kanji before he says, “Kidding.”

Then, he lets go. Just like that, the demon watches you slip from his grasp, black pupils constricting into a much smaller size just to focus on the image of your body quickly falling through the misted clouds, out of his vision. Up until this moment, you’ve never been this close to dying. Your heart pounds inside your chest, which feels to be concaving due to the newfound pressure slamming down on you.

There was no right way to fall from this height. Back, front, side, would all result in some sort of injury to your human body, but you had to choose one. If you manage to get lucky, you’d ideally fall on a bush or patch of leaves to cushion your fall. Better yet, the trees could catch you. However, you’ve lost sight of the laughing, winged demon, which only meant one thing. Ground was soon approaching.

With only a second to spare, your eyes widen and you manage to spin yourself around to see what you could possibly land on, but at that time, it was too late. Before you knew it, your body had completely landed on cold, hard dirt, rocks and smooth pebbles hitting directly into your skin, thankfully being protected by the thick fabric of your hashira uniform. Your arms and legs were now sprawled out away from your body, face well planted into the ground for only a little before you gasped out for air.

Even if it were any other hashira higher or lower than you, no one could’ve survived that fall. But for some reason, you did. Still, the pain was unbearable and it feels as though several of your bones had broken upon impact, but none actually were. Only a few cuts, scrapes, and bruises blooming around your otherwise perfectly normal skin. Now wasn’t the time to appreciate life, or writhe in pain, but to pay attention and turn around before Urogi returned to bat you around like his next meal.

But your speed is no match for his. Suddenly, a force lands directly on top of your back, causing you to choke out once more. Only this time, you knew exactly what the force was.

“Wow~! You survived from that high up? I knew you wouldn’t break. That’s why I want to play with you even more!” Urogi laughs and places his knees on either side of you, caging you down. With your back facing his chest, you can’t see anything. Which is just another disadvantage, the main one being your position right now. Instead of leaning down to talk to you on the ground, Urogi picks you up so that you’re on your knees, bending your back to be extra close to his newfound toy. “You smell so sweet, Y/n, I could just eat you up~! I haven’t eaten a human in so long...I really miss the taste...do you think I could try? I’ll be gentle~”

Before you could say anything, the sharpness of Urogi’s ivory fangs sink into your shoulder, sending a full body jolt of electricity down every single nerve you have. But it doesn’t feel bad at all. It’s too much to process, that you don’t even realize that a small noise escapes from your throat. Neither does Urogi, until,

“Mmfgh!” the muffled noise returns, louder when he suckles on the sensitive area. Only then does Urogi stop entirely, leaving you both in silence.

Your face flushes a bright shade of red full of embarrassment. If you could crawl into a deep, dark hole and die, you would without zero hesitation. As if it couldn’t get any worse, Urogi spirals into a fit of laughter and lets his head fall back, black hair falling onto his bare shoulder, “Hah? Did I catch that right? Was that...no, it can’t be.” The demon returns right back to your ear, pressing his grinning face against your heated one, “Did you like that? You liked it when I bit right here?” His tongue greets your shoulder once more, flicking the tip of it over the bite wound, causing you to yelp out again. Now, Urogi was certain, you liked this, and better yet, you liked him.

“I-I—” You struggle to form words. The thought of coming up with a lie on the spot only made the growing heat surging in your stomach swell, there was no way you could muster out anything but a low breath of indecisiveness.

”I thought it was just the thrill of being up in the air! But your heart speaks other wise. It went, bump, bump, bump!” Urogi laughs and presses his lips against the side of your face, planting a quick peck to catalyze your reaction harder. With each ‘bump’, he laughs more.

Now more than ever you wanted to kill him. It was bad enough having him laugh at your capabilities to fight, but now laughing at your body’s betrayal and inability to hold back when you’re turned on? He had to be the most annoying clone you could’ve gotten when you sliced off that sad excuse of a demon’s head. Urogi was so close to you though, it was impossible to think of anything other than his pounding chest, thick scent of sweat and musk, and firm arms hugging either side of you. Let alone the fact his hakama pants lack any structure or lining, making it very easy to tell that he’s very happy with you right now.

You bite your lip, too shy to admit the truth that you could possibly feeling something other than immense hatred towards a demon, but Urogi knew. Deep down, it made him beam, which reflected in his obvious, signature toothy grin. He always knew what you wanted.

Much to your shock, you don’t resist when Urogi’s chin fits ontop of your shoulder, rolling back your skin and hair to watch your expression when his hands travel inside your uniform. Sharp, claw-like finger nails trace send shivers up your body, feeling the spongy texture of your flesh accepting his cold touch. You suck in a short breath, not getting used to how bright his eyes are, but when you least expect it, he lets his excitement get the best of him and ends up tearing your white shirt to shreds and buttons flying.

“Urogi.” His name leaves your mouth as a hushed warning, prompting the eager demon to look up at you, “Please be more gentle with my things!”

From now on, you keep watchful eyes on the overly excited demon, not daring to look away in hopes of catching him if he does something violent. But, to your surprise, he doesn't. Urogi watches how your body involuntarily inches back into him as he massages circles into the smoothness of your chest, swirling the tip of his nail in light, thin strokes.

He looks strong, but he knows as a human, he’s supposed to be gentle with you. With all his experience with fighting, he’s well aware of the limits he’s allowed to push before he breaks someone. That’s why he’s so eager to play with you. No one has ever wanted to be played with by him before or even survived from a height that great before.

“I can’t wait...” He giggles to himself and tears your shirt further, exposing your breasts to the open sky, and more importantly, to him. “You're so beautiful I’m so excited to get started with you!”

Urogi eagerly leans forward and hugs you tightly, the softness of your chest easily falling into the palm of his claw-like hand. It’s cold for a bit, but quickly heats up when your body does.

His claws begin to knead your supple skin, feeling your tender breasts move in the same circular motion of the palms of his claws. It’s so cold, yet the feeling itself makes your body surge with heat. Not to mention that it doesn’t take long before Urogi discovers your nipples, appearing just as small buttons to him to press, squeeze and tug at, which would in turn give him the same sweet, high-pitched whimper he was already growing so fond of.

Urogi chirps happily and kisses the side of your neck again, licking his branded tongue just below your ear lobe, “More…I like it when you do that.” He rolls your nub between his claws again, causing you to jerk forward and cry out just a little louder, “It’s so cute~ I could listen to it all day~ Such a cute noise from such a cute human~” His voice is soft, yet still energetic and bouncy like normal, “Hehe...poke poke! Does it feel good here? Or here?” Urogi’s wings thrust him forward into the curve of your ass, making you fall forward a little bit before he cups your breast again, holding you closer to his chest.

He was toying with you, pushing your buttons just to make you squirm. Sure, it embarrassed the hell out of you, but it also made you incredibly horny. There was no way out of it. With his hands invading all sorts of personal space, your mind starts to wander into depths you’ve never thought you’d discover, like what it would be like to be fucked by a demon? Surely his strength would kill you, but Urogi’s smarter than that. He knows not to break his things, especially things he calls ‘precious.’

You flush hotly at the attention on your chest, and Urogi using you as a ragdoll didn’t help. But before you could get too used to his soft mumbling, pinching and squeezing at your nipples, and his palm rolling over your chest, Urogi stops and stands up, leaving you missing his strangely, warm touch. As if he knew what you were thinking, Urogi smiles and kisses your lips for just a second before pulling away. Now, you can’t see him. What kind of cruel game of hide and go seek is this?

“Might as well try something else while I’m here.” Urogi’s voice is low, sultry, and drastically different than before, just for a second. You turn around, currently in a warm embrace with Urogi’s arms locking you in place, and flash him a teary expression which only made him more excited to throw you forward onto the ground. Moving forward, Urogi places his hand on the small of your back and presses his open palm on your shirt, grasping the thin fabric in a tight bundle before ripping it right off you, along with your skirt. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, arching your brows in an expression that screams ‘stop ripping my fucking clothes apart!’ but you couldn’t exactly see Urogi. Instead, you arch your back as little, delicate touches scrape along your curves and thighs, making you instantly calm down.

“D-Damn.” The demon says, holding his wrist to his mouth, “I wish I got a hold of you sooner~ You didn’t tell me you’re wet down here~!” Urogi could hardly contain his excitement. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle for you, my precious hashira~”

Your face reddens at his tone. With his knees locked on either side of you, you squirm a little, letting the worst get the better of you, only dreaming of him being inside you. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this turned on. In fact, there wasn’t a time. It was only now. Under such a sadistic looking demon who practically feeds off of your embarrassment and worse, laughs at you. Urogi was so close to you now, you could feel his presence, giggling while he worked the waist band of his pants down, pulling it down to expose his what you could only guess was his cock. True to your suspicion, a simple glance from between your spread open thighs told you that what you were seeing was exactly what made your stomach knot.

Except, what you hadn’t expected was that Urogi was much bigger than you thought. His member was thick, had to be at least 8 inches, maybe more, but the mere sight of it made your mouth salivate, and your knees weak. His member was already hard, twitching in anticipation at the sight of your drooling, puffy pussy like it knew exactly where to go.

But Urogi waits for a bit with his cock in a tightly curled fist, grinning down with an open smile and arched brows, watching your hips bump back into him involuntarily and just so soft your ass looks.

“U-Urogi...” You mumble silently, looking over your shoulder back to him, “What are you waiting for?” Already, his newfound silence was making you nervous. Especially because you knew he was staring. Never in your life have you felt so exposed, with your ass high up in the air, slightly arched upwards with the help of Urogi’s hand, where there was no room to hide anything and everything was put on display to his hungry eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” The demon grins, placing the head of his sticky cock between your folds, earning a small gasp from your end. That was enough for Urogi to chirp with delight and pull your body forward.

“A-AHN!” You throw your head forward and grab onto anything, dirt, rocks, leaves, your own skin just to accommodate for his length. Drawing in a rattling breath, you open your eyes only for them to fall shut again whenever you try. Urogi’s member was practically splitting you open, thick veins pumping inside of your sticky walls without him even moving.

His cock sinks into you, filling your tight walls until you begin to whimper in protest. Even when you think he’s finally in, you look over your shoulder to see that there were still a few inches left of his blushed member still waiting to be buried inside your sweet pussy. Urogi can’t help but relish in how good you feel, his dick twitching inside you with a fascinated looking on his face, shocked and eager to see how much more you can take.

“I had no idea that a precious human like you could take this much!” Urogi pants, “You’re so small, i-it feels like you’re sucking me all in! What other surprises do you have for me?”

“Hol-ly shit. I-It’s just...so much bigger than I expected, Urogi...” You tell him simply, batting your dark lashes up at him, your fists curling into the cold ground below you.

“What~? Were you expecting me to be smaller? No way~! No way~! It’s not my fault you’re so small to begin with.” Urogi snickers, “Maybe you just can’t handle my cock, hm? Big, scary demon cock too much for a precious human like you?” He leans forward and pushes more of his length inside of you, grunting at the tight fit. You cry out, sweat forming instantly on your brow, and your heart threatening to leap out of your chest any minute now.

Within seconds, your body turned into flame. Your thighs almost instantly start to burn with desperation simply because of the way he moves with such passion and excitement. His burly arms twitch closer to your sides, using one of them to cup your breast again and squeeze it firmly, admiring how soft your skin is while burying his face deeper into your hair. Maybe it was a good thing you didn’t see him in this moment, because his reddened face, eyes squeezed shut, happily inhaling your scent would only turn you on more.

When did you start feeling this way? Especially towards your opponent? Especially towards a blood thirsty demon? Bloodlust was what you were taught back home, to be weary of a demon with extreme bloodlust. But no one told you how much more difficult it would be to deal with a demon with intense lust, period. Urogi caught you off guard many times, and even now, with his legs straddling yours, your face stuffed into your arms and your hips in the air, and his cock gradually making way into your insides, deeper and deeper by the second.

“S’too much! I-I can’t handle it-” You try to pull away but he keeps you still, not letting up on his robust grip and instead forcing every last inch of his hard on into your already throbbing cunt. Inch by inch, he buries himself deeper into you, using his thumb to hoist your waist up higher, just enough to slide your body onto his length better.

“It’s so warm inside you.” Urogi chirps, already panting with pure love and happiness in his mind. His talons dig into your waist, leaving pointed indents into your skin, the pain quickly becoming too much to bear. “I’m so happy~! I could stay here forever~ Holding you just like this, it really feels good to fuck you like this.”

His words make you realize that you have no sense of rational thinking left, your body isn’t even your own at this point. Overcome with the overwhelming feeling of his happiness crashing into you, your needy cunt squeezes down hard around the base of his pulsing cock, feeling how eager he is to fill you up the second his head kisses your sopping entrance. He was showing no mercy towards you, bucking his hips in different directions, experimentally testing to see which one you liked best, but didn’t pay attention to anything he liked because he liked them all. Hearing your voice and feeling you overstimulate him was enough for his satisfaction, he just wanted to enjoy the ride.

There was an unspoken agreement that Urogi had finally managed to squeeze his cock inside your pussy, stuffing every last inch of himself into your fluttering entrance. But what neither of you knew was that Urogi’s excitement would push his cock even further inside you, ramming past your velvety walls and right into the most tender spot he could manage to find.

“Urogi-nGH! FUCK! T-That’s too deep! S-Slow down, ah! Ah!” You can feel Urogi fuck his cock deeper into your abused cunt, despite your breathless concerns, but he fucked harder and more persistently, reminding you that that’s all they are. Concerns.

Urogi grabs hold of your chin and turns your face towards his, smiling at your fucked our expression. You had taken it for granted when you didn’t have to see the face that made you so vulnerably turned on, but now that you’re so close to him, you can’t avoid it. His name falls from your lips in a whisper before Urogi matches your glistening lips with his upturned ones, giddily initiating a sweet and tender kiss. There was no correlation between what his mouth was capable of and what his body was capable of, as his mouth was probably the sweetest thing about him, and his body the complete opposite.

The words, “Beautiful,” and, “Pretty,” come from under his breath, what would only be mindless praise and yet it ignites sparks within the depths of your core, that are enough for you to curiously grind your hips back between the lips of your soaked cunt, willingly taking more of him now more comfortably. You roll your bottom lip in between your teeth and exhale sharply, beads of sticky sweat gathering on your brow and forehead. How could anyone blame you for getting excited?

Urogi already treated you like a fuck doll, a toy only to be played with over and over again, with no concern of breaking it. But he also kissed you like he meant it, soon curling his branded tongue on top of your own, lovingly gulping down the saliva in your mouth, making polite slurping noises. All while pounding into you, his claws running up and down your stomach and chest.

“You taste so sweet,” Urogi coos and pecks your cheek, “So sweet my precious hashira. I’m going to fill you up so good you won’t even have to think about fighting anyone else anymore~ No one’s better than me, say it~?”

At that moment, you couldn’t hold back anymore.

A moan tears from your throat when you feel his length push past what you thought could never be reached, yet was so easily discovered by a demon by complete accident. Simply because he’s just too happy to realize it. You gasp out in shock and only continue to do so when Urogi’s hips quicken, now repeatedly prodding at the sensitive area, the head of his cock nearly splitting you open.

“Urogi! Ngh! Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck! U-Urogi~!” Hearing his name only makes him more happy, almost like adding wood to a burning flame, his smile grows wider and wider until he finally can’t handle it anymore and a pair of fangs bite right back into you, a place higher than before on the same shoulder. “MM!” You cover your mouth, and feel the brutal, raw strength of a demon abuse your pussy.

There’s a perfect mixture of pain from his cock wrecking your insides and hitting all of your sweet spots that leaves you speechless. You begin to sound almost strained as you choke back on your own breath from how you bite down on your wrist to hold back.

“You’re taking me so well. It’s like your body was made for me. That makes me so unbelievably happy~!”

Now it was clear. You adored being used. Being worshiped and loved, by Urogi and Urogi alone. Because he did so with such enthusiasm, in his strange yet exciting way, his cock now nudging the small, tender spot of your cervix in harsh movements, your sensitive walls spasm around his girth, causing you to cry out his name in multiple chants. Through teary eyes, you realize that your arms are now well decorated with deep, red layers of crescent marks, making your face hotter at the sight.

You love the feeling of shame and guilt swirling inside your head, and maybe it’s the confusion of if you should even be allowing something like this to even happen in the first place, but you absolutely love it. The feeling of having such a shameless demon fuck you senseless, or the feeling of finally getting the chance to be wild and free and partially in control. But the shame was overshadowed by the sheer feeling of love buzzing off of the demon, only thinking of what’s happening in the moment and how wet you are, dripping arousal from your oozing pussy and drooling saliva from your hung open lips. Urogi just can’t stop smiling.

“You're perfect,” You can barley hear what he’s mumbling, “So fuckin’ perfect! I’m so lucky!” His large hand places itself over your spasming abdomen, applying just the right amount of pressure onto the moving, aching bulge of his cock inside you. Now more than ever, his cock was heavy inside of you. Hot to the touch and so are you, which could only mean one thing.

You try to notice as many details as you could. His long hair, the way his wings flapped every now and then, and the way his pupils dilated in the pool of his golden eyes. You wanted to remember everything, especially the sound of his voice which had grown louder and more boisterous than before. If that was even possible.

Urogi can very well see the tears prick your delicate eyes, gathering globs of his overwhelming pleasure on the corners of your lashes threatening to spill onto your cheeks. Fully focused on the painful look of you struggling to not break, Urogi’s breath fans across your ear, nibbling on the shell of it, returning the same feeling you had gotten that started all this in the first place. “Look at you, taking me so well! It really is fun playing with a human~ but it looks like you’re so close to breaking, can’t hold on any longer, hhmmhm~?” He bites again.

“Nngh! S-So good-Urogi! M-MHMM! I-I’m not gon—fuck! U-Urog-hi!” You can’t even bring yourself to respond, hypnotized by the way his hips are drilling into you and how forcibly he’s moving. You can only scream out, anything goes, and hold out as best as you can. “Ngh! Hmm!” Suddenly, your body tenses up, freezing momentarily and squeezing his cock harder than ever. That’s what makes Urogi stop laughing and gasp out.

You can’t even bring yourself to say the words that would surely make his ego skyrocket, so you bite down on your arm and let his name fall out from clenched teeth. Urogi tightens his grip on your waist and chokes out, hips still thrusting into you sloppily, and hugs you tighter.

“So soon~? Ah, my precious hashira can’t take me anymore? Do you want me to fill your pretty pussy up? Poor poor human, I won’t even mind if you wanna go a second round? Or third?” Urogi laughs and stuffs his cock deeper into your fluttering hole, “Fourth? If we go five times I’ll surely be happy! Happier than anyone else in the world!”

His hair flops to the side, catching against his horns and throws his head back, turning into a rabid animal to which your body gladly accepts. He sucks in a breath at the feeling of your walls tightening around him, the warmth of your insides wrapping around him and refusing to let go just like he is. With an open mouth, Urogi groans your name, letting a thin string of drool fall down his chin, laughing when he looks back at you.

“You’re getting all tense, Y/n,” His golden eyes trail onto your back, slapping his hand over your ass, “You gonna break? I wouldn’t mind, promise!”

And break, you do. Under his hold, you feel a sharp force tighten low in your core, one final thrust of the head of his aching cock tears that knot in two and you finally scream out. With your perfect song piercing his ears, his hips buck up with ease, and he lets himself go. Warmth surges through your body as the demon’s hot liquid shoots inside of you, filling your sore, velvety walls up to the brim with cum. As you cry out louder, Urogi continues thrusting deeper, not even thinking to stop until he sees the mixture of the white, creamy fluid burst from out of your pussy and form a ring around his cock does he slow down.

With a chuckle, his eyes focus in and he settles, admiring the feeling of your sweet whimpers and even sweeter pussy clench onto him, twitching and oozing along with his cock spilling warm cum into you.

“Yes~! That’s it, fuck...mhm~” Urogi exhales, sticking his tongue out sloppily, “You’re amazing, just like that! My precious hashira’s so cute when she cums all for me~” You can’t bear it anymore. You stuff your face into your folded arms and whine out, tired of his constant praise and happiness, he finally reached a limit and now you were to embarrassed to even hear him. Urogi laughs at your response and pulls out entirely, watching the way his cock springs out inside of you, unintentionally slapping its weight against the curve of your ass just enough for you to twitch in surprise.

You bathe in his after glow, his golden hour, feeling the warm fluid gushing past your sore pussy lips and running down the inside of your thigh, some dribbling down the middle of your legs entirely. The sweet smell of sex and hot air panting from both of your mouths mixes into the cold, bitter night, making the scene weirdly comfortable, like you can stay there for longer if asked too. Just then, Urogi pulls your body to the side, flipping you over on your back, since he’s well aware you can’t do it yourself, and smiles down at you.

You hadn’t realized how much you missed seeing his face in it’s entirety. What was once smiling out of pure joy from seeing looks of terror and horror on your face, had turned soft and delighted, glowing with a dim light emitting from his squinted eyes and bright smile. You swallow nervously and look up at him through your lashes. His horns seem to be at their highest given your position, and he seems to be growing taller by the second. Urogi’s face isn’t at all calm though, he’s beaming with stray hairs scattering all over his head and sweating like he just got back from running miles, and his wings are fluttering as if they’re on edge from any small noise around him.

He’s panting breathlessly, and there’s a slight glisten to the tops of his thighs which you quickly look away from. He made such a mess out of you, yet he’s smiling about it?

“Wow~ That was fun.” Urogi exhales and pushes his raven colored hair up from his damp forehead, “Felt good, huh?” You nod your head and exhale in relief, “Well, my precious hashira, I guess that’s it then, right?” The demon pouts, smiling afterwards with a shit eating grin. You look up at him and part your lips to say something, but he cuts you off before you can. “You're free to go if you want. But I have a feeling you'd rather stay and have fun with me. Isn’t that right?”

He wasn’t wrong at all. How could you refuse?

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puppetmaster13u · 4 months

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Oh my god

it never even occurred to me that the League would have to deal with Broody!Batman holy shit-

I can 100 percent see the league being absolutely baffled by Batman’s behavior- I feel like some would be aware of the A/B/O traits, but not all.

Just imagine when Batman eventually decides they’re his Work Pack:tm: and starts to treat them as such.

He’s suddenly all touchy and tries to flaunt his role as Lead Pack Omega much to their confusion.

And for the ones with super senses? I feel like they wouldn’t get the nitty gritty details of scenting (Though beast boy most definitely does)

Clark would be so stressed out over that. What’s wrong with his best friend?? Why did Bruce suddenly going from smelling like nothing to smelling like sweet earth??? (The answer is Scent Blockers, Bruce just decided to stop wearing them so he could mark them as pack.)

Also them dealing with Batman immediately post taking in Dick??? Oh god they’d be so concerned because why is Bruce suddenly so flighty?? Why did he go from doing everything to the letter to I Need To Get Out Now??

And you know Bruce doesn't think to explain. Like everyone in Gotham knows about dynamics, it's Gotham after all. He even forgot to mention it to Dick when he first came to the manor, and he saw him literally every day.

And it's not like he didn't care about them before, but it was silent, more distant care. Adding an extra kitchen when Flash complains about his high metabolism, adding more stuff to the gym when someone mentions it, but never letting anyone know he was the one to do so.

He still does these things of course, but will also just drop gifts into their arms and laps. Gifts covered in his scent seeing as he's not around them as often as say, his Wayne Enterprises pack. Which he also doesn't see often but is probably helped by the fact of him not being the only one with a dynamic.

Gosh Bruce is definitely fighting with himself because he wants to share his pup with his pack(s) but he also wants to of course keep him safe. Meaning he has to keep him hidden and all that and there's also the issue of Dick not understanding the whole broodiness at first too.

And you know he's going to not vocalize any of this. And the broodiness definitely gets worse for a bit until the miscommunication between him and Dick gets fixed lol.

Love the idea of Clark just, forgetting the fact he's a journalist and can find this information if he researched Gotham lmao. He's smart until he's in the middle of worrying about one of his friends and the freak out takes over.

Definitely not helped by the fact that the rest of the league also freaking out and wondering wtf is wrong lol.

#ask answered #omegaverse #alpha beta omega #batman #dc #dcu #justice league #batdad #Clark: Is he sick? Hurt? DYING?!#Bruce: Hn... P A C K #Do you think his broodiness gets worse each time he gets another child lol #Like he just has to introduce his kids to their new sibling so get in the ever expanding nest #gosh imagine if bruce ever went into heat on a JL meeting and just #will not let them leave the Watchtower or ship or whatever unless he can figure out a way to bring them to his nest in Gotham lol #oh my god imagine when the JL members ever introduce their sidekicks/kids

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voldheart · 26 days

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Wait wait I just scrolled by a mutual that reblogged your Godseeker-Comic. Is that an AU? Is there more of this? This is so interesting! I have never seen Godseeker turning to be a part of Void. Mostly just always getting killed by it.

I hope you're doing more with this concept in one way or another because this is a really interesting idea!

ouuu thank you 🥺❤️ its not really an au, its more like my interpretation of a continuation to the embrace the void ending!! :D I think most people are not aware that she canonically doesnt die, and take the ending at face value.... its kind of hard to explain for me since even i am not 100% sure what exactly happens lol but i like to think that theyre perpetually linked or fused together in some weird way. and i feel that this result is pretty intentional from both sides.

Godseeker mentions that they seek gods to "clutch at their greatness and immortality", which i assume that with 'clutch' she means that these traits would be shared with the Godseekers through the "Godly focus" thing. And the knight, besides the fact that it proved its strenght against the local strongest beings, it posesses (via the Void Heart) the void under its will, which is literally said to be an "eternal" force that "denies time", ie immortal.

and this union of sorts would be beneficial for the knight as well, as it can go into Holy Beast mode at just about anytime it wants, which is a really awesome powerup if u ask me. That and also (in my headcanon) it does like her. very much :-)

#hollow knight #the knight hk #godseeker hk #this is also why i made their tag:#symvoidsis #LITERALLY UNION FOR LIFE OF TWO DIFFERENT ORGANISMS!!! BEING OF THE MUTUALISTIC KIND AS ITS BASED ON MUTUAL BENEFIT!!!!#i have soooo many thoughts about them that i really just dont know how to express in drawings #like how she could help on rebuilding hallownest with her ability to build devices out of nothing #her and monomon could be work buddies in this scenario (in this universe it would not have broken the seals btw)#she most definitely knows about leading a whole community out of misery too (land of storms)#and tk as the new monarch (ASSUMING that thats how the king's brand works) would most definitely need that sort of knowledge #as it was raised alone out there on the fucking wastelands it probably doesnt know much about leadership honestly #IDK I JSUT THINK THEY COMPLIMENT EACHOTHER SO WELL I JUST THINK THEYRE NEAT #ITS SUCH AN UNDERRATED DUO IN MY OPINION #'Mostly just always getting killed by it' LIKE FOR FUCKING REALLLLL THOUGH #I ALWAYS JUST SEE HER BEING KILLED OFF IT MAKES ME SO SAD #BEING A GODSEEKER LOVER OVER HERE IS SO HARD #tysm for the ask❤️ btw .i love talking about them hehe

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landwriter · 1 year

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Heya, I love your writing and taste in things.

I’ve finished (and loved) everything you’ve posted <3

Are there any sandman fics that have tickled your fancy lately?

Thank you so much!!! I sadly do not have time to read near as much Sandman fic as I'd like, but I have scoured both my memory and my bookmarks on AO3 (all twelve of them) and dug up some absolutely wonderful stories - hope at least one or two of these is new to you?!

I am probably a bit weird in this, but I don't bookmark fics I love (which is really nearly all I've read) insamuch as fics that have done something in particular that I think is so well-executed or clever or inspiring that I want to be able to study it like a creature in its own right. Usually these are stories that have the traits I admire most in fiction: economy of language, being very fucking funny, making me viscerally uncomfortable, or outright haunting me.

I loved reading all of them but your mileage may vary! Caveat lector like more than half of these are smut and/or violent so please check the tags against your own preferences. Several long-winded recs with excerpts and explanations under the cut:

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The Birthday of the Beast | @slythernim | Dream/Hob | T | 3.3K

Father Almighty, though I have long not been your servant, I remain your unmanageable son. Here on Earth, closer to Hell than to Heaven, as I celebrate perhaps the least holy of holy days, I must imagine myself like unto Lucifer more than as Michael, that he and I might together make of the darkness a place for humanity to grow. He blows out the candles.

Hob turns 666. Extremely fun fic by Nym that features incredible characterization within a very short space, Catholicism, Lucifer, and of course, gets a very special birthday gift. But you shall have to read the fic to see what it is. Read everything of Nym's, actually.

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New Mistakes | Anonymous | Dream/Corinthian | M | 3.2K

Dream slid his thumb into the Corinthian’s mouth, the one he shared with most, the one with which he commonly spoke. “Well?” he asked. “Are you fed?” The voice that came from his left-eye mouth buzzed like locusts. My lord, we are. The voice that came from his right-eye mouth dripped like honey. My lord, we can always be fed more. Dream pulled back, looking at the Corinthian expectantly. The Corinthian swallowed, running his tongue along his teeth. There was a faint blush on his cheeks, and Dream was unaccountably flattered. “My lord,” he said. “I wish to be good.”

Have read almost no Corintheus but this fic hits on so much that I find distantly intriguing about the pairing. Perfect dialogue, gorgeous rhythm. Wonderfully visceral. Absolutely bonkers nuts for repetition in threes, as I'm sure you know, and I love how it was used here.

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Lucy Locket | Anonymous | Dream/Hob and Dream/Hob/Corinthian | E | 17K

Five chapters (now with a new threesome added in late April, much to my delighted surprise!) of just fantastic roleplay smut that in-between all the sex is by turns incredibly funny and tender. Alternating Dream and Hob POV. As somebody for whom sexual roleplay has been my literal bread and butter on a professional basis, it shouldn't be surprising I am so fond of this fic - but it catches me out every time! Like a blow from behind, and I am winded. It is ridiculously hot and distressingly perfect all-through, and I would absolutely marry the author about it (sorry author if you're reading this). No excerpt because I cannot choose and will simply suggest that if you're up for kink that you go read it all at once.

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Public | @softest-punk | Dream/Hob | E | 1.1K

"Oh, darling," Hob murmurs, fingering the edge of Dream's delicate lace knickers. Dream feels his smirk against his jaw, bites his lip at the brush of a kiss under his ear. "You forget how old I am. I learned to fuck with an audience."

Every day I get closer and closer to needing to write Dream and/or Hob with vulvas; this may have been the fic that sealed the deal for me, I think. Ridiculously hot, and enshrined in my head forever for the line above. I learned to fuck with an audience. God! How good. A masterclass in the slutty drabble that nevertheless retains peak Dream/Hob characterization (I would argue that sex is in fact one of the best narrative vehicles for characterization and exploration of interpersonal dynamics...this bias is probably why nearly all these recs are so horny.) One day I will learn how to write proper smut in media res like this and not preface it with gratuitous plot.

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worship like a dog | @thewalrus-said | Dream/Hob | E | 2.5K

“Is it so inconceivable that I might love you?” Dream murmured, running his manicured nail down Hob’s cheek. Hob tried to speak, swallowed, and tried again. “No one ever has before,” he said. “No one but God.”

Hob is a priest. Dream is a demon, except he's not. Dizzyingly hot for so many reasons, with a delightful canon dialogue echo. And again, must stress this: Hob is a priest. Hob is a priest. Hob is a priest, go read it.

---

Safehouse | Anonymous | Hob/Corinthian | E | 5K

“I need a room. One without a door.”

The best execution of the sex pollen trope I've ever seen, with the worst men. Very, very good fic with a brilliant premise and unerring execution. World-building is done in such brief but vivid strokes - it feels like a 50K fic whenever I remember it, and I'm always surprised how short it actually is. Haunts me in the best of ways.

---

As well - these fics are well-known and well-loved - but some stories that are utterly wonderful and contain lines that haunt me weeks, sometimes months later - stories that rearranged my soul, lurched me closer towards writing for Sandman, and warrant mention even though I am SURE you have read them, include:

@moorishflower's iconic and beautiful Odyssey fic, maybe sprout wings was the first fic I commented on with my AO3 account, and among the best fics I've ever read in any fandom; slightly deeper cuts from Heather's oeuvre (if, for some reason you are not reading everything already) that I am obsessed with and have reread multiple times: vowel shift, most vain devices, an act of faith. Genius stuff and unbelievably gorgeous language. Just go read it all, honestly

@softest-punk's Shelter is one of the first Sandman fics I ever read, and is beyond lovely; if you have not read their entire deep and profoundly lovely back catalogue, I recommend Catching Up (quintessential Cecil deep tissue emotional massage), Delayed (or: my favourite kink and favourite Endless); Ferrous (vampires! bad men! ahh! ooh!); and I would of course be remiss and ungrateful to not mention self-abandon, and the confounding effects thereof, a 10K fic that perfectly answered my general question of how the three lads would actually get together once the Corinthian and Hob had started fucking (as narrative foils that deserve such treats)

@xx-vergil-xx's Hounds is an ongoing epic that has singlehandedly caused me more emotions than humanity has language for; it is ambitious in scope and sticks every landing. The world is alive and lovingly-detailed. The language is a poem. It is so smart, so beautiful, and so well-researched and built. It is a TEMPLE unto itself, and appropriately worthy of worship

I will also suggest you read absolutely everything by @that-banhus because she literally cannot miss and writes the loveliest, cleverest worlds. All of it.

#asks #gloam's sandman rec list #this is basically my fic rec masterpost lol #unfortunately i flatter myself about my good taste and cannot stop going on about what i love and why once given the barest excuse to start #the sandman #dreamling #corintheus #hobrintheus #COB #fic recs #it's not that i exclusively read fic ppl feel the desire to publish on anon #it's that what people publish on anon FUCKING SLAPS #spent far too long enjoying drawing this up and it still feels woefully inadequate #but it's a start #into either remarkable sandman fic or my id really

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theharrowing · 10 months

Text

One Day at a Time 🌙 1: I finally get to have you

Yoongi loves to help others. As a professional surrogate, he takes pride in using his body to help families bring life into this world, and love into their homes. But when his high school crush Kim Namjoon hires Yoongi to help him and his wife conceive, things get…precarious.

Or, Omega Yoongi gets bred by Alpha Namjoon and holy shit, does he fall in love.

🐺 Yoongi x Namjoon, established Namjoon x Wheein

🌙 word count: 19.9k

🌙 past acquaintances to lovers, a/b/o, mpreg, infidelity, angst, smut, eventual fluff, slash, nsfw, 21+

🌙 warnings: alpha/top Namjoon, omega/bottom Yoongi; Namjoon is married; Yoongi is a mess, and he cries a lot; a/b/o stuff (mating cycles, lots of scent stuff, wolf instincts, omega slick), angst (hormones raging, pining), a dash of ritualistic sex (it happens in the second act hehehe.)

🌙 note: hello, and welcome to my very first a/b/o fic! full notes on the index, but i wanted to thank @sailoryooons and @sweetestofchaos once more for all the help with this! reminder: infidelity is a big part of this fic, so if you’re not into that, you will not like this!!! take the warnings seriously!!! Yoongi is a mess but he's our mess and we love him. have fun!!!

🌙 written for one shot two shot fest

🌙 thanks to @neoneunnajimin & @sailoryooons for beta reading!

🌙 posted july 2023 | read on ao3

INDEX | NEXT

Yoongi never thought he would see Kim Namjoon again. Once he graduated from high school and the two of them went their separate ways – Yoongi to college in the countryside and Namjoon to marry the rich, pretty valedictorian – he hadn't expected their paths to cross. They had not, in fact, for nearly ten years.

The only time Namjoon ever fully acknowledged Yoongi was all those years ago in school, the week Yoongi first presented as omega. The news was a shock for everyone, most especially himself. Sure, Yoongi never saw himself as an alpha – preferring a softer, quieter life – rarely exhibiting dominant traits of any sort. But he anticipated the neutrality and normalcy of presenting as beta.

First were the hot flashes and overwhelming urge to bury himself in his softest, warmest cardigan. He hadn’t realized he was nuzzling his face into his sweater paws during math period until a classmate beside him asked a sharp, shrill, “What are you doing?” causing him to look up, confused and ashamed.

Yoongi had excused himself to the school nurse, worried he was coming down with some kind of fever, and he practically threw himself at her feet the moment a cramp radiated through his body, knocking him to his knees. He was certain he had food poisoning or some kind of stomach bug – what else could it have been? Certainly, he could not have been presenting as omega.

The nurse excused Yoongi from school through the duration of his first heat, which lasted about a week and a half. And the event itself was hell on earth, but nothing could have prepared him for returning to school. Somehow, everyone knew.

“A boy presenting as omega,” boys would say as they shoved Yoongi around, pushing him against lockers and towering over him like ravenous beasts. “That makes you worse than a girl.”

"He's pretty like a girl, though," one of the boys teased loudly.

“How does your dad feel?” they would ask in mocking tones – some of whom hadn’t yet presented, themselves. “Isn’t he ashamed of you?”

It was during lunch break that Namjoon – the tall, broad, handsome president of his class – came barreling around the corner and growled at those boys to get away from Yoongi.

“I had better not see any of you fucking whelps picking on him or any other omegas,” Namjoon roared, voice firm with authority with his chest puffed high, causing the bullies to scatter.

And although Yoongi had so much he wanted to say, when Namjoon asked if he was alright, all he could do in response was whimper a weak, “Uh-huh,” unable to find his words.

“I imagine this can’t be easy,” Namjoon finally said after a tense moment in the silent, fluorescent-lit hallway. “We can’t choose our circumstances, after all. But we can do our best with what we are given, one day at a time. Take care of yourself, Yoongi.”

And that was it; the only time his and Namjoon’s paths truly crossed. Yoongi would have been lying if he had said the event didn’t spark something inside him – the beginnings of a crush, perhaps – especially when he remembered the warm musk that wafted from the alpha with hints of sweet, kind tangerine and spicy, angry cinnamon.

But that was all it ever was…a crush. As soon as they graduated, Namjoon proposed to his girlfriend, and Yoongi left the city to pursue a life in nursing.

During the last few years, Yoongi has been working as a surrogate, assisting wealthy couples through their difficult times by lending his body to help conceive a child. Although it is always a bit awkward to be a presence in their homes, he enjoys the work. Yoongi likes to help others. The need to comfort and fix people is strong – overwhelming at times.

Naturally, when the call came to help one of the most affluent families in Seoul have a baby, Yoongi did not hesitate, nor did he know what to expect. He had, after all, left Seoul to live closer to his mom's small farmhouse near Daegu, and stopped worrying himself over who any of the wealthier families were.

So, on the car ride to town, when Yoongi read the names Kim Namjoon and Jung Wheein on the paperwork he almost did not believe his eyes. Surely, the Kim Namjoon and Jung Wheein he knew eight years ago could not be struggling with having a child. If anyone would have a happy, healthy, and typical family, he figures it would have been those two sweethearts.

“Earth to Yoongi,” a soft, stern voice calls, pulling Yoongi from his reverie.

Yoongi stands at the foot of the entrance of a rather impressive hanok on the outskirts of the city. He had spaced out during most of the ride, daydreaming about the only time he and Namjoon came face to face. Even now, standing at the man’s front door, he struggles to accept it, half expecting someone else to greet them.

“What does he do for a living?” Yoongi mutters under his breath as he joins his boss, a soft-spoken beta named Park Jimin, near the front door.

Jimin scoffs and shakes his head, causing his fluffy dark hair and shimmering silver earrings to wave back and forth from the motion, as he responds, “He’s the mayor, baby,” while placing a comforting hand on the small of Yoongi’s back – something he does when he expects Yoongi to overreact.

And overreact, he does.

“The may—“ Yoongi half-shouts before Jimin gently shushes him.

“But why—“ Yoongi continues, dropping his voice to a whisper, “—why didn’t you tell me? Jimin, why did you leave that detail out?”

“You know I love you because you’re the best, right?” Jimin asks, rubbing his palm over Yoongi’s back in circles, buttering him up before delivering the truth, as is his way.

“Right,” Yoongi responds slowly, nodding his head while his eyes lose focus on the cinnamon-brown wooden door before him.

“You’re sweet, caring, and very respectful,” Jimin continues, still very much not reaching the point. "Very discrete."

“Okay,” Yoongi huffs, “and?”

With a sigh, Jimin drops his voice lower and leans close, muttering, “I believe they asked for you specifically because you’re a man. They seem concerned about any of this reaching the media, so we have kept it all hush-hush, and I wonder if they do not want to be seen with a woman living in the house for the next year.”

“Oh.”

“The wife, she’s—“

“No, no, I get it,” Yoongi says, feeling a bit sullen.

Being chosen because he is a man is always a bit disheartening. Typically, as far as Yoongi can tell, it comes from the wife worrying that their husband may develop feelings for their surrogate, despite the process typically being a simple matter of collecting sperm and egg from each party and having them placed into Yoongi’s uterus using an in vitro process. At most, Yoongi has to stay in the homestead to carry the baby to term, sleeping with bedding that smells of the alpha of the house. Infidelity has never been an issue. In fact, most households treat Yoongi as if he hardly exists until the baby is finally born.

Yoongi performs his tasks dutifully and with the utmost care and respect, and for once, it would be nice to be recognized for his skills and abilities, and not for his gender. But, Yoongi grins and bears it. He is simply happy to be able to help.

“Ready?” Jimin asks, and Yoongi nods, feeling as ready as he could be, at this point.

Jimin removes his hand from Yoongi’s back, takes a step forward, and knocks on the door. And then they wait. A homestead this size must take a while to traverse through, and Yoongi crosses his hands over his tummy and twiddles his thumbs in anticipation, wondering if Namjoon will even recognize him.

When the door opens, a tall unfamiliar man with wide, curious eyes and short, somewhat wavy dark brown hair greets them with a bow of his head. For a split moment, Yoongi almost wonders if this could be Namjoon – if the names are merely coincidence. But then Wheein – the Jung Wheein Yoongi remembers from all those years ago, with long, dark hair and curious almond eyes – pops up from behind the man and smiles widely, waving them in.

Jimin enters first, then Yoongi, kicking off his sneakers and following as Wheein leads the mystery man, Jimin, and Yoongi through a foyer, past a kitchen, and into what looks like a study. The four of them take a seat on soft purple cushions around a large, low wooden table with a teapot and four cups in the center, with Wheein across from Yoongi and Jimin to his right.

“Min Yoongi,” Wheein beams as she sits high on her knees and reaches over the low table, emitting a calming bouquet of lavender.

Yoongi offers his hands to her, smiling as she takes them and squeezes them between both of hers. There is an unmissable sadness in her eyes, but she smiles widely as she pats his hands before letting them go.

“When I read your name on the list of potential surrogates, I just knew it had to be you,” she continues, taking Yoongi by surprise. He and Wheein have never, to his knowledge, said a word to one another.

“You did?” Yoongi asks, deep voice trembling slightly as he settles his hands over his knees.

Wheein nods enthusiastically while the man to Yoongi’s left begins to pour tea for the four of them.

“I just had a feeling. You went into nursing, right? You like to help others?”

With a demure nod, Yoongi says, “Yes,” surprised to find Wheein remembers him, and that she knows details of his life. He dreads the thought that Namjoon might, as well.

“I just knew you would be perfect for us,” she continues as her eyes travel to the man sitting at Yoongi’s left. “Don’t you think so, Jeonggukie?”

The man nods his head once, eyes fixed on Jimin as he mutters, “Yes, Wheein-ssi.”

“This is our in-house help, Jeon Jeongguk,” Wheein says, patting the hand of Jeongguk, who responds, “Lovely to meet you,” without taking his eyes off Jimin.

Yoongi mutters a greeting under his breath but does not bother trying to get the man’s attention; he is more than aware of the effect Jimin has on others. Instead, Yoongi picks up his small ceramic tea cup and holds it to his lips, blowing on it slightly before taking a sip. The faintly-earthy taste of herbs and leaves covers his tongue with warmth, instantly soothing at least some of his worries. Certainly not all of them.

“Sorry Namjoon couldn’t join us,” Wheein says with a hint of annoyance in her voice, cracking a smile that looks forced and does not reach far. Earthy, bitter hints of patchouli hang in the air as she chuckles under her breath as she mutters, “Gods forbid he leaves his precious office for one fucking meeting with our surrogate.”

Yoongi shifts on his knees and takes another sip from the cup. Meanwhile, everyone around him lifts their cups to drink, and he is relieved to see Jimin’s spell on Jeongguk seems at least temporarily be broken, allowing the three of them to have a conversation with Jeongguk present and quiet.

“I figure that for the first week, you’ll stay by my side and bond with me a little,” Wheein begins, surprising Yoongi with how suddenly she wants to get down to business, “and then we’ll knock you up and have you stay in a guesthouse that is scented like Namjoon so that the baby knows who his or her daddy is.”

“Pretty standard stuff,” Jimin mutters beside him, and Yoongi smiles as he nods along.

Wheein’s candor feels welcoming to Yoongi. The last two couples he worked with were rather depressed and embarrassed to need assistance with having a baby. It is his hope that, in the next ten or eleven months, he and Wheein can become close friends, making his stay in the large homestead a little less lonely.

"Do you remember Namjoon at all?" Wheein asks eagerly.

Yoongi glances over the teacup that he holds near his mouth, breathing in its comforting aroma, and he screws up his face just slightly enough to seem impassive as he shrugs and says, "The name sounds familiar. Perhaps when I see him, I will remember."

A lie, of course. If Yoongi thinks hard enough, he can remember precisely what Namjoon smelled like the day they spoke. He thinks, faintly, that Namjoon may have even had a mole or two on one of his cheeks, and has never forgotten his dimples.

"Do you need some time to consider the job, or would you like to move in tonight?” Wheein asks once the four of them have had a chance to discuss specifics a little more and finish the pot of tea. “We will want to go over a few specifications on the contract once everyone is here, but it should be pretty standard."

"I can move in right away," Yoongi says without giving it any thought. The sooner they get started, the sooner it can be all over with, he reasons. He already has a suitcase packed and waiting in the car.

"Wonderful," Wheein says as she stands and waits for Yoongi to do the same.

Once Yoongi is on his feet, Jimin bows and wishes him well, saying they will meet again tomorrow when Namjoon is around to go over the contract. Jeongguk leads Jimin back out to the front door, standing quite close and muttering quietly as the two of them leave the room together.

"I can't wait for the two of us to become best friends," Wheein says sweetly as Yoongi steps from the table and joins her at her side, allowing her to wrap an arm around his waist and pull him into a side hug.

The smile that creeps over Yoongi's lips is genuine, and he allows himself to be hugged, lifting an arm to delicately caress her back for just a moment. He familiarizes himself with her scent of lavender with hints of patchouli – sweet with an undercurrent of spice and wet soil.

Wheein leads Yoongi into a large kitchen and sits him at the tall white marble counter. Yoongi marvels at the blend of traditional and modern, with the general foundation of the hanok resembling what it may have centuries ago despite the marble counters and stainless steel appliances.

"Let's make a list of all the things you love to eat, especially when you are in heat and when you are pregnant."

Although Yoongi cannot imagine why he would need to accommodate a heat cycle, he rattles off everything he can think of, making sure bases are covered. There is a chance that his pregnancy cravings will be similar to those he gets while in heat, once they inject the little cub cells into his uterus and the growing begins.

He also makes note of some herbs that he needs to avoid in order to not counteract the heat-blockers he takes, and Wheein smiles to herself as she circles ginger, ginseng, and sage while adding three large exclamation marks next to the words to signify what he must avoid.

About an hour passes with Yoongi and Wheein chatting in the kitchen about food, being pregnant, and anything else Wheein thinks of. She is great company, offering Yoongi white wine and keeping his glass topped off as they talk. He feels hopeful about his stay in her house, looking forward to getting to know her more as she opens up.

And then Namjoon returns home, and things…shift. It is subtle, but noticeable. Wheein's voice quiets when the front door opens, and she keeps her eyes on the foyer once the sounds of shoes getting kicked off thuds one after the other.

"Someone here?" a deep, familiar voice calls, causing Yoongi's skin to break out in goosebumps, and Namjoon steps around a corner, stopping in his tracks when he meets Yoongi's gaze.

Namjoon is just as tall as Yoongi remembers, and quite a bit more built, chest and arms bulging against the thin white shirt that covers him, which is tucked into fitted grey slacks. His hair is overgrown into a bit of a dark mullet, and he shakes it from his warm, sharp eyes, only for it to fall back in place again.

"Oh," he says. "It's you."

Yoongi opens his mouth to respond, lifting a hand to wave, but Namjoon mutters, "Should the two of you really be drinking?" while walking in the opposite direction, toward a hallway that Yoongi surmises must lead to the master suite, or perhaps to an office. The familiar scent of warm musk wafts through the air, with faint hints of cinnamon, and as soon as it is there, it is gone again.

Wheein lets out a petulant, "Humph!" and grabs the bottle of wine, dumping the rest of its contents between their two glasses as if in protest to Namjoon's question.

Then, as soon as the man of the house is down the hallway and disappears into a doorway off to the left, her face brightens once more, and she continues asking Yoongi about childbirth as if nothing had happened. Wheein is a curious woman, eager to know every gritty detail from cell growth to carrying a baby to term. And although Yoongi finds the process a little disgusting, he gladly answers all of her questions.

Tipsy from drinking and only having snacked on crackers and tiny slabs of cheese, Wheein decides that the night is over once the glasses of wine are empty. She takes Yoongi by the crook of an elbow and leads him over to the hall in which Namjoon disappeared.

"Bedrooms are here," Wheein says, waving her hand in the general direction of five doors – two on either side of the hallway and one at the far end. "That one on the end—" she points straight ahead, "—is the bathroom. And this—" she places her palm on the first door on the right and presses it open, "—is your bedroom. The bedding smells faintly like Namjoon so that you can get used to it. Hopefully you don't find it too unpleasant. In the morning, Park Jimin-ssi will return and we will go over the contract."

Yoongi nods along, smiling while staring ahead at the bathroom door, trying to imagine which door on the left Namjoon went through. Not that it is any of his business – nor should he care – but he is…curious. The Namjoon he encountered all those years ago seems so different from the terse man who Yoongi hardly caught sight or whiff of tonight.

"S-sounds good," Yoongi finally responds, and Wheein pulls him into a half-hug from the side before letting him go and walking straight across the hall, opening that door just enough to slip inside, and closing it softly behind, taking the lavender with hints of patchouli with her.

Yoongi hesitates a moment – hovers in place and holds his breath as if to listen for any sound to come from Namjoon through that door. But all is still, and Yoongi shifts left to right on his feet before turning to the guest room and feeling around the wall for a light switch.

The room is furnished with a bed, bedside table, dresser and mirror, and a wall-mounted television. Beside the dresser is Yoongi's suitcase, which he surmises Jeongguk must have brought inside, and above the suitcase is a large window. Yoongi approaches his suitcase, lays it down, and unzips it, finding a set of light blue pajamas, and running his fingertips over the soft flannel material as he looks around, taking in the sight of his temporary home.

How did he end up here, he wonders. Standing in the mayor's home – Kim Namjoon's home – wine drunk with Jung Wheein, the valedictorian who Yoongi was certain until this point had never been aware of his existence.

As he sheds his clothing and gets dressed in the pajamas, sleep begins to claw at Yoongi, pulling his subconscious down, and making him want nothing more than to crawl under the covers. He picks his clothing up from the floor, approaches the dresser, and tosses the garments into a small pile in the corner.

Outside the room, he thinks he hears the sound of a floorboard creek, and he stands still, listening for more movement. Seconds pass, heavy and full of anticipation, and Yoongi could swear the scent of tangerine and warm musk fills his senses, making him sway slightly where he stands.

But then, he reasons that it must just be the bedding that Wheein said would hold Namjoon's scent, and he brings his drifting thoughts to a stop, making his way to the bed and pulling the pale yellow covers aside to climb under.

Only in his wildest dreams would Namjoon be in the hallway, filling the space with more of his calming scent, and Yoongi tells himself that he needs to snap out of it and come back to reality before he gets too caught up pining for a married man he hardly knows.

But, for now, he shuts his eyes and allows himself to imagine.

Yoongi is barely alert, sitting at the tall dining table nursing a steaming cup of black coffee when Namjoon enters the room in what Yoongi surmises is his standard work uniform of a white button-up tucked into grey slacks, taking a seat to his right. The coffee is peculiar, giving off an herbal scent that Yoongi cannot quite place, but it is not unwelcoming, and he gulps some down, feeling his nerves spike.

Wheein sits in front of him, and to his left, Jimin is present and far too perky and alert considering the ungodly hour, wearing a pair of wire-framed glasses that rest at the end of his nose and a white button-up tucked into black slacks. The house-help Jeongguk, who is dressed in all-black casual clothing, busies himself in the kitchen.

"Now that we are all here," Namjoon begins, voice hoarse and far deeper than Yoongi remembers, causing the little hairs on his arms to stand to attention, "we have the final draft of the contract to look over."

Namjoon slides a small stack of papers to the center of the table, which Jimin shifts forward to collect, and their scents collide somewhere in the middle – warm musk, lilacs, tangerines, and a salty hint of sea breeze. Yoongi feels a wave of dizziness hit him, and he sits back, letting his coffee cup thunk a little too hard against the restored wooden table.

A delicate hand reaches over, tapping him on the wrist and adding tangy patchouli to the ever-engulfing blend of aromas, and Yoongi's eyes snap upward to find Wheein smiling with her brows knit.

"Are you alright, my dear?" she asks, and Yoongi nods, swallows a lump, and mutters, "Fine. S-still waking up, I guess."

Heat prickles under every inch of skin that is covered with clothing, making Yoongi shift uncomfortably and yearn for cool air or a nice cold shower. It is almost as if a heat is coming on, which is impossible, because of the medication he takes to block it.

"The only order of business in this contract that should differ from how your company ordinarily proceeds," Namjoon continues, ignoring the exchange between Yoongi and Wheein, "is the method of becoming pregnant."

At this, Yoongi sits alert and turns to Jimin, who is looking over the contract with too trained of an expression. Something is absolutely off, and Yoongi's heart begins to pound wildly in his chest.

"D-different method?" Yoongi asks, feeling as if the room is spinning and too fucking warm.

"My family is very…let's say…traditional," Namjoon clarifies, and Yoongi turns to him with wide, worried eyes, only to find that he is staring ahead at the table with a somewhat distraught look on his face. "Any insemination and childbirth practices need to be performed as rituals to the old gods and the new…if you catch my drift."

At this, Namjoon's eyes lift, but to Jimin, across from him. Yoongi turns sharply and finds his boss looking up at Namjoon before his eyes trail to Yoongi. A cloying mix of calming aromas wafts from every side of Yoongi, and he practically gags on it.

"Yoongi, baby," Jimin utters softly – sweetly, as if he knows that the information he has for Yoongi is going to send him into a tailspin. Only, Yoongi is already in a tailspin because he has just been told that, in order to perform the duties which he has been hired to perform, he and Namjoon are going to have to— "Are you still with us?"

"Did you…do something to my coffee?" Yoongi asks against his better judgment, feeling nausea creep at a rapid pace, clouding his vision in the corners.

At this, Wheein slams her hands on the table and stands, sending her chair grinding backward while shouting, "What did you just say?"

"I'm s— I'm sorry," Yoongi tries, placing his palms face-down on the table and gripping tightly to the edge. He feels like he might vomit, and he needs to find his way out of this conversation.

"How dare you accuse us of such a thing!" Wheein continues, voice fading in and out as if Yoongi's head is bobbing above and below water.

"Sir," Jeongguk speaks softly, placing a hand on Yoongi's shoulder that feels too hot to the touch. "Could this reaction possibly be from the herbal blend?"

"H-herbal blend?" Yoongi asks, feeling panic quake through him.

Yoongi's mouth feels terribly dry, and he picks up the coffee, pulling it to his lips and gulping the tepid bitter liquid down. Perhaps he should ask for water instead, but his body is drenched, his mouth is parched, and he can hardly form his thoughts coherently enough to turn them into words. He can practically feel a new layer of sweat break over his forehead, and he sets the cup down with shaking hands while reaching up to push the overgrown dark brown hair away from his forehead.

Jeongguk hums and says, "The herbal blend that Wheein-ssi likes me to add to her coffee and tea contains extract of ginger, ginseng, and sage. I saw that on your list and assumed you would like more than what was added to your tea last night, so I gave you twice the amount."

The sweat that covers Yoongi goes cold, and he sits up suddenly, knocking the wooden chair onto its back in the process, glancing up at the occupants of the table to see if perhaps this is some joke they are playing on him. Jimin appears horrified, Namjoon stares down at the wooden table, and Wheein's eyes widen. She looks to Jeongguk with knit brows, shaking her head in small movements, and something in her expression suggests he should not have said what he just said.

"But, Wheein-ssi, your list—"

"Jeonggukah, those were items Yoongi was not supposed to consume!"

"But we want him to go into heat, so he becomes pregnant," Jeongguk continues innocently, forcing Yoongi to spin on the balls of his feet to stumble out of the room.

The air is stifling, the room is spinning, and Yoongi is going to vomit any minute. He fumbles toward the hallway, stepping through the threshold just in time for the corridor to stretch impossibly long. Before he knows it, he is on his hands and knees, barely aware of the feeling of his impact against the floor, doing his best to crawl to where he needs to go.

"Alright, you," Jimin's voice greets Yoongi, causing tears to well in his eyes. "Let's get you on your feet."

Yoongi feels embarrassed, having made a terrible impression on the family for which he has been hired to surrogate. Surely, someone like Namjoon is not going to want a weak, sniveling omega in his home, carrying his child. And the idea that Yoongi will have to do everything the traditional way sends a new set of fears quaking through him.

Despite his line of work, Yoongi has never had sex with an alpha. He has never experienced a knot, nor has he been marked in any way. Everyone at the clinic assured him that folks these days do not tend to have traditional pregnancies, so Yoongi assumed it would not be an issue. Or, at the very least, he assumed the conversation would take place before he was sat in their home, drinking their herbal-infused coffee.

Yoongi smells the musk before he feels two large hands lift him, and he yelps when he is suddenly up on his feet with his arm draped over the muscular shoulders of Namjoon, who is crouched forward to accommodate his height.

"Bathroom is straight ahead," Namjoon mutters, and Jimin scurries forward, opening the door and switching on a light while Namjoon assists Yoongi in walking down the hallway.

The musk is far more overpowering than anything Yoongi has experienced, radiating from Namjoon's neck and armpit, blanketing him in warm intoxication, and Yoongi leans his head to the side, eager for more. He wonders what Namjoon's sweat must taste like, licking his lips at the thought.

But then Namjoon gets him through the doorway and maneuvers him against the sink with his butt resting against cold marble, and he slides away, taking much of the musk with him, only allowing hints laced with cinnamon and tangerine to linger.

Yoongi can hear rustling – the opening and closing of a cabinet door and the running of water behind him – all while the blend of scents from Namjoon and Jimin mingle and dance through the small space. Yoongi's eyes rest closed, and he breathes deeply in through his nose, letting the air escape shakily through his mouth.

"I didn't mean to accuse—" Yoongi begins, but Jimin shushes him at the same time a cold cloth is pressed against his forehead.

"I imagine all of this is…a lot for you," Namjoon says softly, taking Yoongi by surprise. He expected Jimin to be the one with calming words, not the gruff alpha who hasn't so much as looked him in the eyes since their so-called meeting began.

Yoongi keeps his eyes closed, determined not to ruin the moment. If this is the only way he can get the man to speak to him, then so be it.

"I really like Wheein-ssi," Yoongi continues, knitting his brows beneath the cold cloth. It feels nice and pulls him from the jumble of physical and emotional overstimulation, grounding him somewhat while his own scent of chamomile engulfs and calms him. "I hope that I didn't hurt her feelings."

"We'll talk more once you're feeling better," Namjoon says.

Yoongi wants to open his eyes and look at the man – really search his expression for how he must be feeling – but he keeps his eyes closed and lets out a deep exhale.

"If you change your mind about doing this—" Namjoon continues, and Yoongi shakes his head.

Long ago, when Yoongi was too weak to stand up for himself, Namjoon was the one who helped him. Namjoon was his beacon of hope in a dark, confusing time, and Yoongi wants to repay him in any way he can – in the only way he can.

"I won't change my mind," is all he can bring himself to say, eager to keep his emotions at bay, lest a spike in pheromones tattles on him. At some point, he and Namjoon are going to need to have a conversation.

There is the question of why Wheein never said anything last night, when she and Yoongi were making their list. She had to have known that the three ingredients that Yoongi stressed he could not have were in the herbal blend that he presumes has been added to both his tea and his coffee. Was she hoping to force Yoongi into a heat cycle as soon as possible?

Whatever the reason, Yoongi is concerned, but he is certain that her intent could not have been malicious, and so he lets it go. Perhaps they will discuss it down the line, but for now, he just wants to lie down. He has no idea how long it may take for the herbal mixture to induce a heat, and he is not eager to be standing in the bathroom with his boss and an alpha who he hardly knows, when the time comes.

The herbal blend causes Yoongi's entire system to go haywire quickly. Perhaps it is because he only allows for a heat to come after giving birth before continuing on the blockers – about once a year – making his body desperate for a cycle, but he hardly gets through the afternoon before every inch of him yearns for Namjoon.

The alpha's scent on his bedding drives Yoongi wild, and he rubs his face against his pillow almost frantically, letting out soft whimpers and growls when it is not enough to stave his desires. There is a part of him that wonders if anyone might be able to overhear him, and shame simmers just beneath his skin. But he is so overcome with desperation that he cannot bring himself to care very much.

Yoongi must fall asleep at some point, because a light knock at the door rouses him, causing him to sit up with a start, groaning and wiping drool from his chin.

"Yoongi-ssi?" Jeongguk's voice calls through the door. "Would you like to join us for dinner?"

Although Yoongi would like nothing more than to eat something, and to sit in the presence of Namjoon’s inviting scent, leaving the room and being present in front of everyone feels daunting, at best. Overwhelming. He is not ashamed of his body's natural functions, but he feels hesitant to encounter people he hardly knows when his hormones are running amuck.

Another soft knock comes, and Yoongi clears his throat before hoarsely shouting, "N-no thank you."

After a pause, there is another knock at the door, but this one sounds different – more purposeful.

"Yoongi?" Namjoon calls. "Can I come in?"

Suddenly, faced with the prospect of being in Namjoon's presence makes Yoongi panic, and he curls in on himself, tugging the yellow comforter over his body and up to his chin.

"I—" Yoongi calls back, eyes searching the room aimlessly while he tries to think of something to say. "Now isn't the best time."

Yoongi is unsure if he hears a sigh on the other side of the door, and he listens for an indication that Namjoon has walked away. To his chagrin, Namjoon responds.

"Are you indecent? Can I at least crack the door open?"

"Fine," Yoongi replies, screwing his eyes closed to take a deep, fortifying breath.

The door opens a few inches, and with the head of the bed against the same wall, Namjoon only has to peek in a little for their gazes to meet. Although it is subtle, Yoongi sees Namjoon's nostrils flare and eyes widen.

"I'm—" Yoongi feels apologetic and shy, "s-sorry, I guess my heat has come."

"Don't apologize," Namjoon responds, voice sounding a bit hazier than Yoongi is used to. "Just wanted to make sure you don't need anything. I can have Jeongguk bring you some food and a cup of tea. Do you usually take any medications?"

"I don’t usually take medicines," Yoongi responds softly. Ordinarily, he gets the typical hot flashes and neediness; cramping is rare. He tends to it by holing up in his apartment and drinking herbal teas that quell some of the more primal instincts; he has no idea what it is like to go into heat surrounded by the alluring stench of an alpha. "Do you have any hibiscus tea?"

Namjoon's face disappears, and then Jeongguk appears, making Yoongi clench onto his blanket in disappointment.

"Hibiscus tea, got it." Jeongguk responds. "I can make you a pot of kimchi soup if you would like?"

Although Yoongi would rather turn away the offer of anything more than a cup of tea, already feeling like a burden in someone else's home, the thought of the tangy, rich broth and a bowl of steamed rice makes his stomach growl loudly.

"That would be nice," Yoongi responds, squeezing his eyes tight to the sound of the door closing quietly. "Thank you."

Yoongi has no idea how long it takes for Jeongguk to return. It feels like only seconds pass, yet some of them could have been stretched for eons. The atmosphere around Yoongi is thick with tense confusion and desire, and he has no fucking clue how to proceed.

A knock at the door startles Yoongi, and he sits up, pushing and kicking the yellow comforter away, embarrassed by how his body oozes with the heady scent of pomegranate, tangy and clinging to the air with trace amounts of chamomile. His limbs wobble, heavy and shaking like a tree caught in a storm, and it takes him a moment to catch his breath once he is on his feet.

"Just a second," Yoongi grumbles, adjusting the white tee that has come untucked from his fitted light blue jeans. The materials cling to him, and he avoids checking his reflection in the mirror across the room.

Yoongi opens the door a crack, just enough to see through. He does not miss the way Jeongguk's nostrils flare and eyes widen as he takes in the state of Yoongi. And although he feels embarrassed suddenly to be perceived this way, he swallows a lump and opens the door further to reach for the tray in Jeongguk's hands.

"Why don't you let me bring it in?" Jeongguk offers, making Yoongi feel even more put on the spot than before. But Jeongguk has a good point. After all, the tray contains two items storing hot liquid, and Yoongi is just jittery enough to make the task extremely precarious.

Yoongi nods and grumbles, "Oh–okay," as he takes a step back and allows Jeongguk to enter the room, closing the door quickly behind him. He is not eager for Namjoon or Wheein to smell him in this state – not until he can shower.

"Your heat must have come on fast," Jeongguk states evenly as he walks to the bed and places the tray on top. It is wooden, with four small legs, creating a nice little table atop the ruffled comforter. With him, a light floral scent carries through the space.

"Yeah," Yoongi responds sheepishly, hugging his arms around himself. "I use the same herbal mixture to induce a heat once a year, and typically only one cup of tea does the trick."

Jeongguk turns with wide eyes, repeating, "Once a year?"

"Typically, my job is done in vitro," Yoongi explains, eyes trailing around the room, unable to settle on one spot. "I find that it is best if my hormones are kept under control. I only induce a heat once the baby has been delivered, to help my body restart, and then I take heat-blockers once the cycle ends."

"Ahhh," Jeongguk mutters. "Well, I am quite used to helping Wheein-ssi through her heats, so if there is anything you need, don't be shy."

Yoongi is surprised by this information. Shouldn't the alpha of the house be helping Wheein? Jeongguk – who, Yoongi surmises, must be a beta – seems like lovely help, but is he really capable of helping Wheein with all of her needs? The man hardly has a scent, only radiating hints of something sweet and floral that Yoongi cannot place.

"Thank you, Jeongguk-ssi," Yoongi responds with a bow of his head. "I appreciate all you have done for me, already."

Silence hangs, and when Yoongi glances up, it seems as if Jeongguk has more that he would like to say. He stares ahead, clearly processing something, with his lips hanging slack. But then he blinks heavily and gives his head a little shake before saying, "Also, when you are ready to, Namjoon would like to meet with you to go over the contract and discuss a timeline."

"Oh," Yoongi says, realizing they never finalized it earlier. "Yes, of course."

"His phone number is on a little slip of paper, sitting beside your rice," Jeongguk instructs with one more bow of his head. "Please text him at your earliest convenience."

Texting Namjoon rather than knocking on a door seems somewhat silly, but Yoongi does not argue. He supposes he is grateful to have a simple way to get in touch with him that also allows for there to be some distance.

Jeongguk exits the room, closing the door quietly behind him, and Yoongi lets out a deep breath and rubs his sweaty palms against his jeans. The smell of the soup and tea dance beautifully, covering enough of Namjoon's lingering musk to allow Yoongi's head to clear as he approaches the bedside table and picks up his phone.

He settles slowly onto the bed, careful not to jostle the tray, and finds the small piece of paper with a phone number scribbled on it. The numbers are clean with very straight lines and circular loops, and Yoongi lifts it before he can think better of it, sniffing the paper, picking up hints of tangerine and cinnamon. So this is Namjoon's handwriting, Yoongi thinks, inspecting it closer. It looks nice.

A soft haze settles over Yoongi – a humming that vibrates just below his skin – and he takes a slow breath as he begins to punch Namjoon's number into his phone. He considers all the things he could say to the man, worrying in circles over whether he should apologize for his entire existence. In the end, he settles for something simple.

Yoongi Hello, Namjoon-ssi. This is Yoongi. Jeongguk-ssi mentioned you wanted to talk with me.

With a tremble in his hands, he sets his phone down and begins to eat. Jeongguk brought kimchi soup, rice, glass noodles, and a cup of hibiscus tea, and everything is flavored perfectly – savory with tangy and sweet notes here and there, the way mom makes it. Although the soup and tea are both hot, they soothe Yoongi, putting his hot flashes at bay. He is nearly done with his meal and feeling much calmer than before, when his phone vibrates.

Namjoon Yoongi-ssi, I would like to meet at your earliest convenience. No rush; eat first.

Yoongi has to scoff at how stuffy Namjoon seems, even over text. He supposes he is the one who set the tone in the first place, but he has to wonder if the detached alpha would text the same way, regardless. Yoongi nibbles on the inside of his cheek, deciding what would be best. On one hand, he hates to keep someone waiting, but on the other…he cannot decide whether he wants to face Namjoon smelling the way he does.

Yoongi Perhaps after I freshen up a bit? A fever hit earlier, and I am not at my best.

Before Yoongi has a chance to set his phone down, it vibrates; he is surprised by how quickly Namjoon responds.

Namjoon Of course. Take your time! I usually go for late jogs, so if I am not in the house, I'll be out back. You are welcome to join me if you would like.

Namjoon's hanok is situated at the end of a suburban area, with enough land between his place and the nearby houses to have seclusion. Perfect for an alpha who likes to let off some steam in a bit of nature. Although Yoongi does not jog often, the primal part of him loves to get lost in the thick of trees, listening to branches crunch underfoot while he exerts himself and lets his worries breeze away. Perhaps jogging with Namjoon is just what he needs.

Yoongi A jog would be nice. I'll shower now and join you in just a bit.

Namjoon Sounds good.

Yoongi makes quick work of finishing his food, suddenly feeling excited at the prospect of getting some fresh air. He grabs a pair of black joggers and a black tee, and leaves the room, turning briefly to see Wheein and Jeongguk sharing a glass of wine in the kitchen. He wonders if Namjoon is already getting dressed and waiting, and scurries to the bathroom at the end of the hall, closing the door tight behind him and switching on the light.

Yoongi peels the sweat-drenched clothing away and drops them into a pile on the floor, then figures out the knobs of the shower, setting the water nice and temperate – not too hot – before slipping in. The water is a warm embrace, instantly shedding some of Yoongi's anxieties, and he smiles to himself, tipping his head back with his eyes closed, allowing the steady spray to wash over him.

After a few calming moments, Yoongi peeks his head from the shower curtain to find small cloths folded on a shelf at eye level and grabs one, then assesses the bottles for body wash. To his surprise, everything smells like chamomile or tangerine, making Yoongi chuckle. He wonders if it is a coincidence or if they planned for this. Had Namjoon remembered what Yoongi smelled like, after all this time?

Yoongi scrubs his body with chamomile, then washes and conditions his hair with tangerine. Once he is satisfied, he stands under the stream with his eyes closed for another twenty seconds or so, then shuts off the water, pokes an arm past the shower curtain, and grabs a large towel from the same eye level shelf. He dries off quickly, then changes into his clean clothing and shoots a text off to Namjoon.

Yoongi Just finished showering. Are you inside or outside?

Namjoon I’m still inside. Meet in the hallway?

Yoongi See you there.

Yoongi brushes his teeth and slaps some moisturizer on his face – beauty products courtesy of Namjoon and Wheein – then hangs up his towel and grabs his discarded clothing, which reek of tangy pomegranate. He scrunches his nose, tired of smelling it.

When he exits the shower, Namjoon is standing in the hallway, and the sight of him makes Yoongi halt in place, nearly tripping over his feet. He wears a tight black tank top and black athletic shorts that stop mid-thigh. And oh, Namjoon's thighs…He knew Namjoon was ripped, but seeing him in athletic wear is something else altogether.

Yoongi has to force his eyes up and tell himself that staring is impolite. But the man is built like a sturdy tree that Yoongi finds himself wanting to climb — a dangerous thought, and one he brushes off as a product of his heat.

He is relieved to find Namjoon turning his attention from the phone in his hands to him only after he finishes ogling him, and Yoongi clears his throat quietly before making his way down the hall.

"Just gonna toss these clothes into the room quick," Yoongi mutters as he approaches.

Namjoon regards him with a brief nod, then continues typing on his phone, and Yoongi opens the door to the room and slips in, tossing the clothing toward the bed and grabbing a pair of sneakers before returning, doing his best to keep his stench of pheromones and sweat trapped.

When he returns, Namjoon is standing straight up with his arms at his sides, and his head tipped slightly back. His eyes are closed, and he appears to be taking a deep breath in through his nose, filling his lungs. Yoongi wonders if he does this to get into a proper headspace to run – calmly intake oxygen to help his muscles relax.

But when Namjoon opens his eyes and looks at Yoongi, his pupils are blown wide and there is something burning in his gaze that causes Yoongi to instinctively take a step back. The way Namjoon looks at him makes Yoongi feel vulnerable and exposed. If he didn't know any better, he would think the alpha wants to eat him.

Namjoon heavy-blinks and clears his throat, dispelling the tension between them, and turns to exit the hallway. To the left, through the main living room, is a door that appears to lead to the back of the property. Namjoon approaches, bends to pick up a pair of shoes beside the exit, and begins putting them on, while Yoongi slides into his sneakers, staying a good six feet or so away from Namjoon, trying his best not to get too much of a whiff of him, breathing primarily through his mouth.

By the time Namjoon straightens out, Yoongi is finishing up tying his second shoe. In the other room, Yoongi can hear Wheein and Jeongguk laughing together. He finds it a bit strange that Namjoon and Wheein do not seem to communicate much, but assumes that is how it is, sometimes. He wonders if being unable to conceive has put a strain on their marriage before deciding it is none of his business.

"Ready?" Namjoon asks, voice deeper and breathier than Yoongi remembers, making him stand alert.

"Yeah," Yoongi responds, sliding his hands into the pockets of his joggers as Namjoon opens the back door and steps outside, audibly taking a deep breath and sighing.

Yoongi nudges the door with his elbow on his way out, then half-turns to pull it closed quietly. The sun has already begun to set, painting the sky orange and pink, and there is a chill in the air that makes Yoongi scrunch his shoulders to his ears momentarily as he steps out onto the small wooden deck. It feels nice, and he rolls his shoulders back, taking in a deep breath of dirt, grass, and citrus.

"Shit," Namjoon mutters under his breath, turning back toward the house.

Yoongi hums and looks at Namjoon, feeling momentarily worried that something may be wrong.

"The contract," Namjoon clarifies, shifting in place as if he is unsure where he wants to be. "I wanted to go over the terms and finalize everything, but I left it in the office."

"Ah," Yoongi says. He wonders if having a paper contract outside while they intend to exercise is practical in the first place, and suggests an alternative. "What if we discuss the terms, and when we return inside, we can sign it? I assume you have gone over everything, and I can give it a quick read."

Namjoon knits his brow, considering Yoongi's proposition, then nods. "Yeah," he says, eyes on the wooden floor of the deck rather than meeting Yoongi's gaze, "that sounds good."

Yoongi nods and takes in the scenery around him. Behind Namjoon's hanok, the land opens up to a large yard with an inground pool. Past the pool ahead is a wooded area, with thick trees and brush, and to the left is a small bungalow that he surmises must be the guesthouse. Yoongi wonders how much of the land belongs to Namjoon; how far they can run.

"This path zig-zags through the trees, out the other side," Namjoon explains as if reading his mind. "I like to run the path, and continue along the residential area on the other side, to a park that is a few miles away. We don't have to run the entire length…whatever you feel like."

"Sounds good," Yoongi responds, waiting for Namjoon to lead the way.

Namjoon walks ahead, down the three steps that lead to a path that wraps around the pool to the right and into the trees, slowly picking up his pace. Yoongi follows, then steps in pace with Namjoon. It is a leisurely jog, and Yoongi instantly feels a calm rush over him at the feeling of the evening wind in his shoulder-length hair, though he wishes he had brought a hair tie.

"The main clause in the contract is that we have to actually, er—" Namjoon begins, cutting himself off until only the sound of gunite underfoot can be heard.

"Procreate," Yoongi offers, cringing instantly at his choice of word.

Luckily, it makes Namjoon chuckle, lightening the mood. "Yes, procreate."

Silence falls between them, and they approach the edge of the wooded area before Namjoon asks, "Does that make you uncomfortable?"

Yoongi takes a moment to answer, curious how forthcoming he should be with Namjoon. He wonders if it is necessary for the alpha to know that he has never taken a knot before. Underfoot, the path becomes dirt with twigs and leaves crunching as they begin to jog past the edge of the trees.

"Not uncomfortable," Yoongi says, eyes on the path, which is more than wide enough for two. "I was a bit surprised, since that is different from how things are typically done these days, but I respect the old ways just as much as the new. As long as you and your wife are comfortable."

For the briefest of moments, Yoongi could swear Namjoon's cinnamon scent bitterly stings the air, but just as soon as it arrives, it is gone. It is not uncommon for the tangier or sharper of the smells someone has to be strongest when they are feeling heightened levels of irritation, anger, annoyance, depression, and so on. Briefly, Yoongi worries whether something he said bothered Namjoon.

"I am comfortable as long as you are," Namjoon responds somewhat tersely as they take a left turn and the path straightens out before turning right up ahead.

Again, silence falls, and Yoongi listens to the scurry of rodents and the soft calls of birds. To the right, through the wooded area, Yoongi can see more of the path. It appears to snake through the trees from right to left to right again with wooded areas in between. It is peaceful, and Yoongi is grateful that Namjoon invited him. For the first time since his heat began, he feels calm and in control of his own body.

Once his heat fully hits, he will not be so mobile. The first wave is a bit of a warning, ebbing and flowing before coming in full swing. In a day or two, he expects to lock himself in that small bedroom and hide away from everyone until it passes, or at least until they mate. Although omegas are most fertile while in heat, he and Namjoon still need to discuss a timeline for everything.

"Is there a good time for us to…" Yoongi trails off, taking the curve to the right and continuing in step beside Namjoon. He squeezes his eyes shut for a split second and curses himself for being so awkward; he is an adult, discussing a contractual agreement with another adult. Just because there is sex involved, does not mean he should struggle to discuss it.

"For us to…?" Namjoon asks when the silence draws on a little long.

The thought of laying sprawled out beneath Namjoon, looking up at him while his hair clings to his sweaty forehead flashes in Yoongi's mind, and all at once, he trips over his own feet and topples forward, knees and palms meeting the ground before he corrects himself. The tumble is small and hardly disrupts their pace, but Namjoon is close in an instant, filling his senses with tangerines and warm, calming musk.

"Are you alright?" Namjoon asks, voice low and soft, giving Yoongi goosebumps.

Yoongi hums in response, eager for Namjoon to not be quite so close, despite how much his body longs for him to touch him. They run in silence, snaking around to the left and to the right again, while Yoongi attempts to clear his head, and he is grateful for Namjoon's patience while he gathers his thoughts. Once they start reaching the end of the path, Yoongi takes in a fortifying breath.

"What I was going to ask is whether there is a good time for us to get started," Yoongi says, keeping his eyes ahead. "On the whole…er…process."

"The procreation," Namjoon adds, and Yoongi wonders if there is a playful tone to his voice, but he does not want to face the man and check his expression.

"Yes," he says, cracking a soft smile. "The procreation."

As they come around the final curve, the treeline ends, opening up to a well-trodden grassy area. Up ahead is a round cul-de-sac and sidewalk that leads to a residential neighborhood, and further down, there appears to be a playground of some sort.

"Whenever you feel most comfortable," Namjoon says, which, if Yoongi is being honest, is not the most helpful statement.

Yoongi hums and glances around, not very focused on anything in particular; more eager than anything to get a plan of some sort finalized.

"Well, I am already at your house and more or less ready to begin," Yoongi huffs, finally feeling the exertion of the run. "You are the one with the career, so really, it is up to you, depending on how hands-on you would like to be. And if you would rather wait for my heat to be over, we can."

The sound that comes from Namjoon is somewhere between a hum and a groan, and Yoongi is unsure how to parse it, but certain that he would rather pretend he never heard it. All the little hairs on his body stand at attention, and he does his best not to trip on his own feet again.

"It may be best if we wait until after," Namjoon finally responds. The soft tone of voice has returned, and it does wonders for Yoongi's already wild imagination. "Not to be dismissive or anything, but since omegas tend to get…shall we say…needy during their heats, I should probably keep my distance."

At this, Yoongi laughs – a burst at first that blooms into something melodic and impossible to contain. Namjoon lets out a surprised sound before he, too, chuckles, and Yoongi slows their run to a stop in order to catch his breath.

"What is it?" Namjoon asks, laughter in his voice.

For the first time since coming outside, Yoongi allows himself to glance at Namjoon. He realizes too late that he made a mistake when a sheen of sweat that glistens on Namjoon's neck is hit just right by the streetlights and diminishing sun rays, making his golden skin shine. Namjoon cracks a hint of a smile, watching Yoongi as if he is waiting for a response; Yoongi has no idea why they were laughing, anymore, brain muddled by the alpha's beauty.

"Uh—" Yoongi mutters, pulling his eyes from Namjoon to glance around and attempt to clear his head. "What were we talking about?"

Namjoon scoffs and reaches up, leaning into Yoongi's personal space and taking him by surprise. When Namjoon's warm hand comes into contact with Yoongi's forehead, it makes him freeze in place.

"Do you have a fever or something, omega?" Namjoon asks, moving his hand to Yoongi's cheek as if comparing the two temperatures.

Yoongi ducks dramatically to the side, swatting at the air, doing his best not to touch the alpha who evidently has no respect for personal space.

"Excuse you," he grumbles, watching as Namjoon cracks more of a smile, cheeks delicately dimpled. "I feel fine, for the most part. Just…I don't know…I'm tired."

A lie; Yoongi is not remotely tired. In fact, this run has him feeling more invigorated than he has in months.

"We were discussing the possibility of waiting until after your heat," Namjoon responds somewhat under his breath. He averts his gaze to the road, and Yoongi wonders if the topic of conversation actually makes him feel shy.

"Ah," Yoongi says, remembering Namjoon saying he would become needy and feeling warmth flood to his cheeks. There is a part of him that feels disappointed that Namjoon will want to keep all of his strong, calming alpha scents away when Yoongi desires them most, but he does his best to tamp those thoughts down and remind himself once again that Namjoon is not his.

But what if Namjoon were his, Yoongi's heat-addled mind suggests, unhelpfully. What if, just once, Namjoon could cradle him the way he needs while he fights through his heat? What if Namjoon enveloped him in a warm cocoon of spicy-citrus heaven?

Warmth rushes through Yoongi at a dizzying pace, making his chest feel tight, and he takes a deep intake of cool night air, closing his eyes and tilting his head to the sky. Suddenly, his limbs feel al dente and ready to collapse, and his heart pounds.

"You alright?" Namjoon asks, and Yoongi notices his own tangy scent of pomegranate permeating the air.

"Y-yeah," Yoongi responds, turning back toward the house. "Just got hit by a hot flash. I might head back to the house."

"Alright," Namjoon mutters, taking a step closer, emitting a soothing wave of musk. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Yes, Yoongi thinks. He would love for Namjoon to come with him. Only, he fixates on Namjoon towering over him, sweaty and eager to placate his hormonal urges, which is the opposite of what Namjoon can do for him.

"No, I'm good," Yoongi insists. "I'll see you back there."

Yoongi does not wait for Namjoon to respond before he begins jogging toward the trees. Although the cool night air is relaxing, Yoongi feels warm and worn out. He worries his knees might give way, but he presses ahead. The sound of Namjoon's feet jogging in the opposite direction can be heard, and once the lingering scent of tangerine fades, Yoongi lets out a deep breath, slowing down to intake air uninhabited by him.

Being in the presence of Namjoon almost feels like a pull – like there is an invisible string connecting them, causing Yoongi to get caught in Namjoon's gravity. Yoongi wonders again what life might be like if Namjoon were his to orbit. He knows the thought is silly, and it does nothing to tamp the wave of loneliness he feels as he picks up his pace and jogs back toward the large home alone.

He takes it slow, not entirely eager to return too soon before Namjoon. Although Wheein was nice to him last night, her behavior this morning and distance all day has Yoongi feeling unsure of what to think of her. It must be strange to have another person in the house, and Yoongi can only imagine how she must be feeling knowing that he and Namjoon will have to mate the traditional way. Still, he cannot help but wonder if she really meant it last night when she said they would become friends.

Yoongi enters the trees and takes a deep breath of fresh air, letting it settle in his lungs before it rattles out with each movement of his legs. Without Namjoon’s musk, Yoongi feels a bit brighter, oxygen coming to him a little easier. He follows the path and curves to the left, glancing through the trees to his left, toward the residential area for a glimpse of Namjoon, finding a distant figure that may be moving toward him.

He wonders if it is possible for Namjoon to have already run to the end of his route, and glances again, seeing him advance quickly from between the trees. Briefly, Yoongi imagines Namjoon as his alpha coming to give chase and capture him, and instantly, his pheromones spike, creating a cloying plume of chamomile with hints of pomegranate.

“Gods damn it,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, feeling embarrassed by the possibility of Namjoon catching up and running straight through the scent.

But then he imagines Namjoon sniffing the air with blown pupils that blaze with a fire just for Yoongi. Perhaps he has worked up even more of a sweat – dewy and dripping, tasting salty-sweet. The thought stirs arousal in Yoongi’s tummy, and although it is a small amount, he can both feel and smell the slick that he produces – a headier, muskier mixture of his scents.

With a groan, Yoongi follows the path around to the right and picks up the pace. No longer is he concerned with returning alone and having to face Wheein. Now he just wants to get back to the room and bury himself under the warm, soft blankets that smell just like the alpha he cannot stop thinking about, contract be damned.

Yoongi begins to huff and grunt as he jogs on. The small amount of slick he has produced feels uncomfortable, and the more he dwells on it, the more his pheromones seem to seep into the air, clinging all around him like a mist. He wonders if it would be excessive to take another shower.

As he follows the path around one more curve, Yoongi hears a branch snap to his left, in the direction from which Namjoon runs, and he turns his head to find Namjoon running straight through the trees, toward him. Fear and adrenaline spike in Yoongi, and he picks up the pace, running faster. If this is a game Namjoon is playing with him, Yoongi is unsure whether he finds it amusing.

Another branch snaps, this one much closer, and Yoongi turns his head to find Namjoon leaping out from the wooded area, onto the path behind him, watching him with wide eyes and a stance that almost looks like Namjoon is going to get onto all fours and give animalistic chase. Yoongi turns his gaze ahead and approaches the next curve in the road, taking it rather quickly and checking to see that he is not too far from the house.

But as soon as Yoongi is around the bend, Namjoon is ahead, exiting the wooded area and running straight for him. Yoongi falters in his steps and nearly trips over himself, then he veers off the path and begins to run through the last strip of woods in the direction of the Hanok. The sounds of leaves and twigs underfoot snap loudly, causing Yoongi's heart to pound impossibly harder, and he runs as if his life depends on it, hopping over fallen branches and zig-zagging around trees.

And then he trips. Yoongi's right ankle gets caught on a large branch, and he falls forward, bracing himself for impact with his hands outstretched. He feels foolish and confused, heart booming loudly in his ears, and more than anything he just wants to get away from this stupid fucking path and out of all of this nature.

Just as Yoongi's already sore palms hit uneven ground, two strong, warm arms wrap around him and yank him back. Before he can make sense of anything, Yoongi is firmly pressed against the thick trunk of a maple tree. Namjoon's arms cage Yoongi in, hands on either side of his face, and he leans in close, loudly sniffing the air around them.

"N-Namjoon?" Yoongi mutters as his entire body trembles.

From this proximity, the aura of musk and tangerine is strong and sweet – intoxicating. His eyelids flutter shut as more pungent slick is produced, feeling a primal calm wash over him despite being caught by a man who had just given chase.

"What are you doing?" he tries, tilting his head away from Namjoon, who continues to sniff him.

"Smells so good," Namjoon groans after a pause, voice deep and lust-laced.

Yoongi wants to shove Namjoon away and continue back to the hanok, but he finds he cannot move. The alpha's presence is strong and commanding, and Yoongi likes this attention from him; he likes the idea that his scent is alluring. And so he stands with his back pressed against the tree, panting through shattered breath as he attempts to even his heartbeat and ignore the flooding arousal that pools in his tummy.

Then, as if ripped from a trance, Namjoon stands straight up and blinks heavily, taking two steps back. He glances around at his surroundings and, with wide, apologetic eyes, he mutters, "S-sorry. I didn't mean to—that was an accident."

Yoongi clears his throat as disappointment builds and builds and crashes throughout him. He feels shipwrecked at sea – splintered wood left to drift aimlessly in open waters. Because of course, it was an accident; why would Namjoon desire him?

"It's fine," Yoongi responds as he peels himself away from the tree and slowly begins to walk back toward the path.

Namjoon leads the way, jogging without a glance back. Yoongi follows behind. Not another word is exchanged between them, and when Yoongi returns to the hanok, he kicks his shoes off and heads straight to the room.

Namjoon I left the contract on the dining room table. Please read it over and let me know if there is anything we need to amend. If everything looks good, we can sign it and work out a timeline. We discussed waiting until your heat is over, if you recall. Just let me know when the time comes, and we can begin making arrangements.

Yoongi blinks sleep from his eyes as he reads over Namjoon's message. The feral part of him wants to ignore everything contract-related and ask him just what the fuck happened last night, while they were jogging. Had Namjoon caught a whiff of Yoongi's arousal and begun to take chase without thinking? That is the only conclusion Yoongi is able to draw, and he has given it a lot of thought.

But Yoongi decides not to interrogate the alpha. It is not as if he can fully control his urges; some instincts are too primal. Just because his arousal may be inviting does not mean Namjoon wants him.

Yoongi gets dressed for the day and exits the room, feeling a sheen of dewy sweat cover him. He is warm and irritated, and he wants to grab some fruit and a cup of tea and return to bed. To his delight, only Jeongguk is in the kitchen, and as Yoongi approaches, the man turns quickly to face him with wide, curious eyes.

"What?" Yoongi grumbles, uncomfortable with the way Jeongguk's gaze roves over him. "Is there something on my face?"

Jeongguk blinks several times, then shakes his head, and says, "The smell," almost more to himself than to Yoongi.

With a grunt of acknowledgment, Yoongi approaches the dining table and finds the aforementioned contract, picking it up and glancing over it.

"Could I trouble you for some fruit and tea?" he asks softly, watching as Jeongguk – who seems to be preparing tofu – nods, and hums.

"Anything else?" Jeongguk asks, not turning around to address Yoongi directly.

"Nah," Yoongi responds as he turns and makes his way back to the room. "Feel free to shout and I'll come get it."

Yoongi hears Jeongguk hum in response, and he returns to the room and closes the door tightly behind him. He shuffles over to the bed and has a seat, then begins to read over the contract. It looks like any other contract he has had to sign for work, with the amendments of a traditional mating ritual. Ordinarily, when he surrogates, the egg belongs to the other parent, and it dawns on Yoongi that this child will be his DNA, not Wheein's.

The thought of it makes his hands tremble, and he gnaws on the inside of his mouth. How will he feel, knowing years from now that the baby Namjoon and Wheein raise as their own is his? Will he be given rights to be in that child's life? Will he even want that?

Yoongi stares at the page until the words blur and jumble, turning into black smudges against white – incoherent and impossible to parse. He feels anxious and suddenly so terribly alone, and he begins to worry that maybe he cannot do this. Maybe he needs to back out. Maybe he should just go home.

The sound of knuckles rapping against the wooden door pulls Yoongi from the fog, and he sits alert and looks in the direction of the sound.

"Yes?" he calls, heart pounding at the thought that it could be Namjoon on the other side.

"Tea is ready," Jeongguk responds softly. "I didn't feel like shouting."

With a hum, Yoongi tosses the contract aside and gets off the bed. As he steps closer to the door, he begins to feel a bit shy about how much the room must reek of him. In the kitchen, Jeongguk seemed dazed by his mere presence; what might it smell like contained in such a small space, even with the window cracked open?

To his surprise, Jeongguk's expression seems rather schooled as he opens the door and greets him. He reaches for the tray of tea and fruit, but Jeongguk shakes his head and nods his chin as if to motion for Yoongi to get out of his way.

"Fine," Yoongi mutters, stepping aside and allowing him to enter. The aroma of the tea is strong and soothing.

Jeongguk makes his way to the bed and sets the tray down. His eyes seem to linger on the contract, and then he straightens himself out and turns back to Yoongi. With a concerned pinch to his brow, he opens his mouth, but then he seems to think better about what he might say, and he closes it, floundering.

"Is something the matter?" Yoongi drawls, unable to hide his impatience. He just wants to return to bed and enjoy his tea and fruit, and Jeongguk is standing in the way.

"No," Jeongguk responds after a moment, shrugging as he leaves the room.

"Weirdo," Yoongi mutters under his breath once the door is closed tight. He feels hormonal and irritated, and he is not in the mood for a cryptic beta sniffing around in his personal space.

Yoongi would throw himself onto the mattress in a disgruntled huff if it weren't for the tray of hot tea sitting atop. Instead, he slowly gets onto his knees and shuffles over, plopping onto his butt once he is close enough, causing the porcelain to rattle on its wooden surface.

The tea is perfect, lightly sweetened with honey and soothing on the throat. Yoongi allows himself to be grateful for Jeongguk despite how annoying he finds his presence today. He wonders if Jeongguk likes being employed by the couple because he enjoys doting on others. He even wonders if Jeongguk will dote on him throughout the pregnancy. Or if that is something Namjoon will do?

Namjoon. Yoongi grimaces at the thought of him. Last night, in the woods, pressed against the tree and caged in by Namjoon's arms, Yoongi felt truly alive. Something primal sparked inside him after being chased and captured by the alpha. Just thinking about it has slick threatening to stain his pants.

But then he remembers the look on Namjoon's face when he said it was an accident, and the arousal turns acidic, giving Yoongi a stomach ache. With a frown, he enjoys his fruit – sliced pear and watermelon – and considers once more the thought of backing out of this situation.

Does he really want to be tied to Namjoon for the rest of his life? Is it worth the paycheck? Yoongi is happy to let his body be used to carry a baby to term, but his baby? His flesh and blood, sharing physical features and primal, innate instincts with Kim Namjoon? Can he really go through with it?

This time, when knuckles rap gently at the door, Yoongi huffs out a sigh and shouts, "What?" He is not in the mood to be bothered; can't he wallow in his moodiness alone?

"Yoongi-ssi?" Namjoon calls from the other side of the door.

Namjoon is possibly the last person on this planet Yoongi wants stepping foot into this room, especially with his arousal cloying the air. Even if Namjoon does not desire him, the alpha in him will likely become aroused, and he would rather save all of that for when they actually have to mate.

A shudder runs down Yoongi's spine, and he calls back, "Don't come in here!"

"I just wanted to make sure you got the contract," Namjoon responds, and Yoongi nods to nobody but himself as he mutters, "I got it."

"Okay, good," Namjoon says, and that is it. Silence from the other side of the door, just as Yoongi likes it.

He reminds himself that Namjoon stood up for him all those years ago, and that he should stop second-guessing whether he wants to help him or not. He should help Namjoon; he likes to help others. So he picks up his phone and thumbs around for his conversation with the alpha.

Yoongi Contract looks good. I have a few things I would like to discuss, but it can wait until after my heat ends.

Before Yoongi has a chance to set his phone down, it rings. Namjoon's name flashes on the screen, filling Yoongi with a wave of anxiety. Of course, it is fair that Namjoon would want to iron out any details, but now?

Yoongi answers the phone with a hum.

"We can talk about it now if you'd like to," Namjoon says, tone low and concerned. Hearing Namjoon's voice spoken so directly in his ear gives him goosebumps; he sounds good.

"Uh—" Yoongi clears his throat and runs a hand through his long, messy hair. "Alright. Well, I guess I was wondering about after the baby is born, since, you know…it's going to share my DNA too, if, uh…"

He trails off, unable to finish the sentence. Suddenly, he feels embarrassed to care this much, especially being unable to see and gauge Namjoon's reaction.

"Never mind," he mutters when the silence becomes overwhelming. "Forget it."

"Yoongi, listen," Namjoon says, voice stripped of any hint of concern; stern. "I know the process will likely be really stressful, and very personal to you, but I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to come around once we've finished. At least not until the baby is older. The media might turn it into a mess, and we need to think about our reputations."

"We what?" Yoongi responds sharply, unable to hold in the surge of anger that burns behind his ribcage. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Namjoon has the audacity to sigh, and Yoongi spirals.

"You know what?" Yoongi says through a sardonic chuckle, shaking his head, "Fuck you, and fuck this contract. I'm packing my shit and going home."

"Yoongi," Namjoon groans impatiently, "why don't we discuss this once your heat is over?"

"Once my heat is over?" Yoongi practically shouts, voice steeped in sarcasm. "Why, because I'm hormonal? Surely my judgment is being clouded because my omega instincts are making me overreact."

Namjoon hums and responds, "Pretty much."

"Oh, I fucking hate you," Yoongi says, getting up from the bed and pacing around, grabbing his discarded clothing from the floor and walking toward his suitcase to shove the items in unceremoniously. "And stop addressing me without honorifics! I am older than you!"

The tone of Namjoon's voice as he says, "I'm the alpha of this house," is almost playful, and Yoongi finds it infuriating.

"Can't even get your wife pregnant," Yoongi mutters under his breath. "Some fucking alpha you are."

As soon as the words leave his lips, Yoongi braces himself to be yelled at. He really has a lot of nerve saying shit like that to the man whose house he has been staying in. It takes Yoongi by surprise, however, when the door to the bedroom flies open, and Namjoon comes barreling in.

"Say that to my face, omega," Namjoon challenges, standing tall while Yoongi still holds his phone to his ear, crouched over his suitcase, and too dazed to move.

The bitter sting of cinnamon permeates the air, and Yoongi stumbles back, feeling dizzy.

"Not so tough are you now, little wolf?" Namjoon snarls, stepping forward and crowding Yoongi's space.

Yoongi wonders if Jeongguk or Wheein are around and can hear them. He wonders if they would intervene if things got physical between them.

He does not want to fight Namjoon, however. He wants to fuck.

Seeing him worked up with his jaw set and nostrils flaring, muscles strained behind his white button-up does something to Yoongi, and he is unable to stop himself from leaking a little at the sight of him. This must catch Namjoon's attention because he sniffs the air before his eyes widen, confusion laced with anger.

"If you want to leave, then get the fuck out," Namjoon says, blinking heavily and appearing less confident than just a moment ago. "Otherwise, watch what you say to me."

"Alright," Yoongi mutters, eyes traveling over Namjoon, past the hint of skin that peeks past his collar – two buttons left undone – to the shape of his waist and hips, no detail hidden behind the white fabric. "S-sorry."

"Are you?" Namjoon asks, making Yoongi's eyes snap back to his face.

"Yeah," he mutters, and he means it. All the fight has drained out of him, and the bedroom stinks of negativity and arousal.

"If you stay, we can discuss all of this in better detail," Namjoon says, taking a step backward. Sweat shimmers on his throat, and once more, Yoongi cannot stop himself from imagining what it must taste like.

"Later," Namjoon adds, eyes glancing around the room, dazed.

And then he walks out, closing the door behind him. Yoongi's phone remains clutched in his hand, and he glances down to notice that the call was never hung up. Seconds tick by uselessly on his screen until finally, the line goes dead.

"Fuck," Yoongi mutters, tossing his phone to the bed as he lets out a deep exhale. "Holy fuck. That was hot."

No longer is Yoongi considering packing and leaving; he is desperate for Namjoon to mate him.

Tonight, it is Wheein who brings Yoongi dinner. She looks tense as she holds the tray of kimchi soup, rice, and tea, and thankfully, she allows Yoongi to take it from her in the doorway. Yoongi hopes she will excuse herself immediately.

"What did you say to piss off Namjoon earlier?" she asks, voice full of mirth.

Yoongi stops mid-turn and looks over his shoulder to find her standing with her arms crossed over her chest. Heat rises to his face, and he spins away to continue carrying the tray over to the bed.

"Oh, nothing, really…" Yoongi mutters, unsure what he could possibly tell her about what happened. He is almost certain Namjoon did not confide in her, if the lack of conversation he has witnessed is anything to go by. "I misunderstood a line in the contract, and overreacted. My hormones have been super off balance."

Yoongi turns and feigns concern as he adds, "Why? Did he—did he say anything?"

Wheein squints and appears to study Yoongi, then she shrugs and responds, "No. Just heard him storm in here, that's all."

"Ah," Yoongi mutters, feeling uncomfortable. "Well, thank you for the food. I appreciate it."

"The thing is," Wheein continues, straightening her posture and taking a step into the room, "he seems to be coming down with a fever. I'm worried that something may have stressed him out so much that he has become sick."

Yoongi swallows a lump, feeling a prickle of sweat on his forehead. Just what the hell is Wheein trying to accuse him of?

"I don't think that's how stress or sickness works," Yoongi mutters, somewhat defensively.

With a devilish grin, Wheein says, "True. Maybe he got a whiff of your horny omega slick and now he's going into a rut."

Yoongi's heart pounds wildly in his chest, and he racks his brain…is that how ruts work? He is not entirely sure; alpha ruts are not exactly part of the in vitro birthing process.

"I'm…not—" Yoongi begins, wanting to argue that he has not been excreting slick willy-nilly for all the house to smell. Sure, he is sweating a lot, and producing a bouquet of scents, but his slick has been more or less kept under control.

But then he remembers the jog in the woods. Not only that, but Namjoon chased him through the trees and pinned him in order to get a better sniff of him. And he did leak a little earlier today when Namjoon stormed in and loomed over him like a threat. Could that have caused a rut?

Yoongi begins to panic, feeling his pulse rage. He knits his brow and shakes his head, attempting to think of something to say, but Wheein just giggles and walks out, closing the door and leaving a spattering of patchouli behind her.

Briefly, Yoongi wonders if she is drunk; she does seem to enjoy her white wine. Or is she being malicious? Does having another omega in the house make her feel insecure?

There is a part of Yoongi that wants to reach out to Namjoon and ask him what is wrong – to make sure that it is not, in fact, a rut that he is going through. But Namjoon has been so hot and cold toward Yoongi since his arrival, and more than anything, he wants to get the procreation done and over with so that he can carry their child to term and never see them again.

However, if he is going to be in this house for a year, give or take, then he needs an ally. So he climbs onto the bed, finds his phone, and makes an attempt at opening a dialogue.

Yoongi I have a feeling Wheein hates me.

He sets his phone down and takes a spoonful of soup, raising it to his lips before stopping and giving it a whiff. Certainly, if she were going to poison him, she would do so with something undetectable, Yoongi thinks, but he takes precautions anyway. After all, she is not above having things added to his food that should not be in there.

Yoongi has a spoonful of the soup, then a bite of rice, and a spoonful of soup again. He closes his eyes, savoring the broth with a tiny smile, deciding it is probably not dosed with poison. Beside him, his cell phone buzzes.

Namjoon To be fair, she hates everything.

This makes Yoongi snicker and roll his eyes.

Yoongi How reassuring.

Namjoon Why? Has she said something to you?

Yoongi feels a little surprised by Namjoon's concern. Of course, this could be a robotic response, seeing as Yoongi is a guest in his home. Or a response born out of boredom, if Namjoon really is sick. Still, Yoongi takes what he can get.

Yoongi She asked me what I said to anger you. I lied a little, because I wasn't sure if you told her, and I was already embarrassed enough that I didn't want to run the risk of offending her, as well.

Namjoon She's good at smelling lies. But it's probably best that you didn't tell her.

Yoongi I figured.

Yoongi continues to eat, staring at his phone, which rests on his knee, waiting for Namjoon to respond. It only takes a few minutes for him to become antsy.

Yoongi She mentioned you've been feeling sick.

Namjoon A fever, I think. Nothing concerning.

Yoongi Wheein said it might be a rut. She even teased me, saying it was probably my fault.

Namjoon She said that?

Yoongi I’m sure she was joking, but it did make me a bit uncomfortable.

Yoongi wants to ask directly. He wants to interrogate Namjoon about what happened in the woods last night and ask him what he thinks they should do. If Namjoon is reacting to his scent in a primal way, is it safe for them to be in the same house?

He stares at his phone, waiting for a response to come in, feeling disappointment well inside his guts with each moment that passes without one. He even considers calling Namjoon just to clear things up.

But instead, he decides he would rather eat his dinner. Already, the food and tea have begun to turn cold, so he slurps everything up, intent on finishing rather than savoring.

Since Namjoon is likely confined to one of the rooms, Yoongi decides to take his tray back to the kitchen. Perhaps he can engage in more friendly conversation with Wheein, or find out what Jeongguk is up to.

Yoongi slides off the bed and grabs the tray, balancing it on one palm spread across the underside as he walks to the door and opens it. He peeks out briefly, and upon finding only Jeongguk in the kitchen, he exits the room and pads over.

As he approaches, Jeongguk looks up, and with widened eyes, he trots over, reaching out for the tray before getting close enough to take it.

“I got it,” Yoongi grumbles, but Jeongguk takes it anyway, spinning on the balls of his feet to place it onto the counter.

“Yoongi-ssi,” Jeongguk says as he turns his attention back to Yoongi. “I was just going to come talk to you.”

“Oh?”

Jeongguk hums. “Being that you are in a heat cycle and Namjoon is feeling unwell, we would like to move you.”

"Like, what, to another room?" Yoongi scoffs; what difference would it make if he were across the same hallway, one door over.

"It's…more like a guesthouse," Jeongguk responds with a look of concern, possibly because he can see how Yoongi is responding to the request.

"A guesthouse," Yoongi mutters under his breath.

So, essentially, they would like to further isolate Yoongi and keep him away from Namjoon. And he is supposed to carry a child under those conditions…he wishes he could say he is surprised, but isolating the surrogate does seem to be the way couples handle the process, and a guesthouse had been mentioned before.

"Fine," Yoongi grumbles, feeling exhausted.

Perhaps it is for the best that he is away from this weirdo family and keeps to himself. The pay that will come at the end of this whole ordeal will be enough that he can take a vacation to clear his mind, and he decides to begin looking forward to that.

Yoongi leads the way back to the bedroom and pushes the door open, leaving it hanging rather than bothering to close it behind him. Let his stench fill the hallway, for all he cares; if Namjoon really is rutting, then he hopes the man feels miserable.

First, he picks up his phone – checking for messages and rolling his eyes when he finds none – and then he shoves his strewn clothing back into his suitcase and zips it shut. Jeongguk arrives and waits in the doorway, seemingly surprised to find Yoongi is already set to leave.

"You never bothered to unpack," Jeongguk mutters, a statement rather than a question.

Rather than respond, Yoongi shoves past and walks down the hallway, toward the bathroom, to retrieve his toothbrush. For a brief moment, he considers taking the amenities that have been provided, but he decides to wait and find out what the guesthouse has to offer. Yoongi pads back and finds that Jeongguk already has his suitcase handle extended and in his grasp, so he approaches and waits for the beta to lead the way.

"It's out back," Jeongguk mutters as he wheels the case toward the back door, and Yoongi trods ahead and slides his feet into the sneakers that were left the night before, not bothering to untie them or straighten out the backs that bend beneath his heels. He stands off to the side as Jeongguk slides into some sandals and opens the back door, leading the way to the left, where the wooden deck extends past the pool, along the side of the house.

Past the pool, between the hanok and the wooded area, is a small wooden bungalow – a tiny version of the hanok, with matching ornate black roof tiles. It runs the width of the pool, although how deep the structure is, Yoongi cannot tell. Jeongguk leads down the wooden path until he reaches the door, then he pulls out a key and unlocks it.

As soon as Yoongi steps close to the front door, he is hit with the scent of warm musk, tangerine, and cinnamon, stronger than it had been in the other bedroom. Petulance rises, and he cannot decide whether he is more annoyed at having to smell the alpha because he wants him close, or if he simply wants nothing to do with his presence at all.

This building is far more quaint, with a large room that has a bed set up in the far corner, raised from the floor and covered in furs – what one would expect from a wolf home centuries ago – with a dresser and mirror nearby. There is a low square table in the center of the room, around which sits four yellow-brown cushions. To the right is a window, and to the left is a door, through which Yoongi expects to find a bathroom.

There is no kitchen, nor hint of space in which to prepare meals, making Yoongi uncomfortable. Sure, he had been accepting Jeongguk's insistence of preparing and delivering his meals, but out here, away from the house, he practically feels like a prisoner. The space is bare bones, and appears hardly used – though immaculate; Yoongi does not see a speck of dust. He wonders if Jeongguk recently cleaned in here.

"What do I do about food?" Yoongi asks, already knowing what the answer will be.

"I already prepare all three meals for Namjoon and Wheein," Jeongguk responds simply. "And I was already bringing your meals, before we moved you here. It's no trouble for me to make the extra trip with a tray."

Yoongi sighs and digs the palms of his hands against his eyes, feeling tired, but more in an emotional way than a physical one.

"I guess I was hoping that on days I felt better, I could have a little more independence."

Jeongguk nods, then shrugs and says, "I understand it must be strange to live with a family who has hired help, but I assure you that nobody cooks or cleans in that kitchen but me."

"And if you're sick?" Yoongi challenges, raising an eyebrow.

"I rarely become sick," Jeongguk responds.

Yoongi simply hums. Must be nice, he thinks, to be a beta with no heat or rut cycle to care about. Still, the thought of having to rely on someone else for all of his meals feels…well, annoying. But he swallows down the rest of his remarks and accepts things as they are. Jeongguk is, after all, a great cook.

"Take down my number so it will be easier for you to let me know when you are hungry," Jeongguk suggests, and Yoongi fishes his phone from his pocket, unlocks the screen, and thumbs through to open an empty contact, then hands it over.

"And if I want snacks?"

Jeongguk takes the phone, glancing at Yoongi for just a brief moment to smirk, before looking down and muttering, "I have already purchased the items on your list, and if you would like, I can bring all the snacks here. If there is anything else you crave, just let me know and I will add it to the shopping list."

"Alright," Yoongi concedes with a sigh as Jeongguk hands his phone back. Yoongi snatches it and slides it back into his pocket, then continues to glance around the room.

"I will leave you to it," Jeongguk says, turning on his heels before adding, "and if you would like to go for a swim, please feel free. I bought a set of shorts in case you didn't pack any. It's in the dresser, which you are welcome to store your things in."

Yoongi nods and hums in response, then stands stiff with his arms hanging at his sides, unsure what to do with himself as Jeongguk leaves. A swim does sound nice, but he hesitates, letting his gaze drift around the room. He supposes it couldn't hurt to take a dip and get a little sunshine. There really is not much else to do, and although Yoongi has a laptop packed in his suitcase and can always find something to stream, he really is not in the mood to watch anything.

"Everything feels like a concession," he mutters under his breath as he kicks away his bent sneakers and pads over to the dresser. "For once, I just want to feel relaxed."

And if that is not reason enough to take a swim, he really does not know what is.

Although the furniture seems somewhat contemporary, the dresser has a vintage look, designed like older pieces of furniture with ornate iron fastenings, but rounded edges. Yoongi opens the top drawer and finds a folded pile of black cloth, which he lifts and discovers is the shorts Jeongguk had mentioned.

Although they are longer, they are also rather tight, and Yoongi snickers to himself, wondering if they provide more coverage than boxer briefs – which he has aplenty, and could have worn. He strips down, out of his light blue jeans and black briefs, and shimmies one leg at a time into the shorts, pulling them high and adjusting the crotch.

"Good enough," he mutters as he crosses the room and enters through the only other door, feeling around for a light switch before finding one and flipping it up. The bathroom is spacious, with a shower stall – containing the toiletries he lamented leaving behind in the old bathroom – and a large sink with an overhead mirror. Above the toilet is a shelf holding rows of towels, and he grabs one, switches off the light, and shuffles out.

Yoongi makes his way to the door and exits the bungalow, leaving it unlocked since Jeongguk did not provide him with a key, and he walks over to the pool. The end closest to his new home appears to be the deep end – which Yoongi thinks is quite suitable for the situation he has found himself in – and he decides he is not eager to jump in all at once, so he walks around to the far end, where a small set of steps sits nestled in the corner closest to the back porch of the hanok.

A light breeze gusts by, covering Yoongi in goosebumps, and he wonders if perhaps it is getting too cold to take a swim. Already, the day is beginning to wane, the sky turning a golden hue. Yoongi shuffles over to the steps and dips his toe into the water, snickering to himself because of course their pool is heated. Why wouldn't the mayor, who lives in a beautiful home with his beautiful wife out on this beautiful stretch of land, not have a heated fucking inground pool?

The water feels perfect, and Yoongi peels off the plain white tee he had been wearing and flings it and his towel over to a wicker chair with white padding that sits a few feet away. Briefly, Yoongi wonders if it is likely that anyone might join him, but considering Namjoon is unwell and the other two live in the kitchen, glued to their glasses of wine, he finds it unlikely.

Good, he thinks. All the better.

Yoongi starts slow, walking one step at a time while the water licks his ankles – cool on the very surface but warm just below. Then, with a deep breath out, and a deep breath in, he falls forward, skimming the surface as he lowers little by little until he is somewhat wading, somewhat walking, sinking down into a half-seated position hovering just above the floor.

Below the surface of the water, everything is calm and peaceful – a gentle roar of nothingness, heavy and weightless and so, perfectly alone. Above, the water sways, dips, and peaks, casting light and shadow in ever-changing patterns, glimmering and fading, ebbing and flowing. He wishes he could sit down here much longer than his body allows, and he lets out air gradually, expanding his diaphragm slowly, slowly, slowly, until his lungs begin to burn with the need for oxygen.

Yoongi lets the rest of his air out in a huff as he stands in shallow enough water that it rests at his hips, making his torso cool instantly in the evening air. A chill rocks through him, quaking in a shiver that feels so visceral – makes him feel so alive. And, with a smile, he spins and squats, walking with the water to his shoulders until, little by little, he can stand tall again with only his neck and head sticking out.

As the sun gradually works its way closer to the horizon, setting the sky ablaze in pink and gold, Yoongi swims and swims, spinning onto his back for a few laps before turning onto his front, dolphin-diving below and floating listlessly back to the top. He lays on his back and lets the water rock him to and fro, drifting with no direction – with no care in the world. He closes his eyes, he listens to birds and insects, and he simply exists.

The sound of the back door to the hanok closing stirs Yoongi, and he opens his eyes, body dipping into the water as his muscles respond to the feeling of surprise. Namjoon shuffles down the deck, along the path, and disappears into the trees, running much faster than he had the other night.

Strange, Yoongi thinks, that he is out for a run when he is unwell. Perhaps he is feeling better. Or, perhaps he is the foolish type who likes to push himself too far when all he needs is rest.

Or…perhaps he really is in a rut.

His fever – and whatever else he experiences during that time – could come and go the way Yoongi's does, building and fading gradually until it hits hard all at once, debilitating and overwhelming, or whatever alphas experience.

Yoongi continues to float, but the weightlessness feels stifled; his limbs are just a little too heavy. The euphoria has been tamped down, and he begins to slowly spin and walk around somewhat mindlessly, unsure what to do with himself. The thought of Namjoon returning and regarding him feels daunting…but, somehow, the thought of Namjoon returning and pretending he does not exist feels worse.

With small, bouncy steps, Yoongi returns to the steps in the corner of the pool, standing tall as the water pours down his torso and turns cold. Goosebumps cover his skin, and he breathes deep, relaxing breaths as he exits and pads over to the chair for the fluffy white towel that lays in a pile, tangled with his shirt.

Yoongi picks up the towel and starts with his shoulders, rubbing away water while standing with his head leaned just forward enough that the water drips onto the tan gunite floor. He rubs the towel over his arms and down his legs, not worrying too much since his shorts are sopping wet; he really just wants to get his shirt back on so he can dry his hair a little and then wrap the towel around his hips.

As he flings the towel aside and reaches for his tee, the sounds of feet tromping through the woods can be heard behind him. He holds the garment in his hand and rotates, curiously searching for the source of the sound. And when Namjoon breaks through the trees – off path – Yoongi sucks in a breath and holds it for safekeeping.

Namjoon shines in the faint rays of the quickly setting sun, hair stuck to his forehead in stalactites of sweat. His black athletic tank and shorts cling to his skin, outlining firm muscle and soft curves; he looks like a modern depiction of a god, chiseled in stone, preserved in all his glory, too good to be true.

As the musky-sweet stench of chamomile wafts from Yoongi, he turns his head away quickly and begins to shove his arms into his shirt, punching material before finding the wrong holes and then the right ones. He swallows a lump and stares ahead at the wooden deck of the hanok, waiting anxiously for Namjoon to pass and go back inside. But instead, the footsteps advance, slowing in step and at war with the accelerated pace at which Yoongi's heart pounds.

"Hey," Namjoon mutters, making Yoongi gasp, and he turns, feeling his face warm as Namjoon approaches. "Are you done already?"

Yoongi's entire nervous system screeches to a halt as he does his best not to notice the dips and curves of pectorals and abdominals, and so, so many muscles his foggy brain fails to cling to the names of. Somewhat frantically, his tongue pushes and pulls inside his mouth, forming consonants and vowels that never find sound, until finally, he mutters, "Huh?"

To his surprise, Namjoon chuckles – a soft thing with barely any sound following an abrupt gust of air, accompanied by gentle dimples creasing his cheeks. It is absolutely devastating, and Yoongi heavy-blinks and pleads silently with himself to get his shit together and think clearly.

"Are you done swimming?" Namjoon clarifies. "I was going to jump in."

All at once, Yoongi spirals. On the one hand, it would be an actual dream come true to swim with Namjoon – to be weightless and wet, and engulfed in his scent. But on the other hand – the practical hand that reminds him that Namjoon is unattainable and not his – determines that all of that is an absolute fucking nightmare.

What if the sight of Namjoon's bare chest causes Yoongi to produce slick, filling the atmosphere with his arousal? No, he thinks. Swimming with Namjoon is off the table.

And even as he deliberates, searching the darkening sky for answers, warm musk laced with sweet, tangy tangerine tickles at his senses and sends him reeling. He needs to get away, fast.

"Y-yeah," Yoongi mutters. "I feel kinda tired. I might shower and turn in."

Namjoon's brows knit ever so slightly, and Yoongi does not let himself dwell on it – pushes out the thought that Namjoon might be disappointed, of all things. As he takes a step back and lifts his hand to give a weak wave, he mutters, "Nice pool, though. Thanks for letting me swim."

A weird thing to say, Yoongi considers, since Namjoon did not really let him do anything; he is a guest in this house and was given swim shorts. But the words are already out there and it feels weird to take them back.

"Use it all you'd like," Namjoon responds politely, reaching for the bottom hem of his shirt and lifting.

And with that, Yoongi turns quickly, nearly tripping over his own feet to scamper away, back to the bungalow. He imagines he can feel Namjoon's gaze on him as he retreats, swallowing a lump of determination and disappointment as he reaches for the knob. He will not turn back and see for himself; he cannot do that.

Yoongi steps inside quickly and leans his back against the closing door, allowing his body and gravity to do the work as he sinks into the cold surface and closes his eyes. He needs to stop swooning over Namjoon; these feelings – whether a product of his heat, or genuine, or some dreadful place in between – are no good. They can only cause him hurt, in the long run. He needs to steel his heart and stop pining over the alpha who can never be his.

Days pass in the bungalow with Jeongguk bringing him breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and keeping him stocked with snacks. The food changes, sometimes braised pork belly, sometimes pizza. Each meal comes with tea and water, and a packet of bupropion in case Yoongi feels any swelling or pain. He lets the medicine pile up on the small wooden table.

Yoongi's heat is beginning to hit hard, keeping him bedridden during the day. He peels himself out of the sheets when the sun begins to set to swim by himself, desperate to calm his nerves. Then he showers and returns to the bed. When Jeongguk stops by with meals, he switches out the sheets and towels, keeping Yoongi stocked with anything he may need.

But what he really needs, deep down, is the scent and comfort of an alpha. He needs to nestle and cuddle; needs to smell and lick and feel. Already traces of Namjoon are dwindling, and he finds himself desperately rubbing his face against the thick fur blanket, in search of more.

In the past, Yoongi has been able to tamp down these urges, never having had a tangible person on his mind while his hormones rage. But this time, he aches and yearns for the man whose scent is faint on the fur – only present enough to provide an illusion of comfort, driving him mad when his thighs clench together, and he leaks with wanton need.

Yoongi has no idea how late it is when a light knocking on the door that is very clearly not Jeongguk stirs him from a restless sleep. Outside, the sky is dark, and he cannot fathom who may need him at this hour.

"Hang on," Yoongi groans as he sits up and begins to push at the sheet, tangled in fabric and sweat, drowsy and disoriented. "Just a moment."

Yoongi stumbles when he gets to his feet, breathing shallowly and attempting to press forward despite how badly his body wants to sink down, down, down to the floorboards, and seep into the earth. He reaches for the knob and turns, finding his hand is too sweaty and rubbing his palm against his briefs in order to try again.

It occurs to Yoongi in a brief, passing thought that he is completely undressed, answering the door in his underwear, but he has neither the heart nor mind to care. When he finally gets a grip on the knob to twist and pull, he lets his eyes rake up the body of his guest, to his face, taking several moments to process the sight before him.

"Yoongi?" Namjoon asks softly, covered head to toe in soft black cotton – a hoodie pulled over his head, and matching joggers.

Yoongi hums in response, not entirely certain that Namjoon really is standing before him; could he be lucid dreaming? Does it always feel so real?

"Can I—I wanted to talk to you. Is now a bad time?"

"I'm…not fully awake," Yoongi mutters. Then he chuckles, shoulders and stomach bouncing as he asks, "Am I awake? Are you a dream? This is a weird dream. Ugh, this heat is making me crazy."

"I'm—" Namjoon begins, hesitates, and shifts on his feet, eyes searching past Yoongi's head.

Yoongi thinks his pupils are blown wide, that his nostrils are flared, but of course they would be; dream Namjoon would desire him.

"Maybe I should come back another time."

With a shrug, Yoongi backs into the room, deciding that he may as well let Namjoon in; he has no idea when, in the foreseeable future, he might feel better. He pads over to a cushion and allows his body to bend and crash down into it, catching himself with his palms against the floor before he can topple completely. Namjoon enters the space and softly closes the door behind him, then he takes a much more graceful seat on the cushion to Yoongi's right.

"I was thinking…" Namjoon says, trailing off as he glances around the room, seemingly unable to hold his gaze on Yoongi. "I don't know if you know this, but I began my rut."

Yoongi laughs softly to himself, though what he finds funny, he is not certain. "Sucks to be you," he mutters with a sigh, feeling sorry for anyone who may be feeling as awful as he feels in this moment.

"I wasn't expecting it to happen, but I think it came about from…in the woods…when we were running. Your smell, and…my instincts…I—I don't know. I'm sorry, this must be awkward."

Gradually, as if ice water were trickling down from above, onto his head and pulling him from the fog of his heat, Yoongi begins to become acutely aware of the fact that this conversation is real – that he is definitely not dreaming. He watches Namjoon with wide, eager eyes, feeling a dizzying euphoria blanket him as their musks and scents mingle in the air.

"Ok," is all he can bring himself to say in response.

Namjoon chuckles, light and soft, just like the day at the pool, sending Yoongi's heart haywire. And Namjoon has to know; the way his scent hangs in the air, clinging to every corner and surface, it is unmistakable how Yoongi feels.

"I wonder if perhaps this would be a good time to…you know…" Namjoon says, cheeks darkening with blush.

"Procreate," Yoongi blurts with a heavy scoff.

Namjoon's cheeks dimple just enough to devastate as he says, "Yeah. Procreate."

"I am the most fertile," Yoongi mutters, letting his gaze drift to Namjoon's sweater, to a spot that blurs as he lets his vision drift, then sharpens as he blinks.

"And I'm the most virile," Namjoon adds.

"This is probably an opportune time," Yoongi mutters.

Silence hangs, but, for once, it is not uncomfortable. Namjoon seems to be intentionally delivering a calming scent, and Yoongi takes a deep, fortifying breath.

"Tonight is likely too soon," Namjoon responds, voice small.

Yoongi gasps, eyes flying to search Namjoon's face for any hint that he is joking, finding him looking shy.

"Yeah, maybe." Yoongi says, weighing the possibilities. "It would…gods, it would be a huge relief for me, but…maybe it's too soon."

"I'm sorry you're in here alone, dealing with this," Namjoon says, bashful. "I was too worried about, well…having you across the hall. The smell…"

"I get it," Yoongi responds. And he really does; being away from Namjoon has been for the best, he thinks. Especially with his treacherous heart desiring more than just the alpha comfort he could provide. Yoongi finds himself curious to know Namjoon too, as a person. Horrifying; it must be stopped.

"Tomorrow?" Yoongi suggests, half-joking, and Namjoon regards him with wide eyes, visibly swallows, and then nods in quick, shallow movements.

"Alright," Namjoon says, wetting his lips and standing quickly. "See you tomorrow, Yoongi."

And then, without another word or glance back, Namjoon makes for the door and exits, leaving Yoongi to spiral and spiral.

Jeongguk arrives bright and early with a bowl of fruit, water, and tea. He mutters something about Yoongi refraining from showering, no matter how sweaty he may be, and he hands over a packet of vitamins, waiting to watch Yoongi take them.

He also brings incense sticks and candles that he lights, ornate figures and shimmering crystals that he sets here and there, wreaths of dried plants that he tacks around, and soft, satin black sheets. It smells faintly like a smoky forest, but also a valley of flowers.

"Namjoon will return within the hour," Jeongguk says once he is done, holding the old bedding in his arms. "It will just be the two of you; the ritual is modern enough that there is no need for an audience. Is there anything else you need?"

Within the hour, in broad daylight. Yoongi swallows thickly. "N-no, thank you Jeongguk."

"Best of luck," Jeongguk says with a nod, "I pray for your fertility, and to your healthy body, mind, and spirit."

"Oh—okay, thanks," Yoongi mutters, stunned and unsure what to say.

With a bow of his head, Jeongguk departs, leaving Yoongi to stare at his fruit bowl.

Namjoon's knocking is recognizable now; two short taps and three quick ones. Yoongi is sitting at the table finishing his fruit and tea, and he calls, "Come in," with a quaking voice.

Seconds pass before the door opens, and Yoongi wonders if Namjoon is just as nervous as he is. He walks in wearing a black satin robe, and he kicks off sandals as he closes the door, then approaches with soft steps. He kneels beside Yoongi, and glances around the room for a brief moment before finally speaking.

"Are you ready, little omega?"

The nickname makes Yoongi's head spin, and he heavy-blinks and nods, letting his gaze drift and return.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

With a lift of one eyebrow, Namjoon says, "You don't smell ready," and Yoongi absolutely spirals. He attempts to find the words to say, failing around each syllable before Namjoon continues, saying, "I can change that, don't worry," in a voice that is deep and inviting and far too enticing for his own good.

Yoongi pushes away from the small table and stands, wearing only black briefs and a black tee. The material clings to his skin with sweat, but he has followed directions and has not showered. He makes his way to the bed and sits on the edge, and Namjoon turns, gets onto his hands and knees, and crawls.

No, not crawls – Namjoon stalks. His gaze is pointed, lips pulled into a sneer, and he slowly makes his way to Yoongi as the bone and muscle in his shoulders rise and sink hypnotically.

The dark material of the satin robe falls open, showing hints of chest, and Yoongi allows himself to look. When Namjoon gets close, he nuzzles his cheek against Yoongi's knee, and sparks fly inside him, building the aching need, causing every muscle between his legs to twitch and flutter as he produces slick.

"That's more like it," Namjoon groans, making a show of sniffing the air.

"Gods, you're infuriating," Yoongi mutters as his eyelids flicker.

"Lay down," Namjoon instructs as he sits up and begins to disrobe.

Yoongi nods and backs up, digging his heels as he pushes the blankets away and finds the center of the bed, soft and cool and covered with satin. Namjoon stands, drops the robe to the floor, and Yoongi gasps as he takes in the sight of the alpha nude with his cock hanging heavy and half-hard between his legs.

"Like what you see?" Namjoon teases, and Yoongi laughs, forcing his gaze to reach the ceiling.

"You wish," he responds, breathy and unconvincing.

The mattress dips, and Yoongi's heart becomes frantic. He has to keep reminding himself that this is really happening – that Kim Namjoon is going to breed him. When he allows himself to look at Namjoon, he finds the man towering beside him on his knees, laughing.

"What?" Yoongi asks, petulant.

"So stiff," Namjoon teases, and Yoongi realizes that he is lying in a straight line with his arms flat to his sides, and yeah, sure, he probably looks really funny. "Loosen up, omega."

"How do you expect me to do that?" Yoongi asks somewhat indignantly, tilting his head up, off the pillow, as if that will give him a better view of the man.

Without another word, Namjoon reaches down, takes Yoongi's plain black tee in both hands, and – with a growl that roars from deep in his chest – he rips it wide open, causing Yoongi to gasp and scramble as the alpha holds what is left of the material, trapping him somewhat suspended with his heels digging desperately against the mattress.

Slick trickles from him, mingling in the air with tangerine and musk – dizzying. Arousal floods and floods to the tips of his fingers and toes, his cock twitches half-hard, and his breaths heave from his lungs. He smolders under Namjoon's heated gaze, and his body begins to sink, pliant and eager. So, so eager.

Namjoon releases Yoongi's tattered shirt and leans close, caging him in with his arms and sniffing just above his shoulder, making Yoongi instinctively tilt his head to give him more access.

"Finally," Namjoon groans, voice hazy and somewhat distant, covering Yoongi in goosebumps. "I finally get to have you."

ahhhh, are we having fun, yet??? gosh, i love them so much. fun fact: this fic was written for a fest that had a 20k word cap for one shots and 40k word cap for two shots, and i ended up running out of fucking space. i went into a trance and wrote this fic like my life depended on it. and i have zero regrets.

thank you so much for reading!!! reblogs and comments are the lifeblood of this hellsite and likes are appreciated too!!! i love you!!!

tags: @codeinebelle @dasexydevitt13 @giriiboyy @mgthecat @moonleeai @m1sss1mp @spookyminyunki @yoongoboongo0🌙 comment or dm to be added to the tag list!

INDEX | NEXT

#namgi #namgi a/b/o #namjoon smut #yoongi smut #alpha namjoon #omega yoongi #bts a/b/o #bts angst #bts smut #fic: one day at a time

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bokettochild · 8 months

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So...so everyone knows how I started that headcannon that Leg has purple eyes, right? Well.......

There's something I noticed in TotK, and also in the TotK fanart.

Zelda's eyes.

After turning into the Light Dragon, her eyes go from blue to purple (mostly purple anyway) and while I guess this might not track super well, it sprung to me that, hey, haven't Hylian's who've transformed before her had the same eyes at least? Like, Twilight's eyes were so unique for a wolf that it earned him the nickname "the blue-eyed beast", so why did Zelda's change?

I guess we can chalk it up to holy magic.

But it got me thinking. If Legend and Zelda are twins, like everyone says,a nd Identical twins, like so many people also say, than why would Legend have purple eyes instead of blue like his sister?

Except, legend has also changed into a divine beast by light magic, and if he's Hylia's son, than unlike Twilight, it's not just shadows working on him.

What if it's more than just his hair that changes? What if, once upon a time when he started traveling, Little Legend's eyes were blue as the midday sky, but after his transforming so much in the dark world, they were turned purple? What if he, like Twilight and Time, bears the mark of his adventures on his face, but in a way few would know to see?

Just rambles I guess.

I also like Legend having purple eyes just because, and obviously having it be an inherited trait is a fun plot point *ahemfeatheredahem* but this has been rotating in my brain like a rotisserie chicken, so I thought I'd spit it out and share it already :)

#lu legend #linked universe #linkeduniverse #ketto's brainfarts

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ratsandfashion · 10 days

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@SHOFARSOGOOD SORRY TUMBLR WOULDN'T LET ME REBLOG???

BUT

OH MY GOD YOU HAVE OPENED THE FLOODGATES HNNNGH

Okay, so you're in France in the 1760s. Specifically, you're a peasant in the Gevaudan province.

AND SOMETHING IS KILLING THE SHIT OUT OF EVERYBODY

It's described as being "like a wolf, yet not a wolf" and these people, they're shepherds, they see wolves ALL THE TIME, so if they say this thing WASN'T a wolf, I trust them. But the problem is, we don't know WHAT it was. Descriptions vary a LOT, probably owing to the people who saw it being terrified and trying to get away, combined with a typical "game of telephone" deal where the thing got changed each time someone told someone else about it, combined with people just lying and SAYING they'd said it, combined with the fact that if it was an exotic animal (more on that later) people just had no idea what they were looking at. But some fairly consistent traits are that it's BIG, it's got a long tail with a tuft, and it's a reddish color with a black-striped back and white underbelly.

Sounds like a tiger, right? That's a common theory. A lot of nobles kept zoos of exotic animals that peasants would never have seen before and have no reference for, so the fact it's a big furry predator on four legs was probably enough to make it "like a wolf but not a wolf" if it wasn't a bear (and we don't think it was a bear because people also knew what bears looked like) Some good candidates are a tiger for the aforementioned reasons, a lion (tufted tail, some drawings have a mane), and a hyena (wolf-like, has the bite force necessary for decapitation, as many of the corpses had the head removed from their bodies, another unusual feature)

So this thing just fucking runs around the countryside savaging peasants. And they can't do much about it because it's illegal for peasants to have guns. If you ever have to make an argument for the right to bear arms, bring up the Beast of Gevaudan, gurantee no one will see that coming!

Some peasants made do with what they had though. A group of boys managed to save their friend with, iirc, sharpened sticks, though they did not escape unscathed. One had his cheek basically TORN OFF, and as a result the king funded his education for the rest of his life, which was a big deal for a peasant boy who wouldn't ordinarily receive it. And a girl, Marie-Jeanne Valet, successfully fended it off with a homemade spear (she described the beast as a large dog) A statue still stands in her honor today.

Speaking of the King, the news about all this was reaching him. So he started sending out hunters and dragoons (a type of cavalry that would dismount to fight) to get the wolf. But, to no avail! They couldn't seem to kill it. And when they DID finally get a great big wolf, as well as a female wolf with unusually large pups that had traits not normally seen in wolves (ex: double dew claws, which some large dog breeds have, indicating wolfdog hybrids) the killings stopped for awhile. . .and then started again.

This became one of the first international news stories; other countries thought it was HILARIOUS that the King of France and all his men couldn't handle one little WOLF!

Eventually, it was brought down for good by a local hunter named Jean Chastel. Legend sprang up that the beast, which was said to be immune to ordinary bullets, had been felled by a bullet which had been made by melting down a medallion of the Virgin Mary. At the time, the fact it was killed by a holy icon was what was significant, as some people thought it was a werewolf and those were seen as creatures of the Devil at that time (rather than innocent people afflicted by a disease/curse as in modern media) but the fact the medallion was silver may be the source of the modern "silver bullet" myth which isn't from any real werewolf folklore and seems to be an invention of Hollywood.

The royal notary examined the animal after death and recorded in what is known as "The Marin Report" that "This animal which seemed to us to be a wolf; But extraordinary and very different by its figure and its proportions from the wolves that one sees in this country." and details a "monstrous head", unusual body proportions, aberrant morphological characteristics, and unusual fur colors. The report also includes the dental formula (number of molars, number of canines, etc) of the animal, which does seem to indicate a canid of some type. The report is preserved in The French National Archives.

So, this wasn't an unsubstantiated cryptid. It was pretty darn meticulously documented.

Unfortunately, photos didn't exist then, and by the time the corpse was taken to Versailles, it was so rotten and badly decayed that no one wanted anything to do with it, and it was in all likelihood dumped somewhere like garbage. I reckon everyone was just happy to be done with it.

While the beast was dead (or at the least, the attacks ceased) the speculation never has. Some people think it was just a big wolf or wolves, but like I said, I think these people knew what a wolf looked like. Other people think it was a wolfdog hybrid or family of such, which would account for the large size, unusual features, and lack of fear of humans. This, I think, is the most likely option. The escaped exotic animal is the next most likely imo; I remember that there's no records of. . .it was either of any such zoos themselves at the time or of no escapees, but like, if I was a noble and my tiger got out and it was eating people, I don't think I'd say anything.

Then there's more fringe theories. The werewolf thing, of course, but also the idea it was a conspiracy against the king, or some big political plot, often involving Chastel (the hunter who shot it) or his son, or that it was a serial killer dressed in animal skins, or a serial killer that had trained a dog to hunt with him as his method of killing. I...kind that pretty unlikely, just because I've never heard of a serial killer doing anything like that, like using an animal is just not 'intimate' in the way serial killers seem to like to be? But I'm no expert.

My PERSONAL favorite Unlikely Fringe Theory is that it was a mesonychid. See, some descriptions of the Beast claimed it had hooves. And while no modern carnivore has hooves, there is a prehistoric class of carnivores called mesonychids who are often described as "wolves with hooves" and whose appearance---monstrous head, longer tail---do match up pretty well with a lot of accounts.

Now, is it likely that a breeding population of huge prehistoric predators just...survived THAT long into the present and just NEVER got noticed by humans except this ONE time, and no other remains to indicate their survival have ever turned up? Yeah, no. But I really like the idea! That and the werewolf are my FAVORITE options, but in all likelihood it was a wolfdog(s) or escaped exotic.

#this is a pretty condensed version and mostly from memory #but I'd totally rec checking out youtube videos on it #there's some great ones with animation and puppets and stuff #but yeah its my fave historical mystery!#beast of gevaudan

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silens-oro · 1 year

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Spoils of War: 6. The Stars Above

Aemond Targaryen x F!Targaryen!Reader

Spoils of War Masterlist House of the Dragon Masterlist

Synopsis: The pieces of the chessboard begin to move.

Word Count: ~10,292 (holy shit)

Warning: 18+. Targaryen uncle/niece incest (lite, nothing truly weird other than they are both Targaryens), starvation, force feeding, torture, blood, murder, imprisonment, anxiety, psychological trauma, ptsd.

AN: I'm cryin' at the response to Ch. 5. Thank you to everyone who reached out! We get to see a bit of everyone in this one. Is Cregan a lil ooc? Mayhaps. Is Aemond heading into WackyTaffy territory? Mmmmmyeah. Do I care? Nohaps. I create my own false realities, babes. It's just past 1am where I am and this has taken 2 days to edit, so I hope you all enjoy it. Also, my Cregan Stark faceclaim is 100% Arnas Fedaravičius as Sihtric from The Last Kingdom. Season 3 specifically. You're welcome.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated.

It had been three days since Jace landed in Winterfell. It took him no less than half a day along his journey to garner the support of Lady Jayne Arryn within the Eyrie, just as his mother had said. Lady Jayne had apparently laughed Aemond out of her keep more than a week prior, her threat of sending him through the Moon Door not subtle, before he made his rounds to other Houses of the Kingdom.

Jace had been welcomed to the North by Lord Cregan Stark nearly a week later. They had taken to each other like ducks to a pond within moments of meeting. Jace felt familiar to Cregan; he held a striking resemblance to the brother he had lost and Jace's earnestness was not lost on Cregan. Jace spoke truth with every word he shared, and it was a trait that the Lord appreciated greatly.

Cregan welcomed the Prince into his Keep, introduced him to his family, and supped with him at his table. The North was nothing like the young Prince had imagined. It was wet and gray, cold and dreary, but the people fascinated the young Prince. He went hunting with the Lord, bonding even further as if they were already brothers. He introduced Cregan to Vermax, and told him of Maestron. He described how the dragon’s pale scales would blend in with the snow and how the beast would create his own legend up North.

It was equal parts terrifying and fascinating to Cregan. The prospect of having a dragon in the North was daunting. The cost alone to feed it caused a spike of anxiety, not to mention just how safe his people would be with it roaming the countryside freely. There was also the thought of security. The North was a formidable enemy to have without a dragon, but with one…no one in the seven Kingdoms, or elsewhere, would dare to make them their enemy.

The topic of a betrothal to the Princess had been brought up a few times in passing, and while Cregan was not completely for it…he was receptive to the idea. Jace only spoke kind words of you, praises that only went higher and higher. In the end, his words seemed to win over the Warden of the North. If you were only a fraction of what Jace had described in the few days he had been in Winterfell, you would make a fine Lady of the North.

All of this brought Jace to this current moment in time.

He walked next to Cregan through the grounds of the Keep until they reached the Godswood. The vibrancy of the weirwood trees, their blood red foliage a stark contrast to the grays and browns surrounding him, caught his breath at their beauty. Cregan stopped him as they reached the raised and twisting roots of the first tree. He put a large hand upon Jace’s shoulder in a friendly gesture, but his face was serious. His dark brows were furrowed as he looked down to Jace.

“The fact that the Princess has not made her way here yet has not been forgotten by me.” Cregan said with a sigh as he dropped his hand. He could see the panicked thoughts racing through Jace’s eyes as he spoke. “You have been honest with me thus far, Prince Jacaerys, and for that I will give you the benefit of the doubt regarding the Princess’ absence.”

“I thank you for your hospitality and your courtesy, Lord Stark.” He said with a sigh of relief. “I assure you that this is quite unusual behavior with respect to my sister. She was supposed to be here yesterday at the latest.”

“She was.” He agreed. “You are worried?”

“I am.” Jace responded truthfully. Cregan seemed to respect the truth, even if the truth was not appealing.

“And you are sure she has not fled? I can’t imagine the prospect of living in the North would be appealing to a Southern Princess.” It would’ve sounded like a baited question had it been anyone but Cregan Stark. He knew it wasn’t a stretch for a Princess to shun the idea of relocating her life to live in the cold, wet, harsh climates of Winterfell.

“She would not flee.” Jace reassured Cregan, though the crease between his brows let Cregan know that the very idea that she would flee was a slight against his sister. “My sister is a great many things, Lord Stark. Dutiful and punctual are amongst her greatest attributes, I assure you.”

“I meant no offense, my Prince.” Cregan bowed just the slightest bit in respect. “If it would ease your worries, I will have the maester send a raven to Dragonstone. Worry not, Prince Jacaerys. We will get to the bottom of this.” Cregan extended a kind smile that just barely tilted at the corners of his lips.

“I would appreciate that, Lord.”

“Aemond,” Alicent greeted softly as Aemond let himself into her Solar. He allowed himself some time to clean himself up before seeing his mother so he at least didn’t look as he felt. Anxiety swirled in the pit of his stomach and he knew she could see it in his eye. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to rip the bandage from the proverbial wound. He stood with his feet a shoulder’s width apart, his hands clasping tightly behind his back.

“Lucerys is dead.” Alicent’s jaw dropped, as did the cup held within her hand. “As is the Princess.” It felt like the rug had been pulled from beneath her feet.

“How do you know this?” She whispered, taking slow, measured steps towards Aemond. Her breaths quickened, dread filling her chest.

“I was there.” He replied simply. An understatement, perhaps.

“Where?”

“Somewhere between Bronzegate and Stonedance.”

“They were at Storm’s Landing?” She questioned as she stood before him.

“They were.” He swallowed thickly, not able to meet his mother’s eyes. He looked just over her head and out the window. Darkness had since fallen over King’s Landing, shrouding it in shadow. “For the same reason I was.”

“What happened?” Her jaw was clamped tightly, anger rising as her son refused to meet her eyes. He was involved, she concluded. “You will explain yourself now!”

“Vhagar took them from the skies.” The lie was only partial. A gasp fell from Alicent’s parted lips.

“What have you done?” She grasped Aemond’s face in her hands harshly, pulling him down so he would look at her. Aemond could feel his mother shaking with rage. “What have you done?!”

“I could not stop her.” He whispered. “I gave chase to both of them, for that I am guilty. Arrax drew dragon fire onto Vhagar and she did not let his action go unpunished.” He explained. “She went after Arrax and I was unable to stop her.” Alicent could read between the lines. Young Luke, though she held no love for the boy, died horrifically. She let go of her son’s face, stumbling back.

“And the Princess?” She mumbled, shell-shocked.

“She tried to save Lucerys and perished as he did somewhere along Massey’s Hook.” Aemond lied.

“The Massey’s are aligned with the Blacks, Aemond. Surely a raven has reached Rhaenyra by now.” Alicent hissed, angry, frustrated tears welling in her eyes.

“I would assume so.” His tone was indifferent, but inside he was screaming.

“There is no way your beast was not seen. They will know this was you. Daemon will kill you for this, you stupid boy!” Alicent shouted.

“Daemon would kill me for less if given the opportunity. I am not sorry for what has transpired. Neither would’ve made it through this war.” Alicent looked at Aemond like she did not recognize him. “It was a mercy, if anything.”

“War is brutal, mother.” He explains. “Boys like Luke -soft- do not last long, and the women who create that softness survive even less.” Alicent shook her head, her loose curls bouncing in the light of the fireplace.

“The Blacks will strike with everything they have!”

“They have little!” Aemond assured her.

“And now more will flock to them!” Spittle flew from her mouth. “You’ve killed two of Rhaenyra’s children! Your niece and nephew! How could this happen, Aemond? How?!” Alicent screamed, tears falling down her cheeks. “If any House was on the fence that could've swayed to us, we’ve surely lost them!”

“I shall not lose sleep over it, I assure you.” Aemond fronted with a roll of his eye. “They took their chances against Vhagar and got as they deserved.” Still his stomach twisted at his own words. Alicent stared at Aemond, her lip trembling.

“You loved her!” She said in confusion. “Just one month prior you were asking for her hand, and now she is dead?” Alicent sobbed, holding a hand to her chest as she held herself against the high back of a chair. “There is no forgiveness in the eyes of the Seven for this, Aemond.”

“She is better off dead than in the hands of a lord that isn’t worthy of the air she breathes. Mmm,” Aemond hummed. “I suppose it is fortuitous that war is upon us to shield me from further judgment.” He spat. “I’ve secured the bannermen of Storm’s End as I’ve been tasked to do. I shall be wed to the Baratheon girl in a week’s time. I’ve done my duty, mother, and I’ve managed to kill two birds with one stone to keep my brother on his throne. Sacrifices must be made. You said those words yourself.” Alicent had no response. Her lips tilted into a deep frown, her eyes glassy. Her shoulders had hunched as she watched Aemond turn on his heel and leave.

What’s done is done.

Three more days had passed in Winterfell and the weight of your absence felt heavier and heavier upon Jace’s shoulders with each passing day.

A maester quickly approached Cregan and Jace, who were showing off their skills with archery -Jace moreso showing just how un-skilled he was with a bow. The Lord was trying to keep the boy occupied until he got word from Dragonstone. He had other duties to attend to, but something did not feel right in his gut. It was an instinct he learned to trust early on.

“Lord Stark!” The elderly man called, waving a rolled parchment in his hands. Jace let an arrow loose and it did not hit within the circular target, but it did lodge itself just to the right within the wood.

“Progress!” Cregan commended. Jace smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. He was ready to notch another arrow when the maester stopped him.

“My Lord, my Prince,” He bowed, completely out of breath. “I have word from Dragonstone. May we converse somewhere privately?” Cregan looked down to Jace, whose face dropped instantly. The raven the maester sent to Dragonstone still had days before it would reach his mother, so if a raven was here from Dragonstone…something had to have happened.

Cregan took the scroll from the maester and began walking to his council chambers. He unraveled the parchment and read it as he walked with haste. Jace had to nearly run to keep up with his gait. The maester trailed behind both, panting furiously. Once the door to the council chambers was closed, Cregan turned to Jace who looked at him with fear shining in his eyes. His own eyes held a deep sadness, which did not bode well for Jace. Wordlessly, Cregan handed the scroll to the younger boy.

The room was silent as Jace read the message.

He had to sit, lest his legs give out from beneath him. Cregan helped lower the shocked young man, his hand never leaving his shoulder.

“My most sincere condolences, my Prince.” The baritone of his voice vibrated to Jace, who let the parchment slip through his fingers and fall to his feet. He could not feel. He could not think.

Jace dropped his head to his hands in utter agony.

Surrounded by darkness, you did not know if your eyes were truly open or not. Were you alive? Were you in a purgatory of sorts? Was this the afterlife? Hell?

The back of your head pounded angrily and your back felt stiff. You reached to touch the tender flesh, but a weight around your wrists stopped you.

Alive, it would seem, you thought. but Hell all the same.

Chain links clinked together as you moved your hands to where you thought your face was, but even inches from your own eyes you could not see through the void. Your thumbs rubbed over the scabbed skin of your palms. The skin was taut and each stretch of it caused you to hiss in pain. Sighing heavily, you rested your hands back onto your stomach and closed your eyes to let your mind spin.

Lucerys was truly gone. Never would you see his young face mature into that of a man. Never would you hear his voice, his laughter. Never would you see him grow, and learn, and change. He would never become a father or an uncle. He would never be.

Tears cascaded down the sides of your temples with renewed fervor as you sobbed into the darkness. Your stomach clenched as you let the raw emotions take over. Gone was your strength. Gone was your fight. Even if you lived through this -whatever your current situation may be- you would never be able to face your mother again. Guilt began to fester insidiously within your brain. Had you simply kept your mouth shut, would Aemond have given chase? Had you not thrust your own proverbial dagger into his heart and twisted without remorse, would Luke still be alive?

Has Luke’s death been your own doing?

Blame encumbered you like a thick, suffocating blanket that left no air to fill your lungs.

The thoughts of what could have been no longer mattered. The reality was this; Luke and Arrax were dead. Maestron was dead. You were held prisoner somewhere. Luke’s death and your disappearance would surely be the start of a kingdom-wide catastrophe; a deadly dance of dragons that would leave no survivors in its wake.

You did not know how long you had been in your cell before you woke. You did not know if word had reached your father yet. Would he believe you dead? Or would he think you left with Aemond willingly to not marry Cregan Stark? No, you berated yourself. He’d think me dead before believing that I’d willingly betray my family. Still, if they thought you dead, would they have reason to look for your body? One they wouldn’t find? Or would they assume Vhagar had consumed you as she had Luke? A million thoughts raced through your mind. With only the darkness and the rats for company, there was nothing to stop them.

When your eyes opened once more, they shut just as quickly as you buried your face in the itchy wool of your blanket. A hiss left your lips as the light of a torch burned your eyes mercilessly. You re-opened them slowly, allowing them to adjust to the light. Your head throbbed at the intrusion.

Aemond placed the torch into the holder that was fastened to the wall just to the right of the staircase he descended from. This was the first you had seen of your surroundings and they were just as desolate as they had been in the dark.

Your cell was a small rectangle, six feet wide and twice as deep. The foot of your cot faced the bars of the cell. There was a bucket in the furthest corner and that was it. You were in a dungeon, that much could be deduced. The silence that filled your time let you know that you were the only poor soul down here, wherever here was.

Aemond stood at the bars, a tray of food in hand and a cup snugly held to his chest with the crook of his elbow. Your stomach growled loudly at the sight. He pushed the plate through the gap at the bottom of the bars and put this hand through the bars to place the cup next to it.

“Do you fear what I would do to you if you opened the cell door?” Your voice cracked as you spoke. Still you taunted him. You had nothing more to lose.

“I could never fear you.” His voice was soft and his words were not arrogant.

“You should.” You hissed, standing on your bare feet to pick up the plate and cup. Your blanket fell to the dirt floor in a heap. Aemond watched as your chains clinked with your movement until you sat back down on the cot, legs pulled up to sit under you. You tore a piece of bread from the roll on the plate and stuffed it into your mouth. “If I ever get out of these chains, I’ll pluck your remaining eye and make you eat it.” You said it so plainly as if you were discussing the clouds in the sky. Aemond sighed heavily.

“You are in pain. I know you do not mean your words.”

“You know not of the pain I feel.” You snapped, dropping the bread back onto the plate. “You’ve murdered my brother and you think I know not of the words that fall from my lips? This is a betrayal that I will never recover from, Aemond.” Aemond let your words permeate the dungeon for a few moments before he leaned against the bars.

“I did not mean for this to happen...” His voice was just above a whisper. He did not look at you as he spoke. Aemond did not have it in him to truly face you.

“If you’ve come down here to apologize, don’t. There is nothing you could say to me. Nothing.” You shook your head, burying your face in your blanket.

“I do not seek your forgiveness.” Aemond’s voice cracked as he spoke.

“Good.” You hissed. “Because you will get none from me.”

“I do owe you an explanation.”

“You owe me my freedom.” He finally brought his eye to look at you. Your hair was in a rat’s nest, nearly completely free of the braids they were in when you got to Storm’s End. Your eyes were red and swollen, your face blotched with irritated skin and dried blood. You had removed your leather jerkin, leaving your undershirt, riding pants, and smallclothes as the only garments you had on.

“Be that as it may, I cannot let you go.” Aemond sighed and started pacing in front of the cell. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he settled on his next words. “I tried to stop her.”

“Shut up!” You pressed your hands to your ears as best as you could within your shackles. Aemond only spoke louder.

“I did not intend on killing him! I meant to scare him, to scare you and give you both chase. Him for being a little prick and you for my heart! Vhagar did not heed my commands once Arrax had set fire to her.” You brought your hands down and set Aemond with a beastly glare.

“You thought Vhagar -a dragon so vast and old, so battle-hardened, so deadly -does not do as she wishes? That you command her?” You scoffed, leaning back against the stone wall. “No dragon can be tamed, Aemond. She’s bonded to you, not for you. You were stupid to think otherwise.”

“She has never disregarded me-”

“-You goaded your dragon who has fought wars -who has killed men and beast alike- to kill once more and you are surprised she did it?!” You shouted from your cage.

“Had Arrax not attacked with fire he and Luke would be alive! Maestron would be alive!” You stood suddenly, shuffling towards the bars of the cell. Flames would have burst forth from you if they could.

“Had you not given chase in the first place, they would be alive! You’ve done this, not Luke! Not Arrax! My brother’s blood is on your hands, Aemond, and still you play the weak man. Putting blame to anyone’s hands but your own!” Tears had risen once more to your tired eyes. “You were man enough to take flight, to taunt and chase! You will be man enough to take responsibility for what you’ve done!” The rage would never leave you, you vowed. If it took until your last breath, you’d make Aemond pay for what he did. “Vhagar felt your disdain for Luke through your connection. You’ve wanted him dead since we were children, Aemond! Do not lie to me!”

“Yes, I’ve wanted him dead, but not like this.”

“He died for nothing!” You screamed in High Valyrian. Depredation filled Aemond’s very core and overfilled into his soul as he stared down at you. There was nothing he could do or say to put this right. Nothing could fix this disaster he had caused, putting you at the center of the crossfire and Luke as the first casualty of the impending war. “He died for nothing.” You repeated in a whisper, dropping back onto your cot. Your head dropped to your shackled hands and you pulled at the roots of your hair to feel something, anything, other than hellfire within. It was all-consuming. A few moments of still silence passed before Aemond spoke again.

“I am undeserving of any kindness from you, but that does not lessen the blow of each hate-filled word you’ve thrown my way. It felt the same in the Pits, at Storm’s End, and it feels the same here. I will never forgive myself for the pain I’ve caused, the nephew I’ve slain. That is something I must live with until my final breath. And I will.” Aemond sniffed and you knew then that he was shedding tears, or close to it. “I love you...so deeply. If I could rip my own beating heart from my chest, I would if it meant an end to this torment. I’ve been broken my whole life…but I’ve never felt completely broken until the day you denied me in the Pits. I felt the ground crumble beneath me and I fell into an endless misery.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I am still falling.”

You did not respond to Aemond. You could not take a single word more from him. With each word that tumbled from his lips, your stomach flipped. Pulling the itchy blanket over you, you turned your back to him and faced the wall in the fetal position. Aemond granted you the small mercy of rest, but he also took the torch with him, blanketing you in darkness once more.

The passing of time was impossible to gauge accurately. Aemond hadn’t returned to see you in what you assumed were days. In his place a young woman of -at maximum- six and ten visited your cell to leave you a tray of food and a cup of water. An estimated six days had passed, based off this timing assumption, and this was the seventh.

A week.

The news had to have reached your family by now. You couldn’t imagine the devastation that would ravage them. Your mind went to Jace first, who always tried to be mature and brave. He would be absolutely gutted. To lose both of his eldest siblings was going to be the most trying thing he had ever encountered, and you didn’t want to think of the psychological breakdown he would inevitably have over this. Young Joffrey would surely miss you and Luke, though he was just young enough to not fully grasp the situation. The same went for Aegon III and Viserys II.

Next you thought of your mother. You hoped this would light a fire so deep within her that she’d lay waste to everything the Greens held dear. If there was any good to come out of this, it was the hope of more support would gather for her within the realm. You felt genuine fear in the pit of your stomach at the thought of seeing her again. Would she blame you for what happened to Luke? Would she resent you for living? You would not blame her if she did.

You knew the prospect of your death would send your father to the brink of no return. He truly loved Rhaena and Baela, but you…you were his firstborn. You were his pride and joy, his near likeness. You were everything he could’ve hoped for from a child. He loved you from the very second he lay his eyes on you, and much like the bond your lineage had with the dragons, you had one with your father. You hoped the connection hadn’t been lost to him, that he held hope. Without it, you would surely perish in this dreaded darkness.

“You finally grace me with your presence.” You spat as Aemond set his torch down in the holder. He did not have a tray with him this time around, and you wondered if you would be eating this night. “I’m flattered.” Your tone stated the contrary.

“You asked me a question…down in the Pits. The answer seemed obvious until now.” Aemond’s hands were clasped before him as he spoke. You did not bother giving him your attention.

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Would I choose you?” Aemond stared at you as you finally looked at him, and it felt unnerving. “I did.” He whispered. “I chose you when I made the decision to take you. I know what the question implied. Love does questionable things to the brain, I suppose, but in the end I chose you.” All you could do was shake your head as tears built back up, your throat constricting.

“You do not love me. You may have…once, but not anymore.” You choked out. “You’ve killed my brother and I am caged like an animal. You do not extend your love with the likes of brutality.”

“This is not a kind world, Princess, and I am not a kind man. Still, my affections remain.”

“Before all of this madness, you have been kind to me!” You reasoned. “You cannot stand there and tell me otherwise! You can be a kind man but you choose not to be! You can fix this, Aemond! I’ve known you to be a great many things, but stupid is not one of them. This…this is stupid.”

“In that you are not wrong.” He relented. “My love for you will never die, this is true…which is why you are still alive. I could have let you run off that cliff. I could have. You are here for your own safety.”

“You cannot keep me locked down here in the dark with the rats forever! This is a fate worse than death!” You shouted from your cot.

“Once my sister and uncle have fallen, there will be no more need to keep you hidden. You shall be placed on a pedestal for all to see; my spoils of a war won. We shall live out our days peacefully.”

“You will not win this war, Aemond. To believe so is a naïveté that I did not believe you of all people capable of harboring. You have taken two of my mother’s children from her. I know she believes me dead. You will not live to see the end of this, she will make sure of it. My father will make sure of it. Jace will make sure of it. You’ve signed over your own execution is all you’ve done!”

Aemond breathed in at the mention of Daemon. He knew the road ahead would not be easy, and if there was a foe that would be hardest to best, it would be him. His will to persevere would surely bring success. It had to.

You stood, inching your way over to the bars of the cell. The shackles on your ankles left little room for steps, but you made due. Your shackled hands grasped at the bars, iron clanking against iron as your face pushed between them to get as close to Aemond as you could, eyes pleading with him to see reason. “Free me and we may be able to stop this! If they know I am at least alive-”

“I’ve killed one of her sons. I have done the unforgivable. Returning you will not change that fact.”

“My return will lessen the blow!” Frustration laced your voice.

“It will not. Regardless, no one knows you’re here with the exception of my Shadow, and no one else will know. Once this war is won,” Aemond reached his hand through the bars to cradle your cheek in his palm. A nimble finger delicately traced over the bridge of your nose. The slight bump was a reminder of what his brother did to you during the last time your families would ever join together as one, of what started the whole domino effect that led you both to where you stood currently. “We shall marry as we intended.” His grip on you tightened. “I will love you, honor you, give you all the children you wish. All that you desire, you shall have.” You sobbed openly, though they were cries of devastation and not happiness as they would’ve been previously. The life you once dreamed of, would have sacrificed anything for, was being given to you in a way you did not bargain for nor want.

“And your marriage to the Baratheon girl?” The look that overcame Aemond’s face was unsettling, his thumb stroking the apple of your filthy cheek.

“My duty has been fulfilled.” His voice was just above a whisper, a tone used between lovers, not of a hostage and her captor. Your eye twitched as tears continued to well. You looked up at Aemond. “But do not fret; There are ways to end an unwanted marriage.” Anger filled your heart once more as your jaw clenched.

“Delusions.” You spat. “Any love I have harbored in my heart for you died with Lucerys, and my Maestron, you fool!” You pushed yourself away from the bars, Aemond’s hand falling back to his side. The chains imprisoning you rattled as you pulled them with you to the back of the cell, as far as you could be from Aemond’s searing eye.

“I have loved you truly!” You screamed, “I have loved you willingly!” Aemond’s chest tightened at your confession. His brows furrowed as he looked to the ground. He bit his bottom lip then rolled his eye back up to meet yours. “Instead of happiness, this is the path you’ve chosen! One of cruelty and viciousness! Death and destruction! Murder and blood! Of treachery and devastation! You may have me physically, but you will never truly have me, Aemond. Never. Not after what you have done.” Your chest heaved and you felt much older than your years. Aemond stared at you for a moment, taking your feral appearance in.

“We shall see.” The corners of Aemond’s lips tilted up just slightly before he turned, taking the flame of the torch with him.

You had no idea what time had passed since you last saw Aemond. Your conversation must’ve sat heavily with him if he could not face you. The coward, you thought. Scratching in the distance caught your ear, as it had the last couple of nights. It was grating on your nerves as it continued night after night. Damned rats, you thought with a scowl.

You could only time your days by the meals that were brought to you by a mouse of a girl -his Shadow, Aemond had called her. She was the only human that you interacted with besides Aemond.

No matter how much you begged upon your arrival, the girl would not sway in releasing you. There was a reason she and she alone attended to you. Her devotion to Aemond was baffling.

By the third meal cycle since you saw your captor, you refused to eat. Each meal after that was left at the foot of your cell and was taken away hours later just the same as it had been brought, some bits picked at by the rats that scuttled in the darkness. It was four more meal cycles before Aemond himself reappeared.

“You are starving yourself.” You were huddled in the furthest corner of the cell on the ground, your knees bent up to your chest. A clean woolen blanket was cocooned around your body as you shivered in the darkness. “Why?”

Your voice was hoarse from the minimal water you consumed, and underused from lack of speaking. You did not beg the Shadow for help after the third meal cycle.

Your dry lips cracked and bled as you moved them. Your tongue stuck to the roof of your dry mouth.

“What need do I have of food? I will die down here, I am sure of it.” You didn’t bother looking at him. “No need to prolong the inevitable.” Your strength had left you as your body started to waste away.

The bright flames of the torch burned your eyes as you tilted your head from your knees to look at Aemond. He placed the torch snugly into the holder in the wall as you pushed your face back down into the blankets.

Aemond crouched down on the other side of the bars, hands clasped together as his forearms rested on his thighs.

“You may eat willingly, or I will force it into you. One way or another, you will consume it.” You did not look up as he spoke, just let your silent tears soak into the wool. You did not know how many more you had left to give. “You will live.”

The two strangers, a man and a woman, looked nervously between Daemon and Caraxes, who stood menacingly on the shore’s cliff behind his rider. The winds of Rosby’s shores were fierce as they blew around the trio standing in the sand.

“We thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, Prince Daemon.” The woman spoke first. Daemon merely held up the scroll that was sent to him, the information within it was either damning or a true revelation.

“Speak plainly. You do not give this information out of the goodness of your heart, I’m sure.” Daemon’s already short fuse was nearly non-existent now.

“She lives.” The woman spoke earnestly. “The Princess lives.” Daemon took slow, deliberate steps to her, eyes squinting against the wind. The large man next to the woman was quick to draw his sword, but a warning snarl from Caraxes was all he needed to stand down.

“For your sake, the words you speak better be the truth.” Daemon warned.

“They are, your Grace.” The woman assured Daemon.

“What proof do you have?”

“The Princess is locked in a cell beneath the Red Keep. She has none of her own belongings with her. If I could’ve brought something to you, I would have. To stand before you, empty handed with naught but my own word, is terrifying -I will not lie, but alas -my word is all I have.”

“Is it silver you’re after? Money? Land? What would you have me give you for your word?” Caraxys chittered behind his rider, sensing the irritation flaring in Daemon. “You wish to be fed to my dragon for a ploy?”

“N-no, your Grace! We are f-firm supporters of Queen Rhaenyra,” The man spoke, trying not to stutter. “Just as our Lord is.” The thick accents had caught Daemon’s attention when the woman had spoken initially. Daemon’s eyes narrowed. “What has happened to Prince Lucerys and the Princess was a travesty, my Prince. This is why our Lord sent us here.”

“Your Lord?” Daemon pushed.

“Lord Cregan Stark.” The woman answered. Daemon made a face at the pair.

“Cregan Stark does not bother with matters outside of his own land, especially of those so far South.” The woman nodded and explained further:

“Lord Stark initially accepted the offered betrothal to the Princess, even if that acceptance was known only to Prince Jacaerys. This treachery by Prince Aemond is an affront to House Stark as it is to your own House.” The wind blew her auburn hair in a tornado of red. “As you know, our Lord is a man of his word. To break an oath is an offense met with the swing of a sword. Lord Stark accepted the betrothal and feels it is his duty to do all he can to ensure the Princess is returned safely.”

“He has never met my daughter. He holds no love for her. He has nothing tying him to her other than a botched betrothal and he sends spies to King’s Landing?” Daemon could only feel suspicion towards the pair before him.

“Prince Jacaerys was not convinced that Prince Aemond would kill the Princess.” Ah, Daemon thought. Of course Jace was involved with this nonsense. “Not after their shared…history.” She treaded softly around her choice of words. “It was by the Prince’s request to our Lord that we be sent to infiltrate the Red Keep. We did, and we found her, your Grace. Truly.” Daemon stared at the pair, gauging their words carefully.

“Is it a reward you are looking for in return?” He questioned. The woman shook her head.

“The only payment we are requesting, your Grace, is that you keep your end of the offered betrothal to tie the Houses of Targaryen and Stark together as promised once she is free.”

“If you deliver my daughter to Dragonstone alive, I will supp with Cregan Stark myself to complete the terms. If my daughter is alive, there is no telling what condition she will return in.” Both strangers nodded, relief evident on their faces.

“We return to King’s Landing tonight. Should all go according to plan, we should reach the shores of Dragonstone in no later than a month’s time, your Grace.”

Weeks -or what you thought were weeks- had passed. Aemond and his Shadow watched over you diligently after your failed hunger strike. You gave most of the food to the rats, who had made themselves comfortable in your cell with you.

There was one rat in particular who kept you company most days. He had a healed stump where one of his front paws should’ve been. Simon, you had named him. A simple name for a simple creature. He was a curious little rodent, and had an easy temperament -as easy as a rat’s could’ve been. His brown fur was soft the handful of times he allowed you to touch him with the tips of your fingers. You’d gained his trust with pieces of bread, fruit, and the occasional marzipan cake that was on your tray.

I know they are your favorite, Aemond had told you the first time he brought a tray with one down.

A small comfort, he said.

Not once did you eat the cakes out of principle alone. The little rat, however, loved to pick at the pomegranate seeds and dried fruit that usually topped the cakes before dragging the sweet confections off into the darkness.

Simon lived like a little King of the Dungeons thanks to your offerings.

Still, you only picked at the food on the tray enough to stay alive as of recent. Aemond had made good on his promise of force feeding you after nearly ten days on your hunger strike, and you wished to never experience that horrifying series of events ever again. Drinking water was enough to trigger you on some days, your gag reflex not allowing the liquid to go down without choking you.

What an agonizing existence.

The creek of the iron door was the only warning you got before you were pulled up on your cot by rough hands. Your arms were pulled up and the shackles around your wrists were attached to a hook above the cot, leaving you incapable of using your arms.

Aemond was furious when you looked into his eye. Your confusion and exhaustion did not give you the proper mindset to ask what was happening until it was too late. His body was draped over yours on the cot to hold you still, a calloused hand held your jaw firmly, his fingers bruising your gaunt cheeks as he held your mouth open with painful force. The fingers of his other hand pinched your nostrils closed.

“Now.” He ordered, tilting your head back causing you to cry out in pain. You didn’t even see his Shadow until she was pouring warm broth into your mouth. You choked and sputtered, spitting it all over yourself and Aemond before he could push your mouth closed. He held his hand over your lips, fingers still holding your nostrils closed to force you to swallow. Tears fell from your eyes as you begged silently for air and pulled at your chains. The raw skin of your wrists ripped open as you fought against the irons. The warm trickle of blood only caused you to panic even further.

Once Aemond saw the bulge of liquid go down your throat, he freed your mouth just enough so you could cough and draw breath for a mere moment before he held your jaw painfully once more.

“Again.” He ordered, and the Shadow poured more broth into your mouth as you cried out. “I told you.” He spat as your eyes bulged, tears cascading down your bruising cheeks. “I told you and you did not listen.” He removed his hands from you completely, but he did not move away. You fell to the side, gasping for air and coughing out the broth that snaked its way to your lungs. Your brutal coughs echoed in the bare dungeon, the chains of your shackles rattled with each pull of haggard breath. You pushed your face into your arm as you sobbed hysterically. Aemond grabbed your chin once more to make you look at him.

“Though it pains me, I will continue to do this…or you will eat on your own.” He gave you your choices once more. You merely nodded, unable to look at him.

You stopped speaking to him entirely after that. You spoke to Simon when something needed to be said aloud. The rat’s company was much more preferable to Aemond’s, too.

Aemond hadn’t been down to see you in days, though his Shadow was diligent. It was equally relieving as it was troublesome when he was absent. It was a relief to not see him, or hear him speak to you. It was troublesome because the Gods only knew what terrors he was unleashing upon the realm.

Sat on the ground, cocooned in your blanket, you watched as Simon carried little bits of bread in his mouth to a hole in the wall of your cell. After so long in the darkness, your eyes had adjusted just enough that you could spot his small black mass moving about the cell. He stopped before you and you reached your fingers out to give him a pat on his little head before handing him a grape. He took it greedily within his mouth and hobbled back into the hole with his bounty, surely building up quite the store to snack on later.

“My Princess,” A voice called out, a whisper in the vast nothingness of your dungeon. “Please hear my words,” I’ve finally reached madness, you thought. Words without a mouth had reached your ears. “You are not alone. You have friends in the darkness of the Red Keep, Princess. The black flames will bring life to you once more, you must hold fast.”

Was it Simon that had spoken? Your eyes watched as his hefty little body scurried up to your feet. Your cellmate looked up at you, standing tall on his two back feet. “Have faith. You will be free of this wretched place soon, but you must first gain your strength. Eat.” Simon’s tiny mouth did not move as he looked at you, but you heard the words nonetheless. “Wait for my word and look to the stars for guidance.”

“Targaryen madness,” You mumbled out loud, burying your face into your blanketed knees dejectedly. Your eyes closed as the rat scurried away.

The sound of metal clinking together made your head perk up. A small sack was tossed into your cell from the darkness outside of it. You stretched your arms as far as you could without moving your aching body and took it within your bound hands. You winced with each rub of the irons against your already raw and torn skin.

The sack was not large, and it was not weighty. Undoing the drawstring and poking a hand inside, your fingers caught a keyring. Pulling it from the sack, a single rusted key dangled from it. Placing it carefully on your lap, you felt around the sack once more and was met with the handle of a small dagger. Its blade was sharp, the end pointed dangerously. Your breaths quickened in anxiety.

Shakily, you know unwrapped your bare feet from the blanket and tested the key on the irons around your ankles. To your surprise the latch popped open with a creak.

Testing the shackles on your wrists, the same happened. The relief you felt with the irons fell away from your raw flesh brought tears to your eyes.

Soon, you thought. Just a little bit longer.

Stuffing the key and dagger inside a small slit on the side of your mattress, you re-shackled yourself and wrapped the blanket around you once more.

There truly was hope yet.

Each day that passed you slowly ate off the trays, little by little.

It was three meal cycles before you heard the voice again. It had awoken you from your dreamless void, a hopeful whisper in the darkness.

“The dragon flies tomorrow, Princess. Do what you must. I will be waiting.” Do what you must. Your hand felt the side of the mattress for the dagger that hadn’t moved since it was thrown into your cell. Feeling the solid butt of the handle, you resigned yourself to what would surely be a point of no return.

You would escape or you would die trying.

The Shadow brought your tray of food the following day, just as she always did and as she was putting it on the ground to slide under the bars, you stopped her.

Your ankles and wrists were unshackled, but the chains still led underneath your blanket so anyone who looked into the cell was none the wiser.

“My bones ache,” Your voice sounded like a crack of fire. It startled the Shadow enough to nearly drop the tray of food to the ground. You hadn’t spoken to her since your first week in the cell. There was no reason to.

Your eyes burned as the light from the torch on the wall glowed brightly. “I cannot so much as stand to crawl onto my bed. Please bring it in. Hunger burns my belly and I cannot move to reach the tray. Please.” You feigned absolute weakness, burrowing your face back into the blanket. You took a few deep breaths, stealing yourself for what was to come should she take the bait.

She studied you, deeming if your change of heart was a ploy. It seemed that she harbored some pity towards your dwindling existence by the look on her face.

“I will live,” You spoke again. “Out of spite, I will live.” Your words held a double meaning, though she wasn’t privy to that. She will be soon.

The Shadow sighed before opening the cell door and cautiously took steps towards you. It seemed poor judgment was a trait she had with all things, much to your good fortune.

The dagger was grasped tightly in your shaking palm beneath the blanket.

The girl kneeled down to set the tray down softly next to you and as her eyes rolled up to meet yours, hers widened in fear. Your very alert, lucid eyes were glaring back at her furiously.

Before she could make a sound, you tackled her with the little strength you had built. You pushed your filthy blanket over her face to muffle her screams and plunged the dagger anywhere it could find purchase. The Shadow’s nails scraped across your face and neck as she swung blindly, doing everything she could to get you off of her until she did not have the strength to flail her arms any longer.

Blood splattered across your face and body, the walls were streaked with it. The Shadow’s sick gurgling slowly faded as blood seeped through the blanket via her mouth. The twitching of her legs continued for a moment until it too stilled.

You stayed leaned on her placid body, continuing to push the blanket into her face for good measure as you tried to catch your breath. The blade felt heavy in your hand and it felt as if your lungs would collapse from the adrenaline coursing through you.

Knowing you had to move quickly, you gathered your courage and stood. Stealing the bread from the tossed tray, you stuffed half in your mouth, then tossed the other half to Simon’s hideaway for him to find later. You would miss your little friend.

Taking your first bare step out of the cell, it felt like the weight of the world had fallen from your shoulders for the briefest of moments. You grabbed the torch from the wall with a shaking hand, the heat like nothing you’ve felt since your capture. You felt like a moth to its flame. The dagger was clutched firmly in your other hand.

Looking in all directions, you didn’t have the first clue on where you should go. The only direction you knew you couldn’t go was up the staircase that Aemond and his Shadow used.

“Look to the stars,” She had said. Your eyes rolled up to look at the stone above you. Raising the torch with a weak arm revealed small x’s that had been scratched into the stone.

ScratchingScratchingIt wasn’t the rats scratching at the walls, driving you to madness night after night.

The trail led you down a corridor that housed a row of more empty cells. This wing had been long abandoned, if your own imprisonment told you anything. Your head stayed on a swivel to make sure you were alone in your travels.

The x’s stopped at a nondescript cell. You held the torch in front of you, trying to see what was inside. By all accounts there was nothing to behold. It was just as your cell was, bare but for a cot and a bucket, and a hook to hold shackles.

Curiously, you stepped within. You held the torch as close to the walls as you could to inspect. There was nothing on the ceiling, nothing on the walls. Becoming frustrated, you kicked at the cot, sending it skidding across the dirt of the floor. Your eye caught it just as you were turning to leave. An x marked in white just inches above the ground.

You fell to your knees as you brought your trembling hand to the stone. It shook loosely causing you to gasp. You dropped the torch, using both of your hands to pry at the stone. Your malnourished nails broke and splintered as you tried to claw the stone from where it sat. It finally came loose and with it came your first breath of the fresh ocean air outside of the walls of the Red Keep. A sob tumbled from your lips as you tasted freedom. Your hands were bloodied as they pulled stone after stone from the hole to make a space big enough to squeeze through.

Sunlight did not filter through the hole, and as you peaked through it you saw nothing but the moon illuminated over the ocean. Night. How many moons have passed since your capture? How long have you been living in torment?

Please, please, please, you begged the Warrior. This was not a battle, but it was certainly a war for survival. Please see me to safety under your protection, I beg.

“She is here.” A voice said in a hushed manner as you were halfway through the hole. “Pull her out. Quickly!”

A pair of hands grabbed you by your biceps and tugged you from the dungeon. You lay on your stomach for a moment, the touch of wild grass on your skin was nearly too much for you to take.

“We must hurry, my Princess.” The voice from the dungeon called to you softly. Looking up, you saw two people shielded by their cloaks under the cover of darkness. “You need to change,” She handed you breeches and a tunic before motioning for the other person to turn around. “I apologize for how untoward this is, but you must redress. There are boots here,” She pointed next to the hole in the dungeon. You did not care for your modesty. You were outside of the walls of the Keep, outside of the dungeon. You’d do just about anything to leave this place.

You ripped the soiled and bloody clothes from your body and redressed as quickly as you physically could. The woman helped you keep your balance and let you go once you were upright with the boots slipped onto your feet. She grabbed a cloak from the second stranger and draped it over you with the hood covering your hair.

“We are to head down to the port. A boat will be waiting for us and will set sail the second you step foot aboard. We do not have much time, so we must act with haste.” You could only nod as you allowed her to lead the three of you through a broken grate that led you back into King’s Landing. It would be far more difficult to pick you out in a city of people than it was to take your chances on the outskirts of the walls.

The muscles of, or lack thereof, your legs screamed with each step. After weeks of not using them, the muscle had begun to deteriorate. Had you not had adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you don’t think you would have made it even halfway through the city.

“We must push forward.” The woman encouraged you with a gentle hand on your back. “We are almost there.” You were not almost there, but you were getting closer with each step you took and that was encouragement enough for you.

You pushed yourself for maybe fifteen more minutes before your legs collapsed. The second stranger, a man, caught you before you hit the ground.

“My legs. I cannot go any further.” You were close to tears from pain and frustration.

“We are close.” The woman noted, taking a look at their surroundings. “On your back,” The woman ordered the man. He nodded and lowered himself so she could help you climb onto his towering form. His hands were firm around the backs of your legs and you held onto his shoulders with shaking arms. “Fear not.” The woman’s voice was light so as to not worry you. You had heard that tone enough from your mother growing up to recognize it.

Resting your head against the man’s back, you trusted both of these strangers to lead you to safety.

A little over a half hour later and the jostling of going down a set of stairs woke you. Your grip on the man’s shoulders tightened as you came to. Ships met your eyes, and even at night the docks were bustling. The woman went ahead, slipping a coin pouch to a shipmaster who was documenting which ships were coming and going from the port. He simply took the pouch and looked the other way as they hurried down the dock.

All three of you loaded onto the ship, and just as the woman said, it was undocked immediately and set sail.

The voyage to Dragonstone did not seem real. Paranoia seemed to settle deep within you, waiting for Vhagar’s gargantuan Shadow to descend upon the small vessel at any moment, plunging it to the bottom of the bay to rest eternally in the briney sediments below.

You could feel every fiber of muscle, every tenon, ligament and bone within your body. Every nerve sang in pain. The sun, that you hadn’t seen in months as it would turn out, hurt your eyes. Its reflection upon the water’s surface made it worse.

“We are nearly there, Princess.” The woman assured you with a kind smile. Nearly two weeks in the boat had nearly killed you. The first two days you could not keep food down between the rocking of the waves and the anxiety of being found. By the fourth day you could keep bread and water down. Your stomach was still shrunken so it did not take much to satiate you.

Halfway into your second week, you were gaining your strength. You weren’t a fraction as strong as you used to be, but it was a step in the right direction.

Even aboard the boat as long as you were, you knew nothing about the group that rescued you. They would not give you any details other than they knew who you were and where you belonged, and that they were tasked with getting you home.

Home, you thought as you looked out over the open ocean. I’m going home.

Menial conversations were had between you and the woman who spoke to you from the Shadows of the dungeon. In your mind, you nicknamed her The Rat for the mistaken identity you had given her at your lowest point within that cell. The real Simon had never spoken to you as it turned out, but she did. It was a silly association that you’d keep to yourself. The last thing you wanted was to offend the person who stuck their neck out to release you. Even still, if she would not give you a name, she’d keep the one you silently gave her.

The Rat would answer your questions in such a roundabout way that it wasn’t worth asking them after a certain point. You’d get no answers from her, nor the three others aboard.

The blurred sight of a dragon against the sun in the distance caused your stomach to turn violently. Panic took hold of your mind and you started to hyperventilate. Your breaths were shallow and uneven, the air not filling your lungs entirely. You felt lightheaded within moments, ready to faint.

He found you. Was the only thought you had. Aemond found you.

Now, surely, you were going to die and so were the people that aided in your escape. In true fight or flight fashion, or delirium as the Rat called it after your first freak out early on in the voyage, you made ready to jump from the side of the boat as the beast got nearer.

You would not return to the cell, nor would you meet the fate your brother did. You’d gratefully take gulps of the sea until you sank to the ocean floor before you let Aemond put his hands on you ever again.

“My Princess! No!” The woman yelled, pulling onto your arm with all her strength so you could not jump. Your other held firmly to the edge of the ship, your legs in a wide stance as she pulled.

“He’s come!” You shouted frantically. Your eyes were manic and could not remain still as you looked upon her. The Targaryen Madness was still present, the Rat thought with sadness. She cursed the Prince for what he had done to you.

“You must jump too!” You tried pulling her with you. “All of you!” Tears fell steadily at the thought of more death that was surely to befall these poor souls who did not deserve it. “He will show no mercy to conspirators!”

“Princess, I beg you! Look!” She held you tightly, grasping your chin to look towards the dragon that came closer into view. The red scales and signature long neck of Caraxes came into focus and you fell to the deck of the boat. The Rat fell with you encircled in her arms, holding you tightly between her legs. You held onto her arms, nails digging into her skin.

Hysterical sobs overtook your body as Caraxes flew over the small ship, causing the vessel to rock. You could see your father atop him, though he was only a speck. His long hair flowed in the wind valiantly. This was one of the things you thought you’d never see again in this life.

One of the men in the boat waved a banner with the emblem of a gray direwolf on it to let Daemon know exactly who they were and who they had with them. Your mind could not piece together the banner with the people, your confusion only causing a dizzy spell to overcome you.

Daemon circled the boat a few more times to make sure your vessel hadn’t been followed by man or beast. The Blood Wyrm’s screech filled the air, blanketing you in safety and security as he made his way back to Dragonstone.

“I told you, Princess!” The Rat held your face in her hands as she spoke with a toothy grin. “I told you we were almost there! You are home!” You sobbed into her chest and she held you to her like a mother would her child.

You made it.

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