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azrielbrainrot · 3 months

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I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: Whether in the solitude of his room or surrounded by family, all Azriel can think is that he would give anything to hold you one more time.

Warnings: Angst, Mourning, mention of suicide

Word Count: 3652

Notes: I don't even know where this came from. I was listening to sweet music by hozier and thought "what if I gave Azriel more trauma". The idea popped into my head and it basically wrote itself. I can't believe I have to say this but with this fandom I'm not risking it: this wasn't written to hate on Elain (or any other character) or incite anyone else to do so. Keep your stupid fights off my post, please and thank you. Hope you enjoy!

Part 2

Another family dinner at the river house meant another night of watching everyone around him happy and in love. Azriel didn't think of himself as egotistical, would never think the love his brothers are experiencing is undeserved either, but it reminds him of a time where he was the only one in the Inner Circle with a partner, of when his brothers were the ones confessing to him how jealous they were of how he had found someone that loved him so much, of a time he never thought would have an end. It reminds him of you.

He looks himself in the mirror as he buttons up the navy shirt, trying to ignore the vacant room behind him. If you were here with him you would have been making jokes about his insistence on keeping the blue theme going in his clothes even though he swears he doesn't think too much about what to wear or his appearance in general.

On a good day, you'd be helping him with the small buttons right now, with shadows swirling around your legs and looking up at him the way you knew would take his breath away every time. On an even better day, he'd have your back pressed against his chest, his fingers inside your familiar heat, the other hand wrapped around your throat so you could watch him play with your body, panting his name and clawing at his arm, pleading with him to keep going, to let you touch him. He'd be late for an entirely different reason, not for getting held up talking to his spies, and then getting lost in his memories.

Sensing his thoughts, his meddling shadows move to his desk, filtering into the drawer they knew held a small velvet box. The dark wisps carefully picked it up and set it on top of the dark wood. Leaving it there and moving back to their original places around the darkened room, letting him decide for himself if he wanted to open it or not.

It had been a while since the last time he touched it, busy as he was these days. There were times he would sit and look at it every day, sometimes without even daring to open it and look inside. But there were also times where even the sight of the navy velvet would suddenly suffocate him with the reminder of your sweet scent, one he would never be able to smell again. It would make him hide the box at the back of his drawer, the back of his mind.

Over the last few years, his reactions to it had gotten milder, an unwilling acceptance of the fact that he would never see you again allowed him to reminisce on the happy memories you had together, even the sad ones, every little fight you had seemed so inconsequential now, he'd give anything to be able to have any moment with you back, to hear you say his name one more time.

He walks to the desk, only hesitating for a beat before grabbing and opening the box. His heart throbs as he stares at the ring sitting inside, thumbing at the empty space left behind by it on his finger instinctively. He had never liked rings, didn't like anything that brought attention to his hands or rubbed against the rough skin but the moment you slid the silver ring into his finger it felt right, he had never wanted to take it off. Azriel would wear a ring on each finger if it showed the world he was yours.

He wore the ring for an entire decade after you died, even after all hope that you could still be alive had left him, he couldn't bring himself to let go of it, to let go of you. His mother had been the one to tell him he needed to stop wearing it, that holding onto it, onto the past would only bring him more heartache. He could still hear her begging him with tears in her eyes, not bearing to see her son in such a state, but he had only actually taken it off when Rhys was taken by Amarantha.

He had thrown the ring into the Sidra that night. He's not sure if it had been anger, frustration or simply hopelessness that drove him to it in that moment. He was tired of not being able to protect anyone, tired of losing his people, the people he never thought he would even find when he was just a boy sitting in a dark humid cell. It must have been that boy's pain, still inside him, that drove him to act like that. If it hadn't been for his shadows immediately flying after it he would have lost it, wouldn't have this reminder of a happy time sitting in front of him right now, it had helped him ground himself more than once during the years following that night. His shadows had saved him from himself once again.

He closes the box gently, rubbing at the smooth texture of the velvet, trying not to let himself get lost in your memory and the bitterness that followed at the injustice of it all. Your marriage had only lasted a little over a decade, he's had to live with your ghost for much longer than that now. Still, he knows he won't forget that time no matter how many more years he lives, and, even if it's another five centuries, he knows he'll still wish he had had the chance to spend them all with you.

Some of the pain has dulled, most days at least, but the guilt still eats at him. He should have known something was going to happen, should have reached you sooner, should have told someone to go with you, should have gone himself, should have been the one to die in your place. The millions of possibilities will likely invade his brain until his last breath, after which he'll finally be able to see you again. That was another thought that had consumed him far too often in the beginning. If it wasn't for his mother, his brothers and Mor, if it weren't for the pain it would cause them, he would have taken Truth Teller to his neck just for the chance to see you one more time.

Azriel? His wings go rigid and he tightens his hold on the box at the sudden intrusion. He tries to push his thoughts as far back into his mind as he can before lowering his mental shields, almost letting out a sigh of relief at finding them in place, hoping his brother couldn't get a glimpse of his thoughts. He hands the box to his shadows so they can safely place it back inside his drawer. Are you still coming, brother?

Yes. He moves back to the mirror and finishes buttoning his shirt while trying to keep his tone as nonchalant as possible. However, the hesitation on the other side tells him Rhys sensed exactly what was holding him up in his room, he knows him better than anyone after all.

Hurry then. We're all waiting for you. Azriel closes his walls as soon as he feels his brother's absence in his mind. He knows they miss you too. They had welcomed you with open arms and considered you part of the family after their marriage. Everyone in the Inner Circle took a big hit when you went missing. He will never forget Cassian's face when he arrived to see Azriel kneeling down in a pool of your blood, with no body to be found. His brother wore his heart on his sleeve and it had shattered that night. There were countless sleepless nights for everyone following that moment.

They all threw themselves at finding you in any way they could. There was enough blood on the floor to tell them you had died but none of them wanted to believe it. Azriel talked to every single one of his spies multiple times, ordering them to track every movement in their respective areas. Rhys sent letters to every ally he had and then joined Cassian and Mor in searching every corner of Prythian personally. Even Amren, ever the logical emotionless one, searched for you with every means she could, contacting friends the spymaster didn't even know existed. But, one by one, they all had to accept the truth, Azriel ending up being the most hesitant to.

He had long since killed the attackers, putting them through as much pain as possible for as long as he could keep them alive, making them regret ever touching you. But that didn't help with the gaping hole in his chest, nothing helped. They didn't know how to find your body either. Rhys looked through every corner of their minds and only found them leaving you behind, bleeding on the cold ground.

Rhys refused to show him the memory, no matter how much he begged him to let him see you one more time. Now he knows his brother was just trying to protect him, not wanting that to be Azriel's last memory of you, with the amount of blood left behind he knew you couldn't have been in good shape, but at the time he lashed out at his brother like he had never done before, probably would have killed him in blind rage if it hadn't been for Cassian trying to hold him back and if Rhys wasn't Rhys. Thinking back he should have thanked him instead, for holding onto such a painful memory and keeping it to himself so no one else had to suffer from it.

Even if he couldn't see you again, he still wishes that he had your body to bury at least. Azriel doesn't know how the Mother could be so cruel as to not only let you die so soon, so painfully without at least letting him find your body so he could put you to rest next to your parents' graves. It would also give him a place to talk to you, to feel as close to you as possible.

The pain almost came back in full when Rhysand first told him about Feyre. Jealousy had reared its ugly head at the fondness in his brother's gaze, the slight tint to his cheeks at just saying her name. He was happy for Rhys, especially after everything he'd been through, but that happiness couldn't hold a candle to the pain he felt. He remembers the night he confided in his brothers about the lovely female he had met, how she had told him she loved him, it had been much like that one.

To make matters worse, the first thing he remembered when Rhys told him about his mate was a stupid bet the two of you had made - you had been adamant that Cassian, as sweet as he is, would be the next to get married, Azriel had voted for Rhys, one of his many conquests were bound to work out one day. He won and yet he didn't feel victorious at all. He couldn't even tell you of your loss, see how pouty you get when it happens, ever the sore loser. Didn't even remember the prize but there was no way for you to give it to him now either way. What hurt the most was that he couldn't even tell you his brother had found his mate. These were the best news in over a century and he just wanted to share them with you, wanted to share everything with you.

He takes another look at the mirror with a small sigh, straightening his wings and making sure his face doesn't give anything away before calling to his shadows. He feels them wrap around him slowly, giving him some comfort before taking him directly to the river house.

“Almost thought you weren't coming.” He was still half covered in shadows when he heard Cassian's voice. Everyone was standing around talking to each other, waiting on him. The guilt was tugging at his heart strings again. Why would he ever feel like he needed more than a family that loved him? Who was he to think this wasn't enough for him? It was something he could only dream of when he was younger.

“He's here now. That's all that matters,” the smile Feyre gave him was warmer than usual and her hand lingered on his shoulder for a second too long. Azriel looks over to Rhys, finding him already looking at him, studying his face. He had told his mate of whatever he sensed in his mind then. He hoped neither of them brought it up at least, now or later. What good would admit he misses his dead wife do? No one can bring you back to him.

“Finally. I'm starving.” Cassian clapped his shoulder as he passed by him on the way to the already set table, sitting down immediately. Everyone followed in his footsteps, greeting Azriel and finding their seats. Seems he really had kept them waiting.

Conversation picked back up naturally and he let himself fall into the usual rhythm of these dinners, letting his body relax around his family, forgetting about his old life for the moment. He walked over to the already set table and took his seat next to Elain, as it usually was these days. The seating arrangements had moved around a bit over the last years to accommodate not only the new additions to their little circle but also the relationships in them. He used to always sit next to Cassian but now had given the seat up to his beautiful mate. It left him next to Elain most times since they were the only single fae at the table.

Elain gave him a soft smile as he sat down and he nodded at her with a smile of his own. They had been getting closer ever since she was turned to fae and started living in Velaris. Her quiet nature quickly drew him to her, feeling at ease almost immediately with the middle Archeron sister. But he had to have been blind not to see the way she looked at him, not to notice the enamored smile she gave him.

Sometimes he let himself wonder if things could work between them. She had a mate but it was clearer with each passing day that she didn't feel anything for the male tied to her. It was also obvious how well Azriel and Elain got along, fitting into each other's lives almost seamlessly. He didn't love her but couldn't say seeing himself fall for the lovely female was such a far-fetched idea. She was a beautiful and kind fae, loving her would probably be as easy as breathing.

When everyone had been made aware of the mating bonds, he had even considered if the Mother had made a mistake. His two brothers had ended up with two of the sisters after all. Now he can see he was just desperate for a bond like theirs. In truth, he wouldn't even know what he would have done if Elain had truly been his mate. Would he finally put you behind him? Would he have thrown the ring away again, for good this time? He knows he couldn't bring himself to even with the power of a mating bond. You were etched deep into his skin just like the bargain marks inked into his shoulders.

As the dinner moved on and they made their way to the sofas in the sitting room, his family was already more than lively. Mor had busted out one of Rhysand's old wine bottles, setting the mood for the rest of the night. Azriel had completely relaxed by then, letting himself enjoy their company, his shadows retreating almost completely around the room. Finally having some reprieve from the particularly insistent thoughts that were plaguing his mind today.

Cassian was telling a story he had heard a thousand times now but he still laughed along with everyone else. Listening to Cass tell the story so many times wouldn't make the fact that he had flown straight into a river any less funny. Azriel even remembered the following part, the one Cass doesn't include in the story which was after they pulled him out and he had gotten sick for a week, making him miss practice and lose every spar with him and Rhys for the next months.

Even old stories had a new life with new people around, it was the first time the sisters heard this one, judging by the slight tint to Nesta's cheeks as she laughed at her mate and how hard Feyre was clutching at Rhys' arm to ground herself. Even Elain was laughing hard enough that her body was shaking. Her laugh was soft and melodic, a lovely sound really, but it suddenly opened a familiar pit in his stomach. It reminded him of you. She wasn't quite as loud and her eyes didn't immediately water like yours but the way she raised her hand to her face was similar. And just like that the illusion of happiness he had created shattered.

She was nothing like you but he still found you in every thing she did, in everything anyone did. He couldn't go to half of the city's bakeries and shops without thinking of you and every moment you spent there. He had even changed rooms in every one of Rhysand's houses, not bearing to sleep in the same bed you had held him in. Everyone in the Inner Circle had learned to avoid certain topics, certain stories in fear they would remind him of you. Even your name was rarely mentioned unless he did so first or strictly necessary. Every thought of getting over you was nothing more than wishful thinking. It was like his entire soul was begging him to go to you, but you weren't anywhere in this world.

This had to be one of the worst parts of his routine lately, having to take extra care to school his features when spending time with his brothers and their mates. If his face showed any sign of how much he missed you, how much he wished he could hug you to him just like they can do with them, they would immediately look at him with pain in their eyes, pain for what he lost and will never get back.

It had taken too long to get used to how differently they treated him after what happened. He had to start a fight to get them to stop treating him like he could break at any second when it was the truth. They knew it as well as he did, but they also knew that they had to let Azriel mourn in his own way, that there was nothing they could do besides stay by his side.

You weren't mates - maybe the pain he feels would never compare to what his brothers would go through if their mates ever met the same fate as you - but that had never mattered to him. His soul sang for you the same way he sang for his shadows, you were written into his very being just like they were. And, most importantly, there wasn't a single fiber in his body that wanted to live without you.

Even a mate could never erase you from his memory, even if you had been alive. He doubts if a mating bond had snapped between you two at the time, you would have gotten any deeper into him than you already were. He can't imagine loving you, wanting you more than he already did was possible.

He felt his shadows move to him, almost sending them away thinking they were coming to comfort him again, hiding him from the world as usual. Their urgency gave them away, and by the way Rhysand's body tensed across from him he also had noticed something amiss.

“What happened?” The High Lord's voice cut through the atmosphere immediately, everyone looked to him for an explanation and got ready for any possibility. His entire body stood still when his shadows told him they felt someone winnowing into the townhouse.

“Someone's in the townhouse,” he stood up as he spoke, sending some of his shadows out to find out as much as they could and the rest around Velaris to check if there were any other disturbances.

“Who could get past the wards?” He felt a shield around them, Rhys had likely set it up around his house. Cassian's siphons were flickering red as they all prepared for what could come next. Velaris was more than well protected, especially after the attacks before the war, but the High Lord's homes were nearly impossible to get into uninvited, Azriel himself had helped make sure of it.

“I don't know,” he held onto Truth Teller as he waited for his shadows or his High Lord and Lady to find something. His shadows were being strangely lax about the whole situation, maybe this was someone who knew of a way to go around his gift, keep them distracted.

It took longer than usual to receive a response from them, making him and everyone around him more concerned by the second. By now everyone was donning a sword or weapon of some sort, only waiting on more information before splitting up to keep Velaris safe and find the intruders.

When his shadows finally appeared they wasted no time rushing to his ear, at last sensing his urgency in the matter. Their answer was one nothing could have prepared him for, his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.

His shadows came back carrying a once familiar tune. They came back singing your name.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel fic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fic #divider by saradika

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jobean12-blog · 6 months

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Alpine Approved

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Alpine included)

Word Count: 1,146

Summary: It's your fourth date and since Bucky's already come to your place twice he wants you to come to his apartment this time. You're excited to see his living space and meet his cat Alpine.

Author's Note: Just a cute little thought of what Alpine might do the first time he meets Bucky's girl. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: soft and sweet fluff, lots of kisses and Alpine!

Bucky presses you into the wall as he fumbles around in his back pocket for his key. His lips trail across your jaw then with a muttered curse he reluctantly pulls away and pats his leather jacket.

“Where the hell…ah! Here they are!” he says excitedly.

He grabs your hand in his while he unlocks the door with his other and kicks it open. With a yank you’re inside his apartment.

The door slams shut with another kick and before you can even take a look around he has you caged against the door, his large hands resting on either side of your head.

“Now…,” he murmurs. “Where were we?”

His lips brush along yours as his hands slide off the door and down to your waist. You sigh his name and run your fingers through his long hair.

“MEOW!”

You hear the loud meow before you feel something push between your calves.

“Oh!” you squeak and pull away just enough to look down.

Bucky hooks his finger under your chin and brings your gaze back up to his.

“That’s Alpine…you can say hi later.”

He kisses you again and you instantly melt into his embrace. His strong arms pull you from the door and he starts to walk you both backward toward the couch.

“Ow! Damn it!” he says when he walks into the coffee table.

You giggle and bump your nose with his. “Forgot that was there?”

“It’s your fault doll,” he grins, now holding your face between his hands. “I can’t think about anything else but kissing you.”

With that he captures your lips again and continues his journey toward the couch. Just when he thinks he’s safe, Alpine winds himself between Bucky’s legs and trips him up. Thankfully, Bucky is close enough to the couch to plaster you against his chest and propel you both the rest of way to land safely on the soft cushions.

You land on top of him with an “oof.”

“You ok doll face?” he asks with a sheepish look.

“Just fine,” you assure him as you snuggle yourself along his large body. “You’re very comfy.”

He winks and then unexpectedly flips you over, settling just the right amount of his weight on top of you.

“I’m an even better blanket,” he teases.

His thumb caresses the outline of your mouth before he slides his hand behind your neck, pulling you in for another kiss.

He’s barely gotten a taste when Alpine jumps onto the back of the couch and starts to swat at his hair.

With a nip of your bottom lip Bucky releases you and turns narrowed eyes to his white fluffy cat.

“You’re a real pain in my ass you know that?”

“MEOW!” is Alpine’s only verbal response. He follows it with another swat.

“Fine! We’ll say hi!” Bucky grumbles and sits up, offering his hand to help you do the same.

“Hi Alpine,” you smile, holding your hand out for him to smell.

He gently nudges it with his cold nose then turns his attention back to Bucky with another loud meow.

Bucky picks up the cat and cradles him against his chest, letting him settle in the crook of his metal arm.

“Happy now?” Bucky asks the white fluff.

Alpine’s tail swishes back and forth as he ignores Bucky and stares at you with piercing blue eyes.

“His eyes are so pretty…like yours,” you tell Bucky as you stare right back at Alpine.

Bucky chuckles and quietly says thank you with a dip of his head.

Alpine never takes his eyes off you as you settle yourself into the couch cushions.

“Does he always stare like this?” you ask Bucky.

“Well…” Bucky starts and then rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “Um…sort of.”

“He looks suspicious,” you comment.

“Yeah…I don’t usually have people over and definitely not girls…”

“Are you telling me I’m the first girl he’s met?”

Bucky’s eyes go wide as he looks at you.

“Other than Nat and Wanda yeah I guess and they don’t count like that…”

“Like what?” you ask as you move closer.

“You know…”

“I don’t know. Don’t go all shy on me now.”

“Doll.”

“Bucky.”

“I haven’t stopped kissing you since you walked in! And even before that…he’s definitely not used to me giving someone else all my attention.”

“I feel extra special now.”

“You should doll face.”

Bucky’s smug smile chases away his shyness.

When you look back at Alpine he’s still staring at you in a clearly assessing manner.

“He always inspects every new person that comes over. He might be a bit overprotective.”

“I hope I pass whatever test this is,” you whisper, giving Alpine your best smile.

The cat blinks several times before he stands and does a big stretch.

“OH BIG STRETCH!” you cheer.

Alpine let’s out a satisfied meow and saunters across Bucky’s legs and into your lap.

“Well,” Bucky starts. “That’s it, it’s official. He likes you.”

“That seemed too easy,” you state and gently scratch Alpine’s head.

“It was the ‘Oh big stretch!’” Bucky teases. “He just loves to hear how awesome he is.”

“Fair enough,” you giggle. “You’re very handsome Alpine.”

The cat meows and rubs closer himself on you.

“Just like your daddy,” you add, completely giving in and cuddling the cat.

“It really does work,” you laugh.

“Great!” Bucky says. “Now he’s really happy and he’s got you right where he wants you.”

Both you and Alpine look at Bucky who’s full on pouting.

“If I stop now he might not love me anymore!” you argue.

“Sureeeee,” Bucky counters.

Alpine starts to gently knead your thigh as he purrs louder and Bucky just let’s out a groan and grabs Alpine off your lap.

“That’s enough buddy. Stop feeling up my girl.”

You let out a peel of laughter and watch as Alpine turns his head up and then gives Bucky his backside as he walks away, clearly annoyed at being displaced.

“He looks mad Bucky.”

“He’ll get over it,” Bucky says. “And besides…this is our date and I plan on getting in all the kisses I can...and then some.”

“I have zero problem with that,” you tell him.

He grabs your waist and drags you into his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck and nuzzle your face into his beard.

“Almost as soft as Alpine,” you tease.

“Hey now,” Bucky playfully admonishes.

Just before Bucky presses his lips to yours you catch sight of Alpine sitting across the room on the window sill, staring at the back of Bucky’s head.

“He’s staring again Buck,” you whisper against his lips with a small smile.

“Ignore him. He’s just trying to get our attention again.”

“You know you never gave me a tour of your place.”

“Later,�� Bucky murmurs as his hands slip under your shirt. “You’re all mine now.”

@hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @kmc1989 @littleseasiren @lizette50

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky and alpine #alpine barnes #alpine #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

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peterthepark · 2 years

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𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader x eddie munson

tags: mmf threesome, oral sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, piv, anal, double penetration, dirty talk, dom!eddie, dom!steve, sub!reader, best friends with benefits, mentions of virginity, hair-pulling, breeding kink, throatfucking, squirting, praise and degradation, everyone is horny

summary: back home from school, you recount about your time away in college with steve and eddie, leading to a sexual proposition that you never would’ve expected.

notes: pure filth, forgive me if it is hard to visualize positions… threesomes are very messy and crazy to write! feedback and reblogs appreciated :)

There’s a veering shift in the way they look at you. Maybe it’s because you’ve been gone for so long, so out of the loop, nothing but a modulated grainy voice on the other end of a call line, or a lingering scent in the back of their closets — jasmine, soap, the smell of girl and all things sweet, a tang of Eddie’s favorite green bud.

You want to believe it’s because they’ve missed you, they always do, but it’s different.

The way they each hug you, toned arms locked tightly around your waist, dragging and dragging upwards until it’s slung over your shoulder possessively and Steve’s perfectly-curved nose is in the tangles of your hair.

Ours. Ours. Ours.

You may have been gone for almost a year, but you’re still their girl.

“Look at you, dressin’ all tough and shit now!” Eddie grins proudly, tugging the hem of your skull shirt towards him as he tenderly presses your head to his chest. You nearly stumble on your boots, nothing but a shy smile ghosting the curl of your upper lip as he runs his thumb along your brow bone and you inhale him in with fluttering lashes. “You copying me? Stealing my style, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. His gorgeous best friend. Wiser, older now, prettier — well, you’ve always been pretty, but now, you’ve really grown into your features.

A year, it’s only been a fucking year and yet you still look this good. Better. Knocking the wind out of him, just to breathe it back between his lips.

“You should be flattered,” You shake your head at him, clasping a hand over his shoulder as you gaze over at Steve with admirable regard. There’s emphasis on every word that falls from your taunting smirk as he steps up your front porch. “You should be flattered I chose your clothes over Harrington’s preppy mom-jeans and—“

Then you’re being crushed, wedged between two warm bodies and clashing scents of woodiness and lavender as Steve wraps himself around you.

“You’re talking mad shit about me now, Y/N? All this time, thought I was your favorite — hey, I know that face — I am certain I was your favorite. I was before this one,” He ruffles Eddie’s hair roughly, beaming at either of you. “Came along and practically hypnotized you with his — his rings and his music and his…”

“Shut up and just say you missed me already.” You pull Steve closer to you, his face burying itself in the crook of your neck as Eddie rests his chin on the top of your scalp. It’s a chorus of can’t believe you’re back, crazy you left us in the first place, you’re here, we’re gonna spend so much time together. You can only smile, feeling their love spill out of their respective cups and into yours as you pull them into the house. “Saps.”

Your childhood bedroom of pinks and blues and whites feels exceptionally, jarringly smaller.

Steve and Eddie take up so much space — long legs and big socked feet, sharp jaws and curious eyes as you sit out on the fluffy beige carpet, sifting through the contents of your suitcase as you tell them stories about wild parties, about classes, about your messy roommates and about professors who didn’t know how to teach.

‘Listen, I loved Chicago, but I’ll always love Hawkins.’

‘Hello? The only reason you like Hawkins is because of us.’

‘Still you and your ego, Harrington.’

You don’t tell them about the boys, about the crushes and what kind of antics you got up to in the absence of them. Of them, their protectiveness, their touch, gentle and fleeting and borderline blurring the lines of friendship.

There was an ache for Steve and Eddie — far from platonic, short of romantic, closer to a sexual awakening than anything. The nights where you called, feeling the baritone of their deep snappy voices over the phone as they fought over for a turn, that dreaded dial tone when the line had gone dead and you were left with an emptiness, a twisting heat in your stomach as you replayed their words over and over again before you slept: Miss you. Come home, pretty girl.

You can’t help but wonder what they got up to while you spent nights in the dorms tossing and turning to the thought of either of them. There’s only so many ways you can quietly lull yourself to a blissful sleep in a shared room.

“Mmm, what do we have here?” Eddie breaks up the childish bantering between you and Steve with a curious tone, waving a flimsy stack of polaroids between his forefinger and middle.

No. No. Absolutely not. Not fucking now.

“Okay, Eddie. Maybe not…” Your laugh is frantic and near-alarmed, hands already reaching out for him until he’s gently swatting you away. “… not that one. Hey, no.”

“Cold case, hard evidence of little Y/N’s college escapades?” He quirks a beady brow, tongue wiggling against his front teeth as he winks at Steve and rambles on in amusement. “Do you… do you hear that? Oh, oh! Eddie, pssst, pssst, Eddie… look at me!”

“Give it back, asswipe.”

“Is Y/N guilty or…” He cards through the pictures, lines dimpling around his pursed lips as a wicked grin starts to split his face in half. “Innocent?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Stupid. You should have taken this into account, boys and their lack of respect for privacy, your boys and their habit of sticking their noses where they aren’t fucking supposed to. Eddie and his big greedy mouth, yapping and yapping until he’s dragged good ol’ Steve into his influential mess — you’re trapped between the two brunettes, pleading to Ozzy that they save you from the embarrassment and just move on with their lives.

It’s the worst picture out of the stack. So much for “it’s all about preserving the memory, you know, you’re only young once.”

Memory or not, it was supposed to be for your eyes only.

Not Steve’s. Not Eddie’s.

They stare at a blurry photo of you, very topless and covered in bruising hickies, your smile split into a hearty laugh as a green lime dangles from between your teeth and Some Blond Guy licks up a trail of salt off of the horizon of your pretty tummy.

“Oh, my god.” Steve gapes. “Dude. Body shots?”

“Guys…”

“Don’t guys us, who is this rat-faced son of a bitch that’s practically making out with your stomach?” Eddie’s brows furrow, jealousy dripping from his tone. He’s trying to lead with the playful card, but it’s difficult — difficult when he’s looking at a picture of a guy (who looks like he’s fucking named Brad) basically violating you.

“He’s… a friend. Just a friend.”

Steves laughs unconvinced, “Ah, friend. Guys and girls… they can’t be friends.”

“You’re friends with Robin.” You frown.

“Robin’s gay, you idiot.” Eddie flicks the back of your head.

“Okay, right! Fine! She’s an exception, though.” You scoff. This conversation is unbelievable. “Well, us then? We’re friends.”

Friends. It’s a weird word. People say the l-bomb is horrible, but the f-bomb — friend, not fuck — is absolutely petrifying, numbing, fear-inducing.

It hangs heavily over your heads like something you’re not supposed to say, like forbidden fruit, Adam, Eve, and the serpent. Because the meaning of friends has always been a little strange for the three of you. What are friends?

What are we - what are we - what are we?

You are not friends, you are more, something unreachable, unconventional, something only you and they can understand, you are—

“Best friends.” Eddie corrects, glancing up at you. He pins you with his eyes, even as you suddenly avert your attention down to the pack of Marlboros in your lap like it could serve as a scapegoat, your fingers drumming anxiously against the weathered box. “You know what, I get it. I do. I really do, Y/N. A pretty girl — a woman, like you, has primal urges. And when you’re in college…”

“Eddie… I’m not thirteen.”

“Where sometimes mediocre, average fucking bozos like this Brad-looking fellow come along… bless his heart for even trying, by the way...”

You groan outwardly, fingers fumbling to pinch a cig between your quivering lips. Your voice comes out muffled, sharp and blunt like the end of a knife. “His name is Matt, okay?”

Steve winces, glancing over at Eddie who responds to with a shrug. “Okay, well, Matt is just as bad.”

“Can you guys, like, chill out? Your name is literally Steve.” You avoid their questioning glares, an orange shadow coating the lower half of your jaw. “I just got back and you’re already hounding me.”

A harsh sizzle cuts through the atmosphere as you raise your Bic lighter to your mouth.

You’re defensive. Sensitive.

They hate it. It’s not like you.

“So, what then?” Eddie continues, unable to drop the subject. He wants to pry. He needs to. It’s you. It’s you, so he has to know every detail, even if it leaves you fuming, nostrils flaring at his persistence. “Is he… the college boyfriend? College sweetheart? How about fratboy, porno fantasy? Hot TA that gives your exams a pass every time? You’ve always been ass at math, can’t even tell a full gram from half so I wouldn’t technically be surprised.”

God. Insufferable. But you still thrum under his stare, his pupils imbedding themselves into your skin as you suck your cheeks in and inhale.

Eddie wonders if you remember, if there’s some part of you that thinks back on your graduation night, the way he touched you in that diner, a hand spread over your thigh, your head on his shoulder as Steve rambled about how boring his version of graduation was.

Eddie wonders if you remember the way you inhaled him inside Steve’s garage, knees sinking into the shitty abandoned couch beside the washing machine as you eagerly sucked him off. You were on cloud nine, adrenaline coursing through your veins from the thought of college-college-college, but also when will you ever get to do this again? Do this with someone as perfect and rare as Eddie?

‘Do they have boys like you in college?’

You can still picture the glimmer of his smile. ‘God, I hope not. What a bad influence they would be.’

‘I think I turned out pretty okay so far.’

His rings stuck in your hair, his head thrown back against the furniture, your mouth and the lewd, filthy squelch of his cock burying itself in your throat while you waited for Steve to come back after he had forgotten his wallet at the diner.

‘This doesn’t change anything’, you had told him. ‘We’re always gonna be best friends.’

‘I know, sweetheart. Just needed something to take the edge off, didn’t you? Bet you’ve been working so hard on getting that scholarship, smart girl.’

He fingered you under the graduation gown afterwards.

“Y/N.”

Fuck. “I didn’t — it was nothing. He was nothing. Trust me. Just… I mean, a quick fuck, s’all, I didn’t even…” You chuckle nervously, girlish and unsure and very vulnerable. “… okay, he was fun, but like, I didn’t even cum so… so it doesn’t count. He doesn’t count.”

“You fucked Brad?”

“Matt.” You cringe.

Steve’s voice nearly booms. “You fucked Matt?”

“It’s college!” You cough out, choking on the contents of your cigarette. “People fuck other people all the time.”

“Weren’t you a virgin?”

You were a virgin. Technically. But you were also a virgin when Eddie spread you open on that couch, moaning as he told you how proud he was of you for working so hard.

You were also a virgin when Steve made out with you in the back of a movie theater, where he’d left a gnarly hickey on your left boob for everyone to see — including Eddie, who didn’t even bat an eyelash because he knew, he fucking knew that Steve boyishly wanted you in the same way he did the summer after you graduated, and he supposes that’s why there’s always been an unspoken understanding between the three of you.

‘If you make a sound, we’re gone. Kicked out. Won’t get to finish this awful movie,’ Steve said. ‘You want that?’

Breathless. Eager. Drowsily drunk on your affection.

His lips against your neck, your pulse point, a nibble to your jaw, a hungry tug on your earring. Fucking hell. How soft he was, how gentle, how he touched you with such a special regard and how some sick, jealous part of you thought — were you like this with Nancy? Was it ever like this was Nancy? Part of you wanted to moan. Croak out his name. Make a sound, any sound, so you could get kicked out and have him all to yourself.

You were a virgin when Eddie let you practice a handjob on him in the living room of his uncle’s trailer. You were a virgin when Steve ate you out in his car after finding out you were leaving for Chicago.

You were a virgin.

“I was, but I’m… do you even count that? He didn’t even… he could barely stick it in me at first, Steve, Eds.”

The air feels angry. Tense. It’s suffocating, how they share that look, how they casually train their gazes back on you like you’ve killed someone. “What was he like?”

“Come again?”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull as Eddie steals the cig from your lips, taking a drag before he repeats himself — slower, syllables laced with a darker want.

“I said, what was he like? In bed? You said he could barely stick it in you, so I doubt he was any fucking good.”

“Did he kiss you?” Steve follows on, nodding at Eddie to pass him the Marlboro. It’s so fucking intimate. His lips on the patch where Eddie’s had been, to which, in turn, where yours was. There’s smoke everywhere, even as he speaks, it somehow hits you coldly right on the mouth. “Was he a good kisser?”

Only then do you realize how physically close you are to both of them. You’re stuck, sandwiched between their thighs, their knees knocking against yours as you try to compose yourself. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t awful but it wasn’t good, either. Too much tongue. Too much — not enough… not enough teeth, I guess. You know how I…”

Oh, they know, alright.

You don’t even flinch as Steve leans over and passes the cig back to Eddie. It’s a dance, a fucking taunt as you clench your jaw and curl into yourself under their presence. The longer-haired brunette tosses the dirty polaroid aside, speaking accusingly through a lazy drag.

“Thought you wanted to save it for someone special, sweetheart.”

“I did.”

“No judgement there. Lay it on us, what changed then?”

You shrug, blinking rapidly. “Just wanted to get it over with.” They don’t believe you. It’s clear as day on their faces, the crease between their eyes, the side-twitch of Eddie’s lips and Steve’s nerved running of hands through his hair. “If you wanna call bullshit…”

“Bullshit.” These fuckers. Steve eggs you further, “A real reason, come on, Y/N.”

“Look, you’re gonna make fun of me.”

“Which we always do. Just spill it.”

You can’t hide anything from them. Not them. Not Steve, who’s practically had his handsome face between your legs for hours and not Eddie who’s basically bent you over the hood of his van so he could spread you open with his fingers.

Not your best friends, who you’ve wanted in an insatiable way all your life, even when you had went away, it was always them — just the thought of them — that made you dizzy in all the right headspaces, the callousness of their fingers, their constant gonna-take-care-of-you aura and that implicit agreement between you and the two of them that I’m yours, m’your girl, always going to be.

“I just always thought I’d… lose it to one of you guys, and — I mean, you guys weren’t there and so I just figured I’d be more… fuck, I dunno, desirable? Yeah, just… desirable if I lost it before I came back since you already have so m-much, like, experience and...” You mumble rapidly, losing your tongue amongst your word-vomit of an explanation as you clamber onto your knees and try to stand up. Hot, embarrassed tears blur the cones of your vision. “It’s stupid, really! Like, it doesn’t even matter to me anymore because i-it was such a disappointing experience. Let’s just drop this, okay?”

This has to be a dream. A prank. A delusion. Maybe you’re still in Chicago, blacked-out after a party. Drank too much? Took the wrong weed? Shit, maybe Eddie is right — you don’t know half a gram from a full one.

And before you can shakily rise to two feet, your elbow is tugged back forcefully. Pain shoots up your arm, and you nearly yelp when your ass collides onto your springy twin mattress.

“Uh-uh, you are not getting yourself out of this so easily. If it was oh-so disappointing, tell us what he did wrong and we’ll… we’ll… we can be your fix-it. Think of us as a rebound for, like, the guy you totally should not have fucked. Again, no judgement. Just saying a girl like you should have high standards.”

You should not be turned on right now.

Eddie looks sincere and so pleadingly desperate for an answer that you feel the yearning in his stare. It’s graduation night all over again. The stir of your belly, the squeeze he gives your thigh as he sits beside you, your glance of disbelief at Steve and his return of that hooded-gaze that turns you completely boneless as he joins the two of you on the bed.

“And you meet that standard?” You scoff, a snort following.

His brows rise up his forehead. You’re testing him. “I can meet any standard, sweetheart.”

“And you swear you guys can do better than Matt?”

“You already know we can do better than Matt.” Steve laughs, almost as if you had just said something completely stupid.

Eddie’s fingers trail up your knee, a ghost of a touch. He’s barely even pressing into your skin, but you feel him — his warmth, just inches away, gliding over the little goosebumps on your body, caressing the shaky ball of your knee.

“You know, we talked ‘bout you. Had our own bonding moment, me and Harrington. Jus’ talked about how we’d take you out once you got back, treat you like a real princess after being so studious, talked about how… hm...” He chuckles, pausing to glance up at you while you lose yourself in his beady smile. This fucker. This absolute fucker. “Talked about how generous you are when it comes to friends. Thinkin’ we didn’t know you were practically playing pornstar with the both of us. Doin’ shit behind our backs like you’re a genius.”

Both of us.

Both. You want them both, and suddenly, you don’t feel bad for being unbelievably horny, a fucking mess.

“Listen…”

“Nu-uh. It was smart. You gotta make do with what you have. I’ll give you that.”

Steve whispers, thumbing at the corners of your lip. “Hey. No need to be embarrassed. S’alright that big brain of yours can’t think right now. You just wanna feel good. That whole thing with Matt must’ve been so disappointing.”

Eddie puts out his cigarette on the polaroid, smirking when he cups a large hand around your chin, thumb and pointer finger pressing into your hollow cheeks before he’s tenderly pulling your head to look at him.

There is too much heat. It’s stuffy, and warm, and you can’t really breathe. There’s grimy sweat in the crooks your elbows, the duvet is getting stuck to your skin and you can’t really sit still in the itchy fabric of your sweats because it’s fucking boiling. It’s boiling and you can’t think and you don’t know what the hell is happening, and you want air — not this swirling humidity that wafts under your knees, between your thighs…

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Yeah?” His hand dips down your jaw, fingers wrapping around the small girth of your throat. A gentle squeeze. Experimental. Your breath hitches, a stuttering exhale as he tries again, harder, then he’s withdrawing and soothing the roughened area. “Care to share with the class? Unless, it’s inappropriate… then, you might just wanna,” He chuckles, tilting your head back. “… whisper it.”

If this is a black-out, you hope you wake up with a gnarly hangover.

“If that offer still stands, if you guys wanna be my… my rebound or— or fix-it, or whatever the fuck...” This is messy. This is wrong. This is… this isn’t what friends do… but at this point, can you even call yourselves friends? “I’m down to do it.”

“You sure? I mean, you were just a virgin and…”

You snap. “Well, that never stopped either of you before, did it?”

He lunges at you.

Your mouth finds Eddie in the tangle of limbs and bodies. You run your fingers through his unruly hair, feeling yourself relax into the sudden notion as he tilts his chin to slot his lips over yours. It’s brazen, an open letter of lust from you to him saying I want this. I want you to kiss me back. I want this so bad, you don’t even know.

It’s a burning ember of feverish desire as he parts himself open and open, tongues slowly rolling against each other until a moan slips out of you. “You like this? Don’t think it’s weird or anything?”

“M’fine.”

“Tell me to stop — fuck — and I’ll stop.”

“No.”

You can feel Steve pressing against your back, the pads of his fingers digging themselves into your flesh, marking the spots where Eddie’s lips can’t reach as the metalhead dips into your collarbone and sucks. Hard. He leaves you purple and aching, your neck craned as the lighter-haired brunette dips your head back and gazes down at you.

“Christ, she likes that.”

You sigh in bliss, slowly unraveling at the seams.

And oh, your whole body fucking stutters when Eddie dips his hand between your legs, causing you to lurch for Steve’s mouth in order to stifle the whiny gasp of surprise knocked out of you. His palm envelops your jaw. He’s warm. Wet. Lids moony and lips silky with an indiscernible impatience you can’t recognize.

More. Give me more of you.

You jolt as Eddie’s hands carefully push the fabric of your shirt up, his nose nudging against the valley of your breasts before he’s cupping you in a lazy grasp. He mouths at your nipples and he savors it. He thanks you. He thanks you with a twist to one of the hardened buds, soothing the area with his tongue before his teeth climb up the front of your neck and he makes you whimper.

“Fuck, I love how whiny you get.” He hums. “Sensitive little thing, aren’t you? S’just my favorite part about you, Y/N. I’m sure Harrington agrees, seeing as… I’m not the only guy you do this kind of shit with.”

A bite. A bruise. An apologetic kiss even though he’s far from sorry. He’s calling you a slut without even saying it.

And while Eddie traverses his way up to your mouth, Steve dips down to nurse a path all over your back. Your shirt gets lost along the carpet somewhere, your shoulders bare and waiting as he takes your flesh between smiling lips and leaves a glistening trail of wet, open-mouthed pecks on your flexing muscles.

Then Eddie… oh, Eddie, the dirty-minded fucker.

Eddie gives you another hungry kiss, only this time it’s like you haven’t kissed in years. He kisses you like he doesn’t already have you yearning and yearning for more. He bites your bottom lip, drawing a raspy gasp from the back of your throat. His nose smashes against your cheek as he moans into you, the taste of cigarettes lingering on your tongue.

“You’re so pretty. You’re so pretty, baby…” Steve ruts against your tailbone, collecting your hair into a careful fist and tugging until you’re pulled away from your deepening kiss. “You must’ve been so empty back there, aching. I can’t imagine how awful you must’ve felt, Y/N. Were any of those guys even any good to you?”

“No. Not even close — not like you.”

“Mm, shame.”

You don’t take your stare off of Steve at all, scared that if you looked away, scared that even one second would take this away from you. He kisses the sides of your socked feet, grazing his lips over your ankles and clothed calves until you shudder at the close proximity to your core.

Anticipation is coursing through your veins. Your chest is heaving, eyes wide like a baby owl. There’s an unmistakable throb that you recognize between your thighs. Burning you from the inside. Burning you at the stake. Burning you until you’re nothing but ash and a brandished vessel of blooming hickies.

Fucking fuck.

“You hear that? Harrington’s right, bet Matt didn’t even eat you out if he couldn’t even get his cock in.” Eddie grits out unfiltered while you part your legs for Steve, inviting him. You exhale sharply — nuzzling your face into the crook of the metalhead’s neck as he wraps you in his arms. He can feel the soft, warm puffs of breath against his jaw as Steve finally tugs your sweats down. “Your pussy’s tight, Y/N.” A kiss to your belly. A suckle to where your pelvis meets your hip. A brush of tongue against your clothed clit until you jolt upright. “But not that tight.”

You melt. You fucking burst. You don’t fucking know anymore, but either way, it’s a new area of bliss. Eddie can quite literally feel you go rigid in his grasp, sliding deeper and deeper against him until he has no choice but to tuck you under the nook of his elbow and hold you close.

You’re burning, hand clenching around Eddie’s bicep as Steve drags the squishy tip of his nose between your folds through the cotton fabric.

“Pretty cunts like yours deserve to be treasured.”

“Please, Steve…” His brown eyes flicker up to you attentively, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your mound as your hips impatiently stir against the bed. “Fuck — just… just take me right now. Please. Eddie, tell him, please.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Eddie purrs, palming at your tits teasingly. He blows cool air into your face, brushing away your bangs as his lips hug the shell of your ear. “Thought all your begging would be so much better given what Harrington’s told me. Unless he’s a liar? You wouldn’t call him a liar, would you? Beg Steve to give it to you. Beg him the way you would if it was me down there.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

They are filthy in the fucking head. They have already stripped you of your pride. You may as well just follow. You may as well turn yourself in, play along with them and this fantasy that may or may not be real. Oh, but it has to be real. It has to, when you can feel Steve’s fingers dip past the decorative bow of your panties, shimmying and shimmying until you’re bare and open for him.

You squeeze around nothingness.

“You wanna stop?” Steve runs his palm up your stomach, fingers splayed so unbelievably wide and long across your skin. It makes you lightheaded, a fixation on his smooth digits and reddened knuckles in contrast to his rose-pink complexion. “We can stop right here, whatever you want, whatever feels comfortable, baby.”

He’s being nice. It should make you feel warm inside, giddy even, that given the circumstances, he still regards you in a way that makes you feel nothing short of safe. Comfortable. But that sick, wronged part of you — the side you happen to share with your two best friends — wants him to drop the gentleman act.

Take me, take me like you have all those times before.

Why hold back now?

“I don’t wanna stop.”

Eddie leans over and nips at the tip of your ear. His deep whisper leaves you tingling, almost trembling at how bad you need them in you, on you, just here. “Then beg.”

“I…” You whimper, cheeks growing hot as you feel their eyes study you. “Steve, I just… please? Please, I don’t…”

“You know what? Maybe we shouldn’t.”

“No! No, please fucking touch me.” You gasp shakily, biting your pride back and digging your nails into your calves before you’re spreading your legs farther to satisfy him, entice him. “Please touch me. I need it, need you s-so bad. Steve, please?”

He hums. You aren’t sure if it’s a sound of approval or one of uncertainty, but either way, your pathetic manner of begging does the trick. For now.

And you’re thankful that you’re home alone because the moan that’s ripped right out of your throat is almost animalistic, maybe even concerning, when Steve dips his face between your thighs and finally puts his mouth on your throbbing sex. Your head lolls back into Eddie’s neck, his fingers coming to stroke the strained vein in the column throat as you arch against him and rut against an unmistakable, very-acute pressure on your tailbone.

He’s hard.

Meanwhile, Steve is gently swiping his tongue over your folds, suckling at your clit before he’s dipping the muscle in and out of your fluttering hole.

“That’s it, Harrington.” A deep chuckle erupts from Eddie, his breaths growing deeper with each moan that leaves his companion. “Go to town on her.”

You’re basically panting for air, pulled under as Steve drags a heavy palm down your outer thigh, slapping where it rounds into the shape of your ass. It stings harshly, a burning bloom of irritation before he does it again and it stings even more.

But, fuck, does it feel good.

Steve’s nose presses against your bundle of nerves as he stretches his tongue into you. His expression is pulled into a concentrated scowl, knitted brows and muffled moans while he decides to stroke the pad of his finger against your entrance and gapes at what he discovers.

“You’re so fucking wet right now… Christ.” Agonizingly slow, Steve pushes a digit inside your cunt, curling it so that it hits that spongy desperate part of you that makes you croon and twitch in Eddie’s arms. You nearly gush at the sensation.

“There we go, princess. Mmm, fuck, you take good care of my girl, don’t you, Harrington?”

Eddie is exceptionally fucked and twisted in the head. You think it’s a power play, him enjoying his one-up, best foot forward against Steve because he had you first. My girl. My girl. It’s warranted, valid — wrong in all the right ways — but he’s not lying, because Eddie took the initial bullet that was his desire for you.

“Play nice, Munson. Sharing is caring.”

“Then stop messin’ with her like she’s a plate of mush.”

Quite frankly, you feel like a plate of mush.

It stirs him, competitively pushes the brunette to go harder and before you know it, his fingers are squelching down there. It’s wet, erotically messy, probably would’ve been gross to any other guy but it’s Steve and Eddie, your best friends who happened to be fucking perverts with a soft spot for you, so who cares?

Eddie does not mean to claim you. Especially claiming ownership over someone who, obviously, isn’t his if there’s easily another man inside you. But Eddie knows your body, he knows no other body like yours because it didn’t just stop at graduation night.

Maybe Harrington hasn’t caught on, but you’ve always been Eddie’s first love in all the ways that count. It’s truly unfair.

It’s even more unfair knowing that you’ll always favor Steve over him.

But it’s okay. The bed’s big enough for three.

Your hand grips Steve roughly by the wrist, forcing his hand down the drenched seam of your cunt even more.

“T-there… right there, just… want it hard, and — and fast… don’t need you to be gentle.”

“She’s blushing, Eddie.”

You blubber, eyebrows creasing with confusion as your voice gets caught in your throat and you rasp brokenly in immediate defense, “I don’t blush.”

Steve laughs. Loud. Shocked. Eyes-wide and mocking as he repeats your words under his breath and smirks up at Eddie. I don’t blush.

At this point, you’re just annoyed. “Oh, well, not you, honey.” You yelp in surprise as Steve scissors his thick fingers knuckle-deep, coating his skin in creamy arousal. “I was talking about your pussy.”

Instinctively, your smaller hand darts out to grab Eddie’s thigh, but instead, you’re met with something very hard, very much not his knee nor his leg — but his cock. The silky feeling of it in your hand turns you flustered. His red, heavy balls spill out from the waistband of his haphazardly-tugged boxers pooling below his taut hips.

The barbed-wire tattoo that wraps across his thigh taunts you, the faded bat wings on his abdomen just waiting to be tasted. You salivate at the thought of… fuck, nevermind. You can’t even think straight.

It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, but in the context of all this, it’s a sight that unhinges your jaw and causes you to try to squeeze your legs together — Steve feels the change in pressure around his head, how your thighs press harder against either ear, clenching and clenching till he has no choice but to lap at your cunt till you let go.

“F-Fuck, Steve… I’m… fuck, your mouth, it’s…”

A shared moan from Eddie and yourself cuts your blubbering short as you give his long shaft an experimental tug, running your thumb over his shiny slit till he’s hissing at you.

“Jus’ like that, Y/N.” Eddie groans, a hand coming to stroke the back of your head till he’s grasping the nape of your neck and making you watch yourself stroke his cock. “Shit, sweetheart… see what you — you do to me? God, fuckin’… you fucking slut. Christ… fuck, your hand just feels so… oh, baby.”

His chin tilts back, eyes rolling into his skull as you crudely lick the palm of your hand and reach for his balls, coating him in a glistening film that has you drooling beneath the surface. “Let me make you feel good, please?”

“Yeah? That what you want?” He grits out, sighing as you drag your tongue along the ink on his pelvis.

“Please?”

“Since you begged so nicely,” Eddie hums, leaning back on his elbows as your tiny fist instantly reaches for his heavy cock. He nods at it, dropping his look from your clouded eyes to where his cock rests against his lower stomach. “It’s all yours. Go crazy. You know how I fucking like it.”

Messy. Loud. Disgusting.

Fingers covered in saliva as you pump him in your grasp, massaging the sensitive ridge under his tip with each upward stroke. A squeeze to his shaft everytime Steve pumps his fingers out of you and rubs your clit just the way you need him to. Eddie’s hands wander over your hips, gripping you flush against him until you’re leaning over to take his cock into your mouth.

Stuffed full of Steve’s fingers and stuffed full of Eddie’s dick. What a predicament.

“Shittt…” Eddie hisses as you take him, lips suctioning around the aching head of his dick before you’re dragging your tongue down the velvety, wet base of him. He shudders visibly once again. “Jesus fucking Christ, baby. You’re g-goddamn divine.”

You try to suck him in deeper when Steve adds another finger, his tongue lapping at your needy clit as Eddie instinctively pushes on the back of your head and shoves you further down his cock. He holds you there, mewling at the way saliva and cum dribble down his ruddy shaft, pooling around his balls.

You gag disgustingly loud, retaliating with a heavy swat to his arm before you realize your own orgasm is approaching hard and fast once he finally lets off and gives you air.

“Fuck. Fuck. Steve, b-babe… I’m — oh, shit… m’gonna cum if you keep…”

“If I keep doing this?”

You sob into Eddie’s neck as Steve scissors his fingers in and out of you, the naughty squelch of your cunt overpowering the white noise of your childhood bedroom. It’s lewd, how your knuckles glisten with Eddie’s thick pre-cum, Steve’s fingers serving as a direct mirror to that when you find release and gush around him.

“Fuck, Y/N! That’s hot. That’s really fucking hot. Shit, I just made you squirt.” He exhales shakily, a shy laugh falling at the end of his ramblings. “Always wanted to do that. S’just so sexy when you do it — fuck — I wanna watch you do it again.”

Steve’s cock throbs intensely beneath you as you christen his mouth with your arousal, his jaw wet and chin shiny as he languidly moves his mouth side to side against your clit.

“O-Oh, god… s’too… m’too sensitive, I… Steve…”

Like a starving man, his strong hands keep you pinned down when he wraps them around your hips, feeling for your ass and spreading you wide while you soak his face.

“Whose cock do you want inside you first, sweetheart?” Eddie rasps, his free hand resting over yours as he drags it up your ribs, the swell of your breasts, brushing over your hardened nipples before he brings it back down to your stomach. Stroking and stroking, teasing you as your other best friend peppers the insides of your thighs with gentle kisses. “Thinking about how tight you probably are right now, even if Steve fucked you open with his fingers, I bet that little cunt of yours is still just as tight as that night in the garage, yeah? Yeah, it is.” He chuckles, drawing hearts on your hip bone. “Are you gonna let me fuck it? In front of Harrington? Let him watch me stick my cock inside it for the first time? Let him watch the way your eyes just… droop all sleepy and fucked-out when I cum in you?”

Steve laughs, smiling to himself as he wipes the slick from his mouth, collecting it with the pad of his fingers before he’s wiggling the digits in front of Eddie’s mouth.

“Taste her,” He says without shame, eyes moony and half-lidded as Eddie slowly wraps his lips around them. Eyes locked on Steve’s, he fucking moans at the flavor of you. “Sweet, isn’t she?”

He releases him with a pop, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Oh, she’s the sweetest.” He drawls, tongue darting out to lick the space between Steve’s fingers. “You wanna watch me fuck her now, Harrington? Promise you can stick it in her pussy later.” Eddie’s hand cups your jaw, lolling your head back against his shoulder so he can smirk down at you. His doe-eyes swirl with some sick form of tenderness, and the crude denotation of his next words almost fly right over your head when his gaze flickers back up to Steve. “As long as I get her ass.”

A gasp rips out of you when Eddie pulls you up by your underarms, your tender cheek falling against the mattress while Steve lingers at the foot of the bed, arm propped up against the post — where he stands now fully nude.

Your eyes shamelessly rake over his length, admiring the groomed bush of hair around his base, his athletic frame, the girth of his arms. He pumps his cock in front of you, your attention fully directed to him as Eddie undresses himself behind you.

“Staring is rude, y’know.” Steve quips, breathless as he runs his thumb over his meaty tip with a cocky grin. He nods down at his prick, the shaft darker than the rest of him. “You think you can take it, babe?”

“I… I think so. It’s — you’re just so…”

“Big?”

“Perfect.” You gulp out, palm coming up from the mattress to reach for him. “You’re just perfect, Stevie.”

And you swear that Steve blushes. His cheeks tinge pink, freckles prominent on the bridge of his nose as a faint smile lingers across his pillowy lips. But before you can even let your nails excitedly skim across his abdomen, Eddie yanks you back by your hips, ass arched up into the air as he pries your legs apart with his knee.

The action takes you by surprise, your neck twisting to look helplessly over your shoulder up at Eddie. “What are you—“

He leans over you, caging your body with his. You gag when he shoves his fingers past your lips, clutching at his wrist while Steve’s darkened eyes meet his. “Spit.”

Fuck. Okay.

Maybe you really should’ve been patient and lost your virginity to one of them when you got back.

Eddie pulls away; strings of saliva connect to his palm, to which he uses as makeshift lube for his ruddy cock. You study the way he languidly spreads the thick glob up and down his dick, the filthy wet squelch of it causing heat to pool into your belly.

You jolt when you feel his fingers skim over your entrance. “E-Eds…”

The aftershocks of your previous orgasm still linger, evident due to the tremble of your thighs and the deep furrow in your brow as you take a moment to brace yourself.

“Sensitive, sweetheart?” Eddie’s curious voice crackles, the tip of his finger dragging along the backsides of your thighs, tracing the curve of your ass. “S’okay, Y/N. I’ll go slow. At first.” He quips, sincerity and amusement dripping from his tone all at once. His mouth dips down, kissing the planes of your shoulders, your spine, the dip of your tailbone. “Don’t get in your head about it. I’m gonna take care of you.” Eddie whispers, taking his cock into his fist and running the tip along your cunt. You choke on a moan, feeling him slowly split you open. “I a-always take care of you, don’t I? Fuck. Fuck. Shit, you’re — Y/N, baby, you’re already… already squeezin’ me, fuck. S’okay. Fuck. It’s okay. K-Keep clenching my dick like that and this’ll be over so… fast.”

“Eddie!”

You make a move to look at him, but Steve’s hand finds your jaw, pulling your gaze back. “Eyes on me. Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s…” You clutch at the sheets, syllables lost on your tongue as you mewl scandalously. “I can feel his cock s-stretching me out. M’just… just so wet for him.” You sob as Eddie bottoms out, his balls grazing against your clit. His lips meet the crook of your shoulder as he stills inside you. “So wet for it. Please. Please. Fuck, I need… need more. Need, oh, to m-move.” The sheets wrinkle beneath you as Eddie’s hips roll back, his cock slamming into you in deep, agonizing thrusts. “Oh, yes… yes, just like that…”

“Christ, Harrington.” Eddie lets out a grunt, thrusting in and out of you. He watches the way your folds grip around him, asshole puckering as he thumbs at it. “She’s… Jesus Christ, she feels amazing. You hear that? Shit, that’s just her pussy. Makin’ all those wet sounds like a goddamn – fuck – like she’s a little cocksleeve. Fuck yes, but you’re the real thing, a-aren’t you, sweetheart? God, I could jus’ live in your pretty cunt.” He rambles, a harsh spank landing on either of your ass cheeks.

“Fuck, Eddie!”

“I love this pretty pussy. Fuck. I fucking love it — so good. M-Mindblowingly good. Jus’ got me m-melting inside you. Fuck, Y/N. How am I ever supposed to go without this cunt? S’fucking dream, that’s it. You’re a fucking dream.”

Steve’s head falls against the intricate bedpost, face scrunched up into pleasure and agony just watching Eddie spear his cock into you. You fall further into the mattress, sweat beading off of your brow as you take in the sight of Steve’s cock dripping with pre-cum. His balls hang heavily between his thick thighs, his abs rippling under the orange glow of your lampshade.

Each stroke leaves Eddie’s creamy shaft glistening and wet, your arousal sticking to his skin and the bush of hair at the base of him as he fucks you deeply. A fist tangled in your hair, the other glued to your shoulder, his mouth pulled into a lewd ‘O’ that mirrors Steve’s handsome expression of bliss.

You whimper, eyes welling up with tears, “I’m gonna… oh, fuck, baby… m’gonna c-cum.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum on this cock?” Eddie snarls, hips quickly snapping into you. “Shit, shit, shit. Fuck, I can feel you tensing up for me. Yes, cum on it, sweetheart. S’okay, you can cum for us. Do it, Y/N.”

“So good. So — I’m cumming!”

Your whole body goes boneless against the longer-haired brunette, his arm generously scooping you up from under so that he can pull you flush against his chest. Your tits heave with every tremble of your thighs. Your cunt convulses around Eddie’s shaft, milking him as he keeps your hips firmly planted in place against his skin.

“Oh, honey. Yeah, that’s it.” Steve coos with a sweet chuckle, reaching over to cradle your face in his hands. “Came a little hard, huh? You did so well. Look at you, still so fucking hot.” He chuckles, brushing the hair away from your face and kissing your forehead. “Atta girl. Cumming on her best friend’s cock.” His thumbs prod at your bottom lip. “Who woulda thought?”

“Christ, Steve. She’s even — even tighter.”

“Yeah? Think it’ll fit?” Steve pouts, pumping himself as Eddie pulls out of you.

“Mmm, maybe. Maybe not. Can always butter you up some more, Y/N. Make sure there’s enough room for Harrington.” He snickers, “I call him big boy for a reason.”

You can only whine, too fucked-out from your orgasm to even properly respond.

Fuck. Really, that’s the only word on your mind right now.

“Hey, you with us?”

“Just…” You laugh, cut off by your own wince. “Fucking hell, just gimme a sec.”

Steve raises a brow at his friend, studying the way you roll back onto the bed, back arched against the sheets as you stretch your arms over your head and look dreamily up at him. “That good, huh?” You nod, biting your lip as he crawls onto the bed, “You think I can do better?”

A boost of confidence surges through you, the words leaving your lips airily and teasingly.

“Dunno. How about you show me, King Steve?”

“You’re gonna absolutely kill me, you know that?” The freckled brunette whispers, mouthing up your thighs before he’s rolling you on top of him, tucking your hair behind your ears as Eddie comes to kneel behind you, kissing the nape of your neck. “Calling me King Steve like it doesn’t turn you on when you say it,” He chuckles, rubbing up your thighs. “You rode Brad’s cock?”

“No. And his name… is Matt,” You grin, splaying your palms over his chest. “Play nice, tiger.”

“This is nice.” You guide him into your entrance, moaning as you sink down past his tip, the head of him catching on the swell of your clit. Steve’s head falls back against the bed, plump lips parting with a sigh as you take him to the hilt. “God, but this cunt is even nicer — shit, Munson, you weren’t lying.”

“Fuck, Steve. It’s… fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh, my god.” His thick cock spreads your folds open, the pink tint of his cock turning slick with your cum as you shakily pull yourself up and down his length. “Feels so good. Oh, your — please…”

Eddie’s arm wraps around your hips, his finger coming to circle your clit while his free hand spreads your ass apart, his dick nudging against your tight hole. “Do you trust me?”

Your jaw lolls back against Eddie’s shoulder, eyes fluttering in pleasure as Steve meets your thrusts. “Y-Yes, please. Just — fuck, need both of you. Need it inside m-me. Put it in, Eds. Please, put it in.” You beg tearily, resting your hand against his taut stomach.

“I’ll go slow.” He whispers, kissing your cheek before taking a hold of your neck. “So slow, you won’t even know I’m here. Jus’ focus on the way Harrington breeds that cunt, yeah? Guy fucking loves that shit. You tell me to stop — you tell either of us to stop and we will, understand?”

“I understand.”

“Good girl. You have lube for me?”

Your jaw falls open as Eddie slips a finger into your ass, the ring of muscle sucking the digit deeper and deeper inside as you fuck yourself on Steve.

“In my — my luggage.”

“Tsk tsk, naughty.”

You lose yourself in the tangle of limbs and shifting of blankets, your knees knocking against the mattress as Eddie finds his way back to the pair of you.

“Can’t believe you — you’re riding me right now. Holy shit, you look so… so beautiful.” Steve gasps out between wet strokes, worshipping your body with an open mouth, “Do you know how long I’ve been wanting this? Wanting to be inside you? Oh, and I get this pussy all to myself?

“I’ve always — fuck — always wanted to know how big you are. How it feels to be… to be filled up with my two favorite people in the world — oh, harder.” You growl, feeling a cool liquid squirt down your skin. The lube is warm, slippery as Eddie drenches everything in it, the sloppy squelch of his fingers working into your ass are enough to make your face heat up and hide in Steve’s shoulder. “Harder.”

“You really want this?” Eddie rasps, scissoring them in and out. “You think your virgin ass can take me? I think you need more time, baby. Gotta ease you into it.”

You reach around you to grasp his cock in your hand, panting against him while Steve continues to fuck the slick channel of your cunt. It’s devastating, how he hits every part of you, the crude squelch of it all, how Eddie grips and grips at your ass till you’re basically laying over Steve’s chest.

“I want it.”

“Breathe, then.”

It feels like hours before Eddie really does anything, just the cruel fingering of your ass accompanied by the pounding of Steve’s cock into you. Then eventually, there’s the sliminess of the lube, the glistening of two well-endowed ruddy cocks, happy trails and velvet skin slowly being swallowed by your cunt and ass.

The first few moments of Eddie’s tantalizing press of his cock against your puckering hole is enough to have you jolting forward in Steve’s arms, a comforting shush lulling you to a calm as the boys kiss down your body — worshipping you, soothing you, enticing you.

“Oh, my god!”

It’s… it’s too fucking much. The titillating burn of it. The building pressure. You feel like you’re being pulled under and under, endlessly being filled up by him until he’s drawing his hips back and pushing into you all over again.

“Relax, Y/N. You gotta relax, or I can’t — fuck, I won’t be able to take care of you.” Eddie kisses along the slope of your shoulder, his inked thighs entangling with Steve’s bare ones as he leans over your backside. “Okay?”

You nod and exhale sharply, letting yourself become mush between Steve and Eddie’s bodies as he drives into you from behind, using your ass the same way he had used your sopping cunt. Their cocks drive into you, bone mashing against bone, skin slapping against skin, warmth oozing out of you until you feel like you’re on fire.

“Does it feel good, honey?” Steve grunts from beneath you. The look on his face nearly makes you cum — hair tousled, eyes half shut as he groans deeply. His aching arms ripple, holding you against his chest as Eddie sloppily ruts into you from behind. “You want us to go faster? Make you squirt over both of our cocks? Fuck, taking it in the ass makes you so tight.”

You lose yourself in Eddie’s kisses, the way he drags his lips across your jaw and down your bruised neck, the way Steve sits up to toy with the peak of your breasts, his tongue swiping over the sensitive nubs.

Numb. Boneless. You can’t think.

“Think she’s gonna cum, Harrington. Just look at her.”

Steve cooes, flicking his finger over your swollen clit.

“You gonna cum, princess?” You gasp loudly as Eddie draws his hand across your ass, spanking you brutally until your face is buried in Steve’s collarbones. “Fuck, Eddie’s right… this cunt is — fuck — such a dream. Shit, you’re close. Think I’m gonna cum, t-too. M’gonna fill y-you up, Y/N. Fuck...”

“Yeah? Gonna breed my pussy?”

“Oh, that nasty mouth.”

“I want you to cum inside, Steve.”

“Fuck!” His warm seed fills you up quickly, shooting right against your walls as his hips snap into you over and over again. Relentless. Unforgiving. Your cunt fluttering and leaking with his own spill as Steve just fucking stares and watches you become one with him. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, princess. It’s — oh, you’re… m-milking me. Oh, shit. Shit!”

They’re both balls deep inside you and yet all you can think about is how you’re one-hundred percent never walking again after all of this is over.

Your own brain melts before you can even get a word out, turning you into a broken record of strangled moans and incoherent begging.

Princess, you like it when Eddie fucks your ass, don’t you?

Just wait till you give Harrington a turn.

You’re gorgeous like this, letting us stretch your little holes out just ‘cause we’re best friends — god — you dirty, wet girl. I’m never getting enough.

So pretty. So fucking p-pretty.

You cum instantly, your orgasm sneaking up on you from behind and swallowing you whole. Your release has you convulsing shamelessly in the boys’ arms, your mouth claimed by each of theirs as you switch between Steve and Eddie, then Steve again, and Eddie once more until your body refuses to recognize whose skin is whose and who tastes like what.

“Christ,” Eddie grits out. “Christ, your cunt is — you’re strangling my cock, baby. Baby. Oh, fuck, baby.”

Everything comes in a rush. Words lose their meaning, their formation and elegance (if you could even call dirty talk elegant) as Eddie’s ramblings get strung together and Steve’s hands roughly find solace on your thighs. The warm bloom in your ass almost makes you cum again, and you moan wantonly as Eddie jerks and vibrates against you.

You wince when they pull out at nearly the same time — almost as if they had coordinated it — and you wince when you feel their spend trickle down your thighs.

Your cunt clenches around nothingness as you sputter with their cum, your asshole puckering against Eddie’s face while he watches you gape between his hands. You whine when his finger prods at you, a hiss leaving your lips when he eats the cum from both of your holes.

Then, he slurps. Loud.

Definitely going to hell.

“Fuck.” You let out a breathy chuckle, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes to stop seeing the fucking stars that keep pulsing in your vision.

Unable to support yourself, you lazily collapse between the lanky bodies of Steve and Eddie, long limbs tangling with yours.

Steve kisses your temple, nuzzling his face under your chin. “Better than Brad?”

Silly boy.

You laugh again, harder this time, almost forgetting how sore your lower muscles are when Steve presses the curve of your nose against your neck and Eddie casually slings an arm over your stomach like he hadn’t just fucked your ass. “Better than Brad.”

“Thought his name was Matt.” Eddie huffs, tracing the blossoming hickey on your hip.

You glance at either of them, bringing your hands up to stroke their flushed cheeks before you’re giving them a gentle peck on the buttons of their noses. “I could give less of a fuck about Matt.”

“Good.”

“Can we please go get dinner now? You know, to celebrate my return and everything.”

Steve and Eddie collectively groan, burying themselves closer against you with sleepy eyes and sweaty skin.

“Just a little longer.”

“Eddie…”

“Meh.”

“Steve…”

“Nope.”

Theirs. Theirs. Theirs.

And it’s then — between your best friends’ naked and warm bodies, freckled skin and D&D-themed tattoos, soft long hair and thick romantic curls, moles and scars, the sun on your left and the moon on your right, the lingering kiss to your shoulder and the swirling fingers on your thigh — that you realize that maybe, they missed you more than you missed them.

And that maybe, you’re okay with this strange, insatiable dynamic of friendship. If you can even call it that.

After all, what are best friends for?

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #steddie x reader #steddie x you #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader

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bandgie · 2 months

Text

On Your Knees Pt.2

ONE | TWO

synopsis: They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but this one seems eager for a treat.

warnings! MDNI 18+, fem!reader, incel!seungmin, pussy eating/fingering, PIV (raw), edging (m!), blue balls, multiple orgasms (f!), dom reader (kinda), banter, prolly more that I missed lol

3.1k words

Seungmin doesn't think there'll be any way for him to live how he has been. Even the friends he spends time with hardly compare to the time he spends on the bathroom floor eating you out. Embarrassingly enough, it's all he can think about. Even as the podcast he's watching blares through his headphones, he can barely make out what they're saying.

Something about how it's submissive for a man to eat pussy. How demeaning the act is for a man to do. Yet, Seungmin questions the validity of what these so-called 'alpha' men are saying. Is it truly so terrible to have the taste of a cunt on your lips? To suck and lick on such a delicious flower?

He shuts his computer off, ripping the headphones by the wire to hone in on his conclusions.

Okay so maybe this is normal. Seungmin's a big boy; it makes sense that he would eat pussy sooner or later. And if he liked it, that's also fine. He's a man, after all, it makes more sense to like giving girls head than to hate it.

Just as long as he doesn't try to reach out to you. Now that would be submissive of him. And if there's anything Seungmin is dead set on, it's that he is not submissive.

But days after not seeing you with Han, days of not getting a taste of the pussy that has him whipped has him doing things he's sworn not to do. He found your number, he texted you, and he's going over your house on your conditions.

He's so fucked.

It's too late to turn back by the time he's at your front door. Seungmin only waits a few seconds before the door swings open. He's seen you about a dozen times, but it's the first time he's felt his heart swoop at the sight of you. He reasons it's just because you're in a t-shirt.

"Oh wow," you take a step back and look at him up and down, somewhat in disbelief. "I can't believe you actually came."

Seungmin can't find it in himself to believe he came here on his own violation either. "Whatever," he shivers from the cold, night air. "Are you gonna let me in or what?"

You take a step aside to make room, "Since you asked so nicely."

Seungmin takes awkward steps into your apartment, noting the cozy setup and simple plants littered in your living space. His fingertips run on the soft material of the couch, pulling on the loose threads automatically.

You walk past him, taking a seat on your couch and reaching for the remote. "I was just about to put something on," you turn and look up at him. "Come on."

Tentatively, Seungmin walks around the sofa to you. Just before he takes his seat, you click your tongue. "Nope. On the floor." You point to the space between your legs. Seungmin hands close and open, unsure what to make of the situation. You sigh and loll your head to the side, looking at him unamused. "You gonna sit down or what?"

Seungmin glowers at you, "I am. You don't need to be such as ass about it." He grumbles a little more before bending down and crossing his legs to face the TV. "Nope, wrong way," you twirl your finger in a circular motion to indicate him to face you instead.

He looks at you confused, "But you said we were gonna put something on." You shake your head at him, "No. I said I'm gonna put something on. I never said anything about you." A hint of red begins to show on Seungmin's face, but before he has the chance to most likely curse you, you spread your legs.

You can practically see the words die in Seungmin's throat at the sight of your bare cunt. He acts before he can think, twisting his body fully and gripping the underside of your thighs to spread you further. It's better than he remembers.

"This is why you came, right?" You look down at him. "Missed the taste of this pussy?"

Seungmin licks his lips, nodding mindlessly. Something about taste and pussy, but he understood nonetheless. His tongue pokes out, but you grip his hair and yank him upwards. Seungmin whines, like an animal tore away from his meal, but you ignore it. "You're just here to make me feel good, got it? You don't get to cum, only I do. Do you understand?"

You have to shake his head to force an answer out of him. "Yes yes yes." He shifts anxiously in your hold. "Only you. I'll make you feel good."

Despite his desperation, you smile. "Good boy. Go ahead."

The moment your grip loosens, Seungmin latches onto your core. It's soft, it's warm, it's good. He moans into your cunt, inhaling through his nose and he dips his tongue between your folds. It's only been days since he's tasted you, but it feels far too long. How could he go a single minute without tasting you? Getting that sticky arousal on his lips so the taste could mingle in his mouth the entire day? Seungmin puckers his lips and kisses your cunt, a thank you for introducing him to a whole new world.

Your fingers mindlessly click on the buttons of the remote as you try and find a show. You keep switching back and forth between options, clicking random buttons until you accidentally set the caption to a different language. One of your hands pet the top of Seungmin's head, pushing back his hair and twirling it in your fingers.

His tongue slides down until it catches your entrance, barely prodding it until he slides it back up to your clit. He swirls your bud in his mouth, sucking and licking until your hips buck. "Shit," you breathe. "You really missed my pussy, huh?"

Seungmin opens his eyes to look up at you. He turns his head sideways to place your clit in his mouth, flicking your clit rapidly. That's as much of an answer as you're getting, but it does the job. He lifts his head back up and sucks harshly, pulling on your sensitive flesh before releasing it. You shiver and moan, feeling your arousal drip onto the couch that you'll make him clean up later.

"Fuck yes," your grip tighten on his hair. "Finger me." Seungmin leans back and uses his hands to rub your pussy. His fingers rub and swirl around your core until they're drenched. He trails them down until they catch your entrance, pushing his middle and ring finger in.

You throw the remote on the couch and grip the cushions. The stretch is slight, but his fingers are long. They reach much deeper than you could ever do yourself, and you let out a loud moan when they finally settle all the way inside. Seungmin pumps you slowly, getting used to how your walls pulse and clench around him. He watches as your cunt swallows his fingers. His cock throbs in his pants.

"Shiiit," you throw your head back onto the headrest. "I'll cum if you keep doing that."

That's all he's ever wanted. Seungmin places his mouth back onto your clit where his tongue flattens against your cunt. He moves his head up and down while thrusting his fingers in and out. Both of your hands are tugging on his hair, pulling and pushing him away.

"Already?" He pulls away for a moment to speak. "Didn't think you'd be this easy, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised." A devilish smile appears on his lips as you lift your head to look at him. You wish you could come up with a snide remark, but your head starting to feel fuzzy and all you can focus on is how close you are.

You push his head back to your pussy and wrap your legs around his body, locking him in. "I'll make you regret saying that."

Seungmin laughs into your cunt, happy that he succeeded in pissing you off. Now that he's pushed against you, it's a little difficult to finger you as rapidly, but you rather like the shallow thrusts. It gives you more to clench down on and ride while he licks your clit. You buck your hips and ride his face inelegantly. The first hints of your orgasm build in your stomach, making your body feel unbelievably warm as your hips stutter.

"Fuck," you rasp. "Imma cum." You blink a few times and lazily smile at him, "Did you miss the taste of that too?"

As an answer, Seungmin buries himself so deep into you that his nose is pressed against your clit. The extra texture is enough to send you over the edge, creaming on his fingers and twitching in his mouth. He happily gulps down your arousal, slipping his fingers out to replace them with his tongue instead.

You just taste so good. Seungmin is delightfully reminded of how it felt to swallow you for the first time, how the taste settled on his tastebuds. His tongue scoops out the white cream your pussy flooded out and spreads it on your clit before licking it back up again.

He hums, shoving his cum-stained fingers when you finally release him from your hold.

Seungmin wants it again. His hands splay over your thighs to spread them. After all, it's you who gets to cum. It's only fair he makes sure you can as much as possible. But before his tongue has the chance to find its rightful place in your pussy, you snap your legs shut.

He looks up at you like a wounded dog, "Hey! Open them back up!"

Seungmin isn't sure what he's expecting to see, but it definitely isn't how you look right now. Flushed with a heaving chest, eyes that are wide and full of arousal, and a cheeky smile on your bitten lips. He's reminded of how pretty you actually are.

"Get up," you snap him out of his thoughts. "Take off your pants too."

He doesn't need to be told twice. Seungmin rises from his aching knees and fumbles with his belt. He unties it quickly before undoing the top of his pants, shoving them down along with his boxers. You gasp, eyes locking with his cock for the first time.

"Holy shit," you slap a hand over your mouth. He's hard. His cock is red at the tip, leaking with so much precum you think he's had to stain his underwear. You can almost see it twitching from lack of attention, begging to be touched.

Seungmin smiles, grabbing the base and squeezing it. "You like it, huh?" It's not easy to take your gaze off his length to look into his eyes instead. The sight of him has you aching to be filled. Your pussy clenches around nothing, but you keep your nose upturned, "It's alright."

He scoffs, but the smile never fades. You widen your legs and welcome him, watching as he gets into a half-squat position to angle his cock towards your entrance. Seungmin rubs his tip over your sensitive clit. When it catches your nub, you jolt. You wrap your legs around him and bring him closer. He does it again, this time pressing the head of his cock down to apply pressure.

You reason he's doing this on purpose. Making your pussy squelch and your hips jolt to try and get him inside. As much as you hate to admit it, he's good with his dick. Teasing you by slowly dragging the fat of his head down your slit, slapping his tip and your wet cunt. You're annoyingly reminded of what he said days ago; 'I can make a girl cum. I just don't care to.'

The words echo in your mind and you scrunch your nose. "God, fuck! Stop pissing me off and put it in already."

For a moment, you think he's going to defy you. His tip trails lower and lower until it's against your entrance. Seungmin steadies his cock at the base and pushes forwards, barely spreading you open. "Didn't think I'd ever hear you begging for my cock," he smiles at you teasingly. "You were being such a feminist the other day. What happened?"

Not-so-nice words begin to form in your head and before you get the chance to spew them out, Seungmin pushes all the way in. His cock stretches you out more than you anticipated, and it's whines that leave your lips instead. He doesn't give you the chance to adjust as he pulls nearly all the way, save for his tip, before slamming back in. Your entire body jolts and you whimper again.

Your pussy can't keep up with his pace, but you hardly mind the pain. It blurs into white pleasure that burns hot in your cunt.

"You hear that?" Seungmin pants through his thrusts. "That's the sound of your pussy getting fucked by an...what was it again? An incel?" He laughs as your eyes darken with anger, seething with a type of emotion you're not too familiar with.

You reach out the grip his wrist that's placed on the side of the couch, digging your nails into his flesh. Seungmin hardly notices the pain, his teeth shining in his shit-eating smile.

The words are stuck in your throat. You want no more than to tell Seungmin how much of an ass he is, that his cock is merely adequate, but you can't. Every drag of his length rubs against your walls deliciously. You can practically feel every vein on him as he fucks you raw. He makes your hot pussy even hotter and he, unfortunately for you, keeps dragging his cock against that sweet spot deep inside you.

"You," a breath from you, "are a dick."

Strangely enough, your words seem to spur him on more. He tears his hand from your iron grip to place them both under your hips. Seungmin angles your hips upwards and drives forward, shoving his cock unbelievably deeper. Your hands shoot up to your face, trying to block all sounds of pleasure, but Seungmin can hear them. He can hear the gasping behind your fingers, the high-pitched moans muffled in your hands.

Seungmin laughs, but it sounds winded. "A dick huh? That's funny. You seem to like being fucked by one."

It occurs to you that you've been too lenient on him. Letting him eat the very same pussy he's thrusting into, letting him fuck you raw. His attitude needs some shaping.

You let him keep fucking you. You let his cock throb and twitch in your pussy. He's close, but he's doing good at holding back. Seungmin must be used to dumping his cum and leaving, but he seems to hold out just for you. It's cute, but your plan is better.

Your head bounces with every thrust. Seungmin makes sure to keep his long fingers at your clit the entire time, switching between pinching and flicking against it. It helps to build your second orgasm. Your jaw falls open and your moans become more frequent.

"Shit," he breathes. "Pussy gripping me so tight. Is someone gonna cum again?"

Blinking up at him, you nod. Your hand grips your chest, squeezing your boobs underneath the material as you keep nodding. "Mhm. Keep fucking my pussy and I'll cream all over your cock." That does it for him. Seungmin has been holding back his orgasm so much that his ears feel like they might burst.

With new vigor, he fucks into you harder, deeper. Seungmin doesn't try to hide the animalistic sounds he makes, groaning and moaning as your walls wrap around his cock. "You want my cum, huh? Acting all big and strong when it's you're begging for it. Say it. Tell me you want my cum."

You don't, not because you're prideful, but because you can't. He's thrusting into you so roughly that words seem to leave you. His hand pulls your clit roughly, and the harsh tug drives you over the edge. You squeeze your breasts so tightly to anchor yourself. You can feel how your pussy floods with your cum, leaving your legs trembling and shaking.

Seungmin can feel it too. The pulsing, the wetness. It's enough to finally let him release. His balls tighten, his dick twitches, and he-

"Pull out."

Seungmin doesn't know why he listens. He was so close to his orgasm, he could still taste it on his tongue. But your demand outweighs his need to cum. With a wail, he pulls out. A small whimper makes its way past you as he finally slips out, cock shining in your cum.

His cock is red, rubbed nearly raw from how good he was keeping himself at bay. You can see the head of his cock pulsing, worse than the first time you saw it. A wicked smile finds your lips.

"Do you remember what I said earlier, Seungie?" You speak with artificial gentleness. Seungmin is too busy trying not to cum, squeezing the base of his cock almost painfully. You have to repeat your question before he finally looks up to you. "Huh? About what?"

"About who gets to cum," you remind him. "Who is it that gets to cum tonight?"

Seungmin thinks back about how you presented your cunt to him, bare and wet. He briefly recalls how you said something about being the only one to cum, but he was so entranced by your sweet pussy that he hardly cared.

He frowns, face flushed. "But that's not fair! I ate you out. You came on my tongue. You came on my dick. I'm so hard and-"

"And that doesn't matter," you interrupt him. "I never said you can cum. That's your fault for assuming you could." You have to bite back you smile at his pitiful reaction.

Even with his dejected look, you can't help but find it somewhat cute. You fake a pout and click your tongue, "Poor thing. Here, kisses will make you feel better."

Seungmin wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't you widening your legs and him falling to his knees. Yet, he does just that. You feel his warm, wet tongue on your throbbing clit. Sucking and licking eagerly like he forgot about the aching cock between his legs.

You fondly brush the hair from his face as he eats you out for the second time tonight. His eyes look up to you with your clit in your mouth and you shiver. Seungmin will be a handful for sure, but you can't help but think you've found the perfect diamond in the rough.

a/n: omfg I actually had a whole different idea but I scraped it and did this instead :p. if you wanna ask for a third part, please don't, I have no more plot for this fic tags: @mynsung, @andassortedkpop, @jminnnnnnn, @geneziesm, @applekiwi3202, @i6gyuu, @lazycarolinamoment, @lewoh-ot8-wh0re, @ihave-atummyache, @seeeeking-skz, @loeyscock, @blankdyean, @dini-recs, @yzsqu, @desirehorizon-recsextra a/n: I need to start asking if people want tags rather than looking through my comments and see who was asking for a pt 2 :(

#smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz #stray kids #skz seungmin #stray kids seungmin #seungmin x reader #seungmin smut #seungmin #seungmin stray kids #seungmin skz #seungmin skz smut #skz hard thoughts #skz hard hours

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prdx-invdr · 2 months

Text

୨୧⸝⸝﹕it’s salty in the middle of those sweet moments.

SUMMARY! for reasons unknown to him, you seem to absolutely hate lee anton. on several occasions, he’s tried to hate you right back, but found that it can be difficult to dislike someone when you’re completely infatuated with them.

PAIRING! lee anton x fem!reader

GENRE! college!au, slice of life, swim team!au idk what to call it actually but anton and reader are both captains, fluff, angst (kinda), (one-sided) enemies to lovers WC 6.6k

WARNING! swearing, reader is mean to anton for a while, miscommunication, i have no knowledge of swimming as a sport and had to do a lot of research for this one so sorry if this contains some inaccuracies, not proofread

NOTE! when anon requested this i jumped out of my seat bc rivals to lovers with anton was my very first wip on this acc but i scrapped it and this gave me an excuse to write abt it again

anton thinks the world of you while you think nothing of him. he’s unsure of how someone he thinks of so highly could hate him so much, and he’s even more unsure of how he could still be so enamored by you despite knowing that you feel the exact opposite way about him.

he gave up on trying to understand the root of your hatred towards him long ago.

at first, he assumed that you were just jealous of the fact that the boy’s swim team had a bigger budget than the girl’s. this wasn’t anton’s fault by any means, but he thought that you might’ve been taking your anger out on him due to his position as team captain. the school administration seemed to simply favor the boy’s swim team over yours, and even anton knew that it wasn’t fair. the favoritism meant that anton’s team received better funding, which inevitably meant better… everything.

anton vividly remembers the glare that you’re always giving him only growing in intensity the day he and his team stepped into the pool area wearing their brand new goggles and swim trunks. he recalls the way the other girls on your team looked down at their own worn out swimsuits upon seeing anton’s team’s new attire, and he felt terrible. if it were up to him, he would’ve entered the room wearing the same faded blue swim jammers he and his teammates were forced to wear at the start of the semester if it meant you’d stop looking at him with such disdain in your eyes.

if this had been the reason behind your distaste for the boy, he would’ve understood. but the hatred you held for him extended beyond swimming, too.

“your hair looks stupid like that,” he hears you mutter from behind him. he turns around, an indifferent expression adorning his features to mask his nervousness.

the fact that you still manage to get the boy’s heart racing and his palms sweating despite your cruel words is baffling to him.

anton’s teeth sink into his bottom lip, wanting to retaliate but not having the slightest idea what to say. “my hair looks like this everyday,” is all he can pathetically exhale.

you’re still staring at him with a furrowed brow and he stares back at you, perplexed. he wonders if you have anything else to say to him or if you were insulting his hair for the pure fun of it. he thinks he’d be fine with either, because at least you’re talking to him.

he feels like slapping himself in the forehead at his own lovesickness.

after a few moments of silence, you scoff, signaling with your hand that you want him to move out of your way.

wordlessly, anton obliges, stepping aside and watching as you continue on your way to whatever class you have next. he notices merely seconds afterwards that the hallway he’s currently standing in isn’t narrow in the slightest, meaning you could’ve easily gone around him and still insisted on making him move. he wishes he could dislike you— he really does.

anton turns around to find sohee and seunghan now leaning against the wall, having observed the entire interaction between you and their love-struck friend. sohee looks at him pitifully while seunghan claps, slowly and sarcastically.

“don’t,” is all anton says to them, hanging his head. he knows that they’d like to drill another lesson into his mind about how he needs to stop letting you push him around like that, and he’s not in the mood for it.

“anton, my man,” seunghan sighs, putting an arm around his shoulders. “i get that you like her, i really do, and that she’s pretty and all,” he feels anton’s shoulders momentarily tense at his words, “but i don’t think she’s into you. like, at all.”

anton shrugs the older boy’s arm off, shaking his head. “i don’t like her,” he lies through gritted teeth. sohee and seunghan share an unamused look.

in actuality, the two of them were there to witness anton fall for you firsthand. when their younger friend first saw you and two of your friends walking through the quad area of campus, they watched the way his eyes widened and the way the oxygen left his lungs. they recall thinking that anton’s heart would burst out of his chest and fall right onto the grass below the three of them. his friends were in disbelief that anton was currently standing in front of them and denying his feelings for you when they quite literally saw him develop said feelings in real time.

when anton found out that you were captain of the girl’s swim team, it only solidified the way he felt about you. being captain of the boy’s swim team himself, he thought it was the perfect setup. he was too shy to nonchalantly walk up to you and initiate conversation, but he had the notion that swimming would make good enough of an excuse.

his hopes of becoming acquainted with you through your shared interest in the sport were crushed almost immediately. when he first tried to strike up a conversation with you, you sent him a scowl that intimidated him into walking the other way. on a separate occasion, he attempted to talk to you again, only for you to turn your head and pretend that you hadn’t heard him. he hasn’t tried to initiate anything ever since, the only time the two of you ever interact being whenever you glare at him or make a remark about him in passing.

he never found out what your problem was when it came to him, and he doesn’t think he ever will.

anton sees sohee and seunghan’s solemn faces and scoffs. “i’m serious, guys!” he complains, “you’ve seen the way she acts towards me. why would i like somebody like that? that’s like setting myself up for failure.” his chest tightens as the words leave his mouth. he only said that so his friends would drop the subject, but he knows that there’s truth behind his statement. the two boys only exhale disappointedly.

sohee purses his lips. “if she didn’t absolutely hate you for no reason, you guys would probably look good together,” he comments. seunghan nods, “too bad she’s got a stick up her ass.”

for whatever reason, anton wants to defend you and tell his friend that there is no stick up your ass— you’re only hostile when it comes to him. he realizes how pitiful that sentence would sound to sohee and seunghan and decides against saying it out loud.

“stop being hung up on that girl, anton,” sohee chimes, putting a hand on his friend’s arm, “there’s plenty of fish in the sea. you would know all about that, right? since you’re a swimmer and all.”

seunghan hits sohee in the arm jokingly. “he’s on the swim team, not a fucking merman.”

“he’s so cute, are you kidding me?” you hear rei practically squeal as you step into the locker room. she and jiwon are both already wearing their swimsuits, and the latter looks up upon hearing you enter the room.

“who are we talking about?” you smile, setting down your backpack. it’s late in the afternoon and you’re relieved to be done with your classes for the day, finally able to do what you love most.

“um,” jiwon begins, “no one in particular. right, rei?” your friend sounds a bit on edge as she turns to the girl sitting on the bench beside her, who shrugs. “we’re talking about anton,” she replies, earning a slap on the arm from jiwon. “ow! what the hell?”

jiwon watches as you halt your process of taking off your shirt, about to change into your swimsuit. she knew that your mood would turn sour at the mention of the boy; it’s a known fact amongst the members of your team that you hate lee anton.

“you think anton is cute?” you turn to rei, frowning. the girl lets out a huff of air, her bangs moving in the process. “i don’t see how you don’t,” she mutters, “and i don’t get why you hate his guts either. he’s super nice.”

you continue changing, the two girls looking away from you as you do so out of respect. “you wouldn’t understand,” is all you say in response. jiwon bites her lip, feeling bad for the boy. she’s seen it all— the fleeting, longing glances anton sends your way, and the scornful looks you send him in return. she doesn’t comment on it, not wanting to upset you, but a minuscule, intrusive part of her desperately wants to know what’s going on between you and the captain of the boy’s team.

rei, however, seems to know no boundaries. “would you be mad if i dated him, then?” she chortles, giddily kicking her legs. not facing you, she doesn’t see the way you grow tense at her question. you open your mouth to respond when a knock at the locker room door startles the three of you.

the door opens a fraction and you turn to see yujin pop her head inside. “are you guys almost ready?” she asks, scanning the room before her eyes land on you. “oh, hey, captain,” she smiles, eyes forming crescents. you wave, and the older girl continues. “coach wanted me to remind you guys that we have a joint training session today,” she clenches her teeth for a second, eyes moving to jiwon and rei who are wearing matching nervous expressions at the reminder. “you know, with the boys team,” yujin finishes, not daring to look you in the eye in fear of how you might react.

as captain of the team, you were curious as to why your coach would want to remind you of that, seeing as you were often the first person to obtain this information. upon deeper thought, you realize it was probably because even your coach knew about your hatred towards anton and wanted you to stay focused this time around rather than glaring at him every few minutes. you almost let out a laugh at the thought.

“you hear that, captain?” rei teases, “prepare yourself! don’t let anton distract you this time.”

you throw a towel in her direction, earning a grunt from her. “i should be telling you that,” you scold, “seeing as you’re obsessed with him all of a sudden.”

rei laughs, and you’re unsure of how to feel when you come to the realization that she didn’t disagree with your statement.

once you finally leave the locker room, you come face to face with your sworn enemy himself.

anton doesn’t look in your direction for as long as he normally does, memories of your interaction from earlier in the day flooding his mind. no matter how small of a gesture it is, your teammates take notice of it. “he’s not staring at you today,” gaeul whispers, shocked.

you only shake your head. “like i care,” you spit, crossing your arms, “i prefer it that way, actually. he should focus on his own team.”

wonyoung puts her hands on your shoulders from behind, lightly shaking you. “loosen up, okay?” she advises, her own eyes drifting over to anton’s team. as if on cue, anton looks over at you for a moment, watching as you joke around with your teammate. he wishes that you were even half as nice to him as you are to your team, wondering what it would be like to laugh with you the same way wonyoung is right now.

noticing anton’s preoccupied state, one of his teammates calls out to him. “captain!” anton turns his head away from you, looking his teammate in the eye. “yeah, taesan? you need something?” he inquires, getting back into his leader headspace. taesan looks over anton’s shoulder at your team, making the inference that he had been distracted by you. like always, taesan thinks to himself.

“do some stretches with me, yeah?” he says, wanting anton to fully dedicate himself to practicing instead of letting you pose as an obstacle.

anton is a good team captain— any of his teammates can attest. but it feels like anytime you’re in his presence, he’s only able to give 80% as opposed to his usual hundred, the other 20% being spent completely fixated on you.

he walks over to his dark haired teammate with a nod, agreeing to help him warm up. he thinks it serves as a more productive way to pass time than staring at you like a lovesick idiot.

“i was thinking,” taesan starts, copying the way anton does shoulder stretches to loosen his joints, “well, me and leehan were talking about it, actually. we should do a bonfire later, at the beach,” he tells the older boy.

anton licks his lips, nodding absentmindedly. “just you and leehan?” he asks, looking around the room for the boy in question. he sees leehan standing in the corner looking disinterested and waves him over. with an inaudible sigh, leehan reluctantly joins the two boys who are now doing tricep stretches. taesan shakes his head in response to the question anton had posed, “no, i meant, like, the whole team,” he corrects. “tell him, leehan,” taesan nudges his teammate.

“i hate stretching,” leehan murmurs, gaze aimed towards the white tiles beneath him. “about the bonfire, dumbass,” taesan deadpans. leehan perks up at the mention of something that he actually cares about. “oh, yeah! we’re gonna invite the whole team,” he grins, “it’ll be a blast, anton. you’ve gotta go.”

anton thinks it over, biting the inside of his cheek. “it’s already kind of late though, no?” he points out, causing the two boys on either side of him to groan. “bonfires are literally supposed to happen at night,” taesan comments at the same time leehan says, “don’t be such a buzzkill.”

“is the girls team invited?” anton can’t stop himself from asking, earning more groans from the two boys. “i don’t want to go through the trouble of inviting them,” leehan complains. “yeah,” his friend nods, “plus, he’s only asking because he wants their captain to be there.”

taesan’s comment makes anton come to a halt, and he’s now the only one out of the three of them no longer stretching. “that’s not true,” he defends himself, “i just feel kind of bad. i mean, we already have a bigger budget than them, and stuff.”

“keep telling yourself that, champ,” leehan grumbles. “we see right through you.” anton steps forward, looking at both of them simultaneously. “guys, seriously,” he says lowly, “i feel bad.”

taesan lets out a laugh, “right, you feel bad that you won’t be able to make heart eyes at y/n tonight.”

anton rubs his palm across his face, frustrated. “here’s an offer for you. you either invite the girls team, or…” he pauses, attempting to appear intimidating, “you’re not allowed to have the bonfire at all.”

the two boys scoff in unison. “you can’t just do that,” taesan snorts, “you’re our captain, not our mom.” anton scratches his head at that, disorientated. “look, i— okay,” he tries again, “i don’t know. i’ll buy you guys food, or something.”

it’s now taesan and leehan’s turn freeze in their places. “why didn’t you start with that?”

practice ends faster than you wish it had and you hoist your bag over your shoulder. you turn to jiwon and rei, about to ask if they’re ready to leave when you’re interrupted by two loud voices. “girls! hey!” you turn your head to see two members of the boys swim team— who’s names you never bothered to learn— running up to you and your friends.

“hey,” one of them pants, “don’t leave yet.” you look at your friends once more, studying their expressions that look just as confused as yours. “anton wanted— ouch!” the boy is interrupted by his friend slapping him on the arm harshly, as if he had said something wrong. “all of us, i mean, wanted to know if you girls would like to join us tonight,” the boy finishes, rubbing his arm while sending a subtle glare in his friend’s direction.

“join you.. in doing what, exactly?” you inquire, serious as ever. the two boys seemingly grow smaller under your intimidating gaze as if they hadn’t anticipated your somber attitude. “we’re doing a bonfire,” the other boy replies, pointing his thumb in the direction of the rest of his team. you look over the boy’s shoulder, your eyes landing upon anton, who is already looking at you. upon seeing your eyes scan over him, he looks away.

rei claps her hands together a few times, “we’ll be there! thank you for inviting us.” her words startle you and you open your mouth to protest. you had just been seconds away from telling the boys in front of you that you weren’t interested.

“yeah, count us in!” jiwon chimes, and you want the tiled floor below to swallow you whole. “you guys have fun, then,” you tell them, eyes swimming with boredom, “i’m going home.”

“no!” the boys in front of you shout in unison, startling you and your team. “you have to come. especially,” one of them pleads. “and why is that?” you put one hand on your hip, intimidating them further.

everyone already seems to know the answer to your question before the boys can even formulate the words to say it. “our captain wants you to.”

your teammates all but drag you to the beach against your will, uttering complaints about how you “need to learn how to have fun” and how they’ve “been waiting for something exciting like this to happen”.

within the first 5 minutes of your arrival, you’ve already tried to escape more times than your friends are able to count. wonyoung had to keep a tight grip on your wrist to ensure that you wouldn’t go anywhere, and you swear at the girl in your head for being stronger than she appears.

“i can’t believe anton himself told his friends to invite us just so he could see y/n,” rei mutters, astonished, “do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

“that’s definitely not the reason,” you deny, already wanting to drop the topic, “they probably just thought it would be funny because everybody on the planet knows that i hate him.”

and while taesan and leehan are most definitely aware of your hatred towards their captain, their reasoning for inviting you and your team really was because anton wanted to see you.

“invite the girls team!” leehan mocks, intentionally making his voice sound higher, “i feel sooo bad for them!” anton pays no mind to the way he’s being blatantly teased, his eyes trained on you. “feel bad for them my ass,” taesan comments under his breath, “he’s already making heart eyes at her, just like i said.”

“you’re a real masochist, you know that?” leehan adds, waving a hand in front of anton’s line of sight. the taller boy blinks in response as if he had broken out of whatever trance you had him under. “that girl doesn’t even try to hide the fact that she hates you, and you’re still, like, obsessed with her.”

anton sharply exhales through his nose, not needing another reminder of the fact that you dislike him and that he’s stupid for helplessly pining after you.

“i’ve heard that a million times,” he retorts, “and i’m not obsessed with her. in fact, i’m starting to hate her, too.”

he thinks that lying to his teammates is just as difficult as lying to sohee and seunghan, only receiving humorless looks in response to his statement. “right,” taesan scoffs, “you hate her so much that you forced me and leehan to invite the entire girls swim team just so you could see her.” anton lightly hits him with the back of his hand, muttering, “i told you that’s not the reason.”

all three boys turn to look at you, arms crossed and unamused. “oh, man,” leehan laughs, “she’s bored out of her fucking mind.” anton watches you carefully, your eyes burning a hole in the sand beneath your shoes. “why don’t you go talk to her, captain?” taesan teases, slapping his friend on the back boyishly. anton staggers forward about a centimeter due to the impact, looking back at the boy. “or anyone on the girls team, for that matter. since you made us invite every single one of them,” leehan quips.

but anton thinks that talking to you would only dampen your mood even further, and he doesn’t want the glare that you’re currently directing towards the sand to be aimed at him. “try talking to her, right there,” leehan points to someone in your general direction and anton follows his finger with his gaze, “naoi rei. she’s one of y/n’s closest friends, i think.”

taesan lets out another scoff, “yeah, but she’s not y/n. anton wants y/n, not the next best thing.”

jiwon and rei stand next to the bonfire, and you overhear one of them comment on how it isn’t as big as they were expecting it to be. you see wonyoung and yujin sitting on some large rocks a short distance away from the shore. you quickly scan the perimeter looking for gaeul, who you find sitting on the sand and looking up at the stars. your friends are all enjoying themselves— why aren’t you?

as per usual, you want to blame your discomfort on the fact that anton is in your vicinity. but how exactly could you do that when he hasn’t interacted with you all night?

come to think of it, your last interaction with the boy in question was earlier today when you told him that his hair looked stupid. you shake your head at the memory— you hadn’t even meant it. you actually liked his hair, but you’d rather drop dead than admit that to him. you hate lee anton with a burning passion, and you hate that you like his hair.

you hate that you’re currently sitting here wishing that he would come up to you and say something. after all, your friends dragged you here and his teammates made it seem as though your attendance was obligatory. the way you see it, the least anton could do after subjecting you to all of that is talk to you. you suppose that you can’t really blame him for not wanting to, though. you kick the sand beneath you at the realization.

you’re not sure how much time you spend thinking about the boy you swear to hate with every fiber of your being, but you conclude that a few long minutes must’ve gone by, because suddenly you look up and find that both your team and anton’s team are gathered around the fire. you watch them carefully, eyes wandering from individual to individual.

you see yujin laughing with some guy from the other team. you see the two boys that invited you and your friends to this very event. finally, your eyes land on anton, and you regret it almost immediately.

he’s nervously scratching the back of his neck the way you often catch him doing. he’s got a bashful smile on his lips as he looks down at whoever he’s currently talking to. you crane your neck to see who that may be, and find that it’s none other than your own teammate and friend— naoi rei.

you make a face of disgust that no one sees, and only then do you realize that you’re still standing a good distance away from the large group. “oh my god,” you scowl. you run a hand over your face, conflicted. you already hated being here, and seeing anton converse with one of your closest friends might’ve just made your attitude towards this whole situation a million times worse. you know that rei is probably over the moon right now, looking up at him with a twinkle in her eye and a girlish smile.

you want to be happy for her— you think that any good friend would jump at the sight of their teammate getting along with the person they find attractive— and you swear that you would be if the person she was talking to was anyone but him. you tell yourself that it’s because rei deserves better than him, ignoring the way your heart plummets. he was only going to chase after you for so long.

you shake your head rapidly as if it would rid your mind of the thought, not knowing where it came from in the first place.

you need to get out of here— asap.

you hate lee anton and you hate that you like his hair and you hate that you spent a decent amount of time tonight wishing that he’d speak to you.

you hate that you even care in the slightest that he’s currently flirting with your best friend and you hate that almost everyone here managed to convince you that he and his teammates invited you simply because he wanted you here.

you discreetly make your way around the group, advancing towards the shore. you don’t think anyone sees you as you do so, hearing the sound of their laughter grow more distant with each step you take towards the sea. as you continue moving forward absentmindedly, you don’t realize that you’re already knees deep in the water until a salty wave crashes into you, reaching the area below your thigh.

“what are you doing?” your head quickly turns to find the source of the voice and you scowl once you realize who it is.

of course, anton chooses now to finally talk to you.

you turn back around, ignoring him, because that’s how you are— you think about him more than you’d ever like to admit and act indifferent towards him once he’s in your presence. anton watches as you turn your back to him, unsure of why he assumed that this interaction with you would be any different from your interactions in the past.

nonetheless, with bravery that he didn’t even know he had, anton continues talking. “you could get sick if you go any further,” he blurts out.

in truth, anton had been watching you through his peripheral vision as he was conversing with rei, and saw as you treaded through the sand and into the water. he excused himself— he had been looking for a way to escape the conversation anyway— and followed your silhouette that was now standing in the ocean, letting waves collide with your legs.

in retrospect, he should’ve thought of something to say to you beforehand, because if the mere act of him talking to you wasn’t enough to piss you off, anton was sure that lecturing you about how you could get sick from swimming at night would definitely cause you to flip your lid.

his suspicions appear to have been correct, because you whip your head back around and give him an angry look. “what are you doing here?” you spit, expecting him to flinch and avoid your gaze the same way that he always does.

“why can’t i be here?” he presses, furrowing his brow, and you’re the one that flinches. “do you own the ocean?”

you’re sure that steam would be coming out of your ears right now if you were living in an old cartoon. you clench your fist, taken aback.

“why do you hate me so much, y/n?” anton pleads, unable to prevent the million dollar question from leaving his lips. this is a position he never thought he’d find himself in; confronting you about your unadulterated hatred towards him while your entire bottom half is almost completely submerged in the ocean.

your lip quivers and you clench your teeth as you feel your resilient facade start to crack. neither you nor anton are sure where his daring attitude came from, but it seems to be catching both of you by surprise, because even the boy in question moves to wipe his palms against his jeans to rid them of their clamminess. “answer me,” he demands, his voice as soft as it normally is and yet it still intimidates you.

you turn around for the forth and final time, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of discovering the root of your distaste towards him. anton shakes his head, although you’re unable to see it, and sharply inhales in preparation for what he’s about to do.

he cautiously takes a step forward, letting the water dampen the cuffs of his jeans. he cringes, but proceeds nevertheless, mimicking the strides that you had taken minutes prior.

before you’re able to prevent it from happening, anton is standing directly beside you, jeans darkening as the water seeps into them, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

the tall boy leans forward, and you lean back. “answer me,” he repeats his previous words in a hushed voice.

you’re looking down at the water that the two of you are standing in and anton thinks it’s funny, for a moment, how the roles seem to be reversed— you’re tense and apprehensive while he’s bold and collected, trying to crane his neck to meet your downward pointed gaze.

“you should know the reason why,” he hears you speak under your breath. you finally look at him, eyes narrowed. “you’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” you question, and he recoils.

“i’m not— what? why would— why do you think i’m making fun of you?” anton sputters, genuinely appalled at the accusation. he’s unable to wrap his head around what kind of thoughts might be running through your mind right now.

“because there’s no way in hell that you don’t know why i hate you, lee anton,” you say, words flying from your mouth hurriedly. “there’s no way you just let me push you around and stare at you like you’re the scum of the earth if you don’t know the reason why. you have to know,” you look into his eyes in search of an answer but you’re only met with confusion.

anton shakes his head. “i don’t know, y/n,” he begins, “i really don’t know, and i’m sorry if you think i’m playing a prank on you right now, but i’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

he looks down momentarily, his eyes landing on his wet jeans. when he looks back up, he’s zoned in on the way the moon makes your eyes look as though they’re sparkling, and he thinks it’s beautiful. “you may know this already,” he starts speaking again, “but i’m in love with you.”

he makes sure not to stutter or appear anxious in the slightest, afraid that if he made the slightest mistake, he’d try to prevent the words from leaving his mouth. and he needs you to know.

your lips part, his words shocking you more than anything else that has taken place tonight. “i’m always lying to my teammates and my friends, saying that i don’t like you because they think i’m insane for chasing after someone who wishes i didn’t even exist,” anton continues, his tone becoming sorrowful, “but i can’t lie anymore. especially not to you.”

by now, both of your hearts are pounding, and you’re sure that they would be audible if it weren’t for the sounds of the waves crashing. “so, no,” he says, “the reason i let you push me around isn’t because i know why you hate me. it’s because i’m in love with you, and no matter how hard i try, i can’t stop.”

he waits for you to respond, eyes trained on yours. you finally start speaking, lowly and carefully. “there was this guy,” you tell him, “you used to hang out with him last year. i would see you and him laughing together all the time, with two other friends of yours.”

taking in your words, anton ponders who you could be referring to before his eyes widen slightly. “wonbin?” he asks, although he has no doubt in his mind that you’re talking about his older friend. wonbin, seunghan, sohee and anton were practically attached at the hip during the latter’s freshman year of college, and when wonbin made the decision to drop out in order to pursue a career in music, the other three were left to fend for themselves.

you scoff, despite wanting to contain your hostility towards the boy after his confession. “i don’t know his name,” you mumble, “but yeah, that’s probably him.”

anton nods, urging you to continue. he’s finally going to find out why you’ve disliked him for as long as he can remember and he doesn’t want to waste a second. “he told me that you liked me,” you say, watching as the boy flinches in your peripheral at your words. “and i was so happy at the time because i liked you, too.”

it’s anton’s turn to be stunned by your confession, not believing the words that are coming out of your mouth. “i would always look at you, but you’d never look at me back. when your friend— wonbin, i guess— told me that you liked me, i thought that meant you would talk to me,” you shake your head at the memory, “but you never did. it was like i didn’t even exist to you.”

you keep talking, quietly, “every single person who knew me knew that i liked you. one day, i saw you guys laughing together like you always did, and then it clicked in my brain.” you’re silent for a moment before you continue. “i figured that you must’ve known that i liked you, too, and told your friend to say that to me as some sort of cruel joke.”

anton is yet again appalled at your words. “you only seemed to start caring about my existence at the beginning of last semester. you tried to come up to me a few times, and i always assumed it was because you were finally feeling bad about the whole wonbin thing and wanted to apologize, and i didn’t want to hear it. it was around that time that i started hating you.”

you scratch the back of your neck, not having thought that you’d ever admit any of this to the boy standing beside you. anton swallows before he thinks over his next words. “i didn’t know about any of that,” he assures you, and he can sense that you doubt his words momentarily because he starts talking faster. “i’m not sure what prompted wonbin to say that to you, but i can tell you this,” he whispers, “i’ve been in love with you from the very first time i saw you, and no amount of insults or glares from you is ever going to change that.” for a moment, even the waves of the ocean seem to still, leaving only the sound of anton’s voice ringing in your ears.

you’re not used to feeling this vulnerable, and the fact that you’re sharing a moment like this with lee anton— the man you (no longer) hate— sends a shiver down your spine. you find yourself searching for a sense of familiarity, even if it comes in the form of playful banter rather than the usual insult.

“say that again,” you tell him, and he’s unsure if you’re being serious at first. when silence lingers in the air, he finally begins speaking. “i’ve… been in love with you since the first time i saw you,” anton says, unsure. you shake your head, displeased.

“put it in the present tense,” you purse your lips, crossing your arms. anton lets out a curt laugh, now realizing that you’re actually joking with him. so this, he thinks, is what it feels like to laugh with you. “i’m in love with you, y/n,” by now, he’s adorning a smile that reaches his eyes, head slightly tilted towards the ground bashfully.

“wanna know something, lee anton? i think i might be, too.”

weeks later, you’re swinging open the doors to the pool area, the smell of chlorine crashing into you as you step inside.

the boys team is in the middle of practicing, leehan and taesan— who’s names you finally learned after enduring weeks of their relentless teasing, always having to hear a complaint from them about how their team captain is even less focused than before since the two of you started dating— spotting you almost immediately. they let out exaggerated groans, knowing they now have to witness you and anton grossly interact.

“captain!” taesan calls out with dread lacing his tone, “your girlfriend is here.” upon hearing that, anton, who is currently in the pool, whips his head around so quickly that you’re almost positive he could’ve gotten whiplash. you wave, and rather than exiting the water, he swims over to where you stand on the poolside. looking up at you, he smiles, slightly out of breath. “hey, lovely,” he says, removing the goggles from around his head so he can study you better.

he pays no mind to the sounds of his teammates gagging in the background, not looking anywhere but at you.

to say that both your team and anton’s team were surprised upon hearing about your blossoming relationship with the boy would be an understatement. not only did both teams have to grow accustomed to the fact that you no longer hated anton, but they also needed to get used to the mere concept of you two dating each other. it wasn’t as though you two no longer served as distractions to the other, however— if anything, you both stared at each other even more than you had previously, the difference being that now you looked at anton with adoration in your eyes rather than resentment.

“i don’t know if seeing you two together makes my heart want to explode with joy, or if it makes me wanna throw up,” you recall rei telling you during practice one day. anton has shared similar stories, stating that although both taesan and leehan are happy to see their captain in a relationship with the girl he’s been pining after, they hate the way anton apparently never shuts up about you during training.

you look down at the boy, flashing him a smile of your own. droplets of water threaten to fall into his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “hey,” you hum, “i won’t bother you long. just checking in.” anton shakes his head, water spraying the floor beneath you in the process. “you never bother me,” he says.

“oh, hush,” you wave your hand dismissively. “i’m serious. hey, can you come down here for a sec?” anton asks, gesturing for you to crouch next to the pool. you give him a suspicious look, morphing your lips into a tight line. “anton, i’m not letting you pull me in there.”

he shakes his head again, letting out a laugh. “i’m not gonna pull you in,” he tells you, and you still aren’t convinced. “y/n!” he whines, stretching the final syllable. you look to the ceiling for a moment, letting out a scoff before kneeling down next to the pool.

in a swift motion, anton grabs your shoulders and lands a kiss on your lips. it’s wet from the water of the pool and you pull away, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. anton is laughing as you swat at his arm, muttering something about how he got your shirt wet.

anton sees an opportunity in the fact that you haven’t stood up yet, fully wrapping his arms around your shoulders, nearly causing you to fall into the chlorinated water. his laughter only increases in volume, and his teammates don’t think they’ve ever heard him laugh that hard. you let out a yelp, feeling the water continue to seep through the fabric of your shirt. you struggle against his embrace, and he shows no signs of releasing you. “lee anton! oh my god— i hate you!”

you both know that you’re lying.

AUTHOR’S NOTE! this is my 30th time trying to post this but we move

#riize x reader #lee anton #anton imagines #anton x reader #riize anton #riize #riize scenarios #req #riize angst #riize fluff

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euphorajeon · 11 months

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in the sheets | jjk

— pairing: boxer!jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff | college!au, boxer!jk

— word count: 1.1k

— warnings: short-haired, chubby-cheeked, sleepy jk, they're crude ahahah, a bit teasing on jk's end because what is jk without teases (non sexual), basically nothing big it's just jk and oc being fluffy in the morning.

— summary: a sleepy jeongguk in the morning is very soft and whiny, a stark contrast to the usual annoying and full-of-tease jeongguk. (either way, you love him all the same.)

— author's note: i just miss boxer!gguk and what better opportunity to bring him back than this sleepy jk live hahaha. hope you enjoy! :)

masterlist | boxer!gguk masterlist

There’s a norm to mornings you spend at Jeongguk’s house after dating him, one involving his white blankets, his pillow that sometimes you both struggle to share, and his inked arm draped heavily around your waist. Most mornings see you both fighting to keep sleep away from your eyes and denying the warmth of the blankets to get ready for whatever you got planned that day, but on the mornings you have the luxury to stay a bit longer in bed, Jeongguk always makes the most of your time by pressing his lips to yours in slow kisses, pinning you further against the sheets. Often you find yourself panting under him after said slow kisses escalate into something more, his sweaty body on top of you not faring any better.

This morning, that norm is broken as you’re standing beside Jeongguk’s bed watching him hog the pillow and blankets to himself as he puts his arm around the bunched up blankets instead of your waist. His recently-cut hair sits like a nest on top of his head, stray strands curling into his eyelashes. It frames his face way differently compared to his long hair, letting you see the roundness of his cheek pressing into his pillow. His half-open eyes stare blearily at you, squinting to fight the sunlight peeking from behind his blinds.

“You haven’t slept, have you.” It’s not even a question anymore. “Your mom told me you were having a karaoke session and just stopped like thirty minutes ago.”

“I couldn’t sleeeep,” Jeongguk moans, pressing his face into the pillow. “Got tired after boxing, then I slept, woke up at two. Couldn’t fall back asleep so I just picked up the mic.” His voice is mufled by the pillow but somehow you understand him through experience and willpower. Drunk Jeongguk is way worse than sleepy Jeongguk. “What are you doing here at seven anyway?”

You climb into his bed to sit next to his lying down form, leaning against the headboard. “Mom kicked me out,” you sigh.

The way Jeongguk sits up quickly sends you into a fit of giggles, his alarmed eyes jumping around the features on your face in panic worsening it. “Kidding, kidding. Annoying Aunt is coming so mom sends me here to avoid her.” A big yawn interrupts your sentence. “Plus, your mom asked me to check on you and your karaoke-ing ass.”

“I told you I couldn’t sleep,” Jeongguk mumbles around a yawn as well, slumping back into the mattress upon knowing your mom isn’t evil. “Judging from your yawn, you couldn’t either?”

“No, I slept.” Another yawn. “At four.”

Jeongguk snorts. “Yeah, that’s hardly sleeping.” He lifts the blanket without even opening his eyes. “C’mere. Sleep with me.”

The silence you responds him with is obvious, which makes him chuckle while dropping the blanket back down. “Just sleep, babe, I don’t have the energy to fuck you right now.” He purses his lips in thought. “Although, if you want to fuck me, that can be arranged..”

“Jeon Jeongguk.” You swat at his shoulder weakly, having little to no energy either today to scold him your usual way. “Don’t tempt me. Having your dick hard while being sleepy is worse than being blue-balled.”

“Hm.. speaking from experience, are we?” Your boyfriend lets out a small grin. “You’re hot but I don’t think I can even get it up if I want to. I’m really beat.”

“Then you should’ve gone to sleep instead of singing your ass off at the crack of dawn,” you say without any real bite, fingers combing through his hair slowly. Jeongguk lets out a sigh, seemingly enjoying your touch on his scalp.

“Yeah, yeah. Now will you let me cuddle you or not?” he whines, taking your hand away from his hair to press his lips softly on your fingers. Sleepy Jeongguk is one soft and mushy Jeongguk indeed. “Cold without you here.”

“Tempting, but pass,” you say, letting him wedge your hand between his lips and pillow. It lets your fingers graze the smallest of his cheek and you poke it playfully with what tiny room you have to move your fingers. “I promised your mom I’ll eat her pancakes with her.”

Your poking results in an exaggerated pout of your boyfriend’s lips, which lets out the most petulant sound you’ve ever heard come out of this man. “So you choose mom over me.”

He’s petulant, but his puckered lips are cute and tempting all the same, so you don’t resist the urge to lean down and give him a kiss right on his pillowy lips. “Pancakes,” you say after, slowly pulling your hand from his grasp. “Later, Jeon. Go to sleep, I’ll come back after eating.”

Jeongguk lets out a sound between a whine and a hum from deep inside his chest, nuzzling his pillow and letting his hair get even messier on top of his head. This time, you have to fight yourself from reaching out to run your hand through his hair again, to slip the stray strands behind his ear. Instead, you slip off his bed to finally go downstairs to Mrs. Jeon and her awaiting pancakes, but you find yourself stay rooted in place watching the steady rise and fall of Jeongguk’s chest as he slowly slips into slumber.

It’s not every day that you have the opportunity to map his face with your eyes like this—because most of the time he’d wake up earlier than you—so you take your time tracing over his features, from the way his bangs are covering his eyebrows, the ends of it touching his eyelashes, to his big nose that sometimes get red around the bridge from his glasses, to his very round and pinchable cheek, made more prominent by his shorter hair. Your eyes land on the pair of his lips last, now no longer pulled into a pout as soft breaths come out of it. The pair of lips with the piercing that started it all, the thing that got you addicted to having your lips against his, the tiny piece of jewelry that stays cold even when his lips are warm after working out.

Jeon Jeongguk is beautiful.

Your eyes are still stuck on the metal ring when the plush flesh around it spreads into a grin. “You’re staring, aren’t you?”

Caught red-handed, and he doesn’t even need to open his eyes.

“Shut up.” But still, his grin is contagious as you find one creeping onto your face as well. You shake your head to yourself, unable to believe just how much you love this guy. “Go to sleep, Jeon.”

“Mhm. Love you, babe,” he mumbles, then adds: “enjoy the pancakes.”

A chuckle bubbles up from your chest, finally getting your hand on the door to step out.

“Love you too. Sleep tight, baby.”

a/n: i hope you enjoyed this little drabble of sleepy jeongguk~ any feedback here would be very appreciated :) thank you for reading!

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cinellieroll · 2 months

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☆ random obey me headcanons!

lucifer, mammon and simeon ♡

part two (asmodeus, levi, barbatos)

part three (beelzebub, belphegor, solomon)

part four (satan and diavolo)

cw: a few spoilers ahead from the main story! also one SLIGHT nsfw on simeons part???

small note: i only started writing on tumblr now so idk much on how ppl do those line thingies on the words and then it teleports to a diff post so if anyone knows how to do it please teach me! thank you :3

☆ lucifer:

- generally has a thing for turtlenecks. if you open his closet you'll see a bunch of turtlenecks in there. lucifer is a very conservative man after all.

- speaking of closet, he definetely has a color code for his clothing. blacks, reds, navy blues, anything dark

- you'll never catch him wearing anything revealing. especially his legs. man keeps em hidden.

- has a very sensitive nose. he always scolds mammon and asmo for wearing such strong cologne. he has great sense of smell in general (the bitch can smell anything) and automatically knows when trouble is near.

- EXTREMELY petty when he doesn't get his morning coffee. if he misses a day without it an extra line will appear on his forehead.

- gifts you souvenirs when he enters the human world. claims he's here for business because diavolo told him but we all know that's not the only reason why he came up there.

- he doesn't like writing with modern pens and only settles with quills. he still has his old quill from the celestial realm and keeps it hidden somewhere.

- almost gave head pats to luke once.

- his nose is FUCKING BEAUTIFUL and his side profile too. he has a nose bump for sure and i will die on this hill.

- he's not a big fan of creamy foods like carbonara or anything with cream in general. if he's eating sweets he prefers the icing to be less flavorful. what do you expect? he's a black coffee lover after all.

☆ mammon:

- room is always a fucking mess, but he cleans when he procrastinates so if you ever enter his room and he's all quiet and cleaning just don't disturb him for a while.

- buys bootleg merch for levi for no reason. one time he found this cheap ruri chan stuffy on sale for like 150 grimm and decided to buy it.

- has fucking shit hand writing bro. sometimes it's small, sometimes it's big but most of the time it's ass balls. like why does your k and h look the same?

- he cracks his knuckles and joints often and can't go without a day doing it atleast once. it's kinda hot tbh lol

- when he's in a happy mood he'll sing in like a high pitched way. idk how to explain it but i just see him doing that especially when he's on cooking duty

- sleeps really late he could almost rival levi on it. surprisingly his eyebags aren't that visible though.

- has really pretty features like long eyelashes, plump lips and visible collarbones. eat your heart out asmo xoxo

- convinced himself he'll never ever like or listen to human world songs until he heard you blasting some music in your room. he was singing that song in his head for days on end but refused to ask you what the title was

- he's a very clumsy guy and often drops small things especially during class like his ballpen, eraser or that pack of bubblegum lucifer ended up confiscating

- before you arrived, he liked to vape or juul when he's stressed or felt lonely but now he only spends his time thinking of you when he feels down.

☆ simeon:

- when he turned into a human he had thoughts of becoming a teacher in christian education but realized it's better if he owned a cafe instead.

- he sometimes joins luke during his baking lessons with barbatos even though he already knows all the steps

- occasionally invites you for sleepovers and buys card / board games for you guys to play with solomon and luke! either he or solomon are always end up being the winners everytime though

- always and i mean ALWAYS willing to teach you something when he knows it. baking, writing, recent lessons, etc

- once the exchange program ended he started writing more and more, especially poetry. and mostly wrote about you and how much he misses you <3.

- started making diary entries after the aftermath of the celestial war.

- during quiet nights, simeon often thinks what it'd be like if he was really close with the brothers.

- his eyes are lowkey creepy sometimes when he looks at you for too long. it's like he's trying to detect every sin you've committed.

- idk why i thought of this but his teeth are literally so pearly and perfect but he doesn't really smile with them in view.

- unintentionally moans sometimes. like when he sits down after a long day you just start hearing a soft "ah~" out of nowhere..

#obey me #obey me shall we date #lucifer obey me #obey me lucifer #om! shall we date #om! lucifer #lucifer x reader #mammon obey me #obey me mammon #om! mammon #mammon x reader #simeon obey me #obey me simeon #om! simeon #simeon x reader #obey me x reader #om! x reader #obey me headcanons #om! headcanons

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sanjisprincesswifey · 3 months

Text

loves embrace ⋆ sanji x reader

summary: all sanji needed was a little bit of love to open up to you

notes: this was a modified request that takes place post whole cake, i suppose, so spoilers! angsty, sad sanji (sadji) x gender neutral reader! lots of comforting! no cw warnings! around 1,300+ words!

every morning sanji had a routine. he’d wake up fifteen minutes before his alarm, making sure to turn it off so as to not wake you. spending this allotted time drowning in your smell; he tangled his long limbs within yours and held you tightly to him.

he’d depart with a few too many kisses, surely bringing you out from your slumber, neatly fixing his side of the bed, and beginning his day with a spring in his step.

today was an anomaly of days, your eyes slowly blinking open, the room swallowed by a dim light. the overcast in the sky seemed to cause you to wake later than you anticipated, the clock on your wall reading 11:37 am.

the sheets beside you, usually folded over as pristinely as sanji could make them, sat in disarray. had it been anyone else, you’d disregard the notion; perhaps he had run too far behind schedule this morning.

but it was unlike sanji, even in a time crunch, to leave a mess in his absence. he was incredibly anal with situations like these, you knew him too well to brush the idea off as forgetfulness as you approach him in the kitchen.

the creaky door that franky keeps forgetting to fix would normally signal your entrance and cue your boyfriend to fawn all over you, but he remains behind the kitchen sink, not budging an inch.

his blonde hair hangs low, hiding his expression from you as he gingerly places the wet plates on the drying rack.

“sanji?” you question, investigating his face once he notices you’re there.

your brows furrow upon further examination; his blue eyes are accompanied by dark under eye bags and his milky skin is dull, the loss of color noticeable, even for his complexion.

“oh, my swan, how’re you? you missed breakfast.” he smiles, but the way his lips loosely hug, you know it’s purely a facade so as to not draw attention from you.

though you had only been dating for a few months, you knew you had to plan out your next moves carefully and approach the situation with caution. sanji would “i’m fine” himself death had he got the chance.

“was dreaming of you, so i didn’t really want to wake up,” you tease, earning a light laugh from him.

from this point on, he’d usually take the opportunity to discuss his night and what his dreams consisted of, but silence then falls over you two.

“did you eat?” you speak up.

he pulls his hands out of the water, drying them off on a nearby dish towel. “wasn’t hungry.”

as soon as he moves around the counter, you step in front of him.

you tsk in response, blocking him from exiting the area with arms crossed over your chest. “well, i’d like for you to eat something. you didn’t eat dinner last night either,” you reply.

sanji stares down at you, a melancholy look in his eye, but he obliges, dropping two slices of bread into the toaster.

“that’s it?” you argue, a mused smile curling his lips.

“i’m really not that hungry today, my darling,” he assures, leaning against the counter.

you know better than to accept that justification, arms reaching out to cage him between the kitchen and your body. “and why is that?” you ask, pressing yourself against his chest, eyes boring right back into his.

he flicks his gaze between your eyes, then your lips, and then your eyes, once again. he knows what you’re doing, but he bites anyway, strong arms hugging you snug against him.

“i’ve been a little sad these past couple of days,” he explains, another forged grin coaxing his features. it was the one of the first signs that he was asking you to dismiss this conversation.

“sanji—“

the toast pops from the toaster, causing the both of you to release your grip as he refocuses his attention on his unwanted meal.

with his back turned to you, you take it upon yourself to latch onto him again. “i can’t help you if you don’t talk to me sanji. i’m here. i want to help,” you whisper, a shaky breath escaping your throat right after. “please, let me help.”

your eyes shut tightly as the only response you receive is silence. sanji was never one to discuss his own feelings freely, it was something he had always deemed a luxury for a reason you hated reminding yourself of.

a shaky whimper reverberates against your body and you take the cue to release your grip, turning him around so that you can see him again.

his hand grips tightly onto his face, though it proves futile as a tear streams down his cheek; then another, and another, and another. his fingers twitch as they reach out for you, desperately seeking your warmth and comfort as his body slumps into yours.

sanji’s frame is much larger than your own, his strength of his weight was much stronger when he didn’t remember to hold back.

but you’re greedy for this vulnerability, soaking in every ounce that he’d offer as you wrap your arms around his neck.

his tears slowly seep into the fabric of your shirt, while he lets out a few more choked cries before confessing. “have i ever told you about my mother?” he finally speaks.

when he pulls away you shake your head, reaching up to wipe away the tears that stain his face. your gentle expression urges, pleads, for him to continue, an act that melts his heart.

“she was so kind,” he explains, a sad smile grazing him. more tears fall before he says anything, but you allow him that grace which gives him the time to finally gather himself. “she’s the reason i wanted to be a cook.”

the burning sadness that bites at your heart leaves you speechless, unable to fathom how he could’ve kept this inside for so long.

“i know she would’ve loved you.”

now, you have to bite back your own tears, the agony that accompanies his words hangs on to each sentence that tears at your heart.

“she passed fourteen years ago today,” he admits, a shaky sigh heaving from his chest.

as you watch his lip quiver, you pull him flush against you again, unsure if it was for his benefit or that he wouldn’t see the heartbreak that washed over your face.

“i’m so sorry,” is all you can mutter before the both of you sink to the floor, sobs now emanating from the both of you. “she would be so proud of you, sanj,” you murmur, a light cry echoing throughout the room.

sanji perches himself against the closed cupboards, his head rests against the wood as he wraps an arm around you.

“i miss her,” he admits, lying his head against yours.

you nod, only able to physically act in fear a verbal response would elicit more of your tears.

he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a worn, folded up picture.

the woman on the paper is stunning; her porcelain features mirror sanji’s, the resemblance being uncanny. “she’s so pretty,” you say.

sanji chuckles, nodding along, “yeah, she was.”

the both of you stare at the image for a couple of minutes, basking in the beauty that sanji’s mother had. you can’t help but admire the curvature of her lips, the shape of nose and eyes, all qualities that your boyfriend possesses.

“you look just like her,” you comment, reaching to grab his hand.

“so i’ve been told,” he breathes, finally able to catch his breath. “thank you, by the way.”

with a puzzled expression, you glance up at him. “for what?”

sanji shrugs, squeezing your hand within his. “listening to me. feels good to talk about her,” he confesses.

the air in the room eases, it hangs lighter over the both of you; rather than an all consuming fog, it sits delicately upon the both of you like a warm blanket on a cold day.

“that’s what i’m here for,” you emphasize, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

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tadpolesonalgae · 22 days

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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 15

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I became suddenly ill about three days ago and my brain is still quite mushy so I think this has been proofread but there might be some errors here and there I’ll try to iron out once I’m better!! Sorry for any scruples and I hope you enjoy!! 🧡💛

warnings: angst, general depression, violence (self-attempted)

word count: 16,175

-Part 14- -Part 16-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Azriel catches her eye from across the room, weary hazel locking with bright amber that swirls in the faelight of the living room.

His tension is more palpable than usual, the conversation from yesterday with the golden-eyed male only further contributing to the death knell gonging quietly at the back of his mind, creaking through his knees, echoing in each footstep—each breath he takes. Time seems to be dripping by faster, even more so than usual. In the cobwebbed chambers of his mind he’s able to recall a time where days were his chosen measurement, where a twenty-four hour period contained beginning, middle, and end. But as he’d grown older, those chunks had grown with him, his perception of time shifting the more of it he lived through. Soon enough weeks were his days, calculating how much could be done over the period, sleep a small break to be indulged in between work. Then it had shifted to months—twelve to fit everything into, nights morphing into short naps.

Now years feel like days once had, time no longer a steady drip of water from the roof of a dark cell ceiling where he’d been kept locked away from the light, but a steady trickle as it carves its way through stone.

Shadows conceal his absence from the laughter-filled room, removing himself from the uncomfortably bright corner to a place of familiarity, shifting into the darker hallways as he sighs, feet positioned instinctively equidistant, weight spread evenly, fearing one lapse in discipline might bring him back to those days where he knew nothing of fighting, nothing of how to defend himself. To those days where he had to learn relentlessly, practice until his body couldn’t move in desperate attempts to cover the ground he’d lost years to.

Mor enters into the darkness, coming from the yellow-orange light that’s spilling into the blue-purple hallway, heels effortlessly silent upon the floorboards as her nocturnal eyes seek him out. Her features are already serious, easily picking up on his mood despite his efforts to conceal it. The depths of it, at least.

“Az?” Mor asks quietly, expression curious but solemn.

“She’s gone,” he murmurs shortly. Mor’s eyes flash with alarm at the revelation, before her brows tuck together. “What do you mean she’s gone? Where?”

“I don’t know,” he admits grimly. “I paid a visit to one of her friends afternoon yesterday, but he refused to answer anything.”

“What do you mean, she’s gone, Az?” Mor hisses, disbelief sharpening her muffled tone. Azriel grinds his jaw, but relents—this is more important. “I mean, she isn’t at the House of Wind. She left a note saying she would be at Bas’, and would be back but she wasn’t. When I went to get her, she wasn’t there either,” he summarises, expression sombre.

“What else?” Mor asks sternly, the brightness about her having faded faster than a flame extinguished. Azriel licks his lips, bracing himself, before explaining: she has magic but it’s been giving her trouble, she’d wanted to try using it without anyone else knowing and he’d let her, Elain’s vision prophesying his death at her hand.

To Mor’s credit, her features don’t drain entirely of colour, and it takes her no more than a few seconds of heavy silence for her to muster up a response. “What magic?” Mor asks first, keeping her tone quiet but clipped, judgement clear enough she doesn’t need to voice it. And Azriel won’t address it, either. “Her hands could glow a little around the fingertips. We didn’t know what it did, though.”

“And the trouble?”

“It dried her skin out, among other things.” Mor’s lips part, eyes closing briefly as she sighs. “The gloves.” Azriel doesn’t need to provide confirmation for her to have connected the dots.

But then her eyes open, slowly sliding to his, an edge of viciousness underlying their amber cut, one he withstands reluctantly. Mor swallows, jaw tense, watching him. “How long have you known about this?” She asks, lethally softly. Not how long has she had magic, how long has he known. And not told them. “About a fortnight.”

Mor’s eyes gleam with hostility, and his features become stony, walls raising up as she watches him silently. Judgement falling heavy on his shoulders. “Why tell me now?” She asks shortly. She isn’t chewing him out, nor is she outwardly rancorous. Not good a good sign. “Bas won’t tell me where she is,” he replies neutrally, Mor’s eyes flaring as she puts it together. “You want me to ask him.” Azriel nods, despite her already knowing.

She glances at him reproachfully, another look he withstands passively, and then she’s turning sharply on her heel, making back toward the light, back toward the laughter. Silent as a shadow, Azriel catches her upper arm, having to exert surprising force to keep her still. “Where are you going?” He asks coldly.

“Where do you think?” She counters sharply.

“They have enough on their plates,” Azriel mutters. As if on queue, Nyx’s laugher giggles through the halls, a stark contrast to the gloom lurking just beyond the light’s end. Mor snatches her arm away. “You have enough on your plate,” she says lowly, eyes glinting as they cut through him, “we could have made room. You should have told us.” But Azriel stands his ground, not giving an inch. “It was the right call.”

“You have no idea where she is,” Mor counters. “No idea where she is, or what state she might be in. What makes you think that was the right call?”

“You’re questioning my judgement?”

“Yes, I’m fucking questioning your judgement,” she hisses back lowly.

“She told me she didn’t want any of you to know,” he counters coldly, “she’s reclusive anyway, suddenly outing her wouldn’t have done anything helpful.”

The wording seems to strike something in Mor, ire banking, eyes shuttering briefly, before she’s gritting her jaw again. “You should have told us.”

“She barely managed to tell me,” Azriel states, “Elain didn’t even know until the vision that her sister had magic.”

“You know you should have told us.”

“And betrayed her trust when she chose to tell me?” Azriel asks cooly. “You didn’t see how scared she was.”

“Maybe she wasn’t scared of us finding out but of speaking with you.”

Azriel blinks, the only sign of his falter he’ll allow, caught off guard by the accusation. She’s never shown any fear of him before… “She has no reason to be scared of me.” He says finally.

A look of frustration flits through Mor’s amber eyes. “She’s young. This is probably the first time she’s experiencing strong feelings toward someone else,” she says lowly, “surely you can remember what that’s like.” Azriel bristles at the pointed look, the insulting comparison between his past love for Mor and the affection being unwelcomely pushed his way. “She’s infatuated. It happens,” he replies tersely, not taking kindly to the manipulation. “And she went through the war too—she isn’t that unaware. You’re doing her a disservice.”

“The disservice here is you not affording her the care she needs—to the point she’s chosen to run away,” Mor practically spits.

Terse silence stretches between them, sour and resentful.

“We aren’t going to come to an agreement,” Azriel says at last, tone clipped, but both of them know it’s better to move on for now. They can fight it out later, once things are resolved and taken care of. “You speak to Bas first, then we can find out who she’s gone to. She could be anywhere in the Night Court, knowing him.”

“We tell Rhys and Feyre first,” Mor demands lowly. But Azriel shakes his head, “if you want to be the one to tell Feyre her sister is missing and we don’t know where she is, be my guest.”

Silence stretches further, growing tauter by the second, until Mor sighs sharply. “Fine,” she grits out. “Bas first.”

Azriel nods, making to turn around, heading for the door.

“But you are telling Feyre,” Mor hisses lowly. “Whether we find out or not. Tonight.”

Azriel pauses, jaw tightening. But gives a sharp nod.

————

Once again he slinks back to the male’s house, the bright sun lost to winter’s oncoming grip, dark clouds shielding the stars from view.

Despite the silence between them, he can feel Mor’s judgement pressing into him, but he has no time to argue or persuade. After the…discussion, with the male the other day, he’d needed time to plan, regroup his thoughts. Time. Seemingly so sparse, as of late. He could afford little more than twenty-four hours of inaction before a decision would have to be made—he hadn’t come this far by sitting around aimlessly when faced with a hard choice. It seemed the only reasonably way forward would be to acquiesce to the male’s demand, as much as Azriel despised so. It was the smarter option.

The other would have been to lay hands on him, and no matter how urgent the matter was, the male was still a civilian, and untrained for war, at that. Violence was entirely out of the question.

He knocks thrice on the door, sharp and punctuated hits to alert the male of company, before stepping back to allow space for Mor.

Gleaming golden eyes pierce out into the darkness, and Azriel knows he doesn’t miss the hint of smugness in their gilded depths as he marks the presence of another, as he’d requested. To verify his claim that there were indeed urgent matters afoot. Azriel refuses to show even a hint of irritation, keeping his face cold and passive—Bas won’t get the satisfaction of seeing him riled. He’d have to work much harder for that.

“You’re back late,” Bas drawls from the warm glow of his house, once again leaning cockily against the broad wooden frame, ankles crossed, one foot keeping the door held to—away from prying eyes. “And you’ve brought company,” he muses, glancing to Mor at his side. The female steps forward, the yellowy-orange light from inside making her glow as she offers a tight smile. “Bas, correct?” Golden eyes sweep over her analytically, before he nods, shifting slightly. “Mor,” he acknowledges, “she mentioned you, too.” No signs of surprise mar her open expression, kept sealed beneath that deceptive mask she can wear to charm at any time.

“That’s why we came to see you, actually,” Mor begins calmly, straightforward. “I’m of the understanding you know her whereabouts, but are unwilling to disclose them for various reasons.”

“That’s right,” he replies slowly, expression shifting to something more wary. His provocative nature shying away from perceived earnestness. “She doesn’t want any visitors.”

Mor nods her head gently, understanding shimmering faintly in amber eyes, threads of her hair catching the golden glow of inner light, glinting with the motion. “I can understand that, but this is very important,” she says sincerely, worry shining in her face Azriel know she doesn’t have to fake. Still the male remains cautious in the doorway. “Azriel wasn’t lying when he told you this conflicts with Court matters,” Mor begins slowly, and the shadowsinger tamps down on the urge to glance at her warily. Though he knows she won’t reveal anything, there’s no need to offer scraps. “I’m afraid there’s little I can honestly tell you due to their private nature, but nonetheless I would like to speak with you about her. She is a part of our family, and we are deeply concerned about her. I’m sure you can understand our worry.”

Quiet pauses long enough to take a deep breath, before resuming to its consistent noise.

Eventually, Bas nods his head, standing straighter. A grain of tension is released from his shoulders as the male opens his door, yielding to a conversation. He makes to step forward, but sharp golden eyes flick to him, piercing and accusing in their nature. “I’ll speak with Mor, and Mor alone,” he states clearly, an edge of provocation creeping back into his features, though the Shadowsinger doubts its sincerity.

But Mor nods her head, “that’s fine,” she answers, brushing past his side, pulling the cold night air with her, a whisper of icy breath grazing his side as she moves forward, leaving him out in the dark. “Don’t move from here until we’re done,” Mor instructs from over her shoulder once Bas has disappeared from the entrance hall. Azriel nods, understanding the implication.

Listen in from outside.

————

The room she follows Bas into is cozy, well-kept. Clearly lived in.

The pillows of the sofas are slightly worn, slightly faded in colour, waned down to more earthy tones that compliment the pale terracotta of the walls. Fire crackles from the hearth, dried rosemary hung from the ceiling beams, as well as other dried herbs and plants. On the wall are some paintings, mostly stills, but they’re watery around their edges, faded colour bleeding over fine, distinct ink lines.

Bas takes a seat that seems to fit him comfortably, likely one he usually chooses, while Mor opts for one nearby, a quilt thrown over its back, squares of purple, blue, turquoise, and magenta knitted together, and she can make out small patches in the yarn where its been run thin and had to be darned with slightly mismatched thread.

“So,” Bas starts, quieter than she had expected, sitting forward in her chair, attentive. “You’re worried about her. Why?” It’s hard to conceal her frown at such a strange question, but she doesn’t really try to. She doubts she’ll get anywhere through masking her reactions. “She’s part of our family,” Mor replies, “why wouldn’t we be worried about her.” Bas settles deeper into his chair, hands braced on arms, head tilted back into the pillow as he watches her intently. It’s not an expression she’s unfamiliar with, but not one she had expected to encounter here—something wary and deeply protective.

“She doesn’t speak much about any of you,” he hedges slowly, keeping his posture relaxed. “But it’s enough. You aren’t as close knitted as family.” Mor opens her mouth to speak, but he continues. “Even if you try to be,” he says, nodding, “she isn’t easy to get to.” Mor closes her mouth, lips pursing in a tight line. He sighs, shifting in his seat, pushing a thick loc of hair from his face, hooking it over a thoroughly pierced ear. “I believe that you’re concerned about her, and that you truly want to help,” he says heavily, attitude shifted from how he’d been outside, and Mor wonders what Bas might have been told about the Shadowsinger to warrant such ice.

“We do,” she urges sincerely, and Bas nods again, hearing her.

“What I…worry about,” he starts hesitantly, forming the words carefully, considering each one. “I worry you don’t understand her enough to make an informed call,” he settles on, and Mor bristles a little. How long has Bas known her for? Does he know her more than Mor does? “What leads you to that way of thinking?” She asks, keeping the stiffness from her tone.

“I know you don’t see her much,” he replies simply, and again Mor’s lips purse. “She doesn’t enjoy…full, settings. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t care, though.” He sighs, eyes briefly closing, before reopening with a fresh intensity, sitting upright in his chair, forearms braced on his thighs. “Do you know how we met? Me and her?”

Mor’s brow dips, but she answers anyway, curious where he’s going with this. “Through Nesta, right?” Bas nods, something passing through his eyes at the right answer. “Right,” he confirms, “making time to visit those stuffy inns, filled with groping hands—she hates places like that.” Bas sighs again, hand rubbing one side of his face. “I don’t even know if it helped at all, but I know she felt it was all she could do. Even if it was just company, and nothing material. Even if it might not’ve had an overall impact, that was her way of trying to help.”

Mor remains quiet, not seeing what he’s trying to say.

Bas shakes his head, as if telling her to forget about it, again rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, I don’t even know if I can speak on her behalf, and I like to think we’re fairly close with one another,” he admits, sighing heavily. “I don’t want to mislead you.”

“So you’ll let me where she’s gone?” Mor asks, concern heavy in her voice, making no effort to conceal her worry. She watches as the pads of his fingers rub over his eyes wearily, as she wonders if this is straining on him more than he’s letting on. “Try to understand her, when she talks,” he requests quietly, eyes still shut, fingers rubbing faintly. “She still confuses me sometimes, and she never shows if it bothers her, but I can’t imagine someone being okay with being misunderstood.”

“Bas,” Mor urges gently, sensing he’s on the verge of telling her whereabouts. “Please tell us where she’s gone. We don’t want her to feel alone.”

Bas doesn’t look up, face still covered by his hands, but Mor can make out the tightness of his brows, torn between his decisions. So close to cracking open.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

Mor blinks, eyes locking with gold as he looks at her through his fingers, fatigue obvious beneath his gaze, the lines more pronounced as the flame casts the shadows of his digits across his features, deepening the half circles that have appeared.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mor asks, biting down on shock, clearing it entirely from her voice. “She didn’t tell me,” he answers quietly.

Silence stretches, and even in the haze and confusion that’s been stirred up she has enough clarity to feel the piercing weight of a glare through a window, heavy and accusing. Tension crackles in her spine, flipping her golden hair over a shoulder, a subtle message to piss off to the shadows that are watching from outside.

She sighs heavily, meeting the golden eyes of the male opposite her, now sat back in his chair as he was before, but his back is slumped, as if containing all that worry had been stretching him taut. Relieved to no longer be the sole barer of her secrets. “Do you—…” Mor eases in a sharp breath, settling the worry and gradually increasing panic that’s tightening around her throat. She swallows, pulling herself together. Recomposing herself. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” She asks calmly. “Anything could help.”

But Bas shakes his head, guilt clear in his golden eyes. “She didn’t give me any hints. But she had a bag with her, so I’m guessing she had somewhere in mind and didn’t just aimlessly wander off.”

Mor nods, getting to her feet, golden eyes tracking her movements. “Thank you for telling me,” she says sincerely, before turning for the door.

“I know that leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone where you’re going seems rash—maybe even a bit stupid,” Bas says after her, voice a little clearer to catch her attention. “But she’s smart. I’d wager it was probably something she’d had in the back of her mind for a while.”

Mor swallows thickly, the possibility not sitting well with her, but nods nonetheless.

“I’ll let you know when we find her.”

————

Azriel waits sullenly in the front garden for Mor to exit the male’s house, darkening the doorstep he’d been instructed to remain in until she was done.

He watches the door open and close, Mor stepping out into the night air, latch clicking softly as it locks behind her, and the two make their way silently at first down the garden path, back into the street before they begin communicating. “That certainly didn’t take long,” he muses lowly, glancing at her sidelong. “I take it you heard everything?” She asks quietly, tension clear in the cold bite of her usually honeyed voice. Azriel gives a brisk nod, and Mor sighs. “What now?”

“There are only so many places she could have gone to,” Azriel replies smoothly, mind already running through the possibilities. Honestly, Bas not knowing almost helps more—it has to be someone she knows. There are only two places she could have possibly run off to, though neither of them seem particularly believable. That being thought, he knows where he’ll check first.

“You have an idea?” Mor asks tightly, a bit of a bite to her question. Azriel nods grimly, “Elain mentioned a fox in her vision,” he explains, “apparently they grow close—enough to make a bargain of some sort, anyway.”

“Elain saw the bargain in her vision?” Mor questions. Azriel nods. “We don’t know if that’s symbolism or not,” she mutters, “we have no idea how accurate they are, either. Nor how soon they’ll come to pass.” Her tone softens toward the end a little, but Azriel isn’t willing to speak about that part of the prophecy yet. That he will be dying. Probably soon, going off how vivid Elain’s descriptions were—as if it were urgent. Impending.

“And you’re sure Elain doesn’t know where she’s gone?” Mor asks, keeping her gaze ahead, brows pulled together in concentration, a glint in her warrior’s eyes. “She might do,” Azriel sighs, “they are close, after all. And the fox…”

“Could be Lucien,” Mor finishes heavily. “You think she’s run to the mortal lands. Back to her home.” Azriel remains silent, keeping pace as they return silently to the River House.

Piercing amber eyes dig into the side of his skull, the intensity of her attention almost startling if he hadn’t had centuries to grow accustomed to it. He senses the question, just as she could sense he was holding something back.

Azriel doesn’t look at her as he speaks, “there’s only one other person the fox might represent.”

Even without visuals, he can hear how her pace nearly falters, then comes to a stop. He pauses with her, at last turning to face the golden haired female. Her skin is paler, even taking the silver of the moon into account. “You think she might have gone to Eris?” She asks, voice thick, but quiet. No more than a breath of wind. “I think it’s one of the two. There’s no one else it could be.”

“She’s only met him once,” Mor snaps lowly, nails digging into her palms. Azriel makes a show of shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s one or the other,” he says calmly, “if she isn’t in the Mortal lands…”

Mor stares at him, amber eyes drained a little. “You really think there’s a chance he could have…taken her?” She practically spits, unable to keep the hiss out of her voice. Because when it comes to that long ago trauma, her only responses to fall back on are fear, or anger. He doubt she’ll allow the vulnerability of fear right now. Not with the tension between them. “I think it’s better to question Elain first to see if she knows anything. If she doesn’t, I’ll make my way down Prythian.”

Mor blinks, realising the situation. She had demanded Azriel be the one to tell Feyre, regardless of whether they find anything or not. But with the new possibility of her having somehow found herself in the Autumn Court…Mor’s throat rolls heavily. She can’t bring herself to go there. Even now, the thought alone…she pushes against the urge to settle her palm over her abdomen. “We question Elain first,” she manages quietly, and Azriel can see how she’s gathering herself back together.

Instinct is the closest it comes to, that feeling she’s somehow run off to the Autumn Court, like a tug toward the unfamiliar land. Surely Elain would have mentioned something to him about a plan for her sister to leave when she’d been telling him about the vision. It’s the option that makes the most sense, for her to have spoken with Elain, and used a tunnel to reach the border quickly. With all the books she’s read in the library…the kind of things they contain, he doesn’t doubt she’d be more than capable of figuring a way to sneak out of the Night Court. To sneak out of Prythian if she set her mind to it.

Mor nods, and Azriel redirects his attention to the street, continuing the pace. “Question Elain,” she murmurs, “then head to Autumn first. If she isn’t there, go to the Lower Lands. Be as quick as possible.” He nods, admittedly relieved he won’t have to yet face Rhys for the mess he’s inadvertently caused.

————

“Eris, I’m tired,” you sigh, hands aching, sitting dejectedly on a tree stump.

As much as you’d protested, he’d dragged you back out into the forest, where everything feels encased in a glass bubble. It’s hard to explain when you think about it, but it’s like being in another world, how easily the trees sweep away and redirect noise. Hairs prickle at the back of your neck as you remember the giant, boar-like creature that had rampaged upon you mere days ago. The sight and smell of steaming blood as skin slid from flesh, melted apart.

“You haven’t even done anything,” he mutters, watching. “Get back up.”

You sigh heavily, reluctantly getting to your feet, then blinking heavily, suddenly crouching down as you press your palms to your eyes, trying to steady yourself from the abrupt dizziness that had ballooned into your head. Lips part as you try to concentrate on your breathing, wishing away the sudden feeling of unevenness beneath your feet. Eventually it passes, a few extra moments spent crouched for good measure, before you slowly stand back up, hand pressing to the side of your head. Cutting whiskey and amber eyes are piercing into you from across the clearing. You scowl back.

“What was that?” He asks, disapprovingly, your scowl deepening at the tone.

“I told you: I’m tired,” you snap, but it lacks the bite you’d wished for, fatigue building into a slow but heavy pulse inside your head, just above and behind your brows. A yawn rises from your chest, and you cover your mouth as it stretches you open, eyes squeezing shut, watering a little before you slump back into your usual posture, no longer pulled taut by your muscles.

His sharp eyes narrow accusingly, and you bristle at the look, trying to summon up the energy to glare at him. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” He asks sharply, and you grimace, knowing he won’t approve of the answer. But you really don’t have the energy to lie, either. “No, I didn’t,” you sigh, “I was feeling sick.” Something flickers behind his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly for you to even attempt to recognise. “You were probably feeling sick from hunger,” he mutters, as if it’s obvious, arms folding over his chest, leaning back against a tree. “Using magic can take up a lot of energy, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You should have—”

“I know the difference,” you hiss, lip twitching up in the beginnings of a snarl, before once again flattening out, and you sit back on the stump, uncaring if it pisses him off. You hope it does.

“Do you?” He muses, a bladed edge to his tone that has your stomach tightening, glancing at him warily from across the clearing. You tense as he pushes off from the tree, then vanishes, and you jump as he appears on your other side, peering down at you, unimpressed. “You know how to tell when your magic is draining you? Because those are some pretty big steps to have made seemingly overnight.” Your lips purse, averting your gaze, sullenly looking away. “That’s what I thought.”

“I know the difference between hungry sickness and—” you falter, but manage to finish the sentence, “…and being unwell.”

Eris pauses, and you want to meet his gaze and glare at him, but your head just feels too heavy on your shoulders, and the general fatigue hasn’t been aided by the light sheen of sweat that’s been layering your body each morning, before you’ve wobbly stumbled to the washroom, clutching your stomach. You’ve yet to actually regurgitate anything though—your one blessing. It’s like those initial months after the Cauldron all over again.

“Look at me,” he instructs, and you glare at the ground, irritation growing in your chest. It wouldn’t hurt him to be a little more gentle with his attitude. His demeanour, in general. A curse sits, unspoken, at the tip of your tongue when he grips your jaw, angling your chin upward so he can examine you. Again your lips twitch in a slight snarl, but the energy fails quickly. Amber eyes sweep over your features, and you avert your gaze when his own settle intensely on yours. He releases you after a too-long moment, allowing you your space again, and you glare at him. “What was that for?”

“You look worse than usual,” he answers flatly.

You glare at him resentfully, unable to muster up the laugh you usually would whenever he makes a comment like that. Instead you just feel irritated. His brows narrow further, “how much have you been sleeping recently?” He pushes. You shrug, briefly glancing away.

“A normal amount. I’m fine, just let me sit down, it’s not that big of an issue if I’m not standing, right?”

“Are you coming up for your cycle?”

The bones in your hands creak, groaning with strain and you hiss as pain flares weakly beneath your gloves at your fingertips. You tuck your hands under your arms, trying to soothe their sting as you glare at him. “Do not ask me that,” you snap, legs crossing on the tree stump. You half expect his lips to quirk at the easily given reaction, but his brow dips a little. “You don’t have to give me a direct answer,” he says at last, a touch gentler than before, but still stern. “Just answer if it could be related.”

You hesitate at the tone, jaw still tight with tension, but you swallow thickly. “No,” you manage quietly, “not for another few months, at least.”

“Then as much as you disagree, it would be a good idea to eat first, then see if you improve,” he replies, back to his usual drawl, laced with distaste. Enough to almost have your lips curving a little at their edges. “So we’ll be going back to have lunch right this second,” you muse, glancing up at him, “and you aren’t going to set some stupid challenge for me to fulfil beforehand. Right? Because that would be very impractical.”

His amber eyes glint with something you’ve decided is the closest he’ll get to open amusement, brow raising slightly. “Why waste a good motive?” He counters, “looks like you’re catching on.” You force a groan, if only in attempts to lighten the mood from whatever dark grave it had settled into, and you reluctantly get to your feet, taking it slow incase your head starts swimming again. “What is it this time?” Eris nods to the tree that looks to have been recently cut down, the counterpart to the trunk you’re sat upon. “I want you to try touching the bark,” he instructs, and you look at him quizzically. Seems easy enough.

You watch him questioningly as you stand and make your way over to the tree, putting your hands down.

“Done?” You say slowly, confusion blatant in the furrow of your brows as you stare at him.

Eris stares at you blankly, before raising his palm to cover the lower portion of his features, concealing his mouth. “Using your magic,” he adds disbelievingly, mouth still covered.

You blink, then flush with embarrassment, hand covering your own mouth as laughter bubbles up from your chest. “Oh,” you manage, shoulders shaking lightly, not helped by the matching amusement reflecting in his amber eyes—amusement he’s struggling to conceal. “I thought—” you break off, a smile stretching wide behind your palm, chest stuttering with mirth. “I thought you meant I just had to touch it.” He shakes his head, seemingly beyond speech. “You want to see how the bark reacts when I touch it with my magic,” you clarify, nodding your head, still trying to tamp down the laughter that’s heating your eyes faintly. He confirms with a slight nod of his head, and you take a deep breath, trying to sober up. “I see,” you nod again, at last recovered enough to lower your hands to remove your gloves, a smile still faintly curving your lips. “I’ll give it a go.”

“Why would I ask you to touch a tree?” Eris asks from somewhere at your back, tone almost settled back to his usual drawl, dripping of disapproval. “I’m tired,” you reply, not nearly as practiced as he is at keeping your tone neutral as you glance at him over your shoulder, “you should have clarified better.” Eris shakes his head, before nodding to the tree trunk.

You take in a breath, returning to look at the bark—what would happen if you touched it?

Closing your eyes briefly, you steady out your breaths, inhaling slow and deep, feeling your shoulders lose their tension before reopening your eyes. Focusing on the bark again now that you’re settled. “What should I do?” You ask, not taking your gaze from the tree or your hands.

“Try thinking about different things, exploring how they make you feel,” he replies steadily. How helpful, you think, but leave the comment unvoiced—you’re trying to concentrate. You think about how the light had appeared before, when he’d gotten you to briefly sustain it. It had hurt at first, you’d had the chance to realise, but after the initial rush of pain, the creak of bones and your groaning carpals, it had faded more into a slight tingle, like your fingers had fallen asleep, wrapped in a vague warmth.

You swallow thickly, thinking about the flat-topped ring in your pocket, the absence of weight in your ears, how they correlate. You don’t regret the decision to sell them off, to your slight surprise. More indifferent to the change, if not slightly excited at your choice. Doing something for yourself, on your own, that nobody knew about. It’s nice, having secrets.

“Now press them to the bark,” Eris instructs, and you look down in surprise to spot the faint greenish-gold glow weaving between your fingers—almost like fish slowly weaving throughout water as they struggle upstream, but less frenetic. Slowly, keeping your breathing steady, you press your palms against the bark, palms shaking slightly as the light flickers, almost flinching slightly as it hesitantly makes contact with the new surface.

You jerk away when something lances up your wrist, stinging pain spearing beneath your skin as the tang of copper bursts in the air. The magic extinguishes in an instant, snuffed out with a single recoiling thought, and your breathing loses its pattern as you glance down at your right palm. What looks like a popped blister sits on the heel of your hand, except the liquid that gleams had a red tint to it, mixed with blood. You sigh heavily, left hand holding your right wrist lightly, thumb pressing the flesh just below the blister, watching as blood rises to the surface. The skin around it is flakier than before, a little discoloured, and you spot a mole at the knuckle of your little finger, poking meekly out from the skin, as if worried over being spotted and pulled away.

Eris walks up to your side, glancing down at the bark, the absence of any sort of change. It looks exactly the same. “I guess nothing happened,” you hedge, glancing warily down at the tree, searching for some kind of change.

Eris is quiet, and you at last turn to peer up at him, wondering what he’s thinking. His silence is waring. Amber eyes latch with your own, narrowed and slightly impatient, before the emotion is swiftly wrapped away. “I had hoped to make more progress,” he muses lowly, and you regard him with caution at the hushed tone. His eyes gleam with something you can’t figure out, wariness intensifying as he pulls something from his pocket—a small silk pouch.

You tilt your head, brows furrowed, “what is that?”

His lips sharpen at the edges, and tension coils beneath your skin—that type of expression is never good. “Open it,” he instructs simply, and you cautiously take it from his fingers, eyeing him again before carefully pulling the strings open, tipping the contents out into your palm. You blink as you take in the smooth band of metal, silver and gleaming against the flaws of your skin. “A…ring?” You ask, peering up at him questioningly. He nods, and you suppress your jolt when his fingers brush over your knuckles, plucking the band up and watching you intently as he smoothly slides it down to the base of the pointer finger on your left hand.

His demeanour has noticeably shifted, and your brows narrow further, suspicion roiling in your gut.

“It’ll help with keeping your magic calmer,” he explains lowly, secretively, and you manage a nod, confusion running rampant in your blood stream. “How so?” You ask, glancing down at the band, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist to keep you from moving. “You have a habit of straining yourself to keep the full force of your power from coming out,” he answers, thumb brushing your knuckle, and this time you glare up at him. His mouth only sharpens, amber eyes glinting with something that has the hairs raising at the nape of your neck. “I’m sure you’re familiar with how the Illyrians use siphons—so their raw type of magic doesn’t destroy everything around them?” You nod, tension lessening, again glancing down to the band. “Think of it like that—now you don’t have to waste concentration on keeping it all in check.”

He releases your hand, and you pull it closer to look at the silver, angling your head a little, understanding this must have been what that exchange had been about, when he’d gone down that dim, dark alleyway into the hidden chamber. “So it’s…a magic ring?” You ask, brows scrunched together as you look up at him. He raises a brow, “how astute of you.” You glare, lips curving faintly at the familiar intonation.

You swallow, stepping back a little, nodding your head. “I guess…” you breathe deeply, “as good a time as any.” You pull the flat-topped ring from your own pocket, and extend it toward him. “I saw this the other day in the market,” you say honestly, watching as his expression shifts, brow raising as he opens his palm. “It reminded me of you a little, and I probably won’t see you over the solstice anyway, so might as well give it to you now.”

Eris takes the ring, examining it, the small carving of the fox set in sterling silver. “A rather unique gift,” he muses, making the edges of your mouth curve.

“If you hate it, you don’t have to wear it,” you say, smiling lightly, “I just wanted to get it.” Though to your surprise, he doesn’t seem to despise it, sliding it over the thumb of his right hand—it seems to actually fit.

That viper’s smile returns to his sharpened mouth, eyes glinting again. “I don’t think your family would approve of a gift like this,” he drawls, more clearly than before, causing you to cock your head in question.

Lips fashion themselves into a razor-sharp grin, the expression more vulpine than fae.

“Isn’t that right, Shadowsinger?”

————

Eris raises his gaze to the forest, how the trees had whispered to him, calling out about the figure stalking their movements. Really, the shadowsinger should know not to hunt outside his own territory. The hulking, shadowy figure steps silently out into the clearing, with a quiet that’s been well-earned by the Spymaster of the Night Court.

Powerful wings are pulled to his body in traditional Illyrian fashion, save for the darkness wreathing the gleaming talons at their peaks, cold hazel eyes clashing with Eris’ own. Marking what the Spymaster has come for. It’s proximity to the male he hates viciously, bloodily, gruesomely.

“Shouldn’t you know not to sneak around in the shadows by now?” Eris drawls, hands settling around its shoulders, feeling stone-tight tension beneath his palms. Its magic fading, unable to winnow two people away, so left trapped in the clearing as the male prowls closer.

“Eris,” the Spymaster greets coldly, darkness unspooling upon the ground he treads, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing. Not close enough for hand-to-hand combat, but too nearby for a proper display of magic. At least he’s smart enough to recognise he’s at a disadvantage in a foreign court—uninvited, at that. “Shouldn’t you know the consequences of displacing a member of Rhys’ court?” The Spymaster questions, lethally quiet.

Tremors flutter beneath Eris’ hands, still gripping her shoulders to keep her in place, and he glances down, only to find her already watching him. If it weren’t for the tremors, she would be as still as death. Her brows lifted and slightly curved, mouth pointed down at the edges. Betrayal stark in her normally bright eyes.

“You’re clearly uninformed,” Eris muses, pulling away from her scared eyes to meet cutting hazel. “This is a perfectly amicable meeting, isn’t it, cygnet?”

The Spymaster’s canines flash at the pet-name, the blatant taunt, the insinuation he’s made that she would choose himself over the Spymaster. That well-concealed wrath suffers a blow when she raises her hands to grip his wrists, nothing demanding about the touch—it’s a weak hold. As if asking for attention.

“Amicable or not,” the Spymaster says, expression stony, “you’ll return her. Unless you want Rhys to know about this abduction?” Eris shrugs, amusement sharpening his mouth as he selects his words carefully, “I’m not her keeper. She will return when she likes.” By the looks of it, the arrow lands, pupils constricting as the Spymaster takes a menacing step closer.

————

Your ears have hollowed out, stomach swallowing your heart. A quiet kind of panic tightening through your chest, pulse spiking. Dread sluicing through the rope holding you taut.

You’re staring up at him, holding on with as much strength as you can manage as a strange emotion rushes through your blood, softening your muscles until you’re struggling to stand, pushing every pleading word you’ve ever read into your eyes, silently begging for him to do something. To keep you from facing him on your own.

You know how easy it is for him to shatter you.

Amber eyes lower to yours, walls risen against Azriel’s presence, and your fingers stutter over the cuffs of his tunic, before the last of your strength drains. They’re glinting again with that challenge, and in the very back of your mind you can understand he’s using this as just another training exercise, but it’s hard to focus on through the ringing in your ears, that strange quiet that’s so loud it drowns out every other thought, like a thousand whispers hissing instructions too swiftly, too viciously for you to make them out, coming together in a swirling spiral that’s pulling you under.

Eris’ mouth is moving, eyes peering at something behind you, but you’re fine not hearing. Would prefer to fade from the world, to slip away quietly, unnoticed and un-missed. But then amber again returns to you, and with it sound comes crashing in too. “Pack up,” Eris orders, and you blink, his hands tightening on your shoulders as he feels the slight sway of your body.

“She’ll take a while,” Eris drawls, glancing back at the Shadowsinger—your stomach lurches—who remains a heavy presence at your back. “You may be unwelcome, but let’s not waste this opportunity. Using your General’s absence as an excuse not to meet has lost its worth. You will suffice.”

————

You feel half-awake as you pack your things, watching from some far away place as you fold clothes meticulously, with much more care than you usually would, taking your time gathering the few items you brought.

Clothes, an empty blue box, the thickly bound volume. A thin wooden box about the length of your arm, a note attached atop.

Use it wisely.

You pack the box in your bag, recognising the elegant script.

————

Azriel had followed silently, concealed within Eris’s shadow as he’d strode through the stretching hallways, leading the way to his own chambers, where they will be able to speak freely and most importantly, privately. Tension had simmered beneath his war-roughened skin the entire time, disliking even having to blend his shadows with the heirling’s, but it’s an intimacy he’s forced to yield.

The room Eris takes him to is big, to say the least, and open, with a large bed against a wall, a wooden chest at its foot, his desk adjacent so natural light fills the cavernous room—one that’s above ground. It’s here he emerges from shadow, filling space just beside the large wooden chest, an unlit fire quite a way to his left. Eris takes his time walking around the desk, sitting down comfortably, having the nerve to look relaxed—prick.

“So,” Eris begins, and Azriel bites against the urge to grind his teeth at the smug tone. “She ran away from you. Took her long enough.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Azriel asks coldly, completing a triple check of the room, making sure there’s no one else around. “You act like it was my idea,” the autumn heir drawls, successfully snaring his attention, something foul rising at the back of his throat at the implication. Likely the confirmation he needs that she had indeed left of her own volition. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

“You want me to believe she came all this way on a hope that you’d provide temporary asylum?” Azriel asks, rooting deeper. “She has a smart head on her shoulders,” Eris drawls, amusement glinting in sharp, amber eyes, “she knows how to bargain.”

His blood ices over, skin turning cold at the wording, demeanour plunging as his shadows deepen. “You made a bargain with her?” Azriel growls, pulse spiking. If a bargain has already been made… But Eris waves his hand, enough of a light dismissal for Azriel to figure she hasn’t mentioned Elain’s vision to him. One small ray of light amongst the storming thunder clouds she’s already brought upon herself.

“Do you find it so unbelievable that she might be capable of making arrangements on her own? Why do you assume I had any hand in it?” Eris drawls, making that glittering rage sharpen into razor-tipped icicles, poised to carve and slice. “You’re a conniving bastard,” Azriel says lowly, violence glinting in his hazel eyes, “she wouldn’t have come to you without some prompting.”

“You think I tricked her?” Eris muses, a trace of humour in his tone, Azriel’s brows narrowing with detestation. “What would I get out of that, unless she was complicit? I have no way of forcing her magic out of her, she has to want that on her own—as much as that might irritate Rhys.”

Loathing simmers in Azriel’s chest, but he remains quiet, allowing Eris to talk so he can gather as much information as he can from both sides. So he can compare her side with his later.

“I’m sure after Nesta Archeron, Rhys would be eager to find out what other weapons he might have at his disposal.”

“She isn’t a weapon,” Azriel snarls lowly, fury held back by straining iron manacles.

“But she could become one,” Eris counters, tone shifting to something more serious, and Azriel stiffens. “The timing’s a bit strange, don’t you think? Her magic only now coming through? After two years?”

“That’s not for you to speculate on.”

“Even without an alliance, it is a matter of concern,” Eris growls, brows narrowing as ire blazes in his eyes, glowing like freshly forged steel. “Why doesn’t she know anything?”

Azriel growls in warning, violence itching at his fingers, fists aching to slam down. Sparks crackle in the air, his own intentions seemingly reflected in the male before him. “You don’t have the luxury to ignore this pathway,” Eris growls lowly, “choosing to turn a blind eye would be damning.”

“She has her own problems to deal with,” Azriel snarls lowly, “you do not get to make that call.”

“I will make the call if Rhys doesn’t,” Eris snarls back, canines flashing viciously, “she could use some toughening up.”

“You don’t know enough to make an informed choice,” Azriel mutters coldly.

“Then Rhys had better hurry up. It’s not as though he’s unaccustomed to having to make decisions like this. What’s taking him so long?”

Azriel keeps still, features neutral, refusing to let even a hint of emotion appear in his blank expression.

Eris’ eyes narrow, sensing he’s being denied information. Vulpine senses picking up on a weak spot. Unnervingly keen. Then he blinks, leaning back in his chair, torso losing tension. “You haven’t told him.” Despite the utter neutrality, Azriel knows he’s figured it out. The heirling nods, a cynical curve to his sharpened mouth. “She didn’t give the impression she’d willingly display her failures to you.”

“They aren’t failures,” Azriel mutters, ice burning in his eyes as he watches Eris with a glacial look.

“No? Because the control over her magic was pretty pathetic to me,” Eris replies lowly.

Azriel snarls, low and threatening, shadows concentrating into a darkness worthy of the Night Court’s Spymaster, deep and deadly as they writhe in warning. “I didn’t realise she had you so tightly wrapped around her flaky little finger,” Eris croons, and darkness rears back, preparing to strike, when three quiet taps are landed to the door, meagre and unimposing.

————

You peek your head into his chambers, bag slung over your shoulder as you pause on the threshold.

Tension is blatant in Azriel’s shoulders, wings slightly flared, an icy emotion tucked between the stern set of his brows, shadows darker—more frenetic—than they usually are. Looking over to Eris, you can see how he’s leaned back in his chair, that taunting glint in his naturally piercing gaze, and you can guess fairly easily the conversation they were having was not a friendly one—even without the aid of body language.

Maybe they were discussing Court matters.

“I—…Should I wait out—”

“Come in,” Eris orders, cutting you off, and your brows narrow a little at the tone, before softening out again, remembering who else is present. You shut the door behind yourself, turning your back to them to make sure it clicks shut quietly, then walking further into the room, stood a little distance from Azriel, not wanting to encroach on his space while he’s surely furious with you. At the very least immensely disappointed.

“Took you long enough,” Eris drawls, bringing your attention away from Azriel to meet his cutting gaze. Well, your eyes meet his. It’s practically impossible to not focus on the male at your right. You’re not sure if you're imagining the displeasure rippling from him, but you can only hope Eris hasn’t intentionally stirred things up. You know you won’t be able to protect yourself against whatever words he has for you after your abrupt departure.

“You haven’t left any tatters behind?” Eris asks, and a slight scowl dips your brows.

“I have everything,” you reply, readjusting the strap of the bag on your shoulder.

“Excellent. Then you can leave.”

You blink at the abrupt dismissal, glancing at him warily. “Weren’t you discussing something?” You ask Eris hesitantly, cautious about prodding where you aren’t welcome. “We were,” Eris replies, a viper’s smile on his sharp lips, amber eyes cutting to the male at your right. “But it appears your Spymaster doesn’t think you’re trustworthy enough.” It’s obviously a manipulation of truth, but that doesn’t make it easy to hear, heart hollowing out, spine losing a bit of rigidity.

“And who could blame him,” Eris continues, “you haven’t exactly been particularly honest with him, have you, cygnet?”

Your lips purse, averting your eyes from both of them, peering at the floorboards to your left, shame tightening around your throat. “Seems logical enough,” you say quietly, managing to keep your voice steady. You’d rather vanish right then and there, wiped clean from memory and existence than allow a tremor into your voice.

You’ve gotten yourself into this situation. Self-pity won’t fix anything.

“Then that is that,” Eris muses, pulling you from your thoughts. Azriel shifts, not saying another word to either of you as he makes for the door, and you glance at Eris a little longer, searching for a way back. He quirks a taunting brow, resting his jaw on his right hand, the flat-topped band of sterling silver catching the light with the motion. Your thumb brushes the ring on your own finger, before you turn, making for the door where Azriel’s waiting to take you back.

Back to the Night Court.

Back to Velaris.

Back to your family.

Back to be judged.

————

It was unnerving how alone you’d felt on the way out of the palace. Even knowing he was present, slipping through shadows, you couldn’t sense a single thing, and on more than one occasion had glanced around, worriedly trying to find him—but nothing.

It wasn’t until you passed the walls, heading out into the forest again that he emerged—silent and looming—unable to hear his footsteps even when he was right beside you. Unnervingly ghost-like.

You wait for him to speak, to say whatever it is that’ll inevitably bring tears to your skin, but he’s completely silent, leading the way. Knowing you’ll follow behind. Knowing you won’t speak to him until he initiates.

You’d been brought here by winnowing, but he makes no move to wrap either of you in his shadows, and a small part of you whispers that he wouldn’t want you to contaminate them. You try to ignore that part, but even the quietest voice will be heard over silence. Instead the tales spin deeper, that he hadn’t even wanted to retrieve you, content to have you out of the way, out of the Night Court, away from his home. At least that way there’d be no chance of his prophesied death coming to pass.

He’d be safe, and you wouldn’t be bothering him.

Wouldn’t be bothering any of them.

He walks deeper into the forest, silent and steadfast, while you watch as his boots tread through the fallen leaves, not daring to look any higher in case it disgusts him further. You have no concept of how long you follow after him for—long enough your feet begin to ache lightly, but you push through it—silently waiting for the conversation to start. For the first question to be asked. For the first blow to be landed.

Azriel doesn’t stop when you try to shift your bag to the other shoulder, your right one aching, and something in your stomach drops when your pace slows but his remains constant, so you hurriedly finish the switch, and make an effort to catch up, careful not to trip. Hunger gnaws at your bones, but you keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt his pace. It’s not until your stomach audibly protests that he comes to a pause, glancing over his shoulder to you, and you swiftly duck your head, averting your eyes from his painfully familiar hazel set. Breaths deepening as you come to a stop with him.

“When did you eat last?” He asks. The first words he’s said to you.

“Yesterday,” you answer quietly, pressure tight across your chest as you try to keep your breaths quiet but even. “Do you have food on you?” He asks. You nod. You’d wrapped up a pastry from breakfast, it being the only thing you’d be able to savour. Even years later, the habit of not wasting food still remains prominent.

His boots shift, turning to face forward as he begins walking again. You follow silently, seeing no point in nodding or replying. It’s not like you’re going to do anything else. “There’s a clearing up here. You can eat there.”

Azriel pauses beside a particularly large oak tree, and you swallow, and you habitually consider where the least offensive place to sit would be. So you’re nicely out of his way. The ground is muddy, so you’re forced to follow beside his footsteps to the oak, setting as silently as you can on one large branch that’s gnarled and shoved through the earth to curl into a large seat.

Your pulse spikes, wondering if this will be where you have the one-sided discussion, perching the bag on your legs, searching through for the little pastry. It’s made harder by your bare hands, how every piece of fabric seems to bite at your skin with each brush, piercing painfully as you search, until you spot the orange scarf, pulling it out to find the pastry wrapped in a napkin.

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel like you’re wasting time.

You peer at the pastry in your hands, not particularly keen on eating it. You’re close enough to nausea as is, and don’t want to tempt fate with giving your stomach something to regurgitate. But it would be weird to put it away now, so you’ll just have to take small bites. Hope that you can stomach it. A few minutes pass, but you’ve hardly made a noticeable dent in the food, guilt weighing on your bones, pausing between each mouthful to peer around the clearing dully.

Your fingers fumble a little when Azriel moves, settling on the root beside you, your muscles stitching themselves taut, and you hastily shift yourself tighter so he has his space. Almost dropping the pastry in your stuttering movements.

He’s quiet for a bit, and you swallow thickly, attempting to focus on the food before you so as not to stare, but internally you can feel the beats passing, heart ticking tighter…tighter…

“Why did you leave?” He asks quietly.

You still, able to feel the narrow wooden box digging into your thighs. Pausing as the tension abates a little, like how you imagine it would feel to watch an arrow loose from a bow, watching it arc in the sky, then slowly plummet down, seeking out its target. The breath that would breathe out in relief once it embedded itself in flesh, those few, stretching moments at last having come to an end, and one can relax into the clarity of the pain. The certainty of the wound.

“I wanted to get out,” you mumble thickly, keeping the shake from your voice.

“So you went to him?” Azriel asks. You head lowers a little in sorrow.

Where else were you supposed to go?

“You could have asked to be taken somewhere,” he says quietly, and guilt tightens itself around your throat. Is there any way to explain to him why you’d left when you hardly understand it yourself? It had been a crescendo of nerves, of bottled up worries tightening with pressure, like air being blown into a brown paper bag until it burst. Is there any way to tell him you’d like to be able to ask things of him, but in truth you’d rather be slowly pulled apart by pressure than worry him with pointless tasks that only serve your benefit? How can you ever hope to speak with him honestly, when your very heart seems to be the thing warning you away—that same heart that wants to press into him, to beg and cry for forgiveness and reassurance.

“At least have the decency to answer,” he says quietly when you don’t respond, and you feel the small tremor that shudders up your throat, fearing the oncoming disaster. “I wanted to go on my own,” you get out, words softer than a whisper.

He’s quiet, and you wonder if that’s the end of the discussion for now.

But, “did you think at all about what the consequences would be from going to him?” He asks, gaze ahead, but attention pressing down on you. “Or did you forget you have people around you, that your actions impact.”

Your grip loosens on the pastry, choosing to wrap it back up in the napkin, fingers shaking slightly. A lump rising in your throat.

“Answer,” he murmurs, promptingly.

“I just wanted to go,” you whisper hoarsely, fingers wringing together. “I thought—… I thought it would be better if I was fur—… If I was gone.”

“Are you going to tell Mor where you went?” He questions softly. “Or did you not think about that part either?”

“I made progress,” you try, raising your gaze to his. “I can summon it, if I concentrate.”

His lips remain unmoving, but his eyes…gods, his eyes. You betrayed her, you know. All of them.

Breath catches in your throat, and you have to look away. Unable to face him. It. Any of it.

“Why is it so bad?” You ask quietly. “All I did was leave for a little under a week. I was trying to get better.”

“Stop. Lying,” he mutters lowly, blood freezing in your veins, fingers wringing together. Silence ticks by, and you wonder if he can hear the humiliatingly loud pulse of your heart, erratic and stumbling as it usually does around him. You don’t think he’s ever so obviously shown what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.

Why is this the first way you see it?

Why is this the first time he allows it?

“Just tell me what you want,” you ask quietly, voice faltering as you stare at him helplessly. “You’re never happy with anything I do,” you manage, trembling with growing turmoil, “so please, just tell me what you want, and put me out of my misery.”

He exhales harshly, leaning back into the trunk, lips tugged down at the corners, reproach tucked between his brows, so rarely softened by charm anymore. At least not while you’re around. Almost never when you’re around.

“I don’t feel I should have to tell you how you fucked up here,” he replies lowly, and you push back on the flinch at the crude wording. “You made a bad choice.”

“Imagine how much worse the others were,” you reply lowly, a hint of resentment—not directed at him—present in your tone. He stiffens at your side, then his gaze slides slowly over to you, lethal and condemning, but it’s like you can’t look away. You physically can’t duck your head, or shy away. “You’re really joking at a time like this?”

You meet his eyes fully, presently, taking him in against the darkening sky, winter sun already on the way out for the day, the chill more than prominent, but you don’t dare reach for the scarf in your bag. “Tell me what you want,” you repeat softly, no louder than a last breath on dying lips.

“I want you to be honest,” he replies, brows narrowing, “for once, apparently.”

“About what?”

“Why you went to him.” He nearly spits, unable to entirely keep his ire at bay, something passing behind his eyes.

You’re quiet. Silent.

Then you lean back into the trunk of the tree, head tilting back into the rough bark, hands settling numbly in your lap. Shoulders slope, and you peer up into the grey sky, gloomy and heavy with unshed tears. Thick and thunderous. Fitting for the storm that’s on its way.

“Please don’t be angry,” you whisper, hardly a breath from your lips, a prayer whisked away by the static air. He’s silent, and your throat closes up. “Azriel,” your murmur, swallowing thickly. “Please.”

Moments tick by, stretching and warping as your heart thumps heavily in your chest, utterly bewitched, utterly at his mercy. It’s exhausting.

He sighs, and you try not to stiffen as he glances over to you, feeling that familiar prickle of skin as lovely hazel settles on you. A few warm rays making it through the dim clouds before being frozen off by the icy breeze. Winter’s most definitely on its way.

“I won’t be angry,” he murmurs softly. “Just…talk to me. Like you used to.”

Your arms fold over your chest, closing in on yourself, feet pressing together as you hunch over the bag in your lap, peering at the muddy ground. The smell of parchment rises from your memories, dusty and familiar, but lacking the warmth of nostalgia. Like the bitterness of a tea left to steep for too long, so it dries out your throat, eyes watering from its ticklish bite.

“I couldn’t do it on my own,” you admit quietly. Fingers brushing your knuckles. Raw and flaky.

The thoughts swirl in the back of your mind, ready to roar and rage, becoming so loud they’re deafening, suddenly cutting quiet so fast you have no desire to understand what it means when the waters draw back. What it means when the sea itself shrinks away, leaving a barren and washed-up beach.

“But, the idea of trying in front of you…any of you…and then falling flat at such a small hurdle…” You look to your left, away from him, pulling tighter into yourself. Can anything good come of this kind of honestly? With him?

“I don’t have much anymore, Azriel,” you breathe lowly, struggling silently with the humiliating vulnerability. How bare you are, just waiting for steel to pierce your skin. Like tossing yourself over a cliff and hoping the jagged rocks far below will soften your fall.

“I just wanted to keep my dignity. The scraps left of it after…what happened…”

Your toes curl in your shoes, feet crossed, feeling as though your heart is trying to cave in on itself, swallowed by a vacuum suctioning you back down with the force of a flooded spring river.

“So it was better to fail in front of Eris?”

“But I don’t owe him success,” you argue uselessly, eyes squeezing shut in attempts to keep the tears at bay as your head falls into your hands. “I don’t—…I don’t owe him anything.”

“You don’t owe us anything either,” he replies.

“I owe my entire life to you,” you nearly hiss, spine curving in as your brows cramp together, jaw wound so tight you feel like a tooth might crack beneath the intense pressure, nails pressing into the soft skin of your brow.

“Feyre was the one who saved the three of you,” he reminds quietly, slowly, but you’re shaking your head. Staring down into your lap, tension rippling so clearly from your bunched up form Azriel considers laying a hand on your trembling shoulder as if to pull you from a trance. “No. I know, but…” Your fingers press into your eyes, unable to articulate what you can feel in your stomach. “If she hadn’t gone to Night,” you breathe heavily, shakily, “if she hadn’t gone here, we’d still be back there, entirely human, and I—… I wasn’t going to last much longer there.”

Azriel pauses at your side, taking on the information silently. “You were ill?” He asks softly—he’d had no idea about that. Your shoulders shake, and he can’t tell if it’s with laughter or muffled sobs. Maybe a little of both.

“Maybe,” you whisper, “I don’t know enough about medicine to say, but I…” You shake your head again, and he’s able to sense that’s as much as he’ll get. It’s been over two years, and this is the first he’s hearing of it even in vague detail—he knows this isn’t something he can press.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you say with rueful conviction, palms pushing wetness from your cheeks, spine straightening before collapsing back against the trunk. Tired and exhausted. “We’re out. I don’t need to do anything now.”

Azriel’s brow furrows. “You’re content to stay in your room and rot away?”

You rest your head in your hands, leaning over the bag, staring down into its contents. What else is there?

“You could spend time with your family, for starters,” he replies and you aren’t sure if you imagine the note of impatience in his voice. “Your sisters worry about you a lot. It’s not good for you to be up in that room all the time.”

“Well it seems every time I come out of that room I somehow end up getting in your way.”

“Is that what this is about?” He asks abruptly, and your lips press together, lower one curving over. “I thought we sorted that out,” he says quietly, calming the sharpness of his tone, hearing it even in his own ears, glancing over your hunched figure. “We did,” you reply, muffled by your arms, voice turning watery as you ease in a short breath. “We did.”

A beat passes, then tension stutters in your chest as he gently lays his palm over your shoulder. “Please just talk to me,” he says softly, and you struggle to keep your breaths even as your lungs shudder beneath that touch. After spending so long wanting it…craving it…convinced feeling how gentle his touch could be over and against your skin would fix everything…even temporarily… You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “If not me, then Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta,” he pauses, “…Bas.”

You aren’t paying much attention, though, thankful for the way your mind melts beneath the warmth of his palm. How heat is sinking into your skin, slowly spreading through your shoulder as your muscles thaw. Pressure is lessened, and the tension that had been stitching the tendon taut loosens, allowing breath the ease in and out of your lungs with tiring relief. You could deflate with fatigue. Just turn limp and boneless, better for absorbing impact than having it crack against you.

“Just talk with us some more so this doesn’t happen again,” he urges quietly. “Come down to the river house—you know Feyre keeps your room open—or join us for dinner. At least try. If that doesn’t work, we can find something else.”

You don’t reply. Just remain tucked away from the world. Content to remain within your small shell as long as you can keep that warmth on your shoulder.

The pressure lightens, and your heart hides away as his hand slips from your shoulder, leaving your skin starkly cold with the absence of his presence.

“I’m sorry for what I…for how things transpired. Between…us,” Azriel murmurs, unsure how much to say, to not bring up past pains, especially if they aren’t as healed as you’ve led him to believe. He’s starting to become unsure what to believe about you—he hadn’t ever considered you might run from them. How bad things might have become to force you into that position. Are things that bad?

“I’m sorry, too,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse, and Azriel listens attentively. “I shouldn’t have told you how I felt, in the library. I shouldn’t have made my feelings your problem.”

“They aren’t,” he says softly, but you shake your head as if you haven’t heard him.

“I’m sorry.”

————

He tries speaking twice more on the way back, but the conversations lead nowhere, no longer flourishing as they had, once upon a time. So long in the past they feel coloured by age. Turned stiff and yellow at the edges.

He tries slowing his pace so she’ll walk at his side, but she just drops further back, silently pressing between his footsteps as she trails, head kept down to remain focused on taking one step at a time. The shadow that is cast across her face from the down-tilted angle of her head is deeper than he would have expected.

When he hears her shifting the bag across her shoulders for the third time, he quietly plies the straps from her hands, relieving her of the physical weight. She makes no obvious protest, aside from the stiffening of her body at his approach, but he can spot the relief when he takes the bag. Moving it to his own shoulder, he can make out what feels like a wooden box, the kind made to keep a weapon from being damaged. The thought gives rise to instinctive alarm.

Why might she have a weapon in her bag?

His shadows subtly shift at his back, rising secretively to examine her. Questions begin rising to his mind: unkind, unfair questions that are habitual in his line of work. He tries to shake them off, but they remain firmly rooted in his mind, burrowing deeper with each stride that has the narrow box digging into his side, as if already trying to burrow into his flesh.

How did she know Eris would take her in? How could she possibly guarantee making the trek across Prythian over night would pay off? It’s an absurd risk to take, regardless of circumstance. He can think of answers to those questions, but they don’t sit well with him. An answer to why she might be so familiar with Eris supposing they’ve spoken less than a handful of times. A certainty she must have possessed to take the risk that isn’t one she would have from that little contact. And if she’s hiding how much contact she might’ve had with him…

She was already hiding her magic from them…then there’s the prophecy too. Bas, and the illness. Why were these things she hadn’t mentioned? He can understand the recent silence, but why not before…? Regardless of immediate relevance, it shows she’s prone to secret-keeping.

Azriel eases in a steadying breath, descending into a calm, cold mental state. Sinking into indifferent objectivity.

She isn’t stupid. Far from it, having spent so much time in the library, where there’s all kinds of information just ripe for the picking. And Eris isn’t stupid, either. If he saw a weak spot, he’d go for it. And if Eris went for her, would she be able to resist something she was unable to see for what it truly was?

Azriel’s skin goes a little cold, reminded of the prophecy.

He will die, and it will be by her hand.

He supposes he can only control how much impact it will have on those around him. If Eris has managed to wrap her up in some slow-moving scheme…but that’s just speculation. Still, his instincts are telling him something is wrong with the narrow wooden box, one that must have come from Eris. A box fashioned like those to hold weapons. From Eris. To the female who will kill him.

He should ask her what it is.

Azriel would’ve shaken his head if those habits hadn’t been crushed out of him centuries ago. He can’t just ask her if she’s planning to kill him.

But it would allow a chance for her to explain what’s in the weapon case.

But it would alert her to his knowing about the blade inside her bag. She’d wanted to hide her magic from the start, and earlier she’d mentioned she’d gotten further…how much further? If it’s magic any similar to Nesta’s, it would be unwise to have a confrontation here, alone. Still within Autumn Court territory.

But it would be more dangerous to bring her back to Velaris. To bring her back into the beating heart of the Night Court where her detonation would be fatal.

Azriel blinks, and returns back into the waning light of day—it’ll soon be night.

What can he do, really? If he’s destined to die….who is he to try and get in the way of the Mother? Would he kill her to save his own life? Is that what he would do in order to live a little longer, before a new threat looms to end him? He wants to kill her no more than he desires his own death.

But if it came down to it…what would he choose?

His shadows observe her silently, as they had been throughout his internal struggle. He focuses on what he can see, discarding the lens of suspicion that’s been embedded in him as Spymaster, centuries of limited trust having an impact on his mind.

All he sees is a young woman walking through a dark forest, following him off the pathway.

Internally, he sighs—there always seems to be a constant flow of problems as of late, and peace seems to be persistently remaining just out of reach. A few more years, and then there will be peace; a few more political aggressions to navigate, and then they can rest; just one more person to heal, and then they can be happy. When will the peace truly arrive, though? Is it all wishful thinking? An imagined utopia that will make every sin he’s committed acceptable? Is it just his mind finding more excuses to justify the things he’s done in the name of protecting his family and court?

She’s just one more disturbance, keeping peace from settling.

Azriel swallows, thinking heavily. Even if she was out of the way, there would still be everything else to deal with. Will this problem be the last one, or will a new threat fall in to fill the space of the old one? Hasn’t it been long enough, by now? Hasn’t he done enough?

Shadows check on her again, her head hanging silently, those once bright eyes dull and dark as they follow numbly in his footsteps. The female with whom he’d spent so many afternoons with discussing things in the library…where is she? Is he at fault for her disappearance?

Closing his eyes briefly to relieve the ache that’s been slowly building just below his brows, he allows himself to ponder.

Is it pointless to try and salvage their relationship?

Would it be better if she did kill him?

————

The storm clouds have gathered, full and swollen with rain and thunder. No lightening though. Lightening would suggest some kind of magnificence, and there’s nothing magnificent about the cool temperature of your blood, nor the dull buzz in the back of your mind. The overwhelming grey of your surroundings as you emerge from the tunnel.

The air is drier in the Night Court, you vaguely realise. No dampness nor humidity that you’d grown subconsciously accustomed to from less than a week’s stay in Autumn. A small break of sunshine between the dismay grey you’d all grown so accustomed to for the first few months of the year, back when you were human. Weak, fallible humans, but simpler. Quiet and peaceful, even if that silence was from the constant prowl of starvation. It had been easier to bear.

You don’t wait to see if Azriel will try to speak again once he’s flown the both of you back up to the House of Wind, silently turning your back to trace the familiar halls of the House, moving without awareness, muscle memory guiding you down the corridors, past the tables littered with napkins and cutlery, past the shelves displaying pale crockery and silver chalices, past the chest with a few discarded daggers atop, arrowheads littered haphazardly across the surface as if someone had cast them down carelessly.

The room is greyer than you remember, too tidy to be a lived in space, but it has those reminders—the gifts you were given, and you absently touch your earlobe, squeezing it between your finger and thumb.

Azriel pauses at the threshold, taking the bag off his shoulder. Does he know you sold the earrings? Those pretty, pretty earrings? Probably some of the nicest things you could have believed to be your own.

They must be getting tired by now. All of them.

Blonde hair and sparkling eyes pass dully through your mind, and your heart dies a little more, understanding how you’ve ruined the small blessing. There’s no coming back from what you’ve done—not without significant work, at least, and you’re so tired. In your bones, in your eyes, in your mind. You’ve lived through a lot, but thanks to immortality, you have no choice but to live through more. A body being dragged through the mud, carried towards a grave that was never dug.

Azriel’s mouth is moving, has been moving since he removed the bag from his shoulder, but you haven’t been hearing. Mind too tired and numb to manage focus, grasping only basic colours and lines.

He’s looking at you, and you’re looking back, but not into his eyes. His words pass through your mind meaninglessly, and you wonder if you’re real. A strange pressure is wrapping its tingling fingers around your skull, squeezing like you’re wearing a hat that’s a little too tight. It will take a lot of work to fix what you’ve done. A lot of work you can’t manage. A debt that deepens faster than you can repay it. A sink draining faster than you can fill it. Blood cooling faster than you can stop it.

Maybe it would be better to let it cool, for a while.

————

Azriel doesn’t feel comfortable leaving her in the House alone, with that dull look in her eyes.

He had planned to fly back down to the River House, to let Rhys and Feyre know she was back, and she was safe, to give her some space maybe for an hour or so to let her get her bearings again. Not too long alone, though. That look hadn’t been bright. Instead he ends up slumping into one of the boney, wooden chairs in the kitchen, the House already brewing two cups of tea. He reaches out for Rhys, mentally feeling for the hidden bridge kept open. He finds it almost immediately, and an icy wind slams into him in greeting. Cold, swift, and perfectly telling to his brother’s current temperament.

You’re back.

Azriel bites back on the cringe at the ice in his High Lord’s voice—belying fury. He should have put together Rhys would be furious for Feyre, too, for stirring up this kind of stress for his mate.

She’s with me. How is Feyre?

More furious than I am, though I doubt she’ll show you.

There’s a pause, and Azriel steadies himself.

How is she?

It would be good for her to have company. Preferably in the River House, but if not, then having people up here. This time Azriel pauses, before adding, I think the ward on her room should be removed. So she’ll be able to hear that people are around, should she need them.

He’s met with silence, and Azriel wonders if Rhys is repeating the message back to Feyre, or if he’s simply that furious. A small part of him feels resentment at the constant speculation, that if the matter had been left between him and her then it wouldn’t have gotten so blown out of proportion.

We’ll be up in ten minutes, comes the clipped reply, before the mental bridge is severed. Leaving Azriel no choice but to wait in silence. It will likely be Rhys and Feyre coming up then—knowing she isn’t ready to see all of them so suddenly, though they’ve yet to learn where she’s been.

Feyre will go and speak to her sister.

And Rhys will be the one to speak to him.

What a mess.

The tea has a few minutes left of brewing, and he wonders if the House will demand he be the one to take the mug to her, or if it will be delivered on its own. He’s not sure she would appreciate being disturbed right now.

As if his thoughts summoned her however, he hears quiet footsteps out in one of the hallways, reaching his sharp ears even through the closed doors and secure walls. He listens carefully, but she seems to just be pacing around, not coming toward him, or even really going in any particular direction. They pause, the silence heavy, and Azriel pays full attention. Another minute passes, then another, and another, but he couldn’t have missed those familiar footfalls.

After a fourth minute, he hears them again, ever so slightly heavier than before, and then they cut off abruptly. Sound sliced in two as she closes the door to her room.

Azriel glances over to the brewing tea, then blinks when he realises the House has set it on the table within reach. Just one cup, made with milk and sugar—not the way he likes it.

Looking over to the countertop, his mug remains steeping, steam trailing up from the hot liquid. The House seems to be demanding he take her the tea now.

Azriel shifts in his chair. It isn’t a good idea to disturb her again. He’s trying to give her at least these few minutes to herself, before Feyre arrives with Rhys—and that’s a conversation that might very well stretch hours. There’s a lot to discuss, after all. She’ll need her energy, and he’s probably the last person she wants to—

The mug slams down on the table before him, hot liquid spilling over with the force that it was dropped onto the surface.

He stiffens, watching the mug tensely as if the House might spill it onto his lap. The liquid ripples in the mug, splashing from side to side for longer than it should, before reluctantly calming.

Blowing out a breath, Azriel wraps his hand around the mug’s handle, reluctantly standing from the kitchen table.

If the House is being so adamant about giving her the cup, then he supposes he’ll just have to follow.

He still finds it a little strange, how the House came alive after Nesta lived inside it.

————

Silence hums in your ears, so quiet.

You’ve caused them so much trouble. Irreparably ruined your ties to the people you hadn’t wanted to hinder.

Silently, quietly, you move the bag to your bed, able to even hear the stretch of fabric as you raise it from the unnaturally clean floorboards. Opening it, you begin pulling the first thing you see out—the orange scarf form Autumn that has some small crumbs tucked between its folds, smelling faintly of pastry and something damp. One piece at a time, you make the slow trek to and form the wardrobe, feet unfeeling as they tread numbly across the smooth grain of the wood, mindlessly repeating the to and fro, the mechanical movements of unaware motion, folding fabric and hiding it away.

Your fingers bump the box, surprised by the hard collision, having expected to find more fabric, but are instead confronted by the narrow, wooden box. Use it wisely, written on the note in a neat and elegant script. Raising it from the bag, you sit down, hands resting over the surface before slipping your fingers into the indentations for ease of opening, cracking it open to find what’s inside. Eyes ease across the narrow length of wood tucked inside, the softly flared end for it to whistle through the sky.

The world disappears around you as you fall into thought, suctioned inwards by a gentle riptide as you dissolve into your mind. Imagining the blank look in Mor’s eyes when she finds out what you’ve done to her, the wall that will rise up as she sections you off from her life, rightly so, brings a quiet kind of sadness into your chest. A longing that has been numbed and dulled, desaturated by hopelessness. Imagining the dinners, voices chatting merrily around you but never at you, the way she won’t look at you. They are all immortal, and their disgust will reflect their lifespan.

You’ll be stuck. Endlessly dragging you feet after them in attempts to make amends. Stumbling and fumbling carelessly trying to make reparations, but smashing more pieces in your frantic hurry to clean the mess you’ve made. Gazing up from the pit of a well as the icy water slowly drains in, the small pin-prick of daylight so far above there’s no hope even trying to scale the wall. It would be more honourable to drown.

To wipe yourself from memory.

It would be better, you understand. To snuff out your own dwindling light, than force the trouble on them of bearing your sputtering flame.

You walk out into the hallway, quietly, silently. Passing the table with napkins and cutlery set, past the shelves with crockery and cups, past the chest with dull steel and blunt arrowheads. Passing further along, until you pause before the large mirror that’s mounted on the wall. You peer dully into the reflection, deciding to look upon and assign shape to name for what’s been causing all these problems. To see what they think of when burdens are mentioned, to understand where the impatience is directed.

You peer higher, the reflection skewed as you meet your own eyes in the blade’s polished steel, held above the mirror’s frame.

Time warps, and you look through the drawers. A few daggers, some unused sketchbooks, a piece of yellow wool, a ball of string. You check the second draw. Some folded napkins, more arrowheads, a shard of porcelain, a thimble, a discarded marble. You check the third draw. Some salts, spices, dried leaves, matching Illyrian blades, pots of ink, a copper coin. You check the fourth draw. Crisp bedsheets, off-white pillowcases, a dented metal mug, a small container of some kind, one arrowhead, a crossbow.

You return to your room with the ball of string and the empty crossbow.

Swallowed in the silence of the bedroom, hidden behind the wards.

The snare is easy to set up, directions still vivid in your mind and for a few short moments, you allow yourself to settle into the certainty of following through with those instructions. Encountering a bit of trouble with how to keep the tension of the string with no earth, but your mind works quickly, weighing the string taut with the one book from your shelf, and a square box containing a mechanical universe. Making sure the string is just tight enough so the faintest touch will snap the tension loose.

You glance at the string on the floor, eyes catching on the small painting on your desk.

You slot the arrow into the crossbow with a satisfying click.

The ash stings your fingertips.

You stand with your back to the door, facing the crossbow head on. Your heart bleeds a little, tears at last dripping slowly down your cheeks, but it will be better this way. Easing in a deep breath, you relax into that feeling deep in your chest that’s telling you this is the right thing to do. It was always going to happen, there was never a path you could have taken that wouldn’t have lead you to this one way or another. It’s a feeling almost like relief: there’s finally a way out.

One perfect, swift, execution. An ash arrow to your heart, splitting the muscle and ending its relentless beat. Your breathing increases to a stuttering pulse before calming, and you swallow, glancing to the windows. You know you’ll cause a mess.

Fingers open the latch to the window, fresh air gently rolling in, and your breathing stutters again. You’ll be irrevocably gone.

Peering about the bedroom, one you hadn’t felt was truly your own, but had stayed long enough to begin putting down roots—the bookmark laying beneath the pendant on the desk beside the painting, the jigsaw still wrapped in a bow beneath the bed, the sealed nail polish and briefly used lip tint within the cupboard. Sobs shudder through your chest strangely.

A part of you doesn’t want to leave yet.

A small, human part, that still fears solitude despite your chosen loneliness.

You step toward the book, body caving in, heart collapsing in on itself, the emotive feeling similar to the convulsions you’ve experienced after vomiting. A vacuum hidden inside of your chest, finally imploding. You should end it now.

The door creaks behind you, and you flinch from terror at someone witnessing your vulnerability.

Hazel eyes meet your own, at once scanning the room out of habit, and those lovely eyes widen as you recoil on instinct, foot knocking into the book.

————

Given the pleasure of time, he had been allowed to ponder the impossible question: to choose between his death and her own, each equally impossible. How is anyone to make a choice like that?

But, caught in between precious moments, there’s no time for thought or debate. It’s easy to declare gallantry, to flippantly comfort a companion with those easy words—I’d take an arrow for you.—but it’s an entirely different matter when the arrow is whistling straight toward them.

And yet before the mug has even hit the floor, he feels the familiar, burning pain as the arrow pierces through his flesh, slicing him open as the wrongness bleeds into him, swiftly poisoning his blood, draining the inherent magic from his body.

————

You stare up into wide hazel eyes, agony etched across his delicate features, the very tip of the arrow lightly piercing your skin from where it’s shot straight through him, caught in his flesh.

He groans lowly, his weight falling more heavily on your shoulders where his hands had grabbed you to switch your positions, and you’re helpless as his knees give out from pain, dragging you down with him as he collides with the ground.

Horror pounds through your body, heart beating a thousand times a second until it’s risen into your throat, hands shaking violently as you try to hold him steady, stinging with the burning heat of blood from his side.

Mother murder you.

“Az,” you stammer hoarsely, staring at his twisted features, brow furrowed deeply, breathing ragged as it puffs against your skin. The familiar scent of blood filtrates through your system, undiluted and metallic, and he’s dying he’s dying he’s dying—

His hand weakly grasps the back of your neck, grabbing your attention as your hands fumble, trembling with uncertainty and despair, fingertips beginning to sizzle as panic floods your veins, tossed into the rapids, utterly out of control as your mind unravels, regret stabbing through your heart.

His lips are moving but your ears are ringing, itches burning at your skin, a streaking noise piercing through your head like the screaming from those bloody fields. He’s speaking and you try to read his lips, but your eyes aren’t focusing, tears blurring your vision as sobs heave in and out of your chest, burning at your throat and lungs. You had tried to stop it! You were so close to preventing it!

Your hand settles on his cheek, already feeling cool beneath your burning, burning, glowing—

Feyre and Rhys, his lips form, and you shake. Eyes scanning his features frenetically. His own flick to the door, and you understand them to be here? You stare at him helplessly, hopelessly—it won’t matter how you scream or cry for them, not even if you bled your throat raw. The ward against noise that you’d been so thankful for, that Feyre had given in attempts to help, to remedy a wrong.

Something so small, yet so immoveable. Impossible to defeat. Felled by your own, stupid need—

He’s going to die.

Neither you nor Azriel have a second to prepare as the power wells up inside of you with the force of a damn broken loose, that internal wall shattering entirely, blown to bits as you feel the staggering pressure swallow your brain, crushing in intensity at the rapid division of cells, splitting atoms colliding as the explosion blows you apart.

Brilliant green light detonates, silence settling for a second before the noise crushes back down, the room blown to pieces.

The ground shakes beneath you, floorboards cracking and splintering as a hole is torn through the side of the House, tearing through the wards as the noise thunders above the city, sweeping across Prythian with the force of the Cauldron that had torn down the Wall.

One final surge of magic before the life is taken from his body.

Pain lacerates through your figure as something fundamental cracks open inside of you, all at once draining the agony that had beens steadily building up, all of it gushing out, skin resplendent with a sickening golden-green light, radiating your flesh.

Then you collapse, falling into the pool of steadily cooling blood surrounding Azriel’s body.

The prophecy having come to fulfilment.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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