catastrophize.

Ty had been a bit of a wreck for the past week.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t want Iza to live forever, with him forever, his one and only forever, but Ty had at least a century under his belt and had, once upon a time, been a man in love and begging for eternity with another who would live forever, only to grow scornful and resentful at his long life. His own sire was dead in the ground, a pile of bones and dust by now, because he had gotten rid of him when eternity hadn’t turned out like he’d planned, and he’d been nearly 30 when he turned, not freshly out of youth and wide eyed. He remembered the pain of the change, remembered not even being sure if he would survive it, remembered all of the bad before any of the good would even make itself an option to consider, and he didn’t want to do that to his love.

He wanted Iza forever, but he was scared that forever might not last forever.

His anger had fueled a ridiculous frenzy. Death came to anyone who looked at him wrong, and a few who dared look at him right. He hadn’t been so well fed in ages, stronger and brighter and faster than he’d ever been, and at this point, he wasn’t feeding, simply hunting to get his frustrations out. It wasn’t uncommon in the past week that he would come sauntering into his home just an hour before the sun made an appearance and while this morning was no different, this morning there was something off. A strange change.

He smelled blood before he reached his door, and he knew part of that smell. Iza. He gave the doorknob a glance as he pushed inside, ready to storm the entire place to find the man and demand to know why he was bleeding, but he stopped short when his angel was standing in his kitchen. Wearing his clothes. And gods, Ty was already having salacious thoughts about ripping them off of him when the man looked at him, seething, and Ty carefully closed the door as he listened.

And his heart broke.

“Iza, mon doux ange, how could you ever think that I won’t love you forever.” He moved at lightening speed, reached the spot in front of the other and reached up to carefully grip his face, forced eye contact and broke all over again when he saw tears shining there. “I would move the Earth for you. And you can be angry with me all you like, but I made this decision to protect you. You’re so young, if I change you now, you might change your mind in a year. You might wish you had waited. I’m trying to protect you from making rash decisions because I love you so desperately.” 

Even after months of dating a vampire it was almost disorienting, Tyler being across the room one moment and then with him, touching him the very next. Iza didn’t resist the hold on his face, but couldn’t bring himself to hold eye contact at first- instead his gaze drifted down and to the side, ashamed of his own stupid tears, ashamed of the overload of emotion he was displaying. He’d had some sort of plan at first. Make Ty apologize, that was his plan. But the thing about being in love was that it was exponentially hard to put his pride above his desire to just… fix things, be honest, do whatever it took to get them to a place where they were together once more in any capacity. Even with the knowledge that they had a very real timer ticking down on them.

Once Ty’s words sank into his brain, though, he did finally look up again, eyes searching his for truth- and then his face crumpled further. “Well, what am I supposed to think?” Iza asked. “If you don’t want me forever, or you don’t believe that I actually want you forever…” he drew in a breath and sniffled, furious with himself for crying, furious and heartbroken over this whole stupid situation. “Do you doubt that I truly love you?” He asked, voice growing faint as he considered that possibility. “Because I- I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone, ever, and that will stay true for as long as I live. I just want to be with you. To stay with you.”

There was a part of him that wanted to protest that this wasn’t Ty’s decision to make- but... wasn’t it? His fangs, his eternity- and in a way… Iza’s brain short circuited once it hit that new train of thought. This was… this was sort of like meeting a marriage proposal with an I can’t commit to that. An I love you, but let’s not get engaged, let’s just stay dating instead. Perhaps it was foolish, but the comparison crumbled his already shattered heart into dust. Iza drew in a ragged breath and tried to pull away far enough to clean up his disgusting, teary face, all to little avail with the fresh wave of tears that had started up. He hid for a moment, calling up every ounce of rationality and strength he possessed, and struggled to figure out what to do now. What to do next.

Perhaps it wasn’t fair to push this with Ty. He talked as if he’d love Iza forever, but Iza’s brain couldn’t quite reconcile that with the refusal. Iza had been clinging to the idea that he could just find someone else to turn him- and maybe he would- but then what? Would their time be up then, or just whenever Ty grew bored? And how long would it be before they broke up if Iza stayed human? It felt like the worst sort of embarrassment, the idea of dating someone who never aged a day while he grew older and feebler and uglier. He wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t. He’d have to break up with him before he turned thirty. Ten years seemed like a long time in the present but it was short in the grand scheme of things, and how awful was it to commit a decade to something that was going to run out? Something with a future that only ended in one brand of heartbreak?

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore,” Iza said eventually, voice quiet and glum as he finally took his hands away from his face. “Can we just pretend that none of it ever happened? Please? Rewind to two weeks ago.”

It was somewhere past three in the morning when Izador broke into Ty’s penthouse, the city rife with nightlight. He paused in the entryway, knowing Ty was gone; it was dark and still inside, but the living area was illuminated by lights from the city outside shining in the floor- to- ceiling windows, a wall that was more or less pure glass displaying the world outside. 

He loved this place.

It filled his throat with a bitter lump, and after a moment of regathering his senses his fingers slipped up the wall to the lightswitch, leaving behind the same bloody streaks that surely decorated the doorknob. Some belonging to him, some not. He was coated in it, head to toe- his brain a syrupy, buzzing thing. He’d watched plenty of people die. More in the past six months than any other point in his life, but he’d never- he’d never been the one to actually kill someone. He’d helped, of course, and he’d been responsible, but he’d never actually killed anyone on his own. And now? Well. Everything was better in threes. And he did feel better, or at least- less enraged, which was basically the same thing as better, right? 

After another short pause, Iza struggled out of his shoes and padded his way along the familiar route to the master bedroom, pausing briefly and staring at the bed- unmade as always, blankets and pillows in disarray, and he considered climbing in then and there, bloodsoaked clothes and all. Satisfying, to ruin those expensive silk sheets Ty loved, but even just looking at it Iza was filled with a cold sort of exhaustion. All he wanted was to not feel this anymore. For Ty to be in that bed, skin cool and comforting against his own, and for things to be exactly how they had been a week ago. Perfect. Blissful. 

A sliver of hurt and dread sank in through the numbness, and Iza turned away with a scowl, sanctimonious anger taking root once again. Ty had been the one to ruin it, the one to say no to him. Good thing Iza was kind enough to give him this second chance. And besides, he hated how itchy blood got when it dried on his skin.

From there, he marched to the master bath, peeled his sticky clothes off and clambered into the shower, turning the water so hot that it hurt for a moment. He viciously scrubbed it all away, the blood, tissue, clots, gods knew what else, water pure filth as it sluiced off his body and the cleaner he got the clearer his head became. He’d killed someone. Three someones. And he shouldn’t have come here-- but he was the only one with a real grasp of time, here. The only one who was too painfully aware of how quickly time would pass. His dads weren’t a day older than the day they’d adopted him and they never would be, whereas Iza- god, he’d blink and tomorrow he’d be getting grey hair and wrinkles. He didn’t have all the fucking time in the world, especially not as this stupid, fragile human. Fuck knew what could happen. A fire or a crazed gunman or a fucking piano falling out a third story window. He was quick witted and armed to the teeth, but physically- he was just… so much less. And he hated it. So it had seemed a given that his vampire boyfriend would turn him… but.

Here they were.

He turned off the water and reached for a towel, drying himself off as he stepped out of the tub and into the steamy room. He tousled his hair roughly, too out of sorts to treat it with the care it deserved, and rubbed at the fogged mirror with his palm, smirking at his reflection. Tousled hair, bleached so blonde it was white and so much shorter than it had been this time last week- barely tickling his ears and considerably curlier than it had been before, free of the weight that had accompanied his waist- length waves. And his neck, chest and shoulders- angry, red, and marked up with the still- fresh bites he’d begged that other vampire for just a short while before he’d killed him, stake through the chest. He’d dated Ty long enough that seeing himself covered in bites wasn’t a foreign site- and even if he hadn’t wanted anyone but Ty to bite him, and even if these bites weren’t the type that would turn him, he was sending a message.

If you don’t, someone else will.

And yeah, the jealousy this would hopefully garner would make it all that much sweeter, too.

Maybe it was pathetic of Iza to be giving in and coming here at all, but he’d care about that later. And next time, because there surely would be a next time, it would be Ty’s turn to give in first. 

He finished drying himself off and discarded the towel, padding naked without a care in the world to Ty’s closet where he stole a pair of boxers and a shirt, shrugging them on before waltzing off to the kitchen. A peek in the fridge told him yep, still some human food here, and after only a moment’s debate he pulled out eggs and sausage. Simple, but quick and comforting. It didn’t take long at all to cook and he was halfway through dousing the finished product in enough hot sauce to melt a layer or two off the inside of his mouth when the front door opened.

His shoulders tensed immediately, spine going ramrod straight and his fingers curling tight enough around the hot sauce bottle that his knuckles went white. Anger was the easiest defense mechanism to default to, and it wasn’t an inaccurate portrayal of his feelings- it was a bit too simplistic to be the whole picture, but it wasn’t a lie, either. He was angry. He was also hurt, insecure, rejected, lonely and sad, to name a few.

He didn’t turn around for a good long moment, stabbing at his eggs with his fork and watching the yellow run out, mixing with red.

“I’m still mad at you,” He snapped finally, voice cold and scornful as he turned around and landed a forced scrutinizing gaze on the vampire. “I’m here because I just thought I would give you an opportunity to apologize.” He fell quiet for a second before the sight of his ex became too much to bear and he looked away, blinking rapidly against his teary eyes as he deflated back against the counter and lost his armor of pretense. “And also because... because even if you don’t want to love me forever, I’d like it if you could at least love me for a little while.”

muse: peter lopez with: kolya ivonav ( @fangbites​ ) verse: indecent proposal

Things had been going so well.

Fireworks from the beginning, a clear indication that there was something more between the fashionable vampire and the self-loathing werewolf. Conversation came easy, laughter abundant. Peter could tell that he hurt the other man’s feelings when he said things that discredited their blooming friendship, a fear of getting close causing him to pull back. Fear of the monstrous things he could do, how badly he could hurt the man who was slowly worming his way into Peter’s hard. Falling in love was an accident that he couldn’t stop. And then that night.

The best night.

The worst night.

He had called and Kolya had come. The normally feisty man had been soft, calm and rational, had walked him off a ledge and straight into the bottomless pit that felt like falling in love all over again. And for once, Peter didn’t want to crawl out of it. He didn’t want to shove his thick wall back up between them as things started to feel lighter and easier than before. Their first kiss. Magical. It was a moment that, even now, looking back through the pain and suffering that came after it al, would forever be a favorite.

Reality crept back in, and Peter would never forgive himself. Kolya had snapped, Peter had found him, and had reacted without thinking. He could still remember the sickening crack, the feeling of bone breaking under his hands. The next morning, and indeed the next several months, had been a blur. misery, longing, a haze of nothing. Fee had appeared during this time, and Peter could recall moments when the poor man had to force food into him to stop him from withering away on his own couch. And then? And then the fog cleared.

Kolya, a new face called Tate that seemed so smitten with his wolf fledgling, talking and arguing and an explosion of feelings, another kiss worthy of the history books, a renewed promise, to try harder, to do better. 

Peter had been trying, but last night have been a failure. 

Another full moon. Peter had taken to running in the woods on those nights, but his wolf was vicious. Bloodthirsty. Angry at being locked up for so long. A month ago, the last full moon, the beast had nearly taken complete control and gone on a rampage that would have left destruction and bodies in its wake. It had been so hard to control that Peter had woken the next morning more bloody and exhausted than usual, unable to function properly for nearly a week after. He was scared. He was terrified.

You’ve been doing so well.

His mind taunted him. He could only mutter a soft ‘shut up’, as he awoke from another night in a dark room, chains rattling as he shifted around. The sound of hissing against his skin, the pain of burning wrists and ankles. Bloody again. 

You’re a failure.

“Shut up.” He tried again as the thoughts continued, angry and hissing in his head. Demanding attention. He shook his head to clear the fog, trying to remember where the key was. Where had he left it. He had to get cleaned up, give the poison time to work it’s way from his system so that he could start to heal properly.

Fee will be ashamed of you. Kolya can’t love you like this. Weak. Pathetic. Stupid.

“SHUT UP!” It came out as a roar, then a cry of pain as he jerked and those silver cuffs singed his flesh again. His hope that he was alone in the house was crushed when he heard footsteps overhead, rushing, moving toward him, and his eyes filled with tears before he could stop it. It didn’t matter who opened the door to find him. They would see. They would see how weak, how pathetic he was. He had promised he wouldn’t do this again. Wouldn’t lock himself up and hurt himself and he had failed. Maybe they would give up. Leave him to suffer alone. Maybe that’s what he deserved.

A choked sound left him. A weak, pathetic little sob as his head fell in shame. The door had opened, they were coming down the stairs. He was trapped and vulnerable, ready for the worst. “I’m sorry.” He muttered it, over and over. “I’m sorry. I-I’m so sorry. I tried, I did– I– I’m sorry.” The pathetic ramblings of a broken man. He didn’t deserve his happiness. It had all been fleeting. He was going to lose it. He was going to lose everything.

Everything, Kolya thought, was finally looking up.

He was no stranger to devastation and loss, but the past few months had been the worst he’d ever endured. Did it make him a monster, to miss the living more than he did the dead? It felt almost sacrilegious in a sense, but it was simply how he’d felt. And he’d had no one but himself to blame for it. 

He’d been the one to snap. He’d been the one to become a monster, wallow in the depth of his dark being, regardless of what circumstances had lead him to that point. And the worst part? He knew, deep down, there was a part of him that was only sorry because he’d been caught. Only sorry because he’d lost Peter over it. 

He still dreamt of draining the living, woke up with a mouth pooled with saliva and his fangs dropped. His muscles still tensed when he passed anyone with a heartbeat in the night, traitorous nature fixating on how easy it would be to draw them to a shadowed corner and feast. It was a continuous fight with Tate these days- his oldest and dearest friend unwilling to allow Kolya to desiccate, and Kolya doing his best not to slaughter the entire goddamn town but also not quite being able to bring himself to feast on the plasticky blood bags that were allowed. Bitterly, in the confines of his own mind, he likened it to a werewolf being forced to feast on canned dog food.

Point in case: He really, truly didn’t deserve a second chance, but he had been given one- and much more on top of that. He had his dear Tate now, living in a room that Kolya had gladly cleared of fabric bolts and mannequins, and he had Peter, dear Peter, back in his life. 

It was the morning after the full moon and Peter’s fledgling werewolf had spent the vast majority of it pacing in his yard. It had been sweet, really, and even if Kolya was unimpressed by the mountain of carcasses ranging from bunnies to deer that had been dragged up onto his back porch as an offering he could admit it was cute. Sort of. In a pathetic, sweet way. 

Felix had been fairly useless as far as advice for post- moon care went, though, Kolya supposed, the morning after the full moon was perhaps not the very best time to grill him for information. The wolf had been fresh from the shower when Kolya had cornered him, skin pink from being scrubbed clean of blood and dirt and gods knew what else, dressed in clothes that Kolya recognized as Tates with hair that wasn’t yet dry and lips that couldn’t seem to separate from Tate’s neck, leaving fresh marks as quickly as they healed and seemingly frustrated by the inability to leave anything that lasted. On his couch, of course; with warm, early morning sunlight casting a glow on the pair. He was vaguely worried what would be happening on that couch when he finally left the house, but with a bit of uncharacteristic tact, he deigned not to comment. 

He’d not been able to get much out of Felix other than rare steaks and cuddles were nice, stupid moonstruck lovestruck wolf that he was, and he’d given up and left to buy half the grocery store on his way to Pete’s. Dangerous for him to entertain the idea of cooking anything, but the steaks wouldn’t require much more than being warmed up, as he gathered. Other than that he’d brought juice, fruits, sweets, and of course- hot chocolate. Too much of everything, really, but it was possible he was also stupid and lovestruck.

His mood swung rapidly downwards, though, trepidation sinking in to his bones as he slipped inside his boyfriend’s house. Something was wrong, he could feel it.

And then he heard it, a roar that had him jumping out of his skin, had his undead heart stuttering in his ribs- and with devastation spreading throughout his body, Kolya turned and headed for the basement. There was nothing that could prepare him for what he’d find, and even if he had an inkling, a suspicion- the full weight of it hit him like a ton of bricks. Pete, his Pete was chained up, skin raw and bloody where the silver was ruining it, the man a crumpled, sorry mess. Kolya froze for a moment, just a moment; the sight seared itself into his memory forevermore, and faster than any mortal eyes could track he was dropping to his knees in front of the werewolf.

“Oh, Peter,” Kolya said, his voice cracking halfway through. “Pete. Darling.” Cold hands pressed to each side of Peter’s warm, teary face, just holding him while his foolish brain slogged through shock and horror to try and figure out what to do. Tears of his own were dripping before he ever managed to get it together, and he pressed a small, tiny kiss to the corner of Pete’s mouth. 

They’d been here before. It would happen again: Kolya would clean him up, take care of him. They’d fall asleep together.

They’d come full circle. The circle would keep going. Next, Kolya would fuck up. Then Pete would fuck up. Then it would all be over.

But he shoved that thought away.

Not the time to dwell on it.

“Shhh,” He breathed, pulling the man close. “Shh- shh. I have you, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay. I know you did, and it’s okay. I love you,” He told Pete, pressing another kiss to the edge of his lips. “I love you. It’s okay. Just breathe, sweetheart. Can you tell me where the keys are?” His voice was deceptively calm, only a fraction of the devastation he felt bleeding through his tone.

He couldn’t fall apart. He didn’t get to. All that mattered was getting Pete out and safe.

Being a kingpin was boring.

That was, perhaps, what had sparked the decision to open the nightclub in the first place. Day in and day out, he would sit behind a desk, speak with his his men, make sure that his city was running smoothly, but at night, he would go back to an empty bedroom with cold sheets and drink alone. He was far too tired of drinking alone to give it too much of a thought. After all, he had more money than God, there was nothing wrong with throwing a little bit of it into renovations and making the place of his dreams.

He had modelled it after the speakeasies of the 20s and 30s, lounge style decor in white and gold, with flashes of red here and there to spice it up. His siblings had been excited by the idea and had thrown in their own ideas as well, and the best of them made it in. Dress code, to keep out the trash that would frequent the sweaty nightclubs of the side streets and alleys, barmen in waistcoats, live music and a dancefloor that could handle a little waltz. Of course, it wouldn’t strictly be jazz music and dancing, there was a place for a few modern tunes from time to time, give the band a break, but it was a nightclub with a theme, and the fitting name on the front quickly became one that created buzz.

Sugar and Spice. Tate and Annie had snorted at the name, asking who was who, and wondering if Tris was the unspoken ‘Everything Nice’. Ty laughed with them good naturedly and enjoyed his new business venture nightly from the moment it first opened its doors.

And tonight was no exception. He had his table, elevated and roped off, two of his best men standing guard while he drank with his brothers and sister, Annie’s new boyfriend getting the worlds most leisurely shovel talk from the Lodgston boys as they sipped their fancy drinks and enjoyed the evening. Occasionally, his eyes would wander out to the crowd, enjoying this place that he’d built, looking for a date for a nightcap. It was pretty well known by the regulars that Ty would occasionally find someone he had a taste for, and he would grant them access into the famed VIP lounge before taking them home. It wasn’t often that those people returned, however. Ty didn’t usually kill them, but he made it clear that he was a one night kind of guy.

And then, a flash of white caught his attention out of the corner of his eye and when he glanced over, his brain stopped higher function for a moment.

He managed to throw the boy a charming smirk, because turning it ‘on’ was a gift that Ty prized above all else. But even as he did, he was battling with himself on whether he even wanted to get close, because as startling as it was, he didn’t want this man to be a one and done. His mind was offering up the idea of flowers and picnics, not a rough fuck on silk sheets and twenty bucks for cab fare.

He would play it cool for the night, see if the boy returned another night. That was the plan. That was the course. And he had no idea how often he was looking toward the boy until he would be nudged and drawn back into conversation, waving off the looks his siblings were shooting him, knowing full well what his mind was up to.

As the evening was winding down, things seemed to happen all at once.

A collective gasp in the room, a sudden roar of noise, and a fight. Normally, it was up to the bouncers to deal with it, but his little white dove was one of the brawlers, and… well he was a curious man. He heard protests from his siblings as he stood and made his way over, shoving past low level thugs and barking out orders to get the other one out of his club. As he got a grip around the boy, he shouted that the next round for all was on him and signaled to the bartenders to start pouring drinks as the wriggling boy in his arms brushed against him and wriggled his way into pressing a knife to his throat.

And, well, Ty was already in a bit of a delicate position, but that made him hard and his grip on this boy tightened, hips jerking forward a bit so the little dove could feel it.

Blossom. He would have to ask about that one.

He smirked a bit, allowing his head to fall back as people around them wearily started dispersing when he waved them off, giving the pretty boy more access to his neck and humming in pleasure at the action. “And where, pray tell, does a pretty boy learn to use a knife like that? I’ll have to send some of my men to whatever class you attended. Would you like to step into my office? I have a first aide kit so we can get your pretty mouth cleaned up.”

x

Iza was quite accustomed to having whatever he wanted, and there were very, very few things he liked as much as getting his way. He’d hoped, of course, his abrupt change of attitude would make up for whatever damage a knife to the throat had done to Tyler’s opinion of him, hoped that a sweet little kiss to his neck would act as an acceptable apology for very nearly having bled him dry right in the middle of his own club. 

But if Tyler’s bodily reaction was anything to go by, no apology had been necessary- and that realization was what drew the quiet whimper from Iza’s throat just as much as the hips jutting against his own, a pleased flush staining his cheeks. One of Iza’s arms snaked around Tyler’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer with a hand splayed shamelessly across the swell of his ass, while the other dipped into his waistband- just holding on to him, knuckles brushing against the warm, toned skin of his stomach. His insides went all hot and gooey at the throat so freely offered, no hesitation despite the fact that Iza had been seconds from ending him only a few breaths prior. Could it even be considered forgiveness if the man didn’t seem as if he’d had so much as a moment’s upset over it? 

Tyler’s throat was a gift he of course accepted, a few more quick, needy kisses given before teeth got involved, nipping at the underside of his jaw in a move that was affectionate and playful all at once. Perhaps a bit rougher than he ought to have as he nosed down his throat, vocal chords vibrating his skin with a hum, but Iza had this compulsion to leave marks clear as day for anyone to see. Tyler wasn’t even his, though Iza wanted him to be with a sudden, desperate fervor, but at the very least- maybe it’d fool a few into thinking that he was.

Iza couldn’t help but laugh at the little quip, a breathy sound pressed against Tyler’s throat, and his lips curved into a grin. “Oh, you flatterer,” Iza hummed, teasing.  He drew back just far enough to make eye contact, the hand gripping the man’s waistband trailing up his chest with a leisurely pace, until he could playfully tap a single finger against the tip of his nose. “You’ve no way of knowing if I’m actually any good with this knife or if I’m just quick to threaten with it, but...” His hand fell to rest on the man’s shoulder, thumb stroking idly at his neck. “I’ll give you a private show sometime if you ask me real nice. And I would love to step into your office, mon chéri, whether you’re cleaning my pretty mouth or making it filthier.”

Iza curved to the side, snuggling himself under Tyler’s arm and shifting the grip on his waist ever- so- slightly, fingers hooking in to the back pocket of his suit- pants in a move of casual possessiveness. Now, still decidedly with a lack of space but in such a way that would make it easy to traverse the club, Iza shot the man a look, keenly appreciating his handsome face. Jesus fucking wept, honestly. “Lead the way, Blossom.” 

Iza first caught sight of him in the VIP section. 

It was the sound of his laughter that had drawn his attention; loud and jubilant and pretty. It wasn’t a club he’d ever visited before, despite the interior being exactly the type of sexy luxury he gravitated towards and the name being something that pinged his radar as soon as he saw it’s name pop up in his google searching. Sugar and Spice. The kind of place looking for Everything Nice, wasn’t it? 

He was vain enough to think that sounded like exactly the sort of place he belonged.

It was outside his usual prowling grounds, but he was in the mood for something different; Genevieve was clingy and his usual haunts were losing their shine and splendor. He yearned for something new, for something exciting. And so far this place was ticking both boxes with bold ink. Nobody’d blinked twice at his fake ID; the music wasn’t so loud that it made his ears bleed, and the bodies in here made at least a pretense at being of a different breed. Not so much the sweaty nightclubs shrouded in darkness broken only by fleeting neon, packed tight with too many inhabitants like the ones that lined the filthiest, poorest outskirts of his hometown; no, this was inner city and upper class. It was a glamorous flavor of depravity. 

Three steps inside the building and Izador decided he was in love. It was all ivory and gold with furniture of red velvet, and if anyone was caught outside a suit or dress they were decidedly still in something expensive and hot. Iza’d taken a wild guess with his outfit for the evening and hit the mark, he thought; white see through lacey turtleneck top, white satiny pants. Classy, fashionable, shameless. No more than a five minute wait before he had his first drink of the night in hand, an oh- so- generous gift from one of the handful of eyes on him. The satisfaction in the little smirk that twisted his lips wasn’t even pretense. 

He’d come out with the intention of being chased, for once, instead of doing the chasing. And quick fucks in dark corners or bathroom stalls were all well and good, especially with more than one substance joining the fun- but sometimes it was hotter when things were drawn out. Better when it was slow, when you wanted it so bad you ached.

The Brunette in the VIP section didn’t exactly change what Izador desired, but he certainly stole all of the focus for himself- and Iza abruptly didn’t care who was chasing who, he just wanted him.

The night progressed. He batted his eyelashes, simpered at the women and men who offered their attention, even if his was always- at least some portion of it- on one person in particular. He did a terrible job of hiding it, too; not that he made much effort to conceal it from the man himself. A bit of casual conversation here and there told him that man was the owner, and well, how fitting. Iza liked having the best of the best. Birds of a feather, and all that. A little more surprising was the jolt that name shot down his spine. Lodgston. Ty Lodgston, Tyler Lodgston, and in truth he wasn’t just the owner of the Nightclub.

He ran this city, and was going for the next, too.

And Iza was smart enough to rethink pursuing him. If he gave himself the chance, he’d develop a migraine just thinking of Daddy’s horror; god, Iza was pretty sure half their conversations centered around him. For a moment, Iza was indignantly spiteful just on principal- for the last year or so, Lodgston had done this, Lodgston had done that. Any day now Iza was expecting his father to offer up some kind of proof that Lodgston had personally invented cancer or world hunger or something. It had taken every ounce of Izador’s restraint not to throw out a childish line like if you’re so obsessed with him, why don’t you just marry him?

The joke was on Iza. Seeing Mr. Supreme Villain himself, and he was ready to go ahead and sink to his knees right here in the club, offer him his lands or title or hand in marriage. Or a blowjob. Just, you know, whatever he wanted. Anything. If that smirk he was given the time their eyes met was anything to go by- well, Mr. Lodgston would be inclined to accept at least one of the above.

And unfortunately for Daddy Dearest, Izador’s loyalty didn’t extend to his dick. Maybe Dad needed to consider making less hot enemies if he didn’t want Iza to fuck them.

A rather unfortunate side effect of Izador having set his sights on one target in particular was that his interest in his other potential suitors for the evening dwindled with all the abruptness of a matchstick tossed into the ocean; an unfortunate side effect of Izador’s disinterest was the lack of care taken with his words. Sometimes people didn’t take kindly to that. Sometimes they got rude in return, and Iza got ruder back, and once in a while they had the nerve to pop him right in his smart mouth. 

Of course, things only snowballed from there.

It didn’t really cross his mind that this was a terrible place to be doing this, causing a scene on enemy ground. Especially when he was out of the loop enough that he didn’t recognize all the big players. But to be fair, Iza wasn’t really starting it, and for a moment as he stumbled backwards nothing a single conscious thought could pass through the haze of shock. He kept his footing somehow, just blinking stupidly as he lifted his hand to his face, wrist pressing lightly to his lips. Part of his sleeve came back red with blood, lip sliced up from a ring the other wore. 

Iza stared for a moment at that bright red stain marring his favorite top. Then he smiled, eyes meeting those of the fool who’d thrown the punch with excitement that could only be described as childish glee.

Between one breath and the next, Iza was on him. He may not be the biggest or brawniest dog in the fight but what he lacked in size he made up for in speed and the sort of training only having two overly protective paranoid mafioso fathers could grant. The fight wouldn’t last long in a room full of people, bouncers included and surely bodyguards quietly protecting their boss, the king of this city, but Iza didn’t need long.

He was too mad to just snap the guy’s neck; that was too easy. Blood for blood, an eye for an eye- or an eye for a lip as the case may be. French tipped fingernails digging into the man’s jugular were replaced with a switchblade in short order, not killing him yet, while one hand snaked up to his face. Iza would kill him, but first he’d shove bits and pieces of himself down his own throat.

Or he would have, if not for cursedly quick intervention. Iza snarled, writhing against the big, strong arms that held him. Fine, they wanted to interrupt his fun? He’d kill them first, and chase down his real prize next. He squirmed around, blade pressed to his captor’s neck lightning quick- but before he could tear that vulnerable flesh open and feast on a fountain of life, recognition of the pretty face that throat belonged to lit up the part of his brain that was sugar- coated, and Iza froze, the cold, relentless flare in his eyes replaced by one of almost pathetic adoration. Abruptly, Iza’s knife was disappearing, tucked away where it came from just as quickly as it had appeared, and he was deflating against the man with all the trust he might a lover, full weight melting into his hold, upright only as long as the man supported him.

DONEC MORS NOS SEPARAVERIT: CHAPTER ONE

Or, the one where Izador Vaughn makes the biggest and best mistake of his life right before meeting and falling in love- at- first- sight with one Mr. Tyler Lodgston. ...That same Mr. Lodgston his father has been cussing about on a daily basis for the last four years for encroaching on his territory. The one running the opposing Mafia, yeah... that one. As if juggling impending fatherhood at nineteen wasn’t enough, now he’s got to convince Ty that he’s not a spy in addition to convincing Daddy Dearest not to murder his new boyfriend, let alone maybe calling a truce on the turf war thing. But whoever said the best things in life came easy? @sxncerelyme.

DONEC MORS NOS SEPARAVERIT: CHAPTER THREE

Or, the one where Mr. & Mr. Lodgston- Vaughn embrace an injury- spurred early retirement along the Amalfi Coast after a long, bloody reign at the top of the food chain and leave their Empire in the hands of their beloved, capable son Wick and his right- hand man and husband Angel. @sxncerelyme.

…

Virgil was sick.

For several days, for at least the next week after the Fae mark was burned into his skin and he was left alone in the forest, getting out of bed and going about his life felt like a chore. Lovesick. Heartsick. His body was not responding well to the rejection of the soulmate bond, leaving him shivering against the fever he had and sinking desperately into the crude and lumpy pillow that did nothing to bring him any sort of comfort. Magic would only ease him into a weary sleep, filled with pathetic dreams of Mathias that would leave him both worse off than before and painfully hard when he woke up.

It took maybe nine days before he had broken things off with his foolish, human boyfriend. He hadn’t even been kind about it, kicking the poor boy out of his home and out of his life with little more than a gruff, scratchy voice and demands that he simply leave him alone. Accusations that this was his fault, that Virgil was sick and it was because of him. And he had broken several of Virgil’s favorite crystals before he left their little makeshift home to set out on his own. Virgil hadn’t seen him since.

And perhaps it made him more of an ass that he didn’t even care.

Beatrice, of course, had a few things to say about the whole matter. Something about putting the stupid fairy’s head on a stick and using it to scare children on Halloween. She would make these tasteless jokes while running a cool cloth over his forehead, between bouts of singing him old archaic lullabies. Eventually, he sent her away as well. And eventually, the fever broke and he was back to himself, slowly cleaning up the mess that he’d become while his heart broke and mended itself over and over. Stupid magical bonds creating stupid magical illnesses had left his hair a wreck and his skin sallow. The circles under his eyes would only fade with time and sleep, but a shower too hot at least got his skin feeling less grimy, his hair clean again. 

The mess of his house was something he tackled slowly over time. Destroyed crystals tossed into the trash or thrown into the fire to release their energy into the house. He found several of his favorite clothing pieces ripped apart and thrown about the house. Fair enough. Nothing a few quick spells couldn’t mend. He was on a cleaning binge when he felt the tug the first time. It was strange, something he had no way to explain until it came again, insistent and urging. He tried to ignore it for as long as he could before he was being drawn out of his home, disappearing from the spot with a little whirl before landing once more on the soft forest floor. 

And then it clicked, and his eyes grew slightly wider as his heart hit against his ribs. It was probably a mistake. That didn’t stop the hope as he spotted Mathias and nodded his head just slightly toward the Prince. Up, and then down, remembering manners and the title. You bow to a Prince. He knew that. Silence lingered for a moment before he nodded toward the brand around the Fae’s wrist, clearing his throat hesitantly. “You summoned me.” He explained softly, eyes dropping after a moment. “Probably not… intentionally, but… It was only supposed to make you feel calmer in moments of great stress, so I’m guessing I crossed a wire or two. Magic can be fickle when you’re emotional. Uhm… I can just… go…”

x

Mathias kept to himself after that.

The fae were a resourceful species, and when you lived a life eternal you neither needed nor wanted the constant supervision or presence of another. His people would’ve been able to find him if they’d truly needed to, with a touch of effort and time given. Blessedly, he was granted his solitude in which he could sulk and brood. He’d reached a point before that awful confrontation where he’d stopped expecting it to go well, but he certainly hadn’t expected it to be quite so dreadful either.

He lost track of time. Time wasn’t ever very important to a fae anyways. But eventually, he reemerged from the forest, refusing to be rendered useless forever just because a boy didn’t like him.

And perhaps that was a mistake. Perhaps he would regret leaving the branch he’d been sulking on. Perhaps he’d come to regret the way his brain had whited out with rage when he’d come across that useless fucking good for nothing human badmouthing his witch, too, but... the odds weren’t good on that front.

His lips had twisted into a smirk that was terrible, terrible, but truly gleeful. His glamour had slipped, then, showing more than just the pretty humanoid appearance he favored, and his hands had been swift and cruel when he’d carried the redheaded bastard off into the forest.

He made sure the screams were loud enough that the camp would hear, take heed. And he made sure to satisfy himself in breaking apart the fragile human flesh and bone. By the end of it, despite being covered head to toe in tissue, skin, hair, bone shards, and a thick, congealing layer of blood- Mathias did feel better. 

He called upon the earth to swallow the corpse, and watched as it disappeared before starting a leisurely stroll to the nearest pond, the seemingly bottomless one with the waterfall and deep blue hue. He might’ve scattered his pieces throughout the camp for all the fuckers to see and keep in mind when they next spoke, but- well. He wasn’t as cold or as closed off as he wanted to be, and Virgil still mattered.

He discarded his ruined clothes and stepped into the water, watching as the muck and mire and evidence of his hunt tainted the pool. This would take a while to get off, but he didn’t have anywhere to be. First he tried getting all the nasty bits out of his hair, vain as he was, but that proved counterproductive when the hands he was using to scrub were the filthiest part of his body. And so he took to scrubbing his hands and wrists, having almost forgotten about the mark decorating his skin until the gore sluiced away and revealed it. His fingers stilled, then, and he stared, a swell of sadness marring the peaceful buzz he’d been left with in the wake of his kill.

He could chase all the satisfaction he wanted, but none of it would fix what was really wrong.

He got trapped staring at it, at the mysterious little flowers, and didn’t even notice when someone appeared until they spoke.

He jumped, uncharacteristic; and stared, uncaringly naked and flabbergasted, at his soulmate. His witch. Virgil. Not his. Not his, but his.

He unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth with a click and resumed staring, trying to process Virgil’s words. You summoned me. He hadn’t. But his eyes followed Virgil’s to his wrist and lingered there, realizing that perhaps he had. He dragged his fingertips over it once more, lost in thought and still hazy with crashing adrenaline. “I killed your human,” He said, before he could think better of it, and oh, fuck. Well, it wasn’t like he wouldn’t have found out anyway, may as well own up to it before he learned secondhand. He opened his mouth; but nothing came out, so he closed it with a frown, eyebrows pushing together in consternation. “I was going to say sorry but it’s a lie so I can’t. Physically can’t, I mean, I would if I could. I didn’t do it to hurt you, though, I-” He stopped short. “He deserved it. He was saying such terrible, crude things and he had no right and I don’t want you to be mad at me for it but I did kill him in probably the worst way I’ve ever killed anyone and I’m not sorry for it. He didn’t deserve you. Are you upset? I am a little sorry if you’re upset about it. I still like you, even if I’ve been trying not to since you don’t like me, I just do, and- and I would rather make you happy than upset.” Couldn’t say he didn’t want to make Virgil upset, because there was a spiteful part of him that did in some capacity, just.... not this one, exactly. He watched Virgil, the back of his head buzzing, eyes blinking with curiosity. He hadn’t exactly meant to say any of that, but he was spent; physically and emotionally spent, and he simply wasn’t in any control of his damned tongue.  “And I don’t. Want you to go. But you should, if you want to, you should do what you want.”

…

Magic was a funny thing. Had a funny way of reacting to the vessel it chose. Sometimes, it was a simple thing, clinging to the body and only acting when it was called on. The more magic, the more it acted outside of the mortal body it clung to, and Virgil knew that. He had known from a very early age that he was great magical vessel. That his power would be hard to quantify. He had to learn how to control it in a very real way, so that it didn’t stretch outside of him, cause more trouble than it was worth. But it was wrapped around him like a shield, protecting him and coating everything about him. And it reacted poorly when his emotions were negative.

And right now?

Right now, he was lower than he could ever remember being in his entire life.

His heart felt like it had been snapped in two, shattered and cracked pieces spiderwebbed in his chest uselessly. His lungs felt tight in his chest, couldn’t let go and get the proper amount of air no matter how hard he sucked in breaths. Because Mathias was telling him that he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t good enough to be the other half of his soul, despite what the bond had decided, and mother fate had made a terrible mistake, and every single ounce of self-loathing that Virgil had always tried to hide and shove down behind grand theatrics and glitter was boiling to the surface and making him feel ugly and raw and disgusting.

The wind was picking up, and he knew that was his doing. His magic was trying to protect him. A loud crack nearby signaled a branch breaking from a tree and soon enough, the thud of it hitting the ground reached his ears. He forced his eyes closed, carefully sitting in the center of the little clearing and trying to focus, trying to force the magic to calm. It didn’t help that he was crying. Hot, wet tears shed unbidden and fell down his cheeks like pathetic little rivers. “Move to your left.” He said it in a cracked, broken little voice, and he heard the next branch snap and hit the ground, presumably where the Fae had just been standing. Breathe in, breathe out. The wind was still whipping about, but it was calming as he forced himself to reign it in. He would numb himself to this heartbreak before he ended up destroying the poor forrest, or hurting the beautiful Prince who didn’t want him.

“I’m the Grand High Wizard. If I want a Fae mark removed, I can do it my damn self.” His tone was bitter, but there was almost amusement hiding in it. “There are only two witches in the world more powerful than me, and one more who matches my power. I’m not good enough for you, Your Highness, but I don’t need your mark to earn respect or fear.” The wind whipped around him again, his magic clearly wanting to prove his words true. He almost smirked, but it didn’t quite land as sadness took over again. His knees curled, closer to his chest, and he looked up at the sky for a moment. “Centuries. I could live for six or seven of them before the magic in me dies, releases back into the world for another vessel, but that’s another winter cold for you, I suppose. I’m mortal. Not human. But mortal, that must be repulsive to you. But make no mistake, Mathias. I will never fear you.” 

His fingers lifted then, and a twist of his wrist in the air drew a bright, hot magical circle, twisted and floating, looking like a vine with flowers growing at it from odd angles. A witches brand. Another flick of the wrist and it was twisting itself onto Mathias’ wrist, burning red hot for a moment before fading. “To remember me by, your Majesty. Each flower offers a special little surprise, but I’ll let you figure out what they are all on your own.” 

x

The world began falling apart, it seemed. Fitting. The witch followed along after it, curling up on the floor, and Mathias watched and listened. He wasn’t a stranger to magic affecting the world around him; Fae were, by manner of their being, attuned to some part of nature or another. A display like this from a mortal should have registered as impressive and under any other circumstance it very well may have but right now- right now he was just a little preoccupied.

“Go ahead, then, Grand High Wizard. Defy everything known about the intersect of witch magic and fae magic. I’d hardly be surprised if you did manage it, just to purge me from your skin.” His words were bitter and cold, and he could hardly recognize his own voice, unfamiliar as it was. He was Fae and an Unseelie Prince, future leader of the Winter Court, but he was still young enough to have maintained some of the warmth and naivety of youth. His sister had made sure of that. Now, though? All her work was crumbling, ground beneath Virgil’s fancy boot.

Mathias had always been too busy to leave his realm, too busy to explore the human planes of existence the way he’d wanted. Now, it was becoming starkly clear that he’d been much better off. But of course he didn’t get to just make a little mistake, something that could be waved away and forgotten with a flick of the wrist- no, he was stuck here, in this goddamned forest, away from the vast majority of his people and his throne with a mistaken excuse for a “soulmate” and very little else.

This was necessary. He’d been born with a foot in each court, a parallel to the fae folklore that demanded a King must have a foot in each the Otherworld and the World, but he was meant to take the Winter throne. Doing so meant evolution, meant growth, meant preparation and developing a heart that would do it justice. Maybe this would teach him the impassive reservation he’d lacked.

His lips twisted, wry. “Not good enough for me?” He echoed, that same coldness from before broken just slightly by an echo of disbelief. “Is that your problem, then? You made up your mind that you weren’t but you can’t resist sitting here telling me of your title, your power, your lifespan as if somehow I need to be proved wrong. I did point out that you being mortal, regardless of how many years or centuries you have before you expire, was less than ideal. And that’s true, no matter how much either of us might have wished it wasn’t. But I still would have been willing to- I still wanted you, even if you’d been human I would have wanted you. But all you had to spare for me were empty smiles and blatant disinterest. You never even gave me a chance. I don’t think it’s wild to say I deserve that much from someone, at the very least. A chance.” 

Mathias shook his head, then, and gave a wet laugh. “Neither of us asked for this. And I think it’s safe to say that neither of us even wants it at this point, not rationally or truly. The best thing to do now is for me to walk away and for you to continue doing what you’ve been doing all along. Ignoring me and ignoring the bond. I’ll take a page out of your book on that one, but I’d prefer you keep those empty fucking smiles to yourself.” 

It was perhaps unfair of him to be furious at the cursed magic twisting around his wrist, as if he wasn’t tainted by enough witch magic as it was. His lips thinned, and he didn’t look down at it, despite feeling as it seared itself into his skin. Little matter. He could be a King with one hand, if it came down to chopping the thing off. There were worse fates to suffer, and being damned with a spiteful witch’s magic for eternity was one. Gods only knew what surprises meant or what manner of curses he’d endure as a result of it. He gave a scornful laugh. “Perhaps I am damned to remember you throughout my eternal life now, but Rhiannon and Aengus willing- eventually I simply won’t care.” May that day come sooner than later.

He took a step backwards, analyzing the witch just one last time. It hurt. It ached like a tangible thing, a blighted root taking seed in his chest and twisting this way and that, corrupting his lungs, his heart, his veins. Ruining everything it touched. “Goodbye, Virgil,” Mathias said, and he turned on his heel and was gone. Swallowing it down. One foot after another, not a glance backwards, certainly not once the hot blur in his eyes overflowed.

Felix knew he looked like shit.

The thing was, it had been a long week. And an even longer month. Moving cross country kind of did that, he supposed; and so did constantly juggling both reassuring your clingy older brother that you were fine and forbidding him from moving here after you. Riel meant well, he was just… well. Codependent. They both were. But Riel didn’t really see that as something that needed to be worked on or improved, and Felix- part of him didn’t give a shit, but part of him was just… tired. Mostly, he’d wanted to escape the shadows that lingered over them both. He couldn’t even remember his father, really; Riel could, but to Felix he was just this man with a blurry voice and a soft voice and even softer bloodsoaked hands, telling him not to come out from where he was hiding and then never telling him anything ever again.

Cheers for childhood trauma. 

But to the point, he’d come here to escape the ghosts of his past and all that poetic bullshit. There were very few things he wouldn’t have accepted as a trade for that; somehow, actual ghosts hadn’t really registered on his list of possibilities. 

It was an ancient, condemned building in a sleepy town in Georgia; likely with a family history as gruesome and despicable as his own, and in hindsight it only made sense for it to be haunted up the wazoo. They weren’t particularly malevolent ghosts, though the one that liked to wail out near that old dried up well made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Mostly, they were the ghost equivalent of spited housecats, tearing down curtains, knocking shit off any flat surface they could, making loud noises in the dead of night for no fucking reason and flinging plates everywhere. That last one didn’t have quite the effect he assumed they wanted given that he was still living that post- move paper plate life, but it was still fucking annoying and a waste of his money. Combined with that and the utility bills rocketing because they wouldn’t quit messing with the thermostat or lights or the fucking water, he might have a lot of bloody family inheritance to spend but Christ, he’d be going bankrupt within six months of living there.

So he was here, in Atlanta, biting the bullet and looking for a fix for his problems.

It was an odd feeling, this; despite it being one he was used to. By nature, witches were inclined to seek out a coven, seek out a family to thrive in and nurture magical bonds. But having a lineage that was considered to be the worst of the worst and a black mark on all witchkind sort of put a damper on actually acquiring any of that, not to mention the fact that well, saying he and his brother had a complicated relationship with magic was putting it lightly. It wasn’t like a wolfpack, where anyone could find a way to contribute; if you weren’t adding to the strength of the coven you were detracting from it, and with too many bodies in a coven- that became harder to handle, harder to lead, harder to cohesively concentrate. Best to keep it small but powerful, packing a punch. Needless to say, a witch that couldn’t use magic would fall under the category of detracting from the coven and even if he hadn’t been undesirable on the basis that he was a Tabor he would have been because of the curse.

But it was fine. He’d started a fucking garden, fruit trees and all, and he’d built himself a goddamn chicken coop despite curious, irritating ghost’s interference. He’d made the executive decision that he wasn’t going to care if he never used magic again, he just- he just wanted to exist, at this point. He wanted to be.

‘Wanting to be’ had evolved into ‘wanting to be- without ghosts’, but, whatever. That was why he was here in this little magical shop equivalent of a speakeasy, hoping for a pain-free solution to solving his spirit infestation.

His first impression was that it was busy; little pings zapping at his senses every which way. Magical items in particular had a way of yearning for an owner, calling to a witch if they weren’t otherwise bound; and before the door had even fully closed behind Felix, he knew this place was the real deal. Not some kitschy tourist trap type bullshit. If he’d been anyone else and he’d had the opportunity, he would have loved to browse, would’ve loved to discover what oddities and secrets were scattered about this crowded shop. But he was here on a mission, and just hoping to get through it without any goddamn trouble.

His favored attire had an added bonus of not being anything even remotely threatening. In his opinion, at least. Black and white Adidas slides, a very worn, very comfortable black hoodie with the hood down, black, loose- fitting threadbare sweatpants and prominent, exhausted dark bags below his eyes. He’d made some kind of attempt at finger- combing his hair, but it didn’t look like he’d done anything more than that, just a mess of black strands and brown roots atop his head. Hopefully nothing memorable, but it didn’t really matter. Ideally this was meant to be his only trip here ever, and he’d get to live out his quiet, ghost free, magicless life.

What more could anyone want?

He shuffled over to the counter, pausing to blink foolishly at the pretty man behind it. Oh, what the fuck. Couldn’t it have been some crone with a red box- dye gone wrong and too- long fingernails? Why’d it have to be a gorgeous twenty- something with the softest goddamn eyes Felix had ever seen and a distracting few freckles on his neck and cheek? Felix stared for a moment, suddenly wishing he’d just stayed at home with his ghosts. “...Sorry,” He said eventually, flushing dark and closing his eyes, scrubbing a hand across his face. No, I don’t get out much, what gave that away? Christ. He exhaled, scratched at his cheek with black- painted fingernails, and accepted the fact that there was nothing he could do but press on with what he’d come here for, terrible impression and gay dismay aside.

“What would you recommend for a ghost problem?” He asked, and then paused, rethinking the conversation slightly. Exorcise them, cast them out, et cetera- things that weren’t exactly options for him personally. “Pretend I’m a human, and I’ve got this horde of annoying but old ghosts who haven’t moved on and aren’t interested in communicating any unfulfilled bullshit. What would you tell me to do? I mean, I know coming into a magic shop and asking for non- magical alternative solutions sounds exponentially stupid, but… not a ton of fuckin’ options for where to go with ghost advice around here, either.”

He hadn’t given much thought to this little vacation before it happened.

It had been Virgil’s idea, because of course it had been Virgil’s idea. A chance to get away from the hussle and bustle and smog of the big city. A freeing adventure with fresh air and sparkling lakes and a sky full of stars that could be seen without the hinderence of light pollution. And, Virgil had been sure to add, the rough and tumble country boys waiting for them. It might be harder to coax them out of their shells, his sparkley friend had said, but it would be all the more satisfying when they did. And Tate had agreed mostly for Kolya’s sake. And because sitting in an office at his big brother’s company when he would much rather be opening some thrifty hipster art gallery was slowly tearing his soul apart.

And so, the month long trip was underway.

And the charming little bed and breakfast was definitely a perk. Kol was immediately smitten with the little fireman that came down the stairs shirtless, and Tate had to admit that he was pretty easy on the eyes, but he was far more interested in the snippy guy behind the counter. A challenge, one that Tate wanted to grab and take on full throttle. No reason to mince words, he wanted this country boy writhing under him, and he wanted it as soon as possible.

Luckily for him, Mr. Barbed Wire seemed thrilled with the idea of getting laid, even if he snuck out of bed during the sleepy cuddle part after those first couple of times. It was fine, because Tate adapted and learned to keep his grip a little more firm, found a spot to press soft kisses against his neck to relax him into comfort and convince him to stay. And Felix, with his jabs and his taunts and his weak heart and his sparkling eyes was oh so easy to fall in love with. He would do it a million times over and never regret it. He would even forget, as time went on, that there was a deadline to this little slice of joy.

That deadline snuck up on him before he could stop it, and suddenly he was cold and alone in his bed at night because Felix was pulling away from him. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe it was stupid to fall in love with someone after a month, and maybe it was stupid to willingly give up everything he’d built back in the city for the possibility of something that could fall apart in a moment. But that didn’t stop Tate from speaking privately to Virgil and Kol about extending their trip or even considering something longer. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t found their own little love stories lingering in the sleepy town, and everything in life was online now, Kol could build a fashion empire out of a cute little farmhouse, Virge had a trust fund to last him a lifetime, and Tate… well, his brother would never deny him the chance for love, so long as he promised to pop into the city to visit from time to time. 

But there still wasn’t a decision made by the time they had the bonfire. He wanted to talk to Felix first. Perhaps he’d been reading into it too much, perhaps he had just been a city boy fling for Fee and he couldn’t wait for Tate and his clearly besotted ways to waltz right out of his life.

It was enough to have him losing sleep.

He had already packed, ready to go even if he decided to stay, but Fee wasn’t anywhere to be found and he thought that was a sign that he should just go. Lick his wounds and swallow his pride and realize that this was never going to be the grand sweeping romance he’d built up in his head.

All of that was his thought process until Fee appeared and dragged him off. He thought this was it. Fee was going to tell him that it had all been nothing but fun, and his heart was already hammering in his chest, ready to shatter. And then Fee started talking, words spilling out into the air between them that lifted him up and wrapped around him in the most lovely ways and he was suddenly floating on air and ready to take on the world. To scream from every rooftop. His little love didn’t give him a chance to get a word in edgewise before they were kissing and Tate’s fingers curled into Felix’s sides, gripping and holding him close and refusing to let him get away. And he would have been perfectly content like that until the kiss broke and Fee was crying and begging him to stay. And Tate couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward to press little kisses to his cheeks to stop the descent of more tears. 

“I think Abuela’s already booked out our rooms to new guests.” It was a cruel way to delay his answer, but Felix had called him out about checkers and called him a big baby, so he couldn’t quite help it. His lips quirked up at the corners, a smirk hiding in the shadows of his face as he leaned down to steal a soft kiss from Fee’s lips before he leaned back again. “Know of a nice place I could stay while I look for something a little more permanent?” His smile broke through as he said it, wide and beaming and all for Felix. Because he couldn’t hold back knowing that Felix loved him, wanted him, too. It would have been impossible to stop the elation from living on his features. “And I do love you too, for the record. And I am not a big baby, I just don’t like losing.”

x

The kisses to Felix’s cheeks had hope instinctively welling up within his chests but just as quickly Tate was speaking and shattering all of it. Felix jerked away reflexively, eyes going wide and a little panicked; he’d thought obsessively about this outcome for his confession, but he’d... he’d really thought that Tate loved him. Deep down, he’d really believed he’d stay. He’d believed Tate loved him too, and that he’d forgive him for being such a dick the past few days and either he’d stay or they’d work something out long distance because- because-

But no. And his face was crumpling before he could stop it, heart breaking in a way that had him feeling physically pained, eyes leaking faster no matter how valiantly he tried to prevent it.

It took a while for it to click that Tate was joking, and even for a moment after he kissed him and asked about living situations it took him a second to piece it all together and realize that Tate actually might want to stay with him, focused as he was on his own breaking heart. Felix, trying his best to go numb but truly just drowning in emotion, figured Tate was just... just casually looking for advice. “I dunno,” He answered miserably and stupidly, voice high pitched and thick with all the tears he was holding back. “Um, ask Pete, or Abuela or something, they- Oh, you asshole,” He bit out, finally realizing and smacking Tate’s arm in retaliation. “I take it back, you’re fucking mean, go back to stupid New York, you jerk, I hate you,” He wailed, emotion getting the better of him as he reached out and viciously clung to Tate despite his words. Words he didn’t mean, even if that had been a cruel, cruel joke. He couldn’t help but weep for a moment, face buried in Tate’s shoulder while his arms curled around the man like a vice and he leaned his full weight against him. 

“Are so a big baby,” He accused petulantly, once the tears slowed enough for him to speak- despite how ironic the words may be, given the fact that he was currently crying all over Tate like, well, a big baby.. “The biggest fucking baby, but you’re my big baby.” He sniffled, trying hard to put an end to the gross crying he was doing, but it was easier said than done. It wasn’t even necessarily upset crying at this point, just an overwhelming amount of emotion needing some sort of release and Felix had always been terrible when it came to not crying over anything and everything. It was a curse that had plagued him all his life. He had a big ass heart, even if it was one that didn’t work right.

“Can we go home?” He asked eventually, cheek pressed against Tate’s shoulder while he blinked blearily into the darkness, a swarm of bodies all illuminated by the light of the bonfire. “Please? I just- just wanna be close to you right now. Without a fucking audience.” Really, they were lucky all his strength had left him in one fell swoop- without more pressing matters to tend to, Felix might’a been inclined to fight all them nosy bitches for staring and intruding on what was obviously a private moment. “‘N’ a ‘course you can stay with me. Long as you wanna.” He paused, sniffling, and finally lifted his head up to blink at Tate, lashes glistening with tears. “Did you really mean it? You’re gonna stay?”

Mathias’ feet hit the ground with a soft thud, leaves and twigs crunching beneath his boots, and immediately his hand was reaching for Virgil’s and pulling him along as he broke into a run. An automated security light flicked on, sensing motion, and though it illuminated the tall stone wall he’d just scaled and dropped overtop of- he was practiced enough at sneaking out by now that he knew exactly which trees to dart to, which ones would cast the right shadows for them to melt into. The fall air was crisp as it neared winter, but between the excitement and his hand in his boyfriend’s, Mathias didn’t feel anything but warm.

He bit down on his lower lip, keeping in a hysteric, giddy giggle, and didn’t cast so much as a backwards glance at the ancient, high wall or the school behind it- just continued along the familiar path, putting distance between them and the school before slowing down and casting a glance at Virgil, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with excitement. He came to a stop entirely then, unable to stop from grabbing Virgil by the fabric of his shirt and pressing in to plant a sloppy kiss on his lips; resting their foreheads together as he caught his breath and grinned. “Love you,” He told him, just because, and after another messy but sweet kiss he tossed an arm around Virgil’s shoulders and resumed the trek to their place. 

It was half past eleven now, and it’d be closer to midnight by the time they arrived but the little diner they frequented was open all hours. Wednesday night was date night and although sometimes they’d spend it curled up illicitly in one or the other’s dorm room, most of the time they’d sneak out and when they did they’d most always end up at Shelby’s. Their school, prestigious and highfaluting as it was, was tucked away in what felt like the wilderness but was really just a secluded New England town so there weren’t an overabundance of options for the middle of a weekday night.

“What’re you gonna get?” He asked, humming as his mind raced over menu options. “I think I just want a lot of fucking donuts tonight. Like, I could put away a whole dozen by myself, I think, and I’ve got all that cash from wiping the floor with Tate at our checkers competition. Plus, my turn to pay this week,” He added, pressing a kiss to Virgil’s cheek. “So go crazy. And make sure to tell Tate how much you appreciate him paying for the treats tomorrow.” Mathias’ lips curled in to a smile, good natured, but incapable of poking fun at their mutual friend. “... Maybe we should sneak him a donut so he doesn’t rat us out or something, though,” He laughed.

It wasn’t that Virgil wasn’t attracted to his Fae Prince, it really wasn’t. If he was being honest, Fae Prince might have been the most attractive person he had ever met in his entire life, and Virgil was absolutely smitten. But he also thought it would be just a touch on the side of cruel to show up in a strange new realm, somewhere on the edge of magical and not, and immediately drop his poor human boyfriend for the beautiful Prince who had a direct line to both his heart and his soul. He could feel it, plain as day, that tug drawing him to the Fae and drawing the Fae to him, and it was physically painful to resist, but a slow and steady breaking of the heart of his poor human was far kinder than the swift and immediate snapping when he was clearly already so scared.

So scared, in fact, that he clung to Virgil endlessly. And while Virgil had hoped that he would feel the tug himself and run off with someone else, he hadn’t, and Virgil was stuck taking care of him and easing him into this strange transition and trying to soothe his fears and worries. He wanted just a moment to slip away, to explain to his poor Fae Prince where his thoughts were. He felt rude, he felt bad, but he did his best for polite and distant while he eased his poor human boyfriend into the understanding that they simply wouldn’t work out. He wanted to give it time to sink in.

He finally got a moment free when the poor man was sleeping in the middle of the day. 

He wasn’t sure if he was strictly looking for Mathias, or enjoying a walk in the woods, or perhaps both, but Virgil was happy for the time alone. The chance to breathe and think it over. He wondered if it was cruel, his heart yerning for one while he allowed his body to comfort and belong to another. It was all temporary. Only temporary. And what business did fate have giving Virgil a Fae Prince. What could possibly make him worthy of such a man? He couldn’t think of a single thing that would make sense, in this life or any of the previous ones he knew about. He would be a horrible consort for a Prince of any kind, but a Fae Prince. Fae were of the highest order in the magical world, at least according to wiccan law. He was a High Witch in his own right. If witches had royalty, he would be, like, a Lord or something. But he couldn’t imagine being worthy of a Prince.

Maybe that was part of his hangup. Part of the reason he had clung to his human boyfriend. He didn’t want to be the one discarded and cast aside when the whimsy Fae Prince decided he was bored.

So lost in his worried thoughts, Virgil was actually startled when the very Fae Prince appeared in front of him, eyes widening and heart racing in his chest. He was trying for his best refined and dignified, but nerves and worry got the best of him. Fae were tricky and slighted Fae were dangerous and Virgil had clearly slighted him.

The words, an echo of his own self-deprecating thoughts, taunted him in his mind, and before he even had the chance to speak, Mathias was kissing him and he was seeing stars. A whimper left him of it’s own accord and his hands lifted to grab the Prince by his shirt before they fell away again as the kiss broke. Another whimper, this time more pained, at that loss of contact. Virgil could feel his eyes filling with tears, knowing that’s what he could have had. That he had ruined it. And maybe it was better that way. He blinked a few times and shook his head as he swallowed, averting his gaze away from Mathias. 

Fingers ghosted up to his neck, brushed across the skin. He knew what would be there, without even seeing a mirror. And shame and anger mixed with that sadness in his chest as he felt the slightly warmer skin and traced the outline of that mark. “He’s all alone.” Virgil’s voice was soft, a broken little thing, when he looked up again. “He didn’t get anyone. He’s alone and he’s scared in this new magical world and I’m not cold hearted enough to simply leave him to figure it out on his own.” He swallowed again, hands falling limply at his sides. “I thought– I thought I would have a chance to explain, and that you would understand if I did. I had hoped that you would be more warm-hearted than–” He shook his head again, managed to jerk his head to the side as one of those traitorous tears escaped, swiped at it angrily. “Whatever. I should get back. Out of the woods before some other tricky Fae comes along and decides to have me for dinner.”

x

Mathias supposed Virgil’s little explanation was meant to soften him, meant to make him see it all from Virgil’s point of view and agree with and understand what he was doing. Maybe with someone else, it would have worked. And maybe the fact that it didn’t was just further proof that this had been some kind of terrible, cosmic mistake. 

But it wasn’t so clear cut and dry, because having the witch pinned against him, lips locked, fingers grabbing at him while he whimpered for him- that did things to Mathias, had something hot and heavy swooping in the pit of his stomach. All he wanted was to kiss him again, and again, get his hands on his skin and coax those sounds out repeatedly. But Mathias was a prideful man, and he wouldn’t be anyone’s secret or second choice.

All he’d accomplished was failing to change the witch’s mind and hurting himself worse.

“Such a saint, aren’t you?” He spit out. “Deepest apologies that I’m too cold- hearted for your liking, not made to order. You know you’re not exactly what I would have envisioned as my dream man either, don’t you? A mortal? What do you figure we’d have even if we could work things out, a grand old seventy years before you died? I’ve had winter colds that have lasted that long!” And perhaps that, there, was him revealing a big chunk of his problem, something he didn’t even want to examine. 

The time they could have together was short, infinitesimally and painfully so in a way that had made Mathias’ entire body constrict with near panic when he’d first realized the discrepancy between Virgil’s expected lifespan and his own lack thereof. A feeling that was only made worse by the complete lack of concern Virgil displayed, content to cling to his human, and perhaps- perhaps that was for the best. Stick it out with one of his own kin. Live a happy, fulfilling life, grow old with one another. That was something Mathias couldn’t ever offer him. Oh, he would have loved him, sure, with each and every part of himself- would have been loyal and doting and lavish in a way that only a Prince of the Faire Folk could be. But it would have come with the same price that being bound to any royal would, sharing your partner with their kingdom and enduring that said kingdom watching and critiquing your every move.

It was unfair of him to expect that to be worth it, perhaps he could come to terms with that. But that didn’t mean it didn’t fucking hurt.

He crossed his arms across his chest and stepped backwards, looking every bit the haughty bastard he was but feeling only defensive and wounded. And oh, lovely, now the witch was crying. 

In a sudden, vicious wave, all of the hatred Mathias had been trying to drown the witch in was redirected at himself, and his throat closed over.

“You don’t get it, do you?” He asked, bitterly. “Not a single fae in this goddamn forest is going to lay a hand on you, not while you’re wearing my mark. Some won’t even want to look you straight in the eye. They know better. There are very few things that my court takes seriously,” Mathias said. “This is one.” He fell quiet for a moment, staring at the witch but not really seeing him. Staring through him. “It was witch magic that did this,” He said, sounding exhausted. “Witch magic is the only thing with a hope at undoing it. Perhaps you’ll figure it out. If you do and you want my mark removed...” Mathias shrugged. “Find me and tell me. And until then, you needn’t fear. I won’t accost you again.”