#all the questions even though i was reading A Wind In The Door under the desk the whole time

[heich0e]

"can i call you later?"

the wind bites at your cheeks, but the sting you feel is as much from the smile on your face as it is from the chill.

"dunno," you muse, pursing your lips as though you're contemplating the question deeply. "can you?"

rintarou groans, but the sound isn't half as plaintive as it ought to be. you watch as his head hangs down defeatedly where his frame is folded over the railing that lines the front of the train station, his body pitched forward over the barrier like he's trying to reach you on the other side.

you've been saying goodbye for the past twenty minutes—or, you've been trying to. sort of. maybe. the train you'd planned to catch has already come and gone, and the next is set to soon arrive. one more and it will be the last of the night, but not even knowing that fact seems to be moving you closer towards the door to the station—content to stay here, like this, as the wind of the late fall night nips at your cheeks and the two of you muddle through your goodbye with the inelegance of two people who couldn't be less committed to it if they tried.

rintarou lifts his head to meet your gaze.

"i mean it, though." he says. "can i call you tonight?"

your stomach flips when he looks at you this way. when he keeps looking at you this way.

"we just spent hours together," you remind him, but your words are too breathy to make impact. too elated to be reproachful.

you've been on three dates with rintarou now. you think they're dates anyway, though it's never explicitly been stated. his invitations are always casual, sandwiched in between all the other texts he sends to you these days, so you might be reading into things too closely for your own good. but dinner doesn't just feel like dinner when rintarou has this way of looking at you like you're the only person he's ever laid his eyes on.

"i know," he answers. it's not an explanation, or an excuse, or even an apology. it's plain acceptance. a shamelessness you find wretchedly endearing.

you glance back at the station behind you, biting the inside of your cheek to temper your delight.

"my train is coming," you say.

he looks a bit crestfallen. laughably glum, considering the circumstances.

you drag the heel of your shoe back ever so slightly, not quite a step—at least not in any meaningful way—but inching in the direction of the doors at a glacial pace. continental drift seems positively hasty in comparison to your retreat.

"bye," he calls, his tone dejected. you watch as he lifts his hand weakly, still slumped over the railing, and waves at you with only a few fingers raised.

you want to laugh, but your chest is so full of something else—something syrupy and fluttering and good—that it's like there's no space for it underneath your ribs.

you call back to him just before you step into the station.

"rintarou—"

there are other people around, stepping between and around you both—rushing into the station to escape the cold, or moving briskly as they brace themselves and step out into it—but you hardly notice them when your eyes meet.

you smile.

"—call me later."

he calls you almost every night after that.

even as the cool autumn winds change with the seasons; carrying flakes of snow as winter blankets nagano, warming with the spring, turning heavy with humidity in summer, and then repeating the cycle anew.

even as your reluctant goodbyes turn from late nights outside of train stations to early morning words whispered under blankets as rintarou leaves for practice or away games.

even as the uncertainty of whether or not you're getting your hopes up—of whether those meetings were even really dates at all—melts away into nothing more than a memory.

you're not even sure what the two of you manage to spend so much time talking about on the phone. nothing, really. everything in its own right. rintarou's phone calls are something you come to look forward to at the end of a long day. something you anticipate when you have exciting news to share. a comfort when you're missing him and a relief when you need him most.

"is that the last one?" you ask, turning just in time to see your boyfriend—your live-in boyfriend now, officially—flop back on the sofa after he drops the last moving box atop the stack piled near the balcony door.

"yeah," he wheezes, evidently winded from the exertion—from the exhaustion—of moving house. you laugh a bit to yourself as you shuffle over to the sofa, leaning over the back so you can peer down at him where he lays sprawled against the cushions.

"aren't you a professional athlete?" you tease him. "shouldn't you have better stamina?"

rintarou cocks a brow, something sly swimming behind his gaze.

"i need better stamina?" he drawls. "you're usually complaining about the opposite."

you roll your eyes in the wake of his remark, grabbing a throw pillow from beneath his head and yanking it from under him unceremoniously, only to press it lightly against his face.

you shuffle back towards the kitchen where you'd left the box you were unpacking abandoned. you grab a plate from inside the cardboard and turn to place it on the shelf you'd decided would house your dinnerware.

"it's late," you tell him, reaching for the next plate in the box. "you should go wash up first."

you don't get a reply, and that surprises you. you creep over to the sofa again, only to find rintarou staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"hey," you laugh a little, leaning on your elbows against the back of the couch. "where'd you go?"

rintarou's gaze snaps back to yours. he still looks at you like he did on your first date. like he did outside the train station on your third. he smiles, bit it's a bit sheepish.

"sorry, was just thinking," he answers quietly. he reaches up from where he's lying on his back, brushing his thumb against your cheek. his smile turns a little bit giddy, then. boyishly charming. "can't believe we finally got a place together."

you lean into his touch, huffing a little breath through your nose—halfway to a laugh.

"guess you won't have to call me anymore," you joke, and rintarou's expression changes—falls slightly—but only for a moment. you realize what you've said, or at least think about the implications more, and you sort of understand the shift.

you fell in love through those phone calls.

you'll miss them—the ritual, the familiarity, the comfort—even though you know they've been replaced by something better.

you turn your face, pressing a fleeting kiss to rintarou's palm. "go wash up," you tell him again, heading back towards the kitchen and your (now twice abandoned) box of plates.

he seems to heed your advice this time, peeling himself up off the sofa and shuffling off in the direction of the washroom.

"don't use all the hot water!" you call after his retreating frame, and you hear him reply noncommittally under his breath before the door clicks closed behind him.

you've only got three dishes left to unpack before your box is emptied, but the shelf you'd been organizing doesn't seem to want to accommodate all of your bowls in the way you wanted, so you're left arranging and rearranging them as you try to find a way to get them to fit.

in the back pocket of your jeans, your phone begins to ring. with three plates balanced in one hand, you reach for it with the other—the movement muscle memory now, instinct more than volition, after all this time. you answer the call without even looking at the screen, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you continue juggling the dishes in front of you.

"oop—hello?"

you pause after you answer the call, realizing for the first time that you shouldn't be getting a call at all. not at this time of night. not in this apartment.

the line is quiet, just the sound of breathing that you could recognize anywhere to be heard from the other end of the call.

"why are you calling me?" you ask rintarou, but the words are light. too fond to be reproachful.

you hear rintarou laugh—from the other end of the call and from the other side of the bathroom door.

"just wanted to hear your voice," he answers you (the same way he has a thousand nights before when you've asked him that same question.)

"you're ridiculous," you tell him, completely enamoured.

"i know," he replies.

it's quiet for a moment as the two of you stand on opposite sides of your apartment. on opposite ends of your call.

you shift a stack of bowls a little to the left. it all fits now. just the way you wanted it to.

"y'know, the hot water won't run out as fast if we shower together—"

you hear the bathroom door open, and when you look over your shoulder, rintarou is peeking at you from around the edge of the door—his phone held to his ear, a smile on his face you know is mirrored on your own, and a look in his eye that's never once wavered.

he tilts his head.

"—wanna join me?"

[writingsbychlo]

UNWIND | azriel

summary; azriel is caught up in his head, and needs to fuck out his frustrations with the woman he loves.

word count; 8543

notes; I can’t tell if this is hot or pure shit so lmk because this is a little more than my usual smut levels. also, this is a vague follow up to ‘focus’ but very very loosely. can totally be read as a stand-alone fic.

The lights were flickering in the halls as you walked along, the steady bursts of uncontrolled power bursting throughout the House of Wind, thrumming like an irrational heartbeat. The closer you got, the stronger the pulses became, the more frequent the flickering was, and the thicker the air seemed to get. 

You’d known Azriel for decades now, long enough to have seen these moods before. It wasn’t the worst one, not by far, nothing compared to the night Rhysand found himself trapped, or Feyre was taken back to Spring. Nonetheless, it didn’t make it any better. 

Cassian had fled after dinner with Nesta in his arms, the Townhouse looking like a very appealing prospect to visit for the night, and you knew that even though the ripples of his errant power never reached as low as the library, even the priestesses would be on lockdown from Azriel’s mood tonight. 

He’d never lay a finger on anyone, he never had, but it didn’t make the tumbling stones shaken loose from the mountainside any less scary, or the mass of writhing shadows and rage any friendlier.

It felt like plunging your head under water as you stood outside of his bedroom door; breath held, utter silence thick around your ears, heart beating so hard it was resonating audibly inside your skull. When your fist tapped against the wood, you barely heard the echo. A steady thrum of power was all you got in response. A warning, a threat, a question of who had dared come close, you weren’t sure. 

No more came. 

The bursts of power seemed to simmer, to become like a crawling, bubbling mess, so close to boiling over, spitting around your feet instead of steady pulses. The door finally creaked open, when you’d just about given up, wood scraping across the stone tiles to reveal the chaotic darkness inside.

As soon as you had cleared the entrance, the door slammed shut behind you. Only through the flickers of wild shadows could moonlight filter through, all of the lights on but none of the glow reaching you, and it was only by the one velvety shadow curling affectionately around your wrist that you were able to find any guidance through the onyx tornado at all. 

The shadow at your wrist dipped down, twirling between your fingers like the phantom touch of another’s hand in your own, leading you in slow stumbles through the room. The cold of the night hit you before any moonlight did, and it was only when you stumbled through the streams of shadows like a curtain that your lungs let you take a deep breath once again. 

Chilled, cold air wrapped around you like a blanket, bursting through your senses and renewing your mind once again. The touch at your wrist slipped away, a rogue tendril that rejoined the frenzy now that you were safely through the storm, and Azriel stood before you. Hunched at the waist, forearms braced on the stone balcony railing as he stared out at the endless distance. 

He was tense, built like stone and mountains, walls of solid muscle pulled so taut that his wings didn’t even touch the ground. His bare feet clung to the stone, skin pebbled in goosebumps everywhere except his covered legs, swirls of ink over his shoulders disappearing into the night sky. 

Tonight, Azriel wasn’t as flirty as he normally was. Tonight, he’d shut down entirely. That line that had been crossed weeks ago in the training ring felt like a million years ago now as he shut you out. He was so caught up in his own head that you weren’t even sure if he knew you were here. 

“Azriel?”

An answer to your question, as he jumped in shock, straightening to his full height, and twisting to face you. His eyes were dull and yet burning with rage, face contorted into a frown that you weren’t used to. Normally, he offered you a sweet smile, a smirk or a wink. A soft kiss to your forehead or cheek, a brush of one scarred finger over your blushing cheeks. 

None of it came now.  

“What are you doing here?”

You swallowed thickly, throat like sandpaper as you tried to form a response, to form words under the ire of his glare, but refusing to back down. He may be terrifying to the world, but he was the world to you. “Your shadow came when I knocked. I assumed you sent it to open the door.”

His gaze flickered angrily over his shoulder, like in the swirling mass he’d be able to pick out the traitor precisely, a snarl on his lips before he was looking back to you. “I didn’t. You shouldn’t be here.”

It was a dismissal, one he punctuated by turning his back on you and resuming his lean against the railing, breath clouding in the air as he let out a world-weary sigh. “Azriel…”

“Did you not just hear me?” His fingers clenched on the stone, so firmly that his knuckles turned white. The mountains practically shook again with his shout; “Leave!”

That power thrummed out again, heavy bursts that hummed over the building and rattled the glass windows as you stepped closer, flares of glittering blue from his siphons where they sat in a pile, useless to the rippling power now on a table beside him. Daring to take another step closer, he stiffened again.

You moved, closer and closer until you were within reaching distance, the space between you both swallowed up, but you didn’t dare to touch him. His wings twitched on either side of your body, tightening in like they did when he was preparing for a fight. Instead of reaching out, you cleared your throat softly, letting him know just where you were behind him.

He growled, turning slowly, cautious to ensure that no part of him touched any part of you, and the air was all but crackling with unshed tension around you. Insults, curses, harsh words were conveyed in his gaze, everything in an attempt to get you to leave that he had yet to say. 

Before he could say any of them, you raised your hands slowly, making sure he could track every movement as his eye widened, like taming a beast instead of a man. When your palms settled over his cheeks, the preternatural stiffness and stillness he’d taken on melted, his shoulders began to slump, like he was being dragged down into the very earth itself, even as he still towered over you. 

“Az, sweetheart…”

Still, he did not touch you. Even as the anger in his eyes only softened to pain, and the clench of his fists smoothed his hands out from fists by his sides. “You shouldn’t be here.” It wasn’t a threat this time, but instead was a plea, begging you to leave with a tenderness you were familiar with from him.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” You murmured, voice unable to reach above a whisper in fear of shattering the fragile peace. Sweeping your thumbs over his cheekbones, his throat bobbed, eyes held steady with your own. “Let me be here for you.”

“You can’t be here, because I’m not okay. If I hurt you, I don’t think I could ever forgive myself.”

Your heart shattered at the admission, his shadows pulling in closer and closer to you both, no longer afraid of their master but seeking to comfort, a blanket wrapping around the both of you at the base of your legs. 

You didn’t reply verbally, instead, you gave him every chance to pull away, to stop it, as you leaned up, taking your time as you rose, until the breath was shared between you both, his steady breaths now shallow pants. 

Your lips met his jaw first, just to the left of his chin, a soft kiss that wasn’t nearly enough. Another just a fraction higher, and another, until your lips were pressed to his cheek and he was letting out a shaky breath by your ear. 

“Baby…”

“Do you really want me to leave, Az?” Your lip skimmed over his, reciprocated by his pucker but you didn’t give into it just yet, sliding one hand to the back of his neck and the other up over his cheek. Slipping your thumb between your mouths, you stoked over his lips once, his haze fixed. “Tell me you don’t want me here and I’ll go. But, I don’t want you to be alone, when I’m here for you if you want me. I’ll always be here for you.”

The message was clear, and you gave him a single and fleeting kiss to his lips, tearing away from his space and falling back to the flats of your feet. One step back, just enough to think. 

Your foot lifted, never making it as far as a second step away, before he was finally reaching out. His hands gripped at your hips, yanking you forward roughly until you were falling into his body, colliding with cold skin and solid walls of muscle. 

“I don’t want you to go. I just want you here with me. I always want you here with me.” The confession sounded like it pained him, hoarse on a throat yelled raw already, the Azriel you know fighting the darkness enough to break through to you for a moment. “I don’t know if I’m ready to show you this part of myself, I don’t want you to be scared of me. I can’t lose you.”

The hands settled on your hips flexed, like he was trying to be gentler but they came back just as tight, spaces where there would be bruises in the morning. He’d tried so hard to resist touching you at all, but now, you weren’t sure you’d be able to break free even if you wanted to.

Tracing your arms over his arms, back up to hold his face, this time, he tipped into your touch, lashes fluttering shut for just a second as he sucked in a breath. 

“You don’t scare me, Azriel. No part of you scares me. Not your shadows, not your knives, not your moody scowl. I know every part of you, I care for every part of you. This isn’t about me, I’m not the one in need.” You weren’t sure what had happened in Hewn City, only that it must’ve been bad. Whatever he’d seen, whatever he couldn't stop, it was dragging him down into despair and rage. “So, tell me, do you want me to stay or do you want me to go?”

His forehead came down, leaning on your own. “I want you to stay.”

Your noses bumped, a smile forming on your lips as he nuzzled in as close to you a she could get, his arms wrapping around you and holding you firmly to his chest, until your heartbeats echoed together. “You didn’t come to dinner. I was worried about you. Maybe we should get you some food?”

“I don’t want to eat,” He whispered, the words like ice over you as the softness dropped from his tone once again, the wild animal rampaging in his mind taking over once again. One hand was sliding up from your waist now, loose enough to travel over the expanse of your body, across your torso and over your breasts until his fingers were flexing once again, but this time around your throat. 

In one swift movement, you were being spun, back pressing into the unforgiving stone of the wall railing, cold spreading along your skin as your shirt rose behind you. His eyes were darker now, the pretty caramel shade you loved so much almost swallowed entirely by the dark, his lips forming an equally dark smirk to match. But he waited, he was like a predator waiting for the prey to give permission to be hunted. 

And you did. 

A single nod was all it took, until he was surging forwards, lips crashing into your own, a kiss so urgent and fierce that the breath was knocked from your lungs. The implication was clear, everything about Azriel was an open book tonight, unlike his usual way of hiding his emotions. 

He didn’t want gentle, he didn’t need soft. What Azriel needed most was to let out this energy, to use it for something other than self-destruction and hatred, to burn off every angry part of himself in a way that would make him feel good. He’d once told you that your mind was unfocused, on everything but where it needed to be, and he’d helped you clear it with his fingers between your legs. 

His mind needed the opposite, needed to let go of what he was clinging to, to release it. He didn’t need to focus, he needed to let it all go. Perhaps a mindblowing orgasm would do the same for him.

His lips were unyielding against your own, a scrape of his teeth over your lower lip until you yelped, and his tongue plunged into your mouth at the opening. The hand on your neck flexed, your whimpers cut off by his lips and you had no chance at all, drowning in everything front he feel of him to the taste of him. Stolen kisses had nothing on this, this crescendo of overdue emotions and pent-up feelings, and despite it all, there was still a reverence underneath that told you your Azriel was fighting all the while to hold onto you.

Through every gasping breath you managed to take between assaults of his lips, you got less and less oxygen, vision spotting until you felt almost delirious from the burn of your lungs. When his hand loosened just fractionally, his mouth torn from your own only to leave wet marks across your jaw and neck, you heaved in breath while you had the chance. 

“Azriel, let me touch you. Let me help you, make you feel good…”

“Oh, you’ll make me feel good, baby. Don’t worry about that.” His voice was sharp and lethal, like a blade slicing across your skin where he mumbled it into the juncture of your neck. His teeth followed, a bite on your skin, your head tossed, back arching until you were dangling over the balcony, his hand at your neck all that kept you stable. 

You were on the tips of your toes, bared for the man he pulled back, licking over kiss-swollen lips and using a half-lidded gaze to take you in. 

“So fucking beautiful. Inside and out. So kind and sweet and godsdamned perfect. All for me.” He whispered, your heart skipping a beat in your throat because, despite the fire in his gaze, there was honey in his voice. “I hate myself for how much I want to fucking ruin you.”

“I want nothing more than that,” Your promise made his head snap up, his admiration and longing taken over by raw desire and anticipation. Once furrowed brows smoothed out, relaxing enough for him to raise one in solitary judgement. 

“You’re going to regret saying that, sweetheart.” Unlike when you’d said it, the pet name was laced with venom and rough promises, coated in something that made your skin break out with a shudder once again. He closed in on you, even closer, until your toes were hardly touching the floor at all, dangling at his mercy entirely as he hummed to himself, eyes scanning along you as he considered to himself just how he wanted to proceed. “I bet you’d do anything I asked of you right now, wouldn't you? Would you get down on your knees for me, pretty girl?”

“Yes.”

“Would you let me fuck your pretty mouth until I was satisfied?” Your legs clamped together, one of his fingers dragging your lower lip down, biting his own eagerly, before he was slipping two fingers into your mouth, cutting your answer off. His smirk told you he already knew the words you’d have uttered, anyway. “Show me. Show me how good you’d be if it were my cock in there, instead.”

Your lips sealed around his fingers, your tongue dragging along marred and ridged skin within your mouth, as far as you could go until your eyes watered and you were suppressing the urge to gag. His lips parted, gaze fixed on where his digits disappeared between your lips, the thrill of it sending a shock of electricity down your spine, coiling at the base of your stomach with hot need. 

The look on his face was nothing short of worship, even if he was in control, you still held the power. 

Lapping at the skin, you grazed your teeth lightly over his knuckles as you pulled back, his soft growl your only clue of his reaction before bobbing your head back down again. Before you could repeat the motion, however, he was tugging his fingers back, a wet pop and a trail of saliva snapping, and the hand on your throat tightened to lift your head up for him again. Your sights clashed, and he already looked about as ruined as you felt. 

He was shaking with need, you could see the vibrations in his shoulders, the hum of the occasional shadow that darted up high enough to dance over his shoulders, before joining the pool at your waists. 

Those two wet fingers dragged down, a shock of coldness over your bare skin before his fingers were snapping the elastic of your leggings against your hips. He only chuckled at your gasp, before his hand was dipping under this time, fingers teasing down between your legs until he was dragging a moan from you at the featherlight touch over your clit. 

“Oh, look at that. You didn’t need to get my fingers all wet for me after all, you’re fucking dripping for me.” Swirling two digits through the wetness already accumulated, your head fell back, a whimper of his name carried away on the winds. 

“You once told me that I was too in my head. You helped me focus, just like this. Let me help you unfocus now. Let me touch you, let me make you feel good.” One hand gripped at his forearm around your throat, gentle but firm, holding you secure where you all but balanced over the edge. The other reached for his hand, hidden under your leggings and the swirl of shadows as he dipped one finger into your core, sinking it slowly into you. “Az…”

“Making you feel good, sweetheart, watching you come undone is what’s going to help me. I want you to scream my name so loud I can’t hear any of the bad thoughts, just you.” As he spoke, he pulled his touch back, only to snap back in with both fingers instead of one, and your back arched again with a cry of his name. 

Again and again, his fingers dragged over every spot within you that made yous hake only to snap back against you, not letting the limits of your clothing stop him at all. Then again, it never had before, either. Just like in that training ring, he started to tease. The palm of his hand over your clit, grazing with each thrust that was never quite enough. Your hips rolled down to meet him, scrabbling, desperate for more, and his condescending laugh was hidden in your skin, but you felt every piece of it. 

Heat flooded your skin, the begging you were rapidly approaching sitting like bitter acid on the tip of your tongue. Your fingers scratched anywhere you could reach, clinging to him while demanding more, thanks and request all in one. You could feel it, the whisper of pleasure over your nerves, so close but not enough, and a sob fell from your lips as his taunting. 

He knew exactly what he was doing.

With a simple flick of his wrist, he was twisting his hand, reaching deeper, using all the things he’d learned about you like muscle memory to find every spot that he needed to.

“Please, Azriel!”

“Please, what?” He echoed, pulling back enough to set his forehead on your own again, lips brushing, feeling your pants wash over his face, letting him taste everything he did to you from your needy whines and gasps. “Tell me what you want.” He threw your own words back in your face, you’d made him ask you to stay, and now he wanted you to ask him to make you come. 

Your lips stopped the words, another cry of his name, shaky and pathetic as he held your orgasm just out of reach, his fingers slowing to almost a stop, barely moving at all, and your frustration was so palpable you felt like electricity was jumping from your skin to his own, every hair standing on end. “Azriel! Please, please, let me come!”

“There’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

With the perfect crook of his fingers, Azriel had you shaking, hurtling towards an orgasm that would leave your mind spinning, head empty when that was what you were supposed to be doing for him, but the pleasure was too heady for you to care. 

His fingers buried deep in your cunt, his lips on your neck, tongue and teeth stinging and soothing as he marked you, mumbled praises interspersed with filthy promises, it was all too much. With a heavy swipe of his thumb over your clit, his name finally fell in a true scream from your lips. 

He didn’t let up, not when your clit began to throb or walls pulsed. Not until you were shaking so hard through your orgasm that you were all but crawling up and over the edge of the balcony did he stop, leaving you unable to breathe for an entirely different reason as he wrung your body out for pleasure.

His hand finally left you, catching you at the waist when your knees buckled, his fingers tucking into his mouth to suck the taste of your from them, a lewd act that had your cheeks flushing with heat and your stomach tingling with need again already. Clinging onto him, your nails left crescent moons in the exposed skin of his chest, red marks on his forearms where you’d clawed at him, but he didn’t seem to care. If anything, he looked wilder now then he had before. 

“That… that was even better than last time.” You panted out. He’d used all those tips and tricks he’d learned about your body from the last time to play you like his favourite game this time, driving you to an earth-shattering orgasm with a few touches and buttons pushed, knowing you too well.

Your only reply was a harsh kiss, his tongue forcing its way between your lips to let you taste yourself as he held you solidly to him. Your lips were slow and languid where his were hurried and desperate, mind still working far too quickly, still holding onto so much, the night nowhere near over if he hadn't started to let it go. 

A shadow swiped across the back of your legs, your body sinking slowly towards the ground as this time he doesn’t bother to correct you, this time, it was intentional. Your lips are torn apart, your knees meeting the stone as he sets you down, with enough care that your teeth don’t clatter and your knees aren’t cut, a flash of your love in there despite the monster taking over his body. 

“Gods, I knew you’d look good on your knees for me. Always so pretty, baby. So fuckin’ pretty.” He swept your hair over your shoulders, a finger under your chin to tip your head up, shadows so high around you that if he willed it they’d go over your head entirely, smothering you within them and taking you prisoner. “Bet you’d look good if your mouth was stuffed with my cock too, huh? Shall we find out?”

Your legs clenched at his words, a dizzy wave of arousal slamming into you at full force. You’d thought about Az bossing you around before, the voice he used at training or on missions, hoping he’d one day turn it on you between the sheets too. This was so much colder and crueller than that, it was almost mocking, like he truly was taking you for the toy you’d offered yourself up to be, his to use for the night until he felt better, and he wore that role like a second skin.

His leathers sit low on his hips, sharp hipbones exposed to you along with the deep dip of his muscled stomach, trailing down with a patch of hair from his navel to disappear between the laces. Leaning in, you left a light kiss over the soft hairs just above the hemline, a hiss on his lips as he watched you, and you watched him through your lashes.

Another kiss, this one to his hipbone, and then to the other, his hand clenching and unclenching by his side as you left scattered kisses along the base of his stomach, tongue occasionally flicking out to tease. When he’d seemingly had enough, his hand settled on your head, fingers weaving into your hair, gathering the strands up threateningly in his fist but not tugging yet, just making his presence known, taking back every shred of that power. 

Sliding your hands up his legs and over the front of his trousers, he let out a low moan at the pressure of your palms, his hips rolling into your touch as his erection strained against the fabric underneath. Your fingers toyed with the ends of each lace holding them shut, barely managing to contain him now. 

“Go ahead, pretty girl.” His words were powerful but his voice was straining, watching through hooded eyes as you undid the laces slowly, unable to hide the smirk on your face as you teased him. Inching them down a little at a time, more and more of him was revealed to you, until the leathers were tight around the middle of his thighs, his cock red and angry, standing tall before you, shining with the smears of precum that already escaped him. 

When you leaned in, hands still clasped at his thighs, only to leave a tantalising lick from his base to his tip, he growled. You did it again, enjoying the way the danger of riling him up anymore seemed to make you tremble with want. You cleaned the taste of him from his skin, salty and rich, merely a hint of what he’d truly taste like and yet your mouth was already watering, begging for more, needing it more than you needed air to breathe. 

Another lick, and his restraint finally snapped. A shocked sound left your lips as he yanked your head back hard by the first in your hair, taking his cock within his other hand, and slapping it against your cheek. “Open up, before I fucking make you.”

Your jaw fell open of its own command, lips parting and tongue sitting flat, and there was far too much pride in his gaze as he grinned down at you, letting the head of his cock hover millimetres from your lips. 

“Say please.”

“Please.” You were breathless, the word rushing from you, and the grin on his face was wild enough that your stomach felt like you’d fallen through the sky. The same flipping and turning that Azriel would do when he carried you through the air, just to get a rise out of you. Somehow, he managed to do the same thing when you were on the ground, too. “Please, Az, let me make you feel better.”

“Alright, baby, I’ll let you help.” With that, he was pressing himself between your lips, hot skin sliding across your tongue, the taste of him the only thing you could focus on as he slipped into your mouth. He didn’t stop, not until he was tapping against the back of your throat, a deep moan falling from his lips as he struggled to keep his eyes open, to keep his focus on you as your lips sealed tightly around him. “Fuck, sweetheart. I’ve always dreamed about what your mouth would feel like, but this is so much better than all of it.”

Your moan was muffled around him, tongue tracing the throbbing vein along the underside of his cock, and the hand in your hair tightened until tears were lining your eyes. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His hips rocked a little, pulling back only to push back in, setting a slow pace, fucking your mouth a little more each time. He built back up again, his smirk growing with every gag you gave him. He was teasing himself and you, never daring to push any further but showing exactly what he wanted, exactly where he wanted to be, and with another sharp pull of your hair to angle your head up for himself, he took it. 

Pushing himself in, he kept going, until your nose was brushing against the base of his cock, and breathing became impossible. Choking around the thick length filling your throat as he held you there, his other hand came to cup your face, squeezing roughly until he was pulling out entirely, giving you a few seconds to gasp for breath, lungs burning and head spinning.

“Is this what you wanted, huh? When you offered to help me? Wanted to cry, choke on my cock in your pretty mouth?” He was trying to scare you, to see if it was all too much, to see if you would go back on your words and leave him. His face was like stone but he couldn't hide the flash of insecurity in his eyes, and you shook your head. This time, you moved before he could control you again. 

Surging forward, you pushed past everything you knew, nails digging into his thighs and his knees shaking as you caught him by surprise, burying his length down your throat once again, and the stream of shaky curses left his lips. With a weak growl, he scrabbled to regain control, to think around the smooth of your tongue at his base, the lips sealed tightly, the tight swallows at his tip as salty precum filled your mouth. 

Tugging on your hair, the muscles of his legs tightened, all the way over his ass and up to his wings as he pulled them taut to his body. Stroking his thumb over your cheek, he pressed against himself through the skin, holding you in place even as you tried to pull back. “Shit, sweetheart, look at you. You even look pretty when you cry.”

Catching one tear with his thumb, he raised it up, licking it from his finger and allowing you to pull back, to free one hand and stroke his spit-soaked length as you caught your breath. “Just for you, Az.”

Your voice was rough, croaky as you tries to speak around the dull ache so worth it, when he looked down with heat in his eyes and parted lips in shock. “Better be. You’re my girl.”

You lapped at him, using your fingers for everything you weren’t mouthing at, alternating between teasing his head until his legs shook before working your way back down, until your tongue was smoothing across the tops of his balls and he was letting out breathy sighs of your name, only to repeat it all over. Again and again you went, until a steady line was flowing from his tip, every drop being caught as he leaked, your scalp stinging from the grounding grip he had on you.

He was growing more and more impatient, no longer the patient man you fell for as he tried to guide you to where he wanted you, adoring gaze turning wicked once again. “I’m gonna’ cum, and if you keep teasing me, you won’t be getting the same pleasure again.”

You stilled, the promise in his gaze of more was enough to make you give in, the tone of his voice a dark threat underneath. Remaining still, your lips parted, tongue hanging a little before him and the widening of his eyes was enough to show his arousal at your obedience. With a single move, he was back in your mouth, fucking at a sloppy pace as he chased his high, your nails clawing at his thighs to keep him in place, your name an endless moan on his lips, curses and praises thrown in as his head fell back. 

Once taut wings were now hanging loose, his entire body shaking, before he came; “Don’t swallow yet.”

Hot bursts of cum coated your tongue, and he held you in place, his body jerking through the intensity of his orgasm, until it was all too much, and he was pulling back. The last of his release spattered across your lips, sitting heavy in your mouth as he panted. The hand in your hair finally slipped out, your eyes almost crossing at the relief of it, and his hand slipped down to rub at the pearly beads coating your lips, pressing them into your skin before tipping your chin up.

“Let me see it.”

Parting your lips, he let out a broken moan at the sight, the coat of his release over your tongue, and nodding his head. His cock twitched, never softening but only bouncing more, an angry red beginning to take over as his need still recessed evidently, watching you swallow before helping you to your feet. 

As you stared up at him, he smiled, dipping down to kiss your sticky lips, licking the taste of himself from them as you panted against his mouth. He said he wanted to ruin you, and yet you’d never expected this. You were taken apart, piece by piece until you were nothing but a shattered mess in his hands, and he was all that was holding you together. 

Your thighs were slick with your arousal, rubbing together unashamedly as he kissed the taste of himself from your tongue, a soft contrast to the bruising grip he’d had on your hips, your neck, your hair, only moments ago. His mouth trailed up, a sweet, wet kiss left on each cheek, before his nose was coming back to bump with yours. 

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect.” The words came with a sharp smack across your ass, the skin stinging, threatening to leave a mark there too, and your body jolted into his. “Since you’ve been so good, I’ll let you choose how you take my cock first. You’ve got one minute, and I expect you naked on my bed, in whatever position you want it.”

Another smack, and you were being dismissed, stumbling over shaky legs as excitement coursed through your body. Stripping your shirt off and over your head, you left a trail of clothing as you went, bra next, then your leggings, shoes and socks gone and panties last, until you found yourself at the baseboard, staring at the large bed designed for maximum Illyrian comfort, threatening to swallow you whole when you crawled onto it.

Shadows swirled around you, traces up your legs until you shivered, a cool swipe over your heated core, through your messy hair, tweaking at taut nipples until you whimper, mind a frenzy as you tried to work out what to do.

Azriel moved like water in the night, silent and invisible, until he was pressed up behind you, one hand splaying over your waist and the other shifting your hair over one shoulder. A disapproving noise left his mouth as he lowered it, pressed a kiss to your skin, and your head fell to the side to give him more space, eyes fluttering shut.

“What did I say?”

Your lips fell open to respond, to explain yourself, but all that came out with a surprised cry of his name as his teeth clamped down against your skin, pain and pleasure blurring into one. He licked across the mark, before doing it again, never enough to break the skin, but enough to leave his imprints on you. Marked, bitten like two wild creatures in the heat of it all, and that was exactly how you felt. Trembling in his arms, he shushed you quietly. 

“I told you where I wanted you, you didn’t listen.”

“I couldn't decide!” His lips were skimming your skin again, the other side now, teeth grazing, but pausing at your words. “I’ve thought about you so much, about this, I didn’t know what I wanted most.”

He pulled back, kissing his way back up your shoulder until he was nuzzling a hot kiss into the skin of your neck, your panting the only sound to fill the room as he turned your face towards him with one finger. A soft kiss was placed on your lips, no tongue or teeth but full of emotion, and he barely even pulled back to speak, “I love you.”

Your eyes snapped open, meeting his as a cold shock broke through hot, hazy lust, but he wasn’t ready to linger. The darkness still had a tight grip on him, those few words breaking through didn’t stop the tidal wave of need, because your mind had yet to catch up before your cheek was pressing into the bedsheets, hips being pulled up as Azriel manhandled you to the centre of the bed.

Your fingers grasped at cotton sheets, knees digging in for purchase on the soft fabric, as he layered himself over you, kissing at the top of your spine and surrounding you entirely. His wings were like a blanket, covering you on either side, his arms on your hips, gripping tightly. Now, you could feel all of him. He must’ve shed his clothes when you did, because that thick length was pulsing against your core, pressed up and rocking in slow motions as he created the most delicious friction, your eyes rolling.

When the head of his cock bumped against your swollen clit, a pornographic sound left your lips, something sinful and dark, and he chuckled as he left little nips along your skin as he shifted back. 

His slap across your ass was electricity sparking over your skin, continuing to abuse your clit while giving you nothing at all, clenching emptily as he left a matching spank to the other side. “You look so good decorated with my handprints.”

“Azriel, please, stop teasing, I need you.” Your cries only made him laugh, holding you firm as you rocked back to meet him, desperately seeking something more, and embarrassed heat flushed over your cheeks, blending into tear-soaked skin and pretty love-bites. 

“You don’t need me, you need this,” He taunted, lining himself up and fucking into you with one quick thrust. A scream left you as he did, stretching you so perfectly that your eyes crossed at the intrusion, a burning as he let you settle, to adjust to his length, that left you squirming, hips rubbing against his as he sat at full depth. “I bet you feel better now, sweetheart, full of my cock. Does that make you happier?”

“So, so happy…” Your babble was senseless, tailing off into more pleas of his name as he set a steady rhythm. 

The last of that feral anger came through, unhinged and needy as he fucked out every bit of pent-up anger. His thrusts were brutal, hips snapping into yours hard enough that you were pushed up the bed, gripping at the bedsheets to hold steady. Everything else in the room, in your mind, slipped away, until you could only focus on the sloppy rhythm of his pounding into you, every connection, every thrust as he hit spots inside of you that made you see stars. “So godsdamned wet for me, so warm and soft. If my heart gave out from fucking you, and I’d die happy.”

“Oh, gods…” 

“No gods are watching over you now, my love, just me. If you’re gonna’ moan anyone’s name, I want it to be mine.” Your toes were curling with the pleasure, the knuckles in your fingers aching as you clung onto the sheets for strength, body shaking. He left kisses up and down your spine, bites and spanks until every part of your body felt like it had been touched, been played with, another part taken away only to be put back better. 

He was breathing just as hard as you were, moans of your name coming out in broken sighs, his hand closing over your own as he fell atop you with the sheer intensity of it all. Your bodies were moulded together like you were made for it, his face tucked into the crook of your neck, skin covered in a light sheen of sweat that made everything so much more erotic. 

The scent of him overwhelmed you, stronger and deeper with his arousal, the smell of sex in the room thick and heavy, and you cried out his name as it all blended into something indescribable. 

Reaching his other hand around you, scarred fingertips skimmed over the apex of your thighs, a few messy circles was all it took to send you spiralling over the edge. “Oh, fuck, Az!”

When you came, it was like a storm crashing onto the beaches, your body spasming until not even your knees could hold you up, collapsing down into the bedding and freeing yourself of his movements for only a second, before his body was following you down. His hand, still trapped under your body kept going, until moans turned into cries and sobs, pleasure you couldn’t take anymore, it was so good. 

Your body was lax, pliant in his arms as he flipped you over, his for the taking as he pried your shaking thighs apart to bare your sopping cunt to himself again. 

“Need y’to give me one more, my love. Can’t get enough of your pussy, can you give me another?” His lips closed over your own, and his tongue playing with yours could barely count as a kiss, your mind hardly worked, just a filthy collision of his lips with your own. “One more, yeah?”

“Yeah, Az, I can do it. I want it…” Lifting up your legs to latch at his hips, your heels dug into his firm ass, pressing him forward again, and he took the hint. In one easy movement, his hips were cradled between your legs, his hands on either side of your head and he was sheathing himself inside of you once again. 

Your back arched, a scream in his ear as his head fell forwards, damp foreheads pressing together as he dove back into a messy pace. What had already been uncontrollable before was now a chaotic mess, jerks of his hips as he frantically followed his own high, curses spilling from him and muscles tense.

When he couldn't hold himself up anymore, he dropped to his forearms, putting everything he had into those final movements, the grinding of his body lighting you up. Your nipples scarped his chest, the base of his cock thumping your clit with every sporadic movement, and your screams became silent as white-hot bliss flooded your body. 

He gave your front the same treatment, teeth and lips leaving no spot untouched, committing you to memory with his mouth as he left stains and splotches across your skin with his rough touch. 

“Azriel, Azriel, Azriel!” Like a chant, you were incapable of saying anything else, even your own name escaped you as you focus on him, the vision of him before you, jaw clenched and eyes sparkling, never looking away from you for even a second. Your body was utterly boneless, your finger shaking as you reached up over his shoulder, clamping your teeth down against his shoulder the same way he had done to you, and brushing your lips down over his wing.

That was it, a soft stroke and a cruel bite, and he was shattering above you, a burst of power unlike any of the others, the door rattling and the winds trembling as he came. An explosion, the feeling of his heat filling you up sent another orgasm cresting through your body, shuddering up your spine until your head was pressing into the bed, his head in your neck. He never stopped moving, riding both of you through your peaks until it was too much, finally coming to a stop, still tucked deep inside of you, and his body collapsed down on top of yours. 

His head remained where it was, breathing evening out as he took steady breaths. His heart was pressed to your stomach, the beat of it synching to your own as both of you began to even back out. The chill from the open patio doors finally started to take effect, swiping the heat from the room and taking the intoxicating smell of sex and your combined scents with it, leaving only the palpable tension between you both. 

Your body was still trembling, still spasming with the occasional twitch, a feeling flooding your body that you knew would take hours to go away as you pulled yourself back together from the way Azriel had torn you apart. 

Your fingers were tracing up and down his spine when you felt him stiffen, when the shallow breathing that had almost convinced you he’d fallen asleep was a ragged gasp. He lifted his fingers, pulling back a fraction only to push your jaw to the side, tracing across your skin slowly, from one patch to another, the more he distanced himself. 

Rocking back onto his knees, his length finally pulled from your sensitive core, a sound of true pain now leaving you as the soreness began to kick in, and he winced as he settled into with one hand holding him up above you. He didn’t look down, not for a second to the seed of his own dripping from you and ruining the bedsheets, but instead, an anguished look took over his face as he traced softly over your skin. 

Propping yourself up weakly on your arms, you watched him, brows furrowed in confusion as he became more and more hurt. 

“Oh, fuck, baby. I-I’m so sorry…”

Now you understood, watching him trace the tip of his index finger over a bite on your shoulder, down to a bruise on the side of your breast, made by his lips in the throes of passion. “Azriel-”

“What did I do to you?” His voice cracked, the spiralling already starting, and you freed your arms, collapsing back into the bed only to pull you with him, ignoring his resistance and tugging his body back against your own. 

“You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do!”

“I hurt you!” He sniffed, the outburst watery and broken, and your head shook urgently, leaving kisses dotted along his cheeks when he pulled back enough to look at you.

“Stop it, stop it right now, Azriel.” You rarely took such a tone with him, the pain on his face only worsening with confusion as he stared. “You didn’t hurt me. You gave me every chance to leave and I chose to stay. What we just did was fucking fantastic, and even if you were locked up in your head, you were here with me the entire time. These marks mean nothing, because every touch was so full of love, Azriel. I could feel it. These marks don’t mean you hurt me, they show me just how much you love me.”

His lips were pursed tight, still attempting to pull away, and you had no choice. Using all that training he’d put you through, in the midst of his distraction, you flipped him over, cautious to avoid catching his wings, and leaving him sprawled out on his back. Settling into his lap, your hands found his shoulders, pinning him to the bed and pressing your forehead to his.

“I love you, Azriel.” His eyes widened, swollen and kiss-bruised lips parting, and a smile finally tugged at your own. “I love you. I love you so much, and I wanted to be here for you. If you don’t stop, you’re gonna’ break my fucking heart, because it’ll mean you don’t trust yourself for me, to know what we need.”

“Of course, I trust you.” His whisper came immediately, setting hesitant hands over his marks on your waist, holding you reverently instead of demandingly now, tugging you a little closer to his chest. “I just… fuck, seeing you like this at my doing-”

“I think I left my fair share of marks on you too.” You dragged one finger over a scratch on his bicep, a hiss through his teeth as he looked down at it. Looked down at all of them. His marks would be gone by morning, that Illyrian healing already kicking in, but the look of awe growing on his face would never fade.  “This one,” Tracing your finger beside the scratch instead of over it, you drew his attention back to you, “I gave you this one because I love the way you smile at me.”

You moved to another, tracing a bite on his shoulder where your teeth had sunk in to hold back a scream. 

“I gave you this one because you never let me feel sad or alone.”

“I gave you this one,” He cut off, voice a little shaky as he tried to rewrite hatred to love, running his thumb over a kiss by your nipple, but never dropping your gaze. “I gave you this one because I love how brave you are.”

You smiled, his own smile coming back, as you looped your arms around his neck. “See? These are not marks of hurt, they’re marks of love. They’re called love-bites for a reason, you know?”

He only chuckled, tracing his fingers over the reddened skin of your ass, still raw from his palm. “I gave you these spanks for making cheesy jokes.”

“You love them.”

“No, but I love you.” He spoke, catching your lips a second later in the gentlest kiss yet. He leaned back, taking you with him, his mouth never leaving your own as he settled back into the pillows, shadows closing the balcony doors and settling like a blanket around you both. “Thank you for being here for me.”

“I’ll always be here for you, Az.” You shifted, settling your cheek on his shoulder, and pulling the real blankets across your bodies for warmth, his arms curling protectively around you to hold you there. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I don’t want anything like what happened to ever touch you.” His lips brushed your forehead, and you pressed a little further into his embrace. “I feel better, though. So much better, just for having you here in my arms. I don’t want you to ever leave them.”

“I guess I could stay for a while.”

“I want you to stay forever.” His mumble came through a lazy breath and the cloud of sleep hanging over you both, exhaustion weighing in at last, but you smiled despite it all.

“Forever it is, then.”

[bunnyyamor]

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ shower sex

having simon away for so many months has made u lonely and miss him. but all of a sudden; he’s home, tired and exhausted. u know exactly how to make him relaxed.

simon “ghost” riley x f!reader ୨୧ ꒰ nsfw...mdni ꒱ male masturbation, shower sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, cock play, breast play, touch starved and feral simon, pet-names

pls comment + like + reblog; i would rlly appreciate it (๑˘︶˘๑)

you stared out the window, sipping coffee in your sweater as you reminisced on memories of you and your simon. your eyes landed on a tree, sensing the wind picking up. you loved simon but loving him was hard and you knew he struggled as well. lovers were meant to be together, to see each other, holding, kissing, conversing. you missed that when he was gone and you knew he missed you too from letters and just knowing simon so well. you knew he was doing what was best, fighting, he was the one sacrificing but you felt you were sacrificing as well. you were sacrificing your man, sacrificing the feeling of always, all the time being comforted. instead, you embraced loneliness as your friend. and yet all of those ups and downs, you still needed simon, you still wanted to be his girl. you didn’t want it any other way.

you fogged up the window and drew a heart on it, putting your initials and simon’s. “i miss my baby.” you pouted as you took your phone out and saw the wallpaper on it was you kissing his cheek. he was so rough around the edges and you were his escape. your personality was sweet, happy go lucky, that is probably why you two meshed so well together. you were the misses that brought him back down to earth, that made him feel safe, loved. he was the bull and you were the china shop. 

“hopefully daddy can be here soon,” you patted your puppies ears. every time you saw your dog you saw simon because simon had him trained so he would protect you when he was gone. 

simon was said to be back in a couple months. for some reason that seemed like years to your ears. you were always wanting that maybe he could get back sooner, the door opening to him all dirty, dusty, needing a shower but here, present. 

outside was finally raining. it was a gloomy day and for some reason that made you feel more alone. “i sometimes hate the fuckin rain.” you muttered. you thought about what you said and laughed out loud to yourself. boy did you sound like your man. he was rubbing off on you already. 

you read the time and saw it was getting late. you still needed to shower and do your 10-step skin care routine. the memory of simon teasing you about your steps made you smile. how you missed your brit. you wrapped yourself in your sweater and was about to head into your room when you heard the door to your home creak. the doorknob jiggling. your dog ran straight for the door, making sure you were behind him as he barked non-stop. the person at the door wouldn’t stop. if this was someone trying to sell something or a stranger they wouldn’t be so persistent on getting in. quickly you head to your wardrobe and from the drawer you retrieve your handgun. simon had gifted it to you a couple months into you two dating. legs apart, gun pointed straight for the door, you waited for the intruder to get in. they were about to have a bullet between their eyes and meet their maker. 

finally, the door opened, and in quickly stepped-

“simon?” you questioned. 

simon wiped his boots on your welcome mat, he was drenched from the rain. his eyes hadn't met yours yet but when they did you could tell he was smiling under his balaclava from the way his eyes crinkled. “good girl.” his voice sounded tired. 

“oh baby,” you dropped your gun and ran to him. everytime he came home you cried. cried that he was safe and really in your arms. simon always said you were very emotional. even though simon was tired he still accepted your running form and picked you up in his arms. “hello, love.”

“i missed you.” you embraced him, not caring if he smelled of sweat and dirt. you kissed his masked covered cheek. then, gently, you lifted it up and took it off him. to think you were the few people to see his beautiful face. his eyes softened. you could tell there were so many things he wanted to say but there wouldn’t be enough time. “i’ve missed you more, baby.”

your clean, soft hands caressed his stubble that was growing perhaps because of the length of the trip back home. your plump lips landed on his rough ones. it felt so perfect kissing him. something you were missing was finally here again. you didn’t want to ever stop kissing him. you wanted him to truly know how much you loved him. you wrapped your hands around his head to deepen the kiss. your tongue lightly licked his lips and you felt a pinch on your side. “oww,” you chuckled, knowing what simon was talking about. 

“naughty girl,” he growled, making you throw your head back in laughter. “you know what you do to me.”

“you’ve been a good boy right?” you joked, hopping out of his arms and leading him back to the room. 

“if you’re asking if i’ve cheated on you, my love, the answers no. i couldn’t, haven’t gotten the time.”

your smile disappeared and instead you wore a scowl. “ha ha very funny,” rolling your eyes. 

simon smirked as he gave a deep chuckle, “i knew you would get mad. i like seeing you lose your temper.”

“yeah, don’t have much patience nowadays. besides, i get grumpy if someone were to touch my man.”

“don’t worry, darling. i’m all yours.” 

you felt this happiness deep within your heart. the whole that was there when he left was filled now just seeing him. you felt bad however to see him so tired. 

he stood before the mirror, ready to take his uniform off. 

“no babe. let me.” your eyes looked up at him through your lashes. “let me take care of you.” you immediately started to take off his boots, so gingerly. his eyes never left yours. it expressed so much love for you. he was a man of few words but his look said enough. he appreciated you and cherished you so much. 

you finally were to his uniform shirt. half lidded, having to feel his skin, you gently lifted it above his head. he always caught your breath. he was very fit, and had chest hair. you could feel your body warm up as his chest was inches away from your face. simon put his finger under your chin, lifting your face up. your eyes flashed to the scars he had on his chest. they made you worried because each had a story, a story that might have ended so differently. your nails delicately grazed each one. 

“it’s not as bad as it looks,” simon said jokingly. 

each deserved love. so you kissed one scar, then the next. eyes closed as you gave a peck to each scar. 

you noticed simon’s breathing was quickening and he was groaning. both of you were touch starved and were in need of each other. “fuck,” simon mumbled, as his head hung back. “i need you, love. i don’t know how long i can hold back.”

“i know, baby. i want to show you i appreciate all you do. let me take care of you. relax.” 

“that’s easier said than done. especially when you’re kissing me like that. you know how many nights i dreamed about you. nights where i wish i was between your thighs, or i was inside you. this feels like a dream right now.”

you kneeled down in front of his already excited cock. you could see the tent in his pants. “you poor thing. and that’s why i promise you, i’ll make sure you get me on the daily.” you winked. 

you got him to take his pants off so now he was just a dusty simon with his briefs on. you gulped at seeing his thick thighs. you loved to sit on that lap, they were so strong his legs, and made you weak. 

“eyes up here, darling.” simon raised a brow.

you stuck your tongue out. “i wasn’t looking at anything that wasn’t mine.”

“possessive aren’t we?” simon’s hands raised and caressed your hair. 

“now, since you haven’t had a proper, deserving shower in a while, with warm water. i am going to give you a bath, so get fully naked while i go put on some candles.”

“love, you don’t need to do all that. i just want you.” simon was almost begging. he loved how you were particular with detail and you wanted to do so much for him but he didn’t need none of that. he has been non-stop thinking about you. his hands made grabby hands for yours. 

“don’t worry. i’ll be quick.” you sprinted to the bathroom. putting a robe and soft comfortable matching pajamas that matched with yours on the counter for him. you put the candles on that smelled like vanilla and turned the shower on so it was warm for him. you played some slow, sensual music on alexa. “ok, this looks good!” you smiled big. 

you turned around to see simon leaning against the door frame. he was watching you the whole time. you felt a lump in your throat however when your eyes drooped down to his hanging cock. it was thick just like the rest of him. seeing him like this made you want to forever lock him up and never have to share him. 

“don’t worry. he misses you too.”

you licked your lips, simon always made you speechless. you opened the shower door for him. with a walk you always loved, so manly, he walked inside. you took a good look at his ass, thanking god he had cake. he was so fine! 

the moment his skin made contact with the warm water he groaned. all the black grime was dripping down his skin into the drain. little by little his skin was showing, clean. his eyes were closed, enjoying the feeling as his hands wandered all over his wet skin. your eyes widened, entranced. he noticed you were staring so he decided to play with you. his thick fingers wrapped around his cock, shaking it and stroking it. “fuck, i wish someone would help me out with this. any volunteers, love?”

you knocked out of the trance and rolled your eyes. “make room in there. i’m coming.”

“i was anticipating that.”

as you entered, fully naked, you walked into the water. shower head drenching your hair. you got wet first then got some soap that smelled like perfume. you knew that simon was watching so with an evil idea you lathered the body wash all around your breasts. each stroke causing them to jiggle. you rubbed circular motions around your nipples and picked each breast up cleaning under. you squished them together, really cleaning them. your could swear you heard him curse under his breath, “yeah, baby just like that. fuck me.”

you dragged the soap down to your pussy, playing with your lips. you then gathered that and went to your ass, spreading your ass apart, playing with each cheek. 

“mmmm,” you heard his grumble and heard him playing with his cock. you loved playing for him. 

you moaned as you bent over to reach your legs. you knew he was behind you , getting a good look at all of you. he thought you looked like a siren. your skin was wet and your hair was soaked. eyelashes thick from the water. you looked like a beautiful vision. you were his dream girl. 

he couldn't take it anymore. he needed to touch you. he put more of your body wash on his hands and stood skin to skin behind you. you felt on your ass his standing cock. it was sticky with pre-cum. “oh hi baby. i forgot you were here.”

“sure. i really don’t find it fair that your fingers are getting more action than me.”

you giggled but then it turned into a moan as his soapy hands reached to your breasts. “i’ll help you clean.”

“n-no. that’s my, job.” you bit your lip, trying not to let him take control as you wanted him to relax. 

“listen baby, i like pleasing my woman. let me.” he breathed into your ear as his fingers played with your nipples. pinching them and rolling the bud then dipping lower to your cunt. his thick middle finger delicately tickled between your lips. it was light but made you get excited. “even with this shower blasting on both of us, i can still feel how wet you are.”

“fuck,” you huffed. 

simon spread your pussy lips apart and traced your clit. rolling it then flicking it. “nnnn, simon. i-fuck-i want to make you feel good.”

simon couldn't take it anymore. he had been away from you for so long. he needed to be inside you.

he forcefully turned you around. the height difference was so much that he towered over you. his fingers cupped your cheeks as he dipped down to take your lips into his mouth. his tongue came out, lashing against yours and your teeth. 

“mmmm simon. fuck me.”

“i love you so much, darling.” simon said between kisses. “fuck, i don’t know what’d i do without you.”

you were on your tiptoes as your tongues fought. you licked the inside of his mouth. simon became feral, growling like an animal as he lifted you up by behind your knees. your legs against his head so you could not go anywhere and you were opened up for him. without even preparing yourself simon entered into you. you hadn't had him this whole time and no toy could equal up to his size so you felt your tightness being ripped. 

“good girl. i can tell this pussy missed me. it hasn’t had me in a while.” he chuckled.

“fuck me simon. oh fuck.” you breathed as he sunk into you. you slowly took him all the way in. you felt so full, missing him, missing each crevice and feeling of him. simon nodded as he lifted you back and then slammed into you again. “ahhhh. shit! mmmm feels s’good.”

your half lidded eyes saw his biceps strong, his muscles moving with each thrust. his tattoo entranced you. “ooh baby.” 

“that’s it doll. give it to me.” he grunted with each pounding. he lifted you up and down, his cock dragging inside you, wetting you each time. you felt each vein, felt him so fully inside you. his movements and making you bounce went faster each second. his balls coming up to slap your sensitive pussy. he was so strong to carry you and fuck you. you just held onto him, not able to move as you took each beating your sensitive pussy could handle. 

“you like that, darling?” simon gritted between his teeths. his forehead rested against yours as he switched and put you against the glass window. “that pussy taking all of me. what a good girl.”

“ugh, m’fuck! that’s it baby.” your arms came up to hold onto the glass. the feeling of the cold glass shooting up your back. both contrast of his hot body entering into you. simon grabbed onto your hands up high, pinning you against the glass as he powered inside you. non-stop, wanting you to scream on his cock. 

“ahhh simon, i’m not gonna be able to. i’m gonna fuckin cum!”

“ooh, you sound dirty. who taught you how to speak that way?” simon smirked, already knowing the answer. 

the way his cock angled to hit your g-spot. he reached so deep you thought you felt him in your stomach. his hips rolled with each thrust. you felt your pussy lips stretching to take more of him. his white cream producing more as it mixed with your juice. his cock dripping with your cum. it was making a white ring at the base of his cock. “fuckin shit. fuck, fuck, fuck. that’s it y/n, take my cock. take it all. i’m gonna fuckin cum.”

you held his head still and looked into his eyes, “fuckin cum for me simon. i want you to cum inside me. please fill me up, mmm.”

that’s all simon needed to hear. he was exhausted and just emptied inside of you. seeing his veins protruding from squeezing out his seed and hearing his hearty moan made you also come undone. he fucked you still as your pussy pulsed around him, clenching around his shaft as you came. your juices dripping down your legs. “fuck, baby.” you gave a tired smile. you were sore now and we're definitely going to feel it tomorrow. 

“you felt so good, darling. so tight for me.” simon kissed you again. 

“i don’t think i can walk,” you laughed as you tried but your legs were wobbly. 

simon stood behind you and held you still, holding you up. “i’ve missed you so much. i missed feeling you.” simon was vulnerable with you. his hands went around your torso from behind and kissed behind your neck. “i never want to leave you, my love.”

angel’s little words - this man literally makes my kitty into a knot like he has it purring. my mind is flooded w him and all that cake! It’s my first ghost fic so pls don’t hate me if u hate it ok! i was nervous to post about him bc idk if I got him correct but I did rlly enjoy writing him. Also bc he has so many edits of him w the song wine pon you by doja I wrote this w that song on repeat teehee.

[onlymingyus]

Easy, Tiger

pairing; kwon soonyoung (hoshi) x reader

genre; smut

warnings; oral (m receiving), public sexual act, exhibitionism, cum eating (ig if you count swallowing), pet names

w/c; 1.4k and some change

requested; no

a/n; happy birthday to my favorite tiger! this idea came from dk posting these wonderful pictures of hoshi from his birthday post and then @junkissed and @duhnova saying something that made me go....hm

before continuing remember reblogs are incredibly important and please read how to support me here

You smile watching Soonyoung tip back the glass of soju. He looked happy and that was all you could really ask for on his birthday. Reaching for your own soju glass you tip it back before laughing when you feel your boyfriend’s hand grab your free one. 

Soonyoung was full of all of his favorite foods and he had gotten to spend the evening with his favorite person in the entire world.  Lacing his fingers with yours, Soonyoung watches you put your glass back on the table before you finally meet his eyes. 

Neither of you were too far gone. Just a single bottle of soju shared between the two of you, but it was still just enough to make the conversation easy. Tilting your head you lean your jaw on your free hand as you feel Soonyoung’s thumb circling your palm. 

“Quick, name one thing you’d want for your birthday that you think you’d never get?” 

Soonyoung laughs into a snort at the question. His eyes narrow softly, he lets out a sigh before answering as quickly as he can. 

“Ah…fuck, head by the river.” 

Raising a brow, you watch Soonyoung seem to realize what he had said. The warmth spreads over his cheeks and you watch your sweet sometimes chaotic boyfriend try to revert to his introverted self. His shoulders pull tight as a laugh slips from his lips, an explanation on the tip of his tongue. 

“I–I mean, I’m just kidding. That’s an at home thing. Behind the closed doors of our bedroom thing, I’m just drunk. Don’t listen to me.” 

Smiling, you lift your head and brush your fingers over Soonyoung’s jaw causing the man to shiver under your touch. His eyes fall on yours and Soonyoung can’t help but to swallow hard knowing that look in your eye. 

“Let’s go. Still a few hours of your birthday left.” 

Soonyoung knew you loved him and were adventurous. He knew that the two of you had talked about fantasies before, and that exhibitionism had come up more than once but he never thought he would find himself actually in this situation. 

Shivering to the feeling of the tip of your tongue barely grazing the tip of his cock, Soonyoung whines your name finally looking down at you on your knees on the walking path. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He was so excited and nervous at the same time. 

“Baby…this is crazy. I love it, fuck I love it so much, but what if someone walks–sees us?” 

Smiling against Soonyoung’s cock, you glance up at the handsome man giving him a mischievous look that causes him to feel weak on his feet. 

“Do you want them to?” 

Starting to speak, Soonyoung doesn’t really know what his answer is, but you stop him from having to formulate an explanation by wrapping your warm mouth around him. Closing his eyes, Soonyoung groans quietly. You were so good at this, and it was clouding his mind to the point Soonyoung could almost forget where he was. If it weren’t for the constant sound of the river behind him, the brush of the wind though his hair, and the honk of distant horns, Soonyoung would completely let down his guard. 

“Oh, shit…babe. I–God, it feels so good but, ah!” 

You were listening to him. You knew that Soonyoung was nervous, but it was so late and you were in such a secluded part of the path you weren’t that worried someone would come by. If they did, at this point you weren’t sure you’d care. Taking more of Soonyoung into your mouth, you moan around his length feeling how the girth of his cock stretches your lips. You can’t help but to feel your underwear becoming damp with your own arousal at the memories of how he stretches you in the same way every time he fucks you. 

Sliding his hand over the top of your head, Soonyoung leans back against the railing behind him. His nails dig into the wood as he closes his eyes for a moment before he knows he wants to look back down at you. The moment he does, Soonyoung can’t help the groan that forms in his throat or how he thrusts towards your mouth causing you to gag around him. 

He loves the way you look on your knees for him. You were always perfect, but it was moments like this when you were completely vulnerable for him, his cock down your throat or buried deep inside of you that Soonyoung had burned into his mind. This would be something he would never forget. 

Pulling back, you let your tongue press to the underside of Soonyoung’s cock to run along the pulsing vein that told you everything you wanted to know about the man standing in front of you. He was getting so close. Sitting back on your heels, you meet Soonyoung’s eyes as you catch your breath. 

The man watches your tongue run along your lips as your hand moves over his wet cock. Gasping out your name, Soonyoung knew he was leaking pre-cum obscenely over your hand, but he couldn’t find a reason to care until the sound of people talking nearby drew his attention. 

You watch Soonyoung start to panic, his stomach sucks-in dramatically as he takes a deep breath. You can only smile at him lifting your finger to your lips to tell him to be quiet as Soonyoung shakes his head at you mouthing, ‘Are you crazy?’ 

“Easy, Tiger. Eyes on me, hmm?” 

Soonyoung scoffs, his eyes staying on you like you had instructed him. He does his best to keep his groan quiet when you take him back into your mouth. Logic was telling him that you should both stop in case the people he heard got any closer but your soft, warm mouth around him caused him to throw any logic he had into the river behind him. 

“Please…so close.” 

Moaning around Soonyoung, you roll your tongue around his head as your hand twists at his base. Glancing up at him to meet his eyes, you smirk before sinking down over Soonyoung to take as much of him into your mouth as you can. You feel your boyfriend’s nails raking over your scalp and hear the sound of his groan getting caught in his throat. 

You knew exactly how to get what you wanted from Soonyoung and how to give him what he wanted. So, when you looked at Soonyoung like that and went down on him the way you did, the man didn’t stand a chance. Soonyoung saw white briefly and the river sounded like blood rushing to his ears as thick warm cum spilled into your mouth. 

Sitting back on your heels once again, you swallow what you can of Soonyoung’s cum as he finally opens his eyes to look down at you. You made it difficult for him to catch his breath by just looking at you, but with each delicate kitten lick to catch any remaining drips of cum, Soonyoung wondered if you were trying to make it impossible for him to reach his 28th birthday. 

Carefully slipping himself back into his pants, Soonyoung then helps you to your feet before pulling you to his lips. Groaning on your lips, the man can’t help but to enjoy the taste of himself when it was on your lips. It is only then, when he is lost in your embrace and your kiss that he can’t seem to care when the voices he had heard earlier grow closer and pass by. 

Smiling on his lips, you nudge your nose against Soonyoung’s causing him to laugh just as you do. Your arms around his shoulders, your boyfriend sighs on your lips before leaning his head back so he can meet your eyes furrowing his brows with a longing look into your eyes. 

“Can we go home? I think by the time we get there I can return the favor…and we won’t have an audience.” 

Laughing again, you nod making Soonyoung smile, his hand moving to take yours. 

“Sure, but you don’t have to return the favor. It’s your birthday Soonyoung, and that was your wild birthday wish. I was simply giving you what you wanted. 

Shaking his head, Soonyoung pulls you closer to him as he walks, a breath falling from his lips in a whisper about how crazy you are. 

“You said something I thought I’d never get. I didn’t think we’d end up at the river with my pants at my knees.” 

Smiling brightly, you glance at Soonyoung wiggling your brows. 

“Mm, well…you are welcome. Happy Birthday, Tiger.”  

© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed. 

[throneofsapphics]

old faces, part 10

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: you and Rowan meet again after seven years, and deal with the fall-out of a secret. 

Warnings: mentions of drinking, panic attack, references to death, child labor 

Word Count: ~4.5k

A/N: I promise I've started on part 11! I appreciate all of your love on this series <3 it seriously means the world to me

series masterlist

Fenrys, sat to your right, was watching you. He was subtle, others wouldn’t notice - perhaps except Rowan or Aelin, but you felt his attention on you, like he knew something was wrong. The bastard probably did. 

The encounter had rattled you. Especially because the male was still sitting further down the table. You’d done a good job of ignoring him for the most part, even though his attention wandered your way several times. Earlier, you’d been correct assuming it was a personal matter, because he didn’t bring up a single thing related to an artifact causing trouble, or your bloodline. Not even a hint of it. 

Yes, his questions had unnerved you, but the memory moreso. You’d kept your oath, but you tried not to think of him. It had been years, but the pain and loss still felt like yesterday, the scar still felt fresh, guilt and horror threatened to overwhelm you - 

A warm hand on your knee, a small squeeze. Fenrys. A scan of the table showed nobody looking closely at you, good - it would’ve been embarrassing and unprofessional if you’d spaced out while a question was asked. 

Trying not to count down the seconds, you did your best to hang on to every word, to listen intently, but your mind scrambled. A glass of wine, maybe a good book, and sleep was desperately needed. 

With Fenrys next to you like a guard dog, he only shot you a look, probably meant to be some kind of promise of a future conversation. You’d need a good amount to avoid him, and lately your luck has been running terrifyingly low. 

Waiting an appropriate amount of time after the meeting concluded - mainly until he left the room, you beelined for the door. A broad back cut you off, Fenrys asking some kind of question you couldn’t hear through the ringing in your ears, the pure panic rising in your lungs. 

Vaguely aware of the empty room surrounding you, Rowan’s face loomed in front of yours, his mouth forming words you couldn’t hear or comprehend. Chest caving, each breath felt like a chore, the sharp pain of your nails in your palm couldn’t distract you, couldn’t break you out, you were suffocating, drowning - one hand squeezed your shoulder, another gripping your chin, tilting it up to meet his gaze. 

“Breathe,” you read his lips, the movement of his mouth slow and exaggerated. “You’re safe.” 

His hand enveloped yours, drawing it up towards his chest. The grip on your chin didn’t move, forcing you to look at him to focus on the steady beat of his heart under your palm, the exaggerated rising and falling of his chest, the way his hand still covered your own. Slowly, the ringing subsided, your breaths growing easier. 

“Good?” He asked, and you hated the gentleness in his voice. You replied with a terse nod. Rowan studied you for a few moments, and unlike yourself you squirmed under the scrutiny, shifting back and forth on your feet. 

“Alright,” he said slowly, releasing your chin, lowering your hand back to your side. He strode back towards the door, jerking his head, speaking lowly enough your Fae hearing couldn’t catch the words. Fenrys strode back in, his face unusually severe. The door shut with a soft snick, a comforting shield of wind surrounding the room. You were too overloaded to add your own magic. 

Fenrys looked concerned, but you shook your head, “I'm fine.” 

“Then what the hell happened before?” At least Fenrys got straight to the point.

“Someone just … asked something that rattled me,” you hedged, leaning back against the table, crossing your arms, trying to buy yourself some time to find a way to explain it that wouldn’t make them overreact. Logically, you knew it was too late for that. 

“You don’t get rattled,” Rowan crossed his arms. Technically, that was a compliment. You glanced at Fenrys, like he might make some kind of joke, but his face was nearly as serious as Rowan’s. Two walls of unrelenting and overbearing male arrogance. “Who?” 

“Does it matter?” 

Neither male bothered responding. Running fingers through your hair, you told him, and added “it wasn’t exactly a threat.” 

‘Exactly’, was your mistake. 

“Tell me everything.” The demand in Rowan’s tone, the sheer sense of authority and arrogance, made you prickle but … this time you gave in and recited the conversation. 

“What do you think he’s looking for?” Fenrys asked before Rowan could get a word.. 

“I don’t know. I don’t want to know.” The second part wasn’t necessarily true. He’d peaked your curiosity, hit that lingering sense of guilt perfectly - as if he already knew how to work you. But, curiosity killed the cat - you wouldn’t make that mistake. 

“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Rowan said, glancing up at the clock. Another meeting would start soon - one should probably be at. “Stay here for the night.” 

“Right where he is?” You raised your brows. 

“Right where we are,” he corrected. 

“I’m not that scared.” 

“So you admit you’re scared?” 

“Oh fuck off,” you snapped at him. 

“We fought with that male,” Rowan snarled, “we’re well aware of what he’s capable of.” 

Of course they had. You caught Fenrys’s nod from the corner of your eye. 

“And I’m more than capable of protecting myself. Find someone else to be a fussy bastard to.”

“I care about your safety,” he gritted his teeth, “is that so wrong?” 

Damn you, something inside of you softened and you hated yourself for it. 

“It’s safer for me to be at home.” 

“Safer for who?” The edge in Rowan’s voice grew, “because I know damn well you’re trying to draw a threat away from the castle.” Away from Ceri was implied. He probably didn’t know it, but you wanted it away from him too. From him, Aelin, Fenrys, all of the people you cared about. You couldn’t argue. 

“Don’t fucking underestimate me.” 

He laughed roughly, “trust me, I’m not.”

“Then don’t try to coddle me,” your left fist clenched. 

“It’s common sense, not coddling.” 

Fenrys’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of you, and you threw your head back in a groan. 

“If anything happens tonight, even if I get a bad feeling, I'll come back here,” you said with enough finality and sincerity that the males very begrudgingly agreed. “I’m going home now,” you sidestepped Fenrys, skirted around Rowan, the shield of wind falling, and strode out of the door. 

-

Rowan hadn’t slept well since you left the night before. You showed face yesterday, probably just to assure him and maybe prove a point, but the Akkadian contingent would be present for two more days. He told Aelin, of course, and had to be the reasonable one to prevent her from doing an interrogation of her own. She’d agreed, already knowing there was a close eye kept on them. But, it was near impossible to keep track of everyone entering or leaving without raising suspicion. 

Quarter to midnight, just when he figured he should try and get some sleep, and kick the rest of the Court out, Halle appeared with a … piece of paper between her teeth. She jumped directly on him, claws digging in, dropping the paper, hissing when he didn’t immediately grab it. He took the hint, and didn’t hesitate before unfolding it. 

I’m going to have company soon. If you and Aelin attend, it’ll raise too many suspicions, and it’s the dead of night. Send Fenrys? I’ll stay in until then. 

Gods, you planned on confronting him. The words were scribbled quickly, letters shaky, ink blotted in a few areas. 

He tossed it to Fenrys, who caught it between two fingers - glancing once curiously at the cat, her keen eyes now fixed on him. Attending. You said nothing about a hawk keeping watch from the sky. Besides, you’d said ‘you and Aelin,’ not ‘you or.’ Aelin would be pissy she needed to stay here, but if they were both absent from the castle …  

Sometimes, Rowan missed when he wasn’t King, when he could confront a problem like this without having to worry about political repercussions, when he lived somewhere there were few laws against murder. 

He flew above Fenrys - taking a back exit from the castle, sticking to secluded areas. Somehow, the giant white wolf went unnoticed. Perhaps because it was a Friday night, and the current areas they ran through were nearly abandoned. 

Regardless, he scouted the way ahead, spotting the two males just a fifteen minute walk from your house now. It was obvious they didn’t know exactly where they were going, but Fenrys should arrive with a few minutes to spare. He knew you’d notice his presence, and he’d avoid showing his face to keep your wrath away. 

He momentarily forgot keeping your wrath away as he watched you slip past the wards and shift. Then - disappeared. Catching a draft, he set out to intercept Fenrys. 

-

You’d lied to them unintentionally, the decision made last minute, a switch, but it was the … choice that felt right, a warm hand on your shoulder - a feminine voice in the back of your ear, guiding you. Slipping past the words, sending silent apologies to the night, you shifted. 

It was easy enough to track their magic, moving in between the folds of time and space. Harder, was deciding the best way to ‘run into’ their path. 

Pinching your cheeks until they flushed red, hands shoved into pockets, head down, senses awake - a slight sway in your step, humming a tune frequently played in Terrasen’s taverns, you turned the corner and let the threads of fate throw you to the wolves. 

“Oh,” you laughed, stumbling back a few steps, brushing hair away from your face, “didn’t think I’d see you again today. Your voice carried over the wind, although you spoke a tad louder than necessary. The location was empty, but not abandoned. Probably not where they would’ve chosen. It felt important that you chose the place. “Convenient, finding you here.” 

“Convenient, indeed,” the predatory gleam in his eyes raised the hair on the back of your neck. Still, stupid male. If he thought beyond whatever agenda he’s set on, he would’ve wondered how you ended up directly in his path. “There’s some things we’d like to discuss-”

“It’s past business hours, I’m afraid,” you yawned.

“We can keep this separate,” he purred and you fought the urge to gag. His friend was stone-faced. They looked similar enough they could be brothers or cousins. 

“What do you want?”

“Like I said,” he cleared his throat. “There’s an artifact causing trouble, we need your skillset to track it down.” 

He said it as if it was a done thing, like you’d agree in an instant. “I’m not the person you’re looking for.” 

“Andal said you were.” 

You paled, all of the color flushing from your skin. He couldn’t see it, in the dark, but the silence probably told him he’d hit the mark. Nothing was telling you to run, nothing pushing you away from this - although you wished it would. Deny, deny, deny, was the safe choice but … you had to get to the bottom of this one way or another. Worst case, you shift and disappear. Hopefully. 

“If Andal said,” you pretended to think about it, just for a moment, tapping your fingers on your thigh, before shaking your head “it doesn’t matter, I’m out of business.” 

“This is urgent,” his friend, stone-man, growled.

“Oh he speaks,” you teased. 

“It’s one of the -” his words froze mid-sentence, a pulse of ancient and near primal magic weaving into the space.

Fenrys nearly bowled you over - stumbling, bracing his hand on your shoulder. “Quit leaving me behind,” he huffed out a laugh. An icy and familiar wind brushed against your cheek. 

Immense relief filled you, although you were seconds away from getting the information you wanted. “My bad,” you shot him a smile. 

Nearly imperceptibly, his fingers tightened around your shoulder as he straightened, examining the two males in front of you. Males he already knew were there. Still, you were impressed by his acting. 

“New friends?” He drawled. You shrugged, but didn’t shake off his hand, and he didn’t move it. 

“They were asking for my advice,” you cleared your throat - after an uncomfortable minute of silence. 

“Advice that cannot wait until tomorrow?” 

There was an underlying threat in his words, a slight change in tone, and with it the air filled with tension - suffocating, like all of their magics rose to the surface, postures tense and ready to snap at any minute. 

“I’m sure it can wait,” the male said roughly, jerking his chin towards his friend, as they both strode down the street - back towards the castle. “I’ll be in touch,” he called over his shoulder. Fenrys stiffened, but you didn’t bother replying. 

You and Fenrys waited until they were out of hearing range, and then a few minutes longer for good measure. At this point, you knew Fenrys well enough to tell when he was furious. 

Clearing the city streets, shadows of the stress covering the two of you, you finally spoke, “I’d almost figured out what -”

A flash of light came from your right, you pivoted, faced with an angry silver-haired male, mouth frozen mid-sentence,  “I’d ask what the hell you were thinking,” he snarled, “but it’s obvious you weren’t.” 

“I was thinking I’d keep those bastards from finding my gods-damned house,” you hissed. 

“How do you know you’re not leading them right back to your gods-damned home?” Fenrys said, his dark eyes flashing.  

Fixing him with a sharp look, you didn’t bother answering. 

One, you’d be able to tell. 

Two, it felt like an insult to your intelligence. 

Three, they weren’t stupid enough to follow if Fenrys was with you. 

You considered telling them to piss off, but knew it would be pointless. Tense, angry silence filled the walk back to your home. 

The wards were heavy, thick magic pulsing, enveloping you the closer you got. It might be uncomfortable to the others, but for you it felt like a hug - like it was singing and welcoming you home, magic reaching out with small threads to tug you into its embrace. You realized that the density of magic might be a beacon, and made a note in your mind to possibly research a way to obscure it. 

Running your finger down the invisible wall, a sliver appeared - just big enough to slip through as, snapping back into place as soon as you passed the threshold. 

The silence carried until you were inside, all sitting stiffly on the various couches and chairs. None of you bothered to appear at ease. 

Rowan’s hand slipped into his pocket, pulling a familiar slip of paper out, holding it between two fingers. Dramatically, he unfolded it and read; 

“I’ll stay in until then,” a breeze floated the page towards you, and you batted it away. A streak of orange, and Halle caught it between her teeth, shaking it in her jaws like a dog. She looked up at you and hissed. A small smile curved on your lips. Reaching a hand out, she rubbed her head along your fingers, lifting her chin for a scratch. A minute passed, and it appeared the two males were waiting for you to break the silence this time. You forced yourself to lean back, the armchair big enough for Halle to jump up and settle next to you, one paw batting at you when you dared to stop petting her.

“Do you ever feel like some kind of God or Goddess is watching over you?” 

“Aelin killed them,” Fenrys deadpanned, Rowan cut a glare at him. That, you didn’t know, but as Rowan’s glare turned on you, you decided it was best to ask that question later. 

“It’s like a warm hand on my shoulder,” you continued, “or a voice, nudging me. It hasn’t failed me before, and today felt like a bad time to test it.”

“You couldn’t have found me?” Fenrys asked, “maybe waited until you weren’t alone to confront them?” 

“I should’ve,” scratching the back of your neck, you avoided his gaze.You were old enough to admit when you’d done something stupid, to realize you had indeed fucked up, even if you hated doing it. “Look,” you let out a slow breath, “this is very … personal.” 

Silence. 

“If I'm going to explain this, Aelin really should be here,” you mumbled. She could easily hear from Rowan, or you could tell the story twice, but you wanted her here. Something about her presence soothed an edge, made dark parts of the past more bearable. 

Rowan stood. “I doubt she’s sleeping,” he said mildly, a glint in his eyes. “I saw you shift earlier, it shouldn’t take long to get there.” 

Fighting the urge to snarl or stomp, you lead the way out the door. “I’ll walk,” you called over your shoulder. Mainly because it would piss his impatient ass off. Based on his snarl, it did. 

Rowan snarled as you took off without him, sending a grin over your shoulder. His eyes rolled, but within a few strides he’d caught up to you. 

“Walking me home?” You teased, “how kind of you.” He gently shoved his shoulder into yours. “Really,” you huffed, “I’ll be fine.” 

“It’ll make me feel better,” he countered, and that was the end of the argument. You’d refused to shift and head back, anyway. You didn’t show your animal form to anyone. Even him. 

“I’ll go with you,” Fenrys quickly caught up to you, walking shoulder to shoulder as the memory faded, “we might run into them again.” 

A flash of light, a shriek from a hawk, and Rowan headed off, likely to warn Aelin. 

Ten minutes into the walk, the silence was getting to your head. 

“What is it?” 

“I’ve never wanted to be back in Doranelle,” Fenrys said quietly, “but there, I could’ve just killed them.” 

“Murder isn’t always the answer,” you snorted, and finally had the courage to look him in the eyes. He was fighting a smile. Throwing your head back, a slightly-incredulous, probably insane sounding laugh bubbled from your chest. 

-

“Some of the objects my ancestors made had uses they didn’t expect, and ended up with the wrong people,” you tapped your fingers against your legs, Aelin tried not to make it obvious she was hanging onto every word. “There’s a sense of … responsibility that comes with it. To destroy them, I suppose. There was never enough time to properly explain it.”

Sounds like bullshit, Aelin thought, but kept listening. 

“Few know how to use Wyrdmarks, and very few have the magic to strengthen or infuse them. Some can catch traces of those objects - track them. Not all of my ancestors were angelic, some tracked them down - either to use themselves or sell to the highest bidder,” disgust filled each word as you spat them out. “I was warned that not all will have bad intentions, but even the best intentions can be skewed by greed,” that phrase came out like a quote, one you’d memorized years ago, stored in the back of your mind - perhaps as a reminder. This was mostly information they’d been able to piece together, and Aelin waited for the other side, for whatever big secret you’d been holding onto. 

“It would be good to know what they're looking for, specifically.” Rowan looked ready to interrupt, but Aelin held up a hand. “Then I'll know their intentions. “I’d almost figured that out earlier,” you shot what was probably supposed to be an annoyed look at Fenrys, but she caught the hint of gratitude. As you turned back to them, a hint of guilt hit her at the exhaustion in your face, at the fear in your eyes. 

“I was nine, stuck on the streets. Someone found me, told me if I helped them out they’d make sure I was taken care of. I worked for them for five years, and did whatever they told me to. I knew I'd get fed, a warm bed, and a few marks here and there - to a kid it felt like riches. My … handler, you could say, had an idea of what my magic could do. Eventually my great uncle found me and dragged me out of it.” You ran a hand over your face. “That’s why they’re asking for help, because they know I’ve done it before.” 

“Andal?” Rowan asked quietly. He must’ve overheard that. All Aelin could think of was that word you used; handler. As the name Andal rolled around in her mind, it sounded eerily like Arobynn. Still, she focused on you - your expression, the paleness of your skin, the mixture of anger and fear flashing at the name, fists clenching slightly, shoulders tensing, feet pressing firmer into the ground - like you were ready to launch into a fight. Aelin understood how a name could trigger such a visceral reaction. 

“I fell for his trap and promises, I was so naive,” 

“You were a child,” Rowan insisted. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

“Part of me always knew it was wrong, but I was so-” your head snapped towards the door, and seconds later a very insistent knock interrupted. Ceri. Rowan’s shield of wind, and one of whatever your magic was, parted and the door flew open. 

Ceri sprinted through the room, launching herself into your arms. 

“You’re here,” she shrieked. Excitement. A smile naturally spread over your face, the tension of the previous conversation put aside as Ceri recounted the past day's events, settling herself next to you on the couch as you watched with rapt attention - cutting in at all of the perfect moments.

It had been a long week and … Aelin realized the two of you didn’t get to spend much time together. She exchanged a glance with Rowan, and they both silently rose, murmuring a good night, before leaving. They’d get up early to talk in the morning. 

-

Ceri spared no detail, and talked until her eyes started closing, yawns interrupting her words. 

“Why don’t you tell me more in the morning?” You asked gently. 

Her lips pursed, like that was the last thing she wanted to do, but she eventually nodded. She stood, her small hand latching onto your wrist, and dragged you both towards your bedroom. It had been years since she insisted on sleeping in your bed, but you didn’t question it. After tonight, you wanted her close. 

The next morning, thank the gods, nobody woke you up at the ass crack of dawn. In fact, a tray of food waited just outside of your door, all of your favorites and Ceri’s. After discerning it wasn’t poison, you brought it in. 

A few cups of tea later and you felt ready to continue last night’s conversation. Partially. None of this way easy to talk about, and you supposed that was a good thing. 

‘As a child,’ Rowan had said. Sure, you’d been young and naive, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you should’ve known better. ‘Nobody was there to teach you, it’s not your fault,’ a voice that sounded eerily like Aelin’s countered in the back of your mind. 

Ceri left reluctantly, making you promise to spend another night at the castle. It was an easy promise to give, you’d missed her after all. 

As soon as the three of you sat, you said the words you’d rehearsed in your head all morning. “Before we get into … that situation,” you cleared your throat, fighting the tightening sensation. “Whatever it is between us,” you’d caught their attention, both staring at you with keen eyes, “I want it - if you still do. To figure it out when we have time.” 

“I still want it,” Aelin’s mouth curved up at one corner, the mirth in her eyes bringing a pink flush to your cheeks. Rowan met your gaze, pine-green eyes flashing with rare emotion, and nodded. You didn’t need words from him, the look said everything. 

“How dangerous are these objects?” Rowan cleared his throat. Aelin rolled her eyes. 

“Depends on who has them, and if they know what they’re doing.” You realized that was uninformative, and explained, “most of them can capture traces of magic, in some way or form. With enough exposure and time, they can be quite destructive.” 

“You said you helped hunt them, did they ask anything else of you?” 

You nodded, throat constricting, and forced the next words out, “I was a kid who didn’t know what she was doing. I appeased them, changing small marks, making things up, but I really had no idea. I still don’t know what I changed, or what they can do now.” 

“I’ll take care of it.” Aelin said, firmly. 

“It’s not your -” 

“My responsibility, I know,” she waved her hand, “but I want to.” 

The way she said ‘want’ implied she would, whether you liked it or not. You’d learned, over the last few years, that Aelin can be quite good at getting what she wants. Still, you didn’t want to roll over for her. 

“I always pictured myself going on a … quest, some day,” you let out a low, dead, laugh. “When Ceri was grown, hunting down all of the objects I messed with - destroying them.” 

“Getting revenge?” Rowan raised a brow. 

“Redemption,” you countered. He looked like he wanted to argue. “Besides,” you played with the hem of your tunic. “It’s what my uncle would’ve done.” 

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” He said quietly, not with pity, just framing a fact as a question. 

“Yes.” 

Another gods-damned sacrifice. All to keep you alive. All you could do was try to be worthy of it. 

“Ceri didn’t inherit my magic,” you said abruptly.

“I know,” Rowan replied. “Maybe your knack for sensing it, but not the actual magic.” 

“Sensing can be taught,” you replied. 

Aelin hummed. “What do you want to do about this?” 

A few blinks of surprise, but you leaned back. “Honestly? Forget it all happened.” Aelin snorted. “Practically, I should hear them out and figure out what I’m dealing with.” 

“And put yourself in danger?” Aelin’s head tilted, her voice a tad too calm. 

“What if we make it an ‘official’ thing?” When neither outright objected, you continued, “do it during a meeting, make it public.” 

“Then you’ll expose yourself,” Rowan stated. You raised a brow, you already had - to them. “To everyone,” he added. 

“Not necessarily,” you brushed the non-existent dirt off your pants. “I can give them my useless ‘notes’ on the subject,” you’d never intended to give them material that would actually help. “If they try for specifics, clarify what they’re looking for, others will start suspecting them, and I doubt that’s what they want.” 

“How will that tell you what they want?” 

“They’re arrogant and obviously desperate,” you shrugged. “They’ll get irritated, find me, and tell me.” 

“Your plan is to piss them off?” Fenrys looked at you like he prayed you were joking. 

-

taglist: @holb32 @fussel9913 @moonlightttfae @cassianswh0reeee, @reidishh, @shanias-world @fightmedraco @goldenmagnolias @hannzoaks @jennamelinda12 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @acourtofbatboydreams @lennyhhh @prrius-tylersapphire @aelinrhys @theworthlessqueen @anxious-study

[fhatbhabiee]

Amantes Del Marea

Javier Gutierrez x Reader ft General Marcus Acacius

word count: 885

warnings: arranged/forced marriage, asshole!marcus, mermaid!reader, attempted drowning.

some topics in this fic might be sensitive to some. please read at your own risk.

note: i have more to this story but i didn't wanna cram it all into one so- there's gonna be a pt 2 and maybe a 3 🙂‍↕️ (shocker right?)

This is stupid. Feels like I'm trapped in this hell for the rest of my life- hiding the biggest detail of my life from everyone. Oh and there’s the whole arranged marriage bit.

You let out a soft sigh as you felt the cool sea breeze brush against your skin. Thinking about the situation you were in- forced to be married to General Acacius just because your father made some stupid agreement all those years back. Walking on the beach was your only solace- your small escape from your life back at home. You wanted to dive into the water but if your husband were to find out, you'd never hear the end of it. That was another thing that ate you from the inside- having to hide your secret from the world. Only ones who knew were your family and Marcus.

“Not going to get in the water?” a voice called out from behind you. You turned around and felt your heart flutter. He was beautiful- big brown eyes, head full of thick brown curls, and a smile that could melt icebergs.

“Uhh- no. I can't swim.”

“It's easy. I can teach you.”

You raised an eyebrow and stepped back from him. “No thank you.”

“Shit- Sorry. I didn't mean to creep you out. I'm Javier but you can call me Javi.”

“Nice to meet you Javi.” you smiled as you told him your name, having him repeat it back with a smile spread across his lips. You reached down, gently grabbing the skirt of your dress as you walked by Javi and headed back to your home. His eyes were glued on you as you walked by him, admiring the way your hips swayed, the way your hair flowed with the slight breeze and the way your dress accented the curves of your body. Truly a goddess.

—

“What do you think you’re doing?” You looked over and saw Marcus leaning against the railing of the upstairs balcony, giving him a perfect view of the beach.

“Nothing…” you muttered under your breath. Marcus let out a small chuckle as he walked over, gently grabbing your wrist.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” He whispered in your ear.

“Marcus-“

”Answer my question, my love. Do you think I’m stupid?”

You looked at him, seeing the anger in his dark eyes. You shook your head.

”No…” you whispered. The corner of his lip curled up as he leaned in and gently kissed your cheek.

“You may not like it but you are mine. And there’s nothing you can do about it.” With that he gently pushed you away by the wrist. “Now- if I ever see you speaking to him again you will be sorry.”

You watched as Marcus walked off to the bedroom, leaving the bedroom door opened behind him. You hesitated to follow him, keep playing this twisted life you got sucked into, but instead you walked out of the house and over to the shore line. You felt the cool ocean water brush against your toes, counting down the seconds as you walked more into the ocean water. As time ran out, you dove head first into the ocean, letting your legs turn into the pretty peach colored tail as you swam away.

—

Just jump, you coward.

He stood right at the edge, looking out at the blue ocean water. He felt like the world around him was crumbling down. Gabriella had left him, leaving him all alone with nothing but his small sailboat and the clothes on his back. He sighed, closing his eyes as he stepped forward, the wind brushing against his skin. And then he hit the water.

His eyes were open as he sank down to the ocean floor. Not even trying to swim even though he was a great swimmer. But he sat there, waiting for the water to fill his lungs and his life to fade away. Out of nowhere he saw a peach colored tail- and then you're beautiful face. Surly he was hallucinating so he just closed his eyes.

You wrapped your arm around his waist, pulling him to the surface and dragging him onto the sand. You instantly recognized him when he sank down into the water- those brown curls that you could spot from miles and miles away.

He coughed, spitting out water in the process. He gasped for air, turning to his side as he continued to cough.

“Javi?”

He sat up, looking over at you, standing a few feet away from him.

No tail… Maybe it was a hallucination…

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Just… rough day.”

“Some day. You just tried to drown yourself…”

“My wife left me, leaving me with just my sailboat and the clothes on my back- which are now wet. Unlike some people we don't all live in a castle living the lives that are told in childrens story books.”

You looked down at your feet, knowing he was talking about you.

“Didn't think you knew who I was…”

He huffed and looked out to the ocean. “Everyone knows the General's wife.” He got up, dusting the sand off his pants. “Thank you for saving me but trust me I was better off at the bottom of the ocean.” With that he walked off, leaving you alone.

beta'd: @80ssong & @notjustjavierpena

moodboard: @notjustjavierpena

divider: @saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist — Javier Gutierrez Masterlist

[bookuce]

Change My Mind (Jey meets William)

Read Part One if you haven't yet, this adds context to that chapter and why she was so upset and ignoring him.

SUMMARY: Josh and Alina are great friends most days. Other days, they want to tear each other apart. Some days, they’re in love with each other, but neither of them will admit it. 

*DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in the writing except for the OC. The book uses actual names of wrestlers. Josh is Jey Uso and Alina is Alina. The one-shot is not realistic and does not take place during real events. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WRITINGS ANYWHERE. THAAAAAANKS. *

PAIRING: Jey Uso x Black OC

TROPE: Friends to Lovers

WARNINGS: Language

WORD COUNT: 1,049

“So, did you have fun?” William asks from the driver’s seat. Alina peers over to him, grinning. They had just finished their first date. He had chosen a Michelin-rated restaurant just to impress her. Between that and the grand bouquet in her lap, she was impressed. She wouldn’t have minded seeing him again. 

“I did. Thank you again for tonight.” She says. William meets her gaze before reaching over to grab her hand. His hand was a comforting warm on her own, a tolerable dry. His thumb would brush over the top of her hand, sending her stomach into a frenzy of flutters. She had a good feeling about this one. They’d turn onto her street, their evening now winding down to seconds left. “Can we do this again when I’m back in town?” She asks. He’d smile, showing the prettiest white teeth. 

“You’d want to see me again?” He asks.

“Yeah,” She answers. “Maybe I can cook dinner, we can watch a movie?” She proposes. He’d nod slowly, his dazzling smile becoming a grin. 

“I’d like that.” He says. His car would slow down, a sign he was nearing her home. His eyes lower into squints as he looks past her. “There’s someone on your car.” He points, prompting her to look towards her house. The smile she once wore was gone quickly. There, dressed in all black, was her friend Josh. With his arms folded across his chest, he leaned against the side of her car. Josh would glance at William’s car, his dark brows furrowed. He’d glance away, looking straight ahead at the next house. 

“Great.” She says under her breath.

“Stay here,” William says, getting out of the car.

“That isn’t…” His door opens and closes before she can finish. “Necessary. Okay.” She breathes. Alina starts to gather her things. This wasn’t going to end well, and she knew it.

Meanwhile, on the outside of the car, William was in Protector mode. He unbuttons his suit jacket before moving around to Alina’s side. Josh wasn’t going to say anything. She was on a date; he would be respectful this time. He promised her that. “May I help you?” William calls out to him.

“Nope,” Josh replies quickly, still looking ahead. He adjusts his stance on the car, swaying briefly from left to right. Usually, a question like that would have earned someone attitude from him, but again—he’s trying to be respectful. “Go on and drop her off, Uce; I ain’t studying you.” He says, now looking towards the house. Alina opens her car door, pushing past her date. 

“You’re supposed to be in Florida.” She says, earning his attention. They would lock eyes with each other, staring for several moments. 

“I changed my mind.” He informs her. That wasn’t a lie. Josh had planned to go to Pensacola but realized he didn’t want to be alone. Third-wheeling his brothers and their wives wasn’t exactly fun to him. He could go on dates, but they’re not her, so what’s the point? Now, he wasn’t aware she had a date tonight. No, this was a coincidence. Some would call it fate, though. He’d call it fate—just not out loud. 

William’s brows furrow, his gaze shifting from Josh to Alina. “You know him?” He asks.

“Nah, we just met.” Josh quips, earning a glare from the man. Alina steps from the car, closing the door behind her. That’s when Josh snuck a glance at what she was wearing. A creme-colored bodycon dress hugged her body, accentuating her curves. Father, give me strength, he thought.

“So, you the ex?” He asks.

“My name and ex won’t ever be in the same sentence, Uce,” Josh says with a smug grin. At least for her, it wouldn’t be. “Quit trying to figure out who I am and drop her off. Doorstep is over there,” He points at her front door. “Hug her goodnight and keep it pushing.” 

“Joshua.” She snaps. Alina looks up at William. “I’m sorry, he’s a coworker.” That would earn her a sound of disapproval from Josh. He doesn’t like it when she reduces him to that. It’s already bad enough that she friend-zoned him. This is embarrassing, she thought to herself. She shifted her gaze to the ground, twisting her lips to the side while she thought of something to say. “Um,” She starts, looking up at her date. “I had a lot of fun tonight, I did. Thank you for the flowers and for being so kind. Hopefully, we can do this again soon.” She says with a nod.

Alina would touch his arm before leaning in to kiss his cheek. Josh averted his gaze, not wanting to see her kissing another man. Without another glance, she begins to march up to her front door. Josh and William watch after her before turning their attention towards each other again. Josh fought back a smirk that wanted to show on his lips. He wanted to tell that man he didn’t deserve her. Hell, he knew William couldn’t handle her, but he promised to be respectful, and he thought he did well this time. He didn’t cuss anyone out, no one tried to fight, and he even kept the staring at a minimum. Promise fulfilled. 

He leans down, grabbing his black duffle from the ground. With every bit of audacity known to man, Josh tilts his head up at the man across from him. “Have a good night.” He says, turning to walk up the steps to the front door. His hand touches the doorknob, but it doesn’t turn. She locked the door. He smacks his lips, reaching into his pocket to fish out his keys. “This woman—.” He mutters to himself. 

He unlocks the door and steps into the house, quickly closing the door behind himself. Alina came walking around the corner from the kitchen. He scanned her appearance again, his tongue dragging along his bottom lip this time. This dress was going to drive him up a wall. “A heads—.”

“Go to hell, Josh.” She snaps, making her way up the stairs. He’d watch after her.

“How the hell was I supposed to know!” He shouts after her. She doesn’t respond to him verbally, but the slamming of her bedroom door is enough of a response for her. “He don’t even deserve your ass.” He mutters to himself.

______________________________________________________________

A/N: I been wanting to write this for a while LMAO. This is why she was avoiding his ass in Part One. Did he do too much or did he do good being "respectful"?

🏷️ list: @thesamoanqueen @whatdoeseverybodywant @headoftheetable @mzv11 @southerngirl41 @yana3sworld @wanderingreigns @wrestlingprincess80 @siriuslycee @vebner37 @astridxxxxxx @alichesmi @tshepisho @scarlettnoir01 @brokenglassslippers @reignsboy19 @sayyestoheav3nn @cyberdejos2 @empressdede @sisinever @truefant4sy @paigereeder @tbmotw @fearlesschimera @venusesworld @usoholic @sageispunk @bebesobrielo @jstarr86 @vibesonvibes @issahyland 

[hanibalistic]

#6F417E | EARTH-42 MILES MORALES.

genre | fluff / reader is gn

synopsis | miles found you fainted in an alleyway one day, except you died two years ago.

word count | 3090

warning | everything i know about e-42 miles morales (and just this spiderverse) is from the movies 

note | tentatively there're 5 parts to this story... thank you for reading :)  

parts | one, two, three, four  

The streets in the morning were less eerie than at night, which you supposed was a given fact. It was like that back on your Earth too. One significant difference you found between your Earth and this Earth was that, while both were crowded, the general architecture of this Earth looked like they were on its last leg. There were more old and rusty gates than reflective and clean glass doors, and most buildings were held together through an abandoned construction process with no safety measures taken. 

Miles told you once that if the buildings hold, they hold. It took you a while to let that mindset sink in. When you realized your overthinking wouldn’t magically strengthen the morale around this place, nor would it collapse one of the dusty-looking buildings as you so feared, you stopped thinking too deeply about it. You would get jumpy occasionally, though, like if a few steel construction poles holding a balcony together start shivering in the wind. He never visibly laughed, but trust that he was always amused at your caution. 

“What about this one?” you asked, holding a sweater before your torso and turning to him. “I like this one. It’s cute!”

Miles peered at you, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pocket where he was safekeeping the money his mother gave him to do clothing shopping with you. The corners of his mouth pulled into a frown immediately. “It looks tacky.”

You mirrored his frown, but yours were defeated rather than mischievous. “You have something mean to say about everything.” 

“For good reason,” he said with a shrug. “You have terrible taste.” 

He wouldn’t be too wrong about that. Fashion was never your forte, but you did wonder if it could be when personal interest and financial budget were no longer an issue. You laughed under your breath; that felt like a faraway dream. Carefully putting the sweater back on the hanger, you made a point to scoff directly at his face. 

“I really don’t see how that’s tacky,” you said. “Is the sweater tacky, or am I?” 

“Oh, I can’t answer that,” he replied with a faux sympathetic smirk. He bent to your eye level and added, “Won’t wanna be mean.”

If he was taunting you, playfully so, it wasn’t successful. One thing you learned about Miles in these past few months of living with him was that he was all bark and no bite. All you have to do is level his stare for just a bit too long for comfort—you squinted your eyes, your nose scrunching as an afterthought, then abruptly stomped a foot forward. He immediately jumped back, but he did it to avoid hitting the tip of your nose with his, not because you successfully scared him. 

His eye twitched in dismay when you smiled triumphantly before turning around and running out of the store, dropping a quiet trail of snickers through your lips. Miles faintly clicked his tongue into a grin, which he had to physically rub off his face. After spending these months with you, save for the paranoia-inducing glitches you have been doing occasionally, he has mostly settled with your presence being a constant.

There was a spot for you in his twin-sized bed, at the dining table in the living room, and even on the chores list! Your prolonged stay was not anticipated, nor was your infiltration into his life to such an intimate degree. At some point, Miles completely tore his walls down to let his heart run astray, and the first place it ran to was you. The only issue now was whether you returned his feelings, and that was a question he couldn't even begin to pick apart. 

"It's so nice to put a face to a name.” Seconds after he left the store, he could recognize a voice. "Oh, yes. Miles talks about you all–" 

"Gwen!" 

Realization hit him with the hallucinated impact of a train entering a pitch-black tunnel. He bolted out to the street where you and his partner in crime (literally) stood, his arms stretched out so he could cover your ears just before Gwen could finish her sentence. You looked up just as your shoulders were hunched at the icy feel of his hands, and you saw Miles utter something through gritted teeth at the bemused girl you just met.

“You’re not funny!”

“Thank you, Miles. I try my best,” Gwen retorted with a satisfied smirk, then her gaze bounced down to you, and she scoffed in disbelief. “You’re right, though. They do look exactly alike. It’s uncanny.”

“They’re the same person,” he clarified, “just from a different Earth.”

“I know,” Gwen shrugged, “but you’d think they would at least have a different style.”

“They’re wearing my clothes. How would you know?”

“They’re wearing your clothes?”

Miles pursed his lips as he let go of your ears, subconsciously rubbing them through a brief caress before his arms fell to his sides. You widened your eyes in surprise when the cold Brooklyn air and the chattery street returned to your senses; it didn’t occur to you how much pressure he applied to muffle your ears until sounds came back to you. Shifting his weight and heaving a dramatic exhale, Miles let his friend know how little bullshit he was willing to take from her this day, especially when it came to jokingly expose his feelings for you. Gwen’s smirk stayed for a moment longer before she narrowed her eyes and gave a knowing nod; it was all for good fun. She understood the implication of someone like Miles falling in love.

“What are you guys up to?” Gwen asked, changing the subject. 

“We’re buying clothes,” you replied, clarifying with an indignant huff. “Or we would be if he wasn’t vetoing everything I suggest.”

“Their taste is awful,” Miles retorted without looking at you. He was speaking to Gwen. 

“A tacky shirt means I won’t have to take from your closet anymore,” you said, exasperated. You threw your arms up to smack his face with the overly long sweater sleeves before rolling them back up to your wrists, where you folded the hems twice to keep them from sliding over your hands. “Look at your clothes! They’re big on you, and they’re big on me!” 

Gwen pulled a face in agreement. “You do like oversized clothes, Miles.” 

“Thanks for the unsolicited input,” Miles smiled, “much appreciated.” 

The tension zapping between their fake smile and glaring stare was palpable. To your dramatic lenses, at least. You switched between the two of them, your eyes darting back and forth as your mind raced to find some kind of a conclusion to their relationship. If Miles was in love with the previous version of yourself, and they have since died, then the next possible candidate would likely be Gwen depending on how closely related they were. Or perhaps you were wrong all along! Miles told the truth when he said he was only good friends with ‘you’ because his heart belonged to this girl across from you!

“What are you two?” you asked, promptly breaking their eye contact.

“Oh? We–uhh,” she awkwardly tugged a piece of hair behind her ear and glanced at Miles, “we work together?”

Miles frowned at Gwen for a split second before he nodded. “We work together.”

“Colleagues!” You crossed your arms and stared off into the distance. You ignored Miles when he began asking questions about what you were doing. “Colleagues… there is much to discuss… yes.”

“What?” He waved his hand in front of your face. “What are you yapping about?” 

“I think someone is getting the wrong idea about us,” Gwen said, failing to hold back a chuckle. She watched Miles roll his eyes as if you’ve always gotten the wrong idea about everything and smiled faintly to herself; she had not seen him this expressive in a while. Having a paralyzed face was his thing ever since grief took over. Looking away, she directed the conversation to you instead. “Hey, how is the glitching treating you?

You clapped your hands suddenly and tilted your head, ignoring the way Miles jumped in disbelief that you responded to Gwen and not him. You had no idea she knew of your glitching, but if Miles trusted her enough to let her on your identity, she must be someone you could count on. Nodding, you looked down at your hands and grimaced. “They’ve slowed down, thankfully. I don’t like the feeling of it.”

There were no words to describe how the glitching felt because you simply were not for a moment. It was the act of your existence being pulled apart manifested into a colorful and pixelated view for a third-party observer. The dimensional sight of it tricked people into thinking there was an experience to undergo, but there wasn’t, technically. You were glitched out of existence and then glitched back into reality. Your body and soul were pulled apart at the seams, separated into atoms and molecules of nothingness, and your mind wasn’t fast enough to catch up with its erasure that for a split second, you understood your oblivion before being forcefully put back on your feet. 

You were thrown into uncontrollable sobs the first few times you glitched. The process was all but a mere few seconds, but the aftermath was Miles staying up all those nights until you fell asleep first, holding his breath whenever you stirred in your sleep, and wishing he was capable enough to stop your face from getting stained by tears. You have mostly gotten used to the feeling, but that did not eliminate the grotesque urge to barf every time you glitched.

“Hmm…” Gwen rubbed her chin in thought at your reaction. She has been helping with figuring out what to do to stop you from glitching entirely, but the urgency of it all greatly stumped her thinking process. She worked well under pressure, not one of her friend’s many paranoid rambles about you dying. “The multiverse is difficult to figure out, but I think I have a few ideas I’d like to try.”

Miles turned to her with anticipation. “You have something?”

“It’s not a definitive something,” Gwen said as she stepped away from his prying eyes. “It’s more of a hypothesis.” 

“We can test it out,” he urged, eyes glimmering unfamiliarly. “Having something is better than nothing.”

“My problem is more about [Name] being the only person who can prove that what we made worked,” she said with a shake of her head. “I will not have them wear something that might kill them.”

There was a downward shift in the air as the Brooklyn cold froze over. Your eyes darted about at the drop of tension. The change in Gwen’s voice and how Miles’s feet shuffled so he didn’t have to maintain an awkward standing position were not lost on you. There was a shared sorrow that neither has opened up to you about. With Gwen avertinig her eyes and the gentle drop in her confidence, you couldn't have been mistaken that she also knew you well before you died. Deducing from her last sentence, these two might be why you met your end. 

“We should give it a try anyway,” Miles muttered. “If it works, it’ll really help them.”

You halted the inward debate on whether you should give a say in their conversation. You couldn’t begin to understand the science they would have to figure out to stop your paranormal glitching, even if they decided to discuss the plan with you. It still surprised you that Miles has the smarts good enough to be on his way to prestigious universities. He has been so regular—he went to school, lazed about the chores, and was afraid of his mother for reasons you now understand. Either way, your best bet was to trust that these two only had your best interest in mind. 

You smiled at Gwen and gave her two encouraging thumbs-ups when she glanced at you with what you could consider millennia of uncertainty. Her stoic brows relaxed as nostalgia packed her body into itself upon getting hit in the face, once again, with your familiar features. Two years of unresolved grief and self-blame, two years of longing for a friend, and everything dissolving into one innocent smile and two thumbs-up. Miles did not overstate his whiplash when he saw you because she was feeling it too. 

“I’ll gather everything I have and bring them over tonight,” Gwen said. “I have some stuff to do, so I’m gonna go. I’ll see you tonight, Miles, and, uh–“ she waved, for a farewell that felt long overdue–“goodbye, [Name].”

Her soft features remained in your head as her back faded into the crowd. The noticeable sorrow in her eyes whenever she looked at you further reinforced your assumption that you two, at least, used to be friends. A sense of pride for yourself from this Earth blossomed deeply in your chest, and you felt giddy knowing that you could maintain a genuine friendship with Gwen. But, more than that, you admired how her face glowed even under the chillingly dark sky and how her voice spoke like the texture of crumbled silk being smoothed over with a kind hand. Her delicate features plagued your head because you thought she was pretty. 

“I like her,” you said with a small smile playing on your lips. 

“I do, too,” Miles hummed in acknowledgment. He reached down to grab your hand so you wouldn’t get a chance to run off again, and you let him. “Not in the way you think I do, though.”

Question marks popped into the crease of your forehead as you looked up at him, acting incredulous now that you found out your self-curated romantic fantasy based off of one simple interaction between two people whose relationship you have no detail on read like an open book to him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he retorted as he raised your intertwined hands to point a finger at you. “You need to stop acting a fool.”

You squeezed his hand extra tight and huffed in dissatisfaction when he was barely affected by your abysmal strength. Taking a deep breath, you forced an embarrassing, wise chuckle and said, “Love is supposed to make you do stupid things.”

“Tell me when the love is there.”

“Ugh,” you groaned and pursed your lips to silence yourself. Observing passersby as a distraction, you managed to keep quiet for a few stores before bashfully inching closer to Miles, who sighed knowingly. “You really don’t have any feelings for her? Not even a little?” 

“No.”

“Ugh!” Your groan was less annoyed this time. “What a waste! I don’t understand!”

“You’re really hell-bent on this,” he mentioned as his legs stopped. He turned his body to you with wilful ignorance that he was forcing both of you to block everyone from walking down the middle of the street. He raised a brow, questioning. “I don’t like her like that. What don’t you understand?”

You felt a rare intimidation through his gaze, so you looked toward the direction Gwen left, chasing the image of a girl you tried not to feel envious of. Miles watched your eyes soften, but it was not the cause of relaxation but rather deep thinking that you forgot a world was happening around you. He waited patiently for you to return to him, anticipating your words. He always anticipated what you have to say, about anything, to the point it was foolish that he would wait for you to point out to him that an apple was red and a banana was yellow. 

“I don’t know,” you whispered loud enough for him to hear. “She’s so pretty.”

The thought that it never crossed his mind might baffle you, but it never did. Gwen was pretty, but to Miles, that was an undeniable fact rather than something sentimental. Or, at least, it used to be. The fact that she was pretty immediately became a jagged blade that threatened to cut your perception of his feelings for you after what you said. He was less than fond of it, and, unfortunately, he also has no idea how to keep you from being cut with it. 

It was a shame that you couldn’t see him the way he saw and knew himself. 

How no matter the tap water he splashed on his face and the flower-scented soap he applied on his hands, the only thing to truly rinse him of the grotesque, metallic stain of a purple mask was the double weight on his bed. How taking his prowler suit off could never rid him of the criminal identity the same way he could forget about it when he sat before the television folding laundry with you. How the heavy stomps of his feet treading down a path of crime and the terrified breathing of almost having his life taken from him could be so easily drowned out by the seamless way his voice weaves into the sound of your laugher as if you two were made for each other. 

You didn’t know the way he ached to sink himself into your presence, to relearn the world through your eyes and let you remind him that an apple was red and a banana was yellow, and how he would carve your face into his own so he would never forget you after you leave this Earth.

Miles’s heart was rebirth into the shape of yours, and you thought Gwen was pretty.

“There is nothing to it,” he said, clutching your hand to never let go. “She’s pretty. It’s empty.”

You slowly turned away from the street to look at him and smiled at his serious reaction. The dim sky tore open to let the sun kiss you, a tenderness he yearned to give you but couldn’t muster up the genuine courage to, so he only stared at you with endearment written all over his face in a language you haven’t learned to read. 

“Come on, let’s go back to get the sweater you want,” he muttered.

“You said it was tacky.” You followed behind closely as he dragged you by the hand.

“Exactly,” he mused, “you two are a perfect fit.”

You squeezed his hand in retaliation, but all he could feel was how perfectly they fit together. Maybe even better than you and that sweater.

[euphoricfilter]

hi <33 i just read your yandere jeongguk fic and immediately rushed to see if your requests are still open. (i'm thanking all the gods and the stars that they are😭)

you're so talented and creative, and i'm really hoping you'll accept my prompt. if you're willing, could you please write a non-idol smutty, possessive and jealous yoongi fic?? maybe with a slight age gap? thank you for sharing all your work with us!! have a great day/night <333

𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭:

pairing: brothers best friend! yoongi x f. reader

genre: fluff || pwp || non-idol au || age-gap au || brother’s best friend au ||

summary: your brother’s best friend isn’t too happy when you come home with a lipstick stain on your chest, and has no issue about reminding you who you truly belong to.

word count: 2.8k

tags/ warnings: porn without plot, fluff, secret relationship, mild age-gap (5-6 years) smut in the forms of: oral (f. receiving), fingering, unprotected penetrative sex (this is fiction, don’t be stupid), breeding kink (but she’s on the pill so no babies yet), exhibitionalism? kinda because they fuck in the living room with other people in the house, multiple orgasms, creampie, cockwarming by the fire

notes: thank you so much my darling!! i hope you have a good day/ night too!! it’s all smut, there is a hint of plot but it’s minimal. this is my first time writing pwp so idk how i feel about it :’(

requests rules can be found here || my masterlist

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

“You’re home late”

You pause; eyes meeting Yoongi’s gaze, always calculating. Always watching each little move you made until you were squirming, almost begging him to look away— your cheeks flushed red and voice barely above a whisper. And all he had to do was look at you.

If eyes are the windows to the soul then Min Yoongi’s windows have the curtains drawn shut— he had you figured out the minute the two of you met, and it’s taken over a decade for you to even remotely figure him out. And even now, both adults, you really could never figure out what he was thinking.

It’s the frigid caress of the winter wind on the back of your neck that has you shutting the front door. Careful not to slam it shut, assuming everyone but your brothers best friend was already asleep if the lack of lights on from the windows outside was any indication.

You stomp your feet to rid of any snow as you shrug your jacket off. Hanging it on the overcrowded hooks, evidence of another family living with you as you only pray it doesn’t fall.

“It was one of my friends’ birthdays” you explain, dropping to the floor in front of the fire. Skin tingling at the drastic change of temperature, your cheeks still a little red from the bitter weather outside (though it may also have to do with the man sat before you)

Your brother was home for the holidays, along with Yoongi and his parents. It had become a tradition over the years that both families gathered for the winter break— they took “the more the merrier” very seriously. And it wasn’t all that surprising for one of your families to stay over the others’ until new year.

“Looks like you had fun” his tongue wets his lips, book long forgotten on the arm of the chair as his eyes flit down your body.

Your fingers run over your collarbone, his eyes lingering a little longer than proper.

“It’s just my friend, she gets a little touchy when drunk” you wave him off, lipstick stain smudging under your thumb as you rub at the skin, no real force behind the action.

“Touchy?” Yoongi laughs.

“Mhmm” you smile up him.

And Yoongi groans, head tipping back as he readjusts himself in his sweats.

“Baby, the things you do to me” he tilts his head, eyes meeting your own. “Always a little minx”

“What do I do to you?” you dare ask, fingers toying with the hem of your sweater.

“That’s a loaded question, darling” his smile is lazy, hips rolling languidly up into his palm; short lived relief enough for him to stay sat on the chair.

“I can handle it” you reassure him. That gentle smile that tempts him time and time again, that gentle smile that he wants to kiss off your lips until you’re moaning his name, any thought of another man off your mind until you’re wholly consumed by him; and him alone.

“Bad things” he groans, not missing the way your eyes flit down to his lips, fingers fiddling and he knows you’re trying your hardest not to look at his cock— straining heavily against the fabric of his underwear.

“How bad?” you whisper.

“Very bad. You make me wanna do bad things, darling” he pushes himself to the edge of the chair.

You stay rooted in your place, and Yoongi thinks you look pretty on your knees; maybe prettier if you were between his legs.

“What sort of bad things?” you prod.

“Like fucking you silly” he leans forwards.

He watches your thighs clench, eyes widening a little at how blunt he was.

“Oh?” he croons, “You like the sound of that?” he asks, slipping off the chair.

“Yes” you nod, still unsure in yourself as you let his hands graze over your neck; unsure what to do with your own.

His thumb brushes over the lipstick stain, “You know I hate other people touching you, doll” his fingers dig into the skin, your breath coming out alongside a shudder.

“I told her not to” you tell him, lips pouty. And Yoongi leans forwards to kiss it away, ever so gentle that you fall into him. Early trying to deepen the kiss as he pulls away, lips tugged into a ghost of a smile.

“Yeah?” he whispers against your lips, “Did you tell her you have a boyfriend? One that doesn’t like to share?”

Your eyes fall shut when he presses wet kisses along the length of your jaw, his hands slipping under your sweater; rough skin caressing your bare back.

You tug at his shirt, and Yoongi pulls away from your neck to let you pull it over his head. He follows suit, tugging your sweater off before his lips find your neck, teeth nipping over your collarbone.

A hand clamps over your mouth, moan muffled by Yoongi as he sucks on your skin. He pulls away with a wet pop, thumb running over his bottom lip as he eyes his work.

“You’re gonna have to keep quiet, baby. Don’t want anyone waking up now, so we?” he pulls his hand away from your mouth, “Okay?”

“I know” you whisper, suddenly aware of everyone sleeping upstairs.

“Good girl.”

You flop back onto the floor, hair sprawled out on the carpet as Yoongi braces his arms on either side of your head.

“Yoongi” you smile up at him.

“Yeah?” he leans down to press another kiss to your jaw.

“Need you” your hands fumble with the waistband of his sweats, knuckles brushing over his cock.

Yoongi groans, muffled as he shoves his face into your neck. Goosebumps prickle your skin as his warm breath brushes over your shoulder, your hips rolling upwards— desperate for any kind of friction, any sort of relief.

“Yeah?” he grunts, helping you pull your jeans off, panties soon to follow, and you don’t bother to look where he throws them.

“Please” you whine, hands taking a hold of his face as you bring him in for another kiss, the heat of the fire melting your lips, moulded into one, so close that you don’t know where you end and he starts.

You mouth falls open into a breathy moan when a teasing fingers runs over your slit, your hole clenching around nothing as he teases over your clit. Touch so gentle you could barely feel it, pleasure like thin stardust as it fizzles through your body.

Your hips roll upwards, tempting him to give the release you so crave. You both pull away finally, breathing heavy as your chests connect. Hearts in sync with one another— and truly, Yoongi knows you’re his. Knows that your hearts are wrapped with a think red string and that you’ll always fall back into his arms. His love, his reason to breathe, his soul melded with yours that he couldn’t begin to imagine another woman underneath him.

Your fingers tug at the clasp of your bra, fingers a little shaky as adrenaline pumps through your body. Somewhere in the back of your mind still aware that anyone could walk down those stairs any moment and see the two of you.

Your hands find their way to your tits, tugging at your nipples as they begin to pebble— as Yoongi works his way down your body, trail of kisses following him. Lips barely there, though they feel searing against your skin. Printed in invisible ink that you’ll trail your fingers over later when you’re alone; a secret message left for you from him.

He kisses over your mound, fingers parting your lips before he licks a long stripe up to your clit. Your hand flies over your mouth, chocked moan bubbling up your throat as he repeats the action.

“Yoongi” you whisper, one hand tangling in his hair as his lips close around your clit. Your thighs twitch when his teeth graze over the bundle of nerves, eyes squeezing shut as a lick of pleasure wracks over your body.

You feel a finger prod at your hole, teasing the entrance before he slowly dips into you. You bite down on the skin of your arm as his tongue flicks over your clit, finger curling, before he’s pulling it out.

You barely feel the stretch of a second finger as he plunges it into you, the lewd squelch of your sodden pussy drowned out by the crackling of the firewood.

Your back arches, Yoongi pulling you closer into his face by one of your thighs. You feel him gently tug at your clit with his teeth, fingers expertly curling up into you; the slow build of your orgasm rising within your stomach.

Your thighs begin to shake, clamping around Yoongi’s head as he pulls his fingers out of you. Instead, replacing them with his tongue while his slick-coated thumb flicks over your clit in tight little circles.

You bite down on the skin of your arm as you feel the pressure of your orgasm reach its peak, Yoongi doesn’t need to ask if you’re close— knowing you were seconds from tipping over the edge as your cunt dribbles slick over his chin.

Your thighs to continue to shake around his head as you reach your orgasm. Your hand falls over your mouth, hiccup of a moan hard to contain as Yoongi continues to flick your clit, helping you ride out your high as the white behind your eyelids seems to fizzle to black.

Yoongi watches you tremble when he brings his face away from your soaked cunt. And you dare look down at him, light of the fire catching the sheen of your cum on his lips and chin as he smiles up at you; his fingers continuing to toy with you clit.

“Too much” you try to squirm away, his arm laying heavy over your waist to keep you down.

You feel yourself fall into another orgasm, buzzing overstimulation on your clit pulling you into a less intense but just as pleasurable high that has tears prickling your eyes.

“Yoongi” you snivel, mouth falling open into a silent moan, Yoongi not letting up on your poor clit.

Another dribble of arousal is pushed out of your clenching pussy, walls pulsating around nothing as you squirm, toeing Yoongi away from you— and finally stopping his unrelenting thrumming on your swollen clit.

Your next breath comes out jittery, hand held over your cunt as Yoongi licks his lips.

“You’re mean” you whine up at him, clit still buzzing with pleasure as the soft skin of your palm brushes over it.

“Can’t help it, your pretty little pussy is too addictive” he drawls, hands running over your sides to try and quell the slight tremble.

“Think you can take my cock?” he asks, wary of how sensitive you’ll be.

“Yeah” you nod, hand trailing back up your body to tug at your nipples as Yoongi pulls his sweats down.

You watch his cock spring free, pearly pre-cum smeared on his lower stomach, wet slap making you cringe.

He leans down, hand tugging at his length as he presses another kiss to your lips, drinking in your moan when you taste yourself on his tongue.

He kisses the corner of your mouth when he runs the head of his cock through your folds, cock slicked up with your arousal before he’s nudging the head against your entrance.

“You ready for me?” he murmurs against your skin, smiling when you hum.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer and he angles the head of his cock right over you cunt before he’s pushing in. The head pops inside with little resistance, and Yoongi has to bite back a moan as your walls clench around the tip of his cock.

You pull him in further, your boyfriend pushing his hips forward slowly before gently pulling back. Slowly, agonisingly, feeding you each inch of him until he’s buried to the hilt.

You revel in the feeling of being so full, cunt sporadically clenching around his length as he starts to pull out; gentle drag of his cock against your walls enough to bring you to a third orgasm of the night.

It wouldn’t be hard to make you cum again, not when your pussy was so sensitive after two consecutive orgasms. And Yoongi is kind enough to leave your clit be as he starts up a pace he’s happy with. Hand covering your mouth as you start to moan, fingers gripping your jaw and he worried he’ll bruise you.

Yoongi’s hips snap forwards before he’s pulling back until only the tip of cock is nestled inside of you before he’s ramming back into you again.

You feel his balls slap against your ass, squeaky moans tumbling off your tongue like honey that he licks from between your lips as he bends you in half, knees pushed up next to your shoulders.

You can’t help the red that stains your cheeks when you hear how wet you are, each brutal thrust of Yoongi’s cock ramming into you followed by a wet squelch as your cunt weeps around him.

“I’m close” you manage to squeeze out, eyes falling shut as your mouth opens, only Yoongi is clamping his hand over it moments later when he can see the moan ready to drip off your lips.

You’re the image of pure sin underneath him, nails digging into his arms as his hips continue to slap against your ass, and it’s a wonder as to how no one seems to have woken up.

“Me too, baby. Together okay?” he grunts, hands grabbing onto any part of you he can hold.

“Inside” you whine, “Cum inside me please”

“Yeah?” he grunts, “Like the idea of me putting a baby into you huh?” his laugh is mean, “What would your parents say? What would they think when you tell them you’re pregnant?”

“Probably ask whose baby it is” your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close enough for you to kiss over his jaw.

“Yeah? And whose fucking baby would it be?”

“Yours” you cry, body being pushed up the carpet with each harsh thrust, your arousal starting to dribble down Yoongi’s balls. Each wet slap of them against your ass a lewd reminder of how wet you truly were for this man. “I’d tell them it’s yours” you sob.

“Yeah you will”

His hips start to stutter, thrusts less calculated, sloppier and he reaches his high. You feel his cock twitch and Yoongi smashes his lips against your own, more teeth than tongue, when his fingers find their way back to your clit; a cry being ripped from your throat at the harsh press of a finger against your swollen bud.

Your body trembles, Yoongi pushing his cock as far into you as he can before he’s cumming. Thick cum painting your walls white as he holds you close.

You shake through your own orgasm, tugging his hand away from your clit when you feel the overstimulation become painful, thighs shaking in the aftershock of it all.

Yoongi barely pulls out before he’s thrusting back into you, a foamy ring of white surrounding the base of his cock as he gently rocks into you.

You don’t bother telling him to stop, each electric thrum of overstimulating pleasure of his cock dragging against your walls too delicious to let up on.

Yoongi feels your walls rhythmically clenching around his slowly softening cock; and he’s gentle as he pulls the both of you to sit up— making sure he was still nestled deep inside of you as his hands run over your back.

Both of your skin shine in a sheen of sweat, bodies sticky as you flop into his chest. Your toes burning as they get to close to the fire.

“When are we gonna tell them?” you whisper, breath tickling Yoongi’s bare chest when you yawn.

“Whenever you’re ready sweetheart” his fingers run through your hair, catching in a knot and you wince at the pain. Though he feels you clench at it, he chooses not to comment. That was a discussion for another day.

For now he needed to get the both of you cleaned up, and you into bed before someone wandered downstairs wondering what all the noise was. Though he thinks that can wait a while, more than happy with you flopped against his chest while his cock stay impaled into your cunt; cum filled and swollen. Nothing a few kisses can’t fix and maybe his tongue in the shower.

“Maybe new year” you shrug, “I’m sorry about my friend kissing me” you peer up at him through his lashes.

He simply hums, “Just don’t let it happen again, fucking hate how touchy all your friends are” he grunts, “You’re mine, y’know?”

“I know” you giggle, wincing a little when you jostle his cock inside of you, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his cheek in apology.

And you let him off this one time, his smile too bright for you to even dare tease him about it when the atmosphere was so cozy.

[helloheyhihowdyheya]

Movie Night | Steve's version

Steve Harrington x gn!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Eddie bails on your weekly movie night to go be with Chrissy. Luckily, Steve is there for you OR a Steve version of this fic :)

Word Count: ~3.7k

Warnings: Angst/unrequited feelings. Steve is a little sassy, and the best. Fluff. Bad jokes.

A/n: No one asked for this, but I'd accidentally written it and now I can't get it out of my head. This can be read without reading Eddie's version. Thanks as always for reading! Love to hear your thoughts <3

--

“Yeah, I’m heading to the diner tonight. With Chrissy.”

Staring off into space, you let Eddie’s words ring in your ears. You only barely caught his eyes on you, unable to read his face or the situation. You were too preoccupied anyway to focus on anything besides keeping your face happy, or not too disappointed at least. 

“Oh, that’s nice,” you told him, though a tiredness seeped into your voice, poisoning each syllable tumbling from your lips. You tried to ignore the way the dipping sun’s light brushed along his cheeks. “So movie night next week, then?”

Your question came out as a hope toward normalcy, courtesy even. But the idea of next week’s movie night turned your stomach just a little bit. In the entryway of Eddie’s apartment, the only sounds drifting between the two of you were the crinkling snacks in your hands and the squeaking floorboards under your shoes. You gave him a small smile that pulled too hard on your cheeks as you reached for the door.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Eddie offered, and you fought back a scoff or some snarky comment you didn’t really mean. Your fingers found the handle’s metal, squeezing so tight your knuckles began to ache. He hadn’t ever canceled movie night before, and now it was for lovely Chrissy. 

She’d become better friends with Eddie after high school. And you were happy for it – truly, you were. You two had more in common than you’d expected, and she was nicer than anyone you’d ever talked to. So with the nausea of jealousy rising up your throat came bile tasting of guilt, a twisting feeling of shame for wishing she’d had any other plans than with Eddie, your Eddie.

Though that was starting to feel less and less true lately. You swallowed down the upsetting realization that you were giving him up. “It’s fine, Eddie. I’ll see you around, ‘kay?” you said, not looking him in the eyes. You didn’t wait for an answer or dare risk a glance toward him, just in case he looked happy. 

Your fingers picked at the edges of the food in your arms, a nail running along the seam of a bag of chips. A deflated sigh escaped your mouth as you made your way home, walking down the building’s stairwell all alone. 

Outside, the sun dipped through the cloudy sky for just a moment. With the world’s gray came a sprinkling of rain that dripped down into your clothes and across your face. You welcomed the chill of the wind that carried goosebumps along your body. Let it freeze your skin, your pestering thoughts, your teary eyes.

Eddie could have other friends. He could spend time with other people. You knew that. And yet, he’d flaked on your plans with no warning. Maybe they were just friends, but maybe it was feeling like time to take the hint.

The sharp pain of that thought simmered to a dull ache as you took your apartment’s stairs up, the climb feeling much longer with your slow steps and head hung. The enticing voice of self-pitying wrapped around you tight, calling you to finish all the junk food you had. But before you could even set the food on the counter, your phone rang. 

The shrill sound broke you out of the haziness plaguing your mind, making your heart jump as you rushed to the phone. A small piece of hope sparked at the idea of Eddie on the other side, calling to say he had changed his mind.

A swallow passed down your scratchy throat as you readied your voice. Grabbing the receiver, you said, “Hello?”

“Ah, hey. It’s Steve.”

Oh. Okay.

“Hi, Steve,” you answered, feeling your fingers tighten around the phone as you forced out an even breath. It was fine. Don’t let your feelings for Eddie ruin your night.

“Just filling my employee duties to remind you to return Alien the next time you’re here. I called to leave a message on your machine though, thought you’d be at Eddie’s tonight.” 

“Uh, yeah. He’s busy tonight. So I’m just here…” you muttered, squeezing your eyes closed for a beat. “But yeah, of course, I can drop off the tape tomorrow.”

Maybe Steve heard the disappointment in your voice, maybe you had wanted him to, because he said, “Oh, well I’m almost done here at Family Video if you wanna swing by. Haven’t had dinner yet if you’re hungry. We could head down to the diner.”

“No! No, I’m okay,” you rushed out, feeling a chill spark through your body and up your spine. Anywhere but there. 

Eyeing the snacks and your small couch, you chewed on the inside of your cheek. You could have plans too. And you couldn’t ignore the warmth budding in your chest at the idea of spending your evening with Steve instead – a happiness at feeling wanted.

Though he couldn’t see, you nodded, hope spreading through your body. “I’m okay going somewhere else though. What do you want to do?”

“We could go to the theater. Been meaning to see that comedy… Spaceballs, I think.”

Your cheeks raised high, not tight and forced this time, as a smile began to spread across your face. Yeah, a stupid comedy with Steve’s terrible jokes sounded like a distraction you needed. “Sounds great. I’ll head to Family Video now.”

“Wait, stay there. It looks like it might rain. I’ll come pick you up,” he said, and with an inward giggle, you imagined his hand on his hip in that way he did.

Craning your neck to look out the window, you saw just a few drops like earlier. “We’ll get to the theater later then, might miss the movie.” Or… you’d be spending more time with your thoughts and less with Steve, but you pushed that thinking away. “C’mon Momma Steve, I can walk,” you laughed out, and it felt nice doing so. Like a lightness peaking its head out.

You didn’t miss the sigh passing from his side, but still, he conceded. “Fine, but hurry then. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, “see you soon.” Resting your hand against your chest, right above your heart, you felt your pulse beat slower now. 

Grabbing candy from the pile of snacks, you shoved them into your pocket to sneak into the theater. As you walked, your mind repeatedly tried to turn to Eddie no matter how much you pushed him away. 

The only thing that helped, that offered you a break from the onslaught, seemed to be Steve. You transformed Eddie’s image in your head, turning his dark curls into Steve’s swooping hair, Eddie’s leather vest into Steve’s soft sweater. You could have your own plans with your own friends. Your own movie night, without him. 

But any thought of either of them washed away with the rain that came down much harder than before. As you made the last few steps to Family Video under a dark sky with clothes wetter than you’d like and teeth beginning to chatter, you let out a chilled breath. Stepping into the store free from any customers, before Steve could make any comment, you held up a finger.

“Don’t,” you told him, trying your hardest to look away from his smug grin.

He held his hands up, not even fighting his feeling of self-righteousness. “I’ll grab a towel from the office.” 

Nodding, you stared down at the tiny puddle you were creating on the carpet as your arms wrapped around yourself. Silently, as you wished for warmth, your mind wanted to drift again to Eddie, to him pulling a blanket over the two of you when you’d get cold during movie nights. 

But then Steve was there. Before your thoughts got too far.

He stood in front of you, bringing your eyes back to focus on him. He just offered you a hand, a towel outstretched hanging from his fingertips. Whispering a thanks, you grabbed it and patted yourself dry. He no longer wore the uniform vest, instead wearing a jacket and a bag slung over his shoulder.

“When you’re done, I’ll just throw the towel back and we can go. In my car, this time,” he teased, letting out a small laugh as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

You couldn’t stop your own from bubbling up, thankful for him taking your mind off of other things. “If I say, “you told me so,” will you quit being so smug, Harrington?” And though you joked, you couldn’t say you hated the way cockiness looked on him.

“Hmm,” he said, pretending to think about it. “If you buy me popcorn, then I’ll let it go.”

“How about I let you have these Skittles I brought instead?”

“Oh. Deal, duh.”

As you shook your head, giving him a toothy grin, a few more rain droplets hit the floor. Handing him the candy and the towel, you breathed out. “Okay, I think I’m dry enough to only barely soak your car seats. Ready?”

“Great,” Steve muttered, throwing the towel behind the counter. But as you were about to make the short and rainy run to his car, he held out an arm to stop you. “Here, don’t need you getting wet again.” He stripped off his jacket and handed it over to you. 

“Steve, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

“You said that before, and we saw what happened,” he told you, shaking his head. “Look, I can only be right so many times in one day.” At the resistant look in your eyes, he shrugged and draped his jacket over your shoulders.

Your fingers wrapped around the material of it, gripping it as Steve opened up the door to rain drumming against the sidewalk. You held his jacket above your head as a makeshift umbrella to make the sprint to his car, trying desperately to ignore the way its familiar smell invaded your senses with each step. 

Instead, you reached the car and repeatedly pulled on the passenger door handle waiting for him to unlock it.

“Hey, do not hurt my baby. She can sense your negativity,” he scolded while climbing in, unlocking your door finally and letting you in.

“Can she sense my foot in your a–” The car roaring to life and heat beginning to pour from the vents cut your sentence off, your freezing skin much less angry at Steve now. And though his jacket didn’t cover everything, you were grateful that your clothes felt considerably less drenched than before.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Steve said, pulling out of the parking spot. You watched the rain drip down the car windows, the street lamps turning them orange and soft as you pattered down the road.

“So… what’s Eddie doing tonight?” Less than a minute of near silence had passed before Steve asked the dreaded question.

Staring out the windshield, you unfocused your eyes and let the colors outside all wash and blend together. A sigh loosened past your lips as you answered, your head dropping back against the seat. “He’s with Chrissy.”

“Ah,” he said, letting a pause pass before he asked, “They’re at the diner then, huh?” He gave you a sideways look, and you wanted to let your sadness wash over every part of you – wallow in it even – but Steve’s knowing look brought out a laugh instead. He always saw through you.

“Yeah,” you breathed, nodding your head. He knew your feelings for Eddie. You’d been “staring at him like he was freaking Rob Lowe” as Steve had put it after a group get-together one night. He’d even told you that Eddie had done the same, and you’d wanted to believe it. You did for a short while. But maybe, as you watched Steve’s side profile while he hummed along to the soft radio, you were beginning to let that go.

You wished Steve would read you like an open book again now, tell you what you were thinking. Or just know that you were starting to realize why you savored the moments his chocolate eyes rested on you. Just know that if he wanted to read you that you’d let him, let him run his finger along the pages of your past and future. 

But he didn’t know that, or at least didn’t say it. Steve just shrugged, making your heart skip a beat as he ran a hand through his hair. “Well, screw ‘em. They’re missing out on Spaceballs and incredible company,” he offered, sending a soft smile your way.

“Are you talking about me or yourself again, oh King Steve?” you laughed out, tilting your head at him.

“You see, that depends on who makes the funniest joke during the movie.”

Rolling your eyes, you now tried to fight a grin. “I think we have a different definition of funny though. Because yours always suck.”

He glanced toward you from the corner of his eye, his jaw ticking. “You know, maybe you should actually walk to the theater. Car’s feeling a bit cramped.”

Steve began to reach toward your door handle, but you slapped his hand away. “Harrington, I am taking back my Skittles if you shove me out of this car.”

His hand reeled back to his side in an instant. Through a smile, he said, “Fine, but you better be nice for the rest of the ride, I’m chauffeuring you here.”

And since the car pulled into the theater’s parking lot within the next minute, you had no problem agreeing. Climbing out, you waited as Steve fixed his mustard sweater, raising an eyebrow at him until it fit just right.

Yet, despite your teasing, he never let it get to him. You took out your wallet as you entered the theater, jacket still hugged around your shoulders, when Steve held out a hand. “No can do. My treat.”

“Steve, I can pay for my ticket at least.”

He raised an eyebrow at you this time, daring you to challenge him. “I said my treat. The least I could do for putting up with me tonight.”

Letting out a long breath, you were thankful for his kindness… and for him turning away so he didn’t have to see the disappointment on your face. Tonight, because he pitied you for being left at Eddie’s doorstep with no plans. Refusing to fully acknowledge the hurt following that thought, you at least wished he saw this night as more than just pity. 

Though at the very least, you’d settle for getting free movie tickets…

But you did get more than that. As you had tried and failed to do all evening, you really forgot about Eddie during the movie. You filled your stomachs with too much popcorn, laughed too hard, and pushed Steve away when he said his jokes way too loudly, even if they were funny. 

One of his comments even made you laugh while taking a sip of your drink, the liquid shooting from your lips as you giggled. Even with your hand slapping against your mouth, the sounds still squeaked out, making you shut your eyes. And that got Steve going, his shoulders shaking with that dopey grin on his face, which only set you off further. You leaned into him, unable to focus on the movie – not with the breathless laughing or with his body touching yours.

You wiped your face with a napkin, balling it up and tossing it at Steve for causing all of this. He promptly threw popcorn back at you, which turned into a game of who could catch the most in their mouth. You were both lucky that barely anyone showed up to this screening.

And after, walking out into the evening air free of rain, your entire body felt lighter. You tilted your head up into the night sky, stars dotting all across the universe. Raising a hand, you pointed at one of the constellations, whispering to Steve, “Orion’s Belt was always my favorite.” 

He breathed out a loud sigh, saying, “Hard to compete with him. He’s got astronomical fashion sense.”

Staring at him with your mouth pressed tight, you ignored his terrible pun. Instead, you pretended to think deeply, telling him, “You remember the guy’s huge helmet from the movie? I think if you styled your gigantic hair just right, you could look exactly like him.”

His mouth twisted as he fought from laughing but broke down as you did, your giggling echoing into the night. He crossed his arms, which only made you focus on not staring at them as he spoke. “Those Skittles can only take you so far. One more insult of my hair and you’re walking home.”

Though he’d never actually do it, you still pretended to give your apologies to his precious hairdo as the two of you walked back to his car. But the comfortable silence that you had quickly learned to love broke when an all too familiar rumbling engine sounded from down the road.

The smile that had been still stuck on your face began to drop at seeing Eddie’s van drive toward you and Steve. Instead, a weight sank into your stomach, plummeting deep into your body. 

Your steps stuttered, making Steve stop as well. Though all you could stare at was the van pulling alongside you two, steeling yourself to see Chrissy in the passenger seat, you felt Steve’s eyes on you the entire time. But as the brakes screeched to a halt, you saw through the rolled-down window that he was alone.

“Hey, where’ve you been? I called your place.” Eddie asked, his arm hanging out of the van. His eyes flicked between the two of you, making your fingers cling to Steve’s jacket. Holding it against your body like a shield.

“We went to the theater together. Since I thought you were busy for the night...” You trailed off, bouncing your weight between your feet.

“We saw Spaceballs. Missed out on some of my punny jokes,” Steve added, making you fight back a grin. But it dropped when you saw the look on Eddie’s face as he watched you. 

“Yeah, I bet you really appreciated all those Star Trek references,” Eddie said with a laugh, and for the first time, you didn’t like the sound of it.

You cut in before Steve could say anything back. “Luckily you didn’t need to watch the shows to watch the movie,” you said, hugging your arms around yourself before continuing. “But we haven’t really had dinner yet, so we’re probably going to go…”

“You don’t need a ride home?” Eddie asked, his eyebrows raised.

Maybe at the start of the night, you would’ve changed your mind and gone with Eddie. But you’d been trying to take his hints, come to terms with seeing him as just a friend. So, as Steve moved closer to you, his body creating a small barrier between you and Eddie, you had no problem making up your mind.

“No, I’m okay, Eddie. Have a good night,” you said, and you meant it. You’d certainly had a good night yourself, you thought as you held onto Steve’s jacket.

And as unnecessary as it was, you didn’t resist as Steve laid a hand against your back when Eddie didn’t leave just yet. The warmth of his palm radiated onto you through the layers, bringing a heat all the way up to your cheeks. Though you didn’t know what the gesture meant, what the two of you meant, you basked in the feeling Steve gave you – in the way he showed his interest in you. 

“So, movie night next week, then?” Eddie asked, his words echoing yours from earlier in the night. His eyes cast toward the ground instead of on you.

“Uh, sure. Yeah.”

Silence hung in the air before Eddie shifted into drive, the rumble of his engine drifting away. When it disappeared altogether, you let out a long breath.

Steve’s hand stayed on your back as he said, “That was a bit tense. You okay?”

Nodding, you let him pull you in close for a second, before walking to the car. You fought down a giddiness rising up your body, the flutter of it raising your mood again. As he started the engine, you smiled at him. “Yeah. Thank you, Steve. For everything.”

“Of course.” 

He said it like it was the simplest thing. Of course I would be there for you. Of course I would stick up for you. Of course, I’m yours.

Once again, you decided to take a hint – one that you really hoped you were reading correctly. As the two of you made your way through the town, you reached a hand across to Steve’s resting on the gear shift. You intertwined your fingers with his, giving a squeeze that you hope conveyed all of your hopes for the two of you. 

After a moment of your heart pounding in your ears, your teeth chewing on your lip, he cleared his throat. “Um, would you still want to have that dinner together?”

Grinning, you turned your head to look at him. A shade of pink dusted his cheeks, looking like the hue of a sunset. “See, that depends on whether this is a date.”

A flash of surprise and happiness brushed across his face, all before he came to again and said, “Uh, yeah. Of course.”

Flustered definitely also had a good look on Steve, you thought. “Great, where are we off to?”

But it seemed he regained composure because he answered with a wry grin. “I’m guessing the diner is off-limits?”

You immediately pulled your hand away from his, lightly slapping his arm. “Never mind, take me home,” you told him, barely keeping a straight face. Your skin already missed the warmth of his.

“Nope. You’re stuck with me now, sweetheart,” he said, grabbing your hand once again and rubbing a thumb across the back of it. “But I won’t take you to the diner. You’re welcome.”

You rolled your eyes at him, though it held no real malice. “Oh, thank you. What a gentleman you are.”

But Steve was a gentleman, taking you all the way to Enzo’s. He pulled your chair out and told you to order anything you wanted, his treat again (though you fought him on it). He refused to let you open your own door to the car. He held your hand across the table, and on the walk to the car, and during the car ride, and all the way to drop you off at your apartment door.

Even when kissing you goodnight so softly that it made you dizzy, and you definitely took the hint.

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱] [𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Anthony Lockwood makes it through a late and relaxed morning, a leisurely afternoon well suited to reminiscing, and the earliest part of a normal evening before his luck runs out.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: M

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: They're idiots, your honour, unrequited pining (it's requited, they're just stupid), language, canon typical violence, only proof-read while sick

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: I love me a good miscommunication trope, and coming up with ideas on how to make long-term mutual pining work is way too much fun, so finally figuring out both angles of what these two lovebird's dynamic was going to be was a major driving force behind this re-write hehehe I'm not sorry This chapter fought me every step of the way, and I had to split it into two parts so it wasn't outrageously long, but in the end I'm incredibly happy with the result! Chapter three will take place only a few minutes after the end of this.

Since this is where the 'slight au' part comes into play, I'm curious to see what you guys think of the world building in this one! Please feel free to leave any comments or questions if I was a bit vague on something, or if you just want to know more about this little headcanon universe of mine

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.17k

⇠ 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

  The sun has only just begun its descent towards the horizon, but the chill on the wind already cuts to the bone.  In spite of the numerous layers of suit and coat, it bites into Anthony’s flesh.

 “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” a woman calls out to him, loud enough to be heard over the chorus of cafe patrons hiding from the cold behind steaming cups of tea and coffee.

  “I think I’d be better off not doing anything you would do, Luce,” he shoots a wink at her over his shoulder, holding the door open with his elbow to shoot a two-fingered salute at the ginger woman beside her laughing unabashedly at their playful bickering.

  Lucy mutters a retort under her breath, a particularly colourful string of insults if the swat on the arm it earns from her girlfriend is anything to go by.  

  The door swings shut behind him, abruptly cutting off the sound of Norrie chastising her partner about ‘publicly decent language’ and leaving him with a pep in his step as he wanders towards Regent Street in the general direction of his favourite rapier shop.  

  Something about afternoon tea with his best friend and her girlfriend always leaves him feeling reminiscent, the water-colour splashes in soft shades of orange across the horizon only serve to heighten the feeling.  His short walk to Mullet and Sons allows him some time to indulge.

  A lot had changed in the six years since Lucy had joined himself and George at Lockwood & Co..  For one, they’d gained quite the reputation.  Fittes and Rotwell were still most people’s first choice, but now you’d be more likely to hear their little agency recommended than Bunchurch or Tendy’s.   He’ll admit, initially it seemed as though they were going to become infamous rather than renowned; between the disaster at Sheen Road, the disaster at Combe Carey, the disaster at–

  Well, you get the point.  It hadn’t looked promising.

  Their luck had begun to change with the case of the Bone Glass, then eventually Aickmere’s, but it hadn’t felt like nearly enough.   Those days had been filled with anxiety.   Worst of all was the fear of his Talent fading, the uncertainty of what his life would look like without the thing he’d based every choice he’d ever made on.  How was he supposed to survive in a world in which he couldn’t See?  He’d been terrified of running out of time to achieve his dreams, petrified he would fail his family by never achieving anything worthy of their name.  It was safe to say he hadn’t been in the best headspace.

  The fear almost overwhelmed him as time rushed on towards his eighteenth birthday, made all the more unignorable by his experience watching Quill Kipps lose his own Sight.  And while they’d found a solution for the retired Fittes agent in the form of Fairfax’s Ghost-Vision goggles, there was no replacement for the real thing.

  And then the daunting milestone had come and gone with no discernible difference.

  George was the next oldest.   Over the course of that year his Talent faded slowly, then all at once.  He hadn’t minded overmuch, the library had become preferable to being in the field somewhere around their fifth arson-related-incident.  In his defence, Mrs. Manfield flying across her lawn like a bat out of hell screaming about her antique doily collection being smoke-stained would have been enough to traumatise anyone.

  The following year had gone quite flawlessly, if he did say so himself.  With George as their dedicated researcher, and Lucy and Anthony’s competitive spirits driving them to never fall behind each other in skill, they were capable of taking on a significantly larger number of cases.  If they needed additional hands in the field for any particularly challenging jobs they’d enlist either George or Kipps with the aid of the goggles.

  But by her nineteenth birthday, Lucy actually seemed upset that her Talent refused to fade.  The boys had been confused by this at first, and while Lockwood had the sense to leave it alone, George had continued to question her.  They’d found out the full story of how she’d come to be an agent when she’d finally broken down.     She’d never chosen this life, and even though she loved her time with Lockwood & Co., she’d always been comforted by the notion that this life of fighting and fear had an expiration date.  In contrast to his own relief and excitement at the prospect of never losing his Talent, she felt nothing but trepidation.  George was watery eyed by the end of her confession, his lips pressed tightly into a thin line to prevent them trembling.   Anthony felt like he might be sick.   By the light of the numerous mismatched candles on Lucy’s lopsided birthday cake, they made a pact to pretend as though her Talent was fading, and phase her out of the agency within a year's time.

  A few short months later, the first headline popped up in a small gossip rag. It wasn’t even one of his top five.  Someone had taken notice of his remaining Sight at his advanced age, but hadn’t yet noticed their attempts to fake Lucy’s waning Listening.

  In the days after the first article's publication, the obnoxiously loud business phone began ringing more often.   Then, another article in a larger paper.  Followed by another, then several more.

  Anthony had to restrain George from ripping the phone’s cord out of the wall after one too many interrupted naps.  The researcher moved in with Flo not long after, but still kept his room mostly furnished for the evenings he worked far too late to make it to their flat safely.

  By the time their story had been told often enough for the media to lose interest, they had gone from having enough cases to keep them busy to too many to keep up with in what had to be some kind of record time.   In light of the extra attention they had considered hiring another agent, but their options were slim and the thought of bringing in a child to fight their battles was surprisingly difficult to stomach.  Anthony made a mental note to apologise to Barnes after that realisation, gaining some perspective on the man who’d tried so desperately to keep them away from the front lines.

  Time felt more like an undefeatable foe in the six months that followed than it had at any previous point in his life.  How was he supposed to keep taking on cases without anyone to watch his back in the field?  Would he end up alone in this bloody house yet again?   Despite the thoughts that haunted his darker moments, he knew he would let Lucy leave without any fuss.  Even in the last weeks of her employment he knew he could never be selfish enough to ask her to stay.   Though, had he known–

  A street sign reading ‘Half Moon Lane’ interrupts him from his stroll down memory lane, heralding the end of his journey.   The old building slumps under the weight of time.  Even the paint on the window is chipped, almost removing the ‘Sons’ in Mullet and Sons.   Although the storefront's outward appearance borders on decrepit, they have undeniably the highest quality rapier’s in London.  The hinges shriek as he pushes the door open, alerting the proprietor to the presence of a customer.

  “Ah, Mr. Lockwood!  A pleasure, as always.  How can I help you, my boy?” emerging from the back room, the white haired old man beams upon recognising him.  

  “Mr. Mullet, please, the pleasure is mine!  I believe one of my agents placed an order with you recently?  I’m here to pick up for her.”  

  After confirming her name and the details of the order, the old man teeters his way back into the room he’d just come from.  When he emerges again, he does so with empty hands and a deep frown upon his face.  

  “It appears one of my sons has caused a touch of a mixup and sent your employee’s rapier home with another agent.  I can place another order with our supplier, but I’m afraid it won’t arrive until the end of the month,” his tone is apologetic, but Anthony still has to fight the urge to groan in frustration.  

  “Mistakes happen, Mr. Mullet.  We’re only human after all,” thankfully, he’s had plenty of practice schooling his tone over the years, “that being said… we’ve made commitments for this evening.  I can’t very well ask one of my agents to walk into a haunted house unarmed.”

  “Of course, I understand completely.  Since you’ve been doing business with us for so long, I’m willing to offer a percentage off of any of our in stock models as a token of our apology.”  

  It’s a gracious offer, one Anthony is happy to accept.  He defers to the expertise of the older man, allowing him to lead them from option to option within the dimly lit store.  

  Trying to choose such an essential tool for her without her input is a surprisingly daunting task, and he finds himself quickly overwhelmed.   Searching for something to distract him until he can ground himself properly, he lets his eyes wander freely over the different kinds of metal glittering from mahogany shelves before they fix on a single standing display across the room.  Driven by curiosity, he approaches the case to inspect its contents.  What he finds nearly steals the breath from his lungs.    Laying on a scarlet velvet cushion is the most beautiful rapier he’s ever laid eyes on.  It has a fine silver blade, connected to an intricate swept hilt inlaid with gold leaves that wind around the counterguards and down the central ridge.  When his eyes travel to the pommel and find her birth stone caged within golden vines, he begins mental preparations to re-mortgage the house.   Thankfully, when Mr. Mullet wanders over to find him staring transfixed at the weapon, he gives him a knowing smile and cuts the younger man a deal he almost feels guilty accepting.  

  When he departs the shop, rapier tucked safely into a cloth wrap, the sun is dangerously close to the horizon.

  Uttering a quiet prayer to the powers-that-be, he scans the area for a payphone.  Luck is on his side today and he finds one rather quickly, tucked into a nook beside a cafe a few shops down.   As he makes a beeline for it with purpose, he comes aware of the hairs on the back of his neck standing slowly to attention.  At first it’s easy to brush it off as a result of the temperature, but the closer he gets to the booth the more the sensation builds.  It feels like someone’s watching him.   Stepping into the silver-glass encased rectangle, he lifts the phone from the receiver before pausing.  Thinking quickly, he puts on his best thoughtful expression, pretending to have forgotten the number he needs to call as an excuse to let his eyes wander his surroundings.  The droning of the phone waiting for input makes the entire situation feel even more unnerving.  

  Nothing glaringly obvious jumps out at him; no nefarious stalker in a trench coat peers at him from some dark alley, no one stares at him over the top of an upside-down newspaper.  All his eyes can find is folks hurrying into their vehicles before the threat of darkness grows, shop workers locking their doors and flicking off their lights.

  Scoffing at himself for allowing his paranoia to get the best of him, he dials a night cab.  Though he’s quite certain he’d imagined the threat, he still refrains from mentioning his destination out loud.  He hadn’t made it as far as he had by throwing all caution to the wind.  Just… most of it.  Before he can waste too much time chastising himself any further, he slams the phone back into place and turns with purpose to wait for his ride in the safety of the cafe.  

  Honestly, it’s a good thing he’s so dramatic.  If he hadn’t insisted on doing the most theatrical spin, complete with the billowing of his coat as he exited the box, he wouldn’t have startled the man watching him from behind the corner of a nearby bookstore.     The balding head disappears as the body it’s attached to ducks behind the brick wall.  Anthony has several options, but very few of them are good.  He quickly decides his best course of action is to pretend to be unaware of the man’s presence, electing to continue on to grab himself a tea whilst he plans his next move.

  Watching the brilliant orange and scarlet glow of sunset, Anthony finds himself observing the comings and goings of vehicles outside the shop window.  There’s an unusual amount of traffic for this time of day.  He’d expect to see a large number flocking to their homes, seeking safety from the threats that come with darkness.  But to see even two or three vehicles stop to park alongside the road this time of night was unusual.

  The arrival of his cab shakes him from that train of thought, jumping the tracks straight to figuring out how to make it to Mrs. Roland’s house in decent time without being followed.  He hadn’t seen another sign of the man since, but he’s not convinced the danger has actually passed.  With a huff, he draws himself out of the comfortable chair.   The cold air is no more forgiving now than it had been before.  Allowing the warmth of the night cab to envelop him, he instructs the driver to begin a complex route to their destination in the hopes of losing those tailing him.  

  The sky is pitch black by the time they arrive, but his efforts seem to have been successful.  While he’d thought for a moment one of the cars that started up as he’d exited the cafe might have been following them at first, there’s no sign now of anyone suspicious following behind.

  Stepping out of the cab onto the curb, he takes a deep breath and tries to sort his thoughts before he dares to step foot into the house.  Why, precisely, would somebody have him under observation?  For once in his life, he can’t think of anyone who would have reason to.     Pulling up the sleeve of his coat to check the watch on his wrist, he curses under his breath at the time.  There’s going to be a lot of grovelling in his very near future.  It’s nearly thirty minutes past six.  She’s going to kill him, and he can’t even fault her for it.

  He’s about to rush into the house when a set of headlights comes into view at the top of the street, nearly blinding him before cutting to blackness at the sight of his silhouette.  

  Bloody hell, that is the final straw.  He’d done quite a fine job feigning ignorance until this point, but he has to draw the line at this level of obviously shady behaviour.  If they’re this incompetent he can get to the bottom of the matter without the need for secrecy or strategy.    He straightens to his full height, setting his jaw and turning to walk with confidence towards the sleek black car now parked roughly a hundred feet ahead of him.

  The sound of glass shattering fills the quiet night air before he can make it more than halfway, stopping him dead in his tracks as he listens for any further sign of danger.  Usually, the thought of his associate in any form of peril is more than enough to send him spiralling into an – admittedly unnecessary – protective frenzy.  However, considering all elements of the present situation, he finds himself torn.  Their interview with Mrs. Roland prior to the acceptance of the case had left them both confident the Visitor is a Type One, which she’s more than capable of handling herself, and if he doesn’t chase this lead down now–  

  An unholy shriek echoes down the street, sending chills down his spine.

  Sketchy stalker-mobile be damned.

  He turns on a dime, long legs carrying him across the lawn as if chasing his own shadow as the headlights behind him reignite and light his path.  The golden beams veer away, the car pulling a sharp u-turn to flee the scene.  If he wasn’t so worried, he’d probably be frustrated.   He almost can’t stop fast enough to prevent himself from running face-first into the door when the handle refuses to turn.  Swearing loudly, he jiggles it again to ensure it isn’t just stiff before he risks causing property damage.  The screaming is making it hard to think, but he can’t quite put his finger on what about it is making him feel so unnerved.  When it finally hits him, property damage is the least of his concerns.  Barely audible beneath the unnaturally shrill sound, her scream is hoarse and pained.

  He takes a full stride back, rocking his weight back on his left leg and lifting his right.  His foot hits its mark directly beside the lock, the full weight of his panic-aided-strength sending it flying open.  He can’t help but wince at the crunch of drywall, likely from the knob on the far side embedding itself in the wall, but he doesn’t waste any further time on it before striding into the house.   Dead ahead, an electric lantern sitting on the kitchen counter bounces light off of the shining tiles covering the majority of the space.  To his left is a small dining room with only a mid-sized table, four chairs, and a plethora of obnoxiously colourful paintings on the walls.  Deciding having both hands free will be more conducive to survival, he dumps the cloth bag containing her new rapier on the table and rushes towards the commotion.

  Between his relief at seeing her unharmed and the sheer comedic value of the expression on her face as she slides around the corner with arms flailing, he almost bursts into hysterical laughter.  Thankfully, his self preservation instinct is strong enough to encourage him to duck behind the wall while he gets himself under control.   Under normal circumstances he would let her exit the house rather than practically jumping out at her, but he can’t be sure there isn’t someone still waiting outside.  And as a small bonus, if she’s already mentally signing his death certificate, he can’t make it any worse by making an entrance.  He feels a grin spread across his features despite a valiant effort not to enjoy this too much.

  “Sorry it took me so long, darling.  Traffic was atrocious,” he has to bend to wrap an arm around her middle, but that doesn’t stop him.   Instead of lashing out or screaming again, she catches him off guard by completely relaxing into his hold.  A spark of protectiveness flares beneath his breast as the back of her head falls to rest on his collarbone and she lets out a shaking breath.  In stark contrast to her usually unflappable nature, she trembles like a leaf.  There’s no way a simple Type One put her in this state.

  It takes all of his willpower to peel his arm from her waist, to offer her the only shield he can by tucking her safely behind him.  He takes a deep breath in through his nose, exhaling slowly through pursed lips and drawing his rapier.  It’s not enough to eliminate the intoxicating effect of her proximity, but it dampens it enough he can think clearer.

    “Anthony John Lockwood, you fucking asshole!  The sun set half an hour ago!” the rage in her tone fills him with relief, not even the impact of the flat of her hands against his back can take away from it.  He’d obviously prefer if she were calm, but he’ll take anger over despair any day.

  “Any idea what kind of Visitor we’re dealing with?  Or what the Source could be?” he breezes past her outburst, not having to look over his shoulder to know if looks could kill he’d be dead on his feet.  

  He knew this routine like the back of his hand.  She’d be angry at first, call him every name in the book, and then they’d move past it and get the job done.

 Except there’s no scoff, no retort, no rapid fire insults, no reply of any kind.  The silence is deafening.  Taking back every scathing remark he’s ever made about Orpheus’ lack of restraint, he caves to the impulse and glances over his shoulder.   He’d been right about the look, at least.  The incredulous fury painted across her face might have been comical in another place, on another day.  But there, just beneath the surface, was something he hadn’t expected to find; betrayal.

  Shit.  He’s really fucked up this time.

  “Y’know what?  Figure it out yourself,” the venom dripping from her tone feels like knives in his chest, “you would have had to if you’d been a minute later anyways.”   Time comes shuddering to a halt.  His pulse is deafening as it thunders in his ears.  If he’d put her life in legitimate danger – regardless of the circumstances – he’d never forgive himself.

  “What do you mean?  What happened?” he manages to choke around the lump in his throat that feels suspiciously like his heart, turning to face her fully and reassure himself by searching every visible inch of her for any sign of injury.  The urge to reach out and touch her, to feel her body beneath his hands and know for sure she isn’t being stubborn enough to hide some kind of fatal wound from him, is so strong his fingers burn.

  After a few incidents involving him turning into a lovesick moron at the slightest touch from her early on in her employment, she’d gone to great lengths to avoid any form of contact with him.  He’d come to terms with this, resigning himself to the idea of a life spent admiring her from arms length.  So while she hadn’t seemed too opposed to having him in her personal space tonight, he had no intentions of pushing any farther and making her uncomfortable.

  That was the plan, at least.  But when screaming pierces the air once more, the colour drains from her face, and he watches her cave in on herself in an attempt to hide; he feels like this counts as extenuating circumstances.     He takes a single large step forward, arms reaching towards her in unison.  Her hands are over her ears, head tucked into her chest, elbows tight to her ribs.  He allows his upper body to curl at the edges and cage her against him, hugging her head to his chest to muffle the noise.

  Then, it stops.  It’s hard to decide if the ghostly howling or ensuing silence is louder.  

  “You okay?” he murmurs the question, reluctantly releasing her to rest his hands on her shoulders and leaning down to try to catch her gaze in the low light.   There’s merely inches between their faces when her unfocused eyes finally lock with his own.  It’s hard to breathe without acknowledging they’re breathing the same air, but he files that thought away for later.  He concentrates instead on tracing every one of her features with his gaze, every tensed muscle and line that may offer him some insight into her condition.   She squeezes her eyes shut, blinking like she’s just woken up.  When she finally focuses on him, her pupils blow wide as dinner plates.  Her lips part, her small gasp the only disturbance in the air as he involuntarily holds his breath.  

  A sharp stab of heartbreak courses through him as she steps back abruptly, raising her palms in surrender.  His poor heart stops dead for the umpteenth time today when he spots the dark spot on her hand.  She tries to drop her arms, to move to put more distance between them, but his sense of urgency outweighs his better judgement as he grasps her tightly by the wrist.  The chill of her skin beneath his does nothing to assuage his concerns as he pulls her across the kitchen to the light, ignorant to her protests through the haze of his anxiety.   Their proximity to the light confirms his fear, and the crimson red of fresh blood staining her skin has his stomach rebelling against him.  As soon as he drops her wrist she pulls it away and clutches it to her body, glaring daggers at him.    He makes a mental note to beg for her forgiveness later, reaching for her face and watching shades of red begin to decorate her flesh as she reaches new levels of infuriation.  Her skin is sinfully soft beneath the fingers that turn her towards the light and brush against her cheek, tucking the hair behind her ear to give him a better view.     A cold blanket of righteous fury settles over him at the sight of the narrow crimson river running sluggishly down her neck, using his thumb to swipe it away.  Murderous thoughts fill his head at the sight of the stain left in its wake, doubling in intensity at her expression when he shows her the smear of red highlighted by its contrast against his pale skin.

  “Now will you tell me about it?” any attempt at a playful tone is harshly undercut by the tremor of rage in his voice, but she still laughs with less nerves than he’d expected.  

  She studies him closely, but he stares right back, too focused on making the bloody thing pay for hurting her to be self-conscious under her scrutinous gaze.  After a short minute of this, understanding blossoms across her face.  

  “Through the living room, down the hallway - mind the runner, it’s slippery - the primary haunting is in the bedroom.  Husband’s name was Harold Roland.  There’s a painting on the left wall, initialed ‘H.R.’, psychic imprint like I’ve never seen.  Twenty quid says that’s the Source,”  she pauses, lost in thought with her eyes fixed on the ground, “Oh!  And it’s probably obvious by now, but it’s definitely a Screaming Spirit.”

  He can feel the corners of his lips quirking up as she drops the stubborn attitude.

  ‘Good girl,’ he wants to say.

  “Your rapier is on the table,” he says instead, turning his back on her under the guise of watching the direction they’d heard the screaming from.  In reality, he’d just needed an excuse to hide his blush and re-centre himself.

  He’s so busy shaking the offending thoughts from his head and cursing himself out for allowing his mind to wander into unsafe territory that he’s completely blindsided by the burst of other-light lighting up the living room like a flash bang.  He’s still blinking the blind spots from his eyes when rapid movement in his peripherals alerts him to the potential danger.  The ringing of iron fills the air as he draws his rapier, muscle memory taking over despite his still spotty vision as he slices clean through the centre of the spectre mere inches from his face.

  Behind him, the sound of her drawing her own blade drains anxiety he wasn’t aware he’d been feeling.  As she takes her place beside him he admits to himself that nothing in this world feels more natural than having her at his side, trusting him to keep the Visitor at bay whilst he trusts her to strategize.

  Despite being the newest member of their agency, Anthony trusts her instincts more than even his own most of the time.   He’d figured out not long after she’d joined that she had a particular balance of empathy and intelligence - and a sixth sense he couldn’t really explain - that made her an asset in the field.  Of course he’d never been dense enough to phrase it like that to her face, not after sticking his foot in his mouth with Luce all those years ago.

  Her posture shifts almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough to tell him she’s finished piecing together a plan.  All he can do now is hope she’s feeling generous enough to let him in on it.

  The crisp clean sound of her new rapier sliding into its sheath suggests he might be out of luck.  He’s considering whether or not it’s worth asking her directly when his brain sputters, then stalls.   She steps back far enough he has no warning of her proximity until she presses herself completely against him, the surface area of her chest displacing against the back of his ribs in a way that leaves him feeling a little dizzy.  As much as he really, really enjoys her hands dancing along his sides and hips, he can’t help but question her truly terrible timing as he fights to keep his blade in the air to ward off their ‘friend’.

  “Follow my lead,” she says.  It takes a while to filter through the dial-up connection that is his mind at that moment.  He regains his composure just as she hurls the salt-bomb over his shoulder, realisation dawning on him in a flash similar to that of the silver fulminate as it collides with the ghost before him.  So that’s what she’d been up to.

  She’s off like a bullet the second the apparition dissipates, shooting past him and into the other  room.  In a rather impressive manoeuvre, she tucks and rolls to land on her side parallel to a horrifically sunny loveseat before shoving her arm beneath it as though searching for something.  Of all of the things he could possibly expect for her to retrieve, a silver-net was not one of them.  He adds that to the list of questions he has for her once they get this situation under control.

  She’s back on her face and hurdling across the house like a bat out of hell when Mr. Roland decides to make another appearance in the form of a pair of ghostly arms emerging from the white walls.  A stone drops in his gut when he realises there’s no way he can reach her before the grasping arms of the apparition wrap around her shoulders.

“DUCK!” he hollers, an iron taste filling his mouth.  She immediately dives for the floor and–

  He loses sight of her past the walls of the hallway.

  The pounding of his heart drowns out the noises that follow, his legs carrying him across the house on autopilot.  The cold air stings every inch of exposed skin as he closes the distance to the active haunting, but it’s not nearly as cold as the blood in his veins when he spots the telltale sparkle of silver on the rug outside the bedroom.     He ducks to grab the net and sweeps through the doorway just in time to watch her body fly across the room.

  Even the brutal screaming had paled in comparison to the sound of her head hitting the bed frame. 

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⇢

taglist (if your name is in bold, it wouldn't let me tag you!): @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000 @stardust611 @ell0ra-br3kk3r

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

[courtingchaos]

At the End of the World

Kas!Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

A/N: Don’t read too much into this. It struck me late and fast and now we’re here.

Warnings: Blood drinking

18+ NSFW No Minors

Another late night closing with just you and two other employees and all of Hawkins at the doorstep to Melvalds. The deeper fissures in the town still sat open but the government had shown up with all sorts of machines and now things could be delivered again and here you were, at work. At the end of the world.

Your keys jingle against the door and you wave off your coworkers who walk down the sidewalk ahead of you. The lock sticks sometimes and you’re left to struggle until you can yank your key ring free. A curse and a kick at the stack of cardboard you need to toss, you shove your hand into your purse to make sure you didn’t forget your wallet again. The main street stays lit by giant floodlights, the distant sound of road work and construction coming in with the late evening breeze. It’s cold now when the sun sets, October turning the weather and the leaves all the same like the earth hadn’t been split open just 5 months ago. You catch a whiff of a bonfire sprinkled on the back of the wind and for a moment you can pretend that everything is okay, that it’s all normal again.

10 pm and it’s later than anything in town stays open, Melvalds and the grocery store being the exception nowadays. Food and pharmacy to keep everyone afloat and stationary, locked in place by faceless government officials who tell you it’s for your own safety. For everyone’s safety.

You shake your head to clear it though, unwilling to linger on your pessimism any longer tonight. A long day full of half smiles and constant running back and forth to pull apart another pallet of Things Everyone Needs. Your room at your parents house, the one you’d moved back into after everything went to shit, calls to you from the cracked sidewalk and you hustle faster to toss your garbage and get to your car. The water mains have finally been repaired so you know you can actually look forward to a consistent hot shower tonight, can practically feel the beating of the water against your back.

You beeline for the alleyway so you can toss the empty cardboard, no thought given to a darkened path. Hawkins had been under curfew since the feds rolled in and with main street lit up you hadn’t worried about taking out the trash on your own in a while. You have to set the box down to to flip open the lid and that’s when you hear it. A muffled breathing from behind dumpster number two, something wet and ragged, something that makes you still completely. It’s human that’s for sure, heavy and big by the sound of it and you start yelling at yourself silently, cursing your placidity.

You take a single step back when you see a head rock into view near the wheels of the other dumpster. Too dark to make out anything yet, just a mass of hair that hasn’t seen a brush in too long. A rasp of a breath in and weakly, “D-do you work here?”

Frozen in place with your body poised to run, but that voice holds no malice. They stutter on their deep breaths, breaths that sound pained. “Y-yeah.” You don’t relax but you aren’t set to sprint anymore. “Are you okay?”

Neither of you move closer but the figure pulls themselves into view more, a frankly too thin hand wraps around the corner of the dumpster to pull themselves forward and you finally can make out a face covered in grime. Eyes shine in the light that bleeds into the alleyway and he, you can finally tell, looks close to tears. Face pulled into a grimace when he scoots out to sit on questionable concrete.

“I just…I need help.” His other arm hugs his middle where his shirt is torn and your mind goes fast, trying to remember the first aid you’d learned in Girl Scouts a thousand years ago.

“Are you hurt? I can go get someone.” You glance over your shoulder knowing there’s at least a cop or an agent doing rounds at this time. “There’s a patrol-“

That’s your mistake, you’ll own it, turning around for too long. For trusting a stuttering mess. You turn back to face him and are stunned at how quickly he’s standing in front of you, those bright wet eyes boring holes into your head. You’d thought it was the shadows maybe but they really are black, from corner to corner, deep abyss that tracks your jump backwards.

You hadn’t heard him stand or shift or breathe and he’s so god damn close.

“I don’t need a patrol.” His voice sounds like white noise. A tuning to your hearing that makes your ears flex backwards at the sudden foreign noise. You swear you can feel it vibrating against your eardrums and coiling deep inside, words made corporeal to slither into your skull. There’s two voices bouncing between you, a double speak that seems to run cold around your neck. “I just need one of you.”

You couldn’t move if you wanted to. It isn’t fear holding your feet to the stained ground but an invisible grip, ironclad and cold, just like his words. You can move your eyes though and you rake over his appearance and try to keep it in your memory.

Long hair, dark eyes, no shoes, ratty jeans, torn raglan with a devil-

“Eddie?” Barely breathed out, silently uttered. He was dead. Well, at least presumed. You’d seen the flyers his uncle had put up and you’d seen how the town had treated them; crude drawings and torn off of the bulletin boards. “Eddie Munson?” You ask again to the pale face in front of you. Four years of high school seated next to him in drivers ed and home ec and art class. Not friends but acquaintances. You know that face. Even when it splits into a formidable grin you can see the ghost of his warm smile under cracked lips.

“Sort of.” His hands come up slowly to hold your neck, thumbs resting under your chin to tilt your head back. “It’s complicated.”

You expect his hands to tighten around your neck but they remain gentle in their movement, too cold against your skin. Unnaturally cold under your jaw where he starts to turn your head to the side.

“I thought I smelled something familiar around here.” His breath moves over your neck like the cold autumn breeze, carrying the promise of dead things at its end. Your heart beats tirelessly against your ribs and you still can’t move except for when he manipulates you around, his head dipping into the crook of your neck.

Fear should be at the forefront of your mind. You should be screaming and shaking, yelling for the police you know are just outside of the mouth of alley. You should be fighting back at him, fist wailing into his chest to push him back so you can fly out of his grip. However there’s a creeping calm of sorts that weaves through your thoughts. It feels fuzzy almost against your brain and you don’t even flinch when his dry tongue scratches over your skin.

“I do need help.” He keeps a hand pressed to your neck while the other pulls at your work polo, baring your flesh to his mouth. “Thank you.”

You can hear him in that moment, Eddie, not whatever this thing is that’s sinking its teeth into you. It hurts only for a moment, like a prick of a needle, and you can feel your mind going blank. Thoughts slip quick like water over rocks and you catch yourself on his shoulder to stay standing. That invisible force that bound you to the spot has faded as soon he begins to suck and again you should be running but you cling. There’s a peacefulness that comes with absence of thought and worry, enough so that you barely notice him drinking your blood. You barely notice the gore in his hair or the deep scars along his cheek. Your hearing begins to fade to only the single sound of his lips attached to you.

A fade to black for all your senses.

And then you feel it. Black tendrils that sneak into your awareness. They swirl and thrash in their form, long fingers of doom that grow around you. It’s a rushing feeling like a thousand wings brushing by you, pushing air across your face and ruffling your hair.

“Do you hear it?” Eddie whispers against your ear, lips warm and tongue wet where it drags along your lobe. “Monsters in the sky, right under us.” You’ve been lowered at some point, his back resting against the dumpster and you clung to the front of him. “So many they’d blot out the sun.” His hands still hold you but they’re warm now too against your cooling skin. “They’re looking for me.” A drop of something on your nose, something thick that drips onto his filthy shirt. “For us.”

Everything is muffled except for his clear voice. Those black tendrils move steadily along your awareness still, vines creeping in to drag you under into oblivion. Your throat sticks when you swallow and you try to form words before you pass out or die. Eddie’s head tilts in close to your mouth and you can smell the dirt and viscera on him.

“Something’s…around…”

“What is it?” He makes a show of looking around the shadows of the alleyway before letting his eyes drop to your barely open ones. The deep black is gone, replaced again by the familiar brown you know.

“Not here.” You need him to understand. The fingers crawl into your vision now, the few specks of light left that you can see, great red eyes in the middle distance of your mind. “Inside.” A weak motion to your head and you see it dawn on his face.

“You can see him too?” He asks you but doesn’t wait for a response before he digs his teeth into his own wrist. Blood rushes from the corners of his mouth and he shoves the mangled skin at you, your wince doing nothing to get it away from you. He cradles your head now, knees drawn up to help hold you while he feeds you something of himself. The blood pushes past your slack lips, bitter tannin where you expected salt and copper. No fight left in you while the wind rushes in your ears and the dark fist closes over your minds eye.

“I need help.” He intones again when you latch on to his wrist finally. “Will you help me?” No double speak this time, no white noise to warp your thoughts. Eddie asks you for help while you lay in a cold alley on cold concrete and drink from his self inflicted wound. You’ve never been friends, just acquaintances, but the blood is heavy on your tongue. He holds you close and keeps you both hidden in the dark. He sees the same monstrous form you do and there’s fear in those brown eyes, still shining, still wet with tears.

Your senses stop whining like a flicked switch, your hands coming up to grasp more fully at his offered arm. You nod and keep drinking and there’s that smile again, the real one, the warm one. “Thank you.”

It’s silent now except for the sounds of your eating and the rush of leathery wings beating underneath your feet.

[angelkissiies]

california dreamin

abby anderson x reader & lev

cw : fluff, mentions of trauma, slight angst, abby and reader have a pre existing relationship and have practically adopted lev.

wc : 1.6k

The California heat was unforgiving, sending heavy rays of sun onto your back as you sat on the deck, looking out into the vast ocean that surrounded you. From your spot, you could make out the beginnings of the shoreline, the idea of having your feet back on solid ground giving you hope- but also sending a sharp pang of anxiety into your stomach. Though you knew the WLF and that girl were long gone, the fear they instilled in you remained. You found yourself rounding every corner expecting them to be there, expecting the freedom you all had created to be squished yet again. It made you ill, the thought of going back.

“You okay?” Lev asked, nudging your leg with his elbow lightly. He was still pulling apart the twine, fingers moving out of memory from all the times he'd done this exact thing back in Seattle. He’d been adamant about his fading belief in the prophet, though it was still a part of him he held dear to him- feeling as if it connected him more to Yara, even now.

You nodded, quickly, shaking the thoughts from your head as you glanced down at the pile of wood shavings that had begun to accumulate under your knife. You’d been whittling some twigs you’d found on your last excursion on land, making them more uniform for your craft project at hand. “Yeah, all good. Just thinking.” You hummed, shooting him a convincing smile. You tried to keep your worries to yourself, reading somewhere that sometimes babies can pick up on their parent's emotions. No, Lev was not a baby. No, you weren't his parent- but surely it worked the same way right?

He snorted, shaking his head as he focused back in on the twine, pulling the strings into smaller- more manipulable pieces.

“What?” You asked, turning to him, a faux serious expression resting on your face.

Lev shrugged, glancing over at you. “You’re just a bad liar. I know you’re scared, (y/n).” He said simply as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “It’s okay to be scared.”

“Who’s scared?” Abby popped up, pushing the door closed with her foot as her hands were full of plates containing the fish you all had managed to catch earlier- she’d taken it upon herself to cook considering you and Lev had managed to catch more fish than her.

You shook your head, scooting over to make more room for her, brushing the wood shavings off of the side of the boat before she noticed them. She was big on trying to keep the place clean, considering you had so many more weeks before you were even close to Santa barbara. “Nobody,” You began, making a point to stick your tongue out at Lev, who scrunched his nose in response. “That looks really good, Abs!”

Abby set the plates down in front of the three of you, silently praying the wind kept behaving- not wanting to have another incident. (That being when the wind picked up one night the three of you were having dinner and lev’s fish flew right off of his plate and back into the water. He almost cried.) “Okay, fine, keep your secrets.” She teased, her usually sandy blonde hair glowing a much lighter color from the constant abuse from the sun. It suited her, in your opinion.

You clicked your knife closed, tucking it into your pocket before picking your fork up- pulling apart the fish on your plate. It had taken some time, honestly a lot of time, before you’d gotten your appetite back. After weeks of living off of Seattle rain, nuts, and fear- you’d lost the ability to feel hungry, the idea of eating sending you right back into that survival headspace. You somehow had begun associating the most normal human need with the trauma you’d endured, the two going hand in hand when you thought about it more- which you tried not to do. “Any luck with that radio?” You posed the question, nodding back into the main cabin just down the stairs. When you’d gotten the boat from the aquarium, it looked like Owen had begun working on the radio, leading you to think maybe you all could figure out a way to finish his work. It would make contacting the fireflies much easier.

She shook her head, taking a sip from her water bottle. “No, I think it's too busted to work. The wiring is all fried, looks like it is from a power surge or something.” She explained, her soft gaze coming to land on you. Throughout this whole trip, she’d wanted to give up. It took everything in her to not turn back around and just give herself back to the only life she’d really gotten to know, the grief she battled was enough to eat her alive. The only way she’d made it this far was by leaning on you, opening herself up to your unwavering support, because no matter how strong she prided herself on being- it didn't keep the nightmares away as you could. She’d found solace in your arms.

“Well, I mean, that's okay. We’ll still find them.” You smiled up at her, finding yourself losing the air in your lungs as you finally got a second to take her in. Yes, you’d seen her before now- but it was different. In the slight shade from the sail, she seemed to be glowing. Her hair was sun-bleached, freckles dark on her cheeks, skin tinted slightly pink from the heat. It was a new Abby, one you’d gotten the pleasure of calling your own. She’d shed her old skin, coming back as a completely new person as she tried to heal through her trauma, aiming at creating a new life for you all. “How long do you think it’ll be before we get there?”

Lev interrupted before Abby had a second to respond, “No more firefly talk while we eat, gonna make me have an attack of panic.” He huffed, stuffing another forkful of fish in his mouth as he eyed the two of you.

“A panic attack, Lev.” You chuckled, giving him a soft nod to agree to his demands. He hated having to talk about the future, constantly wondering if you all would live to see that day. While you and Abby tried to avoid talking about the subject, there were times when it felt necessary. Now, it wasn’t- so you left it at that.

“That's what I said.”

Abby laughed, her eyes crinkling as she looked towards the boy affectionately, he’d been the beginning of all of this. A revolution of her life, sending her on the right track towards her future, which in every right was being here with you two. She really couldn’t see herself being anywhere else with anyone else. Every day she wished Yara could see him, how much he’d grown in such a short time, how strong he was. All traits he got from her. “How’s crafting going?” She hummed, nodding down to the shavings you’d missed.

Lev was noticeably piqued at the question, pushing his empty plate aside gently before moving to show her the pile of twine he’d collected from just stripping the fibers apart. “Look!” He spoke quickly, dipping into his pocket to collect the symbol he’d completed earlier. “It’s holding up really well, considering the twigs aren’t very bendy.”

She smiled, plucking the prophet’s symbol from his open palm gently. It always intrigued her, and she found herself almost opening up to the idea of letting Lev tell her of the prophets writing. Though, admittedly, she wasn’t the religious type. Her father always preferred to raise her on logic and science. “This looks really great, actually.” She praised, running her thumb over the smooth curve of the wood. She glanced over at you, seeing how your legs were covered in tiny shavings, before chuckling. “Can I help?”

He nodded, pulling another bunch of twine from his other pocket, and holding it out for her to take. It was like he could hold just about anything in his little cargo short pockets, once pulling a frog from them- much to Abby's dismay. Though, in his defense, he didn’t know she was scared of frogs. “(y/n)’s good at whittling, so you can help me.” He explained, taking the symbol and placing it back in his pocket.

You finished off your food in a hurry, the familiar resistance growing in your stomach, if you didn’t get it down now- you feared it would come back up later. You recovered quickly, making it seem like you just wanted to get back to whittling. “I think I’m average at whittling, plus, these sticks are tiny. Only so much damage you can do.” You joked, pulling your knife from your pocket as you got back to work on the stick you were working on. It was significantly larger than the others, seeing as you were aiming to make it bigger.

“Don’t undersell yourself,” Abby tutted, eyes narrowing as she gave you a once over. Her hand outstretched to grab your plate, stacking it with Levs before putting her own on top. It was a bad habit you had, making your skills seem less than they were, she’d noticed it back at the stadium but through the weeks of sailing, it had only gotten worse. She’d begun to think it stemmed from a fear of disappointing them, and not living up to the nonexistent standards they held. “It looks perfect, pretty.”

“Yuck.” Lev faux gagged, side-eying the two of you as he laughed lightly.

You reached over to playfully punch him on the shoulder, taking the attention off of your embarrassingly red cheeks. “Get over it!”

“You guys are so gross.”

“Lev, are you being homophobic?”

“Don’t say that to him, Abby!”

“Home-of-phobic?”

[the-darkestminds]

Autumn's Shadow: Chapter 9

Azriel x Eris (Azriel POV)

Summary: A covert meeting between Azriel and Eris to exchange valuable intel leaves Azriel reeling—and questioning everything he has ever felt for the Heir of Autumn. Azriel finds himself inexorably drawn to Eris, unable to resist his captivating allure. With the threat of Koschei and Beron looming ever closer, can their forbidden love endure in the face of such danger?

a/n: Not really sure how many miles into the continent the lake is, but for this fic just assume its tucked away in a remote location. Just a reminder that I took out the scene from acosf where Cassian and Azriel speak to Koschei. Assume this scene is their first encounter with him. Named one of Eris's brothers Alix. Kinda doing my own thing with Koschei. Did not find him to be very scary in acosf so I'm trying to make him into something entirely different. Just go with it!

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Read on AO3!

Full Chapter List

Chapter 9:

Azriel drifted between thick, dark clouds, his wings beaded with icy droplets of water from the storm gathering around him. Cassian flew several dozen yards to his left, eyes trained on the terrain far below. Between the gaps in the clouds, miles down, Azriel could make out the dark stretch of water churning and rippling restlessly, like the surface of a vast cauldron. The lake was a brooding, gray expanse, its waters dark and uninviting under the overcast sky. The jagged shoreline was bordered by dense forests and barren stretches of rocky terrain that sloped up into steep cliffs, some partially shrouded in mist. 

 Eris had alerted him to Beron’s departure only hours ago and Azriel had winnowed himself and Cassian to the edge of the continent. They had been circling for over an hour now, waiting for Beron to appear, but the dark shores of the lake remained empty and desolate.

Two mornings ago Azriel had woken up beside Eris, warm and blissfully happy, more so than he’d been in his entire life. The last thing he’d wanted to do was return to this cursed place. 

The cold wind sliced Azriel to the bone, and not even his winter leathers could keep away the chill, or prevent his skin from pebbling uncomfortably under its steady assault. Though it was only partially due to the frigid temperatures. The wrongness of the lake made him uneasy, and reminded him of the ancient magic of the Middle. 

As Azriel circled back around from the east, his eyes scanned the small temple situated atop the eddying waves. There was nothing remarkable about it. Smooth, white stone, seemingly untouched by the years it had weathered against wind and rain and snow, sat perched on a slab of glistening black rock. The arched door to the temple was adorned with swirling symbols and markings, all wholly unfamiliar to Azriel. He wondered what Eris would make of it—if it was perhaps one of the languages he had mastered during his tutelage as heir.

The lake’s ominous presence seemed to taunt Azriel. He had sworn he’d heard faint whispering echoing against the cliffs, but whenever he angled his head to listen the wind swept them away. 

The last time Azriel had been here he’d been distracted—his mind entirely consumed by thoughts of Eris. Not much had changed on that front, though now he was fully aware of the stakes should something go wrong. He prayed that whatever they learned here today could give Eris the upper hand against his father—and give all of them the upper hand against Koschei.

Azriel had done his best to keep his shadows at bay, tucking them close behind his wings and wrapping himself tightly in a pulsing blue siphon shield that clung to him like a second skin. It was all he could think to do, for his shadows never truly left him. That is, until the last time he’d been here, when they’d seemingly vanished into his skin. He shivered at the memory. Cassian’s presence was a comfort, regardless of the fact that he was hardly speaking to him after his fight with Eris. For now, he had more important things to worry about. 

They’d waited long enough.

He gave Cassian the signal and they dove quickly towards the muddy shore on the western side of the lake, wings tucked in tight. Azriel held his breath as his feet hit the damp soil—waited for the assault on his shadows and the screeching in his head to begin. But seconds passed and nothing happened. Azriel examined the stone temple where it rested around a hundred yards from where they’d landed, his Fae eyesight allowing him to see it as if it were mere inches away. He stood silently, eyes focused across the water. 

Azriel’s breath curled in the cold air like puffs of smoke. There was no life here. No twittering of birds or chirping of insects. The murky water was black and endless and some primal sense warned Azriel not to touch it—that to do so would be a grave, possibly fatal, mistake. That it might truly drag him under if he got too close. Cassian was motionless beside him as he, too, gazed out across the stretch of gray. 

By Rhysand’s orders, they were to get close enough to observe, but nothing more. He had warned them not to approach the temple for any reason, and to only speak if spoken to. And so they waited. Minutes ticked by and the air grew colder. The wind howled eerily across the water and whispered through the branches of the trees behind them, like a desperate song from the souls forever trapped beneath the lake’s surface. Azriel tucked his wings in tighter and rested his hand on the hilt of Truth Teller where it was sheathed at his thigh. His eyes burned from the icy wind that lashed at his face. 

And then it all stopped—the water went still as glass and the air seemed to thicken and slow, pressing against his skin and muffling the sounds of the earth around them. All he could hear now was the rapid thump of his racing heart.

He glanced warily at Cassian and by the unnerved look on his brother’s face he knew he’d felt the change as well. Azriel’s breath came faster as the uneasiness within him grew. The water lapped softly against the shore. He was hit with a sudden certainty that they shouldn’t have come here. This place spoke of only death and pain and despair. They needed to leave now, while they still could—

It was like he’d been dropped in a pool of ice cold water. Azriel’s entire body went rigid as some oily, dark power slid across his skin and seized everything that he was. He tried to move, to escape, but his body refused to obey, wholly ensnared by the dark magic that shot across the black water, wrapped itself around him and squeezed. It was as if the very blood in his veins no longer belonged to him. 

Azriel’s eyes were wide and unblinking as his vision tunneled—until all he could see was that floating mass of darkness above the water. The shadow warped and twisted and grew until he was looking at a large, cloaked figure, draped in black so dark it was painful to behold. The figure spoke in a low, slithering hiss, cold and ancient and horrible.

“I’ve seen your heart, shadowsinger.” The voice snaked along his bones and echoed loudly in his ears. “I’ve felt it burn.” 

Koschei’s face was hidden beneath a black hood and his shapeless, cloaked body hovered eerily above the lake. Inky shadows frothed and writhed around him like crashing water. Azriel stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to breathe. All he could do was stare, wide-eyed, at the death-lord who now held him in his grasp.

Koschei's voice dripped with sinister amusement as he spoke again. "The shadows whisper many secrets, Azriel. Even those hidden in the most forbidden places find their way to my ears. Did you think you were the only one who spoke their language?” His laugh was a chilling, hollow sound that echoed out of the darkness and skated painfully along Azriel’s bones. “How does it feel, Prince of Darkness, to play with fire?" 

In that moment, time seemed to stretch, every second a lifetime of terror as his mind reeled at the meaning behind the words. Eris. Somehow this death-lord had been watching them—had been listening, even confined to this remote and forgotten corner of the continent. How? How had he seen? 

Koschei sniffed, and the air around him hissed and warped in response. The death-lord’s laugh felt like sharp claws against his spine. “I can smell the ancient past on your skin. How long I have waited.” The figure shivered in excitement. “Tell me, shadowsinger. What would he do to keep you?” 

Azriel stood frozen to the spot, fear a tightening noose around his neck. The creature lifted its head and the hood shifted. Where Koschei’s face should have been, there was only infinite darkness—a yawning abyss that devoured all light and warmth. The void seemed to pull Azriel in, and he would have screamed in terror if he had control of his tongue. The scene in front of him disappeared.

He wasn't seeing Koschei or the lake at all, but fire—vast, unearthly, world-ending fire that tore across the land, consuming everything in its wake. Screams echoed through the inferno—pained, wretched screaming that seemed to come from every direction. Azriel watched as the sky was ripped apart and darkness spilled in through the cracks, unleashing horrors beyond anything he could ever imagine. Masses of teeth and claws and scales—shadows and inky darkness. Wide, lidless blue eyes bored into him hungrily. Prythian burned—the world burned, as war raged around him. Excruciating pain tore through him as Fae, human, and animal alike turned to ash. And then he saw Autumn ablaze with that unearthly fire. The rivers ran red with with blood and all the while, a slithering, hissing laugh echoed loudly in his ears, drowning out the chaos and searing itself into his mind—

Then it all stopped, like a tether between them had snapped. Azriel was sucked back into his own body and collapsed to his knees. His stomach heaved and he wretched into the damp soil, his body trembling with horror at what he had seen—real?

“I’ll see you both soon,” the voice hissed, edged with horrible, wicked delight. 

The last thing Azriel saw was Cassian’s terrified face before the darkness consumed him and everything went black.

***

Azriel sat limply in one of the plush armchairs in the living room of the river manor and stared vacantly at the floor. Cassian had flown with him on his back until they were within range of Rhys, who had winnowed them both directly to his estate.

Now, Rhys leaned against the fireplace, stone-faced and wary, while Amren paced in front of it, pausing occasionally to glance at Azriel skeptically. Feyre sat in the chair beside him, brows furrowed in concern. Cassian had been the one to relay Koschei’s words, as Azriel was too disturbed to speak.

“Are you going to tell us what this all means?” Cassian demanded. Beneath the anger, Azriel saw his own fear mirrored back at him on his brother’s pale face. Cassian had beheld the cloaked figure, had felt the air warp and freeze, and had listened to the words that slithered out from beneath that black hood. But his brother had not been snared by that dark, otherworldly power. No, only Azriel had been affected, had fallen into some kind of trance—one he couldn’t break free from until Koschei had released him. Cassian had been unable to do anything but stand there uselessly. 

Azriel averted his gaze and kept his mouth shut, in part to avoid answering their questions, but mostly to prevent himself from emptying his stomach onto the rich carpet beneath his boots. Rhys mercifully spoke up instead.

“It would seem that Koschei is now well aware of our alliance with Eris,” Rhys said smoothly. Azriel could’ve kissed him for redirecting the conversation. “What he intends to do with that information will likely not be good for any of us, especially Eris,” he continued darkly. Azriel’s stomach clenched with dread. How does it feel to play with fire? He closed his eyes and swallowed his nausea, but the image of Autumn burning was like a brand on the insides of his eyelids. 

“Then we have to warn him,” Feyre said firmly. “He said it himself that Beron’s been paranoid. Koschei’s likely the one who’s been whispering in his ear all this time.” Her voice was tight as she addressed them all.

Azriel could only nod. He sensed he was missing something crucial, but couldn’t put a finger on what exactly that was. All he knew was that he needed to see for himself that Eris was safe before panic smothered him entirely.

“If Koschei is aware of Eris’s betrayal, and informs Beron, what exactly can we do to protect him? Are we prepared to go after Beron ourselves?” Cassian asked with a glance at Azriel. “Is Eris worth the risk of stirring up the other courts and potentially igniting another war?” Though Azriel knew the questions were fair, each one only added to his mounting horror and he wanted to roar at his brother for daring to ask them. Instead, he remained silent and kept his eyes on the flickering fire so as to hide how close he was to falling apart completely.

“That remains to be seen,” Rhys said evenly. “But he’s risked a great deal in allying with us. As Feyre said, the least we can do is warn him.” 

Azriel nodded again, still beyond words. He accepted the glass of liquor Cassian handed him but didn’t take a sip. 

“What about the vision?” His own voice sounded gravelly and foreign in his ears. When no one responded he dragged his gaze away from the flames. They were all looking at him with varying degrees of alarm.

“What vision?” Cassian asked, brows drawn together in confusion.

“You didn’t see it?” Azriel rasped. Had Koschei shown it only to him?

“See what?” Cassian demanded at the same time Rhys said, “Show me.” Azriel’s stomach rebelled at the idea of recalling the images he’d been forced to witness, but when he felt that dark, silken hand brush against his mind in request, he relented and dropped his shields.

Azriel watched the blood drain from Rhysand’s face until his skin was the color of ash. Rhys looked at Azriel with such terror in his eyes that he felt guilty for opening his mouth in the first place. His brother had only just recovered from the recent horror of nearly losing his mate and son, and now they were all in severe danger yet again. Feyre stood and walked to Rhys, wrapped her arms around his waist. 

“Show me?” A silent conversation passed between them and seconds later Feyre whispered that she needed to be with Nyx and left the room. Rhys watched her go, his normally bright eyes dark and pained.

 “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Cassian ground out. Amren stepped forward as well. They both went still as they, too, watched Koschei’s vision unfold. Amren cursed viciously.

“This is a clear warning,” Amren said to all of them. “Of the devastation he intends to unleash when he is free to roam the world once more.” Cassian shivered at the ominous words. The conversation continued on but Azriel could barely hear it over the memory of those agonized screams echoing loudly in his head. 

It had been a very long time since Azriel had been afraid of the dark. He’d long since learned to thrive in it, to speak its language, until the shadows had become a comforting embrace. But when he thought of the darkness beneath that hood—that yawning chasm of endless black and despair—fear unsheathed its claws, wrapped them slowly around his neck and squeezed. Death-lord indeed. He shivered and tossed back the liquid, savoring the burn as it went down. 

***

It was over an hour before everyone left, until only Azriel and Rhysand remained in the darkened sitting room. Amren and Rhys had debated back and forth as to how Koschei might free himself and open what Amren described as a rip in the fabric of the world, with Cassian occasionally chiming in with his own thoughts. Azriel hadn’t spoken a word. Couldn’t speak. He needed to get up, but his legs felt like lead and he knew he owed Rhys an explanation for his behavior.

Rhys didn’t waste any time. “What is going on between you and Eris?”

The last thing Azriel wanted to do was talk about his feelings, but the secrecy had been weighing on him heavily, and now that Eris’s life was in danger, even more so than usual…hiding in the shadows no longer mattered. Not here, at least.

“We’re…together,” Azriel said lamely. That was about all of the detail he was inclined to offer.

“Together how?” Azriel leveled Rhys with an icy look. Rhysand ducked his head but not before Azriel saw the small smile on his face, and his temper rose sharply.

“Is something funny?” The words were a soft snarl. 

Rhys snapped his head up, eyes wide with alarm at Azriel’s dark tone. “No. No, Az, I’m not—it’s just amusing how things work out. If you’re happy, I’m happy.” Azriel relaxed at the sincerity he beheld on his brother’s face. Rhys went on, “So this was a warning for all of us, but more specifically for you. That he knows about the two of you. And you’re worried he means to tell Beron.” Azriel nodded, jaw clenched too tightly to speak.

“Do the other words mean anything to you? ‘The ancient past’? The vision?” Rhys pressed him.

“No,” Azriel bit out. He was currently being eaten alive by his fear for Eris. He needed to contact him immediately, and said as much to Rhys.

“Fine, go, warn him. Just be careful,” Rhys said warily. “We’re not done discussing this.” He looked like he wanted to add more, but held his tongue. Azriel was out the door and traveling across Velaris before Rhys could bid him farewell.

***

A full day had passed and Azriel had still not heard from Eris. Yes, he had warned Azriel that he’d have to be more discreet, so the delayed response wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary, but Azriel was itching to do something, anything, to make sure he was okay. He’d give him one more day, and then…he’d decide what to do. One more day. 

He was going out of his mind with worry, living in a constant state of terror that something horrible had happened to him and that Azriel would never know. Or maybe Eris was being hurt right now, and Azriel was sitting on his ass uselessly.

The thought had him on his feet, desperate for a distraction from the gnawing dread. Azriel flew up to the House and landed on the edge of the sparring ring that had become a permanent fixture over the last few months. Nesta and Cassian were in the ring while Gwyn and Emerie watched on with interest. Their eyes all found Azriel as he stepped out of the shadows. Nesta and Cassian paused their sparring to greet him.

“Finally tired of being out of shape?” Cassian taunted. “When’s the last time you trained?” The words were meant as a dig, but they held a degree of truth. It had been a while. Nesta eyed him knowingly and Azriel stared back at her. Her hair, damp with sweat, curled at the nape of her neck, and her cheeks were flushed from exertion. She looked much better than the last time he’d seen her, and Azriel’s chest lightened ever so slightly at the realization.

“I need a break,” Nesta announced and walked out of the ring to the water station beside her friends, seemingly aware that Azriel needed to work off some steam and that Cassian was the only opponent who could match his skill. 

Cassian’s face was guarded, and Azriel’s usual guilt returned and settled like a rock in his stomach. He’d been unfair to Cassian—shutting him out completely, making little to no attempts to bridge the gap that had formed between them since Azriel began spending all of his spare time with Eris. 

Cassian had been spooked by Azriel’s reaction to Koschei and it hadn’t helped that he’d refused to elaborate on any of it. The tense set of his shoulders said as much. He wondered if it was now clear to Cassian that what Azriel and Eris had was more than friendship. He didn’t ask.

Azriel stepped into the chalk-lined circle, rolling his neck and stretching out the tightness in his shoulders. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside, striding to the middle of the ring and stopping a few feet from Cassian. He took up a fighting stance and Azriel mimicked him.

At Cassian’s nod, they began. Azriel kept his eyes on his brother as they slowly circled one another, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Azriel’s thoughts quieted and he let himself slip into the focused calm he always found when sparring. He desperately needed this release, and Cassian was happy to provide it.

“Well?” Cassian needled. “Feeling a little rusty?” Azriel didn’t take the bait and kept his attention focused.

A second later, Cassian lunged. Azriel blocked the fist that flew at his face and returned with a jab to Cassian’s stomach. He dodged the hit and aimed a punch at Azriel’s ribs and their dance began. Azriel tried to get lost in the movements, tried to maintain the calm silence in his head as he ducked and weaved around Cassian’s assault. He aimed a blow at his brother’s ribs and turned at the last second to avoid a punch to the mouth. They were both panting and glistening with sweat as they moved. Their bodies were honed into fierce weapons only centuries of training could achieve. They each knew the other’s weaknesses well and were evenly matched. Kick, punch, hit, step—the maneuvers were as natural to them as breathing.

The thought of Eris sparring flitted across Azriel’s mind and he wondered if the male would be able to hold his own in a fight. The brief distraction cost him as Cassian drove his fist straight into Azriel’s gut. The air left him in a whoosh and he staggered, wheezing painfully.

“Something on your mind, Az?” Cassian’s teeth were bared in a vicious grin. Azriel snarled as he righted himself and charged. Cassian ducked under his arm and returned with a counterattack. Their dance picked up speed, the blows coming harder and with greater force as they each tried to gain the upper hand. “Talking might help,” Cassian panted as he sidestepped the sweep of Azriel’s leg.

“I’m fine,” Az ground out. His fist snapped out in a blur that would’ve put lesser males on the ground, but Cassian blocked it easily.

“Spare me the bullshit, Az,” Cassian shot back as his arm swung wide in an attempt to clap Azriel on the side of the head. He ducked and drove his fist up and it finally connected with Cassian’s ribs. He grunted in pain but didn’t slow. On and on it went until Azriel’s breath was sawing out of him. Cassian feinted left and then drove his elbow up into Azriel’s face. He turned his head at the last second to avoid a broken nose, but in the same breath Cassian hooked a leg around his ankle and jerked his leg back. 

Azriel landed on his back with a thud and his body bleated in pain. He groaned and wiped the sweat from his eyes, the bright sun near blinding as it beat down on him. And then a shadow blocked the light and he met Cassian’s hazel eyes, lit with amusement.

“When you decide to trust me again, I’m here,” he said, quietly enough that only Azriel could hear. Azriel dropped his gaze, shame pooling in his gut. But when Cassian held out his hand, Azriel grasped it and let himself be hauled to his feet. His entire body ached.

“My turn,” Nesta called from behind him and Azriel turned to face her. Her smile was bright and her eyes glittered with excitement and challenge. 

He could use a few more hours of distraction, he supposed. He grinned back at Nesta and took up the fighting stance once again.

***

The respite offered by the sparring lasted all of one minute upon returning to his apartment. Alone with his thoughts once more, the fear and dread slowly crept back up like twisting vines curling around his limbs and choking off his air supply. 

He tossed and turned all night, only managing a few minutes of sleep despite his exhaustion. The following day passed in a blur and by the late afternoon he had little memory of anything he’d done since he’d left his apartment that morning.

It had now been two full days since Azriel had contacted Eris and all he’d received in return was deafening silence. He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, he could barely breathe, and he was damn near close to pulling his own hair out. He needed to do something.

Seconds later, Azriel took a deep breath and stepped into the doorway of Rhys’s large office. He found his brother kneeling before a bookcase in the corner of the room.

“I need to talk to you,” Azriel said forcibly. Rhys jumped at the sound, banging his head loudly on a shelf in the process. He turned to Azriel with a glare. 

“Gods Azriel, don’t do that. Have you ever heard of knocking?” Rhys complained, rubbing the top of his head gingerly as he stood. “This is going to bruise,” he grumbled.

Azriel ignored him and stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him. Rhys took in the frantic look on Azriel’s face and sobered up immediately.

“What happened?” Azriel swallowed once. Twice. Dragged his hands through his hair and sat in the chair before Rhys’s desk.

“Nothing. I’ve heard nothing,” Azriel rasped. “I think he’s in trouble. I’m only here to tell you I’m going after him.” Rhys’s eyes flared with shock and his mouth fell open in disbelief.

“Are you out of your mind?” Rhys asked incredulously. Azriel didn’t respond and Rhys paled at whatever he saw in his face. “Tell me you’re not that stupid,” he said darkly. Azriel ground his teeth together to prevent the retort from slipping out. Rhys held his stare, those violet eyes flickering with fury as he realized Azriel was indeed serious. “Let me make this very clear,” he snarled softly. “Under no circumstances are you to step one foot into Autumn. Not even a shadow will cross that border.” His High Lord’s rage was palpable, the gleam in his eyes one of pure threat as he willed Azriel to obey.

Azriel was relieved to be sitting as that volatile power rippled through the room like a dark cloud and settled on his shoulders. He was certain his knees would’ve given out if he’d been standing. He said nothing. 

“I want to hear you say it. Do not go looking for Eris,” Rhys snarled. Azriel glared back at him, bit his tongue so hard he could taste blood in his mouth. He fought against the raw dominance in the command, threw every ounce of defiance he could muster back at his High Lord even as his shoulders bowed slightly under the force of it. “Azriel.” 

“You expect me to do nothing?” he bit out. He gripped the armrests so hard the wood groaned and splintered under his hands.

“You’ll get yourself and Eris killed just by going there! He knew the risks in allying with us.” Azriel jerked back at the words. He didn’t care if they were true, they made him want to tear Rhys apart.

They glowered at each other. “You will remain in Velaris until he contacts you,” Rhys said, the words dangerously soft. “That’s an order. Do you understand?” Azriel stiffened, and sweat beaded on his forehead as he resisted. Finally, Azriel nodded. 

“Get out. Go home and stay there,” Rhys snapped.

Azriel left as quickly as he had come, winnowing back to his apartment to begin gathering his weapons, anything he might need to protect himself and Eris once he got to Autumn. He rolled his neck and shook off the lingering effects of Rhysand’s power. 

He’d never actually agreed to anything, had only nodded in understanding. His brother could piss off. Not even an order from his High Lord would keep him from Eris. 

What if Beron already knew? Eris could be locked in a dungeon somewhere in the Forest House. Or worse. He cut off the thought before it could sprout and grow like poison in his blood. His hands trembled as he grabbed Truth Teller to strap to his back—

As if conjured by Azriel’s panicked thoughts, Eris winnowed directly into Azriel’s living room. Azriel whipped around and choked in relief. He was across the room and hauling Eris against his chest in a blink. He breathed in his intoxicating scent of cider and warm spice and let it wash over him. 

“Azriel? What happened?” Azriel didn’t answer. He gripped Eris tighter. 

Eris winced. The pained sound had Azriel stiffening instantly. He pulled back to look at Eris’s face and froze. 

His beautiful face was marred with purple and black bruises all along his jaw and cheekbones. His right eye was black and so swollen it was nearly sealed shut. Azriel gaped at Eris in shock and fury. A vicious snarl escaped his throat before he could choke it down and his entire body spasmed with rage. Carefully, with a trembling hand, Azriel lifted Eris’s shirt. His blood began roaring in his ears. 

Ghastly black and yellow bruises trailed up the right side of Eris’s torso. His ribs had evidently been broken mere hours ago and had only just begun to heal. Azriel couldn’t see or hear over the primal wrath coursing through his veins. 

“Who.” The word was low and promised violence. His shadows writhed and skittered around him as he slipped into a cold killing calm. 

“Who do you think?” Eris’s tone was light, unconcerned. Azriel stared and stared at those bruises. “Azriel.” Eris said his name softly. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. It’ll be healed by tomorrow.” Eris lifted Azriel’s chin with his fingers so their eyes met. That haunted look was back—his amber eyes were shadowed and dull. Azriel let his shirt fall back into place, feeling murderous at the sight of that beautiful skin so harshly marred.

“It’s not nothing, Eris,” Azriel growled. Eris flinched and Azriel’s fury deflated. Gods, he was an idiot. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, raking a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. What happened?” Azriel tried to slow his heart and took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

“I made the mistake of inquiring after my father's absence from court as of late. He didn't take well to being questioned,” Eris said wryly. At Azriel’s bewildered face, he sniffed and added, “Even I have my moments.”

Azriel could barely see the room around him through the red haze now coating his vision. He wanted to peel the skin from Beron’s bones, slowly, over the course of several weeks so he would be begging for death by the end. He’d snap every bone in his body until he was nothing more than saggy, bruised flesh. Or maybe a death by a thousand well-placed cuts, and then he’d remove his head from his body for good measure. He tried and failed to reign in his low growl.

“Easy,” Eris said. Azriel took another deep breath. He let the violent fantasies soothe him as he unclenched his fists. Eris arched the brow above his uninjured eye. “Do I even want to know what you’re thinking about?” he asked dryly. Azriel glared at him, unamused, and slumped onto the couch. Eris sat down beside him.

“Don’t joke about this,” Azriel ground out. “It’s taking all of my self control not to winnow to Autumn right now and slit his throat.” He met Eris’s eyes again and knew instantly that he was holding something back. “What else?” Azriel pressed, more gently this time. Eris glanced down at the floor. He swallowed thickly before speaking, hands trembling as he clenched them tightly in his lap.

“Things in Autumn have been…uneasy,” Eris started. “With each passing day Beron grows more paranoid and more violent. He’s convinced there are traitors in his court.” Azriel stiffened at the words, but Eris went on. “He demanded my brothers and I root them out, and deliver them to him for questioning.” His voice wobbled slightly and he paused for several seconds. “I had just gotten back from a hunt with Alix when we were both summoned to the throne room. My father had apprehended two snakes, he’d said. Two lords who have served Autumn for over 100 years. Good males.” Eris’s voice was a hoarse whisper now, and Azriel’s stomach sank as he suspected where this story was headed. “He had me execute one, Alix the other, right there in the throne room for all to bear witness. I did it. I—” He pressed his lips together, unable to continue, and looked away. Azriel reached out and turned his face. His amber eyes were rimmed with tears and the sight of them cracked something in Azriel’s heart. 

“You had no choice,” Azriel said, and meant it. To disobey Beron might’ve meant Eris’s own death. Azriel would let a thousand Autumn Court lords die if it ensured Eris’s safety. 

“They were good males,” he whispered again, miserably. “And yet all I could think about as I did it was what if it had been you? What if you—” Eris’s voice caught and his eyes were so full of agony and self loathing that Azriel’s heart splintered in his chest. He knew the feeling all too well. He gently pulled Eris against him, mindful of the bruises, and curled a wing around them both. As Eris cried out his anger, and misery, and guilt, perhaps his pain too, Azriel weathered it with him and did not let go.

***

When Eris had finally calmed down, he remembered that Azriel had called him there for something urgent. 

“Cassian and I went to the lake as planned. We…saw Koschei. He spoke to me.” And then the words were spilling out of him and Eris listened intently, his face paling further with each word from Azriel’s mouth until his skin was the color of fresh snow. When he spoke of the destruction he’d been shown, the fire that had raged through Autumn, Eris looked like he was going to be sick. When Azriel was finished, neither of them spoke for several minutes.

“You think this was a vision? Of what shall befall us all if Koschei is set free?” Eris asked. Azriel nodded. “The ancient past…” Eris murmured to himself, eyes distant and unfocused. Azriel let him ponder it. If anyone could decipher Koschei’s riddles it would be Eris. “I think…Koschei’s curse is tied to Autumn, but how, I can’t be sure. And I don’t think Beron is aware of it either,” Eris said darkly.

“What does it have to do with us, though?” Azriel asked. Or had Koschei merely been taunting him for his own amusement? “And why does it feel like he’s on the verge of breaking free? What’s changed?” 

“I don’t know,” Eris whispered, his eyes fixed on the floor. He reached out and took Azriel’s scarred hand in his, both of them falling silent once again. Azriel was afraid. “I can’t stay long,” Eris sighed. Azriel jerked his head up, hoping he’d misheard him.

“Eris, you can’t go back.” Now it was Eris’s turn to look at him in disbelief.

“I have to. There are people counting on me. People I need to protect.”

“And what about you? Who protects you?” Azriel’s panic was building again. Beron could be informed of Eris’s betrayal at any moment, and then he would be alone in facing his father’s wrath. Azriel couldn’t stomach it.

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Eris said hoarsely. Azriel ground his teeth in frustration. There was no reason for Eris to waste time worrying about him. After all, he wasn’t the one in constant danger, and he could take care of himself. Eris didn’t seem to notice his anger. His eyes were distant and haunted again, his mind far away.

“I should go.” He made to get up but Azriel wouldn’t release his hand.    

“Not yet, please.” He wasn’t above begging at this point. “I thought you were dead. Give me a few minutes to appreciate that you’re not.” Their time together was never enough, and every time Eris left it was like a piece of Azriel went with him. 

Eris’s gaze softened and he smiled faintly. Azriel pressed a kiss against that small smile, the touch feather light, and Eris melted into him. He gently guided Eris onto his back and brushed his lips softly against each bruise, willed them to heal quickly so Eris wouldn’t be in pain. And then Azriel worshipped every inch of his body, took him deep in his mouth until he was panting and trembling with pleasure. It wasn’t nearly enough, but he’d take anything Eris would give him. 

Hours after he’d left, Azriel could still taste the male on his tongue. He sat alone in the dark gloom of his apartment, his chest empty and hollow. His heart was miles away with Eris. As he laid down for the night and tried to sleep, Azriel sent a silent prayer to the Mother, pleading for Eris’s protection. He hoped with everything he was that it would be enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter

Tag list: @unanswered-stars @futurehunt @christeareads @jules-writes-stories

[andyxcds]

rosekiller microfic -- mark (aug 4) | @rosekillermicrofic

(๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧ Word Count: 809 tags: none, sorta fluffy (sorry for missing yesterday) i'd reccomend reading the previous part linked here, or you might be a tad confused, so sorry!!

ᓚᘏᗢ ...

Above the weighted blankets of Barty’s queen bed, Evan found himself held down and pressed by Barty’s calves. It was truly peculiar the way they fit each other perfectly; Evan had to admit that when pressed together, it was as though the ridges of their chests and bodies were made to fit like puzzle pieces.

Evan studied Barty’s face like a trick question he asked himself. Barty was a trick question. He was also the answer. But he was a paradox, a contradiction. So that made him a riddle. How was Evan going to solve him without running himself mad? He couldn’t. There was not enough time to slow down when Barty moved at a hundred miles per hour.

But it was slow. In that moment, it was very slow.

“How many more?”

“Five more.” Barty answered with his fingers tight around the camera. His eyes peered through the lens, taking in Evan’s pale face under white lighting.

“Five more till I rise,” Evan replied with his eyes shut. White foundation caked up in the creases of his forehead, and felt Barty press a finger to the spot between his eyebrows. The bunch faded as it was soothed away. Could Barty soothe the one inside his mind or was that another riddle collapsing in on itself?

“Try not to move. Motion doesn’t work well on dead guys,” Barty said. “Stop talking.”

Evan went rigid under Barty, tightening the muscles in his neck and arms as the wind flushed over his pale white skin.

“Window. Cold,” Evan tried to say without opening his mouth. The waves beneath the cliff still rung underneath his skin, unchanged by the hot bath Barty gave him. In his mind, he remembered Barty’s dripping hair once he dumped him in. They didn’t laugh when Barty got soap in his eyes but Evan was quick to turn the shower on to help rinse out Barty’s eyes. Soaked clothes hit the floor when Barty realized he could see again. At two am, ten minutes later, Evan offered to get the photos ready.

Barty took one last shot, the flash making a light silhouette in Evan’s darkened eyes. “You’ll live.”

“I did, then I died.” Evan said through gritted teeth.

“No, you’re right.” Barty leaned over to the right and swung his feet over Evan’s naked body. “You can get up now.”

Blue eyes shot open and met the light of Barty’s apartment and cringed when they couldn’t handle it. Evan rose with his hands at his side. Vampiric? Definitely.

“Fuck,” Evan said looking at the mirror before Barty’s bed.  “I feel like a vampire.”

“You couldn’t wait to say that. Because I thought that too.”

“Should’ve said so. I’m basically undead now.” It was said so matter-of-factly that Barty was certain Evan would think so once he saw the photos.

“C’mere. Look at the photos.” At once, Evan slid off the bed, pulling his shirt with him and found Barty sitting on a chair in his closet.

“Why the red light?” Evan could hardly see himself in the photos. What was Barty seeing?

“Evan, think. We can’t go anywhere. They’ll trace the photos.” Barty said, pulling strips into a bowl of water. Evan finally understood the size of that closet. It was a walk-in. It was Barty’s secret lair. He shut the door quickly.

Evan placed his hands on his lover’s shoulder. “They can’t trace a vampire.”

“Vampires don’t get caught on camera.” Barty felt Evan’s fingers wind upwards into his hair, then down to grasp his neck gently. The touch was cold and heavy as veined fingers caressed him. He wasn’t feeling any dramatic feelings, but that rising impression of attraction bubbled up in him.

“The photos are dead me. I am now undead.” Evan said dramatically and bore down into Barty’s neck, teeth and all. He heard Barty make a distant groan, laugh escaped. Evan continued moving his lips harshly around the bitten area, even as Barty continued to laugh as though he was being tickled.

Unsurprising as it was, Evan was a biter. He bit and sucked his fingers all through his childhood and Barty found out pretty late. Nothing was like finding out his best friend was going to bite his ear to wake him up after a mid-day nap in a loud and bright bar.

“Evan, you’re going to leave a mark. I don’t people thinking I’m taken,” Barty laughed, working at the strips in front of him.

The blond took his lips off Barty’s neck with a sigh. “How bad would it be for me to turn you into a vampire?”

“That seems like a big job for an illegally living human to do.”

“We can be vamps together, Barty.” Evan slid the door open and let himself out. “I’m gonna wash off. We’ve got a body to bury.”

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

@monthly-challenge 2024 | “first kiss” (but make it platonic)

Hi yes I’m posting another fic no I don’t know how. Enjoying it though. Artham Wingfeather my beloved.

read on A03

~~~

When Esben bursts through the doors, Artham shoots to his feet and expects the worst. He’d been daring to hope for hours now, keeping a sturdy faith in the Maker’s goodness, and that hope hadn’t once vanished or lessened—even after the sun set and the stars came alive, long after the moon made its journey across the midnight sky, and all the way up to the gentle but brilliant sunrise. He hadn’t lost his hope. He hadn’t lost his faith. 

But now, all the hope and faith in the world evaporates like water, leaving Artham with a sick, sinking hole splitting his chest apart. Something went wrong. Something went so terribly wrong. One of them didn’t make it. None of them made it. No one could help. No one could do anything. It’s all over now. No more can be done. 

Something went wrong.

Esben spins around, searching wildly. His eyes catch Artham’s and then he stills. His hair is greasy and tangled. There’s tear tracks on his face. 

Artham’s breath stops in his throat.

And then Esben laughs—or cries or sobs or shouts, or maybe all of them at once. And Artham’s breath returns; the sinking hole in his chest begins to mend itself. It’s okay.

“How are things?” He asks, which seems far too refined a question to ask in a situation like this, but it’s all Artham can think to say—and he wants to know. 

“Great! Perfect, just brilliant!” Esben laughs (it’s clearly a laugh this time) and gleefully runs his fingers through his hair. “Nia’s- she’s as bright and beautiful as ever, even- oh Artham, you should’ve seen her. As surely as I stand today, there’s never been a braver woman in all of Anniera—no, in all the world! She’s just- oh, I don’t know. I don’t know how she managed to do that. I could never, certainly… oh, surely not.”

He shakes his head, a somewhat horrified look coming upon his face, before he looks up, brightening. His eyes are shining like the sea. “It’s a girl.”

And then Artham does what he should have done the moment Esben opened those doors: he races forward, quick as the wind, and pulls his brother to himself, one hand on the back of his head. Esben cries, returning the embrace with shaking arms. 

Artham holds on tighter. 

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, hugging in the middle of a hallway. It could’ve been decades or millennia and Artham would have never pulled away. 

But then Esben is bouncing, unfurling his arms from his brother and taking a step back. His eyes are bright like sunlight despite the bags underneath. He looks free. “What are we doing, all the way out here? Come on, you have to meet her! Just think Artham, you have a niece now!” He grins. “How cool is that?”

Artham opens and closes his mouth. Oh. A… a niece. Him. He has a niece now. Oh. 

Esben chuckles. “You’re speechless. Y’know, I can always count on having a kid to shut your mouth for a few blessed minutes.” He winks, clearly joking, but Artham barely hears the words.

I have a niece. She’s a girl. I’m an uncle to a girl.

“I-”

“Come on!” Esben hurries forward, taking Artham’s hand like a child and rushing through the doors and into the bedroom. Artham blinks, following blindly. 

The lights are low, a quiet and steady dimness that feels comforting. The midwives must have left by this point, because all that remains is Nia, sitting against a tower of pillows in bed. She’s holding something small close to her chest. 

Artham gasps. His feet stumble. 

Nia looks up; she looks tired, with hair sticking to her face and dark spots under her eyes and lines on her forehead, but Esben was right: she’s as bright and beautiful as ever. There’s a glow that seems to radiate from her whole being, happiness and relief and gratitude all rolled into one. She smiles. “Hello, Artham.”

“Congratulations, my lady,” Artham stutters, because that’s the sort of thing he ought to say to someone who just gave birth. Right? He said it for Janner and Kalmar, didn’t he?

Nia dips her head in thanks, and Artham’s nerves are somewhat eased. That’s the sort of thing he ought to say, then. 

“Come on!” Esben urges, dragging Artham forward a few steps. “You have to see her!”

Artham realizes that he and Esben had walked in holding hands, and Nia had said nothing about it. She had only smiled. 

Somehow, Artham’s love for his sister-in-law grows. 

Esben leads him all the way to the edge of the bed, where he stops and grins so wide it seems his mouth will jump right off his face. Artham stands there dumbly. 

“Do you see her?” Esben asks dreamily. “Do you see how perfect she is?”

Artham leans forward slightly, eyes wide as he searches for the tiny thing. Nia smiles and gently tilts the bundle in her arms towards-

“Oh,” Artham breathes. “Oh.”

Because in Nia’s arms, wrapped in a soft blanket, is a baby; an unbelievably small, amazingly delicate baby. 

Artham leans even closer, watching the baby’s nose gently flare with silent breaths. Her eyes are shut, her skin is pink, and Artham thinks she may be the most perfect thing he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“She’s beautiful,” He murmurs, and Nia beams. 

“Do you want to hold her?”

Artham tears his gaze away from the baby, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

“Our child.” Nia tilts her head meaningfully. “Would you like to hold her?”

“I-” Artham looks to his brother, feeling oddly helpless. 

Esben grins, nodding eagerly. “Hold her. Hold your niece and say hello.”

Artham shuts his mouth, then opens it, then nods. 

There’s no need to ask for instruction on how to properly hold the newborn; Artham learned from Janner and Kalmar, and he doesn’t think he could ever forget the feel of an impossibly tiny human resting in his arms, or the immense responsibility it carries—the knowledge that you are the keeper of a helpless human being, all that stands between them and death. It’s a wonderful and terrifying feeling. 

Nia carefully moves the baby, a motion so smooth that the infant doesn’t stir. In seconds, the baby has passed from her mother’s chest to her uncle’s hands. Artham doesn’t dare look away from her.

She really is small. Smaller than her brothers when they were born.

A flutter of worry erupts in the Throne Warden’s chest. “Is she healthy?”

“Healthy as can be,” Esben answers, placing a cheerful hand over Artham’s shoulder. “We thought she was small as well. But, the midwives assured us that her size isn’t dangerous, and she’s been content as a thwap in a totato patch so far.”

“But we’re keeping a close eye on her,” Nia adds. “Just in case.”

“Just in case,” Esben echoes, quieter. 

Artham swallows. The baby doesn’t even stretch from his hand to his elbow. She is so, unfathomably small. 

She makes an equally small noise, and Artham’s eyes go wide as a (somehow smaller) hand reaches out of the blanket, plaintively waving. 

“It’s alright,” Artham soothes, voice soft like the blanket the newborn rests in. Using the hand that isn’t currently occupied, he holds out his index finger to her. 

She grabs it. Like instinct. 

Just like that, her noises cease, and she relaxes amidst the blanket. Artham suddenly finds that he is unable to move. 

She’s beautiful. She’s perfect. She looks like the Maker painted each and every detail with the softest paintbrush and the calmest colors. She looks like tiny blue waves lapping at a sandy shore, sea-birds gliding and chirping nearby. She looks like the music notes for the most stunning piece of music. 

She looks like a song.

Artham breathes out (though he isn’t sure how) and he thinks he smiles and he knows he cries, because how? How does one experience pure beauty like this, and live unmoved by it? It’s impossible, he believes. It’s impossible. 

The baby opens her eyes for a brief moment, blinking and yawning. They are brilliant. If true could be a color, that would be hers.

Artham pulls the baby closer, gazing deep into her face and attempting to memorize every shape of it, and every line. Every single detail. 

She’s still gripping his index finger with a gentleness he doesn’t think he could ever deserve. He wants to sob. If he did that, though, then he would probably drop her. 

Instead, he dips his head forward and presses his lips to her forehead, wondering at how new the skin feels. She has not yet been weathered and beaten by storms and sun. Artham finds himself grieving the day she will lose this newness, this softness, this remarkable state of being that’s unique to newborns. 

He lingers there. He doesn’t know for how long. She is so perfect.

It is in this moment that Artham Wingfeather’s heart shifts, allowing room for someone else to make a home there; a small space, filled with ocean waves and flapping birds and singing. A space for this innocent child that he holds in his arms. A space he will fight to the death for. He will die before this space becomes empty and overgrown, he decides. 

“As long as I live, I won’t let anything happen to you,” Artham promises, pulling away and staring into her sleeping face. “I promise. I promise by the Maker’s good hand, young…”

He pauses, and a realization strikes him. He looks up—perhaps for the first time in a very long while—and looks to the parents’ faces, which are both glowing and wet. 

“What’s her name?” He asks. 

Esben looks at Nia, and Nia looks at Esben. “We don’t know yet,” He says slowly. 

Nia smiles. “It will come as the Maker wills it. For now, I am content to call her mine—call her ours.” 

Artham looks back to the newborn, taking her in once more; her nose, her ears, her mouth, her cheeks, her eyes, her meager supply of hair. His heart begins to warm like a fire in a hearth. “Leeli.” 

The room quiets. 

“What?” Nia asks softly. 

“Leeli.” Artham smiles, and the fire inside his chest burns brighter. “Leeli Wingfeather. Her name.” 

He swallows, looking up before looking back down. “Leeli.” 

“Leeli,” Nia repeats, soft like the beginning of a song. 

Esben looks from brother to wife, then back again. “Where’s that name from, Artham?”

Artham thinks for a moment. “I’m not sure. It just… sounded like her.” 

“Leeli,” The High King murmurs. He sounds thoughtful. 

The room is quiet. Then: 

“I think it’s lovely.” Nia’s voice is strong through the dimness, and Artham wonders if she has a fire in her chest as well. “Leeli, Song Maiden of Anniera.”

“Leeli Wingfeather.” Esben smiles, nodding his head and shaking water droplets to the floor. “That’s perfect.” 

Artham turns back to the child in his arms, and he feels an odd respect for her, despite her unassuming size. She is the Song Maiden—something the kingdom has not had in many long years. Artham instantly knows that she will fill the land with music, and it will be the most beautiful music anyone has ever heard. 

He smiles once more, watching her sleep peacefully in his arms. “Hello, Leeli Wingfeather. We’ve been waiting for you a long, long time.” 

He smiles wider. “I can’t wait for you to learn to sing.”