#I'm reserving judgment at this time

[larkreadsop]

I kind of love that Oda is massively trolling us with the promise of a major lore drop this chapter and instead we get Vegapunk trolling the entire world with how long it takes to brew coffee instead.

[forlibcrty]

gamers how are we feeling about the leaked hexe details.

[superfluouskeys]

btsposting to take a break from SOBBING VIOLENTLY ABOUT MY KDRAMA

[thef1diary]

Baby Jr | One

— Friendly Banter

Series summary: The teasing, fleeting touches became much more on the night Carlos won, the sexual tension between you two reached a breaking point. Perhaps it was that night, or the many nights that followed, but you were pregnant with his child, putting you in a difficult situation.

Series Masterlist

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work.

pairing: carlos sainz x reader

Warnings: allusions to smut but no actual smut yet

wc: 2.9k

Note: here it is, the first chapter of many more to come. lemme know what you think, feedback is always appreciated.

You had caught the eye of a certain Ferrari driver from the moment you joined the team. He always looked at you in fascination, having the urge to find a way to figure you out but that's all it was for the longest time. Until it wasn't.

Carlos Sainz vividly remembers the first time he set his eyes on you. He was on his way to leave the headquarters in Maranello while you were on your way inside. Carlos' gaze was watchful, almost heavy with judgment as you hurried in through the doors with more items in your arms than you should've been able to carry.

He almost stopped you to ask who you were, but he noticed the badge clipped onto your jeans, media personnel. You had already passed him before he could read your name, and shook his head knowing that your name was the more important detail compared to your role.

You hadn't noticed him that day, but he noticed you.

He didn't see you again until the new season came around, having almost forgotten about your brief encounter at the end of the previous year. He had to do a double take once he saw you setting up the cameras for some content he was supposed to record along with his teammate.

It was a simple video that required the drivers to answer a few questions sent in by their fans, something that should've been easy since they've done it before. But he couldn't focus on anything but you. Given that you were the ones asking the questions, reading them off the short stack of cards you had in your hand, he wasn't outed for being distracted.

Knowing the drivers still had a busy day ahead of them, you began packing up the items once the video was filmed. Keeping your eyes locked on the task, you expected the drivers to be led away by their PR managers, so you were surely startled once you heard a voice acknowledging you.

Carlos stayed back, and roaming your gaze for a split second behind him, Charles had left. You knew who he was of course, after all you followed the sport for many years before you were given the opportunity to work for one of the teams.

"I don't think we properly met, I'm Carlos." He extended his hand out and you gladly accepted, shaking it while introducing yourself. You found it sweet that despite being one of the two faces of the team, he still introduced himself like you didn't know who he was.

As a junior media employee who was still relatively new to the team, you were informed in advance that you would rarely be interacting with the drivers.

So it wasn't surprising that while working in the same team, you rarely saw Carlos in person. Working under Silvia—the head of communications—you would usually be the one tasked to edit the challenge videos, creating enough content from various footage to keep the fans engaged. The few times you did see him in person was to conduct media challenges that the team planned every once in a while to give the fans a chance to know the drivers underneath their helmets.

As the season went on, you found that you were indeed given the wrong information; you did in fact meet the drivers again and again. You were given many opportunities to travel with the team, and it would've been absurd if you denied those opportunities—not that you had a choice since you were needed at almost every race.

You were glad to experience the thrill of Formula 1 from the front row seats, able to watch all the sessions in the weekend itself but also be a part of the journey with the drivers that not many people get to see.

It was inevitable to befriend many people along the way, especially with their welcoming nature despite some news outlets suggesting otherwise. Formula 1 could be considered as one giant family that obviously had issues every once in a while but no one outside of the sport could relate to them like each other. Especially since it was described like a traveling circus by a few drivers.

While you had befriended many other employees whether it was within your team or others, you also spoke to the other eighteen drivers often.

But no other driver invaded your thoughts like Carlos did.

You didn't know if you were overthinking it all, but you believed that Carlos was a tad bit too friendly compared to Charles or even any other driver for that matter.

Whether it was a compliment that left you a blushing mess, a lingering look that followed you until you left the room, or even a small graze of his fingers against your back while crossing your path, you couldn't think of anyone but him lately.

You heard a Monégasque accent calling your name and you slowed your pace, allowing him to catch up to you as you greeted without needing to look to see who it was, "Charles"

"Here, it's still hot," he was holding two disposable cups of coffee in his hands, extending one towards you.

You gestured to your own hands, carrying one too many things again.

He sighed, "I still don't know how you do that." He stopped walking as he neared a surface to put down the cups. "Here, give it to me," he spoke but didn't let you make a decision as he grabbed the various folders, a clipboard, and a tablet from your hands. You were still holding on to a tripod and a camera but he freed up one of your hands so you could hold the cup.

"I will have to let you know, that tablet you're holding, is very valuable to the team," you stated, mainly in a joking manner because you knew he wouldn't do anything to it.

"Oh is it now? What's on it?" Charles asked once you resumed walking, this time sipping on your coffee before answering his question. "First, perfect," you hummed, gesturing towards the cup. "Second, it has all the schedules for meetings, interviews, and everything that you or Carlos could possibly need a reminder for during the weekend."

He gasped, almost offended, "I do not need reminders for anything during the weekend, not like Carlos does."

Despite how it may seem, your role didn't entail being a driver's assistant. In fact your job was to manage a few social media accounts and create content that included the drivers as much as possible but every now and then you also helped the company keep the public images of the drivers reputable.

Lately, Carlos had been finding reasons to talk to you, and most of that time would be spent reviewing his schedule multiple times throughout the day.

"He can be a little forgetful sometimes," you commented but Charles shook his head.

"A little? He needed you to remind him what time the race was."

You grimaced, knowing Charles was correct. "Well, you're his teammate so you know him better than I do."

"Yeah, I guess I'll ask him, thanks for the coffee," Charles stated as you two entered a meeting room. There were still fifteen minutes before it started, but you preferred to use that time so you could prepare yourself for all the notetaking it usually required. Since you were still a fairly new employee, you wanted to absorb all the information like a sponge.

Confused, you responded back, "you're the one who got the coffee."

He placed the items he was holding on the table, then noticing the time on his watch, a brief gasp overtaking his expression. "Thanks for the company then, I'll see you later," he playfully winked like he always did before leaving the room.

Moments later, a knock distracts you from reviewing the previous notes and stats from the last meeting. Thinking it was Charles, you ask, "did you forget somet- oh, Carlos."

"Are you busy?" He asks as he leans his forearms on the back of a chair. Shaking your head you respond, "not really, what's up?"

"I forget how crazy the crowds can get outside, so can I stay here for a few minutes?" You smile, "of course you can, come sit." He rolled a chair out and sighed in relief after finally getting off his feet.

Carlos closed his eyes for a moment relishing in the moments of silence in his hectic life. It didn't last long as you hummed a random tune which you usually did while working. It was so faint but since it was completely silent otherwise, Carlos' ears perked up as he heard it.

Instead of looking for the moments of silence he thought he needed earlier to even do a simple task as breathing, Carlos leaned forward with his usual watchful gaze focused on you. "Are you planning on more ways for us to make a fool out of ourselves?" He asked.

You chuckled, "I would never do that." Carlos gave you a look that indicated he didn't believe you.

"The last challenge was planned by you, no?" He countered and when you sheepishly smiled, he knew he was correct.

"You know, Charles is right," you spoke after a few moments of silence.

"How so?" He leaned back, stretching his arms above his head for a moment that almost caused you to lose track of your thoughts. You've gotten better at keeping yourself calm and collected around Carlos lately, but you still took a little moment to appreciate how his muscles flexed in the full sleeved shirt he wore.

"There's a team debrief happening in about five minutes where you're needed, and it's a bit of a walk so I'm wondering if you're gonna reach in time." To confirm your words, he glanced at his watch, raising his eyebrows when he realized you were spot on.

"You know my schedule so well now," he couldn't help but comment, chuckling as he did so.

"Only because you forget it," you retaliated.

"Maybe I do that on purpose," he stood up, once again stretching to the point where the hem of his shirt raised a bit, revealing a sliver of skin that your gaze immediately shifted to. While you might've gotten better, you still needed a bit more practice every now and then. Carlos chuckled when you didn't have a response right away, knowing you were distracted but he didn't feel the need to expose you just yet.

As he pulled his shirt down, your eyes snapped to his, finally coming up with a response "and almost get me fired for making you late?"

He shrugged, "maybe." You knew he would never do such a thing that would jeopardize your job, so you shrugged off his comment.

"Go now, Sainz" you urged, waving your hand to emphasize your point.

"I'm going, I'm going, relax, cariño." You could hear his laugh as he left the room, and you didn't focus on the papers in front of you until his footsteps had faded away.

It was just friendly banter, you reminded yourself even after hearing the nickname he gave you. Sometimes your conversations were borderline flirtatious, but it was still fine. Until it wasn't.

As the year progressed further, you were no longer just an employee with a career in motorsport; you were a member of the team that celebrated each high while consoling and sticking together during the lows.

While your job wasn't directly connected to the race, nor could you help in changing the outcome like the mechanics and engineers could, you helped uplift the mood in the room on multiple occasions.

Which is why when Carlos stood on the top step of the podium, claiming his first place trophy that would eventually become a part of a larger collection, you felt like you won.

The spray of champagne reached the crowd of his team waiting below the podium. A laugh bubbled up your throat as Carlos tried to aim the spill of the drink in the team principal's mouth standing on the floor a few feet away from you.

A proud smile grew on your face as you watched the drivers and a representative from your team that collected the constructors trophy gathered together on the top step to take a photo.

The celebrations continued in the team garage, since both drivers made it on the podium. The energy buzzing through each member was noticeable, knowing that this win would be celebrated until the next. After the team photo was taken, the champagne popped once again.

A few people were able to get away from becoming soaked, others were being targeted. Charles managed to slip away, but Carlos couldn't. He happily accepted the spray, soaking his race suit further after the podium.

His eyes however, darted across the crowd and landed on you. Standing just out of reach of the champagne shenanigans but still close enough to celebrate, Carlos decided to pull you even closer.

Grabbing the bottle from the nearest person, he covered the top and shook it. Releasing his thumb, he let the fizzy drink spray out, directing it at you this time. "Carlos!" You shrieked, but laughing nonetheless.

Once satisfied, he took a sip from the bottle, his gaze fixed on you as yours moved down to his neck, watching his Adam's apple bob while he swallowed. Passing the bottle to you, you moistened your lips before tipping it up and sipping the cool champagne.

His attention was diverted as Charles had found another bottle of champagne, deciding to drench his teammate even further after the celebrations began to die down. You smiled as Carlos tried to run away, dodging the alcohol, but it quickly dropped once he used you as a shield.

"Oh, no, no, no," you held your hand out at Charles who smiled mischievously, stopping in his tracks right in front of you.

"You are a part of the team," he commented, and you almost ignored his words as you felt Carlos' hands rest on your waist from behind, feeling his breath on your neck.

The heat of your thoughts was ruined when Charles decided to rain champagne down on you, cooling you off instantly. "Charles," you groaned, knowing that it would be an excruciatingly long process to wash all the champagne out of your hair, especially if it began to dry soon.

The team began to disperse, rightfully so as everyone wanted to change out of their champagne soaked clothes, you included. Trying to wring out as much liquid as you could, you muttered a curse under your breath. This was the first time you ever experienced a win like today.

Speaking of, the winner of the race was standing off to the side, shirtless. Carlos had removed his fireproof top but still had his race suit zipped down to his waist and placed a cap on his head backwards to keep his hair out of his face.

You parted your lips and watched his back muscles flex as he moved around, then hastily looked away as he turned. You kept wringing your shirt as he moved past you, and despite the fact that there was enough space for him to pass you without touching you, his fingertips brushed over your back, down to your waist. He lingered on your hip for too long, but he didn't say anything, only smiled when you inhaled deeply.

You had returned to your hotel room and immediately rushed towards the shower. The champagne from earlier had dried, creating an unpleasant sensation as a layer of tackiness remained behind. Washing away all the sweat and champagne, you sighed in relief, standing underneath the shower for a few extra minutes to release all the soreness in your muscles.

You still felt the buzzing excitement of the day running through your veins as you dried and dressed yourself, but you were also exhausted, ready to climb into bed and drift away into the safety of your dreams.

That plan was interrupted as you heard a knock on the door. Pulling your shirt over your body, you peeked through the peephole, smiling when you saw him standing on the other side.

"Oh hello, don't tell me you forgot your room number," you greeted Carlos as you opened the door.

Wetting his lips with his tongue, he was transfixed by the sight of your hair, still wet from your shower, dripping down to your shirt beginning to cling to your body.

"I think I did, tell me you don't remember it either," his voice dropped an octave, and his stare was no longer calculating, but rather enticingly seductive.

"And why would I do that?" You almost whispered, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from him.

He stepped forward, leaning one arm on the doorframe while his gaze glanced over you to briefly look inside the room. "I'm sure yours is big enough for two people."

The corner of your lip turned up at his words, knowing it was just a ploy to let him in. The realization that he desired you just as much as you had grown to want him dawned on you as you stared at him standing in front of you.

Trapping your lip between your teeth for a moment, instantly attracting Carlos' gaze towards them, you nodded.

"Let's check," you stepped back, pulling him inside by the collar of his shirt.

——

Taglist is open!! Lmk if you wanna be added or removed <3

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[niceboyeds]

but daddy i love him (e.m)

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: sometimes you have to put the gossipers in their place, and sometimes you have to give them something to talk about. inspired by none other than the masterpiece that is The Tortured Poets Department!

contains: bullying, fluff, language, sexual innuendos if you squint, i think that's it but please reach out if i missed anything!

word count: 1.2K

a/n: hi babies I'm baaaack! with that said I'm rusty so please don't hurt my feelings lmao. i have an idea for a smutty pt. 2 if enough of you want it! okay here we go...

(tagging some mutuals so i don’t get lost in the blackhole: @luvmunson @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @munsonology @lightvixxen @ali-r3n @espressomunson 🫶)

masterlist

-----------------------------------

there was always something exciting about being with a bad boy. but then again, there was nothing “bad” about Edward Munson. he may get a bad rap but, aside from his lunchbox goodies, he is a gentleman before anything else. and a damn good lover. 

you sit in the diner with your friends, snickers and snide remarks could be heard all throughout the room and dozens of eyes burn into the back of your head for what felt like the millionth time. unfortunately that’s one of the prices to pay living in a small town like Hawkins.

Eddie is better than you, though, and doesn’t let it get the best of him. and while you know you could never physically fight someone, you still aren’t shy enough to threaten it. you are, to put it gently, less “reserved” with your words, and make sure to put the lonely housewives and their preppy children in their place about their assumptions of him. 

things have gotten worse as your dating life has expanded out beyond the four walls of Eddie’s quaint trailer or the few friendly drunks at the hideout once a week. you and Eddie both craved being together in public and decided long ago that you don’t care who has something to say about it. 

besides, you know who the real Edward Munson is, you don’t believe what the judgmental church-goers or ex-cheerleaders think of you. the only time it gets you is when you can see it hurting him. 

throughout lunch you keep one hand in his, feeling him tense up every so often when he hears his name come out of their mouths. 

“i wouldn’t be caught dead with that freak!” you hear from a group of your old classmates’ table followed by an eruption of laughter. 

Eddie squeezes your hand three times before letting go, scooting his chair out from the table and excusing himself to the restroom. the friends at your table all look to you for the next move, enough looks of defeat for you to end this once and for all. with a soft smile, you throw a $20 bill on the table and rise from your seat. 

“sorry guys.” you sigh, motioning for them to gather their things to leave as you push in your chair and make your way to the table across the room. Dustin trots his way to the restroom to grab Eddie as you hear Robin say your name softly, urging you to leave it be but everyone knows you can’t.

“hey guys! how are you?” you beam at your old friends, doing your best to smile at them. “Stacy, Lauren, Molly…” you exaggerate her name, informing her you heard her comment loud and clear. 

mumbles of good’s and small nods emit from them and their eyes bounce to one another nervously. “aw that’s so good to hear!” you beam, “i’m doing great too, in case you were curious. ya know, i couldn’t help but overhear you guys chatting over here and i just felt like i needed to come say hi.” their smiles drop immediately as you talk, and you let them sit in their fear of what you’ll say next. 

“yeah, you know what they say… once a bitch always a bitch, right?” silence fills the diner and you hear Max cough to cover her giggle at the door. 

“i’m sorry?” Lauren scoffs, genuinely unable to comprehend the fact that you might be putting them in their place. 

“aw, you should be. because let’s face it, it’s pretty embarrassing that we graduated years ago and you still act like this.” you look at them with pure disgust, knowing they haven’t changed in the slightest. you speak with confidence, your tone still friendly, “and to think you used to truly care for me.”

“w-we do still care for you. we just want what’s best for you.” Stacy chirps as the other two nod along with her.

“what’s best for me? pretending like you’re all some fucking saints walking around and saying you’re praying for me to ‘come to my senses’ as if i have no control over my own life? who i love is my choice, so save your prayers for yourself because you’re the most judgmental creeps i’ve ever met.”

you turn to leave, your sweet group of friends still standing by the door waiting for you, Eddie having joined them just in the heat of your argument. reaching for his hand, you crack open the door and turn one last time to their table. 

“and by the way? i’m having his baby!” their eyes widen with horror and their mouths fall agape as you follow Eddie through the door and giggle, skipping to be directly next to him.  

“woah, woah, woah?! you’re pregnant??” Steve asks, genuinely unsure as you laugh at his question. 

“no, i’m not. but oh my god did you see their faces??” 

Eddie chuckles alongside you, and you feel relieved he’s made light of the situation along with you. “yeah, not yet.”

~~~~~~~~

you sit on the couch with Eddie seated directly in front of you on the shaggy carpet. one by one you twirl his messy curls into ringlets with an unfathomable amount of hair products. you feel his once tense body relax against your knees as he twiddles with the frayed pieces of your blue jeans. 

“it’s true, y’know…” he says softly, barely above a whisper. 

“what’s that?” you ponder, curious more-so as to why his tone has saddened during your comfortable silence.

“what they all say. that you’d be better off with someone else- someone other than me..?”

“no, i don’t think they know what the hell they’re talking about.” your hands continue to work on his hair, with only a few sections left you couldn’t allow yourself to leave it be. But you continue to reassure him. 

“Eds, i don’t care that they think i shouldn’t be with you. i want to be with you. I love you. isn’t that what matters? not what all these bored-ass people think, but what we want?” 

“you… you love me?” he turns his head to face you once you drop the final curl back against his head. an ear to ear grin plastered on his face and his eyebrows wiggle. 

“of course i love you, silly. i love you more than i have the words to express.” you tell him truthfully, knowing in your heart that he is the man for you. 

“i love you too. i love you so fucking much.” 

he stands up from his crouching position, pulling you up from the couch with him. your lips instinctively crash into his. 

you interlock your fingers around his neck, trying to bring him closer to you as if you weren’t already impossibly close to him. you sloppily kiss each other before you pull away from him, a small string of saliva still connecting you to him as your lips separate. 

“eww!” you laugh, before pulling him by the hand and dragging him down the hallway to his bedroom. “come on, slow poke!”

“hey! i thought you said you weren’t having my baby.” he teased, bringing up the silly comment you had said earlier at the diner. 

“yeah, not yet.”

[samandcolbyownme]

Summary: Anon request - "virgin!reader x Sam"

Warnings: soft SMUT18+, some strong language, mentions of wine, fingering, protected first time sex, hair pulling, sensual smut, fully smut

Word count: 4.2k | not edited

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

"You don't have any plans tonight, do you?" Sam asks as he slips his big sweater over his head. You purse your lips as you think for a second before shaking your head, "Not unless they're with you."

You smile as he smiles and he walks back over to you, "Good. I made us dinner reservations, I'll be back at six to get you."

"Fancy or casual?" You turn around to rest your arms on the back of the couch, eyes watching him as he comes over and leans down, "Slightly fancy."

He peck your lips, "That okay?"

You nod, "more than okay, baby."

He brushes hair from your face, "Okay." He presses his lips to your forehead, "See you later."

You hold your hand up, watching as he walks towards the door, "Bye." As soon as the door closes, you pull your phone out, texting your best friend to call you.

A few minutes later, your phone rings and you answer, "Sam has a dinner planned tonight." You blurt out, "I think.. I think he wants to, you know."

"Have sex?" She asks with a slight laugh, "There's nothing wrong about that word, y/n."

"I know.." you say resting your cheek in your palm, "I just.. we've been dating for almost- we'll, it'll be three months tomorrow and I.." you let out a sigh, "I haven't told him yet."

"Told him wh- wait." She pauses for a moment, "You haven't told him that you've never had sex before?"

You loved your best friend because you can talk to her about anything, no shame at all.

She was your safe place.

No judgment at all.

"I haven't.. I just didn't know when, not like there's a right or wrong time or anything but mainly because I'm scared to tell him."

"Why are you scared, y/n?" She asks, pausing so you can answer, "What if he thinks I'm weird?"

She laughs, loudly, "I highly, and I mean high-ly doubt that he'll think you're weird. Someone who has never had sex before is hard to come by."

"I just.. I don't want to embarrass myself with him, you know, like I really want to with him, I just let my mind get the best of me, I guess."

"I want you to listen to me, y/n." She sighs, "The way Sam looks at you, is the way someone who knows they have a forever in their hands looks at someone, and that's even more rare than someone who still has their virginity."

You smile, "I know it's probably way too soon, but I honestly do think I love him."

"I wouldn't doubt it. You guys are tooth rottenly perfect for each other." She laughs slightly, "I'm sure he feels the same way about you."

You take a deep breath, "I'm going to tell him tonight, I mean it it all goes wrong and he does find me weird-"

She cuts you off, "He's not going to find you weird." She laughs, "I'm sure that will turn him on even more."

"Oh gosh, no. Stop it." You close your eyes, shaking your head, "I'm already nervous as is."

"Sorry, but no. I think it'll be okay." She pauses, "Just remember, that good things take time, and I'm sure that you being such a pure little angel will make it even better."

You smile, laughing slightly as you nod to yourself, "I'm sure you're right and I'm just overreacting."

"Isn't that what usually happens?" She laughs and you your eyes, "Mhm."

"Alright, well let me know how it goes. If you need, my door is always open for you."

You smile, "Thank you. I'll call you tomorrow or something."

"Sounds good. Now go pick out a pretty dress."

"I'll send you pictures. Thank you." You stand up and she sighs, "You got this. He isn't going to go anywhere."

"Okay." You nod, "Talk later."

"Talk later."

You hang up, letting out a long sigh as you make your way into your room to rummage through your closet.

After a while of holding up dresses to your body, you settle on a white knit dress with a cropped sweater attached to it.

You lay it on the bed, walking over to find a pair of shoes that go with it nicely. You pull out each pair of heel you have, nervous that nothing will go with it.

You set a pair of tan ankle boots next to it and tilt your head as you take a picture to send to your friend.

You smile at her reply, That is the cutest dress ever and the light tan color of those boots go so well. You'll look great, y/n!

You text her back and look at the time, it's almost four, which means you have two hours until Sam is back to pick you up.

You head for the shower, hoping to wash some of the anxiety you have, away.

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

You set the curling iron down after curling the last strand of your hair. You look into the mirror of your vanity and let out a sigh, "You got this."

Your phone vibrates and you pick it up, smiling when you see a text from Sam, On my way, sweetheart.

You text back, See you soon, baby.

You set your phone down, applying any last minute touches to your makeup before you stand up to smooth out your dress.

You grab your purse, hooking it onto your shoulder before snapping a picture to send to your friend.

She replies back as you walk out of your room, telling you that you look pretty and what not. She was your biggest support, besides Sam.

Sam has been there for you through everything that's happened these last two, almost three months. You guys clicked instantly and just like your friend said, you felt like you had forever in your hands when you looked at him, too.

There's a knock on your door and you stand up, walking over to open it. An instantly smile on your face when your eyes meet Sam's.

"Wow, you look gorgeous." He smiles as his eyes move down your body, "These are for you."

Your lips slightly part as your eyes move down to the bouquet of red roses in his hand, "Sam." You whisper looking back up at him as you take them, "They're so beautiful."

You open your arm, wrapping it around his neck. His hand lays on your hip and he turns his head to kiss your cheek, "Beautiful flowers, for a beautiful girl. You ready?”

You smile, "Yeah, let me just set these on the counter." You turn, walking back into your apartment to set them down on the counter, "Okay. Ready."

You walk over to him and link your arm with his. You pull your door shut before he leads you down to his car. He opens the passenger door for you, giving you a smile before he closes it.

He walks around, getting into the drivers seat, "That dress looks beautiful on you."

You run your hand over the fabric and look up at him, "Thank you. I got it a few weeks ago, figured now was the perfect time to wear it."

"Any time would have been the perfect time, babe." Sam smiles as he lays his hand on yours, interlocking your fingers together.

You bring your other hand over, tracing gentle circles on top of his hand. Your mind starts racing, but you quickly shut it down by reminding yourself of what your friend said.

You rest your head back, staring out the window at the lights of the city. Sam squeezes your hand, "You okay?"

You look over at him, "What, babe?"

"I asked if you're okay." He glances over at you, "You're quiet."

"Oh, I'm fine. Just enjoying the lights." You nod towards the window and he tilts his head, "You sure?"

You nod at him, "Yes, baby. I'm good." You smile, giving his hand a squeeze back. He smiles and pulls up to the doors.

You look over at him, "Valet?"

He smiles and nods, "Uh huh. Now wait here." He gets out, walking around to your side. He talks to the attendant before opening your door, "This way, sweetheart."

He holds his hand out and you take it as you exit the car, "Sam. This place is fancy."

He wraps an arm around your waist as you walk in, "You deserve it."

You smile as you walk with him to your table. He pulls your chair out for you and you sit down. He helps move your chair in before moving to sit beside you.

Your eyes scan down over the menu, "Everything sounds so good."

He nods, "I came here with Colby a few months ago, it was very good."

You set your menu down, looking from it to Sam, "I have to tell you something."

You can see it in his face that he doesn't like the sound of that but you quickly reassure, "Don't worry, it's nothing bad."

He lets out a sigh, "Oh god. Okay." He laughs slightly, "What's up, babe?"

Just as you're about to say it, the waiter comes over, "Good evening, my name is Frankie, I'll be your waiter tonight. Can I get you started with something to drink?"

"Hello Frankie." Sam gives him a smile, "Actually, yes." He looks over at you, "How does a bottle of Sangria sound?"

You smile and nod, "Please."

Sam looks back at Frankie, "Well do a bottle of Sangria, red." He nods at Sam and smiles, "I'll be right back with that."

"Thank you." You and Sam say as he walks away. Sam looks at you, taking your hand, "So you were saying?"

You laugh nervously, "Oh, yeah. That." You brush a curl from your face and sigh, "There's something I've been meaning to tell you, and I think you need to know before anything happens-"

He cuts you off, "Anything, sweetheart. You can tell me anything." You catch the hint of worry in his voice so you lean in, "I'm.." you pause, laughing slightly as you build up the courage.

You look up at him, "I'm a.. virgin."

He lets out the breath he was holding, "I thought you were going to say you can't see me anymore or something."

You lay your other hand on top of the one that's in your hand, "No, baby." You shake your head, "I just thought I should tell you, I'm not trying to rush anything by saying that, I just.." you raise your brows, "I just don't have any personal experience and I figured that that would be embarrassing on my end."

He reaches his hand up, thumb brushing your cheek, "There's nothing embarrassing about that, sweetheart." He smiles, "I think.. that's kind of sexy."

Your friend was right, you think as you bite your bottom lip, "Really?"

"There's a first time for everything, darling.." Sam smiles, "And if you are willing, I'd be honored to show you the ropes." He winks, causing a slight blush to take to your cheeks.

"Considering we're celebrating our three month anniversary tonight.." you rest your elbows on the table and lean forward, "I think tonight would be the perfect night for you to do that."

He tilts his head, "It's been three months already?"

You laugh, "I know. Time flies when you're having a good time." He laughs, sighing as he looks up at Frankie, "Thank you."

He nods, "Are we ready to order yet?"

"I am." Sam nods and looks over at you, "You know whatcha want?"

You motion to him, "You go first." You look back down over menu as Sam orders. You look up, ordering what you want before Frankie walks away.

You feel Sam slip his hand under yours and you look over at him as you sit your wine. He stares at you for a few seconds, "Why were you nervous to tell me?"

You shrug, "I didn't want you to think I was weird."

He laughs slightly, "Oh baby, why would I think you're weird? I think that's a good thing, you know?"

"Well.." you sigh with a smile, "That's certainly a relief."

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·

As you leave the restaurant, your arm linked with Sam's, you can but feel a rush up nervous excitement.

You were more than ready to give yourself to Sam.

You wanted him to be the one to have you for the first time.

The more you thought about it, the more it felt like it was meant to happen this way.

You watch as the valet attendant brings his car around. Sam leads you down, opening the passenger door for you.

"Thank you, baby." You give him a kiss on the cheek before getting in. He smiles, "More than welcome, my love."

He shuts your door, waving to the attendant and yelling a quick 'thank you' before getting in, "Alright. So where to now?"

"We can go back to my place." You bite your lip as you look over at him. He smirks, "say no more." He starts to drive, his hand finding yours like it always does.

You can tell he wants to ask something, but chooses not to.

"You can ask me, babe." You laugh slightly, "I'll answer any question you have."

He glances over at you, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable by asking anything."

You shake your head, "You won't."

"Why haven't you.." he pauses, "i don't know how to word it." He laughs nervously and you rest your head back, "Why haven't I ever had sex with anyone before?"

He nods and you shrug, "I just.. I don't know, really. It just never felt right with anyone. I was thinking about it, after I told you, and I honestly feel like it was meant to be this way."

He smiles as he comes to a stop, looking over at you, "Really?"

You nod, "I haven't felt this way with anyone. I actually told my friend earlier today that-" you stop once you realize what you're about to say.

You look over at him and he nods, "Keep going."

You take a calming breath, "I was just telling her today that I think.." you smile slightly, "I'm falling in love with you."

A smile takes over his face and he shakes his head, "I actually had sorta the same conversation with Colby the other day."

"You did?" You can feel your cheeks heating and he nods. He brings your hand up to his lips, pressing them against the back of it, "I love you, y/n."

Your heart skips a beat and you nod, "I love you, Sam."

He presses a few kisses onto the back of your hand as he comes to a stop at a red light. He lets go of your hand and reaches up to pull you over as he leans over, and that's right when you knew that you definitely have the kissing at red lights kind of love.

"When we get back to my place.." you whisper as you lean back, "I want you to take me into my room and show me just how much you love me."

You were shocked that those words came from your lips.

But you weren't arguing about it.

"Anything for you, baby." Sam takes his hand back into yours as he continues driving.

Your stomach fills with, what feels like a thousand butterflies and he pulls into the parking space in front of your building.

He looks over at you, reaching up to cup your cheek with his hand, "I've never felt this much love for someone."

You lay your hand on his, "Me too, Sam."

He pulls you in, pressing his lips to yours before whispering a small, "Come on, sweetheart." He gets out, and like usual, comes and opens your door.

You cling to his arm, smiling as you walk up to your door. You unlock it, immediately pulling him in. He kicks the door shut as your hands go to the sides of his neck, lips meeting his.

His hands go to your waist, backing you up a few steps before he pulls your body into his.

"Are you sure?" He whispers, leaning his head back a little to look at you.

"I've never been more sure of anything before, Sam."

He smiles, brushing hair from your face, "Okay." He leans down, gripping the back of your thighs so he can lift you up.

Your legs circle his waist, arms wrapping around his neck as he walks you into your bedroom.

The most you’ve done with Sam is an old fashioned high school make out. Nothing more. He never pressured you into more, with him, it just feels so right.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, pressing little kisses onto your cheek as he lays you down on the bed. Your legs fall to his sides and he leans up to shrug off his jacket.

You watch was his hands move to undo each button on his white shirt as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

Your eyes move up to meet his as he slides it down his shoulders and drops it to the floor. He leans back down, body over yours as he presses his lips to yours again.

He grinds against you, earning a low moan from your lips, “That’s it, baby.” He kisses down your neck and back up, “If it feels good, tell me.”

You nod, tilting your head back as he attaches his lips to the skin of your neck, sucking to leave a mark.

You moan out quietly as your nails dig into his shoulders. His hand moves down to pull your dress up, letting it lay high on your thighs.

His hand dips in between them, gently dragging lines up and down your clothed, but soaked center.

“Please.” You whimper as you move your hips, “Please, touch me.”

He nods once, tilting his head slightly as he watches your face. He slips his fingers into the crutch of your panties, pushing them over before gently gliding a finger up and down, “This what you wanted, baby?”

You nod quickly, moving your hips up and down, “Y-yes.”

You thought him just grazing the outside of your pussy felt good, but it quickly heightened when he slowly plunged his finger into you.

You arched your back, letting out a whine as you squeezed around his finger.

“Feel good?” Sam asks rubbing your thigh with his free hand. You look up at him, lips parted as you moan to him slowly moving his finger out and back in, “Fuck, yes.”

Sam bites his lip, watching your body move from the pleasure he’s giving you.

He was in awe that you were his.

He slid his hand over, palming himself through his suit pants because the image of you was making him ache.

“Fuck, I know I keep saying it, but you look so beautiful.” He leans down, hand still between your legs, “So pretty.”

He gently presses his lips to yours and your hands move to his neck, sliding one hand up to tangle in his hair.

He lets out a groan as you tug, “So mine.”

You smile against his lips, arching your back as he curls his finger, “Fuck.” You slide your hands down his chest, “Please, Sam. I need you.”

He nods, “Alright.” He slowly pulls his finger out, “Take this off for me.” He tugs the hem of your dress before getting up to take off his pants.

His eyes are glued on you as you sit up to reveal your body to him. You let the dress drop to the floor before reaching behind you to unhook your bra.

He slips his fingers into the band of his boxers, pausing to just take a good look at you.

“What?” You ask, a shy tone consuming your words.

He shakes his head, “Nothing, I-“ he sighs and smiles, “You’re just.. ravishing.”

You give him a smile and look down, “Oh, thank you.” He strips away from his boxers, “Do you have a condom, by chance?”

“Actually.. I do.” You laugh, “my friend gave it to me a few weeks ago, long story but it pertains to you.”

He chuckles, “Oh jeeze, okay.” He walks over to the stand you pointed to, pulling out and putting it on before walking over to crawl up between your legs again, “You okay?”

You look up at him, laughing nervously, “Just.. kinda nervous.”

He brushes your cheek with his hand, “I got you, sweetheart.” He leans in, pressing his lips to your forehead, “If it hurts or gets to be too much, I’ll stop.”

You nod, lying back as he moves up to hover over you, “Tell me when.”

You take a deep breath, giving him a nod, “I’m ready.”

Sam gathers some spit onto his fingertips and reaches down to coat the tip of his cock, “Just try and relax, baby.”

You spread your legs, laying your hands on his biceps as he positions himself at the entrance. You close your eyes, the rollercoaster of emotions hitting you at once.

Nervous.

Excited.

Happy.

But, you were ready for him.

You close your eyes, squeezing his biceps as he slowly slides into you, “Fuck.” He breathes out, “You okay?”

You nod quickly, eyes still shut tight, “Yeah.”

He pauses for a moment, reaching up to tilt your head up, “You sure?” You give him a smile, “Yes.” You lay your hand on his cheek, “K-keep going.”

He brushes hair from your face before reaching for your hand, interlocking your fingers with his. He continues to push in, earning small moans from you.

You wrap your leg over his waist, squeezing his hand tight.

“Sam.” You moan out quietly, “That feels so good.”

He leans down, peppering your face with kisses, “That’s good, baby.” He pushes all the way in, resting for a moment, “You feel so good.”

You lay your free hand on his cheek, wiggling your hips ever so slightly, “Okay.”

He tilts his head, “Ready?”

You nod and gasp as he pulls out, gently thrusting back in, “Fuck, y/n. You feel incredible.”

His words send the anxiety and nervousness away. You feel so much closer to him already. You now know that this was the way it was supposed to be.

“I love you.” You whisper out, “I love you.”

Sam rests his forehead against yours, “I love you so much.” He lifts his head to plant a kiss, “So fucking much.”

You snake your arm under his, laying your hand in the center of his back as you moan out, louder than they’ve been.

“You sound so pretty.” Sam whispers in your ear before kissing down your neck. He groans lowly, “I want to get you off before I do, okay?”

“Okay.” You breathe out, “Fuck.”

He thrust a little bit faster, still holding your hand in his. He reaches down with his other hand, pulling your arm away from his and holding your other hand.

He pins it by your head, forehead on yours, “I can’t get over you.” He whispers lowly, a moan following his words.

You smile slightly, brows furrowing as you feel an intense pleasure building up in your stomach, “I-I think I’m close.”

He nods, “Whenever you want, sweetheart.” Sam kisses your lips and you moan into his mouth, “Shit. Shit.”

You tighten your leg around his waist, bringing the other one up to lock around him. Your eyes roll shut as your back lifts off the bed and you squeeze his cock.

You drag your moan out, “Fuuuck.”

“That’s it baby. Cum for me.” Sam encourages, “That’s my girl.” He lets go of your one hand to brush hair from your face, “So fucking beautiful.”

Your chest rises and falls quickly as you come down, Sam not too far behind you.

His throws slow down, almost to a completely stop and you feel him twitch inside of you. He presses kisses over your face, “You okay?”

You nod, laying your hands on his cheeks, “I’m wonderful, baby.”

He smiles, “Alright, I’m gonna..” he nods down and you brace yourself before he slowly pulls out. He gets up, walking over to your bathroom to discard the condom and to grab a towel for you to clean up with.

You toss the towel down and turn back slightly to move the covers of the bed down. You move up and slide your legs under them, “Are you staying the night?”

You look up at him with a smile and he smiles, “You know it.”

He walks over to you, sliding in beside you and pulling the blankets up around you both. You snuggle into his chest, letting out a content sigh, “I definitely believe now, that this is the way it was to happen for me.”

Sam rubs your back as he smiles, “You think?” He looks down at you and you look up at him, “I know.”

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

I hope you enjoyed! I think this is one of my favorite Sam one shots that’s I’ve written so far.

As usual, let me know what you thought and thanks for reading! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 🖤

[sunnebeam]

flashback: when you first met.

A 'PERKS OF BEING A HOUSEHUSBAND' EXTRA.

pairing: min yoongi x reader

plot: the (mis)adventures of retired gangster min yoongi as he leaves behind the life of the mafia and navigates the way of the househusband.

warnings: the way of the househusband au, marriage au, crack, domesticity, blood

masterlist + disclaimers.

note: in case u didn't know, i'm still currently on my aug-oct vacation (see details in pinned post!) and this post was scheduled in advance :> anyways this flashback is really short (mostly bc i was running out of time when writing it) but i hope u still enjoy it. as always, leave ur thoughts <3

You're walking home, having just got off the bus.

There's a spring in your step, mainly because you just had a job interview a few hours earlier and you think you got it in the bag. You're thinking about dropping by the convenience store for some celebratory food when you hear a strangled noise from the nearby alley.

Against your better judgment, you follow the noise, only to find a bloodied, battered man, with a scar across his right eye, slumping against the wall. His shirt is torn and his tattoos peek out from the fabric, but what was once a white shirt is now stained with red from his wounds.

"Oh my god," you exclaim, your hands coming out to cover your opened mouth.

"Go away," the man grunts.

"Sir, you need to get to the hospital," you tell him, walking closer. "You're injured—"

He scoffs. "You should've seen the other guys."

You ignore his comment and move to sling his arm around your neck.

"What are you doing, woman?" he growls, resisting when you try to lift him up. "I told you to go away."

"And I told you, you need to go to the hospital," you scold him, finally managing to get him to his feet.

He tries resisting again but you poke his wounded side. It does the trick and he groans in pain, having no choice but to follow you because he can't do anything else.

The walk proves to be a struggle, but in the end, you manage to get him to your apartment after he argued with you and insisted he can't show his face in a hospital.

("The hospital's on enemy turf. I can't go there.")

The pain must be too much for him because he passes out as soon as he reaches your couch and he pretty much stays asleep while you treat his wounds as best as you can.

You leave a glass of water and some painkillers on the coffee table near your couch for when he wakes up, before you move to your bedroom to the do your night routine and finally get some sleep.

By the next morning, he's gone.

He's a strange man, you realize. Always talking in cryptic words, strange tones, and poetic sentences. But you naturally start to forget about him as the days go on.

Until one day.

You arrive at work, having been accepted at the corporate job you had an interview with, to find a gigantic arrangement of flowers on your desk. There's no card, so you chalk it up to a random admirer, and go about your day.

But it doesn't stop with the flowers.

Throughout the rest of the week, you receive an assortment of gifts. From expensive chocolates, designer clothes, and even an engraved kitchen knife.

And what surprises you is that the kitchen knife, of all things, provides the most answers because there's a card. It doesn't contain a message but there is a single name written.

Yoongi.

You blink.

Who the fuck is Yoongi?!

COPYRIGHT 2023. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[moonlightazriel]

The truth about you /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Azriel knew everything about her and her family filled with criminals, or that's what he thought, what if the truth was different from what he have heard?

Warnings: Angst, fluff and a bit of smut.

Word Count: 2,9K

Notes: I think I'm slowly finding my way back into writing and it feels so good, this has been sitting on my drafts for a while but still needed to finish it, but here we are. I'm feeling better and thank you for all the patience and support.

Main Masterlist

“I have a mission for you.” These were the words that led him there, the task was simple, receive a package, and take back to the House of Wind. The problem? The package came in the form of a beautiful woman, with dark hair reaching her waistline, cunning brown eyes, and too much attitude.

She kept looking around Velaris all the way until he should fly her to the House, stating that she never saw such a beautiful place before, and would be a nice place to stay for a while. Azriel admired her figure as they walked, she was just a few inches shorter than him and her clothes were a bit too tight on her curvy body.

The stranger also smelled really nice as he pulled her closer, bringing her up and flying towards the balcony of the House of Wind, where Rhys was waiting for them. She clung to him but took the flying adrenaline incredibly well for someone wingless. He smirked at that, liking how she wasn’t afraid of falling to the city below.

Whowever, his hopes of even becoming her friend vanished as Rhysand opened his mouth, greeting her with a rather cheerful “Y/N Caidan, what a pleasure to meet you.” The only daughter of Eldar Caidan, a very wanted man on the Illyrian Steppes for numerous crimes. He felt disgusted, wanting to get as far as he could from her. That was the beginning of his torment.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

She moved her hips as she walked, knowing that this drove him mad and his eyes were glued to her back as they made their way to Rhysand’s office, she could hear the annoyed huffs he let out, so used to them in the two years they’d been working together. Azriel wasn’t easy to deal with, especially with the unpleasant side he reserved especially for her.

Three knocks and Rhys shouted that they could come in, dropping the papers containing sensitive information on the dark wooden desk, she sat, legs crossed as she stretched her back, feeling her sore muscles ache from all the effort.

“As you asked Rhys, everything about those secret Illyrian reunions.” He looked at her, his eyes stopping at the fading purple marks around her eyes, behind her Azriel stood, silent as the dead.

“You two are a great duo, despite everything, thank you. You two can go and rest.” She nodded, walking out of the office and heading to her house in the town, all she could think was about the warm bath that she would take later. 

“I don’t want to question your judgment, but why do you trust her, Rhys? Especially with this kind of mission.” He spoke, his throat dry as he barely used his voice in the week they’d been together on a mission.

“Because she’s good at what she does and she’s a good person.” Rhys spoke dryly, tired of this same conversation, this have been happening for the past two years without a break. Azriel had to stop the urge to roll his eyes at the answer.

“A good person that came from a family of criminals.” He knew he sounded like a whining kid but it wasn’t possible that he was the only one in his right mind that didn’t trust her, her family invaded Illyrian camps for years, murdering the females. Azriel had come to the camps a couple of times, blood everywhere, clothes sliced, and the smell of fear mixed with panic, and a scent so familiar the one lingering on her every damned time. If he closed his eyes, he could still see and smell the fresh blood. What made his blood run even colder was that they never left bodies behind, Mother knows what those monsters did with them.

“We cannot judge a child for the mistakes of their parents, can we?” It stung, cuz he knew that Rhysand was right, but he still couldn’t let his guard down around her, he knew that she was planning something, he just needed to figure it out.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“How was the mission?” Morrigan asked, sipping on her glass of wine, while Y/N finished with the charcuterie board she was making for the two.

“Good, got everything that I needed, Azriel just made my life extremely difficult but I’m used to it by now.” She took a bite from a piece of cheese, took the board, and headed for the tiny balcony adorned with little lights and a great view of the Sidra, the soft summer breeze made her shiver a little but she sat down, with Mor following her closely.

“Maybe you should just tell him, I know he will understand.” She scoffed.

“Mor, are we talking about the same person? Azriel won’t understand, he won’t even listen to me. And I don’t want to share my story with him, if he doesn’t trust me, I don’t have any reasons to tell him. He can discover on his own if he wants to find the truth so bad.” Mor lifted her hands in surrender while Y/N took a long sip from her wine. “But at least I don’t mind looking at his pretty face.” Morrigan laughed. 

“Don’t even tell me, the Mother took her time making that one, and I don’t even like men.” The two laughed. 

“Morrigan, things got dirty and he headed to a lake to clean himself, I almost drowned in my drool as I watched the water run down those abs, he’s truly beautiful, such a shame he’s an asshole.” She gave Y/N a severe look.

“Even if I don’t agree, Azriel has been through a lot, he just doesn’t trust people easily, and with the outlaw fame your family has, he’s just waiting for the betrayal, once he sees that things aren’t always as they seem, you will see that he’s such a gentle and kind male, he has a good heart.” 

“I know Mor, it’s just…. I’m tired of being judged and treated like a monster, he treats me so badly, he always questions my abilities and makes me feel like I’m less worth it, that I’m inferior to everyone.” Mor placed a warm hand on her knee.

“I’ll have another talk with him, he can hate you all he wants, but he won’t treat you like this.” Y/N smiled at her,  feeling her heart warm at the thoughtful words of her best friend. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“You hit like a girl.” Nesta teased and Y/N rolled her eyes, she aimed for Nesta’s right side, where she quickly went to defend but she turned the other way, hitting her left side, making the oldest Archeron gasp for air.

“Thanks!” She offered a hand to Nesta, which she gladly took, and the two headed to the water station on the other side of the ring, the sun was at its highest in the sky, making the temperature almost unbearable, only the girls were training today, so there was a lot of skin showing around that balcony.

She saw the shadows from the corner of her eyes before she saw the Shadowsinger, when she turned, he looked slightly paler, eyes wide and looking like he had seen a ghost, her skin felt uncomfortable under his gaze, still fixed on her, she quickly removed the tie from her hair, letting it fall behind her, hiding her exposed back as she darted out of the room. 

“Cassian’s looking for you.” He managed to say, her smell still fresh in the air, and the image of her exposed back still replaying in his mind, two big scars marking each side of her shoulder blades, in the same place Illyrian wings should be. He turned on his heels, ready to follow after her, but Nesta stopped him.

“Azriel, don’t.” She warned him, her fingertips were cold against his skin, and he knew that he should let that go, for now.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

The image of her scarred back didn’t leave his mind for days, and ever since he saw her, she’s been avoiding him, every time she sees him entering a room, her expression changes and she leaves immediately, this pissed him off a bit. But as much as he wanted to ask about it, he knew that he shouldn’t push her into answering, he would have to find it on his own.

Then, he was reminded why he didn’t trust her in the first place, as she poked her head outside Rhysand’s office, looking both sides and only stepping out when she was sure no one was around, a pile of papers clutched to her chest. A chill in his spine told him he needed to follow her and get to the bottom of his suspicions. 

It was nightfall when she emerged out of her room, her leathers and weapons in place, her hair in a bun, she moved quietly, and as she passed by him, he could see that she had the reports on the northern camp that was supposed to receive new females in a few days, the papers tucked on the bag strapped around her torso. His blood ran cold as he understood what was happening.

She would take the information to her family and they would execute the females, he knew he had to stop her, but would be better if he stopped all of them at once. So he quietly followed her, for days, only stopping in an inn, she had taken a room and he was currently drinking some wine and eating the food offered there, regaining the energy to do what he had to.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Y/N watched from the top of the stairs as her brother and cousin dragged the spymaster’s body with them, a lazy smirk on her lips as she thanked the innkeeper for helping her, a bag of gold coins dropped on the counter and she was on her way, to her family’s secret war camp. 

“I’ll take care of him now.” She said as they all reached Miramaris, her family war camp. Azriel was still asleep as the males placed him in the chair, chaining him so he wouldn’t try to escape before she could explain.

Y/n watched him throughout the night, not even once looking away from him, she ran a hand through his soft hair, sighing as she stretched her part of the bond until it hit the emptiness on the other side as it hadn’t snapped for him yet. She had known he was her mate for about two months now.

A late night travel to the library, where he was also reading, it only took one look in her direction, him scoffing and getting up to leave for the bond to snap, leaving her astonished and stuck in the same place for a couple of minutes, wondering what teh hell would she do.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

His head hurt and everything felt dizzy, he didn’t recognize the room he was in, but he could tell the walls were made of stone, people walked outside and he could hear the sound of metal against metal like someone was training. His hands were restrained by chains and the was a soft light on top of his head.

The steps grew closer to his cell, the heavy door swung open and three males walked in, and behind them Y/N was smiling, approaching him.

“See that you met my family, quite nice people, don’t you think?” He scoffed.

“If you think murdering people is a nice thing, then sure, amazing people.” His tone was laced with sarcasm. He eyed Eldar and the other males with pure hatred, fighting against the chains, he tried to call for Rhysand but his mind was still too foggy to reach so far.

“He still thinks that’s what we do?” The older male asked and smiled. “Rhys will be quite disappointed that you think he would let us walk freely if we were really murdering these females.”

“Dad, let me do the talking, I’m used to the pretty frown by now.” His heart fluttered as the word pretty left her lips. “Maybe bring some food, chicken with mashed potatoes is his favorite.” Again, his heart beat faster as she spoke, does she really pay attention to him like that? Eldar nodded, patting his daughter on the head, he could see the love in the gaze he directed to her, at least he loved his daughter, he wasn’t a complete monster.

“I don’t want anything from you.” He spat, and she walked closer, lowering her body until they were facing eye to eye.

“And here I was, ready to give the only thing you’ve been wanting from me ever since we met.” He cursed as his traitorous mind wandered to where his darkest thoughts hid in his mind, the images that would come late at night when he was alone, of her, splayed open to him, soaking cunt as he readied himself to take her how he wanted, the number of times he touched himself thinking about her, he didn’t trust her in the slightest, but that didn’t mean he didn’t find her attractive.

Truth be told, he still thought about her, and her body drove him mad, usually after training he would rush to his room to take a cold shower to stop his furious hormones from making him walk to her room and do all the dirty things he wanted to do to her. The fact that he was head over heels for her only angered him more.

“I grew up in a very traditional Illyrian family, but you see, my grandfather used to think that clipping wasn’t enough, removing a female’s wings was the way to go for him.” Her hands grabbed the hem of her shirt, lifting above her head, the laced black bra was hard not to look at, but his throat went dry as she turned her back to him, the scars were even uglier up close and he felt his heart clenched on his chest. “ My father only had enough courage to leave when he came home one day, he found my grandfather placing a new piece of decoration in the living room.” He knew what it was, but it didn’t hurt less as the words left her mouth. “My wings, so tiny, I was just a child. From that day, he swore no female would ever go through something like that again.” 

She turned to him again, shirt going back to place, as their eyes met, hers were filled with tears. 

“Do you wish to see our work?” He nodded and she motioned for him to follow but he shook his hands and she remembered about the chains. “Right, you’re cuffed. Would love to see you chained somewhere else but we don’t have time for that now.” The words sent a rush of blood straight to his cock.

He followed her, the mountain was warm, and as they walked around, he spotted hundreds of females, some training, some doing chores, but all of them were undeniably happy as they walked around with their wings held proudly behind them. 

“Welcome to Miramaris.” She gestured to the open space. “We raid the camps, and we forge the scene, they don’t bother looking for them anyway. Started with small cabins and barely any resources, but as Rhys’s father learned about this place, he helped us, he was a disgusting man but even he knew this was wrong, Rhys kept helping us after, and he invited me to work with him closely after I've been targeted by a rival camp, he saved my life, and he knows what we’re doing. We’re not the monsters here Az.”

He felt bad for all this time he judged her without even bothering to learn the truth about her. They were looking to an open field, some females were bathing in a lake that crossed the mountain. There were hundreds of them, even children were running around, this place was everything he dreamed for the camps to be. 

“I don’t even know how to apologize to you.” He said honestly.

“Help us save them, the females need me, they need us. You can come with me as my partner… “Nothing would’ve prepared him for the words that left her mouth next. “As my mate!”

“Your what?” He looked at her incredulously. 

“That night in the library? Where I found you in your cute pajamas?” The memory came back to him and he nodded. “ It was when it snapped for me, decided to tell you cuz you know the truth now and I would like to be told if it was the other way around.” He nodded, feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the information he received in a short amount of time. “You don’t have to say anything, but if you’re willing to give this a try, meet me tomorrow night right here, we have more females to save.” She said, turning her back to him and walking away.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

He saw her before she saw him, and as he watched her frame lean against the wall, dressed all in black and looking around expectantly, he felt, the bond making itself known for him, he could feel her on the other side, waiting for him with a warm heart filled with love, love for him.

“You came.” She smiled. Her eyes glowing with emotion as she felt a wave of feeling flooding her chest and as she reached for the other side of the bond, Azriel was there, waiting for her with open arms. 

“I would never let my mate go alone, never again.” He pulled her close, hand wrapped around her waist as he kissed her, her soft lips made him feel at home as she kissed him back. “Let’s go and rescue them.” He said, grabbing her in his arms, she let out an excited squeal as he leaped to the sky, taking her with him. 

[proxima-writes]

𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀, 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓?

PAIRING: Ex-Boyfriend!Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

RATING: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

WORD COUNT: 3k

SUMMARY:

Your ex-boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is in town and sends you a text. Meeting up with an ex, especially one you’re still in love with, is a bad idea, right? Based on the song “bad idea, right?” by Olivia Rodrigo

DEAR READER:

My first Dieter Bravo fic! If you enjoy, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging 💕 You can also support my writing through my kofi Dividers and banners by @saradika

CONTENT WARNINGS:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, no referenced age difference, dubcon - alcohol consumption prior to sexual activity, domme/sub dynamics, sub!dieter, teasing, masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), praise, pet names, begging, unprotected p in v, love confessions, dieter being bad with feelings and words. please let me know if any are missing!

Dieter sits on the couch in the penthouse hotel room he's currently renting in New York, phone in one hand and a fresh Salty Dog in the other. The TV flickers with a porn he rented after not finding anything worth watching on the limited number of free channels and to be honest, he likes the background noise of moans and skin slapping against skin to fill the silent void.

He scrolls through Twitter as he sips his drink. There's one tweet that catches his eye, a familiar name in the hashtag that gives him pause. A glutton for punishment, he clicks the hashtag, his screen flooded with cell phone quality pictures of you, enjoying a night out.

In New York.

It's a blurry photo of you on a rooftop in a sexy outfit that looks like it was made just for you, a shimmery black fabric hugging all your curves just right. You're surrounded by people he doesn't recognize and your head is thrown back in an easy laugh.

Dieter frowns. He used to make you laugh like that.

Dieter scrolls some more, a glutton for punishment, and comes across another picture, a different angle, but this time there's a man leaning into your space, mouth close to your ear and an arm settled at the base of your spine. He takes a hearty sip of his drink, wincing at the bitter taste as he sets the glass on the coffee table.

He closes Twitter and opens his messages, scrolling until he finds your name.

wyd?

Your phone buzzes in your hand and the name that flashes across the screen has your breath catching.

Dieter: wyd?

You roll your eyes at the message. Of course.

You set your phone down on the table and look up, catching the judgmental stare of your best friend, Melanie.

"What?" You ask. She raises her eyebrows at you.

"That was very much the Dieter Bravo eye roll," she says, tone accusatory. "Did he just text you?"

"No."

Your phone buzzes a second time and her eyes drop to the screen, her hand reaching across the table to snatch it before you even have time to blink.

"'I'm in New York'?" She reads. "Oh my god, he did not send you a 'wyd' text!"

You're in a nice restaurant with a six month long waitlist for a reservation so you're desperately trying to keep yourself from launching across the table at her to get your phone back but the urge is certainly strong. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you hold your hand out to her. "Give me my phone."

"Are you going to text him back?"

"No." Yes.

The look she gives you momentarily leaves you wondering if she can actually read minds. You straighten yourself in your seat, tilting your chin defiantly as you say, "I am a grown adult who can make her own decisions."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you always make good ones," Melanie replies, handing you your phone.

"It's a bad idea, right?" You ask. "Like...an extremely bad one?"

"Catastrophic even," she agrees. “He’s your ex for a reason!”

“Okay, but can’t two people reconnect? Isn’t the goal to be like…friends or something?”

You stare at each other for a moment. Her smile falters. "Oh my god, you're going to answer."

"I'm going to answer." Your fingers fly across the screen and hit send before you allow your logic to return.

Address?

The car you ordered pulls up to a boutique hotel, the kind that has a symbol for its sign instead of a name, and the driver comes around the front of the car and opens the door for you, holding a hand out to help you from your seat. You thank him and take a deep breath before entering the glittering lobby.

There's a separate elevator for the penthouse suite and the attendant on duty asks for your name, checking an iPad in his hands before pressing the button with a gloved fingertip. Once the car arrives and the shiny golden doors silently slide open, you step inside.

You stare at your reflection in the doors as the elevator rises, wondering why you're doing this. Your relationship with the actor lasted about eight months - long enough for you to fall in love and long enough for him to decide he was bored of you. After citing scheduling issues as his reason for breaking things off, you went back to hearing about him rather than from him and trying to fix the cracks in your life that he had left behind.

When the elevator stops and the doors slide open, Dieter is standing there with his familiar messy brown curls in disarray, a hotel robe open over his chest and tied loosely around his waist. He opens his arms wide as he grins.

"Hey, baby. Miss me?" He asks. You roll your eyes.

"Like a cavity, Bravo,” you reply, but your feet still guide you forward and you let yourself get enveloped in his embrace, the familiar smell of faded cologne and weed invading your senses. “Why did you text me?”

“Why did you come?” He asks.

“I asked you first.” You pull away, stepping around him and entering the living room of the large suite.

“You want a drink? I got you that wine you like,” Dieter says, pulling a bottle from an ice bucket set on a room service cart. He holds a glass up and you nod, watching as he fights with the corkscrew.

He finally gets the bottle popped, pouring each glass to the brim and stepping carefully across the room with one in each hand, settling beside you on the couch. He passes one to you and you take a quick sip to prevent disaster. Dieter opts to chug half of his serving in one go.

“So,” he says, drawing the word out, “You wanna have sex with me?”

You drain the rest of your glass, leaning forward to set it on the coffee table beside his. You kick your heels off, shifting in your seat until you’ve got your knees beneath you, pressed into the cushion. Planting a hand on his shoulder for stability, you swing one leg over him and settle on his lap.

“This is a bad idea, right?” You ask, face close enough to his that your lips nearly touch when you speak. His hands slide up your thighs.

“Probably,” he agrees, brown eyes half lidded as he stares at you.

“Fuck it, it’s fine,” you decide, pressing your lips to his. Your mouths move together hungrily, six months apart fueling a fire that’s ready to burn you alive.

“Fucking hell,” Dieter groans, hips bucking up and dragging his hardening cock against your center. “Want you so goddamn bad.”

“How bad?” You ask, already breathless as he trails his lips down your neck, his beard scratching the thin skin over your rapid pulse.

“Thought of you every time I fucked my hand.” A bite to your throat has you hissing from the combination of pleasure and pain. You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging his head back in retaliation. “Even bought one of those pocket pussy things. Didn’t even come close.”

That gives you pause. With six months gone between the breakup and now, you would have thought he’d been drowning in women and men clamoring at the chance to fuck him.

You kiss him again, your tongues sliding together in a messy, dirty dance you’ve missed more than you care to voice. Your hips move over his while his hands explore every exposed inch of you they can find.

“Take your clothes off,” he demands when his lips break from yours.

“Ask nicely,” you chastise. His brown eyes go wide, a pathetic puppy dog glimmer in them.

“Please,” he begs. “Pretty please, with a cherry on top?”

You stand, laughter spilling from your lips as you reach for zipper at your back, tugging it down slowly while he watches. He licks his lips like he’s being presented a six course meal and his hands curl into the material of the robe that’s fallen open, giving you an unobstructed view of a broad chest and soft tummy. You turn your back to him, easing the sleeves of the dress off your shoulders slowly.

“Come on, baby,” Dieter whines. “Quit teasing.”

“Good things come to boys who wait,” you tell him, shimmying the fabric over your hips, bending at the waist to ease the dress over the curve of your ass and down to the floor. This leaves you in only a thong, the red straps of it a gorgeous contrast to your skin that you know he’ll go crazy for.

“Fuck. Me.”

You turn back around to face him, the man’s eyes dropping immediately to your breasts. He raises his arms, making grabby hand motions toward your chest that have you giggling.

“What if,” you tap your finger to your chin in thought, “I just wanted you to watch me?”

Dieter pouts. “I could be a lot more help with my cock,” he argues.

“Hmm.” You take a seat on one of the cushy arm chairs in the sitting area, spreading your legs wide. “I’ve been doing just fine these last six months without it,” you tell him, sliding a hand beneath the elastic of your panties.

“This is fucking cruel and unusual punishment,” Dieter says. “A violation of the Geneva Convention.”

“Always so dramatic,” you reply as you circle your clit with your fingertips. He leans forward on the couch, hands gripping the cushion tightly as he watches. “You want a closer look, baby?”

He nods his head rapidly and you lift your hips to shove your panties down your legs, gathering them in your hand and tossing them at his face. The wad of fabric drops to his lap and he balls it up in his fist and brings it to his nose.

“Pervert,” you say affectionately. You hook your leg over the arm of the chair, spreading yourself wide for his gaze. You tease your clit with two fingers, trailing them lower to your entrance and dipping one inside, your head dropping back against the chair with your moan.

The sound of skin sliding over skin reaches your ears and when you look up, you find that Dieter has shoved his boxers down to where they now sit looked around his ankles, his thick cock caught in the tight grip of his fist. You lift your hand away, closing your legs and leaning forward with your eyes narrowed.

“Now, Dieter, I don’t remember saying you could touch yourself,” you say.

“Can’t touch you, can’t touch myself,” he whines, releasing his cock and gripping the couch cushion. “C’mon, baby. Please? I’ve missed yo—“

“Cut!” You yell. Dieter’s mouth snaps shut in surprise. “That wasn’t a very Oscar worthy performance, Di. I think you can do better than that.”

His blank stare morphs into heated understanding and you watch as he slowly slides from the couch and lands on his knees. He slips the robe from his shoulders, leaving him gloriously naked. You take a moment to appreciate the muscles of his chest and arms, his softer belly dusted with hair that draws your eye to his flushed cock and his strong thighs.

Then he starts to crawl.

Those big brown eyes of his look up at you with so much desperation and, dare you say it, adoration that your heart skips a beat as he moves closer. When he reaches your feet, he sits back on his heels and settles his hands on his thighs.

“Please, baby,” he murmurs. “Let me touch you. Let me show you how much I’ve missed you. You know me, my tongue is much better at giving you an orgasm than it is with words.”

“Fine,” you say, tone implying he’s inconveniencing you with his desire. He grins, his hands immediately grabbing at your thighs and tugging your ass to the edge of the seat. He positions your legs over each arm of the chair before diving in with his talented tongue, licking through your slick folds with practiced finesse.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, sucking your clit between his lips. “Your pussy is even better than that six course meal we had at that pretentious restaurant in Paris.”

“L’Arpege?” You gasp, fingers tangling in his hair. “You never told me you didn’t like it. I only picked it because of your two month experiment with veganism!”

“Wasn’t there for the fucking food,” he says. Two fingers press to your soaked entrance, sliding into your tight heat with little resistance.

Your head is spinning, stars bursting in your vision as his thick digits curl against your G-spot. His other hand presses on the top of your pelvis and the look in his eyes tells you exactly what his goal is.

“Dieter,” you say, his name a warning as you squirm beneath him. He grins up at you from between your legs.

“How’s my performance now?” He asks. “Oscar worthy yet?”

“Nominated at best,” you bite back through gritted teeth despite the pressure building in your core. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard, tongue flicking rapidly against the bundle of nerves until that pressure bursts as you cry out, “Oh, fuck!”

The orgasm he pulls from you is overwhelming and leaves you gasping, vision blurry as you look down at Dieter’s smug expression and dripping chin. He runs a hand over his chin, collecting your release on his palm and using it to ease the friction of his hand as it pumps his cock roughly.

“‘Nominated at best’,” he says, voice pitched higher to mimic yours. “Please, that was the performance of a lifetime.”

“Don’t get cocky, Di,” you mumble, planting a foot on his chest and pushing him back. He topples over, landing on his back with an oof.

You drop from the chair and crawl over his body, making sure to drag your soaked pussy across his cock. Your hands are planted on the floor on either side of his head and you stare down at his blissed out face as you rock over him.

Dieter’s hands grip your hips tightly. “Don’t good performances get awarded?” He asks, voice tight.

You reach down between your bodies to hold his cock steady, allowing you to sink down slowly, his thick length damn near splitting you open. You’ve missed this, the way he fills every inch of your hungry cunt, the way he looks at you like you’re the best damn thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

Which is saying something because the man knows art and is constantly surrounded by beautiful people but you’ve only seen this look when you’re alone with him, at the end of a long day on set or when you finally stumbled home together from a night out. It’s the way his eyes go soft and his touch grows reverent, fingertips gliding over whatever skin he can reach with a featherlight touch, and the combination wipes the dust off memories with him you’d been trying to forget and move on from.

“Dieter,” you say, voice shaky. You rock your hips, lifting slightly to your knees and relishing the drag of his cock inside of you before you slam your hips back down. “God, fuck, feel so good.”

“Your pussy was made for my fucking cock,” he says through gritted teeth, his hands gripping your hips tightly and encouraging each rock of your body. “Missed this, missed you, fuck. Love you so much.”

You stop abruptly, the man beneath you whining. You grip him by the chin as you ask, “You what?”

“I…uh…shit,” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Oh.” You let go of his face, sitting up straight. “I see.”

“No, no,” he rushes to say. “That’s not what I meant.”

It occurs to you that you’re still impaled on his cock and this doesn’t exactly feel like a conversation to be had in that position. You make a move to get up but strong hands hold you steady in his lap.

“I just meant,” he say, fingers flexing nervously against your thighs. “I didn’t mean to say it right now. Like…I wanted you to maybe not hate me for a bit before I professed my love or whatever.”

“I don’t get it,” you admit. “I thought you just texted me to hookup because you were in town.”

“I’m in town for you.”

“For me?”

Dieter nods. “I’m not good with words that aren’t written for me. Too much going on up here,” he says, tapping his forehead. “But I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we broke it off and I feel like that’s a cosmic sign that we’re meant to be or whatever.”

“Oh my god, you really are bad with words,” you say with a laugh. “Meant to be, huh?”

“Or whatever,” he finishes. “Marriage is a scam.”

“Right, right,” you murmur, rocking your hips the slightest bit. “Total scam.”

“It’s just a way for the governme—oh, fuck,” he says, words trailing off into a moan as you pick up your pace again, your hands on his chest to steady yourself. “Just like that, baby.”

“You’re lucky I missed you, too,” you tell him, gasping when his hips flex to meet yours. Your communication with each other devolves into moans and the movement of your bodies until the desperation you feel for one another reaches its peak.

Dieter wraps both arms around your lower back as you cum, holding you to him as your cunt squeezes around his cock. It’s only a moment before you feel him pulsing, warmth pooling inside of you as your orgasm starts to fade. You collapse against his chest, breathing heavily and listening to the rapid beat of his heart beneath your ear.

He rubs his hands up and down your back as you both catch your breath, sweat cooling between you in the chill of the hotel room.

“You wanna order pizza?” He asks. You turn your face into his chest, muffling your laughter into his skin.

“Absolutely.”

[weirdkpopgirl]

Friends Who Kiss | Chenle Fic #1

Title: Friends Who Kiss

Genre: Best friends to lovers, high school/college au

Warnings: mentions of the reader being insecure and having a mental breakdown at some point. a little suggestive, but not really

Word Count: ~ 5.6k

Author's Note: Okay to be very honest, I think that this story is kinda stupid and cliché. But it was an idea that I still wanted to try writing. And this is my first full-length fic for Chenle too, so I'm happy to post something for him. So to those who like cheesy romance stories, I hope you enjoy this. Thank you for reading ^ ^

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Since the start of high school, Zhong Chenle has been a consistent part of your life. He arrived as a transfer student from Shanghai, while you were the reserved kid who often used studying as an excuse to avoid social interaction. So rather than you reaching out to him first, it was he who practically claimed you as his best friend. Your personalities were a striking contrast, but it proved to be the perfect balance. It didn't take long for the two of you to become inseparable.

However, your friendship took a turn in eleventh grade. You guys had gone to your house after school to do homework. Except it was mostly you working on assignments, while Chenle was animatedly ranting about some mobile game Jisung was terrible at playing.

“It’s unbelievable! Every time I check his character gets killed,” Chenle laughed, and you responded with a soft hum of acknowledgment.

The boy glanced up from his phone to find you engrossed in your textbooks. While your attention was focused on writing an essay, you were also trying to keep your mind from drifting to the unsettling conversation you had during lunch that day. Typically, you and Chenle sat together with his friends. But Jisung needed the boy’s help stalking his crush, so you found yourself sitting with some of the girls in your class. 

Sensing the inner conflict brewing in your mind, Chenle rose from the bed and leaned over your shoulder. 

“You've been at this since we got here. How is your brain not fried?” he asked, blunt as usual.

You shot the boy with an unappreciative glare. “It is fried. But our essay is due on Monday, and I still have to help you with yours.”

Chenle sighed, well aware of your enduring determination. Ever since he met you, he couldn’t understand why you stressed so much over assignments, especially when you always completed them before the due date. Then you somehow managed to go out of your way to ensure he was doing the same.

“You’re more than halfway finished, and I’ll get to mine on my own time,” He reassured, “Why don’t you take a break for now?”

Before you could protest, Chenle swiftly pulled you out of your chair and guided you to sit on the bed with him. Worry clouded his gaze. “Something’s troubling you, isn’t it?”

Your teeth sank into your lower lip, hating how Chenle knew you so well. He didn’t have a problem sharing what was on his mind, while you were the exact opposite. Yet, even a single look at you was enough for him to detect something was off.

“The girls at lunch were going on about their dating experiences and stuff,” you began to explain, your tone tinged with irritation at the memory. “They were all so surprised when I said I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

You pushed yourself to meet Chenle's gaze, half dreading that he might burst into laughter. Instead, his expression held a hint of amusement, and that alone made you regret bringing up the topic.

Before he could respond, you hurriedly attempted to backtrack on your words. “It's stupid, I know—”

“It’s not stupid if it’s making you upset,” Chenle said firmly.

Leaning back in your seat, you let out an exasperated sigh. “I just can’t get their judgmental looks out of my head. All because I don’t have much experience with dating?”

Chenle's expression softened as he confessed, "There's nothing wrong with that, and there’s a lot of people like you. I haven't had my first kiss either."

“Really?!” You stared at him in disbelief. “Didn't you date Ko Mi-so though?”

Chenle scoffed, appearing slightly offended. “Okay, that happened such a long time ago. And we didn't even last a month, so we never kissed.”

Now that you thought about it, he was right about their relationship ending almost as quickly as it began. You recalled the time back in tenth grade when Chenle was quite smug about dating Mi-so, who happened to be the prettiest girl in class. Frankly, you were somewhat relieved when they broke up, given that she didn't particularly like you. Chenle hasn’t dated anyone since.

“Oh, I guess that makes sense,” your voice trailed off. 

The boy stayed silent for a moment before an idea dawned on him. “You know what? Why don’t we have our first kiss now?”

Your cheeks felt like they were competing for a world record in how quickly they heated up at Chenle's proposal. He couldn't possibly be serious.

“Did I hear you right?” you stammered, thoroughly taken aback by the suggestion.

Chenle nodded confidently, “I mean, we're best friends, so it's not that weird. And it's better than kissing someone we don't know as well or not have a connection with.”

You could kind of see his point. Having Chenle as your first kiss did seem much safer than kissing some random guy. Besides, it wasn’t like either of you had any underlying feelings for each other. This would solely be for practice.

“Alright,” you reluctantly agreed, “But you have to promise not to make fun of me if I turn out to be a bad kisser."

Chenle chuckled and nodded. He inched closer to you on the bed, leaving little space between the two of you. Although he saw you every day, having your face this near made a faint blush tinge his cheeks.

He started to lean in more before pausing. "Um, maybe you should close your eyes."

"Oh—right," you mumbled awkwardly, then took a deep breath before allowing your eyelids to shut.

He had to suppress a chuckle, finding you kinda cute in that moment. Before you had a chance to second-guess yourself, Chenle pressed his lips against yours in a tender kiss. Shortly after, he drew back, searching for your reaction.

“So, how was that?” He asked, voice laced with teasing.

You stared at him incredulously for a moment before realizing he was waiting for you to answer. “I suppose it was okay,” you mumbled.

Chenle tilted his head with an amused grin. “Just okay?”

“Yeah, I guess I didn't feel much because we're not really into each other like that,” you admitted with a nonchalant shrug.

Okay, you might have partially lied about not feeling much during the kiss. Truth be told, there was this strange, fluttery sensation in your chest when your best friend's lips grazed yours. But perhaps all first kisses were like that, and you were simply overthinking it.

The boy beside you let out a hearty laugh. “Well at least we got that over with.”

You had to muster all your self-control not to blush when he followed up with, “And you're not a bad kisser, by the way.”

Believing that the experiment was over, the two of you returned to your previous tasks. Nothing changed much after that day in your bedroom, as you and Chenle remained best friends. But little did you realize that this wouldn't be the last kiss you'd be sharing with him. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Despite your previous attempts to justify it, the second kiss you shared with Chenle happened partially because of you. As your senior year of high school unfolded, Chenle prepared for his performance at the spring festival. It was you who initially urged him to participate in the talent show. The countless times you had witnessed his piano playing and singing during your private moments together convinced you that he should share his talents with the world. Your compliments not only fueled Chenle’s ego but also prompted him to eagerly jot his name down on the sign-up sheet.

However, what you didn’t expect was to find him backstage, looking as pale as a ghost. He was supposed to go after a group of girls who were dancing to Red Velvet’s “Red Flavor.” With the intention of cheering him on in person, you spotted the dark-haired boy sitting on a chair, anxiously bouncing his legs.

“Last-minute jitters?" you asked softly.

Chenle glanced up at you and crossed his arms in a nonchalant manner. “What, me? I'm fine,” he replied, though his tone lacked conviction.

Just as Chenle knew you like the back of his hand, you were among the few who could read him. While he was partially correct about never being nervous, it didn't take an idiot to perceive that he was in that moment. It was evident he was trying to play it off to uphold his confident image. 

One aspect that troubled you about Chenle was his constant facade of cheerfulness and carefree demeanor. No one could genuinely be happy all the time, and he was the kind of person who concealed his negative feelings when around others.

After deliberating on how to address the situation, you gently rested your hand on his shoulder, bringing yourself to eye level with him.

“Hey, you’re going to be amazing out there,” you reassured him. “I’ve seen how many hours you put into practicing that song. You have nothing to worry about.”

Chenle let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, you're right.”

The smile he bestowed upon you didn't quite convince you. Biting your lip in hesitation, you glanced around to ensure no one else was nearby. Once you were sure that you were alone, you leaned down and gently planted a kiss on the boy’s forehead. Chenle’s eyes widened in surprise at your actions.

“What was that for?”

Blushing, you took a step back and stammered, “Just for good luck, you know. I—I’ll be right there in the crowd, watching you. So if you feel nervous on stage, just look at me.”

A more reassured smile spread across Chenle’s lips and before he stood up to swiftly peck you on the lips, leaving you more stunned than he was a few seconds ago.

“There, I definitely feel more ready now,” he declared with a teasing glint. And the smug Chenle you were familiar with had returned.

As Chenle’s playfulness lingered in the air, the sound of the audience clapping erupted for the girls, putting an end to your “moment.” With a knowing look, you both parted ways, allowing Chenle to step into the spotlight for his performance.

As he took the stage, you found a spot in the crowd, eyes fixed on him with awe. The rhythm of the applause filled the air, drowning out any lingering thoughts. In that moment, the stage became his world, and you couldn't help but be swept away by the magic of his talent. The earlier exchange faded into the background as you watched Chenle shine, each note and melody weaving a captivating spell that left you in admiration.

Neither of you mentioned the kiss after that day. The interaction remained more platonic than anything, a gesture that was only meant to show your support for him. But Chenle still liked to think he killed the stage because of it.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Chenle was undeniably responsible for the next time the two of you kissed. However, this particular incident didn't unfold until the first semester of your freshman year in college. The joy of discovering you both had been accepted into the same university was palpable, though Chenle appeared to be more exuberant about the news. In contrast, you felt a sense of relief, grateful that you wouldn't be venturing into the world of college alone.

In one of your classes, a sunbae began to show interest in you. Despite your attempts to politely reject him, it became apparent that he wasn't willing to accept no for an answer. 

One day after class, he cornered you in the hallway, insisting that you go out with him. As you tried to maintain your composure, he grabbed you by the wrist when you tried to walk away. The harsh move triggered internal panic within you.

You could sense the danger in his tone as his head tilted cockily. “Come on, (Y/n), don’t be so difficult. I know you’re just playing hard to get.”

“I—I’m sorry but I just don’t feel the same as you, Sunbae,” you stuttered, trying to be assertive. “Please let go.”

Refusing to relent, the sunbae was on the verge of pulling you in closer when another hand intervened, forcefully ripping you out of his grasp. Your head turned in astonishment to see Chenle casting a disgusted look at the guy in front of you. The flames in Chenle’s eyes made you realize that you had never seen him so livid before.

“She said to let go of her. What part of that do you not understand?” Chenle’s voice cut through the tension.

The sunbae scoffed and crossed his arms in defense, “Yah, who are you to involve yourself in someone else’s matters? Are you her boyfriend or something?”

You watched as the corner of Chenle’s lips turned into a smirk as he snaked an arm around your waist in a protective gesture. 

“That’s right. So who are you to go after another man’s girlfriend?” he retorted confidently. Your eyes widened, almost surprised as the jerk in front of you.

Shaking his head in a mix of disbelief and embarrassment, the sunbae pointed a finger at you. “This is a joke, right? You just asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend to mess with me!”

Before you could respond, Chenle took matters into his own hands. His free hand briskly moved to the back of your neck, drawing you in for a passionate kiss. In a typical situation, your best friend's impulsive actions might have freaked you out immediately. However, the way his fingers delicately pressed against your back reassured you that he was doing this for your sake, Closing your eyes, you kissed back and tried to reciprocate with the same passion Chenle was pouring.

Moments later, Chenle pulled away and turned to the sunbae, wearing a satisfied grin on his face. “Do you believe her now? Not that she has to prove anything to you.”

The older male muttered begrudgingly under his breath, “Whatever, not worth my time.”

With a scowl, he stormed off, leaving behind a palpable sense of relief in the wake of his departure. Once he was gone, you removed yourself from Chenle's hold and shot him a look of confusion.

“You know you didn’t have to do that right?” 

Chenle chuckled, “Well, someone had to put an end to his nonsense. Besides, I've always wanted to play the protective boyfriend card.”

“Protective boyfriend? You almost gave me a heart attack!” You smacked him on the shoulder.

Chenle’s smirk remained, but he adopted a more concerned tone. “But seriously, (Y/n), why didn’t you tell me he was bothering you earlier?”

“I thought I could handle things on my own.” You shrugged weakly, lowering your head in guilt.

Chenle sighed, recognizing your aversion to depending on others for your problems. Throughout the time he’d known you, he'd witnessed your willingness to go to great lengths to help those you cared about. However, when it came to your own struggles, you seemed to prefer suffering in silence.

“We’re best friends for a reason,” he reminded you, “Looking after each other is 50/50, you know?”

You offered him a small smile, “I guess you’re right. Thanks for saving me today.”

“Well, you can thank me by buying food tonight,” Chenle said, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “It’s your turn anyway.”

Rolling your eyes, you let him lead you out of the building. But Chenle’s words from earlier lingered in the back of your mind. “We’re best friends for a reason.” 

The two of you were the epitome of what best friends were. And that was all the two of you would ever be, right?

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

At this point, you were beginning to lose count of the number of times you’ve kissed your best friend. Despite this, your friendship maintained its familiar rhythm throughout the university. But after that hallway encounter, the awkwardness that came with kissing your best friend faded. Although it was more of Chenle seeming unfazed, and you becoming less surprised each time it happened. And indeed, there were a few more instances that caused your lips to meet.

Like the time Chenle excitedly dragged you to his dorm to watch a Golden State Warriors game, and, in the heat of the moment, he gave you a quick kiss before cheering some more. Then there was the other time when you both went out for drinks with friends, a few drunken kisses were shared.

There weren't any real feelings attached to the kisses you and Chenle shared. At least, that was what you repeatedly told yourself. However, as you were halfway through your first year of university, you finally started to question the true nature of your friendship with Zhong Chenle.

Those thoughts began to sink in just before your first finals in college. Isolated in your dorm room, you immersed yourself in studying for a math exam scheduled in three days. Calls and texts from friends went largely ignored as you turned off your phone in an attempt to focus. However, Chenle wasn't about to let that slide. 

One night, he let himself into your dorm, carrying a bag of your favorite takeout—knowing well that you tended to skip meals when stressed. You could see the determination in his face, ready to scold you. But the expression quickly transitioned to one of concern when he caught you on the verge of a breakdown. 

You sat at your desk surrounded by textbooks and notebooks filled with scribbled equations. The sight of your trembling body and slightly tousled hair, a result of pulling on it too hard, tugged at Chenle’s heart. He was well aware of how your anxiety affected you at times. But he had never witnessed it manifest quite like this.

Instantly, the bag was placed on the floor, and he was at your side. “(Y/n), what's wrong?" 

“I—I'm going to fail my calc final,” you swallowed, your fingers curling into fists. Your shoulders slumped, and the weight of despair was evident in the way you hunched over the desk.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, attempting to calm you down. “You still have a few weeks before finals, (Y/n). And you’re not going to fail.”

“Yes, I am!” you cut him off, your voice strained. Tears welled up in your eyes, and your hands clenched even tighter. “I’ve been studying for days, and my dumb brain still doesn't understand anything. Do you know how stupid I feel?”

“Being bad at math doesn’t make you stupid, (Y/n),” Chenle said, trying to inject a bit of lightheartedness into the situation. However, his comment didn’t seem to offer you any comfort.

You shook your head miserably in response. “Stop trying to be nice. I'm going to fail, and then I’ll end up letting down my parents and everyone else.”

Chenle’s heart ached at the defeat in your voice. Setting his jokes aside, he recognized that words weren’t what you needed at the moment. Instead, he enveloped you in a warm embrace. You hesitated only briefly before surrendering to his comforting hold, attempting to fight back tears.

“Just let it out,” he whispered.

Those simple words acted as an emotional release trigger, and Chenle found himself gently rubbing your back as you quietly cried into his shoulder. A sense of mixed emotions flooded him as he held you in that moment. A part of him felt a twinge of relief, grateful that you let him be there for you. You often kept your emotions bottled up, making it a challenge for him to discern how you truly felt at times. 

However, there was a pang of sadness accompanying that satisfaction. He knew you didn't just cry in front of anyone, and realizing that you had reached this breaking point signaled the depth of your struggle.

After a while, Chenle gently pulled back, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You need a break, (Y/n). Let’s step away from the desk for a bit.”

"No, I really should—" you began to protest, but Chenle cut you off.

"You really should eat the food I brought you before it gets cold," he insisted, picking up the bag again.

He led you to sit on the carpet of your cramped dorm room, creating a makeshift dining space for the two of you. As you both shared a meal, Chenle continued to provide a comforting presence, occasionally cracking a joke to lighten the atmosphere.

As the night wore on, the exhaustion in your eyes became more prominent. Even so, you knew you should go back to studying. But Chenle seemed to disagree.

“Maybe you should just rest for the night. I promise to help you with math in the morning,” he suggested. However, upon seeing the unconvinced look you gave him, he backtracked on his words. “Okay, I'll have Renjun help you.”

Too tired to argue, you gave in, and that's how you found yourself lying in bed with your best friend. Back in high school, you used to have sleepovers at his house on the weekends. At night, the two of you would be lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and talking about anything. However, having him beside you at that moment felt strange. 

You saw a sincere tenderness reflected in those large eyes of his. A part of you wondered if Chenle often gazed at you with such fondness and you simply hadn’t noticed before. Either way, the way he was looking at you made you feel even stranger. And the short silence that had settled between the two of you wasn’t helping.

Uncertain of how much longer you could endure the intensity, you broke eye contact with him and murmured, “Thank you for always being there for me, even when I try to push you away”

Chenle chuckled, adjusting his position to prop himself up on his elbow. “Well, of course, because how could you live without me?”

His ability to joke at a time like this struck you as unfathomable. Instead of the usual eye roll or pushing off the bed, a serious expression remained etched on your face. 

“You're right, I don't think I can live without you,” you said, your voice laced with drowsiness. “Because you’re one of the few people who truly care about me.”

The amusement in his eyes danced away, as he felt the gravity of your words. Something about seeing this vulnerable side of you was so beautiful in his eyes. Before he could fully process his own thoughts, Chenle found himself leaning in to close the space between you with his lips meeting your own.

Uncertain whether it was the leftover stress from your meltdown or the sleep deprivation that prompted you to kiss back without much thought. You could recall all the times you’ve kissed Chenle throughout the years. But this one would always stand out to you.

This kiss lasted a lot longer than your previous ones. But it wasn’t just the way he tilted your chin upward for a better angle, or the feeling of his dark locks of hair slipping between your fingers. Nor was it the soft pressure of his lips moving in sync with yours. It was the indescribable emotions that made time seem to stand still, weaving an unspoken connection that surpassed words and left you yearning for more.

Aside from pulling away, both of you gasping for breath, and noticing how Chenle's lips were redder than you had ever seen them, you vaguely recalled what happened after the kiss. When you woke up the next morning, Chenle was already gone. However, he had left you a text message, mentioning that he went to check if Renjun could help tutor you in math.

But math was no longer the sole stressor in your mind. Your best friend had kissed you last night, and unlike all the other times, this one left you feeling more confused than ever. 

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

True to his word, Renjun offered to meet up with you that Sunday afternoon at the campus library. Within an hour of sitting down to unravel the calculus concept that eluded you, Renjun finally helped you grasp the material. Although the looming fear of failing finals had diminished, you still felt a weight on your shoulders.

“You don’t seem as relieved as I thought you’d be,” Renjun remarked lightheartedly. Even he could tell your mind was preoccupied with something else.

You smiled sheepishly, “No, I am! I seriously owe you for helping me out. I just…”

“Is it something to do with Chenle?” he asked, almost like he was a mind reader.

His unexpected question caught you off guard. “How did you know?” you stammered, feeling the heat quickly rise to your cheeks.

A knowing smile played on the boy’s lips as he leaned back in his seat. “Oh come on, (Y/n). You have that look on your face that something happened between the two of you.”

Sometimes you seriously wished Renjun wasn’t so good at reading people. Even though you weren’t as close to him as Chenle was, he’s known you long enough to notice things that others wouldn’t. For instance, when something was troubling you.

Biting your lip, you debated whether to be truthful with Renjun. Although you didn't typically share your problems with others, you recognized that confiding in someone at a time like this was necessary to maintain your sanity.

“Chenle kissed me last night,” you tossed the statement out in the air, hoping you wouldn’t regret it.

Renjun’s eyes widened at this revelation, “He did?!”

“Well you see, we’ve kissed before. But this time it felt different,” you clarified, baffling the boy across from you even more. Internally cringing, you were acutely aware of how bad this sounded.

Before he could question, you continued to elaborate. “Look, it's not as complicated as it sounds. It’s just ever since we agreed to be each other’s first kiss, Chenle and I just keep having these…accidental kisses. Whether it’s out of excitement or to get guys hitting on me to go away.”

Renjun listened quietly as you recounted all the other times you’ve kissed Chenle. When you circled back to the previous night, you felt more conflicted than ever.

“But the kiss last night left me feeling so confused,” you confessed, running a hand through your hair. “Initially, I thought he was just doing it out of comfort, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Well, have you considered the possibility that he has feelings for you?” Renjun inquired, crossing his arms. His suggestion sounded so simple, yet it felt like navigating uncharted territory in your mind.

You shook your head in denial. “N—No, I mean we’ve been best friends for five years. He can’t possibly see me that way.”

“Like that’s ever stopped friends from falling for each other,” Renjun cocked his head. “It doesn’t take a genius to know that he likes you, (Y/n).”

His point made you mentally curse. If you looked at your history with Chenle from an objective point of view, the two of you certainly didn’t act like normal best friends.

“And, it’s pretty obvious that you like him too,” Renjun added, twirling the pencil between his fingers.

His statement left you feeling exposed, as if you had been caught red-handed committing a crime. Laughing nervously, you shook your head, “Renjun, we’re just friends. I…I don’t see him that way.”

Renjun raised an eyebrow, “Friends who kiss? Did you really not feel anything in those moments?”

Your teeth sank further into your lower lip as Renjun’s question hit you. The reality of your feelings for Chenle lingered in the air, challenging the facade you had built to convince yourself otherwise. It was like trying to hold sand in your fists, slipping away no matter how tightly you clenched. The truth, however inconvenient, seemed to be unraveling before you.

“I…I did feel something,” you slowly admitted, “But I never said anything because I didn’t want our friendship to change. It just seemed easier to pretend those moments were nothing more than accidents.”

Renjun’s eyes softened with understanding. “Well maybe a little change is what you need in your friendship.”

Maybe Renjun was onto something, perhaps change was necessary. In the past, you had always held out on dating, using the excuse that you were waiting for the right person. Despite the fear of potential rejection, what if Chenle was the person you had been waiting for all along?

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Chenle’s living room bathed in the gentle glow of the TV screen, a familiar sight during your Friday movie nights since college began. It was supposed to be a time to unwind, to escape the pressures of school for a little while. However, instead of the usual peaceful and easygoing atmosphere, an unspoken tension hung in the air tonight. Beyond picking a movie and deciding who made the popcorn, you and Chenle barely talked. The weight of the unspoken words made the space feel suffocating, and you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in your chest.

Unable to endure the weighty silence any longer, you turned your head to make a lame comment about the movie. However, before you could speak, Chenle beat you to it.

“Can we talk?” His voice carried a hint of restlessness, an unusual departure from his usual tone.

Trying to maintain a casual demeanor, you lightly nodded. With your acknowledgment, Chenle exhaled deeply and sat up straighter to face you properly.

“I know how crazy this might sound,” he started, running a hand through his hair. “But I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think we can stay friends.”

His words felt like a gun being pointed at your chest, panic surged within you as you tried to process the boy’s words. Of all the ways you predicted this conversation could go, this was not one of them.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice even smaller than his.

Noticing the perplexity in your eyes, Chenle continued. “You see, I've been in love with you for—I don’t know how long. But I spent all these years burying my feelings like a fool, because I never thought you’d see me that way. Yet, every time we kiss, it becomes harder for me to ignore my feelings for you.”

Chenle glanced down at his folded hands, vulnerability seeping into those brown orbs of his. “The other night made me realize that I don’t want to just be friends who kiss anymore. I want to be something more to you.”

His words lingered in the air now that they were out in the open. Your heart raced faster than it ever has before, as your cheeks flushed with heat. Chenle’s eyes bore into yours, his expression nervous yet hopeful. 

For a moment, you were left speechless. But you still had the sense to hit him on the shoulder, scolding, “Oh my gosh, you can’t start a conversation like that, Chenle. You scared me!”

The boy chuckled sheepishly, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. But seriously, (Y/n), I meant what I said.”

A mix of emotions played on your face before you quietly admitted, “Honestly, I’ve wanted to be something more to you since that day we kissed in my bedroom.”

You noticed a smile of relief beginning to form on his lips, but you held up a finger before he could say anything. Now that he had taken the first step, you decided it was time for you to do the same.

“But I kept trying to convince myself that all the times we kissed were accidental or just for comfort,” you confessed, looking directly into his eyes. “And the reason I’ve been pushing away my feelings for you was because I was afraid of losing a friend who means the world to me.”

His hand rested on top of yours, the light touch sending a shiver down your spine. “You don’t have to be afraid because you’ll never lose me, (Y/n).”

The softness and sincerity in his eyes made you want to cry for some inexplicable reason. You once believed that confessing your feelings for Chenle would only lead to frustration and heartbreak. However, as you sat here with him, holding his hand, those worries seemed to vanish.

“So…what do we do now?” you asked, unsure of what was supposed to come next in these situations.

A mischievous glint danced in his eyes as he grinned. “I think this is the part where we kiss. But you know, as boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Just as you were processing his words, he moved closer, his breath warm against your skin, making your heart flutter. His eyes searched yours for permission. 

“Well, what are you waiting for then?” you whispered.

With that, the distance between you closed, and your lips met in a tender kiss. It was a sweet surrender, a culmination of years of friendship and suppressed feelings. Although this wasn’t your first kiss with Chenle, it felt that way in a sense. For you could finally savor the tender feeling of his lips without questioning the intention behind it.

In that moment, all you focused on was the way Chenle had his hand on the small of your back, guiding you closer as he deepened the kiss. Your fingers found their way to rest on the nape of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin. 

Although the change in this dynamic had just begun, this newfound connection promised countless moments of shared laughter, whispered confessions, and the sweet warmth of shared kisses. You had a feeling that you could easily get used to this beautiful new normal. By the way Chenle smiled during the kiss, you could tell he felt the same way.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

[taylorswiftstylequestions]

I'm not puke anon, but I will admit I had similar thoughts when she first announced TTPD / released the track list. With the huge caveat that I know nothing about their relationship or them personally, I'm in camp, "Joe is an okay guy and was good for her at that time in her life" and I was worried that any negativity on the album might be revisionist history.

BUT! I'm reserving judgment because I feel like she always surprises me. I was more of a casual fan when reputation came out and I remember scoffing at the track list because the titles really lean into the stereotyping she experienced at the time and I didn't realize that she was being tongue-in-cheek. I was so surprised when I listened to the songs and they were nothing like I expected. So hoping for good things with TTPD!

These are all such great points and I esp hear you on how reputation was absolutely an intentionally designed bait-and-switch album (one that you would think would be centered on All That Drama but in reality was a love album).

But the one thing I push back on a lot is the 'revisionist history' claim that I see because. Because. Well. It's her history to revise.

And what is the human experience if not continually filtering, learning, relearning, analyzing, reanalyzing, and holding our own personal experiences in our hands as we grow older and learn more and feel more feelings and do more things that we can look on our lives with more hindsight and perspective and ascribe new meaning to what we've been through. And your vision of this person being okay and good for her in her life (while absolutely still possible to be true) was only something you accepted because it was told to you (note by this i mean: one/general/us/royal we/collective) by her.

And I feel like the pre-discomfort people are experiencing w this tracklist (again based on the assumptions of things bc we don't know what these songs actually are) ("He was a good guy but this was also really hard" / "We were great together and I experienced a lot of strife at points of this relationship") is perhaps because of the common thing where admitting we're wrong or changing our minds once we learn new information is fucking hard!

But if you (again one/general/us/etc) feel that way being confronted by a person you thought you knew perhaps not being entirely the way you thought only as a bystander and consumer of her art - how do you think that entire unlearning curve felt for her who actually lived it.

[silver-starss]

Ahsoka spoiler thoughts:

My incoherent ramblings.

Holy crap, Natasha Liu Bordizzo is killing it as Sabine. She's got the perfect attitude. Rosario Dawson also seems much more settled into her role this time around, but Liu Bordizzo is the real standout in terms of performance.

Speaking of, I teared up every time Sabine's suite played in the score. Kevin Kiner never disappoints.

I'm glad to see Sabine and Hera's relationship not being neglected. Even if their shared screentime is brief, you great a very good sense that these characters care about one another, and deeply.

Also glad they're taking the non-Force sensitive route with Sabine. It's an intriguing idea, and Ahsoka is one of the few people who would indulge a potential Force blind Jedi.

Ezra's presence looms large over the series, even though he never directly appears. Still, very glad to see the series not downplaying his importance for the sake of casual audiences.

Loving the KOTOR and KOTOR 2 easter eggs! Although I hesitate to use that term since Star Maps and ship are in fact highly relevant to the plot.

Shin Hati my beloved.

Baylon Skoll intrigues me, and not just because Ray Stevenson was an incredible actor. I'm curious to see what his deal is, but I imagine he's (narratively) there to act as a foil to Ahsoka. Someone who doesn't follow the Jedi/Sith dichotomy, but on the opposite side of the Force.

CLANCY BROWN??!

MORE GALAXIES? Is this a Yuuzhan Vong sort of thing? I'm going to reserve judgment for now, but I wasn't a huge fan of the idea the first time around, so I'm doubtful it'll work now. But we'll see what Filoni does with this concept.

This feels much more Star Wars-y than the other live-action series. That isn't a knock on those series, to be clear - shows like Andor needed a gritty, realistic tone, for example - but I missed the more esoteric elements of Star Wars. And Ahsoka unabashedly embraces and celebrates those elements of the franchise.

[horeformilfs]

Dove

Mother Miranda x Fem! Maid Reader

TW: Bleeding, Injuries, Near Death, Major Character Death, Grief, Mentions of Torture, Negative Self Talk

------------------------------------------

The grand hall of Castle Dimitrescu echoed with the authoritative voice of Lady Dimitrescu as she addressed her staff, the loyal maids who tended to the sprawling estate. Y/n, a reserved maid with a silent efficiency, stood among them, her gaze lowered as she listened intently.

"In three days, Mother Miranda will grace us with her presence for dinner. I expect nothing less than perfection from all of you. The castle must be impeccable, and any deviation from that will have severe consequences," Lady Dimitrescu announced, her piercing eyes scanning the assembly.

Bela, one of Lady Dimitrescu's daughters, stood by her side, her elegant poise matching her mother's. As the instructions continued, Lady Dimitrescu's eyes eventually landed on Y/n. A subtle nod from the imposing lady signaled Y/n's assignment for the evening.

"Y/n," Lady Dimitrescu's voice commanded attention. "You will be in charge of the kitchen and dining hall during the dinner. After serving the family, you will move to the sitting room to attend to us and Mother Miranda directly."

A murmur of disapproval rippled through the assembly, particularly from the maid previously in charge of the kitchen. She spoke up, "Lady Dimitrescu, it's unfair to have someone else take over our responsibilities. We are perfectly capable of handling the dinner arrangements."

Bela, always quick to defend Y/n, stepped forward, her voice carrying a regal authority, "Mother has chosen Y/n for a reason. She has proven herself time and again with her dedication and efficiency. We trust her to handle this important evening."

Despite the objections, Lady Dimitrescu remained resolute. "Y/n has earned this responsibility. You will respect my decision. The success of this dinner is paramount, and I expect you all to cooperate. Dismissed."

As the other maids dispersed, casting judgmental glances towards Y/n, Bela lingered, offering a supportive smile.

The three days leading up to Mother Miranda's dinner were a flurry of activity within Castle Dimitrescu. Y/n, dedicated to her duties, found herself working late into the night, ensuring that every corner of the castle was spotless. The sisters, keenly observant, had noticed her tireless efforts and sensed the underlying nervousness in her demeanor.

It was in the quiet expanse of the library that the sisters finally caught up with Y/n. As she meticulously dusted off ancient tomes, her eyes betrayed a weariness that didn't go unnoticed.

"Daniela, Bela, look who we have here," Cassandra remarked with a sly smile as the trio approached Y/n.

"Y/n, darling, working so diligently as always," Daniela chimed in, her tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

Caught off guard, Y/n straightened up, offering a polite nod. "Good evening, ladies. Just finishing up some cleaning in the library before heading to the kitchen."

Bela, ever the empathetic one, studied Y/n's face and noted the paleness. "You've been burning the midnight oil, haven't you? Are you feeling alright, Y/n?"

A subtle sigh escaped Y/n's lips as she attempted to brush off their concern. "Oh, I'm fine, really. Just a bit tired. Nothing to worry about."

Cassandra leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Tired? You look like you've seen a ghost. Are you sure you're okay?"

Y/n chuckled nervously, "I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I can handle it. Just a little pre-dinner jitters."

Bela, sensing there was more to the story, spoke with a gentleness that contradicted her vampiric nature. "Y/n, we care about you. You don't have to carry all this weight alone. If there's anything bothering you, you can tell us."

Daniela, with a playful grin, added, "After all, we wouldn't want our favorite maid collapsing from exhaustion. It would be terribly inconvenient."

Y/n couldn't help but smile at their genuine concern. "Thank you, really. It's just the pressure of the upcoming dinner. I'll make sure to rest after it's all over."

Cassandra, not easily convinced, poked Y/n's side. "Promise?"

Y/n chuckled, "I promise. Now, I should check on the kitchen. Lady Dimitrescu expects everything to be perfect tonight."

As Y/n left the library, the sisters exchanged glances, silently agreeing to keep a watchful eye on their favorite maid.

The kitchen buzzed with activity as Y/n meticulously checked the final preparations for Mother Miranda's dinner. The air was thick with tension, and Y/n couldn't help but overhear hushed whispers among the other maids. They spoke in low tones, casting furtive glances in her direction.

"She thinks she's so special, getting all the attention from Lady Dimitrescu."

"I heard she only got the key to the distillery because she's the favorite. It's not fair."

Y/n clenched her jaw, choosing to focus on her tasks rather than the gossip swirling around her. As she moved gracefully between counters, ensuring everything was in order, the whispers persisted.

Meanwhile, the entrance to the kitchen swung open, and the room fell silent. Lady Dimitrescu entered, her towering presence commanding respect and instilling fear in equal measure. The maids froze, their eyes lowered in submission.

Lady Dimitrescu's eyes scanned the room before settling on Y/n. "You, come here," she commanded, her voice cutting through the anxious silence.

Y/n approached with a mixture of apprehension and deference. Lady Dimitrescu handed her an ornate key, its design intricate and foreboding. "Take this. It's the key to the distillery."

Y/n accepted it, her curiosity evident. "May I ask why, Lady Dimitrescu?"

The imposing figure of the lady leaned in, her voice a low, confidential tone. "Mother Miranda prefers a particular vintage for tonight's dinner. I want you to fetch it from the distillery. It's crucial that the wine is exquisite."

Understanding the gravity of the task, Y/n nodded. "Of course, Lady Dimitrescu. I'll get it right away."

As Y/n turned to leave, she felt the weight of eyes on her back. The other maids, seizing the opportunity, exchanged subtle glances and sly smirks. They had overheard Lady Dimitrescu's request and saw a chance to undermine Y/n.

In their huddled whispers, they concocted a plan. "Let's lock her in the distillery. She'll be too busy down there, and we won't have to deal with her stealing the spotlight anymore."

Unaware of the brewing conspiracy, Y/n made her way to the distillery, the key in hand. Little did she know that the shadows in the corners of the kitchen concealed the treacherous intentions of her fellow maids.

The dimly lit corridor leading to the distillery echoed with the soft footsteps of Y/n, unaware of the silent trio trailing her. As she reached the entrance, ready to unlock the door and retrieve the requested wine, she turned to find the three maids standing behind her.

Y/n furrowed her brow in confusion. "Is there something you need?"

The maid who had been leading the whispers stepped forward, a sly grin playing on her lips as she swiftly snatched the ornate key from Y/n's hand. "We just thought you should take your time down there, finding the perfect bottles for tonight."

Y/n, taken aback, instinctively reached for the key. "What are you talking about? I have to get the wine for Lady Dimitrescu."

The other two maids exchanged glances, their expressions betraying malicious intent. The one holding the key smirked, taunting Y/n, "Oh, you'll have plenty of time. We're just helping you relax a bit."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping in. "This isn't necessary. Give me the key, and I'll handle the task."

The maid, now holding the key just out of Y/n's reach, chuckled darkly. "We've decided you could use a break. Down you go."

Before Y/n could react, the other maid forcefully shoved her, sending her tumbling down the narrow staircase. As Y/n descended, the sharp edges of the stone stairs greeted her with a painful collision, her head connecting with an unforgiving surface.

A groan escaped Y/n's lips as she struggled to sit up, her vision blurred from the impact. She clutched her throbbing head, feeling the warm stickiness of blood. Disoriented and vulnerable, she looked up to see the three maids peering down at her from the top of the stairs.

"You'll thank us later for the rest, dear Y/n," one of them sneered, and with that, they abandoned her in the darkness of the distillery, the heavy door creaking shut, sealing her off from the world above.

Over an hour had passed since Y/n was locked in the distillery, and Lady Dimitrescu's patience wore thin. The grand dinner was moments away, and there was still no sign of her trusted maid. The frustration etched on her face, she demanded answers from the other maids.

"Where is Y/n? I specifically placed her in charge of the wine, and she's nowhere to be found!" Lady Dimitrescu's voice boomed, echoing through the hallways.

The other maids exchanged nervous glances, their feigned innocence failing to deceive the imposing lady. "We... we don't know, Lady Dimitrescu. She was supposed to fetch the wine, but she never returned," one stammered.

"What?!" Lady Dimitrescu's eyes flashed with anger. "You had one task. I will deal with you later. Give me those bottles."

The maids handed over the three bottles of wine they managed to retrieve, and Lady Dimitrescu, seething with frustration, appointed another maid to oversee the kitchen. With a curt nod, she left the chaos behind and headed to meet Mother Miranda, her irritation palpable.

As Lady Dimitrescu joined the gathering in the dining hall, Mother Miranda's arrival signaled the commencement of the grand dinner. The opulent table adorned with delicacies lay in stark contrast to the tension in the air. The daughters, however, couldn't help but notice Y/n's absence.

"Daniela, where is Y/n? She should be here," Bela whispered, concern evident in her voice.

Daniela exchanged a puzzled glance with Cassandra, then turned to Lady Dimitrescu. "Mother, where is Y/n? Why isn't she here for the dinner?"

Lady Dimitrescu, struggling to contain her frustration, replied curtly, "I have no idea. She was supposed to handle the wine, but she's nowhere to be found."

Mother Miranda, intrigued by the conversation, turned her attention to Alcina. "Who is this Y/n that they speak of, Lady Dimitrescu?"

Alcina, maintaining her composure, explained, "Y/n is one of our maids, Mother Miranda. She has served diligently for years, but it seems she has encountered an unexpected delay tonight."

Mother Miranda's eyes bore into Lady Dimitrescu. "A delay? Inconvenient. I hope it doesn't affect the course of our evening."

The dinner proceeded, the absence of Y/n lingering in the minds of those present.

Y/n, still nursing the pain in her head, carefully navigated the dimly lit passages of the distillery. The air was thick with the pungent scent of wine and blood, an eerie ambiance that heightened her anxiety. Determined to find an escape, she tiptoed through the labyrinthine corridors, eyes darting in search of any opening.

As she ventured deeper, a faint noise reached her ears. Something shuffling, a low growl, and the clinking of rusted swords. Y/n's heart quickened, and she instinctively sought cover behind a stack of crates, praying she would remain unseen.

Peering cautiously from her hiding spot, Y/n's eyes widened as she saw the Moroaicǎ, grotesque creatures with twisted forms and lethal weapons. Their eerie, guttural sounds filled the air as they patrolled the dark passages, seemingly unaware of her presence.

Suppressing a gasp, Y/n tried to regulate her breathing, her eyes wide with fear as one of the Moroaicǎ turned its head towards her direction. The creature's cold, lifeless gaze met hers, and Y/n's heart skipped a beat. Panic set in as the Moroaicǎ, alerted to her presence, began to move in her direction.

Frantically, Y/n scanned her surroundings for a more concealed hiding place. She darted from behind the crates, hoping to evade their attention. The Moroaicǎ, sensing her movement, closed in, their rusted swords dragging against the cold stone floor.

With a burst of adrenaline, Y/n managed to find a niche in the shadows, holding her breath as the Moroaicǎ approached the spot she had just vacated. Sweat formed on her brow as she waited, praying they would pass without discovering her presence. The dim light flickered above, casting eerie shadows that danced around her, intensifying the suspense of her precarious situation.

The dinner concluded, and the group retired to the opulent sitting room, the daughters casting occasional glances towards the empty space where Y/n should have been. Lady Dimitrescu, masking her concern, informed her daughters of Mother Miranda's extended stay.

"Mother Miranda will be staying with us for a few days. We must ensure everything is in order during her visit," Lady Dimitrescu announced, her daughters nodding in acknowledgement, though their thoughts lingered on the absent maid.

As the night wore on, the maids diligently completed their final duties, a subdued atmosphere prevailing in the absence of Y/n. Lady Dimitrescu, growing increasingly uneasy, couldn't shake off the worry that gnawed at her.

Bela, the ever-observant daughter, spoke up, "Mother, shouldn't we look for Y/n? It's unusual for her to be absent like this."

Lady Dimitrescu considered the suggestion, her brow furrowed. Before she could respond, Mother Miranda intervened, "Perhaps a search is in order. Alcina, it would be wise to find your missing maid. I'll assist you in the search."

Lady Dimitrescu nodded, a mix of gratitude and apprehension in her eyes. "Very well. Bela, Cassandra, Daniela, you will search the upper floors. I will handle the ground floor. We reconvene in one hour."

The daughters, understanding the urgency, nodded in unison and dispersed to their assigned areas. As Lady Dimitrescu descended the grand staircase, her mind raced with worry, wondering what could have befallen Y/n.

Meanwhile, Mother Miranda turned to Alcina. "Let's begin below. We'll search the distillery and the dungeons. Time is of the essence."

With a determined nod, Lady Dimitrescu and Mother Miranda parted ways, each with a mission to unravel the mystery of Y/n's disappearance. The grand castle, once filled with regality, now held an air of uncertainty as the search for the missing maid unfolded in its echoing halls.

Y/n, realizing that hiding was not a sustainable option, mustered the courage to resume her search for an escape route. As she cautiously navigated the dim passages, the oppressive air weighed heavily on her. The scent of blood and wine intermingled, creating a sickening atmosphere that fueled her desperation.

Her heart raced as she stumbled upon the Moroaicǎ again. Panic set in, and before she could react, the sharp swing of a sickle sliced through the air, cutting into her arm. Y/n cried out, clutching the bleeding wound. The Moroaicǎ, relentless in their pursuit, closed in.

In a frantic attempt to evade them, Y/n pressed on, but another Moroaicǎ swung a rusted sword, cutting across her back. The pain was searing, and Y/n staggered, tumbling into the pooled mixture of blood and wine that flooded the distillery floor.

With adrenaline coursing through her veins, Y/n forced herself to her feet, the red liquid staining her clothes. Determination fueled her movements as she spied what appeared to be a potential escape route. The Moroaicǎ, undeterred, closed in once more.

In a desperate bid for freedom, Y/n lunged toward the passage, but before she could reach it, a Moroaicǎ struck her in the stomach with a swift, brutal stab. Y/n crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath, her hands instinctively clutching the wound as blood seeped through her fingers.

The pain was excruciating, and the distillery floor now mirrored the horrors of a macabre canvas, blood and wine blending in a grotesque dance beneath her. In her weakened state, Y/n fought against the encroaching darkness, the world around her blurred as the Moroaicǎ retreated, leaving her battered and bleeding on the unforgiving ground.

The three daughters reconvened in the upper level of the castle, their expressions a mix of concern and frustration. Bela spoke up first, her voice betraying a hint of worry, "I didn't find Y/n. Did either of you have any luck?"

Cassandra and Daniela exchanged glances before shaking their heads. "No sign of her. It's as if she vanished," Daniela replied, her usual playful demeanor replaced by genuine concern.

As they were about to discuss their next course of action, Lady Dimitrescu ascended the staircase, her towering figure casting a shadow over the hallway. "Have any of you found Y/n?" she inquired, her voice laced with urgency.

Bela, meeting her mother's gaze, shook her head solemnly. "No, Mother. We searched everywhere, but there's no trace of her."

Lady Dimitrescu's expression tightened, worry evident in her eyes. "I couldn't find her either. This is highly unusual. Where could she be?"

Cassandra, ever pragmatic, spoke up, "Mother Miranda hasn't returned yet. Maybe she's having more luck. We should wait for her."

Nodding in agreement, Daniela added, "Yes, perhaps Mother Miranda has uncovered something in her search. We can't lose hope just yet."

The group decided to return to the sitting room, a heavy silence settling among them as they anxiously awaited news of Y/n's whereabouts. The grandeur of the room seemed to amplify the uncertainty that lingered in the air, each passing moment intensifying the worry etched on their faces.

Mother Miranda pressed on through the labyrinthine passages of the distillery, encountering Moroaicǎ along the way. Her powerful abilities easily overcame the grotesque creatures, allowing her to continue the search undeterred. The echo of her footsteps resonated through the eerie silence of the underground.

As she delved deeper, she stumbled upon a haunting scene—a lifeless body lying on the wet ground, surrounded by the unsettling mixture of blood and wine. Mother Miranda approached with a sense of gravitas, turning the woman on her back to reveal her pallid face. The pain etched across Y/n's features tugged at Miranda's usually stoic demeanor.

Kneeling beside the injured maid, Miranda attempted to rouse her. "Y/n, wake up. Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters have been worried about you."

Y/n's eyes fluttered open, the pain evident in her gaze. She offered a weak apology, but Miranda hushed her gently, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Shh, my dear. You'll be okay. We'll get you out of here."

As Y/n succumbed to unconsciousness, Mother Miranda cradled her in her arms, a fleeting but profound feeling of completeness washing over her. With each step, she savored the weight of the maid in her embrace, a sensation as if a missing piece had been found. The dimly lit passages of the distillery bore witness to this peculiar connection between the two women.

Emerging from the depths below, Mother Miranda ascended the staircase with Y/n in her arms. The grandeur of Castle Dimitrescu's main floor starkly contrasted the eerie solitude of the distillery. The daughters and Lady Dimitrescu, anxiously waiting in the sitting room, were taken aback as Miranda, with a wave of her hand, effortlessly opened the door.

The shock on their faces deepened as Miranda entered, cradling the unconscious Y/n. Lady Dimitrescu, momentarily speechless, found her voice, "Mother Miranda, what happened?"

Miranda's gaze met Lady Dimitrescu's, and she spoke with a calm reassurance, "Y/n has sustained severe injuries, but I can help her. We need to tend to her immediately."

With Lady Dimitrescu leading the way, they entered a makeshift medical room within the castle. Miranda gently laid Y/n on a nearby table, the gravity of the situation evident in the concern etched on everyone's faces.

Miranda, assisted by Bela and Cassandra, began to tend to Y/n's wounds. Lady Dimitrescu, ever composed, attempted to console the tearful Daniela, whose worry manifested in quiet sobs. The atmosphere in the room was tense, a blend of relief and anxiety as the fate of the missing maid hung in the balance.

In the hushed stillness of the night, Y/n stirred from her uneasy slumber, pain coursing through her body. The dimly lit room danced with shadows, and a sense of disorientation enveloped her. As she struggled to make sense of her surroundings, a masked figure approached, causing a jolt of fear to shoot through her.

However, to her surprise, Miranda calmly reached up and removed her mask, revealing her piercing blue eyes and chiseled features. Y/n, caught off guard, took a moment to admire the unexpected sight before her.

Miranda, with a slight tease in her voice, remarked, "Dove, it seems you're quite captivated by my features."

Caught in her reverie, Y/n blushed, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Miranda chuckled warmly, her husky voice resonating in the quiet room. "No need to apologize, my dear. It's quite adorable how you get lost in thought."

Y/n's blush deepened, and she stammered, "I didn't mean to stare. I just..."

Miranda interrupted with a gentle laugh, "You have nothing to apologize for. In fact, I find it quite endearing."

As Y/n tried to hide her embarrassment, Miranda's reassuring presence eased the tension in the room. 

Y/n's mind raced, and the overwhelming realization of the events hit her like a tidal wave. Panic set in, and her breathing quickened, chest tightening with anxiety. Frantically, she tried to get up from the bed, but her legs gave out beneath her. In the moment of vulnerability, Miranda swiftly caught her, gently guiding her back onto the bed.

"Dove, you need to rest," Miranda urged, her voice calm but firm.

Y/n's words stumbled out, frantic and desperate, "I... I need to apologize to Lady Dimitrescu. She'll be furious. I messed everything up."

Miranda, recognizing the distress in Y/n's eyes, gently cupped her face, directing her gaze to meet hers. "Listen to me, dear. Alcina will understand. Your well-being is the priority right now. We will face this together."

Y/n, still struggling to calm her racing heart, insisted, "But she trusted me with the dinner, and I ruined it. She's going to hate me."

Miranda continued to soothe her, "Alcina won't hate you. She cares about you. We'll explain everything to her. Right now, you need to focus on resting and recovering. The rest can be dealt with in due time."

Miranda continued her efforts to soothe Y/n, recognizing the persistent anxiety that gripped her. "Dove, you need to try and get some sleep. Worrying won't change what happened, and you need your strength to recover."

Y/n's restless expression revealed the inner turmoil she was experiencing. "I'm just too anxious, Miranda. I can't stop thinking about how Lady Dimitrescu will react."

Understanding, Miranda decided to take a more hands-on approach. She made her way to the other side of the bed, gesturing for Y/n to scoot over. With a gentle touch, she laid down beside her.

Y/n's eyes followed Miranda's movements, curious and apprehensive. Miranda, careful not to cause additional pain, pulled Y/n into her, cradling her in a protective embrace. Y/n, feeling the warmth of Miranda's body, relaxed against her, breathing in the comforting scent of her warm amber perfume.

As Y/n laid her head on Miranda's chest, Miranda's hand stroked her hair in a soothing rhythm. The calming gesture gradually eased Y/n's tension, and she began to drift back into a more serene slumber.

In the quiet intimacy of the moment, Y/n couldn't help but voice her curiosity. "Why are you being so caring, Miranda? Everything I've heard from the other maids told me otherwise."

Miranda paused for a moment before answering, "I'm not entirely sure. There's something about seeing you hurt in the distillery that stirred a protective instinct in me. You deserve care and kindness, especially in moments of vulnerability."

Y/n's heart swelled at the sincerity of Miranda's words. Miranda gently kissed Y/n's head before covering them both with the comforter. The room fell into darkness as Miranda extinguished the single candle, the subtle scent of warm amber lingering in the air.

As Y/n settled into the comforting embrace, Miranda whispered softly, "Rest now, Dove. We'll face whatever comes together." The quiet reassurance echoed in the stillness of the room, offering solace to Y/n as sleep reclaimed its hold on her troubled mind.

Y/n stirred from her slumber, the morning light filtering through the window. Her gaze wandered around the room, eventually resting on Miranda, who was already awake and watching her. As their eyes met, Y/n blushed and quickly looked away, prompting a soft chuckle from Miranda.

Before either of them could say anything, a knock echoed through the room. Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters entered, their eyes taking in the unexpected scene. Cassandra, always one for teasing, couldn't resist making a playful comment, causing Y/n to bury her face in her hands in embarrassment.

Miranda, with a fond smile, gently helped Y/n sit up, mindful of her lingering pain. Lady Dimitrescu, her expression a mix of concern and relief, addressed Y/n, "You've been relieved of your duties until further notice. Your priority now is to focus on recovering."

Y/n, still flustered, stammered out, "I'm sorry, Lady Dimitrescu. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Lady Dimitrescu's stern exterior softened, and she placed a reassuring hand on Y/n's shoulder. "It's alright, Y/n. Your well-being is what matters most. We'll address the situation in due time. For now, rest and recover."

Cassandra, with a mischievous grin, added, "Who would have thought our dear Y/n would end up in Mother Miranda's arms?"

Bela and Daniela exchanged amused glances, and Lady Dimitrescu, while maintaining her composure, couldn't suppress a small smile. 

Miranda, after a moment of silent consideration, addressed Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters, "I would appreciate it if you could give us some privacy while I check on Y/n's injuries."

Lady Dimitrescu nodded, her daughters following suit. As they left the room, Miranda turned her attention back to Y/n. "Let me see how your injuries are healing," she said, her tone gentle.

Y/n complied, allowing Miranda to inspect the stitches and bruises. After a careful examination, Miranda offered a reassuring smile. "Everything seems to be healing well. Just be cautious of the stitches, and don't push yourself too hard."

As Miranda finished her assessment, Y/n hesitantly asked, "Do you think I could go for a walk in the courtyard? It might help me feel better."

Miranda considered the request before responding, "I wouldn't want you to go alone. But if you'd like, I can accompany you."

Y/n's face lit up with gratitude. "That would be wonderful, thank you."

Miranda helped Y/n to her feet, offering a supportive hand. They walked together toward the courtyard, Miranda's hand gently holding Y/n's. The castle's grandeur unfolded around them as they stepped into the open air of the courtyard. The quiet sounds of the castle grounds surrounded them, offering a peaceful backdrop to their walk.

As they strolled through the courtyard, Y/n couldn't help but express her appreciation, "Thank you, Miranda, for everything. I never expected you to be so caring."

Miranda, with a soft smile, replied, "Sometimes unexpected bonds are the strongest. I want to ensure you recover fully. You're important to this castle."

The courtyard stretched before them as they continued their leisurely walk, the soft sounds of their footsteps blending with the tranquil ambiance. Suddenly, Y/n stopped, a subtle wince crossing her features. Miranda, ever attentive, noticed the discomfort and immediately asked, "Are you okay, Y/n?"

Y/n, attempting to downplay the pain, forced a smile and replied, "I'm fine, really. Just a little twinge."

Miranda, unconvinced, studied Y/n's expression. "We can stop and rest if you need to. Your well-being is my priority."

Y/n, determined to continue, shook her head. "No, really, Miranda. I'm okay. Let's keep going."

Miranda hesitated, her concern evident, but she ultimately agreed, "If you're sure, but don't hesitate to let me know if you need a break."

As they continued their walk through the courtyard, the atmosphere shifted when Y/n suddenly stopped, her eyes widening with recognition. Miranda, noticing the change, questioned, "What's wrong, Y/n?"

Y/n's gaze fixated on a group of maids, the same ones who had locked her in the distillery. Memories of that traumatic incident flooded back, causing her to step back, seeking refuge closer to Miranda.

Miranda, sensing Y/n's distress, turned her back to the maids, cupping Y/n's face gently. "Tell me what's wrong," she urged.

The maids, surprised by Y/n's unexpected appearance, attempted to approach her, pretending as if nothing had happened. Y/n, however, instinctively moved away from them, drawing nearer to Miranda.

Miranda, maintaining her protective stance, turned around to face the maids. "What's going on here?" she questioned, her tone demanding answers.

The maids, caught off guard, nervously attempted to justify their actions, downplaying the severity of their actions. Y/n, her voice filled with a mixture of pain and frustration, told Miranda what they had done.

In response, Miranda positioned herself in front of Y/n, a shield against the maids. "You locked her in the distillery? Do you realize the danger you put her in?" Miranda's irritation was palpable.

The maids, seemingly unfazed, tried to dismiss the gravity of their actions, claiming it wasn't a big deal and that nobody would have noticed anyway. Miranda's expression hardened. "You could have killed her! Do you comprehend the consequences of your actions?"

Just then, Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters appeared, the maids visibly trembling at their presence. Lady Dimitrescu, with a stern expression, questioned, "What is going on here?"

Miranda wasted no time in revealing the maids' transgressions, explaining how they had locked Y/n in the distillery, putting her in grave danger. The air in the courtyard tensed as Lady Dimitrescu's gaze bore down on the guilty maids, the consequences of their actions becoming increasingly apparent.

Lady Dimitrescu's gaze bore into the group of maids, her towering figure casting a formidable shadow over them. She questioned them with a stern tone, "Explain yourselves."

The maids, now realizing the gravity of their actions, attempted feeble justifications, but Lady Dimitrescu cut through their excuses with a cold precision. "Enough of your excuses. You endangered one of my trusted maids, and for that, there will be consequences."

Cassandra, Bela, and Daniela, standing beside their mother, wore sadistic grins as they anticipated the impending punishment. Lady Dimitrescu's words carried the weight of authority as she declared, "You will be punished."

The daughters, eagerly awaiting their cue, exchanged glances, their excitement evident. Lady Dimitrescu, without uttering a word, nodded slightly, giving the signal for Cassandra, Bela, and Daniela to take charge.

The trio approached the maids with a sinister gleam in their eyes, ready to carry out the punishment ordered by their mother. Cassandra's grin widened as she spoke, "Oh, you're in for a treat."

Bela added, "The dungeon can be quite... enlightening."

Daniela, the youngest but no less enthusiastic, chimed in, "And we haven't had visitors in a while."

The maids, now fully aware of the severity of their actions, cast nervous glances at each other, realizing that the consequences under Lady Dimitrescu's rule were not to be taken lightly. The castle's cold corridors echoed with a mix of tension and anticipation as the daughters prepared to escort the guilty maids to the dreaded dungeon.

Miranda, ever attuned to Y/n's well-being, turned her attention to the shaken maid. "Are you okay, Y/n?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

Y/n, still processing the recent events, seemed a bit spaced out. Miranda, gently cupping Y/n's face, attempted to bring her attention back to the present moment. "Y/n, focus on me. You're safe now. Breathe."

Lady Dimitrescu, towering beside them, also expressed her concern. "Y/n, are you alright?"

Y/n, with a hint of distress in her eyes, replied, "I never meant for any of this to happen. I didn't think they would go so far."

Lady Dimitrescu, her stern expression softening for a moment, reassured Y/n, "You are not at fault here. The maids will be punished severely for their actions. This was not your doing."

Y/n, still grappling with the aftermath of the confrontation, looked at Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu with a puzzled expression. "I don't understand why you're defending me. I'm just a maid, and my role is to serve the house without questioning anything, to never talk back or question the decisions of my superiors."

Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu exchanged glances, both confused by Y/n's perspective. Miranda spoke gently, "Y/n, it's normal for people to help each other, to care for one another. You don't have to bear everything on your own. We are here for you."

Lady Dimitrescu, realizing the depth of the situation, added, "What you've described is not a healthy way to live. It's okay to seek help, to question things. We're not just your superiors; we're also people who care about you."

Y/n hesitated, realizing the ingrained beliefs she had carried for so long. "I never thought about it that way. It's just the way things have always been for me."

Understanding the sensitivity of the conversation, Lady Dimitrescu turned to Miranda. "I'll give you two some time to talk. It seems like there's much for Y/n to process."

Miranda, sensing the need for a more intimate conversation, led Y/n to a quiet bench where they could sit together. Y/n, seeking comfort, rested her head on Miranda's shoulder, and Miranda gently took Y/n's hand in hers.

As they settled into a moment of shared vulnerability, Y/n began to explain, "I've always felt responsible for taking care of others. It's just how I've lived, and I never expected anyone to take care of me."

Miranda, with a soft smile, asked, "But who takes care of you, sweet girl, if you're always giving yourself to others?"

Y/n sighed, "No one, really. It's not anyone else's job to take care of me, and I shouldn't expect them to."

Miranda's expression softened further. "It's normal for people to care for others and, in return, receive care. You deserve that too, sweet girl." She wrapped her arm around Y/n, embracing her as they sat together on the bench.

They remained in that comforting silence for a while, Miranda providing a sense of security for Y/n. Eventually, Miranda spoke, "We'll work on this together, at your pace. It's okay to let people in and accept help. You don't have to carry everything on your own."

Y/n, feeling a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude, whispered, "Thank you, Miranda."

Miranda pressed a gentle kiss to Y/n's forehead and held her a little tighter, both of them acknowledging the journey ahead, one that would involve breaking down the walls Y/n had built around herself for so long.

Later that night, with Y/n peacefully sleeping, Miranda sat beside her, engrossed in a book. Alcina entered the room, requesting Miranda's presence for a talk. Miranda, kissing Y/n gently on the forehead, agreed before quietly leaving the room.

In the drawing room, Miranda and Alcina sat together. The sisters, sensing the serious atmosphere, joined them, ready for the conversation. Cassandra, with a sinister grin, started, "The maids' punishment has been taken care of."

Miranda, curious yet composed, questioned, "And how was it handled?"

Bela, her tone matter-of-fact, replied, "We tortured them before ending their lives."

Miranda, acknowledging the severity of the situation, simply nodded. "As long as it's been taken care of."

Daniela, changing the subject, asked with genuine concern, "How is Y/n? Is she alright?"

Miranda, a touch of warmth in her eyes, replied, "She's healing. It will take some time, but she'll be okay."

Daniela visibly relaxed, and Cassandra teased, "Oh, Daniela was practically inconsolable when we found Y/n. It was quite the scene."

Daniela blushed, trying to defend herself. "I was just worried, that's all."

Cassandra, chuckling, continued to tease her younger sister, and Bela added, "It's good to see you care, Daniela. Y/n means a lot to all of us."

As the conversation continued in the sitting room, Y/n stirred from her slumber, wondering where Miranda had gone. Following the sound of voices, she discovered them gathered in the sitting room. The attention of the group turned to Y/n as she entered the room, her presence bringing a pause to their discussion.

Daniela, with swift enthusiasm, rushed over to Y/n, enveloping her in a hug. Alcina, ever the protective figure, reminded Daniela to be gentle. Blushing, Daniela apologized, and Y/n reassured her, "It's okay, Daniela."

With a playful glint in her eye, Daniela warned, "If you ever scare us like that again, you won't like what happens."

Y/n settled on the couch beside Miranda, engaging in the ongoing conversation with the sisters. Finding comfort in Miranda's presence, she leaned into her, appreciating the warmth and reassurance. Miranda, in response, gently took Y/n's hand, their fingers entwining.

The sisters, ever observant, noticed the subtle intimacy and exchanged knowing glances. Their teasing remarks prompted Y/n to look down, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Miranda and Alcina chuckled at Y/n's reaction.

Cassandra smirked, "Looks like someone's enjoying the company."

Bela added with a playful tone, "Quite cozy, aren't we, Y/n?"

Daniela, joining in the teasing, teased, "I didn't know maids got such special treatment."

Y/n, feeling the heat in her cheeks, mumbled a response. Alcina, in a motherly tone, playfully scolded her daughters, "Leave the poor girl alone."

As the banter continued, the atmosphere remained light, filled with laughter and camaraderie. Eventually, Alcina and the sisters decided to retire to their rooms for the night, leaving Miranda and Y/n in the quiet sitting room.

Miranda, still holding Y/n's hand, turned to her, "They can be a handful, can't they?"

Y/n, feeling a mix of emotions, smiled and replied, "They're unique, but I appreciate the company."

Miranda, recognizing the lateness of the hour, suggested that it was time for both of them to retire to bed. Y/n agreed, and Miranda walked them to the door of Y/n's room. As they stood outside the room, Y/n expressed her gratitude, thanking Miranda for everything she had done.

Miranda, with a reassuring smile, replied, "It was no problem, Y/n. You're part of this household, and I want to ensure you feel safe and cared for."

Y/n nodded appreciatively but hesitated, a question lingering in her mind. Miranda, perceptive as always, sensed Y/n's uncertainty and gently probed, "What is it, Y/n? You seem like there's something on your mind."

Y/n bit her lip, hesitating before dismissing the thought, "Oh, it's nothing. I'll see you in the morning."

Miranda, not willing to let it go, softly grasped Y/n's hand, turning her to face her. "It's not 'nothing.' Tell me, Y/n. What's on your mind?"

Y/n glanced down, feeling a bit foolish, and mumbled, "It's stupid."

Miranda, with a patient and caring tone, insisted, "It's not stupid, and your thoughts matter. Talk to me, Y/n."

Miranda, unable to catch Y/n's quiet request, noticed the hesitancy in her expression. Gently lifting Y/n's face with her fingers, Miranda asked again, "What is it, dove? I couldn't quite hear you."

Blushing, Y/n repeated in a hushed tone, "I was wondering if... if you'd be willing to stay with me tonight."

Miranda's gentle smile grew, and she replied, "Of course, it's not stupid at all. If it makes you feel more comfortable, I'm happy to stay with you." Her fingers softly stroked Y/n's face, offering a reassuring touch.

Y/n, still uncertain, sought confirmation, "Really? You're willing to stay?"

Miranda nodded with sincerity, "Yes, really. Now, let's get ready for bed."

As Miranda prepared for bed, Y/n settled into the softness of the covers. When Miranda returned, Y/n eagerly cuddled up to her, finding solace in the comforting presence.

Miranda, embracing Y/n, softly whispered, "Goodnight, dove."

Y/n, feeling a warmth she hadn't known before, replied, "Goodnight, Miranda." 

Y/n, waking in the early morning hours, felt a sharp pain in her stomach. Touching the area, she discovered wetness on her hands. Panic set in as she looked down and saw blood, a significant amount staining her clothes and the bed. The realization struck her that the stitches must have ripped.

Freaked out and in a state of shock, she urgently tried to wake Miranda. When Miranda didn't respond immediately, Y/n rushed out of the room, her mind racing for help. Without hesitation, she headed towards Bela's room, knocking anxiously on the door.

Bela, expecting another maid, opened the door only to be surprised by the distressed sight of Y/n.

Bela, concerned by Y/n's distressed state, urgently inquired, "What's wrong? Y/n, please, tell me!"

In shock and unable to articulate fully, Y/n stammered, "Blood... stitches... pain..."

Bela caught the scent of blood and quickly noticed Y/n's clothes stained crimson. Realizing the severity, she tried to keep Y/n awake, urging, "Stay with me, Y/n. Don't close your eyes."

Before Bela could leave to fetch her sisters, Cassandra and Daniela appeared, having caught wind of the situation. Their worried expressions deepened as they saw Y/n.

Bela swiftly directed Cassandra, "Stay with Y/n. I need to get Miranda. Daniela, go get Alcina."

Cassandra, determined to keep Y/n conscious, gently applied pressure to the wound, attempting to stem the bleeding. Concern etched across her face, she encouraged, "Y/n, stay with me. Tell me about something, anything."

Y/n, weakened and in pain, mumbled, "I... I don't know... hurts..."

Cassandra, doing her best to offer comfort, helped Y/n lie down, cradling her head in her lap. "It's going to be okay. Help is on the way," Cassandra reassured, her voice a soothing presence in the midst of the crisis. "Just focus on staying awake for a little longer."

Y/n's voice, feeble and strained, whispered to Cassandra, "I feel... so cold and tired."

Cassandra, maintaining a reassuring tone, replied, "Hey, don't worry. You're going to be fine. You just need to hang on a little longer until Miranda and Alcina get here."

Y/n, shivering, continued, "It hurts... so much."

Cassandra, applying gentle pressure to the wound, acknowledged, "I know it hurts, but we're doing everything we can to help you. Just stay with us, Y/n."

Y/n's eyes flickered, a sign of her weakening state, "I'm scared, Cassandra..."

Cassandra, stroking Y/n's hair soothingly, responded, "I understand. It's okay to be scared, but you're not alone. We're here with you, and help is on the way. Focus on breathing, okay? In and out."

Y/n, her breathing becoming more labored, managed a faint smile, "You're... a good friend, Cassandra."

Cassandra smiled back, her eyes reflecting concern, "And you're a strong person, Y/n. We'll get through this together."

The frantic urgency in Cassandra's voice filled the room as she heard the approaching footsteps of Miranda, Alcina, and the other sisters. "They're coming, Y/n. Just hold on a bit longer, help is here."

Miranda and Alcina burst into the room, their eyes immediately assessing the situation. Bela and Daniela quickly explained the circumstances, with Alcina's gaze narrowing in concern. Miranda, with a soothing yet urgent tone, assured Y/n, "We're here now, dear. You're going to be okay. Just stay with us."

Cassandra, feeling a sense of relief with the arrival of help, informed Miranda, "She just passed out, but she was conscious a moment ago."

Y/n's limp form in Cassandra's lap heightened the sense of urgency. Panicking slightly, Cassandra shook Y/n gently, calling her name, "Y/n, wake up. They're here now."

Miranda, taking charge, directed, "We need to get her to the medical room. Alcina, can you assist?"

Alcina nodded, taking Y/n carefully into her arms. "Let's go," she said, her tone reflecting a mix of concern and determination.

Miranda led the way, with Alcina following, carrying Y/n through the corridors. Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela trailed behind, their worry evident as they entered the medical room together.In the stark medical room, the atmosphere was thick with tension as Miranda, Alcina, and the sisters worked desperately to save Y/n. However, it became increasingly apparent that Y/n had lost an alarming amount of blood, pushing the limits of conventional medical intervention.

As the urgency heightened, Miranda hesitated, grappling with the decision that could either save or jeopardize Y/n's life. The only option left was the cadou, a mysterious and potent solution with uncertain consequences. The weight of the decision hung heavily on Miranda's shoulders.

After a moment of contemplation, Miranda made the difficult choice to implant the cadou into Y/n. The room fell silent as they anxiously waited for any sign of change. However, seconds felt like an eternity, and the anticipated transformation failed to manifest.

A sense of despair settled over the room as Y/n's vital signs continued to decline. The heart monitor emitted a flatline, the sound cutting through the heavy air like a painful truth. The sisters, normally composed and poised, began to lose their composure. The reality of the situation struck hard, and panic set in.

Miranda, her expression pained and defeated, spoke with a heavy heart, "There's nothing more we can do. I'm sorry."

Daniela, overcome with grief, couldn't contain her emotions any longer. Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded with Miranda, "Do something, please! Save her!"

As the sisters reluctantly left the room, Alcina casting a sympathetic glance at Miranda, a heavy silence enveloped the medical chamber. Alone with Y/n's lifeless form, Miranda's emotions erupted in a torrent of sadness and frustration.

Tears welled up in Miranda's eyes as she looked down at Y/n. A mix of sorrow and anger consumed her, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on her shoulders. "I'm sorry, my dear," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "I should have seen the signs, done something sooner. This is my fault."

She sank into a chair beside Y/n's still form, her hands shaking as she reached out to brush a strand of hair from Y/n's face. "You trusted me, and I failed you," Miranda confessed, her voice trembling. "I should have known how fragile you were, but I was too blinded by my own arrogance."

The room seemed to echo with Miranda's self-reproach, and she continued to speak to the motionless figure on the bed. "I've spent centuries, seen so much, and yet, I couldn't save you. I can't forgive myself for this."

Tears fell freely as Miranda took Y/n's cold hand in hers, a futile attempt to warm the lifeless flesh. "You deserved better, my dove," she lamented. "I promised to protect you, and I failed. I'm so sorry." The weight of regret hung in the air, and Miranda's sorrowful confessions echoed through the silent room, unheard by the one person they were meant for.

The days that followed Y/n's passing were filled with a heavy atmosphere, grief clinging to the castle like a persistent shadow. The funeral had come and gone, leaving behind a somber emptiness that seemed to echo through the halls. But for Miranda, the pain persisted, and she found herself drawn to the small secret garden on the castle grounds.

In the tranquil enclosure, hidden away from the world, Miranda sat beside Y/n's resting place, surrounded by flowers that mirrored the fleeting beauty of life. She spoke to the quiet air, her voice a soft lamentation that blended with the rustling leaves and distant echoes of the castle.

"I miss you, my dove," Miranda confessed, her tears falling to the ground like silent prayers. "I never imagined your journey would end so abruptly. I failed you, and I can't forgive myself."

As Miranda poured out her heart, unbeknownst to her, Alcina and the sisters had silently followed her to the garden. They watched from a distance, hidden among the foliage, witnessing the raw emotion that Miranda had kept hidden from the world.

Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting the pain they felt for both Y/n and Miranda. Alcina, usually composed and commanding, couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the woman she had come to care for in a way she hadn't anticipated.

Miranda's voice wavered as she continued to speak to the silent grave. "You deserved more than this. A life full of joy, not cut short by my shortcomings. I failed to protect you, and I'll carry that burden for eternity."

The wind carried Miranda's sorrowful words through the garden, mingling with the delicate fragrance of flowers. The sisters remained silent, allowing Miranda the space to grieve, understanding that some wounds could never fully heal. 

Miranda's estate, once a grand and imposing structure, now stood as a mere shell of its former self. The emptiness within the cold stone walls echoed the hollowness in her heart. Life had continued for everyone else, but for Miranda, time seemed to freeze in the moment she lost Y/n.

Each week, the journey to Castle Dimitrescu became a melancholic pilgrimage. The once vibrant secret garden now held the weight of memories that refused to fade. Miranda spoke to the silent grave, recounting the events leading to that fateful day, as if reliving the tragedy would somehow alter the outcome.

The hole in Miranda's heart persisted, a constant ache that refused to dull with time. Y/n, who had entered her life so briefly yet left an indelible mark, continued to haunt Miranda's thoughts. The pain she felt was reminiscent of the loss of her own daughter, a wound that had never truly healed.

Miranda found herself stuck in a perpetual loop of grief, reliving the day Y/n died over and over again. The vibrant colors of her world had faded to shades of gray, and the once powerful and enigmatic woman had become a mere shell of herself.

The grandeur of Miranda's estate, once a symbol of her prowess, now mirrored the desolation within. The grand halls, once filled with the echoes of power, now reverberated with the quiet sobs of a mourning soul.

As Miranda gazed upon the cold stone walls of her estate, the pain of losing Y/n weighed heavily on her. The fleeting moments of joy they had shared were overshadowed by the relentless sorrow that now clung to her like a persistent shadow. And so, Miranda remained trapped in the past, bound by the unyielding chains of grief, haunted by the ghost of a love that had slipped through her fingers.

[lovelynim]

A Poor Bastard

Genshin Impact - Kazuha x Scaramouche

Collab with @ticklygiggles

A/N: I'm glad to present my very first collab with Mia (@ticklygiggles)! I've been wanting to write something with her for a looong time and I was really excited when she agreed to my request. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I did! ~

Summary: After a night together with Kazuha, Scaramouche finds leaving the samurai in the next morning to be harder than he expected it to be.

Word count: 3539 words

He could barely stand the look on Kazuha's eyes. That fondness and love overflowing from his pupils made Scaramouche want to hide under a rock. The vulnerability that it brought him to feel those cold hands touching his body and his warm lips kissing his cheeks or brushing against his ears as words of love were whispered into his ears, it was all so overwhelming... but so nice at the same time.

It wasn’t long since he had the chance to meet this member of the Kaedahara clan, but the pace in which he got… fond of him was worrisome, to say the least. Unlike other people he met through the years, there was something different about the wandering samurai that made Scaramouche feel strange. The balladeer wasn’t sure himself why - or how - but before he could he take his actions in account, he found himself lying down in the middle of a pile of blankets and pillows, with a kimono that barely covered his skin and, on top of all that, in a room that wasn’t his own, but Kazuha’s.

Resting his head on Kazuha’s bare chest, Scaramouche looked up, still denying the most obvious explanation. The other had a peaceful, content expression in his sleep.

Against his better judgment, Scaramouche remembered last night and hated to feel his cheeks turning red, the heat traveling to his ears.

Yesterday, when Kazuha suddenly said that the night was perfect for taking a walk together in the Chinju Forest, (a place they both often went for privacy), Scaramouche, although he looked reluctant and sullen, followed the samurai who gently took his hand and intertwined his fingers with his.

Every step he took felt like he was floating, like Kazuha's hand in his was the only thing keeping him going. That was a sensation he often felt when he was with his partner, his senses becoming numb as he felt surrounded by Kazuha's presence. The only thing he could hear was Kazuha's voice; the only thing he could feel was Kazuha's cold hands; the only thing he could smell was the maple scent of Kazuha's skin; the only thing he could see was Kazuha's beautiful face; and the only thing he could taste were the kisses that Kazuha planted on his lips as they went deeper into the forest, leaving him breathless and with trembling legs.

They hadn't done much, they were both reserved people so they usually didn't talk and if they did, Kazuha had to corkscrew the words out of Scaramouche and it seemed like it was something he enjoyed doing.

It had been a quiet walk, stopping occasionally to enjoy the views and to share a kiss that Scaramouche complained about, but he always closed his eyes softly when he saw Kazuha approaching and opened his mouth slightly.

Scaramouche wasn't sure how or when it had happened, but suddenly he found himself in Kazuha's room, the samurai tugging at his clothes to make him wear something more comfortable. In the blink of an eye, both of them were in the same place where Scaramouche had woken up. Kazuha's arms wrapped around Scaramouche's body, snuggling happily against him.

“Hnng… Kuni?” A groan escaped Kazuha’s lips when Scaramouche decided to sit up, pushing the samurai away and bothering his slumber in the process. The fatui harbinger looked over his shoulder, feeling how the other guy pried at the back of his clothes, as if to pull him back to bed. “Good morning…” Kazuha sighed, smiling lazily at him. Damn it.

Scaramouche couldn’t stand that look in his eyes, the affection, the care, the- the care those eyes carried. Avoiding looking back, he turned his head away. “Morning, Kaedahara,” he muttered sharply, trying to keep his tone cold, uninterested, putting his best efforts to keep up with that sweet lie.

Feeling his hopes that those would be the only words they would exchange, Scaramouche felt a stronger tug at his back, noticing how Kazuha closed his palm around the hem of his kimono. “Where are you going? It’s too early…”

Scaramouche tsked, pressing his left hand on his forehead while trying to organize his thoughts. Don’t give it away, don’t give it away, he told himself repeatedly inside his head. “I have things to do, you can sleep all you want.”

“But we-”

“I was just bored and you kept me company and entertained me for the night, that’s all. Don’t get wrong ideas,” he replied sharply, already expecting to bring an end to those interactions that messed with his heart and mind. However, as a soft chuckle reached his ears, he couldn’t help but to turn around to face Kazuha.

The samurai rested his head on one arm, while the other remained stretched, tugging at Scaramouche’s clothes. He had a handsom- ahem, annoying grin on his lips. “So it was entertaining, Kuni?”

The sultry voice tone made heat reach Scaramouche’s cheeks at unmatchable speed, making the harbinger sink his teeth on his lower lip to restrain himself from squealing at that exact moment. He fought the urge to retort, only because he knew he was going to stutter like a fucking idiot and Kaedehara Kazuha would laugh at him, but did it really matter? As soon as he had opened his mouth to finally say something back, Kazuha let out a playful laugh, his eyes shining with mischief.

Scaramouche's breath hitched and he started to move again, "I'm leaving."

"Ah, Kuni!" The samurai complained, pulling at the fabric of Scaramouche’s kimono to make him stay between the warm pillows and blankets. "What's wrong, Kuni? I can entertain you a lot longer, if you want. Wouldn’t that be good?”

Scaramouche steadfastly refused to turn his head and see Kazuha straight in the face; he could hear that handsom- annoying smile on his lips and he was sure he wouldn't be able to contain himself if he saw it. What could he do if he saw Kazuha smiling at him sweetly and mischievously at the same time? He'd probably have red cheeks and, damn it, that pretty smile!

"Why are you so annoying? Do you think I have nothing better to do than waste my time here with you? Let me go this instant or you'll see what- K-Kaedehara!"

An offended gasp escaped Scaramuche's lips as Kazuha wrapped his arm around his waist. The balladeer tensed, but he turned his head to see Kazuha's face and instantly regretted it, his heart skipping a beat.

Kazuha was smiling widely. He seemed to be having so much fun despite Scaramouche's threats and harsh words. “That’s not fair,” the samurai complained lightheartedly, palming at the balladeer’s waist. “You always leave me like this, Kuni, and I never get to know when I’ll see you again.”

“You- ugh…” He felt a shiver run up his spine when Kazuha’s fingers brushed and stroked that spot, instinctively leaning away from the touch and - following the samurai’s plan - closer to Kazuha. Scaramouche tugged at the other’s arms with both of his hands, trying to pry it off his body while keeping his reactions down. “Don’t t-touch me so cahasually, Kaedahara,” he hissed, gritting his teeth as he felt another pull on the back of his clothes.

“But you like it, Kuni,” Kazuha was grinning even more than before, continuing to lightly stroke Scaramouche’s waist, grazing his fingers over the thin clothing that covered his skin. “Promise me you will stay longer… please…,” the samurai mumbled playfully, managing to drag the balladeer into an embrace despite his squirming.

Before the fatui harbinger could figure his way out, he was already laying back next to Kazuha, with one of his arms wrapped around his back and the other holding him by his waist. “Your hair smells so nice…” Kazuha whispered, inhaling deeply the sweet scent of Scaramouche’s perfume, kissing the shell of his ear before burying his face in the crook of his bare neck - which made his partner gasp lovingly.

It was hard to decide what he should focus on: Kazuha’s legs intertwining with his, the feeling of Kazuha’s lips against his skin or how awfully ticklish Kazuha’s hands felt while resting over his ribs and waist. That damned samurai, Scaramouche thought, leaning his head in the opposite direction. “You shahameless b-bastard,” he groaned as giggles threatened to pour from his lips, making his heartbeat increase in panic.

Scaramouche clenched one of the blankets around them with his free hand, grasping it tightly to try to make the other’s teasing more bearable. Meanwhile, he used his other limb in an attempt to push Kazuha away.

His foot kicked, planting his heel into the futon as the sensation was slowly overwhelming all his senses, making it hard to continue with any reasoning - did reasoning ever worked with Kazuha?

Kazuha giggled against his neck. "You look so nice dressed like this, Kuni," he said, taking a deep breath, continuing to inhale more Scaramouche's scent. "I want to eat you whole."

"Sh-Shahaha-meless!" Scaramouche repeated, pushing Kazuha harder and refusing to open his mouth once more because he knew those stupid giggles would spill out at any second. 

"You keep calling me that, Kuni," Kazuha whined and Scaramouche shivered, shutting his eyes tightly when he felt the brush of Kazuha's lips against the fair skin of his neck. "Can't you be a little gentler with me?" 

Scaramouche knew perfectly well that Kazuha was just acting hurt. It pained Scaramouche to admit that the samurai had grown immune to his snarky comments and mean words. If anything, it made him laugh every time he heard Scaramouche angrily yell at him, but what hurt him the most was the fact that he had already gotten so used to Kazuha that he knew that his words didn't come out with the same venom. He knew his words didn't have the effect they had on everyone else; he did not cause fear, but tenderness in Kazuha's eyes. 

"What's the matter? Did the mouse eat your tongue, Kuni?" 

He really couldn't stand that sweet but mischievous voice of Kazuha. It made his blood boil with anger, how dare this little samurai disrespect him like that?! However, at the same time, that playful tone caused something heavy, warm, and sticky to pour into his chest, his stomach filling with that feeling of wings fluttering. Disgusting! 

"Kuni~," Kazuha sang, and Scaramouche jolted with a strangled noise when the hand on his waist lightly traced that curve over his kimono. "Kuni, can't you talk anymore? Won't you tell me I need to know my place?" Scaramouche felt his lips trembling, a stupid smile threatening to appear as he felt fingernails lightly scratching at the back of his ribs. "Won't you call me shameless again? Could it be that you are enjoying yourself?" 

Not only was his face on fire, he also felt the heat of embarrassment going all the way down to his chest and his ears and even the back of his neck. He wanted to disappear! “Shuhu- agh, s-shut it, Kaehedahara!” He growled, trying to sound angry through a stream of adorable giggles.

He hated (but not really) how easily Kazuha handled him, having him just where he wanted to toy with his sensitive body as much as he pleased. Fingers stroking his ribs at a spot awfully close to his underarm and a hand squeezing and pinching his waist restlessly. Scaramouche felt weak, if he wasn’t already laid down, his knees would probably be at the verge of giving up - all thanks to that stupid samurai.

“Why?” Kazuha asked innocently, nuzzling against the balladeer’s cheeks and making an embarrassing squeal leave his lips when soft strands of his hair brushed against his ear. “I like when you smile like that, Kuni.”

“Y-you bastahahard, lehet go!” He protested, feeling how Kazuha only pulled him closer, even pressing him against his own body in retaliation to the constant pushing.

If there was anything that was making the fatui harbinger even more flustered was the fact that how effortlessly Kazuha made it look: the way he held him down, the way he rested comfortably by his side without a pinch of fear and even the way he could easily reduce Scaramouche to a puddle of sweet laughter. How utterly embarrassing, he thought.

But, (un)fortunately, he couldn’t pay much attention to this voice inside his head thanks to a new, electric sensation that ran across his body. Before Scaramouche could notice, Kazuha pushed the hem of the kimono away, having free access to scratch and tickle the delicate skin of his bare middle and sides, circling his navel in an awfully ticklish manner that made him want to crawl up the walls, not to mention how terribly effective the scratching on his sides were.

“I could spend all day playing like this, Kuni,” Kazuha breathed into his ear, making the balladeer jerk his head away in another fit of soft, but angry, laughter. “I could even let you play with me if you wanted,” he chuckled softly, amusing himself with Scaramouche’s reactions while his fingers drummed between his ribs. “So why must you leave me, hm?”

‘Red’ was an understatement to describe how Scaramouche’s face looked at that moment. “Stohohop it ahAHalready, yohohou l-lowly idihihiot!” He laughed through gritted teeth, not sounding as intimidating as he wanted. Kazuha smiled, as if those words passed through some sort of filter inside his head. 

Actually, did Kazuha actually have some kind of filter for Scaramouche's words? Could it be that he was hearing the opposite of what Scaramouche was telling him? He didn't doubt it was like that, otherwise, how was it possible that his skillful little fingers kept digging into his ribs and squeezing his waist?!

"AHAHA! Ka-Kahahazuha!" Scaramouche complained between laughs, no longer feeling strong enough to contain all those embarrassing noises that Kazuha was forcing him to make. "I dohoHOHOn't wahahant to stahahay w-wihihith you- stahahap tihihickling mehehe!"

"Oh? Tickling? That's what I'm doing?" Kazuha teased, grinning widely against Scaramouche's cheek. "Is Kuni really ticklish?"

Oh he was enjoying every second of it: turning Scaramouche into a flustered mess, tickling him like this, gently but so maddening at the same time; Scaramouche knew Kazuha was enjoying all of it. He just wanted to make Scaramouche become a stuttering, laughing mess!

And Scaramouche hated how well it was working.

"Is my Kuni really ticklish?" Kazuha repeated and Scaramouche couldn't help but squeak when he felt cool air being blown into his ear, making him giggle like a kid. "Right here in this ear of him? Or all the way down to his ribs?" Scaramouche laughed brightly when he felt fingers clawing at his ribs, forcing him to lean closer to Kazuha's body. "Maybe his hips too?"

"Kahahazuhahaha!!" Scaramouche cackled loudly, throwing his head back as the electric, ticklish sensations washed over his body in mind. It was overwhelming, overwhelmingly… nice. No, no! What was he thinking? Kazuha- no, Kaedahara was an idiot for daring to touch him like that! “G-get yohohour hahAHAhands ohohoff mehehe!”

“But your skin feels so nice, Kuni,” Kazuha cooed, looking down to his own hands as he continued to tickle Scaramouche without a break, chuckling amused when he saw the way his partner reacted to each and every touch. “And I just found out it’s so sensitive, can’t you let me play a little longer?”

“F-fuhuhucking bahahastard!” Scaramouche cursed, pressing his arms tightly against his torso when the samurai threatened to move his hand a little higher. For some reason, it never got better: Kazuha’s caresses and touches only tickled more and more, as if his body couldn’t ever get used to it - as if the samurai knew just what buttons he needed to push to make the balladeer laugh like a little boy. “Yohou ahAHAlreheady knehehw it!!”

“Did I? Archons,” Kazuha gasped, feigning surprise before nestling his face close to Scaramouche’s, of course, without letting the tickling up. “Maybe it’s been so long that I forgot, Kuni,” he cooed, “and since you want to leave me so bad… maybe I should make sure I will remember it next time, hm?”

The fatui harbinger let out an ungodly howl when the samurai scratched his stomach with his short, blunt nails. It was definitely different from before, as if Kazuha wanted to show him what actual tickling felt like or, maybe, as if he wanted to tickle something out of him. Scaramouche tried to suck his stomach in as he laughed and squirmed inside the other’s grasp, but his fruitless attempts didn’t reward him any break from the assault - only more restless tickles on his middle and ribs.

“Unless, Kuni,” Kazuha resumed talking, not even sure if Scaramouche could bother himself to pay attention to his words when he was laughing so hard, “you decided to stay a little longer.” 

“If you could spare this poor bastard some more of your precious time, it would be easier for me to remember such details about you, don’t you think?” The teasing, but stern voice tone Kazuha used felt more threatening than any of Scaramouche’s words.

Scaramouche knew he wouldn't be able to fight Kazuha's tickling anymore. His touches felt like electricity rushing through his whole body and the laughter wouldn't stop pouring from his lips. It all was driving him crazy and he absolutely hated it, he loathed that he was actually not hating this too much. 

What had he become? 

"So what do you say, Kuni?" Kazuha purred, so close to Scaramouche's lips. "Are you going to stay here with me?"

Scaramouche shook his head, "I wohohuld nehehever- OKAHAHAY! OHOHOKAY!" Scaramouche jerked heavily when he felt Kazuha's fingers clawing at his stomach, his other hand finally finding its way under one of his arms, making him howl in nearly hysterics. "FIHIHINE! I'll stahahay with yohohou, dahahahammit!" 

"Will you? How do I know you won't flee away as soon as I stop, Kuni?"

Scaramouche shook his head, shrieking with laughter and feeling tears rushing down his cheeks. Was Kazuha trying to kill him right now? Or did he just want to drive him crazy? 

"I wohoHOHOn't!" 

"You promise?"

"Dahahammit, KAHAHAZUHA! Fuhuhcking stahahap! I prohohomise!" 

As quickly as it had started, Kazuha finally stopped. His hands rested flat against Scaramouche's stomach and side, gently rubbing them to make the sensation fade away. 

Scaramouche was breathless. He gulped on sweet air, trying to calm himself down as residual giggles still made their way out, his body twitching slightly. He felt stupidly light and tired after having laughed like a maniac; he thought maybe he could actually flee away after all, but Kazuha was smiling fondly at him and his arms were tightening around Scaramouche's body, embracing him in warmth. Kazuha's lips were also pressing kisses to his cheeks and his nose and his forehead and lips. And he was being annoyingly clingy, but Scaramouche was being annoyingly stupid and didn't push Kazuha away because he couldn't and didn't want to. 

"You're so annoying," Scaramouche mumbled, closing his eyes when Kazuha pressed a kiss against his cheekbone. "Why are you all over me? Give me some space, I'm suffocating," he said, but didn't move an inch away from Kazuha. 

Kazuha chuckled, now kissing the corner of Scaramouche's lips. "Are you now? I thought you had stopped laughing." Scaramouche rolled his eyes and he fought back a yawn that turned into a squeak when Kazuha poked his tummy. "Is my Kuni sleepy?" 

"This is your fault, Kaedehara. Who was the annoyi-hihing- okahahay! Okay!" 

Kazuha giggled and he held Scaramouche impossibly close to him, making his head rest against his chest and intertwining their legs together. The warmth and comfort of another body against his was something Scaramouche learned to appreciate after meeting Kazuha. Sleeping peacefully and resting properly was foreign to him, but now he could do that almost nightly. 

All thanks to this stupidly clingy samurai. 

"Sleep, Kuni," Kazuha said above him, his chin resting against Scaramouche's head. "Let's sleep a bit more."

"... Don't tell me what to do, Kaedehara." 

Kazuha chuckled happily and kissed the top of Scaramouche's head before he fell into a peaceful slumber. Scaramouche heard Kazuha's breath slowing down and then heard him snoring softly, but his embrace never went weak. 

Who would have thought that he would find himself in the arms of a Kaedehara like this after all. Something felt tight in his chest, it made him feel bad, but good at the same time. The butterflies in his stomach had not stopped for a second and now that he was doing nothing, he could feel their wings fluttering more strongly. 

He sighed heavily and with his cheeks burning, angled his head to press a kiss on the hollow at the base of Kazuha's throat. His head was spinning, so it would be best to take a nap together with Kazuha, after all, when he woke up, he would still be in the samurai's arms and his lips would be on him all over again, even his fingers wanting to draw more of his laughter; so until then, he might as well take a rest with the only person he could really rest with.

"Sleep tight, Kazuha." 

[fiddles-ifs]

[ID: A banner-style graphic featuring a coyote's open mouth on a dark black background. Orange all-caps text near the bottom of the image reads: "happy birthday Greenwarden." /end ID]

Happy birthday to my firstborn problem!! I'm trying really hard to not think about how long it's actually been, but to celebrate Greenwarden being mysteriously old I'm posting a former Patreon snippet! I'm also announcing that 1) I quit me day job, and 2) I'm going to be compiling a bunch of Greenwarden shorts that would have gone up on Patreon if I had kept it up. More on that to come when I get all my ducks in a line.

GRAVEROBBING AND NECROMANCY FOR DUMMIES

Marianna & Tracker. 16+. Grimdark Fantasy AU. Scofiddle Pepper Rating: Bell Pepper.

Content Warnings: Blood, minor wounds, implied mind-control, mentions of death.

Mausoleums always have a certain smell — mold, mildew, cracking damp stone. The decay of rock and mortar, but never flesh. The sarcophagi are tightly sealed with both wards and wax, partially to keep the smell at bay. No air, nor Light, nor hands will ever creep inside them. The Silent Mercies do their grim work and do it well, keeping them locked up tight. Then they leave — that's the extent of their dues to the dead.

They can count themselves lucky. Corpses don't exactly make great company. Particularly when some of them are itching to come back.

You can't help but feel like there are eyes on you, your torch cutting through the dark, damp guts of the tomb. An intrusion. Indigestion. The violent, flickering orange light makes the shadows greasy. You'd use a magelight, but you're already dancing on the razor-thin line between bravery and stupidity; you don't want to risk waking something. Someone. 

They were people once, allegedly, but you know what pride morphs people into.

Particularly powerful necromancers resist even the cleansing fire of holy Light, their sentience existing in each molecule of ash, slowly piecing themself back together with sheer will and hate. It may take hundreds — maybe thousands — of years, but eventually they will come back. So, the Temple does what it can. The liches are bound, still conscious, and placed in a sarcophagus. The sarcophagus is sealed — with prayer, with wax, with chains and locks both physical and magical — and a mausoleum built around it. The Silent Mercies make their rounds indefinitely, strengthening the wards and installing ever more complex locks. Hundreds of years turn into thousands.

The hopeful end result is a stark raving mad lich warlock that will, if all goes well, blissfully prefer the judgment of the Light before they suffer one more second of silent, unmoving, stagnant solitude. Time and again the methods of the Temple are proven effective. Terrifying, and effective. Most choose to vacate their own bodies than live in the dark for an undetermined amount of time. Unable to move. Unable to see. Slowly withering away, mummifying, rotting in your own skin. Whatever you’re going to find will not be human anymore – if it was ever human in the first place.

You cross the dusty, time-ravaged stone floor to the sarcophagus at the far end of the room. It's a short walk. Mausoleums are traditionally small, most especially the ones outside of temples, reserved for the vilest of the old guard, the lichkings who dared to try and defy death. Beings that rejected humanity, even rejected immolation, and should not under any circumstances be within spitting distance of a residential area.

Zoning laws: the bane of all undead tyrants. 

There's only one — which is nerve-wracking. It sits placidly on a raised dais set with small, half-melted candles, as if it’s waiting for you. A frozen slime trail of old wax meanders down the dais, caught in time. The thrum of magic tickles your fingertips. Brushing, like a cat would, up against your palms and skittering up your arms. Both a beckoning and a warning. Temptation.

It's wrong. A singular coffin is like finding a singular roach. Not wholly uncommon, but it sets your teeth on edge. 

It means one of two things: either the Temple managed to burn the master’s undead servants, even the stubborn ones. Or, worse – they’re afraid of what it might do with nearby corpses, even sealed away.

Your arms itch. You set your torch in a conveniently placed wall sconce and start working to get your mind off things.

The Temple of Light may not like to admit it, but what they do is magic. The prayers wielded by their paladins and clerics are incantations; the talismans created by their monks are charms, woven out of somewhat less mathematically inclined sigils. Magic. They hang and burn people for it in the streets, but it keeps their mausoleums tightly locked and their church in power.

Like any spell, a prayer can be broken with a little bit of reverse engineering. And you are very good at breaking things.

Maybe it's the uniqueness of your situation, or maybe you were just created with something special, but seeing the patterns in the weave and weft of magic comes second nature to you. Almost like a physical thing. A golden projection of arcane artistry.

It's a complicated spell; the Woodsman lived hundreds of years ago, long enough that even its very name was forgotten. The ward is centuries of layers, each one getting more and more complex as the Silent Mercies learned what incantations and motions were most effective at keeping the dead at bay. Trails of cold, melted wax dripping down time. A beautiful puzzle, just for you. You're always half-giddy, knowing that you may very well be the only one who can truly see the work, the history behind it, and that you might be the only one smart enough not just to break it to pieces, but coax it open.

Enough. You need to be fast.

Your forehead tenses, brows knit as you start reversing half a millennia of spellcraft. Delicately, slowly, you work out the motions, but in reverse. A twist of your hand, fingers curled, your arm moving in hypnotic diamonds and stars and spirals. Shapes designed to trap and contain. The fingers on your other hand open and close in the same fractal rhythm half a canto ahead, parsing out the right steps in the dance before you walk the dancefloor.  You're a conductor, ripping carefully crafted sheet music to shreds. The torch flickers.

There's no sound but your own short, elated huff of laughter when your hand slides into place at the ward's terminus. Deep in your hindbrain, a lock falls open with a satisfying click!

“Don't move.” 

Oh. That's a sword — you feel the tip of it caressing the nape of your neck. Slowly, carefully, you raise your hands to the sides of your head. You’re unarmed, and thankful you have gloves on.

“Turn around.” 

It’s not like you have room to argue.

You’re face-to-face with the tip of a shiny, well-polished blade. The silver coating makes your back teeth itch. You feel it vibrating, still coming down, hypersensitive to atomic changes in the air. You’re also face-to-chest with an extraordinarily tall cleric in their classic white and gold armor. An immediate, violent chill settles into your spine.

She’s hard-faced, hair cut bluntly short; she gives you the impression that her only expression is scowl. You prepare yourself to fire and run. It’ll set your research back months – maybe even a year – but you’ll live.

“Explain yourself.” You’re taken aback by that – you do a quick three-point look around the room and with your head and then spread your hands out a little further.

“I mean,” you say, “I think we both know I’m not supposed to be here.”

She doesn’t like that. Her hands choke a little tighter around her sword grip, leather squealing and platemail clicking as she shifts even deeper into a fighting stance. The sword gets a little closer to your face. A sweat breaks out between your shoulder blades.

“You’re a mage.”

“And you’re a cleric.” Impasse. Stand off. Stare down. Neither of you are willing to make the first move – maybe she’s hoping for a peaceful resolution. That you’ll go gracefully to the stake.

Fat chance, but something changes when she opens her mouth to reply.

You don’t like the look that falls over the cleric’s face – wide eyed, eyebrows to the hairline, mouth half-open. The blood leaving her face. The slight tremble in her steady hands. Fear.

Slowly, you twist your neck to look behind you.

The Woodsman’s coffin is open – a deep, yawning blackness slides out of it, liquid trapped inside thin film. On the coattails of the light-drinking sludge, a skeletal hand slides, damn near leisurely, out of the sarcophagus. What follows is a horror of ancient science. Half human, half… something else.

The antlers crown its head, but the head is canine, deep pinpoints of light inside empty sockets. Mummified skin knits across bone, thin as paper and patchy in places. Its teeth are bare to the world and yellowed with centuries. You watch the slick, black flesh form an amorphous mass beneath the skull, the arms nothing but bone haphazardly slapped onto an overgorged slug.

You were hoping it wasn’t in there – everything you’ve learned told you it had probably vacated its body years ago. There had been no activity for so long – no plague of nightmares, no major possessions, no strange activity in the flora and fauna  – and yet. The Woodsman slithers out of its unlocked tomb on a tide of melted void-flesh, rises on it until it has to bend, its shoulders scraping the ceiling of the mausoleum. It opens its mouth wide – skin and gristle clinging to its jaw in loose strings – and shrieks.

It’s shrill and piercing. You’re concussed, briefly, slapping your hands over your ears. You feel it – in your head. Scraping the inside of your skull, dark wordless whispers in your hindbrain. It knows you. It sees you. It’s in your head.

The cleric pushes you behind her, nearly to the door in the tiny mausoleum. You’re confused – still concussed. You don’t run.

“Go!” She shouts, swinging and hacking at the growing sea of rotting flesh. She swings too wide – the silver-steel scrapes against the walls of the mausoleum and sparks. The Woodsman just keeps growing. One by one, the candles and torch are swallowed whole. A deep, endless black. A tidal wave of nothing. 

You’re not about to argue. You turn tail and run out the door.

Two steps past the tomb, you stumble to a stop. A quick, hard-breathing glance behind you lets you know that the cleric already isn’t doing well. She’s fighting like an animal, punching what she can’t cut. Every slice is swallowed up by more reeling, lightless flesh. You still feel the Woodsman’s scritching little claws, furrows in your soft, pliant brain. Every iota of you recoils away from it. But that cleric – she let you go. 

You look down at your hands. The dark leather gloves, fingertips worn, the edges frayed.

Shaking, you slip them off your hands and leave them in the grass.

You grab the back of the cleric’s breastplate and yank her back into fresh air, swapping places in one smooth transition. You don’t know what she sees. If she notices the dark, blue-black corrupted skin of your hands or the bright runes squirming over your arms while you reach deep in yourself for something destructive. The bands around your wrists and throat mark you as a Thing – something broken loose. The Woodsman tugs at your tattered ghost leash with an interested spiritual hand, head cocked. Your programming demands you kneel for consumption, and your knees twitch before you get yourself back under control. You almost see a wink of recognition.

Little homunculus, the Woodsman whispers, curling around the base of your skull like a cat, so far from home.

“Shut up,” you say, and light up the room.

The Temple of Light has claimed the lichkings reject holy fire and immolation – they just haven’t tried something hot enough. Your fire is pure destruction, white with heat, blinding against the greasy black corruption sludge coating the walls. The Woodsman shrieks – pain, rage, confusion. Spikes of pain explode behind your eyes, and you burn them away too.

You wade through the muck, scorching it all to ash, beating the Woodsman back until it tries to seek refuge again in its sarcophagus, huddling in the pit. A child taking refuge in a cellar.  Curled at the back of a cell. Useless, useless.

You reach out with a flame-licked hand and clamp down hard on its muzzle.

“Shut up,” you hiss, and watch fire make cracks in its skull. It rakes your arms with bony claws, opening bloody gashes in your flesh. The blood sizzles and evaporates almost instantly. 

The Woodsman’s head explodes with a loud crack, bone shards ripping through the skin of your cheek. The rest of it goes limp in a heap. What’s left, you turn to coal dust, just in case. When you’re done, all that’s left of the Woodsman is a greasy soot stain coating the floor, walls, and ceiling. It’s a little gruesome. Reminds you uncomfortably of blood.

You coax the flames back in, lower and lower, wobbling with exhaustion, until a comfortable, warm dark swallows you. There’s light in it – ambient, soft reflections of the moon outside. The sarcophagus is a welcome resting spot, using its high lip to stay half-standing. Even then, you see little spots in your vision, the edges going blurry. A few drops of blood slide out of your nose and splatter on the ground. Your ears are ringing.

“You’ve got red on you.” You jump.

The cleric is standing there, wiping blood and slime off her face. One of her eyes is nearly glued shut, an open wound on her brow pouring red down her cheek and under her collar. You give her a once-over before you weakly tilt your chin up.

“So do you,” you say. She nods – holds out her hand.

“Marianna.”

Cautiously, you cross the floor on shaky legs to take it, and give her your name. The one you picked for yourself – it feels nice. To introduce yourself, for once. She almost crushes your hand. You’re comparatively weak.

“You saved my life, mage,” Marianna says. You grin with a mouthful of bloody teeth, an acknowledgement.

Then, your body finally gives up. You’re blissfully unconscious before you hit the ground.

[inherentsun]

also on ao3 and wattpad as inherentsun ♡

Osamu Dazai was never the type to love someone. So it's no surprise that once it occurred, it was nothing short of an ugly rusted cage, looking for it's bird.

What better victim for his rough, blunt fingers, than a reserved bookworm with a part-time job that they just happened to take up at the wrong time?

- dazai never left the pm after oda's death

"This is it I 'spose.."

You held your phone, looking up at the small building of the address between you and your employer's texts. The cold air made the anxious breaths you let out visible, your fingertips red.

You never really were one for alcohol, the smell and effects of it only irked you. However, to your dismay, the only short-notice part-time job you could get was a bartender. Hell, it was so short-noticed that you hadn't even gotten interviewed. You had just turned eighteen, and the cash you got from your mother overseas wasn't enough to fund you completely.

So there you were, standing in front of a bar in the run-down part of Yokohama with little to no experience, a freshly employed bartender. Yokohama wasn't particularly safe, and you weren't the strongest either, being a non-combative ability user. But it's not like beggars can't be choosers, can they? 

You perched yourself onto a stool chair, texting your boss that you were there, ready to be introduced to your station. Instead, even 30 minutes later you got no text back. Suddenly, a man who looked to be in his twenties towered over you, looking you up and down, as if he were sizing you up. Not in an interested way, more judgmental than that. He handed you a rag, keys, and a bartender's uniform. Confused, you tilted your head, "I'm sorry, are you my boss..?"

He only deadpanned you up until that point, when he finally spoke to you, a tone of annoyance lacing his voice. "No, I'm your co-worker, and I'm clocking out. This is the stuff the boss said you needed." He put his hand out, trying to give you some courtesy by introducing himself, but his degrading stare told you he'd rather be at home than even speaking to you.

"S-sorry, what about training, or showing me around the building? How do I know what to do exactly?" God, the look on this guy's face as you ask more questions that sounded reasonable in your head just makes you wish you could crumple up into a ball on the spot. "What am I, your nanny? Figure it out by yourself, I'm sure you're not completely incompetent." He spat. And with that, he turned away and left through the door. 

You furrowed your eyebrows and scowled. Whatever, you'd just 'figure it out' as he said. Once you changed into your uniform, a long-sleeved blouse, paired with a sleek black tie and typical working slacks, which was surprisingly comfortable- you restocked the bar and reopened. 9 PM, great. You assumed your messy co-worker who left you to restock worked 12 PM - 7 PM, which left you with 8 PM - 4 AM. It didn't take long for customers to come in, tired from work, outing with friends, or just people who simply wanted to drink. The job wasn't as hard as your head made it out to be, and you managed. Luckily, a lot of the customers could tell you were new and bared with your less than experienced work.

Hours passed, it was now 2 AM and most of the drunkards had gone home. While the smell of alcohol and the energy of the people who drank it disgusted you, it was tolerable. Now the only people that remained in the bar were groups of friends, or singles sipping on their drink as they thought to themselves. 

But after all these hours, no matter how much time passed, no matter how occupied you were-

You could feel one pair of eyes glued onto you, a pair that never faltered their vision off of you.

Aside from the bandages and cold look plastered onto his face, he didn't look creepy. Even so, something about him was off-putting. You decided to keep shoving the thought off, even if the only way he would ask for a refill was by tapping the side of his glass as if you were a housemaid. 

You kept looking at him, taking note of his appearance. He had medium-length hair for a guy, thick and dark too. His eyes were a deep auburn and they burned into yours, as he made eye contact once he noticed you looking him up and down. Breaking eye contact, you came to notice he was quite tall, standing at a good 5'11 off of what you could tell. He often played with the ice in his drink, still not tearing his eyes off you as he did it. If only you knew what he was thinking about you, maybe you wouldn't be so careless with how much you looked at him. 

You decided to stop paying him any mind, as it would only keep you nervous for the rest of your shift.

The rest of the night was mellow, and the people who were there didn’t give you too much trouble. In your spare time, you’d write to yourself about your job in a pocket journal you kept. 

It was finally 4 AM, your shift had felt like it would never last, and you could hardly believe you'd be doing this for 5 days a week. Everyone had left by then, including the lump of bandages that wouldn't stop looking your way. You walked out of the establishment after restocking and locked the door. You sighed and spoke to yourself, "Finally... I can rest." As you were opening your car door, you heard something, and your head snapped behind you immediately.

..Yet you saw nothing.

"Must be the paranoia of working in the sketchy part of Yokohama.. I’ll get used to it." You rationalized to yourself, unlocking your door. However you did fail to hear one thing, and that was the sound of the air tag on your car turning on.

It had been about two weeks since you had started your part-time job, and things had gotten better for you. Your cold coworker was slightly nicer to you, the job had gotten easier overall, and that unsettling man from your first day didn't show up too often- though you dreaded when he did. Other than that, your work had gotten nicer, and being employed gave you a sense of purpose. 

Today was your day off, so you decided to treat yourself. It had been a while since you had done so anyway, and you felt good about yourself for once! First, you decided to head to the bakery, to pick up a croissant for yourself. You were well acquainted with the woman who owned the shop, and you had a nice chat with her before you went on your way.

Once you had gotten your treat, you headed to the library where you sat and wrote for a while. Journaling was your personal therapy, a way to keep tabs on your emotions. Being honest with yourself about your emotions is what kept you running, because even with the uncertain path your life was on, at least you knew yourself.

It was around 7 PM when you had finally up and left, the only people in the bookstore with you being older people reading, or those working on the computers. Tired and fatigued, you closed your journal and left for home. As you finally returned home, an ache-y but familiar feeling sunk in, and your chest felt heavy.

Something felt off the entire day- no, the entire month. 

You had been trying to ignore it but you felt as if you were being watched, your clothes were disappearing when you knew you hadn't misplaced them, and you swore you could hear noises outside your room at night. Yet when you went to check, there wasn't a trace of anyone being there.

Truth be told, if you wanted to be completely transparent with yourself, you hadn't been treating yourself for this very reason. Whenever you went out, a looming feeling of weariness came over you, much stronger than the normal amount of anxiety a person gets. 

You decided to get some sleep, to ease your nerves. Just to ignore the lump in your throat that formed whenever you felt like this.

The next day was miserable, you had an anxious feeling surrounding you at all times, and it didn't help that you worked at night. Before your shift you spent your time nervously pacing around the house, you couldn’t even read or write with how sweaty your palms were and the constant chatter of thoughts running through your mind.

Once you clocked in, it didn’t get any better either. The alcohol's smell going into your nose as you poured it or as a customer asked you for a nth glass filled your nose, and you felt even more queasy than you did before. It didn’t help that tonight’s groups were especially rowdy, and it seemed as if they took a sort of sadistic pleasure in pestering you. You were able to push through though, and when you were home you felt a bit of relief.

That relief was short-lived though when you checked your phone to see an unknown number text you. Your breath was short, your palm covered your mouth, your vision getting blurry. "Oh my god..." Your hunch was spot on, your stalker had sent you a photo of you cooking. 

That wasn't all though.

There were photos of you eating, changing, showering, sleeping, writing, working. You felt sick, they knew where you worked, how to get into your house, what you did throughout the day... 

That was your last straw, you threw on some pants and bolted to the police station, hot tears running down your face. When you arrived, you could barely form a coherent sentence. "P-pl-pleah.. h..help m-me I- they kn- live... I can't-" you were cut off by the officer that was unfortunate enough to catch you in your panicked state, as you tried your best to explain the situation.

"Hey, hey, let's calm down okay? I'm here to help, so you can just give me the information you have, and I promised we'd help you." He put his hand on your waist and pulled you closer, trying his best to reassure you. “Just walk me through it step by step. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded, still distraught. But you felt better, knowing he was there reassuring you. “I- my clothes have been disappearing, and recently I felt like I was being watched.” You continued, the thought of those pictures gave you a nauseous feeling.

“Just twenty minutes ago I was sent these..” You turned your phone toward him, and a terrified look washed over his face. You could tell he was scared, too.

It felt as if he was choosing to be careful how he worded things, taking a pause before he spoke. “I’ll be on this immediately. Do you have a safe place to stay for now?” You looked down and scratched your chin. “Only my home..”

He only frowned, but then it looked like he thought of something. He took out a notepad and a pen and handed it to you before scribbling something down. “Here, this is my number. I’m genuinely concerned, but as we have no evidence right now the best I can do is offer you emotional help.” He grasped your hands to his. “If you ever need help, please text me.”

His soft expression gave you a warm feeling, it was nice to have someone there for you.

”O-okay. I can do that..” You said, holding his hand tighter, returning the gesture. He only softly smiled at you, before writing down what you had told him before, and taking physical copies of the photos that were sent to you as evidence. 

He walked you to the exit of the station and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Before you leave, do you need anything?” You shook your head, “I’m okay. Thank you for helping me, please tell me anything you find out.” 

He sent you off, and you felt slightly better. You drifted off to sleep, and for the first time in a while, it was easy.

The next day you woke up, hair disheveled, eyes droopy, and your shirt slanting off your shoulder. This was the first night you were able to actually sleep decently since you got your own place. But you had one person on your mind when you woke up, which was the sweet policeman you had spoken to. Since last night, you had already set your mind on asking the guy to share an afternoon with you, a coffee date if you will. After all, you didn't even know the guy's name, and he did make you feel sane, even if for only a bit.

You grabbed your phone and sent him a lengthy text that you kept retyping in your head, like an anxious high school girl texting her crush. It read, 

'hi, it's me, the girl from last night. i was wondering if you wanted to get a coffee or something. just to get to know you, i appreciate how you handled the situation, even with my panicked state and my slurred speech. i have work at eight today, so if you wanna meet up before then i'd love to :)'

You clicked send, and almost immediately you got a text back.

'sounds great, i'll see you at (location) at 4 PM then? and btw, what's your name? i'm tanizaki junichiro.'

You smiled giddily at the response time and texted back accordingly.

'good to hear, and my name is (y/n). ill see you at 4!!'

He hearted your message, and you smiled at the gesture. You promptly got up from your bed to brush your teeth, do your hair, and pick out your outfit for the occasion of course. However, you weren't as careless as you usually were when it came to picking out what you'd be wearing for the day. You mostly just went with what was comfortable, but today you wore a knee-length dress and paired it with some mary-janes and a loose sweater.

You headed to the coffee shop after about 2 hours of playing around with your appearance and arrived right on time. Your eyes scanned the shop for Tanizaki to see him waving at you, a smile spread across his face. "Hey, I ordered you a coffee!" You sat down in the chair in front of him and took ahold of the latte he had ordered you. "Thanks, I really appreciate that! Here, take this." You fished 6 bucks out of your pocket, but he was quick to decline, pushing your hand away. "No, I insist! It's on me." You shrugged and pocketed your money. "If you say so, but the next one's on me." He only rolled his eyes at you, not taking you seriously.

Talking to Tanizaki felt natural to you, not in a romantic way, it just felt nice to have someone there to listen to you. You hadn't had a friend in a while, and although you weren't even looking for one actively, it felt nice to have a relationship of any sort. Hours turned to minutes, and minutes to seconds over your ‘date’ with Tanizaki.

”I’m really glad I met you, Tanizaki.” Your remark made a red hue spread across his face and he twiddled with his fingers a bit. “I am too…” He broke eye contact with you but quickly realized how distraught he looked due to your compliment. “T-that I met you that is!” He said, quick to correct his flustered look. 

You only chuckled in response, and you two continued talking to each other over the next few hours.

“I had a great time with you today Tanizaki, but it’s seven so I’ll have to walk to work now.” His eyes lit up, and he grasped your hands to his. “I can drive you! You shouldn’t have to walk.” His abrupt and overly-forward movement made you move your head back a bit, and raise your eyebrows. He noticed this, and let go of your hands. 

“Ah.. sorry, but my offer still stands.” He gave you a small smile and you thought for a bit. You didn’t see why not, it’d be much better than the 30-minute walk you’d have to take. “Okay, sure!” You nodded at him, and he gave you a thumbs up. “Alright, let’s go.”

On the way to work, you chatted as he drove. Albeit.. your naïveté took the best of you as you failed to pick up the intentions behind his questions. 

“So, (y/n).. are you dating anyone right now?” You shook your head, and put your hand to your chin. “No.. and I don’t think I have since middle school actually.” The realization hits you like a truck. Wow, you really hadn’t dated anyone for a while.

”Ah is that so..” He paused before continuing.

”Interested in anyone?” You perked up at the question. No, you weren’t really. You hadn’t been talking to anyone even as friends as of late. 

“I don’t think so, I haven’t had the opportunity to talk to anyone.” You shrugged.

The rest of the drive was quiet, not because it felt awkward, but because it looked as if Tanizaki had something on his mind that he wasn’t telling you. Not wanting to interrupt his train of thought, you stayed silent. 

You two had finally pulled up to your workplace, and you unbuckled your seatbelt before making eye contact and beaming at him. “Thank you a lot for the ride, Tanizaki!” You were about to turn away till he grabbed your hand.

”(y/n)…” He looked at your lips, and suddenly cold sweat had washed over your body. You stumbled over your words and tilted your head. “Tanizaki…?” 

He abruptly pulled your face to his, slamming his lips into yours. “Mhfmm!” You turned your head to the side, as he kept trying to pry hungry for more, his fingers digging into your cheeks so hard you'd swear it'd leave a bruise. You stumbled out of the car quickly after flinging the door open, a distraught look painting your face. “(y/n).. I- I thought you- I’m so-“ 

You were quick to cut him off in your ruffled state of mind.

”I- Tanizaki I think you got the wrong idea, I’m sorry.” And before he could answer, you had already bolted inside of the building.

The only thing that was on your mind that shift was your little ‘encounter’ with Tanizaki. Just what was he thinking? Why would he do that? Did you give him the wrong idea? Was that your fault? I mean, you had barely known him for a day. 

Maybe you were too harsh, you thought. “I’ll send him a text after work, maybe I can try to reconcile over brunch..” You murmured to yourself. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

Something strange that you noticed was that the eerie bunch of bandages that had shown up four days in a row wasn’t here today, which was good for your nerves, although his existence alone gave you an unsettling feeling whenever you knew you had work that day. 

It finally hit 4 AM, and you changed out of your work uniform and clocked out. “I’ll send him a text, hopefully he responds in a timely matter..” 

‘hey tanizaki, i know i left things off on a bad foot. i’m sorry, i was just taken off  guard from your advance. i wouldn't want this to ruin our friendship so if u wanna talk it over a meal i’d really appreciate that. again, so so sorry.’ 

Hopefully, that’d suffice as a good enough apology for him to at least talk it out with you. After all, he was the one you reported your stalker to. Wouldn’t help to have tension between you two, if you wanted your problem worked on cleanly.

It had been a two days since you had seen Tanizaki, two days you had texted. He hadn’t replied, or even read your message, which surprised you, as you thought you’d at least get your message read if not a rejection to fix things.

This was practically all you could think about from the moment you woke up, to the moment you clocked out of your shift. What snapped you away from your disarrayed thoughts was abruptly interrupted when you felt a tight squeeze on your shoulder. Oh god, was it your stalker? Were you getting kidnapped? All you could do was plead for your life, anyway. You could feel them towering over you, breathing down on your neck and their grip was nothing short of rough, at least rough enough to contuse your skin. 

"Someone didn't feel their best today." An irreverent tone laced this person's voice, yet they didn't sound threatening at all. If anything, it was more friendly. Their hand removed itself from your shoulder, and you turned around, your eyes being met with the bandaged man who gazed at you, yet again at work. Your eyes widened, and you stepped back a bit. Wow, now that he was in front of you it was much more apparent how much taller he was, his figure looming over you and the very discernible difference in strength between you two becoming more and more visible as you really realized how much strength had been removed once his hand was removed off of your shoulder.

"Ah- no, I'm just fine. What are you doing here, mister...?"

"Dazai, Dazai Osamu." He stated softly, placing his hand on his hip. "Nice to officially meet you mister Dazai, what did you need that was so important to wait till.." You quickly glanced down at your watch. "4:13 AM..?"

He smiled at you, bending down slightly and squinting his eyes a bit. "Thought I'd make myself acquainted with my favorite bartender." A mischievous, yet playful look spread across his face.

'Your only bartender.' you thought. He didn't seem as threatening as he was originally, his ghostly demeanor sent chills throughout your body whenever he shot you a look during your shift. "Well, nice to meet you mister Dazai. I'm (y/n)." You put your hand out accordingly for him to shake. He shook your hand, the coldness of his fingers spreading throughout your hand, his smile becoming a bit softer each time he spoke. "Nice to meet you, (y/n). You can drop the formalities by the way." 

"Ah, yeah. Sorry, nice to meet you too Dazai. I should be heading home now though." As you were turning away, he grabbed your hand, the cold sensation of his palm shocking you for a split second. "You don't work friday, do you? How about you drink a bit with me, we can get closer." You couldn't help but still be weirded out. Sure, his face didn't hold any malice, but you still had a bad feeling about the guy. "I dunno.. besides, I've never drank before. Only sips here and there of my mom's beer when I was a kid." You scratched your chin and broke eye contact with him by glancing to the side.

His eyes lit up, and he grasped both hands and leaned into your face. "That's great, I can help introduce you to some. C'mon, I'm sure you barely have time to speak to anyone, since you work at night and sleep through most of your morning." His tone dripped with persuasion, as he coaxed you with his oh-so desperate-looking expression and you had to admit, the attention from a handsome guy was nice.

You rationalized in your head, thinking about the possibility of either you or him getting hurt. You were awfully lonely, though. No friends at eighteen, only working then reading once you had downtime. One drink couldn't hurt, right? "Maybe, I guess. Give me your phone, I'll put my number in. I'll think about the whole drink thing though." You sighed, putting your open palm out toward him. He smirked and let out a little chuckle as he placed his phone in your hand. You entered your contact and texted yourself. "Cool, I'll text you then." You nodded, and the two of you parted ways. Though you couldn't but help think to yourself..

How’d he know you didn’t work Friday?

Another day without Tanizaki texting you, or even reading yours. He really was avoiding you, wasn’t he? No matter how many times you checked your phone there was no notification popping up, and it only made you even more stressed. Why was he so set on not fixing this? “UGH..” You groaned as you unlocked your car, and plopped yourself on the seat. 

Once you arrived at your apartment you smelt something odd, gross smelling even. It brought a nasty scent to your nose, and your nose scrunched as a result. “Jeez, what are my neighbors cooking?” You checked your watch. Why would someone be cooking at 4:30 AM?

ping!

You fished your phone out of your pocket and checked the notification, your eyes were a bit blurry out of exhaustion and not having adjusted to your phone's bright light — in comparison to your dark apartment that is.

unknown number.

You swallowed, a lump in your throat forming almost immediately as you saw the text. 

unknown number 4:32 AM - ‘check the side of your apartment ♡’

Oh god, they were there outside your apartment waiting for you, weren’t they? You pulled out a pocket knife you had always kept with you, and sheepishly inched yourself out the door. You bit the bullet and darted down to the alley, and god you wish that they were there, instead of the horrors that met your eyes as you rushed down in a cold sweat, heaving and panting at the sight in front of you.

Tanizaki’s body was pinned to the alleyway’s wall, his entrails surrounding him in the shape of a heart. And it wasn’t just him either, it was six officers you had never even seen either. 

Your ears rang, and the tears escaped your eyes, streaming down your cheeks. You wheezed and coughed, feeling vomit in your throat, a bile-inducing sensation harboring your stomach. Vision blurry, eyes heavy.

“I- hafta.. call.. Police- I-“ You grabbed your phone out of your pocket, nearly dropping it with your much your hands shook, juggling it in the air for a moment.

ping! 

unknown number 4:37 AM - ‘i wouldn’t report that if i were you, might get accused of a crime you didn’t even do.’

Sick fuck. They were watching you? Threatening you by implying you'd be framed for this? Your head moved every which way, trying to look for your stalker frantically. Your expression was worth more than a costly painting to them, you knew that much. Were they doing this to get back at you? Had you wronged someone? Why you? It's not like you'd ever been a sociable person, let alone one to meddle in other people's lives or affairs.

unknown number 4:38 AM - ‘you’re cute when you look for me like that you know, just go back inside and that’ll be gone by morning.’

Was this freak getting off on this? Your stomach felt like it was twisting in on itself. What happened? You were just talking to him a few days ago, and yet there he was, hanging in front of you surrounded by his organs, the smell of his innards invading your nose and making your head dizzy with disgust. Whoever did this could rot in hell for all you cared, you wanted nothing more than to replace the gory sight of Tanizaki in front of you with the perpetrator. The nauseating smell contaminated every inch of your nose, the rotting of Tanizaki’s body making you feel sick to your stomach. He must’ve been dead for a couple of days at this point, explains the smell and the unread text you’ve had on your mind.

But all you could do was put your phone in your pocket and hurriedly run back inside, still panting like a dog as you did so. What more could you do? This person clearly had the skills to kill you at any given time, and you still weren’t sure of their motive for stalking you either. All you could do was oblige the best you could.

You didn’t receive any more texts that night, but after recalling the horrid things you saw in the alley, trying to sleep was futile. You couldn’t help but think it was your fault he was murdered, him and the other six officers.

The day after the incident was dreadful. Your stalker had told the truth, Tanizaki’s body had disappeared by morning. You were exhausted, running on no sleep whatsoever, a scratchy feeling lingering in your eyes the entire day. The thought of arriving back at your apartment after work used to be a comforting warmness, one that took the alcohol's acrid stench out of your nose, but it had been replaced with a gut-wrenching feeling and a vile tang coating your mouth. 

Despite the unsettling thought that you'd have to return home once your shift ended in a few minutes, you started closing the bar, wiping down the tables, and eventually changing out of your work uniform. Walking out the backdoor oblivious to what was to come next, you checked the time on your phone. 4 AM. Oh well, you couldn't avoid your own house. Finally closing the bar, the idea of going home overwhelmed you even more as the time to leave the establishment was just a few minutes away. Was your stalker going to be there? Another body accompanying them, and more things of yours stolen? Would they force themselves on you? All of these concepts just made you all the more nervous to return home, and you were unsure you'd even be able to sleep tonight, still thinking of the horrors that had met your eyes the night before.

You came home to a white note on your bed, thankful it wasn’t another body, but also drowned in an upset thought that your stalker was able to get in your house, not that it was surprising, seeing their capabilities with law enforcement. Why would your average apartment lock be a match for them? The note read, “i apologize for my little theatric last night, i just needed to express how i felt ♡ i hope you have a good idea now. it took a bit to set up which is what the rotting was about,, i have work too. nonetheless... i hope you enjoyed your shift. count on me visiting you sometime soon, except this time i’ll make it known that i’m there. hope you're as excited as i am.” 

Make it known? Does this mean they’ve been near you in your house without you knowing? Everything you learned about this person has only made you more and more sick. Were they also really saying they hoped you enjoyed your shift? How could you after what you'd had seen, it was practically printed onto your eyelids, flashing in front of you whenever you blinked. You only furrowed your eyebrows and angrily threw a pillow at your window. "Fuck you! If you're watching me!" 

You looked at yourself for a second in the mirror and sighed to yourself. "What am I doing..." You facepalmed and laid back on your bed, hoping to get some rest.

Despite the rough night you had, you were able to slip 2 hours of sleep in before you were woken up by a night terror, in which you relived the events of the night you found Tanizaki in vivid detail. Well, you could barely call it a night terror, as it was at 11 AM, 2 hours after you were able to finally get some rest at 9 AM. Truth be told, the last thing you wanted to do was go out drinking. Not only did you hate alcohol, but you still had the nagging voice in the back of your head constantly reminding you of what you had seen by your apartment the other night. You had been too scared to even go to the station to check up on your report with the stalker, not like it would matter anyway. Your little secret admirer had already displayed their capabilities. Killing seven trained armed officers wasn't easy, and you were sure they wouldn't hesitate to do more harm, maybe even to you. You were in desperate need of company, loneliness stacked on top of your work and your stalker going MIA at random and popping up whenever they wanted only added to your stress. So you'd take any time to unwind with anyone you could find, maybe that is why you found yourself so quickly in a friendship with Tanizaki and Dazai.

Time had passed to when you should get ready to drive to the spot Dazai told you to go to in texts earlier that day, your conversation reading as such.

(xxx)-xxx-xxxx 2:52 PM - ‘hello!!! this is dazai!! r u still up 4 drinks? (∩╹□╹∩)'

you changed his contact to dazai.

me 2:54 PM - ‘i guess so, no promise ill be doing any drinking tho.'

dazai 2:56 PM - ‘meet me @ (address) by 5:30 pm, kay?'

me 2:57 PM - ‘okay, see u then 👍'

For a moment, you almost declined. However, seeing as you lost the person who was working on your case and offering you some sliver of emotional support, you thought 'fuck it.' 

Your first impression of him didn't fit how he spoke to you at all, he was cheerful and charismatic, in contrast to his uninterested and cold air that had clouded you originally. It rolled around to 5:00 PM, which was your queue to get ready for your hangout with Dazai later. You wore a skirt that stopped at your lower thighs, paired with pantyhose and a sweater, simple but not bummy or anything. You wore your hair down, put on a simple makeup look, and looked at your watch. 5:15 PM, perfect timing. You walked over to the meeting spot, which was just a local park about 10 minutes away, and plopped yourself on the bench, scrolling through your phone as you waited for Dazai to arrive. As you waited, you were left alone with your thoughts. Was this a mistake? What if your stalker hurt this guy too? What if your stalker ended up hurting you out of anger? Thoughts of Tanizaki's body invaded your head, his pale skin and the image of his eyes white, rolled back into his skull making you dizzy.

Thankfully, you were able to postpone these thoughts for later when Dazai arrived. Yet this time, instead of a sharp pain on your shoulder, he greeted you with a ruffle of your hair. "Hey, you ready? You look a bit distraught."

"H-huh? Oh, yeah sorry." You said while standing up. "If you say so! The bars close, just a 5-minute walk." He said, grabbing your hand and tugging you along, you nearly tripped over your own feet at the sudden movement. You looked down, letting him string you along when you noticed he wasn't wearing his usual suit and instead a black turtleneck with black pants. However, his bandages never seemed to part from him, making you question if it was really just an accessory. You found it a bit hard to talk around Dazai, likely because you had just officially met the dude less than a day ago. You didn't have this issue with Tanizaki though, something about Dazai just intimidated you, and kept you on your toes. 

"So.. Dazai.. Is your usual outfit that I see you in.. the suit and tie I mean- is that for work..?" You said, finally breaking the silence, trailing behind him and drilling your eyes into the back of his head. "Yeah, I usually just wear what I'm wearing now out of work." 

You piped up, genuinely curious. "So what do you do for work?" You noticed he ever so slightly paused in his tracks for a moment, before continuing to walk again. "Secret!" He looked back at you as he said this, making a 'shh' signal on his lips and winking at you. A bit weird but who were you to judge? You doubt it was anything special anyway. You let out a little 'pfft' and simply stayed quiet for the rest of the walk.

When you two arrived, the bar was nearly empty, with only a few groups and singles sitting at tables. The bar was quiet, which was surprising for well, a bar. The quiet, unintelligible chatters of what tables were filled were the only sound you heard, besides the clinking of glasses whenever the bartender cleaned dishes. You hadn't ever been here, which wasn't much of a shocker, you hadn't ever drunk before.

"So you've never drunk, huh? How about a classic like... whiskey!" He said, landing his hand on your shoulder and bringing you to a stool, pushing you on it a bit before you plopped yourself onto the bolstered seat. "Ah- Dazai I don't.." He was quick to cut you off. "Don't worry your pretty little head, (y/n). I've got you covered." He beamed. "Bartender, get us about 7 shots of whiskey, 52% please. 3 for her, 4 for me." You weren't even able to contest against the notion, so you just sighed and let it happen. You couldn't help but think to yourself, were you moving too fast into this friendship? Sure you were desperate, but you would hate to let this person get hurt too. Maybe this was a bad idea, you should leave now-

"Hey, drinks are here. Don't get too zoned out on me!" Snaps of Dazai's fingers in front of your face brought you back to reality, and he swished a whiskey shot around in your face, the ice cube clanking against the shot glass. "Here, try it." He said, handing it to you. 

Whatever, you'd deal with your problems later. You deserved a break after all you'd been through. You snatched the glass out of his hands and wasted no time in downing it in one go, quickly grabbing another shot from his hand and downing that one, too. "Woah, calm down I wont steal your drink!" He glanced at the bartender and held up 5 fingers, signaling for 5 more shots. He turned back to you, resting his head on his chin and smiling at you. "Getting a bit tipsy already? You're hiccupping so much off just two shots." You only moved your hand up and down, dismissing the possibility. "Nah... I'm good.." He chuckled and took the glasses the bartender had prepared for you two, taking one to his lips. "Relax, it's all on me. I'll make sure you get home safe too." You were comforted by that, even if you had only known him for so little the gesture meant a good deal to you. 

An hour into the night you were slumped on your stool hands on the table and 6 shots in, which for a lightweight and a first-time drinker, was A LOT. Dazai took the opportunity to ask you a couple of questions, while you were in a drunken state you were sure to be honest. You were also vulnerable, he wanted you to open up to him to get you right where he needed you to be, and he didn't care about the things he had to do for that; even if it were to break your boundaries. "Got an ability?" He said, making the mood jump from 0 to 100.

"Well, I-" He cut you off, a fake tone of regret in his voice.

"Ah, wait. My bad, you don't have to answer that if you don't want to." This was just his way of making you feel like you could be safe around him, a shoulder to lean on if you will. "No, it's cool.." You slurred your words a bit when you spoke, moving your head on your arms that were resting on the table. "I can heal those I touch, doesn't apply to me though. Kinda sucks since I don't have a way to defend myself." You paused and looked up at him. "You?" He chuckled and moved his hair to the side, scratching his chin. "No.. unfortunately not, lame I know." It went quiet for just a few seconds before he piped up again. "Here, try this shot." He said, handing you a glass you didn't even recall him ordering. "Uhm.. what is it?" He tapped the glass and swished it around. "Just some whiskey mixed with gin." He said, lying through his teeth. Not like you could tell though. "Mmmm.. alright." You said, letting the shot travel down your throat. Didn't taste like whiskey, but you brushed it off.

It had turned to 1 AM, hours passed quickly due to the two of you talking nonsense over drinks; if you could even call your barely comprehensible drabble 'speaking.' "Dazai.. it was really nice speakin' t'ya but I've gotta go home now.." You stumbled off the stool, nearly tripping till he caught you. "Not in this state you're not, I'll take you home." You pushed his chest away weakly, the alcohol in your system making it hard for you to even lift a finger. "No... I don't wanna go home-" You hiccupped and wiped a small tear away. "They're gonna be there.. and hurt me and you.." He smiled at your honest demeanor and inability to keep your composure. You were too easy, he had you right where he needed you. Dependent, anxious, completely honest with him.

"Hey, what's up? You can speak to me about it you know." He said, brushing your hair out of your face and cupping your cheek, his rough bandages giving you a blunt itchy sensation to your face. "Mmmm... 'ts nothing... I don't want you to be worried or scared. I can't lose another friend.." He tilted his head and smiled softly. "Let's get you home, then you can let your troubles onto me, kay?" He said squeezing your hand and standing up, lending you a shoulder. 

Shortly, the two of you arrived at your house. Your drunk mind brushed over the fact that he knew the address and he placed you on the couch, seating himself next to you. "What's on your mind? You've been worried all night." You shook your head and frowned. "Can't tell, you'll get hurt." He sighed and placed his hand on your shoulder. "C'mon, I assure you I'll be fine. I know you just met me, but we're friends, aren't we? Unless that is.. you don't trust me?" He cooed to you, tilting his head as he said that last part. His faux sympathy won you over and your body untensed, and you caved. You ended up telling him everything, showing him the texts, telling him about Tanizaki's body, and your stolen dispensaries and clothes. He only held you and listened, as you two sat on the edge of your bed, and as you foolishly cried your worries into his chest. 

"It's okay love, take your time. It's been hard for you yeah?" He palmed your cheek, his sultry tone of voice dancing around you. "But you've done so well, haven't you?" He continued, though this wasn't the Dazai that you had met. He was completely different, and you were torn on whether to depend on him or not, fearful of being hurt.

"I'm here for you, got that?" 

It felt nice. Nice to be cared for, given attention to, and loved. Oddly enough, you found yourself drawn to him, even if you knew nothing about him.

Yeah, you'd put your faith in him. 

"Th..thank you.. Dazai.." You whimpered out through sobs, voice muffled as you shimmied your head even closer to his chest, your hands gripping his back a bit harder.

So just for tonight, you'd depend on him.