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rip-quizilla · 9 months

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1405 Peach Tree Lane

Pairing: Older!Neighbor!Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: You like to watch your older, tatted shirtless neighbor now his lawn. He likes to watch you laying by your parents’ pool in those swimsuits that make his mouth water. Eventually, the inevitable happens when he invites you across the street for a drink.

Word Count: 8.2K

Tags: 🔥SMUT, modern au, age gap (Eddie 40s, Reader 20s), daddy kink, praise kink, degradation kink, slight breeding kink, spitting, light dom/sub, unprotected sex (reader has an iud), oral sex, p in v sex, shower sex, masturbation in a hot tub

(A/N: This is some of the filthiest shit I think I've ever written. You're welcome. Also I was very quick with the proofread, so if you see any spelling or grammar mistakes, no you don't.)

💜💜💜

Everyone in the posh gated community of Forest Hills knew about 1405 Peach Tree Lane.

The house was beautiful, as were all the houses in the upper-crust neighborhood- but the house wasn’t what people paid attention to.

Every housewife in the neighborhood knew that if they were lucky and timed their morning jog just right, they’d catch a glimpse of the toned, inked-up adonis who lived there while he shirtlessly mowed his lush green lawn.

You might not have done much speaking with the housewives in your parents’ neighborhood, but you knew about 1405 Peach Tree Lane- you had a perfect view of its front lawn from your lounge chair by the pool in your parents’ backyard. Luckily for you, all that separated your backyard from 1405 was a short wrought iron fence and a narrow stretch of road.

You didn’t mind living with your parents during the summers you spent home from college; they gave you plenty of freedom and while they were at work during the day, you got to spend the afternoon lounging by the pool, reading a book and soaking up the sun.

As well as soaking up the view of the way that same sunlight glinted off Mr. 1405’s sweaty, ink-riddled skin.

You didn’t speak to him- what would you even say? “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, my favorite part of the day is guessing what your tattoos mean.”? Or maybe, “Hey there neighbor, mind if I count the freckles on your shoulders? It’s for science.”

Eventually, the inevitable happened- he caught you staring.

He didn’t make it awkward, though. In fact, from the way he simply smiled and waved at you, you wondered if he thought your eyes meeting him had just been a coincidence, and you hadn’t been ogling him for the past thirty minutes and some change. You’d smiled back, thankful for your huge sunglasses that hid the way your eyes had widened under his attention, and waved in return.

An even bigger surprise had been that he spoke to you this time.

“That book any good?”

His voice, heavy with labored breathing under the exhaustion from finishing up his lawn work, had caught you completely off guard. You’d laughed nervously, sticking your bookmark between the pages and pushing yourself up from your face-down position on the flattened lounge chair.

“Oh! Ah-ha, uhm, yeah!” you shifted your weight back until you were sitting on spread knees and looking up at the source of the voice. On the other side of your parents’ fence stood Mr. 1405 Peach Tree Lane, sweaty and slightly sunburned on the tops of his shoulders. His curly brown hair had been piled into a messy knot atop his head, and you took note of the details that you hadn’t noticed from far away- a smattering of silver studs that decorated his ears, along with one on his nose. Five o’clock shadow that dusted his jawline. A more detailed view of his tattoos, some of which looked older than others but all of which looked very, very sexy on this man who had so much sex appeal already.

The crinkling of his plastic water bottle as he squeezed about half of it into his mouth filled the silence between you. After a loud gulp he piped up again.

“What’s it about?”

Your brow wrinkled confusedly before you remembered that he had just asked you about your book. “Oh!” you replied dumbly, looking down at the book as if you had completely forgotten that books even existed- looking at him had taken up your entire mental capacity, apparently. “It’s, uh, it’s a memoir! It’s this cool old lady’s life story, she does not hold back, so the narration is pretty hilarious a lot of the time.”

The inked-up Greek god smiled and nodded, eyebrows raising in interest. “That does sound good.” he mused, and his voice took on a slyer tone when he added, “What’s your definition of old, like thirty-five?” He chuckled as if he’d just told a funny joke, but your smile had all but fallen from your face.

“That’s not old,” you replied, not taking the joke, “This author was in her late seventies when she published this book, but even with that being said, this book is just told through such a youthful spirit- it’s easy to forget how old the author is when looking at her words.” You gripped the paperback a little tighter in your sweaty hands. “Plus, old people definitely don’t have the energy to mow their own lawns, and I have a feeling you’re not thirty-five.”

That seemed to catch him off-guard. A surprised laugh escaped him, exploding from his lips before they formed an intrigued grin and his arms crossed over his tattooed chest.

“Oh yeah? How old do I look, then?”

You grinned back, making a show of removing your sunglasses so that you could peer at him with greater focus. “Hmmmmmm…thirty-six?”

Another laugh, this one heartier than the last. “You flatter me, sweetheart.”

God, his voice is like brown sugar.

You tried again. “Forty, then.”

“Older.”

“No way.”

His grin became a smirk. “Are you patronizing me right now?”

You threw up a girl scout salute. “Scout’s honor, I would never.”

He chuckled. “Well, girl scout, I’ll be forty-five next month.”

“I’ll be sure to warn my parents about the rager you’ll be throwing.”

He peered up at your house behind you, like he just now noticed its- and your parents’- existence. “Nah,” he said, “No ragers for me, that ship sailed when I was your age.”

You smiled sweetly, placing your sunglasses atop your head. “At least let me bake you a cake, then, wouldn’t be neighborly to let you have a boring birthday.”

“You’d bake a cake for ‘lil old me, sweetheart?” His tattooed hand splayed over his heart, sweaty and shining in the blaring afternoon sun.

You giggled. You could get used to Mr. 1405 calling you ‘sweetheart’.

“Sure thing, just tell me what name to write in between ‘happy birthday’ and ‘forever young’.”

A flash of dazzling white teeth replied, “Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

That was when you rose a step above the housewives of Forest Hills- to them, he was still Mr. 1405, but to you? He was Eddie Munson.

You entertained yourselves with little conversations here and there whenever Eddie worked out on his lawn. You, always in a swimsuit and him, never wearing a shirt. You would ask him about his tattoos- what they symbolized, which ones he’d drawn himself before they were replicated on his flesh. He would ask you about what you were reading- it was always changing. Sometimes nonfiction, sometimes romance, fantasy, lit fic… he seemed impressed by your insatiable reading habits.

One day, however, he’d been particularly interested in a book whose cover bore a bare-chested gentleman and particularly busty woman in a corset.

“What’s today’s read, girl scout?” Eddie had greeted you with a nod toward the obviously risque reading material and a knowing smirk as he let his arms dangle over the black bars of your fence.

You looked up, glowing from the sweat that’s gathered on your dewy summer skin and smiled tightly. “Oh, just a period romance. Ball gowns, forbidden love, the scandalous touching of hands without gloves on- things like that.”

“From the looks of that cover, I don’t think their hands are the only naked body parts touching in that story.”

You laughed, glancing at the cover as Eddie waggled his eyebrows. “You’re probably right, but who knows? I’m only on the second chapter. I’ll keep you posted though.” you punctuated that last part with a wink.

“Oh please do, princess,” Eddie said with a wolfish grin. “I love a good smutty romance novel.”

You gawked. “No way you read this shit, you’re bluffing.”

Eddie raised a hand as if swearing on a bible. “Scout’s honor.” he said, mimicking your swear from the day you’d met.

You shook your head, smiling ear to ear. “You must be the first man I’ve met who openly admits to reading smut, and I respect that.”

Eddie shrugged. “Easiest way to know what women want- they’re literally writing me an instruction manual. It’d be stupid not to read them.”

You bit your bottom lip before you could stop yourself, making a mental note of that little tidbit of information. “And you enjoy them?”

“It’s porn, sweetheart,” he said, gazing at you incredulously. “Who wouldn’t enjoy it?”

“It’s porn with a plot.”

“I’m a sucker for a good plot, especially if the plot involves sucking.”

You barked out a laugh. “And one could also argue that it’s more emotional porn than physical.”

“Are you insinuating that I don’t have a heart? Because I’ve got one, princess, and it bleeds, it yearns-”

Eddie pantomimed grasping at his own heart in his chest, putting on a fucking one-man show as he hung onto the fence for dear life as if his heart were truly bleeding out. You laughed- that was something that seemed to happen more when Eddie was around- you laughed more than usual, so much that you found your cheeks aching whenever he walked away.

This time, something else ached as you watched him return to his lawn. As you continued to read, you were acutely aware of the heat between your thighs, the wetness that accumulated as you pictured corseted girls and muscled viscounts making eyes at each other across a sea of dancing courtiers. You imagined yourself, cornered in a rich rose garden bathed in moonlight, struggling to stifle your moans as a man in a tailcoat left a mark on your neck. You felt his hand hiking up your layers of petticoats until it reached your thigh, the only thing separating skin from skin being the white fabric of his gloves. You pictured his eyes, brown and bottomless as he moaned at the feeling of your hands tangled and tugging on his soft brown curls-

Uh oh.

You took a deep breath, bookmarked your page, and slipped into the cold water of the pool. You sincerely hoped that Eddie hadn’t been serious about an update on the smut in your novel; you didn’t exactly want to let slip that at some point, you’d stopped picturing the viscount and started picturing him.

But would he mind? Would he be upset to know that you’d pictured his hands on you, his lips on your pulse, your fingers in his hair?

You weren’t sure he would.

In fact, you had a feeling he might actually picture you in situations that weren’t too different. After all, you weren’t blind- you’d noticed the way his eyes would flit down from your face when the two of you were talking. He didn’t seem to put much effort into hiding his once-overs, his raking gaze that seemed more than pleased by the way your swimsuits hugged your curves, pulled your cleavage together, cut higher on your hip than your shorts ever would. Whenever you pulled yourself up from lying on your stomach, you’d seen how his eyes followed your ass hungrily as it left his line of sight.

That was the moment that you realized- Eddie Munson, more than likely, wanted to fuck you.

And you definitely wanted to fuck him.

So the next time he came over to see you after mowing his lawn, you offered him a beer.

“I’m already halfway through mine,” you said, leaning back to give him a full view of the way the sweat on your breasts shone in the hot sun. “don’t make me day drink alone.”

A salacious grin curled on his plush pink lips. “I could be tempted,” Eddie peered at the cooler beside you. “What are you drinking, sweetheart?”

You opened the cooler so that he could see the six pack of light lagers in shiny green bottles. Eddie wrinkled his nose distastefully. “Alright, young padawan,” he sighed, unlatching the gate to your backyard. “It’s time you learned your first lesson from Master Munson.” He didn’t enter the backyard, simply opened the gate and waited for you to join him outside your parents’ property.

You quirked an eyebrow; this was new territory. That wrought iron fence had always served as a sort of barrier between the two of you, never occupying the same space and keeping each other at arm’s length- flirty banter, but with boundaries.

Now, you smiled shrewdly as you slipped on your flip flops and crossed the threshold into Eddie’s space, following him across the narrow street to his driveway.

“Oh so I’m your student now, Master?” you quipped, launching him into a dark chuckle and a shake of his curls.

“Christ,” he cursed under his breath low enough that he probably thought you hadn’t heard- but you did. “Well, your college friends are obviously shitty teachers if your drink of choice is a basic ass bottle you can grab at the goddamn gas station.”

You scoffed, “Oh, what- are you trying to say you’re one of those pretentious beer snobs who only drinks micro-brewed IPA’s named after bad puns?”

Eddie laughed out loud, smiling ear to ear at you over his shoulder. “Oh that’s exactly what I am, princess!” The harsh sunlight finally relented as the two of you crossed into Eddie’s garage, and you followed him in a beeline to the old refrigerator in the corner opposite from his impressive-looking toolbench.

You nearly moaned with relief when the cool air from the fridge hit you as Eddie opened the door and grabbed a couple of unmarked silver cans from the middle shelf. You eyed them cautiously, which Eddie saw and snorted at when he saw your expression. “Not poisoning you, sweetheart, no need to worry.” He opened a door beside the fridge that you guessed- judging by what you could see past the doorway- led to his kitchen. “A friend of mine is a home-brewer, he gives these to me and the guys for free. Way better than any cookie-cutter shit you’ll find at a college party.” He held the door open for you, nodding his head toward the doorway. “You coming inside? It’s hot as hell out here.”

You hadn’t expected him to invite you into his home; it occurred to you suddenly that you were still only wearing your swimsuit. Smiling shyly, you stepped through the doorway, the chill of the air conditioning rolling goosebumps over your damp skin. Eddie stepped into the kitchen and immediately began opening the cans, handing one to you.

You eyed the can cautiously, raising an eyebrow at him. “Do I want to know what I’m about to drink?’

He smiled mischievously, inclining his head toward you as he held his can aloft. “First lesson, padawan- trust your master.” He tilted the can in your direction, to which you sighed and tapped your can to his.

Your eyes widened in surprise when the cold, bubbly liquid hit your lips. It wasn’t anything like you were expecting- instead of the tepid wheaty taste that you were used to. At first the drink was tart, but after a second it faded into a fruity dryness that reminded you of white wine. Its flavor was so light that you couldn’t even tell you were drinking beer.

“This is beer?”

Eddie chuckled. “Technically it’s a sour, but yes- it’s a type of beer. Dustin said it was a champagne sour, so if you like wine then hopefully this’d be up your alley.”

You smiled as you took your second sip. “I do like wine.” you murmured, testing the flavors on your tongue. “Like this, too. Your friend ever think about selling what he brews?”

“Dustin?” Eddie asked, laughing as if the question were something funny. “Oh I have no doubt he’ll try to sell it one day, but he’s not going to even think about it until he knows he’s perfected his recipe.”

As you took another sip of the cold drink, you felt another wave of goosebumps run through you. Coincidentally, this was the moment that Eddie fell perfectly silent. You peered over your can- his eyes were fixed on your chest. You became acutely aware that the goosebumps had resulted in your nipples growing so hard, you thought if something-anything- were to accidentally brush against them, you might moan from the sensitivity.

Stifling a smirk, you shivered and hugged your upper arms. “Brrrrr it’s cold in here!” you said coyly, “I guess my body temperature got a little too used to the heat.”

Eddie’s chest heaved slightly at the way your tits bounced and squeezed together when you shivered. He cleared his throat, looking down at the beer can in his hand for a moment. “I’ve got a hot tub, you know,” He spoke up, peering at you to gauge your reaction. “Downstairs. You’re welcome to it.”

You took another sip. “Only if you join me.”

His dark eyes snapped up to yours, lips curling up at one corner. “Yes ma’am.” he said, his voice lowered an octave and a bit huskier than before. You held his eye contact, mirroring his lopsided grin with a charged, heavy-lidded gaze.

Eddie led you to a staircase down the hall and said he’d be right back with a towel for you after he changed into swim trunks.

“Aw, no speedo?” you smirked. Eddie appeared unphased. “Mental note,” he murmured to himself, “the princess is eager to see my thighs.”

You giggled, “There might be more tattoos there I haven’t seen yet,” you countered, “How am I supposed to keep figuring you out if I don’t know the meaning of each and every one?”

Eddie placed his forearm above your head on the wall, leaning into it until he was close enough for you to feel his breath on your hairline. “You know, you seem to spend a lot of time staring at my body, kid-” You bristled at his blatant omission of the nicknames you liked. “-I’m starting to feel objectified.”

You forced the smile from your face, looking up at him defiantly. “I could say the same thing about you, Mr. Munson,” you replied, “-and I’m not a ‘kid’.”

His position didn’t change as his eyes raked over your nearly naked body, drifting from your eyes to your lips and catching on your cleavage. “Don’t I know it, sweetheart.” he whispered, before pushing off the wall. “Hot tub’s already heated, just push off the cover and hit the green button. I’ll be down in a sec.”

And then he was walking down the hall to what you could only assume was his bedroom. For a moment, you thought about following him… but if you were honest with yourself, you were actually pretty curious about this hot tub. So down the stairs you went, carrying a silver can of sour in each hand.

Eddie’s basement was cozy, but he had utilized the space to its full potential. The majority had been filled with workout equipment to create a home gym, the walls lined with floor to ceiling mirrors that created the illusion of a larger space than it actually was. Sitting on stylish wooden slats was the hot tub, topped with a brown leather cover. To the right of the hot tub was a door with a small window that was just at your eye level. Upon closer inspection… yep, that was a sauna. Eddie had a sauna.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you made a mental note to ask Eddie what he did for a living- as far as you could tell, he was the only one who lived here. How did a single guy in his forties have so much money to burn?

Placing yours and Eddie’s drinks down on a nearby surface, you removed the cover from the hot tub and pressed the green button as Eddie had instructed, and settled into the hot, bubbling water. God, it was relaxing. Just then, you heard footsteps descending the stairs.

Eddie appeared, his hair let down from his normal messy bun so that it fell in dark chocolate curls that cascaded over his shoulders. His swim trunks, simple and black with little white skulls lining the cuffs above his knees, hugged his thighs in a way that made you salivate. Tattoos you'd become all too familiar with danced across his skin, and you suddenly felt the need to taste them.

Eddie smirked when he saw you getting an eyeful without even trying to hide it. “How’s the water?”

You hummed, relaxing further into jets against your back. “Sooooooo nice.” You sighed.

Eddie climbed into the hot tub to join you, making you squeal as he practically fell into the water, splashing you as he submerged his head just enough to wet his hair and shake it out like a golden retriever.

You giggled, doing your best to ensure that your hair wasn’t wet enough to make you look like a wet rat. “I’m starting to think you’re a teenage boy trapped in the body of a middle-aged man.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes at you, tattooed arms stretching out over the edges of the tub as he relaxed into the seat across from you. “Hey now,” he said, voice laced with warning. “Careful with the term middle-aged there, kiddo.”

You matched his gaze, challenging. “Kiddo?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s gaze was heavy, cocky as he looked down his nose at you. “Practically a baby.”

You grinned. “That one, I don’t mind.”

Eddie’s smile grew in tandem. “Oh, she likes to be ‘baby’, but not ‘kiddo’, huh?”

You leaned back into the water, looking up at the ceiling with a smug smile on your lips. “That’s right, grandpa.”

Suddenly, you felt a tug on your ankle and you were underwater. You emerged, spitting chlorine out of your mouth, struggling to force it from your nose as Eddie’s cackling rang in your ears. You gasped, sputtering in shock as you tried to catch your breath.

“You are a child!” you squealed as he tugged your ankle again- you hadn’t noticed his hold still grasping tightly- not forceful enough to bring you back under the surface but enough to remind you that he could.

“So not a grandpa, then?” Eddie teased, stroking the curve of your ankle with his thumb.

You gritted your teeth together, strategizing. “No, that would be too kind. You’ve got the maturity of a teenager. Luckily for me-”

Using Eddie’s grip on your ankle as leverage, you forcefully pulled yourself forward by your leg and launched yourself right into his lap, bending your knees so that a second later, you were straddling him.

You watched triumphantly as Eddie’s eyes widened, looking up at you with breath that hitched in his throat as you finished your sentence.

“-I know how boys like you think.”

The humor between the two of you dissipated in that instant, Eddie’s eyes blown wide and dark as he watched the way the water in your hair dripped down your neck and between your breasts, which were now inches from his face. If he leaned forward, he could catch that bead of water with his tongue. If he reached up, he could hold your tits in his hands, test their weight. Press them up, squish them together, squeeze…

You felt him growing hard beneath you, and smirked triumphantly. “See?” You said smugly, grinding against him teasingly. “Right on schedule.”

Eddie chuckled, his breathing strained as he shook his head exasperatedly. “Got me all figured out, do you princess?”

You nodded, finding your rhythm as you continued to grind against his hardening cock through his swim trunks. “I think I’m starting to.”

You shivered despite the warmth as Eddie trailed his hand from your ankle up your leg, your hip, your waist…finally resting at the apex of your sternum to splay across your neck. You hadn’t been expecting that- you faltered, breath hitching as he tested out a gentle squeeze and hummed to himself.

“Mmmmm…” He looked you over with passive attention, taking account of the way your eyes widened and your pulse quickened under his thumb. “...you know, I’m starting to figure you out too.” His other hand cupped your hip, pulling you to sit directly on his erection and holding you in place so you couldn’t grind. “You’re used to getting away with shit you know you shouldn’t do, isn’t that right, baby?” You sighed softly in response, pinned into place by his lust-blown eyes. You balanced on a precipice- on one side, obedience, which you knew would satisfy him. On the other, eventual obedience with a little bit more fight; more of a gamble, but you were willing to bet that he would enjoy that best.

“You really thought you could eye-fuck me every damn afternoon,” Eddie said, his hand on your neck moving lower to fondle one of your breasts over your swimsuit. “-and there wouldn’t be consequences?”

You breathed heavily, chest rising and falling under his hand. “I mean…” you drawled, still smiling smugly despite his authoritative tone of voice. “...I was kinda hoping for consequences.” you brought both hands out of the water, gesturing vaguely to the room around you. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

A second passed before Eddie’s hands suddenly grabbed both of your wrists, forcing them behind your back. You gasped, cheeks hot from the water and the position you were in, straddling his lap with both shoulders shoved back to force your breasts front and center. He saw the look in your eyes and leaned forward, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“I can get rough sometimes, baby.” he said, voice low and husky. “Tell me it’s too much at any point and I’ll stop, okay?” You nodded, a shy little mm-hm escaping your bitten lips. Eddie crossed your wrists over each other, holding them behind your back with one hand as his newly free one reached up to caress your cheek.

“Fucking Christ, you’re cute.” he mumbled. “Cute little baby, all alone in her parents’ big house all day, so bored she had to go and be a slut for the neighbor. That right, baby?”

Your eyes were wide and wet, mouth opened in a slight pout as you ground your freed hips on his hard cock once again, whimpering needily. You nodded your head up and down, eager to hear more filthy words tumble from his lips.

Eddie wasn’t satisfied with that. A hand came up to grasp your hair at the base of your neck, tugging on it firmly but not painfully to force your head to nod up and down emphatically. “Use your words, baby, say ‘yes, daddy, I was a slut.’”

You gasped, surprised. You’d never called anyone daddy besides your actual father, and you’d certainly never called anyone that in the bedroom- or a hot tub, for that matter. However, his brazen demand that you call him that while you straddled him like this sent rolling waves of pleasure straight to the apex of your thighs.

“Y-yes… daddy…” You struggled against your instinct to be embarrassed, arching your back against your restrained hands and looking down shyly at your cleavage. “...I was a slut.”

“Look at me.”

Your eyes flicked up to his, wide and obedient. He was smiling at you, beaming with pride and adoration. His hand slid from your hair to the back of your neck, pulling your face to his. “Good girl, baby.” he praised, “I’m gonna kiss you, is that okay?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes, please!”

That earned you a chuckle. “So polite, baby girl, good job.”

Eddie’s lips felt like the most comforting thing that a person could feel on their skin. His kiss felt like fresh sheets still warm from the dryer. His tongue was like a strawberry that was perfectly ripe, sweet and wet and a rush of relief. He explored you, he learned you, his lips devoured all they could reach and whenever they couldn’t reach, his tongue took over to fill in the blanks.

As you whimpered and squirmed in his lap, Eddie cooed, “What’s the matter, baby, something wrong with your legs?”

You shook your head, moaning into his mouth. “I need something on my clit, Eddie.”

“Something? You’ll just take anything on that clit baby? Is that what you're saying?”

You panted, straining against his rock hard dick for some kind of friction. He was right, you would take anything. “Yes, please touch me, Eddie.”

He made no move to do so, only looking at you pointedly with his eyebrows raised. When you realized your mistake, you corrected, “Please touch me, daddy.”

He smiled smugly, a cat watching a mouse. “Good girl,” he praised, “but I’m not sure you’ve earned that.”

Your face fell, eyes going wide as your lips formed a full-on pout. “But-” you began to stutter, but Eddie wasn’t finished.

He let go of you, pushing you gently off you and guiding you under the water to one of the seats in the corner of the tub. The jets coming off it were strong, nearly too much on your back as you turned to sit, but Eddie stopped you before you could settle into the seat.

“Princess, I want you to keep your knees open and ride your pussy on that jet stream until you cum.”

Your jaw dropped open. Whipping your chin over your shoulder to look at him in his seat opposite you, you stared and waited for him to specify or maybe apologize for misspeaking- there’s no way you heard him right. But then he repeated himself, and you realized that yes, you had.

“Press your pussy up against that jet stream under the water, and make yourself cum. Don’t use your hands. Don’t rush. I want you to fall apart in my hot tub, and I’m going to stroke my dick while I watch you do it. That okay, sweetheart?”

You were learning a lot of new information about your neighbor today.

You smiled devilishly over your shoulder at him, taking in the sight of him lounging in the opposite corner of the tub as he took in the sight of you. “You’re a kinky motherfucker, aren’t you?”

Eddie reached across the tub and wound an arm around your waist, pulling you in for a quick but heated kiss. “Yeah, I am.” he murmured into your lips before pushing you back toward the jets. “Now make yourself cum, I want you tight.”

He laughed at the pathetic little whimper that you let slip involuntarily as you situated yourself against the jet stream. You balanced your weight on your knees, spreading your legs enough to open your pussy further inside your swimsuit. Once the pulsing stream of water made contact with your clit, your automatic impulse was to flinch away; the stream was strong, almost too strong. However, with a little shifting and repositioning, you eventually found an angle that pulled a moan from your mouth that sounded almost pornographic.

“That’s it, baby girl,” you heard Eddie’s rough voice behind you, and you couldn’t help but sneak a peak over your shoulder at him. Eddie sat with legs spread open and one arm slung over the lip of the tub, his other hand palming the erection you knew was only growing harder over his swim trunks. This told you he was a patient man, a man who liked to be teased a little before taking what he wanted. A man who liked to play with his food before he ate it.

You could play, too.

You pulled your eyebrows together, pouting your lips the way you’d seen him react to earlier. “Am I doing it right for you, daddy?” You moved your hips up and down against the jet, putting on a little show for him.

Eddie raised a brow, amused. “I don’t think I can answer that question for you, sweetheart.” he said, sighing heavily with pleasure as he tilted his head this way and that to take you in from every angle. “Don’t worry about me, baby, just make yourself feel good.”

You smiled shyly, nodding in response and turning your attention back to the jets. You maneuvered your hips against them, grinding on the strong jetstream as it hit your clit at angles that you didn’t even know existed. You lost yourself in the sensation, letting your eyes fall closed and humming little sounds to yourself as your heart rate picked up, that familiar pleasure bubbling up in your lower belly as your movements grew faster and more desperate.

Eager to see if Eddie was enjoying himself as much as you were, you glanced over your shoulder to look at him. What you saw was breathtaking- Eddie, his wet curls clinging to his dewy skin, muscles flexing under his tattoos as he fisted his cock underwater. You couldn’t see it clearly due to the raging bubbles, but the flesh-colored underwater blur was enough for you to know exactly what he was doing. You had known he would jack off to you- he’d outright told you he planned to- but seeing it was enough to turn you on so much that it became the thing that pushed you over the edge.

“Daddy, I’m cumming!”

You moaned, mouth hanging open as you rode out your orgasm against the harsh stream of the jets, overwhelmed and overstimulated by the physical feeling and the intense eye contact that you held with Eddie the entire time as your body gyrated and spasmed. He watched you with hungry eyes, lapping up the scene in its entirety and committing every second to memory.

“Good girl, good fucking girl, keep fucking that jet, baby.”

You whimpered, hips jerking away from the stream as it hit your clit at an angle that was a little too intense, and your limp, still-needy body floated over to Eddie. He chuckled, still stroking his cock lightly in the warm water. “Aw, I’m sorry baby, was that too much?”

You shook your head, still eager for him- he’d barely even touched you, and yet you were so desperate for this man. “No, I can take more.”

His eyes had a darkness to them that made your breath hitch. “How much can you take, sweetheart?”

You moved to straddle your knees on either side of one of his thighs, not close enough to grind against his cock, but certainly in a perfect position to rub your pussy along his leg, teasing him. “I’ll take whatever you wanna give me, daddy.”

A low groan sounded from deep in Eddie’s chest. “You might regret saying that one, babe.”

You couldn’t resist matching his warning with a challenge. “Bring it on.” you said sweetly, and it incited a little chuckle in him. He reached back and pressed a button on the hot tub, causing all of the bubbles to stop.

“Get out, dry off.” he said, nodding to the neatly folded towels he’d placed beside the hot tub. “You look like you could use a shower.”

You stayed put, confused. “You… but…”

He cut you off, cupping his wet hands against your face. You could feel the pads of his fingers on your cheeks, wrinkled from prolonged time under the water’s surface. “Sorry, sweetheart, I forgot you don’t like following instructions unless you know you’re getting something out of it.” You scoffed at his condescending tone, but all he did was smile. “What I meant to say was- get out. Dry off. I’m going to fuck you in my shower. Mmkay?”

Your eyes widened, excited by his words and elated by a strange submissive, post-orgasmic euphoria. “Okay.” you replied, but when you saw his testy look in response you quickly amended, “Okay daddy.”

“Good girl.”

The two of you dried off before heading back upstairs. Eddie let you down the hall to his bedroom, which you were sure was filled with so many interesting mementos on the walls that you were sure it would take you hours to study all of it. The first thing to catch your eye was the golden record, framed and mounted beside his dresser. When Eddie saw you looking at it, he supplied an answer without waiting for you to ask.

“Ever heard of a band called Corroded Coffin?”

You searched your brain but came up empty. “No, I don’t think I have.”

Eddie chuckled to himself, like you’d just participated in a joke you weren’t in on. “Most people haven’t. But I bet you’ve heard the song Upside Down on the radio, yeah?” He hummed a couple bars of the chorus, which you recognized instantly.

“Oh yeah! I love that song!”

Eddie grinned. “‘Preciate it, babe.”

Shocked, you glanced up at the record and back to him. “Wait, you wrote that song?”

He shrugged as if to brush it off, but you could tell he was proud. “It was a group effort, my band and I wrote and recorded it together. After that, though, when the offers for record deals and tours and shit started pouring in, it became clear to most of the band members that this wasn’t what they wanted to do for the rest of their lives- band broke up on good terms, we just had some differences when it came to future plans.” He reached up and stroked the frame affectionately with his thumb. “But one-hit-wonder money was still enough to get my name out there, make some smart investments. I’m a music producer now.”

So that’s how he made all this money. The big empty house made sense now. “That’s pretty cool, actually.” you said, smiling at Eddie. You relished the sensation of his hands as they slid around your waist.

“You wanna see something even cooler?”

Before you could answer, Eddie was scooping you up into his arms and tossing you over his shoulder. You squealed, laughing as his palm hit your ass cheek with a loud smack! He carried you into his bathroom, placing you on his vanity counter before kissing the laughing smile right off your face. You felt his hands as they worked your bathing suit off you, freeing your breasts from the confines of the damp fabric. Eddie wasted no time, pulling one of your tits into his hand and encircling your nipple with his mouth, sucking sensually. You moaned, hands fisting into his hair. He only left your skin to turn around and turn on the shower, giving the water a chance to heat up.

Once the bathroom had sufficiently filled with steam, Eddie picked you up from the counter, pulling your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. You kissed him greedily, wetly, and hungrily as he walked the two of you into his spacious tiled shower, which was larger than your dorm room closet back at school.

You relaxed your legs around him in a silent ask for Eddie to put you down, which he obliged. The moment your feet hit the wet tiled floor, you began to sink to your knees until…

You snorted.

“Why do you still have your swim trunks on?”

Eddie had taken the time to take off your bathing suit, but you hadn’t even realized that even after carrying you into the shower, he hadn’t even taken a second to undress himself.

He looked down, noticing this for the first time, same as you. “I, uh… I don’t know. I was-” he flashed you a smirk that was equal parts embarrassed and sexy. “-preoccupied, I guess.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you knelt before him, now eye-level with the drawstring of his swim trunks. “Well let me fix that, then.” you said softly, working your delicate fingers into the waistband and pulling his trunks down until they hit the floor.

God. He was a sight to behold. And you were right, he did have thigh tattoos. They were large, twisting images of hellish creatures, undoubtedly older but still in good shape since- judging by the paleness of the skin they decorated- they probably never saw the light of day.

You reached up, lightly tracing them as you turned your gaze to his cock. It was at full mast, eager and waiting for your mouth to encircle it and, hopefully, make Eddie moan your name.

Which he did.

The way your lips covered the head of his cock, the way your tongue generously licked the shaft under, over, around, the way your hands were warm and welcoming as they lightly played with his balls- all of it made him moan, gasp, groan your name. He called you baby, called you princess, moaned and pulled your hair as he fucked your mouth, and you just about burst into flames when he shoved his cock so far down your throat that you swallowed on it accidentally, pulling a growled “Goddamnit, sweetheart, fuck-” from his lips.

When he pulled you off his dick by your hair, his eyes were humorless and hungry. He crouched down, leveling your eyes under the hot water from the showerhead.

“Are you on birth control, sweet girl?” he asked.

You nodded, “I have an IUD.”

He kissed your forehead firmly, one hand still fisted in your hair. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Now I can grab a condom, they’re right over there in the cabinet under my sink.” he continued, nodding vaguely in the sink’s direction. “But baby, I have been fantasizing about the way your pussy’s gonna feel for a long ass time and I hate to ask you this, and you’re allowed to say no, but-”

“Fuck me raw Eddie.” You wanted it. You needed it. You needed him. “I fantasize about it too. I think about it every day, I touch myself to you before going to sleep and wake up wishing your cock was the thing waking me up. When I’m lying by the pool reading those stupid smutty novels and some lord is fucking a lady in waiting up against a wall, I can’t focus on it! I can’t because I want it to be you and I want to feel your cock inside me, and I want it to be your cum that drips down my thighs and your lips on my-”

He cut you off there, splaying his free hand on your neck and kissing you until you were laid horizontally on the hot, wet floor. He climbed on top of you, and in a moment your mouth fell open at the sensation of his hard cock splitting you open from the inside. He didn’t spend a moment waiting for you to adjust to his size or murmuring praises into your ear- he knew you wanted all of him, and you knew he wanted all of you, and that was all you needed. You moaned, you practically screamed, and above all you clutched him for dear life.

“Dirty girl,” Eddie growled into your ear, thrusting into you deep and hard. “Dirty books, dirty mind-”

He leaned back so that his face was directly above yours and grabbed your cheeks, squeezing to force your mouth open. Your lips parted, and Eddie spat harshly into your mouth before shoving your mouth closed around it. His eyes were feral, wild with lust and dominance. “Swallow.” he commanded, you obeyed in an instant. He felt your throat moving against his hand and smiled deviously. “Dirty mouth, too.”

He picked up his pace, spearing into you at a pace so relentless that you couldn’t even keep track of the noises coming out of your mouth- an incoherent stream of sounds and swear that would have made a sailor blush. He matched your dirty noises with his own, all the while dicking you down into his shower floor as your brain went haywire at the lewd noises of skin slapping against skin that echoed through the bathroom.

“God, this pussy is so fucking tight,” Eddie groaned, “good girl, cumming so hard for daddy back there. You gonna cum on my cock this time?”

You moaned, “Need something on my clit, daddy.”

Eddie pecked your lips with his own, and the way it made your heart skip a beat was like a reward. “Good girl, always tell me what you need, okay?”

You nodded, smiling giddily from the sudden subby euphoria. “Okay, daddy.” You made a mental note that kissing Eddie Munson while his cock was inside you gave you your new favorite kind of high.

Eddie reached down and began drawing small, soft circles with his fingertip on your clit. The richly gentle sensation was decadent, pulling deeper, louder moans from you as Eddie continued to fuck you. “Oh I feel you getting tighter, baby girl, that feel good?”

“Yes!” you practically yelled it.

“Yes what?” He taunted.

“Yes daddy!” you cried, arching your back against the tile. He was fucking you ruthlessly, ravaging you mentally, and the way his dirty words melted into you made your brain go so hazy that you weren’t sure if your vision was clouding or if it was just the steam in the air.

Your release was growing closer, that heat in your core coiling tighter and tighter, ready to burst with pleasure. “I’m gonna cum soon, daddy.” you whined.

Eddie’s dick hit you in that perfect spot inside over and over, and you leaned your face against his hand as he cupped your cheek affectionately. “Yeah? You gonna make a mess all over daddy’s dick?” You pouted, nodding ‘yes’ in response. Eddie smiled at the way you could be so cute and so filthy at the same time- he fucking loved it. “That’s probably gonna make me cum, sweetheart, you want that? That pussy’s gonna grip my cock so tight that it fills you with cum, huh?”

You were whimpering and pouting and letting the sluttiest little sobs fall from you now. “Yes, daddy, fill me with cum, please!”

“You want me to fill you with cum? Fuck all that cum inside you?”

“Yes!”

“Yes what, sweetheart, gotta tell me whose dick you’re cumming on-”

“Daddy!” you cried, “Daddy’s dick, I’m cumming on daddy’s dick!”

“Fuuuck, yes, cum on daddy’s dick you little slut-”

Eddie’s filthy words tumbled from his lips as your pussy pulsed around him, fluttering walls squeezing him tight from the aching pleasure that shot through you. His cum filled you, and the size of his load reflected just how long it had been since he’d cum into anything that wasn’t his own hand. When he finally pulled out, a stream of both your releases oozed out of your hole and onto the floor. Eddie stared at it, fascinated, and he silently used his finger to catch the milky liquid and push it back into your hole. You whimpered, overly sensitive and puffy, your pussy lips inflamed and screaming, but Eddie was gentle as he sheathed his finger completely inside you, ensuring that his seed stayed exactly where he’d put it in the first place.

He pulled you up to a sitting position, smiling gently. “Hi.” he whispered, placing a soft kiss on your temple.

“Hi.” you giggled, a giant smile stretching out across your face, blissed-out and more than satisfied.

Eddie stroked your wet hair out of your face, gazing down at you adoringly. “I’m sorry if that was a little… much,” he winced. “I may have gotten carried away, usually I would talk to you to see if that kind of stuff would be okay, but I was just so fired up-”

“Eddie,” you interrupted softly. “I loved it.”

He grinned, grateful and relieved. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie pulled you against him, your body fitting itself nicely against his naked chest as water poured over the two of you from above while you sat holding each other on the floor of his shower. He sighed, completely and utterly content. “Yeah.”

***

The rest of the summer days in your parents’ neighborhood went like this:

Wake up imagining what you and Eddie would do today. Touch yourself when necessary.

Do whatever chores needed doing around the house, sometimes making batches of lemonade for Eddie when you knew he would be working on his lawn that day.

Lounge by your pool and read a book- this part hadn’t changed.

Spend the rest of the afternoon at Eddie’s. These afternoons usually consisted of activities like discussing the whatever book you were reading, drinking whatever strange new beer Dustin had come up with, and fucking each other’s brains out.

The next month, Eddie celebrated his birthday. He didn’t throw a rager (true to his word) but he did have a little get-together. To your surprise, he invited you.

You got to meet his friends, their kids, their dogs- and see the way Eddie smiled for hours without reprieve when they were around. This whole summer, you’d been figuring this man out bit by bit, but it wasn’t until that night that you truly felt like you knew him.

You baked him a cake, as promised. Three layers of funfetti sponge, vanilla frosting and decorated with oreo crumbs and rainbow letters that spelled out “Happy birthday, Eddie, forever young”.

He wasn’t this way with the rest of the neighbors. To them, he would always be Mr. 1405 Peach Tree Lane, but with these people? With his friends? He was Eddie Munson. Now, you were included in that group of people who were allowed to know him, and how wonderful he really was.

You felt so incredibly lucky that you were a part of that.

#eddie munson x reader #older!eddie munson #neighbor!eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #stranger things fic #modern au

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libraryofgage · 8 months

Text

Pirate/Mermaid Steddie One

There is way more mermaid culture world-building than I intended, but that's the fun part lmao

This part discusses injuries, has a mention of mutilation in passing, and involves stitching up a large wound. Nothing is graphic, but there are some descriptions of pain

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future parts!

As always, if you see any typos no you didn't

----

There were a few things Eddie expected from this raid. Gold, of course. Supplies like food, obviously. Some new weapons, surely.

A fucking mermaid? Nowhere near that list of expected things.

And yet, here he stands in the doorway of the raided ship captain's cabin, caught in a staring contest with a merman that's definitely seen better days.

He's stuck in a tiny wooden tub, his tail forced against his chest as the rest of it flops over the edge and trails the floor. His blue-and-green with inexplicable hints of orange scales are dull, too dull, and Eddie is trying really hard to control the sheer rage he feels at the jagged cut that drags down the middle of the tail and through the fin at the bottom. The edges of the wound have crusted over, but it still looks painful, and Eddie knows it was meant to keep the merman from using his tail to escape.

Eddie takes a step into the cabin, ready to just scoop the merman up and take him back to his ship. But he stops when the merman tenses, his entire body somehow becoming more rigid. His hands on the edge of the tub tighten, his sharp nails digging into the slowly rotting wood. He's staring at Eddie like he's some new threat, which seriously is not gonna help with the whole "take the gorgeous merman with incredible hair and alluring brown eyes back to his ship and nurse him back to health" thing.

Eddie freezes and holds his hands up. "Sorry," he says, keeping his voice low and soothing. The merman doesn't relax much, but his nails are no longer digging into the wood. Eddie figures that's a tiny win.

"I'm Captain Eddie of the Corroded Coffin. We didn't expect to find you here, sweetheart."

The nickname just slips out, an unthinking attempt to butter the merman up and an admission of his own thoughts. The merman's eyes narrow, slowly looking Eddie over as though sizing him up.

Eddie lets him, perfectly content with standing still if it means the merman will give him even one iota more of his trust. "That doesn't look very comfortable," he says, nodding to the tub. "Would you like some help?"

The merman relaxes a little more, and Eddie has no clue what he did to cause that. Before he can think too much about it, the merman points to a dresser on the other side of the room, looking at Eddie expectantly.

"You want something from there?"

The merman nods, which tells Eddie he at least understands human language. That doesn't give him any idea if the merman can speak it, though.

He walks over to the dresser and looks at the merman, pointing to each drawer in turn until the merman nods. The fourth drawer is, apparently, the correct one. When Eddie opens it, he finds a small treasure trove. It must be a collection of trophies from the ship captain's previous raids.

A quick glance reveals a gold crown with rubies, several diamond rings, a few silver bracelets with various gemstones along the bands, and a pearl and seashell necklace thrown on top. Eddie knows the merman probably wants that necklace most, but he can't help thinking of a rumor that mermaids like shiny things.

The drawer is full of shiny things.

He hesitates for less than a second before pulling out the entire drawer itself and turning around. "I'm not sure what you want from here," he lies, smiling apologetically at the merman. "Can I come close enough to show you?"

The merman stares at him before slowly nodding once, suspicion practically radiating off of him. Eddie flashes a more genuine smile and slowly approaches, giving the merman enough time to reject his presence. When he's a few steps away, Eddie crouches and tilts the drawer so the merman can see what's inside.

Immediately, the merman reaches out and snatches the pearl and seashell necklace. The gills on the side of his neck flutter slightly as he puts it on, and Eddie wonders if that's a sign of relief. "Was that everything you wanted?" he asks.

The merman glances at him, one hand still lingering on the necklace. He glances down at the drawer again, seeming to argue with himself before reaching out and removing the crown and every bracelet. He carefully slips the bracelets on and clutches the crown in his hands.

"Anything else?" Eddie asks, his tone indulgent. It must be reassuring, though, because the merman looks at him with curiosity more than anything else. It's like he's trying to figure out what he can get away with.

A few seconds pass before the merman glances down at the drawer. His gaze lingers at the edges, and Eddie starts to wonder what could possibly be there when the merman points at one of his rings.

Eddie blinks, following the merman's finger to a chunky ring. It's shaped like a bat with emeralds for eyes and diamonds for teeth. It's one of Eddie's favorites; he found it on his first raid, took it right off the captain's hand himself. Nobody has ever dared ask to touch it, let alone have it.

Without a second thought, Eddie puts the drawer down, slips the ring off his finger, and offers it to the merman. It sits in the palm of his hand, meaning they'd have to touch if the merman really wants it that badly.

Slowly, the merman reaches for the ring, his nails tickling against Eddie's palm as he takes it. From the light brush against Eddie's fingers, the merman's skin is cool, exactly like jumping into the ocean on a hot day.

----

Steve is a firm believer in the power of small comforts, especially as it relates to the growth of his guppies. Dustin has long outgrown his baby tail belt, but he still wraps it around his wrist every morning. El and Will no longer need the seaweed and coral dolls Steve made for them when they were barely able to swim a straight line, but they still tuck them in every night.

So, when the human (Eddie, Steve reminds himself) offers up a drawer filled with shiny jewelry, Steve doesn't hold himself back. The bracelets make him feel grounded, the crown gives him something to clutch without the risk of breaking it, and the ring...

Well, the ring was more to see if Eddie's actions would match his tone. And because Steve thought it was fascinatingly grotesque. What kind of creature would have wings without feathers? Sure, the gulls he sometimes sees near the surface are confusing, but the ring depicts something even further beyond his imagination. What's up with the sharp teeth? Why must the eyes be green? Does it know it's a freak of nature?

Anyway, the jewelry helps. Steve uses it to distract himself from the sheer agony screaming from his tail when Eddie lifts him out of the cramped tub. He thinks about which bracelet he'll give to which guppy (Robin will get the crown) when the edges of his tailfin graze against Eddie's legs as he confidently walks across a plank connecting the two ships. He closely studies the featherless wings on the ring to avoid thinking about what's to come when Eddie sets him down on a large, surprisingly comfortable bed in another private cabin and starts gathering a needle and thread.

There's not much left to distract him when Eddie kneels next to the bed and looks up at him, his eyes reminding Steve of his guppies when they've done something bad and need him to clean up the mess.

"This is gonna hurt," Eddie tells him, his voice soft and gentle and full of regret as he grabs a bottle from the table next to the bed.

The liquid inside is clear, and Steve would think it was water if his nose hadn't been hit with such an astringent scent when Eddie opened it. Before he can fully process the smell, Eddie tips the bottle and pours the liquid onto Steve's tail.

An involuntary screech rips out of his throat, a burning sensation clawing along the cut and making his scales buzz. Without thinking, Steve grabs Eddie's wrist and yanks it away, his lips pulled back in a snarl that reveals sharp teeth. Despite the physical pain, Steve thinks the worst part is that he let himself get distracted by small comforts and warm brown eyes and Eddie's soft voice.

He should know better.

"Shit," Eddie mutters, quickly dropping the now-empty bottle to the floor. It cracks but doesn't break, and he looks up at Steve. "I should've explained that better. Holy fuck, I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I had to clean it. If I sewed it up without doing so, it might get infected."

Steve narrows his eyes, his grip tightening briefly as he studies Eddie's face. He seems genuinely apologetic, and Steve understands his intentions once he's processed Eddie's words. Steve had to do something similar when Mike and Lucas bothered a shark too much. Their wounds weren't nearly as bad as Steve's, but they'd still cried and shouted when Steve and Robin had to pull teeth and bits of coral out of their wounds before wrapping them in seaweed.

"I'm done with that part, though," Eddie says, his voice practically desperate for Steve to understand. "You can squeeze my shoulder or something while I sew it up."

A few seconds pass before Steve nods once, slowly letting go of Eddie's wrist. As Eddie starts threading the needle, Steve places his hand on his shoulder, bracing himself for the upcoming pain by squeezing the crown in his other hand.

Eddie takes a deep breath as he glances up at Steve. He licks his lips, looking back at the top of the cut. "Okay, I'm starting now," he says, waiting long enough to see Steve nod before starting the first stitch.

The alcohol hurt. The stitching is a fucking bitch. But, honestly, none of it is as bad as when that first disgusting human dragged a dagger through Steve's tail. He still hisses, gripping Eddie's shoulder tighter and unable to stop his nails from digging into his skin. Despite how it must hurt, Eddie doesn't flinch, and Steve feels a little better.

"You know," Eddie says, mostly focused on keeping his hand steady and his stitches even, "I wish I knew your name. I can't keep calling you sweetheart."

He could. Steve wouldn't mind it. But he also knows it isn't entirely fair that Eddie doesn't know he can speak. They'll need to be able to talk, Steve thinks, if they're going to be around each other for a while longer.

And Eddie has been kind enough that Steve wouldn't mind being around him for however long it takes his tail to heal.

"Steve," he says.

To his credit, Eddie doesn't drop the needle. He does tense for a moment, his hand pausing as he looks up. "What?" he asks.

"My name. It's Steve."

"You can talk."

"Why wouldn't I?"

Eddie hums, looking back at the cut as he starts stitching again. "You didn't say anything before," Eddie says.

"The last human who saw me mutilated my tail," Steve replies.

"Fair. Is, uh, is your name really Steve?"

"That's the closest translation to your language."

"What's your name in your language?"

Steve hesitates for a moment before clearing his throat. He feels his gills flutter, trying to create the bubble pattern that accompanies his name as he lets out a rhythmic series of squeaks and clicks with a short hiss at the end.

A few seconds pass after he's done. And then Eddie nods once and says, "Steve it is. How'd you get caught, Stevie?"

Ignoring the slight urge to point out that Eddie said his name wrong, Steve frowns slightly. "One of my guppies got caught in that ship's net. I got them out but was caught myself."

"One of your...guppies?"

"Yes. You would call them...children, I think?"

Eddie has nearly reached the middle of Steve's tail by now, and his hand falters once more. "Children? Aren't you...a little young?"

Steve bristles, glaring at Eddie. He's heard that same question plenty of times from members of other pods before, and he's tired of it. "What does it matter if they are happy and healthy?" he asks.

"Sorry," Eddie whispers, glancing up at Steve. There's something he can't quite read in Eddie's eyes. "Do you raise them alone?"

"What? No, of course not. My partner, Robin, raises them with me. We have seven guppies, with an eighth on the way."

"An eighth?!" Eddie asks, sounding strained as he pauses his stitching once more to look up at Steve. "Shit, man, shouldn't you give Robin a break?"

Steve blinks, tilting his head slightly. "Why would she need a break?" he asks.

"She's already popped out seven!"

Suddenly, Steve realizes what the disconnect is. He blinks once more and dissolves into laughter. "Oh!" he says, the exclamation broken by a giggle as he tries to calm himself down. "No, no, she is my partner, not my mate. Besides, she doesn't even like mermen."

Eddie seems to relax at Steve's explanation, his shoulders dropping and his voice significantly lighter as he starts stitching again and says, "Oh, I see. Then whose kids are they?"

"Technically, they belong to the pod," Steve explains, gritting his teeth as Eddie reaches the tailfin. He feels warm all over, his nerves jumping and his scales feeling half-ready to just fall off. "Each pod has at least two caretakers. Mates have a guppy and let caretakers raise them while they focus on their own roles within the pod."

"Do you like being a caretaker?"

"Yeah," Steve says, managing a shaky smile despite the tugging on his tailfin and Eddie's fingers pressing against his scales. "They're my guppies. I'd drain the oceans for them."

"And, uh, what about your mate? Do they mind you being so...devoted to the guppies?"

It's not at all subtle, but Steve finds it oddly endearing nonetheless. He slowly exhales, forcing himself to loosen his grip on Eddie's shoulder. "I don't have one."

Just like before, Eddie seems to relax some at the answer. He also finishes stitching, tying off the thread with a secure knot before carefully cutting away the excess. "Well, uh, we'll get you healed up and back to your guppies as soon as possible," he says, looking up at Steve.

"It needs to be wrapped in kelp. And, uh, I'll need a tub. You know, with seawater."

Eddie nods along, flashing a reassuring grin. "Don't worry, Stevie, I'll get you anything you want," he promises.

"Anything?" Steve asks, leaning forward some as he tilts his head.

"I already gave you my favorite ring, sweetheart."

Steve glances down at said ring, wondering what about it could possibly make it Eddie's favorite. He can't immediately figure it out, but that doesn't change the sweet warmth and anticipation for the time he'll spend with Eddie that he suddenly feels.

#steddie #steddie fic #high seas steddie #that's gonna be the fic tag for this series btw #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fluff #my writing

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phasecornnuts · 1 month

Note

Hiiiiiiii! If you’re still open for requests maybe you might wanna write something where the reader casually mentioned that they/she had a partner on earth before they died and Alastor takes it a bit too drastically and has just been very salty and asking too many questions 😭 if you like that

Please & thanks ❤️

Hey guys I've returned! Sorry for taking a little while, I was busy with finals/I wanted to relax on my spring break so I didn't have a lot of time. I lowkey kind of cooked with this one too so enjoy :3

Also, I sorta made the reader be from around the same time period as Alastor (sorta late 1910s early 1930s) for extra spice

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had become a daily routine for you and Alastor to have afternoon tea together in cannibal town. Always, between the hours and four and six o’ clock after Alastor had finished his broadcast and you, your hotel duties, the both of you would walk down to Rosie’s Emporium to nibble on finger sandwiches, candied eyeballs, and other treats.

The sun was still high in the sky, sending fingers of light through the windows of the cafe; the building was alive with the chatter of demons and hell-born alike. You and Alastor had just sat down, a short cannibal girl with a heart-shaped face and glowing brown ringlets placing your usuals on the table. Oh how beautiful they were! Too pretty to eat, garnished with tiny sprigs of mint (or, at least, it may have been mint) and resting on plates of delicate porcelain. With polished silver beside them, and matching teacups and saucers too, it all looked like a party for a girl’s favorite doll.

That is, if it weren’t human meat.

Looking up from your plate, you saw Alastor turn his head to follow the cannibal girl making you frown. His gaze returned to you before he caught you staring, a chipper grin on his face as always.

“She could be a dead ringer for Mary Pickford, don’t you think?”

Your eyebrows perked. You hadn’t looked long at the girl admittedly, though you stared long enough to know that she was no Pickford. You pursed your lips,

“I don’t see it, Lillian Gish maybe.”

He looked at you like a mad-woman, “You don’t!?”

“No! Her eyes are much too large!”

Alastor chuffed, proceeding to rest his chin on his dark hand, “In the eye of the beholder I suppose.”

You rolled your eyes, “You only say that because of her curls,” you stated while picking up the teapot and pouring yourself and Alastor your cups, “Now, drink before it gets cold.”

For much of your lunch neither of you spoke, merely enjoying each other’s presence while pecking on some food here and there. Throughout the meal the waitress brought more plates, pancreas tarts, minced tongues coated with cinnamon sugar, and sweet pies filled with rotted venison and cooked kidneys, all Rosie’s treat. Alastor had been taken by the small pies in their mulled deliciousness, the meat so tender you saw his eyes water. He pleaded you to try one, though you couldn’t, your stomach filled to the brim from the other treats and delicacies.

Alastor picked up the small pair of silver tongs from beside him and placed two sugar cubes in his tea, “I do say, it’s nice to have a meal companion again.” He took a sip from his teacup and grinned.

You nodded in agreement, lifting the milk jug from the table and pouring a generous amount into your cup. “Likewise. Good dinner conversation is a horrid thing to lose.”

“Truly.” He took another drink. “Before you, I hadn’t had a proper luncheon since my mother.”

“From what you tell she sounded like a fine woman.” His grin lost its eeriness, becoming fond instead.

“She truly was, and such a fine cook too.” Alastor gazed at the fine pattern painted on the rim of his saucer, “her jambalaya was the best, our side of the Mississippi” he chuckled. He began to remember then, “And her gumbo and her crawfish etouffee and her pecan pralines”

It was odd to hear his voice so full of affection, but nice too. So strange, to think a man who broadcasted his murders of other overlords and feasted on their flesh was once a little boy who clung to his mothers skirt and happily ate her cooking.

“Maybe one day you’ll cook for me then?” you teased

“Oh why wouldn’t I for my favoritest of sinners?” He took your hand.

You leaned in towards him, a silent flirtation. “Or perhaps I could prepare something for you?”

He looked at you from his dark, hooded eyes, a certain intrigue radiating from them. “Would you now?” he said, leaning in closer.

“Oh I would, anything you’d like.” the tip of your oxford lingering at his ankle. “My food was good enough for my darling back on earth, why would an overlord of hell have any complaints? Other than not enough seasoning I suppose.”

That was when the laughter in his eyes died. Alastor bit the inside of his cheek before finding the words to speak, “Your darling?”

“Pardon?”

“You had someone,” He straightened up, pulling himself away from you, “back on earth?”

“I hardly see how it matters now.”

Alastor’s tone grew curt, had such a simple word bruised his ego?

He crossed his arms, “What were they like?” each word as sharp as his teeth.

You pulled your hands close to you, confused at his curtness, “They were….they were nice. Cordial, spirited, vivacious, however you would put it. If you’re-” Alastor cut you off.

“How did you meet them?”

“On the trolley.” That only served to make him scoff.

“Tch, how common. The trolley.”

You chewed your bottom lip, trying to deny the anger towards him that began to knot in your belly. “It was a different lifetime.” You asserted, a hard finality to it. Pushing yourself from the small table you smoothed your skirt and adjusted the ribbon that was tied so nicely in your hair.

Without looking at him you said, “Tell Rosie I’m grateful for her hospitality and I will try to find a way to repay her. Also that I’m sorry that I had to retire without saying hello but I feel rather…faint.” Before leaving completely you said, “See you back at the hotel.”

The rest of the day you hid in your room, sulking and pacing. Charlie had tried to coax you out, seeing how angry you’d been when you came back, but you denied every effort she had.

“It’s not good to stay cooped up in there,” the Princess pleaded.

“I like my alone time.”

“But- but I had games planned! Husk was going to show us how to play Blackjack and Dominoes!”

“I prefer bridge, and he’ll just cheat us anyways.”

She gave a disappointed sigh, and outside the door you could hear Vaggie talking to her, telling Charlie to give you your space.

For three nights straight you avoided Alastor, finishing up your hotel duties quickly before hiding in your room. You grew bored after the first day admittedly, a person could only sleep and bathe and read so much. The fourth night is when he knocked on your door while you lied draped on your couch, your nose in a book you’d already finished before. Thinking it was Charlie, you ignored it, sure she’d get the message. It insisted however, rapping harder the second time. You sighed, annoyed. “Who is it?”

“Alastor, may I come in?”

A sour taste came in your mouth, “No.”

“You cannot lock yourself away from me forever.”

You lifted yourself off the couch, full of bitterness, “I can and I will!”

An electric hum filled your ears, the sound of Alastor weighing his words, “Could you at least entertain my attempt?”

Walking to the door and opening it slightly you saw his face, those deep, hooded eyes dark as blood, cracked lips, and hollow cheekbones. All of those beautiful, haunting features draped in remorse. You sighed, cursing the affection you had for him.

“Fine, but I’m still cross with you.” That made him smile, if only a tad.

Opening the door fully, you saw he’d brought one of the dining carts from the unused kitchen clad in a clean white sheet. Alastor pushed it to the center of the room before spiritedly ripping the cover from the cart, presenting polished silver dishes of raw meat and organs. From the bottom shelf of it, he had pulled a fine bottle of wine and two shining glasses.

“I helped myself to a bottle of Husk’s finest, the patrons here don’t have as refined tastes as you and I.” He gave a small grin. So this is what he brought with him, a peace offering. Your stomach was empty from only eating a small meal earlier in the day, so perhaps it was not in vain, though you weren’t sure if you were ready to forgive him.

“I’ll help you set the table,” you offered, feeling guilty he put so much effort into pleasing you.

Alastor held his hands up, “No need darling.” He put his hand on his throat, “What I said the other day was very…” he coughed into his hand, “ungentlemanly of me, and I wanted to make it up to you.”

You folded your hands and held them to your chest, looking at the embarrassment he tried to hide. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, and raised your gaze to his. “Thank you, Alastor.” His grin widened as he sat down beside you.

He uncorked the bottle of wine, beginning to pour it into the glasses, “Of course.” He handed you the glass which you took gladly. The vintage was so dark it looked black, reflecting the lights that glowed from the ceiling. Swishing it, you could see the hidden shades of red that the wine hid.

“Demon’s blood, Husk calls it.” Alastor told you before he took a long sip.

“Fitting. Do you know how long he’s aged it?” Alastor shrugged, taking another swallow.

“I didn’t care to ask, but it tastes so good going down. Come, drink, I didn’t bring this up so I could get drunk by myself.” That made you giggle, how much he valued the both of you eating and drinking together.

Taking his lead, you titled your head back, savoring the warm burn of the wine going down. Its hot fingers lingered in your chest before fading, like drinking cold medicine. In three large gulps you finished your glass, noticing the way Alastor’s eyes watched your throat as you drank. After finishing your second glass you began to dig into the food he’d brought, pancreas tarts, cooked kidneys and…oh good god! On the largest plate was a raw heart, fresh and bloody.

“Where did you get this? You shouldn’t have!” Your eyes went wide and your mouth began to salivate. A raw heart! Oh and it was human too! Such a fine delicacy must have taken so much begging from Alastor!

“Rosie owed me a favor. And I owe it to you, for making such a jackass of myself.”

You took another sip of your wine, feeling your face begin to flush. You helped yourself to a tart while Alastor poured himself another glass. As you ate you felt his eyes on you again, focusing on the way your teeth bit into the pastry, your swan’s neck showing your swallow, and how your tongue dragged across your lips. Feeling bold, you placed your feet in his lap and wiped the corner of your mouth with your finger, licking the tip of it with your tongue. He swallowed, hard, his eyes growing wide.

“Are you looking at something?” Your voice a heavy seduction.

“Possibly.” He drank again. Leaning back on the arm of the couch, he placed his glass on the floor. The tips of his fingers grazed your legs, “Though I do have another question for you, if I may.”

A sultry smirk grew on your face, “That depends on what it is, Al.” God, you could see the glint in his eyes then.

Alastor looked up at you from his hooded eyes, “I’ve been wondering…about your “darling.” You arched an eyebrow; your interest piqued. “Did they ever have…you?” His breath shuddered.

“Have me, how?” You teased.

“Oh humor me my dear,” He purred

You smirked and shifted your legs in his lap. “Hmm, maybe once or twice…” You sit up from your recline and crawl onto his lap.

“What sorts of things did they do to you?”

Running your fingers down his chest you savored the way he squirmed and shifted, “All sorts of unholy things”

Alastor choked on his breath, his eyes transfixed on your face. Slowly, he caught it, regaining a certain boldness afterwards. His hand found the top of your stocking, fingering the nylon taut to your thighs. “Getting rather comfortable aren’t we my dear?”

The smirk you had deepened and you pulled in closer, feeling the heat of his breath tickle your cheeks. You looked into his eyes, “I could get much more comfortable if you like, Al.” For what seemed like ages you lingered, until you felt you had tortured the man enough. Slowly, you leaned in, seemingly ready to kiss his shiny red lips. Grinning, you pulled a piece of dry skin from his bottom lip between your teeth, peeling it to show the bleeding flesh beneath.

You sat back on his lap and spat out the skin. Looking at him, you saw that hunger in his eyes again. That fine line of decorum the two of you had with one another, ignoring the lingering gazes and longing touches, all thrown away with one bite. Underneath, you could feel his arousal beginning to grow hard. You rolled your hips slightly into him, earning a throaty groan from Alastor. From the silver dining cart you pulled the piece de resistance, that raw bleeding heart, and sunk your teeth into it, tasting the sweet flavor of iron. Trails of blood dripped from your mouth onto your decolletage, slowly turning brown and flaky.

Alastor’s breath heaved, growing even harder from that sultry cannibalistic display. He pulled you towards him and pressed your mouth to his, saccharine saliva mixing with sanguine. His tongue slid and twisted about yours, savoring every inch of its taste. You pulled away from him to catch your breath, making him whine. Leaning in again, he dragged his tongue along your neck, cleaning up the drying strings of blood.

Both of you straightened up then, him holding you proper now. One hand ran its fingers through his shiny red hair and the other cupped his aching sex, so taut against his trousers.

“Is that what you were so upset about Al? If they fucked me or not?” You purred into his ear.

The tips of your fingers fluttered over his hip, tracing its edge before returning to his cock. “I bet you wondered if I did this to them, didn’t you?” A small nip was placed on his neck, leaving a red half-moon. Your breath grew hot against his cheek as you whispered into his ear again,

“Maybe I did, and maybe I did so many more dirty things to them.”

Alastor enraptured your mouth in another needy kiss. His words heavy with radio static, “What sort of things my dear? Or are you all talk?” Your grin widened seeing the shock in his eyes when you began to unbutton his overcoat.

“Let me show you.”

Four little words was all it took to send him over the edge. Picking you up, his hands traced over all the parts of your succulent body. When he flopped you on the bed, hair as tousled as a pin-up, you reached out a stockinged leg to him, that devious look on your face growing. Oh how badly he wanted to have you, hastily unzipping your dress as you stripped him down to his undershirt and trousers. Deft fingers hooked around the tops of your stockings, pulling them down as fast as they could. You dropped his trousers and took off his shirt, admiring all of that soft, gray skin.

You pressed your mouth to the flesh of his stomach, blessing it with small love-bites that made him shudder. All along his torso you left red patches and traced your cool fingertips along the hard edges where his ribs poked out. You tilted your head up and moved his hands to the straps of your brasserie, exposing all of your hot, yearning flesh. He cupped a breast and lied on top of you. Grinding his sex to yours he moaned into your mouth. It had been so…so long since you’d been wanted, since someone pressed their body to yours and you felt all of their heat as they slid into you, over and over again.

“Al,” You breathed

“What is it?”

“Get on your back.”

And so he did.

Alastor’s back against the mattress and your palms against his chest, you let him enter you. He let out a string of curses when you did, and even more when you started moving in those easy rolling motions. Those large hands of his held the curve of your waist as you rode him, his eyes half-lidded as he watched your breasts bounce.

“The first time I saw you…” You began, going a little faster, “I wanted you,” You heard a small thud as he dropped his head against the pillows.

“I thought about you kissing me and touching me all over” That’s when the pulses of pleasure started to build up, prickling you in sweet needles that went all the way up your spine.

“And about you sticking your fingers in me and..and your tongue too” You felt your face heat up and your sex grow slicker, admitting those indecent thoughts you only entertained during late nights when your fingers wandered. Alastor gripped your waist tighter, making your rhythm harsher. You looked down on him, his eyes glazed over with euphoria, and felt your mouth pool with saliva.

Digging your nails into the skin of his chest you kept on. “For a whole week I couldn’t keep from slipping my hands between my legs.” Your voice, thick and hoarse. “I wanted to know what you tasted like, if-if your mouth tasted like blood,” that was when he quickened the pace even more. Your sex was so hot and wet, all the way at the base of your spine you could feel your orgasm coming to you, a full-body shiver that made your eyes well with tears.

The last part was what sent him over the edge though.

“Sometimes, I’d bite myself so I could taste the blood when I’d touch-” was all it took to make him come.

Fuck it felt good too. A weak falsetto escaped your mouth when he released, so warm and filling. That’s what made you reach your end too. You clawed your nails in his skin so deep there were two broken half-moons on his chest. Your thighs clenched against his torso, quivering, as you could feel your body become as light and floaty as chiffon.

Alastor let the both of you ride it out, that sweet joyous bliss. When your mind returned from the heaven it was sent to, you leaned over, resting on top of him. He moved you gently, pressing you closely to his chest. For a while, neither of you spoke, the air lingering with the smell of sweat and blood and sex. You ran your fingers through his hair again; He kissed the back of your hand before speaking.

“If I’d known all that would come out of making you angry at me, I would’ve earned your ire a long while ago.” You rolled your eyes, flicking his chest playfully.

“Perhaps we could do this again, without the arguing?” You propose, “You’re quite good at it.”

A smile stretched across his face as he played with a lock of hair that rested near your face, “Expect nothing less from an overlord of hell cher.” One of his hands slid to your lower back, tracing small circles on that creamy flesh.

“How about we try one more time without the arguing, for good measure?”

You smirked and kissed him again. All for good measure.

#hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel smut #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #fanfic request

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luveline · 7 months

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Can I request an Eddie and roan story where something happens and Eddie is quite vulnerable and upset and roan finds him at the kitchen table so she goes and gets reader to help cheer him up. Hurt comfort

ty for requesting ♡ eddie and roan fem!reader, 1.7k

cw grief

It's a bad idea, but Eddie opens the photo frame on the sill. He moves the small metal holdings aside, peeling away the velvet back to reveal the hidden photograph waiting beneath.

His hands are trembling as he picks it up. The edges are soft but the photo itself is pristine, a perfect polaroid taken from her waist height, angled up as she smiled down.

Eddie puts it back. Closes the frame, sets the photograph right side up on the sill next to your vase. His hands shake as he stuffs them in his pockets, a hard lump aching in his throat. I shouldn't have looked, he thinks to himself, sitting down at the dining table freshly cleared after dinner.

He couldn't not look. As he washed the dishes after dinner, he'd found his gaze drifting. The photo framed is a simple close up of Roan at her last birthday, her face painted pink, purple, and white in the shape of a butterfly with silver glitter accents. The secret photograph is stupid to keep secret, he should put in pride of place, he should be a fucking man about it—

If you could hear his thoughts you'd frown. Maybe do that silly sweet thing with your hand on his cheek and your soft eyes imploring as they look into his. God, Eddie would give you anything you asked for when you look at him like that. But he doesn't tell you about the photograph, how could he? It's his. It's the last bit of her.

He looks down at the wooden grain of the dining room table. Without thinking, he springs to his feet, removes the frames backing, and takes the photograph of his mom into his hand a second time.

She looks so young. Younger than Eddie is now. He must have been a really little kid when he took the photo, old enough to have worked the camera but young enough that he can't remember the moment. Can't remember what she said, what she was laughing about, how that sounded. He can't remember her smell.

How could I forget that? he thinks, stricken.

Eddie ducks his head. He drops back into his chair at the table, pinching the bridge of his nose between a calloused index finger and a softer thumb. Don't, he thinks desperately, even as his thoughts race to a more cruel place. I don't remember her.

She's beautiful in the photo. Willowy and smiling, crouching ever so slightly with a hand braced on her knee. Her lips are curved up a touch and parted with a laugh, but Eddie theories now that she wasn't laughing. Maybe she was telling him something he doesn't remember anymore. Maybe she was telling him that she loved him—

"Dad?"

Eddie hides the photograph without thinking. "Yeah?"

His voice cracks. Roan stares at him with wide eyes, brown as his own but with longer lashes. She's quicker to smile than he was at her age, though none of that lightness shines at present.

"I'll get Y/N," she says hurriedly, spinning on her socked heel and hurtling back the way she came.

"Ro!" he says, clearing his throat. "Fuck. Fuck." He wipes at his wet eyes. Fucking great.

"Y/N!" he hears Roan shout, her panic a raw thing. He can see the look on your face a floor away. "You have to– we have to go help dad!"

There's a lapse in shouting. Eddie would put the photograph away, wipe his eyes, and run to set things straight if he could; you don't deal with abrupt circumstances well and he hates to think of how your heart is racing, but he can't stop crying.

Your footsteps sound and stop at the kitchen doorway.

"Eds. You okay?" you ask.

"I'm fine, I'm," —he starts to laugh, but the laugh turns into crying, everything a mess— "okay. Tell Roan it's okay."

"Okay. Two seconds." Eddie covers his face, trying desperately to get a handle on things as you speak in hushed tones. "It's okay, Ro, alright? How about I put some TV on for you? Would that be good?"

"I want to stay," she whispers.

You pause. Eddie loses bits of time and conversation, wiping madly at his eyes, his head heavy as a bowling ball and aching as though it's been hit by one. Roan must agree to watch TV or at the least pretend to, because you return alone, pushing the table away from him to stand skewiff by his legs.

Eddie feels like he's choking on air. "Sorry."

"Eddie, what's happening, honey?" You touch his shoulder tentatively. "What's wrong?"

He tries to tell you and it hurts worse. Grief is super weird, it always has been (when it wasn't solely and unsympathetically devastating), and Eddie's grief tends to hide away for long periods of time. Like a brewing storm, pressure builds, and builds, and he knew looking at her photo wouldn't end well but she was just so pretty.

He presses his forehead to balled fists.

You sigh like he's hurt you, curling protectively over his hunched back. Your cheek to a heaving shoulder, you rub at his tensed spine with your palm spread. "It's okay," you whisper, hugging him gently. "Sweetheart, it's okay. You have to tell me what's wrong so I can fix it."

"You can't," he says, his voice rough as gravel.

You kiss his shoulder.

A handful of seconds and you pull back to look him in the eye. "Let me try?"

He shakes his head softly, reaching into his lap. He's careful to dry his hands before he picks up his mother's photo, placing it with care on the table. You follow his movements, your lips twitching with understanding as you realise what it is. "That's your mom."

"Yeah, she…"

"I've never seen this one."

Eddie doesn't have many, but he has a few that he treasures. One framed on the living room mantle, four or five kept in safe keeping with Wayne. You nudge the corner of the polaroid to shield it from the glare of the kitchen fluorescents.

"She looks really young."

"She was younger than we are now. She didn't… it couldn't have been five years before she…"

You don't condescend, your empathy palpable as you murmur, "Aw, Eddie. I'm so sorry. It's not fair."

His eyes burn. His nose tickles. He closes his eyes and shoves the brunt of his palm against his socket. "I can't remember what she was trying to say. What kind of son am I?"

"No, no," you crouch down and place your hands on his thighs, "what do you mean? Is that why you're upset? Babe, I can't remember things you said to me last night, you know that? That's not how memory works."

"But it was important. I took the photo, I should remember."

"You were young… I'm sorry, I wish you could remember, but," —you hold the photo up carefully— "with a smile like that, it's not hard to guess, right?" Your voice is smooth and soft as angora silk, though it pills as you continue, "I bet she's just telling you that you're doing a good job. Same way you say it to Ro. You must've gotten it from somewhere."

A half sob shudders out of him. "I hope so."

You pat his thigh. "You gonna be okay?" you ask, eyebrows pinched.

He leans into the chair, the armrests groaning as he tries to breathe. His breath hisses from between his teeth. "Shit, sorry. I'm sorry. I'm alright, just, sometimes I remember she's gone and I realise I lost another little part of her and–"

"It's okay." You stroke a strand of hair from his face. He relaxes at the simplicity of it, a routine gesture. "She's not lost, Eddie. You're not losing her. Yeah? That's not how it works. She's your mom forever."

"I guess you never stop wanting your mom, huh?" he asks. His throat burns like nothing he's ever felt.

"I guess not."

Eddie's tears peter out eventually, aided by the way you hold his hands as though they're delicately made and the constant steadiness of your presence, your head dipping down intermittently to press kisses to the side of his thumb. He can't shake the feeling of grief and he doubts that he'll feel much better tonight, but the need to cry dissipates. He's drained suddenly, like he's held his breath too long, every inhale an ache.

Roan comes to investigate the quiet. She tiptoes in, her lips parted in confusion, but her puzzlement doesn't stop her from snaking between his legs and your arms to sit in your lap. He's scared her, he knows, and he can't blame her for the way she wraps her arms around your stomach. Like he said: you never stop wanting your mom.

Roan twists her neck to look at him. You plant a kiss behind her ear.

"Are you okay, dad?" she asks.

"I'm okay."

"Why were you crying?"

"I don't know, Ro. I guess I was hurting."

"Did you cut yourself on the sharp knife?" she asks worriedly.

Eddie chucks her under the chin. "Not that kind of hurt, babe."

She frowns as though he's told her off and buries her face in his knees. Eddie folds down onto her like a cheap tent in a hurricane, craving the comfort of his little girl, knowing she's here, and that she's not going anywhere. "Is it okay if I squeeze you?" he asks.

"Yeah, dad. But only this time. You squeezed me too hard last time." She huffs, chewing over her words even as she hugs her father back ferociously. "You're rough."

"I said sorry already," he says lightly. His eyes scrunch closed. He has to try hard not to burst into a second round of tears as he smells her hair. "I'm really sorry, I thought you liked being squeezed."

"I don't mind if it's to make you feel better."

You laugh through your nose. Eddie clings. "Thank you." He's saying it to you, too. He really hopes that you know that. "I feel way, way better already."

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3minsover · 1 month

Text

late night:early start

City commuter Steve has to get the first train at 5:30am, already suited and preened for the day even at the early hour. He ends up in the same carriage as a clearly tired, scruffy-looking guy who lays his guitar case down across two seats about three rows away from Steve before slumping into one himself, one that faces Steve.

Despite the guy’s bedraggled appearance, and the smudges of eyeliner that are still clinging to his waterline, Steve is entranced. He can’t help but follow the long line of the guy’s arms under the sleeves of his jacket, down to the flex and curl of his fingers as they drum out a rhythm on the little table in front of him. The man seems to sense Steve’s curious eyes on him and glances up, meeting Steve’s gaze with wide, bleary brown eyes and a half-smile. He scratches at the skin behind his ear, just beneath where a mess of curls is twisted into a lazy bun.

“Late night?” Steve finds himself asking unprompted. He’s not one to talk to strangers, but there’s something compelling, intriguing about the inked etchings peaking out of the guy’s sleeve cuffs, the silver stud in his nose, the heavy boots at the end of long, stretched out legs. He’s so very different from the crisp and fresh-pressed suits at the firm, and even though it isn’t even 6am yet, Steve suddenly feels wide awake.

“Uh, yeah,” the guy answers sheepishly, his voice rough with evident disuse - or overuse. perhaps both. “Would you believe I missed the last train yesterday night?”

“Ah, trains are tricky like that. You don’t live around here then?” It’s a presumptuous question, but one that Steve’s instincts tell him to ask.

“I look like that much of a city rat, huh?” The man chuckles, and Steve’s heartbeat ticks up.

“Hah- You don’t- You don’t look like a lot of the people I see around town, is all I’m saying. and that’s not a bad thing, if I’m being totally honest.” Steve can feel his cheeks heating, and for a moment the rumble of the train is the only sound.

“Okay, good. I’ll take that,” the guy says, brows pinching a little. “You uh, you goin’ into the city then I'm guessing?”

“Yeah, it’s a shitty gig having to come all this way, but at least I haven’t had to sell my kidney to cover rent.”

“I don’t think they’d take my kidney if I offered,” the guy smiles, and Steve barks out a laugh that’s too loud for the empty carriage and the earliness. The guy shifts in his seat, and Steve instinctively leans forward, wanting really to move the few rows forward until he’s close enough to see the early morning light dance and glint in those big, dark eyes.

“That have anything to do with while you were stranded?” Steve asks, gesturing to the guitar case.

“Yup. got me in all kinds of trouble, she has. Gig finished late, couldn’t get a cab, welcome to hotel train-station-waiting-room.”

Steve manages to chuckle more softly this time, his gaze catching on the twitch of the guy’s lips as he stifles a yawn.

“Hey, if you wanted to- You could take a nap, I’ll watch your stuff. Make sure no one steals it, or whatever.”

The man blinks at him in surprise, lashes fluttering where his lids are heavy.

“That’d- Shit, that’d be awesome, man. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Let me just-” And so Steve’s more daring thoughts win out. He plucks up his briefcase from the seat next to him and hurries the short distance to the cluster of seats on the opposite side of the aisle from his new charge. “There. Now I got a clear line of sight.”

“I’ve never felt safer,” the guy jokes, and pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head, tucking his chin into his shoulder and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, shit sorry, um. When should I wake you?”

“Whenever you’re getting off, big boy,” the guy shoots back without raising his head, and Steve can just about make out the curve of his lips and the dimple that sits in the corner of his cheek. He can feel his own cheeks warming at the guy’s words, and Steve’s glad there’s no one around to see. He lets himself watch this pretty stranger under the pretence that he’s keeping an eye on his guitar, and the hour and a half slides by almost unnoticed.

The carriage is a little busier but still quiet when Steve’s stop rolls around. The man hasn’t moved since he nodded off, and it almost breaks Steve’s heart to wake him. Carefully, Steve stands and leans down, wrapping his fingers around the man’s shoulder and shaking lightly.

“Hey, buddy, I gotta get off.”

The guy’s eyes blink open, wide and unfocused and so lovely, before they swivel up to meet Steve’s own. His chin tips upward and his lips curve in a smile, and something in Steve begs closer closer closer, but instead he just clears his throat and rights himself.

“Thank you, dude. Even that was way better than a wooden goddamn bench.” The guy bends his arms and stretches, and Steve doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“I’m- I’m steve, by the way,” he announces suddenly, making a step towards the carriage doors, despite how reluctant he is to move away from his stranger.

“Hey, Steve,” the guy replies, hauling himself upright - how coincidental that they’re off at the same, second-to-last stop. The train draws to a halt, and the guy stumbles forward just a fraction, still off-balance with new consciousness. Suddenly, they’re face to face. Or more they’re nose to chin, because this man has a good four inches on Steve. It’s all Steve can do not to lean up and kiss his pretty lips right here and now. “Name’s Eddie.”

And it feels right. It fits.

Steve doesn’t know how or why, but everything about this man fits; feels right.

“Good to meet you, Eddie,” Steve says, a little breathless. “Hey, if you’re ever down my way again, how about I give you a better place to sleep than a waiting room bench.” And Steve knows it’s a bit of a pretentious thing to do, but he slips a business card out of his wallet and tucks it into the breast pocket of Eddie’s jacket. He pats it once and pivots away, can’t bear the thought that he’s misread the electricity between them. He rushes through the doors and slips into the stream of morning bodies, leaving the perfect newness of his pretty stranger back in that carriage. but that evening, Steve’s phone buzzes with a text from an unsaved number.

It simply reads:

thanks again for being my lookout. if the offer’s still on the table, how about friday night?

#steddie #steddie au #steve harrington x eddie munson #originally posted on twitter #3minsover

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kentopedia · 4 months

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it's been decades since you've last seen dazai; your lover & your maker. now that you're finally happy, he's haunting you again with a thousand buried memories.

overall contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, exes to lover, gothic romance, blood drinking, vampire!reader, vampire!dazai, smut, cheating reader, complicated relationships, blood, gore, jealousy, manipulation, religious symbolism, betrayal, reunions — 6.3k words

PART IV ♰ MASTERLIST

The next evening came quickly, and for the first time in a long while, you were able to sleep through the day. Morning came and went, and the sun faded away without you lying awake, miserable, missing the light of day.

Although Dazai emitted no warmth, you still slept soundly on his chest, the feeling of his arms around you comforting in a way that was undeniable.

When you awoke to another starry sky, clouded over by a mist of smoke, the coffin was empty, and Dazai was gone. The thin blanket pooled at your feet, kicked aside, there for no other reason but for the semblance of a routine where you slept wrapped within soft covers. A beam of light sifted through the cracked coffin, lid pushed to the side, allowing the silver moonlight to caress you gently back to an air of life.

Sitting up, you pushed the coffin lid aside, swallowing the wave of regret that swam through your body. Atsushi’s gentle smile lit up your mind, and you shut your eyes briefly, trying to will it away.

This was a mistake—everything had been a mistake from the moment you’d found Dazai in that bar. It was a mistake to ever think you could drink from him without letting him drag you down with him. Never had you been able to deny yourself the indulgence of his lips, the taste of him so fond in your memories, and you’d been naïve to think this time would be different.

“You slept like the dead,” Dazai said with a cheeky smile, sauntering over to sit at the edge of the bed, staring at you from feet away. Your lips drew together, thin, unamused.

The shift in the air was palpable, the string of oxygen between you pulled tight. Though, you were grateful that Dazai was the one to break the silence, as you still mulled over something to say, observing the subtle little changes in his countenance.

For one, you couldn’t recall a time that he had ever looked so happy, so carefree. A brightness had resumed itself, as if only on pause for half of a century, erasing the resentment, the bitter hatred that had clouded it. The smile on his dark lips tugged upward easily, his eyes an ambered brown, rather than the black that they had once been.

Things were different—that much was certain. Whatever had transpired between the two of you couldn’t be erased, nor could you eradicate the guilt that had threatened to swallow you whole. The two options clashed against each other; a loss too great on both sides. At the end of it all, your feelings for both Atsushi and Dazai were overwhelming, and complicated.

But you couldn’t think, not when Dazai was so close. Not when you were a moth, and he was the flame, burning bright, and only growing more vicious.

“I need to go home,” you said, gathering your shoes, the clothes that had been strewn across the floor. “I shouldn’t have even come here.”

A beat of silence lingered in the room, settling on the hardwood floors, the soles of your feet, before Dazai stood, his footsteps not making a single sound.

“After all that?” Dazai asked, and though he would never let his surprise show so openly, you knew he’d believed you’d been won over.

That’s all it would’ve taken, back then—a few sweet words, your lips on his, gentle hands across your skin. But you were not the woman you’d once been, and though you were still weak, you’d developed some strength.

“After everything, how can you still doubt that we are meant to be together?”

You pinched your face together, wondering if you were a fool for running back to Atsushi. If your love for the mortal man was only a means to an end, a way for you to forget the clutch that another vampire had around your heart. How Dazai’s fingers could squeeze their way around your arteries, and you would watch, blindly, as the blood trickled down his palm.

Was it love or hate you felt? Of both, you were uncertain.

“Osamu,” you said, shaking your head, your gaze drifting towards the window. What a mess you’d made. “I need some time to think.”

That relaxed him; the tautness of his frame slowly began to melt away. “Time.” He nodded, dark hair falling over even darker eyes. “Okay. I can give you that.”

“I love him, Osamu.”

“You love me too. You can deny it all you want, but I know that you do.”

You looked over at him, blinking from under your lashes. “I don’t know what I feel for you. It was not so long ago that you destroyed me. I have hated you as strongly as I once loved you.”

His face twitched, fingers flexing at his sides. The age old tells of his anger, just as prevalent as the stars in the sky, never ceasing to appear at the end of every day. “Will you never forgive me?” he asked, clenching his jaw, tongue appearing in his cheek. “I have given you everything I have to offer. Your life… my life.”

“You haven’t given me patience, Osamu. You haven’t given me the chance to believe that your love is worth the pain that comes with it.”

Dazai looked away, chest rising and falling with the air he didn’t breathe, but made himself anyway, keeping up the appearance of a human being. He had always been so much better at that – perhaps it was the reason he had lived this long. No one had doubted his place in the world, had mistaken him for a monster, unlike the innocent lives that had been lost to such a slaughter.

“Is patience really something I can offer when you are to wed another? Surely your fiancé will grow weary of waiting,” he said, stepping closer, expression serious, devoid of his usual smugness. “You want time, but it is slipping through my fingers.”

“You have nothing left but time.” You shook him off, ignoring the pulsating need that thrummed through your body, never satiated, always wanting more. Your gaze flicked to his vein, then away, as you pushed past him, headed to the door. “Don’t come after me. I will not give you any more chances.”

Dazai said nothing, irritated, but he let you go, and you escaped into the dark haze of the midnight.

Your meetings with Dazai stalled for a few days, as Atsushi returned, and you were left with a muddled mind and a mix of contradicting thoughts. It was best anyway, you figured, to put some distance between you and Dazai, in order for you to work out exactly what it was that was going on.

Despite the conflict you felt within yourself—for wanting to love Dazai once more, for wanting to hate him—you didn’t entirely trust him. Years of memories pointed to a Dazai that was so similar, yet vastly different from the version he presented to you. One that was just as manipulative, conniving, yet held a loyalty and a steadfast love for you that had since been unbroken.

Though, love was easily faked, especially for someone like Osamu. You, with your weak heart, were probably falling right into his trap. How foolish you would be to leave a perfectly good life behind for a man that you could never fully trust, despite how much you yearned for him.

Yet, he never left your mind, always lingering like a curse. Some part of you wondered if there was a deeper magic at play, if maybe, the bond between you as creation and maker had tied you so intricately together than you would always long for him.

But you knew nothing of that…if magic existed outside of the bloodsucking demons that you had joined, if there was a world out there of other supernatural entities you knew nothing about.

Still, it would explain nearly all of your everlasting woes. How Dazai could fuck up time and time again, and you would still crawl back to him, albeit reluctantly. How you craved his blood like a brainless addict, sacrificing your pride for just another hit.

You hoped, if even a little bit, that that was true. At least, that way, you could explain your desperation for him without it being something as complex as love. Something that you could avoid, if you really tried, rather than letting yourself indulge, thinking that you couldn’t help it.

It was cold when Atsushi returned, the weather already growing fickle as autumn bled into winter. He looked better, his eyes brighter, his skin less pale than it had been when he left. His hair seemed freshly scrubbed, clean from a bath at whatever hotel he’d visited for the few nights of escape.

Though, under his softer complexion, you could see the weight that still rested on Atsushi’s shoulders, and the burden that he’d worn for the past few weeks.

Smiling, you watched as he walked through the door, trudging in his heavy boots. There was certainly more life to him now, now that he wasn’t constantly sent on missions, awake for hours into the evening, until his eyes ran bloodshot.

“I missed you,” you said, stretching your arms over to him, body reacting to him, just as it did Dazai. The joy that spread across you was warm, despite the lack of utter feeling that something lingered in your chest.

Atsushi relaxed, then, tension falling from his shoulders. Almost like he’d expected you to start the conversation a different way – a thought that you instantly sequestered.

“I missed you too, honey,” Atsushi said, leaning down to peck your lips, his hair brushing across your forehead. “Everything okay while I was gone?”

Words of a dutiful husband, lover, friend – despite that fact that anyone who could have possibly hurt you wouldn’t be fazed by the presence of a human.

“Everything’s been fine,” you hummed, ignoring the vision of you on Dazai’s thighs that flashed into your mind, your teeth digging into the flesh of his neck. “How are you feeling?”

Atsushi looked at you for a moment longer, memorizing each of your features after just a few days away, and put on a gentle smile. His fingers grazed the sharp hollows of your cheeks, the coldness of your skin sending a shiver down his arm. Goosebumps trailed along his flesh, the hair standing straight up, but he didn’t seem bothered. Not after two years of the same routine.

“I’m better.” The words held little conviction, though, and you couldn’t help but feel that there was something bothering him still.

Or you were just paranoid that he had somehow found out you were protecting Dazai.

Protecting.

Was that the word? You’d been trying to protect Atsushi, hadn’t you? By keeping him away from Dazai. Yet, the more you lingered on it, the more you began to question if that was even the case at all.

Atsushi kissed the wrinkle that formed on your forehead, and you held his hand tightly against your cheek, grounding yourself. How much better things would be if Dazai had left in the first place, if he’d just stayed far away, and never approached you at your party. Had never killed anyone in your town, overworking your partner and murdering your neighbors.

“I’m glad,” you said, instead of focusing on things that could’ve been. You brushed Atsushi’s hair away from his face, his hair so much softer than you remembered—cleaner. “You look better. I’m glad you were able to get some rest.”

“Yeah, well,” Atsushi sighed, shrugging. “Honestly, I’m not sure how much of a difference it made. I’ll just be heading back into work tomorrow. They’ve found more bodies, I hear. I’m sure I’ll just be back to where I was before soon. Everyone’s exhausted.”

You frowned again, pausing your gentle caress against the back of Atsushi’s palm. So that was what was wrong with him. You’d been so busy with Dazai, that you hadn’t even stopped to think that he was still killing people. It seemed you’d been caring for little other than yourself, these days.

“Good thing they’ve got their best detective back, then,” you said, trying for a more light-hearted tone. “I’m sure you’ll be able to solve this in no time, Atsushi.”

Still, he seemed unconvinced—but he kissed your forehead one more time, relaxing. He left you, then, to change out of his day clothes before sliding back into bed. It had been days since you’d last fed off of Dazai’s blood, but you didn’t feel so reckless, so hungry, that this sort of proximity left you with an aching need to bite Atsushi. Instead, you felt warm, consoled by his presence, and reminded of how gentle you could be, despite your nature.

“I love you,” you said quietly, as he slowly began to drift off, his breathing turning into a snore. “I hope you never forget it.”

A little laugh left him, but something about it seemed nervous—had you really left Atsushi to doubt your affection for him? Though, after all the things you’d done, you probably deserved that sort of karma.

“I know,” Atsushi said, humming, squeezing your hand under the covers. “Sometimes, that’s the only thing that I’m certain of.”

The memory of Atsushi’s words left a sour taste in your mouth that lingered as you slept through the day, a palpable anger tensing your body. The rage ran rampant through you from all of Dazai’s lies, promises that he had not kept. At the truth that he’d admitted before – that everything he’d done was to keep Atsushi occupied and away from you.

Dazai was not at the bar when you went the next night, and Atsushi worked late, still out when you left your home after sundown. And when you returned, with a hunger that couldn’t be satisfied by the gutter rats, your fiancé slept, soundly, hardly alert enough to hear your footsteps against the creaky floors.

You sat in the corner of the room, staring at the cracks of moonlight that brightened into orange rays, wishing once more that you could brush your fingertips along them, if only for a moment, to remember what it was like to be alive.

The routine continued. Anger consumed you, but Dazai didn’t return to the bar the next night. Or the night after that.

“Are you eating enough?” Atsushi had said that morning, the sixth day that you had gone without Dazai’s blood. You’d become irritable, snapping at him over the smallest things.

Digging your nails into your arm, the scarlet warmth dripping down to your elbow as you tried to distract yourself from the thrumming through Atsushi’s veins, you’d nodded and changed the subject.

You knew that you looked awful, and your promises were not believed by Atsushi. Your faded complexion was ghastly, inhuman. How easy it would be to give yourself away to others, for them to see that your humanity and morality was but a farce – it was much too obvious now, that you walked around looking like you’d just crawled out of the grave.

Dazai did not show up at the bar again, and desperately, you went to his hotel, hopeful that he had not moved.

It was loud outside of the building, despite nearing midnight. A crowd of drunk men loitered outside of the building, cheering their glasses together. They sang a plethora of songs in untuned keys, stumbling over their feet to get to one another. Women lined the streets, silk dresses with revealing necklines, smiling for men who would never be able to deserve them.

Despite the scene outside, the hotel was relatively quiet, many of the tenants asleep for the night. The clerk at the front desk seemed unbothered that you waltzed in, already headed towards the stairs, without bothering to speak with him.

You had been in such a disoriented state the last time you’d been here that you’d forgotten to look around, take in the atmosphere of the hotel. It was, really, a miracle that you’d even found your way there.

It wasn’t much on the outside, modest and unassuming, and the interior was anything but. Bright colors of gold and green that you only vaguely remembered from your previous visit adorned the inside, leather couches circling a vast library of books. A pair of older men, smoking cigars, fumbled over a game of chess, their shadowy eyes revealing that they were both desperate to call it quits. A young woman, perhaps the same age that you’d been when you died, perched in a chair, wearing a beautiful gown of rose pink, soothed a crying infant.

It was certainly with its’ grandeur, though that was to be expected, with the centuries of wealth Dazai had lining his pockets. You couldn’t imagine he’d stay anywhere less than impressive.

The man at the desk smiled at you in recognition, and you realized that you must have spoken to him when you’d last been here – or, Dazai had told him to let you pass if you were to come. Just another way you’d fallen into his trap, an endless scheme that was nothing more than a game to him. You were being played, not the other way around.

Still, you trudged up the stairs like a wounded soldier, surrendering. The rage had settled deep within your chest, flattening. Even with the betrayal that encompassed your memories of Dazai, you would always turn into a different sort of person when you were hungry.

Before you could regret your actions, you knocked on the door, once, then again, running your hands along the smooth skin of your forearms. There was a noise from inside, a soft sort of giggle, before the door opened, revealing Dazai, eyes dark, but a smile on his face, nonetheless.

“There you are,” he said, closing his fingers around your wrists, pulling you through the threshold before anyone could see you. He seemed to be clouded over with affection, or lust—but of which, you weren’t certain. “I was wondering when you would show up.”

He kissed you, then, soft, and gently, the way that Atsushi greeted you when you returned home. It was too loving, the quick peck of Dazai’s lips, and you scowled, drawing backwards, the irritation resurfacing.

“Osamu,” you said, sharply, creating a clear division between you and him. “I told you –”

But the words died on your lips when you glanced behind him, noticing the pretty, young woman that was perched on the end of the bed. She laughed again, cheeks flushed red under her tanned skin, dark hair flat across her shoulders. The woman gave you a small little wave, not in the slightest embarrassed, as her eyelids fluttered shut.

You blinked, drawing your gaze slowly away from her, back to Dazai, who was still grinning, teeth glinting in the moonlight, predatory and wicked. His expression was a clear vision of all the reasons you should have stayed far away from him, why what little trust you had for him would continue to rise and fall, until you’d gone so many steps backwards that you would be right where you had been.

“What—” But you stopped yourself, trying to gather the right words, to not sound like a jealous fiend, while still demanding answers.

Dazai, to his credit, and all of his promises that things were different this time, did not give you a chance to finish your sentence. “It’s not what it looks like,” he said, gesturing back towards her, before licking his lips. “I’m not… Not like that.”

You stared at him; eyes hard as you searched for a lie. But he’d always been so talented at dishonesty, and you had never been very good at sorting the truth out of fraudulence. “Then what is it? You’re bringing your dinner back to your room now, for no reason? How do you plan to get rid of the body, Osamu? You’re going to have to leave, you know. Someone could see.”

Though, that thought should’ve made you happier, you realized that you almost sounded disappointed, that you were helping him, when you’d been telling yourself to expel him from your city for months.

Dazai rolled his eyes. “Relax. I’m certainly not worried about any of the detectives in this town,” he said, the jab at your fiancé not going unnoticed. “I’ve thrown them off my trail enough times at this point.”

You frowned, wrapping your arms around yourself in protection as Dazai led you forward, a heavy hand on your shoulder. “Besides, she’s not for me, darling.”

The words took a moment to sink in, as you stared at the woman, so peaceful, unassuming, despite everything that she’d clearly heard. You could hear her heart beating under her skin, the color in her cheeks so bright and warm, nothing even close to death. Long breaths escaped her, and she smiled at you, so sweetly, that for a moment, you were considering –

Before the reality of the situation dawned upon you, and you jerked out of Dazai’s hold, away from the young woman, and slapped your former lover across the cheek.

The sound resounded through the room, but the force did little to even jerk his cheek. He stayed still, amused, and held your wrist loosely in his palm once more. “Would you listen—”

“I don’t feed off humans anymore,” you said, your words sharp, eyes narrowed angrily. “I promised myself two years ago that I would not, and I have been true to my word. Yet, here you are, the vilest creature I have ever set my sights upon, trying to lead me back down a road that leads to nothing but emptiness.”

Dazai blinked, before erupting into a fit of laughter. “A tad dramatic, even for you, my love. This is but a manifestation of your very nature as a vampire.” His gaze drew across your features, the way your hunger was evident in the curl of your fangs over your lips, your arms wrapped around yourself to keep from lunging at the poor woman. “You cannot deny the hunger that you feel—”

“It’s wrong, Osamu,” you spat bitterly, thinking of your mortal fiancé back home, who would not deserve this sort of end. How easily he could’ve been the one lured to the wolves’ den by Dazai, sitting on the bed of a vampire, none the wiser to the fact that he was to be someone’s dinner. “I was once a human too, was I not?”

Dazai laughed once more, mocking you, this time. For clinging onto the little bit of humanity that you had left, even after all this time. “As was I. But how long has it been since you were human?”

You said nothing.

Dazai crept closer, eyes like a hawk, so sharp and pointed along every line of your body. They flashed a deep ebony, drowning out the sweet caramel colors that always lingered in his irises. “You have always deluded yourself, and you continue to do so.” His fingers were back against your cheek, like long, protruding icicles, against even your icy flesh. “You feel so much better when I’m the one doing the killing, that you can’t see that drinking from me is just as bad as doing the killing yourself.”

Your jaw slackened, falling open, and, despite your better judgement, you let him draw his fingertips across your lips, softly smiling at the delicate feeling of them. “What do you mean?”

“I kill twice as many humans to keep up with your ever-increasing appetite. You might as well have done the deed on your own.” Dazai drew the words out, bored, waving his hand dismissively. And though you had to have known that, could feel in the deepest depths of your soul that that was true, you’d been all too happy to ignore it.

To continue on believing that your choice to use him as a blood source was for the benefit of not only you, but the humans you refused to kill, to bleed to death.

Dazai pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, the feeling of his lips, a touch so sweet, sending a shiver down your spine. “You can feed from her without killing her,” he said, drawing you closer and closer to the woman, though you felt stiff as your regret whirled under your skin. Dazai held you to his chest, and you let him, basking in the familiar touch, the familiar hatred and love baked into one emotion that had always confused you.

“You won’t stop me,” you said, mouth moving, though the words didn’t entirely feel your own. You stared at the girl over Dazai’s shoulder, who seemed in a drunk daze, Dazai’s manipulation working against her. “You’ll say you will, but you’re a liar, Dazai.”

“I will. I’ve stopped you before, haven’t I?” he pulled back, meeting your eyes, brushing your hair away from your face. “I promise.”

You began to object, to remind him of how little his promises meant to you, but you could feel the hunger multiplying, it’s claws deep inside of you. It felt like a physical force on its own, and you couldn’t remember a time when you had been so at its mercy, except when you were first reborn, a foolish child with Dazai’s blood coursing through your veins.

And though you wanted to hate him, to blame him for all of your troubles, to call him nothing but a deceiver, you wondered if he really had been telling the truth. If all your years of rejecting human blood had turned you back into the version of yourself that you had not been in a century, of a young vampire who had no control in the face of human blood.

“I’m stronger than you,” Dazai said, following the line of thought in your head, swiping his fingers across the wrinkle there. “It will help you. You won’t crave my blood so often.”

“It won’t taste as good.”

Dazai laughed at the small pout that puckered on your lips, and though you had meant to only think the words, they slipped out anyways. He kissed the frown away, startling you, and yet, you kissed him back, if only for a moment.

“I know it won’t, sweetheart.” Dazai licked his own lips, savoring the taste of you that remained. “But it’ll be better than those rats you’ve been eating, won’t it?”

Always so persuasive, that sharp tongue of his. How easily he could get you to cave with the promise of something so divine, and the lustful glint that coiled in his eyes. You held onto the single shred of morality that was slowly dissipating as you contemplated his sincerity. Then, you let it go, released, and nodded.

Satisfaction curled across Dazai’s expression, and he pulled you over to the bed, the woman, blinking up at you from under her thick lashes. She smiled, almost playful, and another giggle escaped her. “She’s prettier than you promised.”

Dazai, eyes glued to you, softened. “Isn’t she? There’s no one else quite like her.”

For all your resentment towards Dazai, you felt the curl of warm satisfaction spread across your chest, and you glanced away bashfully, hating how he still looked at you with such love. How hard it was getting, every day, to ignore the fact that, maybe, everything he did really was for you and you alone.

“Sit beside her, my love,” Dazai said, leading you to one side of the bed, guiding you into a seated position. Your knees brushed against the human’s, and she pressed it closer, tilting her head away to expose the vein that protruded along her neck.

“Osamu—” you said, glancing up at him with doubt. “I will kill her if you don’t stop me.”

“I know.”

“And if you don’t stop me, I will hate you forever.”

His smile widened, a grimace almost, but he acknowledged that with a nod, and waved his hand, urging you to continue.

You dragged your gaze away from him, back to the impatient woman, who was far too excited for you to slowly drain the life from her. She placed a soft hand on your thigh, the warmth seeping through your skirt, a reminder of the life she had swirling in her veins.

It was enough to propel you forward, and you breathed along her collarbone, ignoring the annoying pang of your heart that wished it was Dazai instead. Your fangs sunk into her neck, and the blood rushed along your tongue, down your throat, a flash of white snapping across your vision.

The thoughts drained from your mind, and you were no longer inside yourself, losing your senses in the sensation of the blood, and how warm it felt in your mouth as it settled in your body. Your fingers curled around her shoulders, and you dragged her closer, hearing a soft little moan leave her mouth as you sucked your lips harder.

It was nowhere near the exhilarating rush of Dazai’s blood, but it was warmer, more satisfying, similar to the fullness you’d received after eating a slab of red meat as a human. You weren’t tethered to the girl like you were your maker, but it was different getting the fresh human blood from the source.

You felt stupid, silly, for always rejecting the need to drink from mortals, when you could remember how good it felt. That was all it would take for you to not feel so empty, day in and day out, only longing for the days when you had never cared at all. It seemed nothing more than a daydream – those days when you were just as bad as Dazai, who had always killed and enjoyed it.

“Enough, my darling,” Dazai said, pinching your jaw, slowly coaxing you off of the woman, careful not to tear her throat while your teeth still latched on.

You tried to push him away, a deep sound reverberating in the back of your throat, but Dazai thrust his slit wrist in front of you, the smell overwhelming, better than the scent of the woman’s sweet blood and perfume.

“I have something better,” he smiled, running his hand over the top of your head as he stood before you, looking far too godly in the silver moonlight. “And I kept my promise, didn’t I?”

You didn’t answer, too busy swallowing the large gulps you had taken of his blood, softly kissing the skin that had broken there. Your nails curled into his forearm, pulling him close as his palm rested on the top of your head, fingertips lightly scratching against your scalp.

“Dazai—” the girl began, and though you were irritated that he’d even told her his name, the blood soothed you as it rushed down your throat.

“Thank you for your generosity, my dear.” Dazai said to her, in that deep, soothing voice of his that he used to compel humans. “You won’t be needed any longer. Go downstairs and forget any of this evening even happened.”

In a trance, the woman left, woozy, still full of laughter as she stumbled across the floor. Her hair had fallen from the clips, dress strap slipping off her shoulder, but Dazai didn’t bother to tell her. Instead, when you came off of his wrist, a gasp expelling from your lungs, Dazai pushed you back onto the bed, crawling over you, kissing all over your face.

Your eyes shot wide for just a moment, before you relaxed into him, threading your fingers through his hair, let him taste his own blood on your mouth. His tongue darted across your bottom lip, swiping the blood that had gathered there, before he moaned, the sound a vibration against your skin.

“Fuck,” he said, coaxing your hands from his scalp, pinning them to the bed. You could feel him straining against his pants, his clothed cock brushing up against your thigh. “The things you do to me.” Dazai kissed up your neck, across your jaw, lacing your fingers together. A soft sigh left you, and you let your head rest delicately on the bed. “I love you,” he whispered, just beneath your jaw, words so gentle that you began to believe them.

You glanced up as he backed away, hair falling down over his forehead as he stared at you, caressing your cheek. The haze of his blood still consumed you, but you felt so light under his hold, like the burdens of your entire life could fade away entirely from his touch. “Osamu,” you began, kissing his fingertips, though the smile didn’t pull entirely on your face, too uncertain.

He sighed, and then sat up, his knees still on either side of your hips, a frown furrowing his features. You crawled out from under him, kissing his cheeks, his nose, before he pushed you back, running his fingers through his hair.

“What’s the matter?” you said, reaching for him, even as he evaded your grasp.

Dazai sat at the edge of the bed, his hair mussed, expression vacant. He didn’t answer your question immediately, and swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

You laughed, dizzy, as you crawled over to him. “What do you mean, Osamu?”

But once again, he evaded your touch, standing, stalking to the other side of the room, holding only a loose rope on his anger. “I miss you. So badly. I want you; I love you, but I don’t know how to make you come back to me.” He glanced at you, and you could see the hurt in his expression, before he sat at the table, arms crossed over his chest. “My blood… does that to you, and it makes me think that maybe, things can go back to the way they were before.” He sighed, dropping his head. “Instead, everything I do just seems to make you hate me more.”

You blinked, feeling discarded on the bed, and you slumped forward, before making your way to your feet. Your dress had wrinkled, and you smoothed it back out, straightened the straps, fixed your hair. Still, Dazai wouldn’t look at you, and you were struck by his vulnerability, the earnestness in his expression. “I just—” you began, but you had no idea where you were planning to take that statement, too focused on the cloudiness that lingered in his gaze. “Osamu…”

“Go home,” he said, jaw clenched, before he looked up at you, his features schooled into another neutral position. “You don’t know what you want right now.”

You frowned, fingers tensing at your sides before you relaxed them. “That’s not fair.”

Dazai glared. “What’s not fair is the fact that you only want me when I give you my blood. What’s not fair is me loving you with every ounce of my being, for centuries, only to find you again with a human. What’s not fair is—”

“You’re not innocent, Osamu,” you said quietly, lip quivering as you tried to think rationally, but you just couldn’t. Every part of you was pulsing with need for him, and though it had never been a problem when you were together, it was a problem now. “You hurt me. I’m trying. I don’t know how to forgive you, but at least I’m trying.”

He stared back at you, an entire minute passing before he spoke again. “You have always been the same as me. Always as awful as you want to claim I am,” he said lowly, sniffing back his indignation. “Every horrible thing I’ve done, you’ve done too. The blood on my hands is on yours also. For every woman I took to bed, you took twice as many men.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, aching, as you looked away. “You left me to die, Osamu. You left me. The vampire hunters came for us, and –”

“God,” he laughed, darkly, shaking his head. “Even now, you don’t believe a word I say. You think, I would’ve left you?”

“Didn’t you?”

“They told me you were dead. Everyone. I came back for you, but you were already gone. I mourned you for decades. And now I’ve found you again…” Dazai trailed off, realizing that you were staring at him curiously, the feeling of drunkenness slowly evaporating from your conscious. “You know what… It doesn’t matter.”

“Really?” A bitter laugh came out of your throat. “You never tell me anything,” you said pointedly, hugging yourself tightly and turning away. “Every time I think I understand you, we take one hundred steps backwards.”

He glared, jaw tight, though fleetingly. The tension smoothed back out, and he sat tall, looking bored, and annoyed by your very presence. “Would it make a difference?” he asked, shaking his head. “You’ll continue to hate me, just because it’s easier.”

You blinked, lips parting briefly before you decided not to even argue with him. Around and around you’d go, at the end of the day, talking each other in circles until you’d gotten so lost, you couldn’t even remember where the conversation had started. “I suppose.”

“Then you better go home. The sun will start to rise soon. I don’t think you’ll want to spend another night here.”

For a moment longer, you watched him, waiting for any slight change in his expression—and when there was none, you turned, and headed towards the door. As you pulled it shut behind you, escaping into the dim hallway, you took one look back at the old vampire, the man you didn’t want yourself to love. But he was ignoring you, easily, his gaze fixated on a point on the opposite side of the room.

You frowned and let the door latch shut.

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 10 months

Text

touchin', m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook has got ten minutes and a hard dick. So he says. You learn you can't trust everything he says though.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; lovers that call themselves friends-with-benefits because JK is a fool; both parties are freaking annoying tbh; smut (fem reader, double lip piercing JK, heavy petting, standing doggy with clothes on, lots of neck making out, light nipple play, low-key forearm kink); fluff; non-idol!AU - JK is wearing the outfit from his 2023.06.29 Weverse live

“I have ten minutes and a hard dick.”

You rubbed your temples.

“Jungkook, why are you calling me?”

Breathless surprise, as if the man on the other side of the line didn’t realize how jarring it was to call someone announcing a time limit and a stiff rod. “I have–”

“I heard you,” you growled back, interrupting him sharply as you heard the knock on your front door. “I just can’t believe you. You’ve got plenty of people trying to get in your pants.” You unlocked the door and wretched it open. “Yes?” you blurted out impatiently.

What?

You weren’t expecting anyone decent at near midnight.

Big peepers stared back.

“But I don’t want anybody else in my pants,” Jeon Jungkook told your ear and your face.

You rolled your eyes and dropped your phone. “You look like an egg.”

He did. Black beanie jammed onto his head, his black-brown hair sticking out every which way underneath, even a dropped jaw to emulate that pointed side of said metaphorical egg. White Nike t-shirt two sizes too big for him. Loose black sweatpants. Cute monochrome black-and-white sneakers you would not be letting into your home.

He bit his lower lip, still clutching his smartphone. You noticed there was another piercing on his lip now.

“I thought… we were…”

You pulled him by the front of his shirt and yoinked him inside.

“Don’t just stand out there with your mouth agape,” you scolded gently, shutting the door. “I don’t want you talking about your hard dick to my neighbors. Take off your shoes.”

It was an awkward moment of bodies pressed together and hastily followed instruction. You had to pluck his phone from him and end the call because it seemed like Jungkook had decided his primary task was ogling you and your bare legs. A large, vintage band t-shirt was good enough pajamas for you. You bent down to shove his shoes against the wall and you were very sure Jungkook’s eyeballs were glued to your ass. All that was well and good, but what was thinking, calling you up about his hard di–

His lock screen flashed on when your thumb grazed against it.

You spotted one of your Instagram photos hiding behind the time stamp and his numerous notifications.

Huh.

You looked away.

“Take this,” you muttered, jamming his phone back into his open hand. “What are you doing out so late anyw–”

You cut yourself off once you realized how close Jungkook was.

In this entire space of your front entrance, he had picked centimeters away from your chest to be his standing spot, forcing you to look up at him and his big dark brown peepers. Seemed like he was eating well. He had a little more fullness to his cheeks tonight, although he still had his sharp jawline and that silver hardware gleaming on the right side of his lip. One hoop, one new stud.

“I… I, uh…”

You intended to deliver some firm comeback, but instead you relented under that gaze and pressed your thigh against his. Just to feel him. Not too much, but enough to have the contact and strike the friction between bodies.

“Um…” He was mumbling, struggling to think. “I have to go meet my parents at the train station. They said they picked up some stuff for me and that I should go get it.”

You frowned. “So… why are you here?”

A jolt as you realized he was closer and taking your hand, pulling it down, lower.

Lower.

“I can’t go like this…”

Pressing your hand to his crotch, his lips already on yours as you palmed his rock-hard erection through his pants.

Yeah, you can, and Jungkook could tell what you were thinking from your smirk against his kiss and the tease of your tongue. There was no reason to make this easy for him, no matter how easy he was. You smiled, avoiding too much pressure in the kiss, both to frustrate him and because you were uncertain about irritating the new piercing, but Jungkook chased you, sharpness in his inhale, following your steps deeper into your dark home.

The one light you had on was in your bedroom, but you might not make it at this rate.

Strong hands grabbing the back of your head, fingers spreading out over your scalp, pulling you closer, and you met his insistence with calm, tracing your tongue over his lips and flitting in and out. Saliva and softness, the backs of his hands roughly hitting the wall, crowding you with his larger frame as you snaked your hand up and down his length, the fingers of your other hand sliding up the hem of his shirt and hooking over the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging him to you.

He moaned into your mouth when your fingertips caressed taut skin.

“What am I gonna do with you?” you purred, teasing him, nicking at his lower lip. The heat of his body was radiating and addictive. Too many clothes for how aroused he was. “I thought you said we weren’t that serious, hm?”

His hands in your hair tightened. “I t-take it back…” he whimpered. “I told you… I don’t want anyone else…”

You touched him all over, massaging his balls and toying with his cock, smearing the pre-cum over your palm and his length, pressing your soft thigh against his hard one. Rolled your body against his, your hot breath on his chin, his moan smoke above your eyes, and now he could feel that you weren’t wearing a bra under your shirt.

He shivered in delight.

You chuckled.

“I think you would say anything to have my hand on your dick.”

Pressed your lips to his throat and kissed down, wrapping your hand around his length. His pants were falling down his legs. You felt one hand leave your head and then his pants shifted. Then his fist hit the wall, a thunderous boom amidst his shudders that you felt through tongue and teeth, careful not to leave marks.

“H… Harder…”

You snickered. “You’re going to see your parents. I can’t leave hickeys.”

He whined, but you ignored it, flicking his earrings and licking under his earlobe. Tingling kisses left behind in your wake. He smelled like his usual clean soap. The tips of his hair feathered against your temples as you kissed the space under his ear, delicately sucking on it.

That was enough.

Time crunch and all that shit.

You were about to slide down the wall, but Jungkook stopped you, grabbing your shoulder.

You looked up, cocking an eyebrow. Half-laughing inside because his beanie was barely on his head, his unruly hair spilling out. There were visible beads of sweat by his furrowed brow, but you bit your words back and focused on those lidded dark eyes and flushed pink lips gasping your name breathlessly.

“B-Bend over.”

It would have a sterner effect if he hadn’t stuttered.

The side of your lips curled up irresistibly. “Oh?”

He lifted his fist off the wall and the foil packet caught the light.

You smirked.

“You’re so fun, you know that?”

Jungkook grinned and smacked the condom into your cheek, dragging your face to his, wild black hair over his eyes as he kissed you, indenting your lip with his jewelry.

There was something extra slutty about being mostly dressed and fucking standing doggy against the wall. He pressed his palm on your lower back but you were already slipping further down the wall, your panties at your knees, ass up, and you heard him swear when the throbbing head pressed into your dripping heat.

“Fuck… me… are you a virgin or what? Fuck!”

He would know from personal experience that you most certainly were not. You neglected to remind him he hadn’t warmed you up himself. Instead, you hiked your shirt up more and tilted your head playfully. Added commentary to be extra insufferable. For fun, of course.

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m not…”

Your hand hit the wall. Both palms flat, lowering more and pushing back as he pushed in, the ache viciously filled with his girth, pleasure suddenly racing up your spine and devouring the equilibrium.

“I’m not, fuck, thanking you, a-ah…!”

He was the one with his hands gripping your hips but you were the one to start off the bruising pace, sucking a breath between teeth and shoving your ass into his crotch, amplifying the power of his thrust, warmth swirling in your core, satisfaction blooming in your exhale.

“Mmmm, Jungkook, yeah, fuck, just like that…”

Your fingers curling into fists, immediate fire in your veins, clenching around his hard length and enjoying every second. Power and lust and savage sweetness, feeling his fingers dig into your hips, hearing his breath hitch, his moan vibrating in his throat. You had to stifle a laugh as you realized that he was suffocating all his sounds so he could concentrate, hm, how interesting, but you let yourself fall into the pleasure, tipping your head back and sighing, the building wave of orgasm seeping out and spreading over your lower belly, pulsing around him.

You dropped your torso a little lower and heard Jungkook groan, gripping your ass harder.

“Hah… so good… fuck…”

His name falling from your lips, with desire and grace, not hiding the feeling but burning in the fervor, remembering his insincere face telling you a bold lie, we’re not that serious, and you recalled thinking, is he just saying that because he thinks I’m intimidating or what, but you let him think what he thought and want what he wanted, his nails clawing into your back, harder, regular plans becoming more irregular, breathing heavier, hotter, until he was constantly searching for you with those shining brown eyes of his, pulling you to his embrace and trying to lock down this escape artist with his lips.

Maybe it worked.

Who knows.

You pressed your fist into the wall and let out a hiss of hot breath, clenching your core and all around him, ah, chasing that brutal fullness, that declivous slick friction with every loud smack, the prickling crawling up your legs and ribcage, come on, give it to me, your low purr intoxicated by the carnal desire and Jungkook couldn’t say anything, probably clenching his jaw and burning up from the heat, closer, his pants turning into coarse gasps, choppy and erratic, faster, hotter, throbbing, there.

He didn’t have time to warn you.

You felt your inner walls pulse and flinch, squeezing hard, the rush injected into the tension and making you gasp, thrown off by the sudden shaking ecstasy, your hand slipping on the wall. Catching yourself mid-slide and feeling Jungkook jerk, freezing your hips in place as he came in intense jerks, straining against your tightness, your name in a silvery, fucked-out moan.

Damn.

Could get used to that.

Your hair was all over your face, making the dark room even darker. “Heh. Trying not to cum too fast, huh?”

“S… Shut up…”

He barely forced it out, his hands giving out and sliding up your stomach. Oof, he was warm, his chest radiating heat onto your back, and yet you smiled as you felt his fingertips rub against your hard nipples, sending shivers of pleasure through you in the afterglow. You pushed half of your hair back, amused at seeing his beanie somehow now on the floor. He lifted you up even though you didn’t ask, slipping out and shoving his sweaty face into the back of your neck.

“Hey,” you were about to protest, but he was squeezing your breasts and nipples, making you buck against him as he sighed into your skin.

“You smell so good, mmmm…” he was mumbling, ignoring your squirming.

You tried to reorient him even though he was the one trying to distract you. “Oi, aren’t you supposed to be going somewhere?”

“Wuh?”

You tried to unstick his hands from your chest but he pressed his forearms to your sides. Instantly, a tremor danced through your muscles, thundering, not allowing the arousal to subside. You sucked in a tight breath, feeling him clamp down on your waist with his arms. “What happened to ten minutes, I gotta go see my parents?”

“Oh… eh… it’s okay,” Jungkook hummed, kissing your neck through your hair. “I made that up anyway.”

Somehow, you had low-key guessed that, but there was no reason to let him get away with it. “I don’t like lying, you know,” you curtly reminded him.

“Sorry…”

He pushed your hair aside with his nose and plopped his head on your shoulder, hugging you tightly with his sweaty body. Your arms were hanging a bit limply in front of you, but that was because of his muscular embrace. It made you feel a bit like a caught kitty cat.

“Don’t do things like that,” you scolded, but he was shoving his nose in your jaw, warm breath and feathering kisses over the curve of your neck while massaging your breasts.

“Sorry… I just wanna be with you,” he murmured breathlessly. “You’re so cute.”

“I’m not cute,” you retorted, burning comfortably and uncomfortably from his touch and words, respectively.

“And pretty. And smart.” He was ignoring you even though he was the one making out with your ear. “I was afraid you would find me annoying…”

“You are freaking annoying,” you confirmed, placing your hands on the backs of his, but not pulling them away. “I told you to tell me when you were horny, not make shit up.”

You could practically hear his pout. “Well, I didn’t know I was until I was driving over here.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

He changed the subject. Classic. “Why do you have to wear clothes?”

“I can’t answer the door naked.”

“But it was me.”

“How would I know that?”

It was hard to describe the comfortable kind of exasperated he made you. A welcome, spontaneous, borderline ridiculous distraction. You somehow managed to get him to untangle himself from you and clean up, his clothes carelessly flung in random places, and you shook your head at him, you’re gonna have to pick those up later, but as soon as he had washed up, Jungkook was pushing you down on your bed, pressing your naked body to his and sighing softly, his hair a floofy mess.

“I didn’t say yes to you spending the night,” you said calmly as he kissed your collarbones, sparks lingering from the contact of his lips. You looked down. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Those round, shining eyes lit up in the semi-darkness of your bedroom.

“Like what?”

Pretending like he didn’t know, uh huh.

You shook your head and tangled one of your hands in his hair, nudging him up.

“Come here.”

He scooted up earnestly. You placed a fingertip on his lower lip as he neared, making him pause breathlessly.

“Is this new?”

You couldn’t miss the sparkling in his gaze as you mentioned it. “Y-Yeah…”

You raised your head and kissed it softly. “Should take good care of it as it heals, mmmm? So let’s just be rough down here…” you breathed, your other hand raking over his thigh, smiling as he flexed under your touch, moaning into your mouth, a sweet taste that you couldn’t stop craving, and yet you had to point it out one more time.

He had the audacity to pretend, after all.

“But we’re not that serious, right?”

Jungkook groaned and shoved his face into your neck as you laughed. “I take it back! Stop being mean…!”

There was just something about his impatient whine.

“Alright, alright…”

Bad decisions were made.

Like staying up until four in the morning fucking.

Ah, shit.

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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writingsbychlo · 1 year

Text

HOW TO SAVE A LIFE | rhysand

summary; trapped under the mountain, starfall has always been your favourite holiday and you miss it. tonight, this time, you have one opportunity to share it with someone.

word count; 5577

notes; starfall day 3!! but also, go easy on me, I didn't proofread this. it's like midnight here, I am exhausted, let's not judge obvious mistakes 😅 also, please note, this takes place UTM, and references to rhys' SA are alluded to, so read with caution!!

‘how to save a life’ moodboard

The corridors were utterly silent as you paced up and down. Back and forth, back and forth. Your eyes flickered to the shadows across the floor moving through the open windows, your only way of measuring how much time passed was with the moon’s manipulations. As the shadows encroached closer and closer to the small scuff you’d marked as your limit on the floor, you gave a heavy sigh.

Your thumb was in your mouth, chewing the nail anxiously, and as that thought came into focus, you removed it, scoffing idly at yourself. You weren’t in trouble. Yet. In fact, you could leave right now, and nobody would have even known it was you, you’d fly right under the radar, as you’d always done, and bring no attention to yourself.

Who were you kidding? You weren’t going anywhere. Not even as the ceaseless pounding of your heart threatened to crack your ribs, not even as the lingering fear in the back of your mind about what you’d already done to get here made you dizzy. You were waiting it out.

Your gaze flickered back to the silvery streaks pouring in through the window.

Time’s almost up.

You finally paused your pacing, staring down at it as darkness crept out of silver, marking your timer. You waited for a second longer, lifting the edge of your dress and poking at it with a scuffed shoe.

This is it.

You weren’t sure whether it was crushing relief or crushing disappointment weighing you down, that sank your shoulders into a slump that made you feel as though you were holding up the whole world. Shaking out a sigh and loosening your shoulders, that relaxation lasted for only a second, before a dark chuckle emanate from the shadows, and you were whipping around to peer into them.

You didn’t see him at first, gaping at the darkness until he stepped out, looking every bit like a devil dressed in finery. Purple eyes glowing in the moonlight, the sharp lines of his face like jagged peaks in the dark of the hall, tall and intimidating, with a sinister smirk sat on his lips.

“You, Little Mouse, are the one who called me here?” Like magic - well, with magic - the letter you’d scrawled in a hurry and slipped under his door mere hours ago appeared between his fingers. Scratchy, torn brown parchment, with other notes and lists and words scribbled out and crossed, reused over and over because it was all you had.

You steeled your nerves, rolling your shoulders back and tipping your chin up to look at him as he stepped close, close enough to smell the luxurious soap that had your head spinning once again. “I did.”

Your voice only trembled a little as you spoke, and you were proud to get the words out at all. You’d never been afraid of Rhysand, but at this moment, as all that big half-Illyrian warrior and High Lord stood before you, you’d be a fool not to be at least a little intimidated. “For what?”

He all but purred the words, smirk widening a little more, brows rising at you and his head cocked to the side.

“A bargain… a fuck… a good look at true power? What could you,” He cast a scornful and slow stare over your body, the torn rags you called a dress, the scuffed and scratched shoes, the messy hair and dirt under your fingernails that made you hide your hands behind your back. “Possibly want from me?”

Your mouth dropped open, words silenced as you tried to work out what to say to him, but his sneer made you second-guess yourself. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe everything you thought was wrong, maybe-

You didn’t get a chance to think any further, before the sound of pounding footsteps and angry voices bouncing off of the stone walls made every decision for you. If you were caught here, lowly and unworthy up in the higher courtrooms of the mountain palace, you’d be flogged for sure. Worse, they’d be sure to get the truth out of you, sure to get the truth of everything you’d done just to get here tonight.

For that, they’d kill you.

In a spur of boldness that you’d most likely come to regret, your arm shot out, saving him as well as yourself as your nimble fingers wrapped around his muscle-corded forearm. Even through heavy layers of expensive black silk shirts and embroidered blazers, you could feel him tense at the abrupt contact. Dragging him along behind you, you didn’t hesitate, weaving through corridors and pathways, past floor-to-ceiling windows and being sure to remain out of sight.

He spluttered behind you for the first few seconds, almost enough to pull a smile at your lips with the image of the terrifying Lord of Night spluttering, but your panic was far too high to even entertain that kind of thought right now. He yanked his arm free, a growl on his lips as your fingernails scratched at the soft fabric of his blazer, surely messing up some of the threads, but right now, your adrenaline was too high to be concerned with such trivial fears.

Everywhere you turned, voices could be hurried; hurried and panicked and frantic. Boots marched, people corralled out of their way, heels tapping and weapons scraping along the floor as they were dragged. A busy, busy night indeed.

All your fault, a voice taunted in your head, a tendril of regret finally making itself known as you fled. Despite it all, curiosity seemed to have gotten the best of Rhysand, because he was following you, despite your grip no longer being on him. He could have stopped you, even with all that dark power suppressed he would possess enough to freeze every cell in your body to his command with nothing but a wink, and yet, he didn’t.

His long legs carried him at more of a fast walk to your hurried run behind you, and you jerked with shock when you felt the sharp scratch of an icy talon, then two, then three, scratched down your thick mental barriers. You could feel a ripple of twisted fascination burst from him at encountering any walls at all, at someone who knew how to track and resist a daemati.

The tall doors at the end of your final corridor beckoned you forward, with intricate designs etched into the front, and thick wood that would hide you both on the other side. You’d already picked the locks, your feet finally slowing down as relief enough to make you almost collapse as you came to a halt before them. Twisting the knob with a prayer that nobody had somehow discovered your plan, locked them again to keep you out, a shaky laugh left you as the door creaked open with just a little pressure.

Nothing but inky darkness spilt out from inside, and you stepped into it, welcoming its cold embrace and its camouflage, its protection. He followed you in, stepping through with one graceful stride, and your back collapsed onto it to push it closed, a heavy sigh leaving you as your heart rate began to even back out at last. Now, you could barely make out the silhouette of him before you, but you could feel his presence all around, like a weighted blanket closing in.

His stare was even heavier, you didn’t need to see those violet eyes to feel the depth of them on you.

You smiled anyway, wondering if he could see you through the dark, another gift those lucky High Fae perhaps had that your lowly kind did not. Your steps were rehearsed, pacing across the room, acutely aware of where he was as he followed, just from the buzz of his leaking power on the air, all the way to the window at the far side of the room. Scraping back heavy curtains on either side of clear glass doors, you’d already picked those locks too in preparation.

Swinging the doors open and stepping out into milky moonlight on the terrace, you took your first real breath of fresh air in weeks, sighing happily at the cold breeze of the early-Spring night.

The curse trapping you both here shimmered before you, barely an inch from the edge of the stone, and you reached out, never touching it, never risking letting it tell of your true location, but hovering your hand before it, feeling the cruel zap in warning of Amarantha’s boundaries. Never to escape, never to leave, trapped here Under The Mountain.

Your peace was shattered by the rough, animal growl of the man behind you, patience audibly fraying.

“Alright, Little Mouse, I’ve played your game. But, you know how it ends when the cat catches the prey, so what do you want?”

Finally, you turned to face him, hands clenching once again behind your back, hoping this time it would hide the tremor as your intentions were finally to be revealed. “I want nothing.”

“Everyone wants something from me. So, what is it?” He stepped a fraction closer, a snarl curling on his lips, ugly power taking over a handsome face.

“Alright, fine.” You mused, stepping a footstep closer to him as well. “What I wanted… was for you to see the sky.”

He visibly faltered, for all the roles he played and the masks he wore, this one slipped for just a second, his eyes widening as though it was a riddle, brows furrowing even deeper, and scowl twisting to a frown of confusion. “Why?”

“Because it is Starfall tonight.”

This time, his mask didn’t just falter, it crumbled entirely, the façade coming crashing down around his feet as his jaw dropped. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, gaze flicking over you in an entirely new light now, eyes narrowing to assess you but no malice behind those pretty iris’ now. “You know of Starfall?”

“Of course. It is my favourite holiday.”

An unsteady breath rushed from him, like he’d taken a hit to the lungs, eyes widening as he stared. His shoulders slumped, rigid posture melting away until he looked positively world-weary, arms hanging by his sides. It was then that he wiped a hand over his face, realising a tired laugh, and you wrapped your arms loosely around yourself.

He didn’t recognise you, of course he didn’t you’d been counting on it for this plan to work. You just didn’t realise how cold and lonely actually having that fact acknowledged would make you feel. Rolling up one tatty sleeve of your dress to reveal swirls of blank ink beginning to climb up your forearm from your wrist, his eyes somehow seemed to widen further.

He took your wrist in his hand, your fingers tightening to a fist as a shocked gasp sounded, his touch like fire and warmth and comfort all in one as he gripped you firmly, but cautiously. Turning your arm over in his hold, he pushed your sleeve all the way up to your bicep, tracing the patterns with one fingertip, touch so light it made you shiver. Your bargain marks, messy and rough and ugly, just like the deals you’d had to strike which resulted in them.

“These… these are bargain marks. These are Night Court marks.” He traced again, thumb swiping over the pulse point on your wrist, feeling the race of it under the pad, before lowering the fabric back down to cover them again, and releasing your arm. “The marks of my court.”

His voice cracked, something within you shattering at the sound of it, and you choked down a well of thick emotion as you thought of home, for the first time in a very long while. One a whisper as broken as his voice had been, you uttered; “Yes.”

Too much weight in his stare, too many memories of a place you missed like a lost lover, too many bargains made here just to survive.

It was all so horrible.

“I didn’t know. I had no idea anyone from my court was here.”

There were questions loaded in that sentence. How did you get here? Why are you trapped? Who brought you? What was your reason? You wanted to answer them all, but at first, a single shrug was all that came to mind. It was so overwhelming, not only to be standing here, finally talking to the one person who could understand your longing for home, but to be standing here with your High Lord, someone you’d spent centuries admiring, decades pitying, and months plotting for.

This time, it was he who attempted a smile in comfort. It helped.

“I was travelling at the time. Seeing all of Prythian, and finding work wherever I could to find my adventure.” A horrible feeling you’d spent so long crying over worming its way back in.

You’d spent so long dreaming of getting away from the Night Court, to explore and see the rest of the continent, of the world, and now it was all you wanted to go back. To stay forever, curled up on the windowsill of a cosy apartment that overlooked the glowing lights of Velaris, close enough to hear the music from the Rainbow and hear the happy voices, watch the snow fall or bluebells sprout. You wanted it so badly it ached.

“At the time of…” You waved a hand, throat stinging as you wrestled with emotion, unable to even say the words of this foul curse aloud, even after centuries, “I was working for the Vanserra’s. No one important, as it had always been for me, but they always bring their own staff to the parties. In case you hadn't noticed, Beron is quite high-maintenance, and Eris is terribly paranoid and suspicious.”

A laugh burst from him, rough and grating and unsteady, like he hadn't used it in so long, but it blossomed something in your chest that you thought had died long ago.

“I was one of the lowly serving staff they brought with them that fateful night, to keep Lady Autumn’s glass filled with wine, so she’d never have to lift a single finger. Unfortunately, that meant that when they were trapped, I was too. All that wish for adventure. I got a little more excitement than I bargained for, I suppose.”

Silence settled, the story hanging between you like mist on the morning air, your head turning and gaze shifting to the twinkling stars overhead. Several minutes seemed to pass as he processed it all, and decided what to say next, a hand skimming your shoulder lightly, as though hesitant to dare touch you at all. “Why did you never come to me, before tonight?”

The laugh that tumbled from your lips was self-pitying and sad. Running your hands over the tatty skirt you wore, it felt obvious.

He was, arguably, beside Amarantha, the most important person here. You were nobody. He wore a new suit embellished with gold and silver, you wore a dirty dress that had more patches and sewing than the original fabric. He smelled of fresh soap and aftershave, you smelled of bleach from scrubbing the floors and cinders from the fireplaces. He slept in silk sheets on a big bed, all to himself, you’d been sharing a dormitory for ten years with scratchy bedding and broken mattresses.

And yet, you wouldn't trade with him for all the riches in the world. Your anonymity was all that protected you.

You were nobody. You meant nothing. But tonight, just tonight, you had the chance to be something.

“To what end? We’re both trapped, you have your role to play, and I have mine.”

His smile was as weak and empty as your laugh was. “It’s been ten years. I could have… I could have don’t something to help, made life easier for you, so that you weren’t so alone.”

There was a pain in his voice, a kind of ongoing struggle you’d come to terms with years ago, but it was like a fresh slice across sensitive skin for him. You reached out, hand hovering lightly over his arm, unsure whether or not it was your place. Then again, it was a barrier you’d already crossed in an adrenaline-fuelled panic. Settling your hand lightly onto his forearm, you squeezed gently, hoping it was as reassuring for him as you intended.

“I don’t know how-”

“It’s okay, truly.” Your throat bobbed, the informality of this whole situation was surreal, only the chill in the air, wind whistling through rips in threadbare fabric keeping you grounded. “I was never alone, it’s hard ever to be alone around here. It was just lonely.”

He hummed, a non-committal response, and his mind seemed elsewhere. A heavy sigh, and then his head tipped back, eyes moving to watch the motionless stars twinkle in the sky. It wasn’t until the third shaky breath and slight sniff, hands clenching by his side, that you realised he was choking back powerful emotions. For you.

“Please, don’t worry for me, my Lord.” Your hand swept comfortingly, twice, up and down his arms, that fist of that hand smoothed out when your fingers brushed his the pulse on his wrist. Words, hanging on the tip of your tongue, dangerous and risky and presumptive, but it felt like the two of you had far surpassed those kinds of barriers by now. “It looks far lonelier and far more hurtful at the Queen’s side than where I am.”

His head snapped back down, all that anguish temporarily banished from swirling violet eyes as he studied you once again. It was like a thousand thoughts flashing through his mind too fast for you to read in his eyes. Your lungs were frozen, burning for air but unable to take any oxygen in, eyes wide and body locked as you waited. He was putting something together, he knew, his lips pressing into a thin line and you didn’t know whether this would flip it all over wrongly.

His head cocked to the side, licking over one lip, before the edges of his lips were flickering at the edges, just slightly.

“It was you.”

“What was me?” You’d always been a bad liar, gaze flicking away from his and it was your turn now to let the stars distract you. A talon, scraping at your mental shields again, a warning that he could if he wanted to, break through and you’d never even know. Instead, a single finger hooked under your chin, turning your face back to him.

“It was you. You, who suddenly unearthed this mysterious prophecy about the human girl breaking the curse. You, who has Amarantha on such a wild goose chase that she has no time for… me. At least, not for a while.” He looked awed now, a reassured expression, and his hand slipped from your chin up, to cup your face. Your throat was tight, painfully so, the simple bit of affection making your eyes water and the truth poured from you in a nod. “You were so scared in the halls, pacing and fretting before I even got there. Your fear was heavy in the air. When you heard the voices and the footfalls, you fled. It was you.”

“It was me.” His breath raced from him, lips parted, and you raised your own hand. Holding his to your face, you stole a few selfish seconds, head tipping further into his palm as his thumb swept over your cheekbone; a few sacred moments of comfort. “Buying you a few hours to yourself on this night was the least I could do, my Lord. You may not have known I was here, but some of your actions, the small mercies you disguise as cruelties, have done more for me than you could ever know.”

“Call me Rhysand. Please.” He was fighting tears, much the same as you were, and his other hand joined the first, holding your face up to his own as he stepped a little closer. The warmth from his body was like a magnet you, swayed toward him, the moonlight glowing on his skin like it was made to decorate him and him alone. “At least… at least, when we’re alone. I don’t want to be anything but myself with you. You see me. You’re the only person down here who does..”

You didn’t have to force a smile anymore. It was the first one that felt honestly genuine in years. His thumbs swept a couple more times, before his arms were shaking with restraint, and he pulled them away. Silence settled around you both. With one more glance at the stars, your arms wrapped around yourself, and you turned back to him. “Enjoy the stars, Rhysand.”

There would be nothing to see, no falling stars and souls finding their way. But, just knowing that it was happening out there, watching these ones stay still and twinkle gently, it was enough to feel connected to home, just for a little while. Stepping away from him, the loneliness creeping back up already felt suffocating, like ice water ready to drag you into the darkness and the depths.

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your own, firm but gentle, insistent but pleading. “Please- please, don’t go. Stay with me. Spend Starfall with me?”

It was an offer like you could only dream of, to spend Starfall with someone else once again, someone who knew. You had no idea how to say yes, mouth hanging open, but he seemed to get the gist, lips curling into a real smile now. Not the cruel grin he wore every day, not the cocky smirk. This was real, this was beauty and emotions and trust.

“Yes?”

“Yes. I would like that.” This opportunity could never happen again, and so you weren’t going to let it just fly past like a misguided star. He tugged you back a little closer, letting your hand go when you fell into place by his side, and his body dropped any remaining tension. He rested his hands on the railing, cautious not to touch that barrier of the curse, and tapping the space beside him for you to join.

You did, the two of you staring out quietly at the vast lands, the bright skies, the empty space; nobody ever dared near the centre of the horrid curse killing the lands.

“I miss the grass.”

“I have a friend… a brother, who has terrible allergies. Even a speck of pollen, and he’s sneezing and eyes running.” A wistful look took over his features, amusement and nostalgia crackling under the surface. “It’s quite the sight to see a warlord sneeze and curse at a flower.”

Your mind followed, reeling a little as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. “General Cassian… has hay fever?”

“Don’t tell him I told you, he’d string me up by my boxers from the pillars of the moonstone palace.” The sounds of your laughter bounced off of the stony sides of the mountain, echoes disappearing into the tonight, mixed with his deep chuckles. A kind of harmony formed, peace, a small bubble of a happy memory like a light amongst so much darkness. You’d look back on this moment for years, possibly decades to come, relishing in the way it felt to smile again, to have companionship and real happiness, even if it didn’t last long. “I miss the smell of the Sidra just after it rains.”

“I miss watching the snow fall at Solstice.”

“I miss the way it would feel after the snow melted, that first truly warm day.”

It somehow became a game, swapping back and forth, each thing you missed. Some were funny, others nostalgic, some were his royal experiences that made his cheeks heat and sweet chuckles leave his lips when you teased him, others had the same experience on you.

The conversation shifted, he asked you all about your travels, told you of his favourite places he’d seen in different courts, and asked you if you’d ever been there. He told you stories about all of his adventures, as you did for him, watching the moon slowly inching its way across the dark sky as you confided in one another, all your deepest pain and joy and excitement. He told you about his friends, the shadow singer, the general, the terrifying creature from another world. He was so passionate, he loved so deeply, that by the time he’d finished, you felt as though you knew them too, like you loved them too.

Then, when your cheeks ached and your stomach was sore from all the laughing, when every happy memory had been shared, reality set back in once again.

“I miss home.”

“Me too.” With your simple response, his gaze fixed once again above your heads, so far away and yet you longed to be there.

“It's- it’s just so godsdamned nice, that just one person knows I’m not a villain.” His words startled you, a fresh batch of pain, something deep and primal exposed like an open wound right to the heart. When you turned to face him, he was staring at the stars, but soft trails of moonlight trickled in fat tears down his cheeks. “Sometimes, so many days pass by where I can’t even look at myself in the mirror, where I can’t even bear the sound of my own name, knowing the way it’ll go down in history. This, this night, your company and your kindness, it makes it feel worth it. That just one person will not hate me, for the rest of my life, makes it feel like it's enough.”

When he finally faced you, wet cheeks and red eyes and exposed vulnerability, you gave him the same comfort he’d given you. With hands on his cheeks to wipe away those tears, you gave your best smile, letting his head hang heavily in your palms for a while. “You’ll never be the villain in my story, Rhysand.”

His lip wobbled, and he twisted his head, lips brushing your palm as he pressed a series of fragile, trembling kisses there. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Your shiver wasn’t from the cold, but from his blatant affection. At the act, however, his pained look became dismayed, glancing over your thin attire with disappointment. He stood, reluctantly peeling your hands from his face long enough to slide down the large blazer he wore, and slipping it over your shoulders. When he pulled the lapels tightly around your body, the plush lining, still filled with his body heat, was like wrapping up in front of the fireplace, on the very rare occasions you could steal a minute to do so.

With a roll of his shoulders, those magnificent wings you’d only ever seen from afar were visible, appearing before your very eyes as though from thin air, as though they’d always been there, only veiled, and you stared unabashedly in amazement.

Stepping closer, until you were so close your breath bounced off of his chest and you could pick out the threads in his shirt, he wrapped them around you, sealing out cold wind and the rest of the world.

“Better?”

“Better.” You whispered, and his resulting look of pride warmed you as much from the inside as he did from the outside. After only a brief moment of consideration, you freed one arm, looping it slowly around his waist. When he only tugged you closer, your other arm joined it. Settling your cheek against his shoulder, he moulded his body to your arm, thick arms wrapping around your body in return, sealing you to him in a hug neither of you intended to let go from any time soon.

His lips traced the top of your head as he turned, a few kisses dotted affectionately along your hairline, drawing happy sighs from you each time. When his head dipped a little further, lips near your temple, it was to quietly murmur, “Would you like to see the stars falling?”

You pulled back, barely a fraction as he refused to let you go at all, but enough to stare up at him. “How?”

“I still have a little of my powers, such as hiding these magnificent wings.” His smirk was positively feline, the nosey Lord having pulled that tidbit from your mind, and warmth raced to your cheeks. “I can show you some of my memories from previous years, if you trust me?”

Another tap of claws on your walls, a soft stroke like a finger over your skin, and you lowered your shields slowly to allow him inside. As soon as you did, you could feel him everywhere. Swarming in your thoughts, filling your head like you were both in there, and giving as much of his feelings away as it did yours. You could feel the relief at knowing someone else’s touch, that lingering guilt for not having known you but the borderline bliss at being here right now. The elation, at being trusted. The joy of having someone to share home with.

Your eyes fluttered closed on his command, as he began to play the memories over.

Glimpses of parties, of stars and fireworks and sequins and fancy dresses. Twirling and dancing, intoxicated fun, and when you saw Azriel or Cassian or Mor, you felt his love for them like you’d feel your own. It was like seeing it through your own eyes. In this memory, he was making his way through the palace, the House of Wind atop the mountain.

You’d seen drawings and pictures, of course, glimpsed it from afar on clear days, but nothing had ever compared to these real images of seeing the palace home. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Tall pillars and columns made of marble and moonstone, carved and designed with intricate swirls and stories. Open balconies, large rooms, enough space that it would take you days to learn your way around, and that was just the small glimpses of it you could see now.

Eventually, he made it to the balcony, one hand braced on the stone as he stared out across Velaris down below, so far and tiny and beautiful, a vibrant ache in your heart as you longed to be back there, one that matched in his own through the connection you’d forged.

You watched on, as his attention turned to the sky, to the falling stars, glittery and soaring and so close. So colourful up close, you’d never seen such a sight, like being immersed within the colour, becoming a part of nature temporarily, leaving you breathless and high on the feeling.

You watched and watched, as he once had, what felt like hours slipping by until it came to an end, and your cheeks felt wet when you finally felt him pull back from your mind. Not entirely, no, a piece of him was still lingering there behind your consciousness, a comforting weight, but your senses were all back, like your spirit had sunk back into your body.

“Thank you for showing me that.”

“Incredible, isn’t it?”

“That stars,” you breathed, “I’ve never seen it so clearly. They were so close, like you could just reach out and touch them.”

He wiped away your tears with one arm, the other still sealed tightly around you, soon to be rejoined. “You can, and when we get out of here someday, I’ll show it to you. I’ll show you so much, give you so much.”

There was nothing else to say, no more words that could fathom this feeling. But, you didn’t need them. You knew that he knew, his presence in your mind was sure to trace it. So, instead, you just snuggled in closer, cheek on his shoulder once again, and eyes sliding closed as you let yourself sink fully into his embrace.

He needed this as much as you did, a two-way street now opened between your minds, and a selfish part of you hoped he never took it away, that even when you were alone, you’d never be lonely again. That fraction of darkness in your mind flickered, as if making a promise.

“Why? Why did you do this for me?” He eventually asked, the question that had been hovering all night. “When I have done nothing for you?”

“Because, Rhysand, I have seen you from afar. You’ve seemed so empty, lately. I wanted to give you something to remind you to hold on.”

He’s breathless, you could feel it under your own thudding heart as his pulse raced and he panted softly into your hairline, trying to settle. “Someday, I’ll take you home. Back to Velaris, where we belong. I’ll make up for everything you’ve had to go through. You’ll never want for anything, you’ll never be alone again. But, while we’re still here, I’ll make up for these ten years I’ve missed already. What can I do, what do you want first?”

“Those are beautiful promises, Rhysand, and I appreciate them, but I don’t need them. All I want, all I need, is a friend. To not be so alone.”

“Never again, darling. Never again, will I let you be alone. It’s me and you, now.” He squeezed you in, another kiss to the top of your head, and you pressed into it, leaving a single kiss to his jaw in return. “Happy Starfall, darling.”

“Happy Starfall, Rhysand.”

#rhysand x reader #rhysand/reader #rhysand x you #rhysand/you #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar/reader #acotar/you #rhysand #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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the-kr8tor · 5 months

Note

Hi!! Wanted to send smth in for fluffy Friday :3

Could you write a thing for hobie with an artist S/o painting on hobie’s back and just having a chill time together while doing so 🥺?

Thank you for the adorable prompt!! 🫶🫶 Hope u like it!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, suggestive content, cw food mention, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You find out that Hobie's ticklish with the first brush stroke of your paintbrush on his skin. He squirms faintly with his toned back muscles moving subtly, but you take notice because of your current position on his back. The paint is cool when it hits his skin, but you grant him reprieve from the cold with your warm hands.

You're straddling his waist, your legs sit comfortably on his sides, mindful of your weight that he insists he can handle because of his enhanced abilities. But your instincts make you lift yourself up slightly above him, every time you do this he reaches for your thighs blindly, bringing you back down on his waist with a disapproving grunt and a quiet and stern ‘lovie’

“You're ticklish” you coo whilst your hands expertly paint individual blades of grass on the small of his back. Your fluffy pajama pants doesn't help, with every move from you, it tickles him more.

“Nuh uh” Hobie’s voice is muffled by the pillow, if not for the slight tickle he would've fallen asleep from the start. With you on top and gently painting on his back, your hands gliding along his skin, he thinks he's in heaven.

You take a clean brush, bringing it to sweep it across his nape. He shudders, proving your point. Laughing, you bend down to kiss him right over where you tickled him as an apology. An apology he accepts wholeheartedly.

“Y’know, when I accepted to be your canvas I expected to be pampered not tickled to death”

“So dramatic,” you whisper, blowing air into his ear that earns you a flick on your forehead that may or may not have made his shoulder ache a bit. “After, I promise” Hobie hums at the prospect of you actually pampering him after.

Giggling, you continue to finish your work of art. Painting delicate daisies all over the bottom of his back. You're careful this time, trying extra hard not to tickle him.

“Can I guess now?” Hobie cranes his neck to look over his shoulder, silently wishing he was bit by a radioactive owl instead just so he can look at you fully. That would be a terrifying sight though, straight out of a horror movie.

You put some details on Hobie's iconic leather vest. Streaks of silver dance on his skin. “You ask like you haven't been doing that for the past hour”

Hobie ignores your quip with him squeezing your thigh. “I feel like you're drawing triangles, pizza?”

He isn't completely wrong, you are painting triangles for the spikes on his vest. “Pizza? Are you that hungry, babe?”

“Starving”

“Okay, let's finish this later then.” You rub at his arms comfortingly.

“No, finish it, love. I can feel that you're almost done”

“How'd you know?” You lean down once again to face him.

Hobie's cheek is smooshed on the pillow, his lips puckered, a sight so adorable you just want to smooch him right there and then. You pat yourself on the back for not indulging yourself, a feat in itself.

“I can always tell when you're about to finish” he smirks at his own joke.

You guffaw, “just for that I'm gonna take my time” lifting yourself up, Hobie chases after you, trying his best to reach for your lips. But alas, thanks to his bones he couldn't reach you in time.

He gives up, flopping back down on the pillows with a muffled ‘almost’ After a few more added details, you finally finish it in record time.

“And done!” You lift yourself off his back to his dismay. Patting his butt, Hobie gently eases himself off the bed, careful not to ruin your art.

He has pillow creases left on his skin which you gladly rub away with your thumb. “You wanna see?” your eyes twinkle.

“Please, lovie”

Leading him towards the floor length mirror, you turn him around to face you instead of the mirror, to which he happily lets you manhandle him with a lopsided grin on his lips.

“Tadaa!” You gesture around his back, shyness rearing its head, tucking your hands over your chest as you feel heat on your cheeks.

Hobie looks over his shoulder, he doesn't feel so hungry anymore. You've painted a pretty picture to say the least, it's a masterpiece, definitely your best work. It's a scenic landscape of you and Hobie on a sunny field, sitting on a picnic cloth, smiling as Hobie plays his guitar complete with tiny musical notes floating around. The grass is painted with tiny flowers that makes him want to reach down and pluck some for you to put in your hair.

He realizes you're waiting for his reaction, eyes searching his face. Hobie grabs you by your waist, twirling you around the bedroom whilst he beams at your laughing form. You laugh loudly as he squeezes the life out of you.

“It's so fuckin' gorgeous! You're so fuckin' good!” Hobie places the biggest messiest kiss on your lips. He pulls away with a loud smacking of your lips then he decides immediately to kiss you once again on every surface of your face. “So fuckin' perfect!”

“You're eating my face!”

“Because ‘m hungry!”

You think he really loves your little painting.

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saradika · 8 months

Text

— BLEED FOR ME | part iii

[masterlist]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 2.4k

haunted hoedown prompts: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+ 1 to be revealed!)

tags: vampire!au, drinking blood, reader has scar on shoulder, mentions of death, shared memories, light angst, references to seduction, sexual innuendo and thoughts, references to violence

The days until the winter solstice tick down. Early Autumn days start to cool at night.

You sleep under the last warmth of the sun, with windows drawn open after he leaves. The canopy is wrapped around your bed, letting in the afternoon breeze but mimicking the darkness.

And still, you feel adrift. That funny feeling is still settling in your stomach. Rolling with the sway of your step as you follow at the Mand'alor's - Din's - heels.

No longer seating across the room in the throne room. Now next to him, in a golden seat that matches his silver one.

Listening as he conducts his business. Trades and agreements, settled firmly and carefully. A disagreement, broken up without violence.

It’s fascinating.

But it feels... wrong. Your own task seeps into the honor of being at his side, polluting it. You're expected to enjoy it, to look happy, and it's become all too easy to forget what happened - why you were here.

Too wrapped up in the quiet questions he asks, in those moments of dusk and dawn. Half truths becoming whole as you guard slowly lowers. As you begin to learn about him, as well.

Things he tells you. Things you pick up, absorbing greedily without thought.

It feels like a betrayal, later.

How could you forget what happened? How could you forget your promise?

His kindness only extends because you are physically keeping him alive. You should have ended things by now.

But, you haven't.

The guilt gnaws at you. Seeping into your dreams, into those moments of connection, when your eyes can't help but close.

The images so much more vivid, now. Almost a tangibility to them - the quick, blurred edges coming into focus. Repeating, growing longer.

So much seems to focus on that night. You think it's because it still haunts you. Replaying how the shouts had awoken you. That startled feeling as you crawled out of bed.

The shadows on the walls, the weak and watery grey sky. Soon turning red, and then black - with flame and smoke.

A glint of gold. Your grandmother's necklace, lying on the bedside table. A photo of their wedding day inside, painted with such care.

Something you wish you could have saved - one of the few relics from your family, a gift from when you had left them to find your purpose.

You had always wished for a love like theirs. A fated connection.

There’s a throb as you remember the collision - something solid that knocked you to the ground. Fingers coming back sticky, your mouth tasting of copper. The visions always swim, then.

Parts you've never been able to remember, before. Always growing dim, until you'd been woken up under the tree, and it was over.

But lately, there's more. As if you're outside your own body. The limp sway of your arm, dangling as you were carried. The murmur of a low voice, though you can’t make out the words. Dark eyes looking down at you, almost brown in the morning light.

There's a sharp edge of a knife that you always walk.

Torn between pressing, nudging - trying to get get a glimpse of the vampires, the destruction. A way to remind yourself what has happened, why you are here.

And then, not wanting to see.

What if it's something you can't take back? What if it disgusts you so much that you can't help but act in that exact moment - ruining your chance?

So, you don't.

You let the images pass - carefully collecting them. Pressing them lkke flowers between a book, something to come back to layer. Not even realizing that deep, deep down...

You’re really just hoping that you don't see him.

You really shouldn’t have gone down to the kitchens.

A heat still burns in your cheeks at the thought, when you finally made your way back to your room. Your treasure procured - a freshly baked pastry with homemade jam clutched in your fingers.

The food here is the best you’ve ever had. You can admit that, at least. All the Companions are well-fed, with treats and delicacies always left out downstairs.

It’s here, that you had found a few others.

Beautiful men and women, all gathered around a smoldering fire as the sun had begun to rise. Their other halves flitting off to hole up until nightfall.

But just like you - there was a desire to see the sun, at least.

You had joined them, half out of loneliness and half intrigue. They had accepted you quickly, stifled laugher and glances over their shoulder as they had whispered questions.

“So how is the Mand’alor? I’ve always wondered.”

“You don’t have any marks. Does he drink from your-”

An elbow then to her side, her words had cut off with a giggle. A head turned- an aside to her friend.

“Lady Kryze is always so thorough. I haven’t slept in days.”

Someone else had sighed.

“What I wouldn’t give to be Lord Fett’s Companion.”

You had realized there’s desire in their words. That none of them were afraid, that there was a sense of private camaraderie and knowing amongst them.

That unsettling, confused feeling comes back. They were human, like you. Did they not know what the vampires did? Were they so shallow that coin and finery had bought their loyalty?

Their eyes were on you, expectant. You had no choice but to shrug with embarrassment.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

They were quick to set you straight.

“It’s like, a feeling, you know?”

“You have to lean into it. That connection.”

“The first time I tried it, I had marks up and down my thighs by morning.”

There was an eagerness that laced with jealousy, leaving you even more bemused than before. Faking a prior engagement as you had left them, promising to give it a try.

Privately, you told yourself you wouldn’t.

You couldn’t.

Looking back, you can’t even remember the taste of the jam, what fruit it was. All you could think about is this new facet of their relationships.

Wondering if that will be expected of you. Wondering why you weren’t warned.

Wondering if you cared.

Wouldn’t that be a good way to get closer?

The thought makes you uneasy.

You’d put an end to this. But you weren’t so cold-hearted to stoop to seduction. That wouldn’t be fair, to Din.

But as the sun rises, when he comes back.

When his mouth is pressing against your wrist, when you’re looking at the bow of his lips and the wide breadth of his armor, that wondering comes again.

The thoughts creep in.

For he is handsome… the parts of him you have seen. A rich voice and the breadth of his shoulders in his armor. The little upward tick of his lips in a rare smile.

And you are human, after all.

You find yourself imagining marks on yours thighs, on the soft curve of your neck.

How your blood would throb, rushing down to pool beneath heated skin - wet and swollen. The thud of your heartbeat kicks up a notch, as your thighs press together. As you squirm in your seat.

You don’t know his face but you do know his mouth. It’s his teeth you picture sinking into your skin, your mind nudging curiously at the thought.

It sends a jolt down your spine. Pricking at your skin, heat licking at your chest and down to your belly. Then slipping lower. Your breath catches in your throat-

His grip on you tightens, then. It’s almost painful - startling you. A hushed cry rattles from your lungs as he pulls back with a rough gasp.

“Ulyc, cyar’ika.” Din’s voice is ragged, as his hips shift upward - letting go, as you pull your wrist back to your chest, “I’m sorry. But you can’t-”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his thought. A knock at the open doorway, Boba’s face grave as it turns your way.

“Mand’alor.” His voice is low, his brows drawn together. “The city, it calls for you.”

Din’s chest still heaves, his hand dragging across his mouth as he composes himself. The helmet sliding back into place as he stands, but still keeping himself close to you.

“Wolves?” He asks.

Boba shakes his head, “Raiders, from the looks of it. Like before. I can send someone, or go myself.”

You forget about the pain, about everything, for just a second. The thought of the town below in ruins sends you back to a year ago, sorrow twisting through your chest.

It has you half-standing, but Din’s hand is pressing against your shoulder, carefully easing you back down.

“I’ll go.” His voice is firm, “This has gone on long enough.”

A second, as he turns to you, “I need to take care of this. Boba will look out for you while I’m gone.”

Something like worry creeps in. Aware of the weak light that slips through the cracks of your curtains, how soon it will be morning.

“The sun…” You begin hesitantly, and he’s stepping closer.

“I’ll be fine.” His fingertips touch your jaw and that has you looking up - wishing once again that you could see his eyes.

Giving him just a small nod, instead.

From your window you watch him leave. The glint of his silver armor in the morning sun, now - his movements practiced as he swings a leg over the slate-grey horse.

Drawing his sword - the metal dark and gleaming and looking almost alive, even as far away as you are.

Watching as he gallops down the path, racing off to ward away the threat.

Leaving you inside the castle, to wait.

You worry turns into something else, as the hours pass.

Anger, at the thought of him rushing off to save this town, when he had launched an attack on yours. Did human life mean so little?

Did he even think about the bodies that had lied littering the streets, the memories that has been torn down?

Was it only because these humans were complicit, that they were spared?

You had awoken to screams. You don’t know if your town had even been asked.

The mark on your wrist stays red, unhealed. A reminder while he is gone. That you’ve slipped too far, that you need to get over the tender feelings you’ve pretended not to notice.

They fester inside your chest. You dream about him while he’s gone, as the day bleeds into another.

His face bare, features blurry above the lips and nose you know so well. Leaving you to wonder if his eyes are red, like the glimpses you’ve gotten of Lady Kryze? Are they burgundy, like Boba’s?

Replaying the sound he had made, the morning that he left. The edge his voice takes just after he feeds, lasting through the few moments he stays afterwards. That pulsing, thudding beat that leaves you squirming, when you’re alone again.

Leaving you with the urge to sink your own teeth into something.

Those thoughts are ruled by your heart, not your mind, not your logic. Another betrayal, your eyes unable to help flicking towards the window, again and again.

Looking to the others throughout the day, checking for any news or weakness.

A sign that he’s fallen.

None come.

You try not to think about the relief that follows. Or why you feel listless, your eyes dragging over the same words in the books you pick up, in an attempt to pass the time.

Your enthusiasm for the food waning - more in tune than ever with the hours that pass.

Still wondering about the town, below.

You had spoken to some, in your journey here. They had been good people, honest folk.

Maybe along the way, there had been a mistake. An itch in your brain that you haven’t been able to scratch, irritating you since you arrived.

You’ve decided to ask Fennec about it.

Not about anything that would raise suspicion.

Just why the Mand’alor himself would feel the need to go alone. What sort of promise he had made, to go rushing off with such intensity?

Maybe then, you could understand.

You find her by accident - in a large ballroom that you often cut through.

The ceiling painted in a wash of colors, accented in gold. Seraphs lying on clouds and sprawling gardens and somehow always feeling bright, even in the dim room.

Liking the way your feet echo, in the empty room. A swing in your step as if you were dancing too, even if just pretend.

But you’re not alone today - she sits in one of the plush alcoves. Arms bared where her shirt pushes up, a dark jerkin slung over one of the marble statues that line the walls.

"I'm sorry-" You manage, attempting to back out of the room. The moment looked private - your question could wait.

Her eyebrow lifts, looking unbothered, "You can come in, I'm just preparing."

The way she lounges is casual, as if she does this regularly. Propped up against a nest of pillows, a book opened against her bent knees. An arm draped to the side, an ooze of red that drips down to a half-full goblet below.

A jar of that same salve Din had given to you sits in the open windowsill, for after. A means to wipe the mark from her skin, to knit it neatly together again.

The sight makes your stomach turn, even after all this time.

"Are you leaving, too?" Your head nods towards the cup, as you linger in the doorway - thinking about what Boba had said about her ferocity.

Her brows pinch in question, as you gesture to her arm.

"No," Fennec's head shakes, as she understands. "This is our arrangement."

"I didn't know you could do it another way." You say this without thought - wondering if this had been what Din was offering, that first night. An alternative to biting - another small attempt at adjusting to your comfort.

"I tried the usual way." She shrugs, eyes dropping down at the text, "This is better, for us. It's tedious, for certain. But I've never enjoyed the connection. Boba's memories are..."

Fennec searches for the word, as you go still, "...Unpleasant. And I am sure mine are worse."

His memories.

Is that what you've been seeing? Those flashes of thought that blend with your own, when his teeth sink into your skin?

But how can they be, when you are in them?

"But, I am sure that's different for you." Her expression is sly, lips curving in a small smirk. A sharp glimmer replacing the far-away look in her eyes, coming back from her own evocation.

"What do you mean?" You ask, your voice sounding far away.

Dazed, as if the words are taking their time on their trip from your thoughts to your tongue.

That look comes back. As if you're on two different brainwaves, as if she isn't understanding what you're asking.

"Well, I thought that would be obvious. We’re not like you…" Fennec frowns, her head tilting. A breath, as she clarifies.

"Boba isn't my mate."

Ahh and the last Secret Prompt from the list is soulmates / fated mates! 💕 thank you so much for reading! If you’d like a tag for the last 2 parts, please let me know!

Ulyc, cyar’ika - “careful, beloved”

(Tags: @dameron-grant-spector, @sugadolly, @writingsofestella, @spaceydragons, @-ohsolovely-, @survivingandenduring, @queenquazar, @alitaar, @dindjarinsslut, @avarkriss)

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin imagine #haunted hoedown #hauntedhoedown

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fanfic-wonderland · 6 months

Text

This Is War {Fred Weasley}

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: After Slytherin loses the Quidditch Cup to Gryffindor, (Y/N) decides to get back at them... and at Fred Weasley.

Word count: 5.3k

Read part two here.

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"Look at them," Draco glowers at the group of people flying around the other side above the pitch, moving to stand right across from us. All of them are wearing matching red and gold uniforms, a very distinctive contrast to our (better-looking) green and silver ones. "They think they have a chance against us just because Potter is their Seeker. If you ask me, I've seen Flobberworms moving around faster than him."

The rest of the team laughs. I have the sudden urge to point out the many times Harry's beaten Draco in the past, just to shut them up, but I choose to keep it to myself. After all, we're on the same team, even if I often don't agree with my teammates. Besides, I would never hear the end of it, and the last thing I'd want to do when I'm so close to graduating is to get in trouble with Lucius Malfoy because his son is a whiny baby.

I keep observing the opposite team. All of them have gathered around in their own little broom circle, listening to what one of the three girls is saying. I spot Harry Potter with his back facing us while Ron Weasley stands beside him, looking defeated already.

And standing next to him are his older identical twin brothers. The worst of them all, by far. Those two are just so hard to like. They're careless, and reckless, and love to waste their time coming up with useless little experiments. They specifically have taken quite a liking to pulling pranks on us Slytherins daily, and frankly, It's become very annoying.

Three nights ago, in fact, the Weasley twins and a few other Gryffindors took it too far when they decided to bombard our entire Common Room —and our dorms— with Dungbombs. And three nights later, we're still mad. How they managed to sneak past us and plant all those bombs remains a mystery, but one thing is for sure: they've declared war and we are not backing down. "I'd love nothing more than to see their faces when we win that Quidditch Cup," Adrian Pucey says next to me. "It'd be the perfect way to get back at them for their little prank last time."

The rest of us mutter in agreement. "Well, if we want to do that, then we have to play perfectly today. Considering It's the final game and all," I point out. "That means we can't let them score too many points or catch the Snitch. And that means you'll have to be extra quick today, Draco."

He shoots me a nasty look as if he's disgusted by the fact that I'm telling him what to do. "Thank you for sharing that with us, (Y/L/N)," Graham Montague adverts his attention from Gryffindor and turns to me, the same look on his face. "Unfortunately, I don't remember making you our Co-Captain, so you might want to keep any comments or useless observations to yourself."

I hear snickering behind me but I do not turn around. Being the only girl on the team definitely comes with its cons. Sexism, for example. "I'm certainly doing a better job than our current Captain," I mutter quietly while rolling my eyes.

Down at the pitch, Madam Hooch steps into the center of the field, next to a brown trunk, and blows her whistle, which is somehow heard over the loud cheering from the crowd. Both teams fly closer to each other. Gryffindor shoots daggers at us and, as I take a long look at all of them, I find one of the twins staring directly at me. They're identical but, because of their little 'history' of messing with me and my fellow classmates, I can tell them apart almost naturally. I don't know if that's a good thing or not.

I can tell immediately that it is Fred Weasley who is smiling mockingly at me and a wave of rage runs through me.

Of course, It's Fred. I've discovered throughout the years that, even though both twins are bad enough on their own, Fred is by far the worst of the pair. While George can sometimes know when to stop, Fred does not care nearly as much about crossing the line. I glare at him, hard enough to get him to look away first, but his smile only grows bigger and he winks at me. I finally break eye contact, but only because I want all of my focus to be on the game and not wasted on someone so immature as him.

Once everyone is set, Madam Hooch opens up the trunk and the two Bludgers shoot into the sky, quickly followed by the Golden Snitch. Then, as soon as the Quaffle finally shoots free, the game starts.

It feels like a long match, like an endless cat-and-mouse game as both teams try and catch up to each other. For the longest time, It's a close call between scores, which makes all players —and the public— tense. Lee Jordan's commentary is all over the place throughout the game; one minute, he's excited when Gryffindor is in the lead, and then the next one he's accusing Slytherin of cheating when we take it (which most of the time ends up being true, but I look past it). Despite this, we put up a fairly good fight, and for the first time in so long, it feels like the Quidditch Cup is finally ours.

Unfortunately, we don't put up a good enough fight.

I'm too busy avoiding Bludgers and trying to take the Quaffle away from the opposite team that I nearly jump from my broom when I hear the whistle blowing again. Confused, I halt my flight and look around. I quickly spot Draco in the distance, running a hand through his hair in frustration, and I immediately know what happened.

Harry caught the Snitch. Again.

"Gryffindor wins!" Madam Hooch announces.

A loud wave of cheers erupts from the Gryffindors in the crowd, hugging each other and jumping excitedly at their victory. I groan as the rest of the opposite team lands back on the ground to go and congratulate Harry for the catch. I watch as they smile and pump fists into the air, and I shake my head in disappointment. I really thought we were going to win this time. "Well, I guess we're still the best team, huh?" A voice says and I turn to look at the person.

Fred is the only Gryffindor still mounting a broom, and he doesn't seem to be in any rush to join his teammates. He leans back effortlessly as if he's lying on a couch, with his hands behind his head. I scowl at him. "Shouldn't you be down there celebrating your victory, then, instead of bothering me?"

He shrugs. "I'd much rather be here, watching your defeat from up close."

My nostrils flare and if I had my wand I'd hex him here and there. "Aww, but don't worry," He fake pouts. "There'll be plenty of opportunities to try and win in the next few years. Too bad you won't be here to see it."

He finally flies away with that stupid smug look on his face and it takes everything in me not to throw a Bludger at his head. I try to ignore the fact that his words struck a nerve because he's right. This was my last chance to help win the Quidditch Cup for Slytherin and now It's gone. I missed it.

Shaking the thoughts away, I go to join my sulking teammates, who are all gathering around Draco. "I almost had it. I even touched it with the tip of my fingers," He's saying when I arrive. I have a feeling that that is not at all true. "But then Potter had to come in and ruin everything. I bet that broom of his was charmed with super speed or something."

No one says anything about it. I know they're upset about losing but they would never dare blame Draco for it. "We were so close, though," says Cassius Warrington in a frustrated tone.

"Yeah, and now we've got to think of another way to get back at them," Adrian adds.

As I watch the other team still celebrating, a light bulb turns on above my head. "Don't worry, guys," I reassure them. My wicked smile brings them a sort of comfort. "I think I have a plan to get them back."

***

"Okay, but why do I have to get dragged into this?" Daphne Greengrass, my puzzled best friend, asks as we step out of our dorm and into the dark hallway. "I don't have any beef with Gryffindor, that's your thing."

"Right, but, aside from myself, you're the only person that I trust to do this job," I tell her, quickening my steps down the stairs. "And you're way more tolerable than the others."

"Gee, thanks for that,"

"Plus, the Slytherin team is around the castle keeping watch of any Professors or Prefects or Filch," I add. "And Draco and Blaise have to get the two Gryffindor girls, so we're stuck with the most important task, and we have to do it right."

"Because of course, we are," Daphne rolls her eyes.

"Did you bring the secret ingredients?"

She reaches into her bag and takes out two clear bottles, one with a dark purple liquid in it and the other one with something that almost looks like mud. I smile delightedly. "You have no idea how happy I am that you just happened to have Sleeping Draught and Polyjuice Potion lying around the dorm."

"That's funny because back then, I remember you said that me brewing potions for fun was 'a bit pointless if you have to wait so long to brew them'" Daphne recalls.

I clear my throat uncomfortably. "I do apologize for that. I will never doubt you again."

The plan is simple.

Gryffindor is currently having a party to celebrate their victory at their Common Room. Draco and Blaise Zabini have written a letter addressed to Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, probably the easiest targets we could get, asking them to meet Michael Corner and Cormac McLaggen at the Courtyard. Pansy Parkinson will charm said letter to fly to the girls; once they get it, Draco and Blaise will put them to sleep, take a strand of hair from each of them, and bring it back to us. We mix the hair with our potion servings, drink the potion, and once we transform we sneak into the Common Room and add a (lot) bit of Sleeping Draught into the drinks. When we've made sure that everyone in the room fell into a deep slumber, we take the Quidditch Cup from them and they'll wake up in the morning with no idea of what happened. It'll look like everyone was just blackout drunk and they lost the Cup because of their irresponsibility.

It's a great plan if you ask me.

"I do have a question, though," Daphne stops walking once we make it to our own Common Room. "Don't we need the password to get into their Common Room?"

I grin and reach into my pocket, holding out a piece of paper in front of her. 'Mimbulus mimbletonia', it reads. "I stole it from that Longbottom kid in Transfiguration earlier," I say. "At first, I figured we'd rely on luck and wait until someone came around to help us, but it was much easier to just take the password from him. Plus, it saves us time."

"Huh," Daphne takes a seat on the nearest chair and folds her arms, impressed. "Good thinking. So, when are Draco and Blaise coming?"

"I'd say they should be here—"

Before I finish my sentence, and as if they've heard us talking about them, the Common Room door opens and both boys walk toward us with triumphant looks on their faces. Draco holds up the small pouch in his hand. "We got them."

"Oh, good," I sigh in relief as they hold out their pouches to us. I take the one in Draco's hand and Daphne takes the other one. I open mine up and a few long dark hairs come out. I can immediately tell that it is Parvati's. "Good job, guys. Daphne?"

She takes out two cups from her bag and hands one to me. Once I take it, she pours the muddy liquid into mine and then onto hers. I glance down at my cup, grimacing when I notice It's bubbling in the most disgusting way. I turn back at Daphne before I can start feeling nauseous. "Ready?"

She gulps, also eyeing her potion, then gives a slow nod.

We each throw our hair into the liquid, which completely consumes it until it is not visible anymore. A few moments pass and my potion begins to shift colors. The muddy brown is completely gone, replaced by a shocking pink that nearly blinds me. I look up at Daphne's portion and hers has turned into... well, lavender. "You don't happen to have an idea of how much these will last, do you?" I ask her.

Daphne smiles weakly. "One can never really tell, am I right?" She raises her glass in front of me. "Bottoms up!"

We both chug down our potion at once. Mine tastes... okay. I don't know why I expected it to taste like shit but It's sweet, although not overpowering. Daphne's doesn't seem to taste too bad, either, seeing as she drinks it with ease.

The bad part comes right after.

I've never consumed Polyjuice Potion before this so I'm not sure exactly what to expect, but I've heard the transformation process is extremely unpleasant so I'm not expecting something good. Once it finally starts, I let go of my cup and I'm crouching on the floor in less than 10 seconds. My insides feel like they're twisting and turning into irreparable knots, and my skin feels like It's burning. I hear Daphne moaning in pain but I don't look up at her. My eyes are glued to the bubbles forming in my hands and arms. I nearly begin to panic but I try to remain calm as my skin begins to darken, my fingers shrinking a bit and turning slightly thinner. A long dark hood begins to take over my vision while I'm still crouched, and it takes me a moment to realize that It's just my hair, which doesn't seem to stop growing. My robes suddenly begin to feel lighter than usual as my body takes the shape of Parvati. The pain stops as suddenly as it started and it leaves me trying to catch my breath. I try to stand up straight again, catching sight of Draco and Blaise's faces first. Both of them look like they've seen a ghost for a moment before their expressions shift into amusement. "Whoa," Blaise mutters. "That was terrifying to watch. But you guys look exactly like them."

I don't say anything as I turn to find Daphne again, but I'm met with Lavender Brown staring at me with wide eyes instead. We both gasp, frozen in our spots. To anyone else, she wouldn't look any different than the real Lavender, but I still find a bit of Daphne in the way she stares at me. "Oh Merlin," she tilts her head. "This is terrifying."

"Tell me about it," I agree while I take one last look at my hands. I grab my hair; It's so long that I have no idea what to do with it. I've never had it this long so it does sort of feel heavy.

"Yes, yes, It's all very impressive," Draco says in a dismissive manner. "But we still have other important things to do."

Even though I hate that he has to be such an asshole all the time, he's right. We cannot lose sight of what's important.

So, Daphne and I go to change clothes and then head to the Gryffindor Tower. It feels like a marathon but we finally stop in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. She eyes us carefully and for a moment I begin to think that she's onto us. I try not to look suspicious and I can sense Daphne doing the same next to me. "Password?"

"Mimbulus mimbletonia." I say without stuttering, trying to seem casual and like It's not my first time sneaking into Gryffindor's Common Room.

She nods and the portrait slowly opens. I almost let out a sigh of relief as we walk in but I'm stopped by the sight of the Common Room. I've never been here before but It's hard to take it all in when there are so many students in it at the same time. Nonetheless, I can tell that It's so much different than Slytherin's Common Room, and not in a good way.

"Okay," Daphne says, but It's barely audible through the loud music playing. "We're here now, there's no turning back. Do you see the drinks anywhere?"

I scan the room a bit longer. I spot the music box in a corner, next to a couple making out against the wall; I spot the Quidditch Cup exhibited on a clear shelf, next to Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley who are talking on the other side of the room; and I do see many people holding cups, which means that we'll probably have to go around slipping Sleeping Draught in all of them.

I finally catch a glimpse of a long table with different kinds of snacks and—

"I see something!" I tell her excitedly and I point to the table, where there are also two huge bowls filled with red and gold liquid, probably charmed to look that way.

Daphne smiles in satisfaction. "Let's get started, shall we?"

"Wait," I stop her. "I think we have to split up."

"Huh?"

"There are people drinking already so maybe you could try and slip some Draught in their drinks while I try to slip it into the bowls first?" I suggest.

She nods. "Right. I'll start on the left side of the room, then."

We divide the potion and part ways, and I start making my way through the crowd until I can't see her anymore. A few people say hi to me and, even though I don't know much about Parvati Patil, I try to act how I've seen her act— bright, outgoing, and a little bit annoying. Luckily, though, no one stops to make conversation so I make an easy escape until I finally reach the table.

I take out the cup that Daphne gave me and I discreetly begin to pour the purple liquid into the cup. Fortunately, it does not change colors. "I see what you're doing," a voice says from behind me and I almost drop the cup.

I turn around, trying to act normal, and then I see that the person talking is none other than Fred Weasley. Out of all people. "What?"

He grins. "You're spiking the punch even more, aren't you? I didn't know you were such a party animal, Parvati."

I almost forget that I look like a whole different person right now. I chuckle and raise my arms. "You're right. You caught me."

"Well, don't let me stop you. Go on ahead. It'll definitely make things a lot more fun around here." Fred winks at me before he walks away and I let out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding.

Aside from that small incident, I don't bump into anyone else. Everyone's already too drunk out of their minds to notice me. It makes it easier for me to slip more Sleeping Draught into people's drinks, and I keep doing it until I find Daphne again and we're certain that we've got everyone. "And now we just wait."

***

It doesn't take long for everyone but Daphne and I to start collapsing from sleep. In fact, it happens very quickly.

Daphne and I are giggling like maniacs as we tiptoe around until we're in front of the silver Quidditch Cup, admiring its beauty for a moment. "I can't believe we actually pulled this off," Daphne says under her breath, her eyes glowing. "We're so cool."

"Told you we could do it," I nudge her side. "Now for the final act..."

I take it in my hands. It feels heavier than I expected but it feels so good to hold it. "What a beauty," I keep admiring it until I'm brought back to my senses. "Okay, now let's get out of here."

We finally make it out of the Common Room and it feels like we've been liberated. Our surroundings begin to feel familiar again. "I'll go let the others know that we have the Cup," Daphne announces excitedly.

"Good idea," I tell her. "I'll go take this to the dungeons."

She nods and we part ways once again. I try to hide the Cup in my bag as much as I can but It's so big that the top part still sticks out, but it will have to do.

If the path to the Gryffindor Tower felt long, this time it feels eternal, especially when the tension of being caught follows me around. I have to be extra careful this time; if anyone sees me I'll get in huge trouble and I don't even want to begin thinking about that. So I have to sneak around and be very aware of my surroundings if I want this to go as planned. It's all up to me now.

When I'm finally sure that I'm outside of the public eye, I turn a corner and let out a shriek as I almost come face-to-face with a tall figure. And of course, It's Fred Weasley again.

Wait...

"H-hey, Fred!" I smile brightly at him. Maybe it comes off a bit too forced but oh well. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to check up on you and Lavender, since you guys left in such a hurry," His eyes find my bag and my stomach drops. "What are you doing with the Quidditch Cup?"

"I'm..." I try to think fast but without looking suspicious, and then I realize that I'm most certainly failing at it. "I was just on my way to polish it! And then I was going to bring it back later."

"Were you?" Fred raises an eyebrow and steps closer.

I nod. "Of course! What, you think I'm stealing it or something?"

He's practically hovering over me now and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. He extends a hand out to me. "Why don't you let me help you, then?"

"I'm sure you're probably busy—"

"I have nothing on my schedule right now." He cuts me off. His gaze makes me feel like a criminal. "I'd love to help out."

I shrug. "It shouldn't be too much work, I can do it on my own, really—"

Suddenly, my back is pressed against the stone wall and I'm caged in between both of his arms. I yelp in surprise. Fred's face is awfully close to mine and he's staring at me as if he's trying to figure out my identity. My true identity. "You're not the real Parvati, are you?"

I swallow hard and do the first thing that comes to mind: I take out my wand from my back pocket and point it at him. "Flipendo!"

A yellow light surges out of the tip of my wand and knocks Fred back and away from me. As soon as his back meets the ground I make a run for it.

I have no idea where I'm heading, my vision is far too clouded right now, but I do not look back and I do not stop running. I've forgotten all about being discreet and I've stopped worrying about getting caught by someone else. I'm already in enough trouble as it is.

My feet guide me outside of the castle, and I know that if anyone finds out I'll get detention for at least 2 months, but I don't care as I keep moving. My stomach begins to turn in that weird way again all of a sudden. "Oh no, please, not now," I beg.

Despite the uncomfortable feeling, I'm still running until I reach the dock at the Great Lake. It's barely visible and the water is so dark that it looks like a huge void, but at least no one can see me here. The pain continues for a few moments, and when it finally stops I look at my hands. They look like my hands again. I reach to touch my hair and realize It's not nearly as long anymore. Even if it didn't last long, it feels good to be back to my old self.

"There you are,"

Crap.

I turn slowly to look at Fred, who apparently does not know to mind his own bloody business. His eyes widen in surprise once he sees me but then he shakes his head and smirks. "Well, hello there. I never thought that, out of all people, you would try and pull off something like this," I remain quiet. "I believe you have something that belongs to us." He takes a step closer.

I pretend to ponder. "No, I don't think I do. I think you have the wrong person."

"Oh, silly me, right? I thought you looked different back there," He says then takes out his own wand. "Accio Quidditch Cup!"

The Cup suddenly flies out of the bag, all the way into Fred's hands.

"Give it to me," I run towards him and try to yank the cup from his hands. Unfortunately for me, his grip is way stronger than mine. He raises it above his head, which, given our very distinctive height difference, is impossible for me to reach. I jump while extending my arm as high as possible, but It's useless. He's still looking down at me like I'm an annoying toddler wanting to get his attention. "Weasley!"

"Sorry," He shrugs. "Finder's keepers."

Grumbling curses at him under my breath, I reach for my wand and point it at the cup, using the same Summoning Charm as him. As soon as the cup is back in my hands, I run for it. I hear Fred shouting my name behind me, but I don't turn back. I'm laughing like a maniac as I run to the opposite side when I'm suddenly stopped in my tracks. For a second, I cannot move. It's like an invisible force is restricting my entire body. And then I'm yanked back by said force until I'm back in my previous spot, right in front of Fred. He snatches the cup from me and grins. "Thank you, kind lady. Oh, and I'll be taking this, too."

He snatches my wand from my hand and begins to run away. My first instinct is to jump on his back, ignoring his protests as I try to reach for my wand first. He manages to shake me off before I can do so, but I don't give up. I'm still trying to reach for him, for anything, but between all that wrestling, I slip from the dock and fall into the freezing water. When I emerge, my whole body is shivering and my teeth are chattering uncontrollably. I look back at the dock and Fred is still standing there, his mouth open as he stares at me in shock. And then he bursts out laughing. "You'll p-pay for this!" I shout at him but he just keeps laughing.

I hear something behind me— it almost sounds like a waterfall. But as I turn around I don't see anything of the sort.

Instead, I see a tentacle. A huge tentacle coming at me from the water.

The color drains from my face, I'm sure, and I let out a loud scream. I scream so loud that I don't hear anything else. I think Fred is shouting something, and I'm not sure if It's at me or at the giant squid, but I don't find out. I shut my eyes close but my body is frozen in place. I can't move. It might be the fear, it might be the cold, it might even be both, but I can't move a muscle.

What a terrible way to die this is.

"(Y/N)," Fred calls from the dock but I can barely hear him. My heartbeats are too fast and too loud. "It's okay, It's gone! Just swim back to shore."

I'm too busy hyperventilating to listen to him. I was just face-to-face with a giant squid— a bloody giant squid. My mind is not processing anything at the moment and all I can feel is panic, still.

I hear a splash of water nearby and a pair of arms suddenly sneak around me below the water. A small gasp escapes my lips as Fred's face appears right of mine. As if by instinct, I wrap my arms around his neck. It's the closest we've ever been. "Look at me," he says but I don't need him to. I'm already getting lost in the soothingness of his eyes. "You're okay. Nothing or no one will hurt you as long as I'm here, okay?"

I nod wordlessly. I'm still shaking uncontrollably and I probably look like a mess right now. "I'm going to get us back to shore now," He informs carefully. "Is that okay with you?"

"Y-yes, please."

As soon as I give him the green light, he picks me up bridal style and begins to swim back to shore.

We get to land safe and sound, just as he had promised. I feel a huge sense of relief the moment my feet touch land, but my arms do not let go of him and his hands are still on my waist. When I turn to face him, he's already looking down at me. "See?" he says with a chuckle. His voice is soft and comforting. "It's all good now. You have nothing to worry about."

For a moment, I seem to forget that the boy standing in front of me is the boy that I've hated for all these years. I forget all the pranks he pulled on me and my housemates, all the times he enraged and mocked me. I forget about all of that and I don't know what comes over me but I lean up and I kiss him.

I can tell that Fred is surprised by how he freezes as soon as our lips touch, but once he composes himself, he responds. He pulls me closer and tightens his grip around me, which is probably the moment that I start losing my grip on reality. A wave of warmth washes through me and it feels... nice. Especially after going out for a midnight swim. His lips feel soft against mine and It's nearly impossible to stay away from them. My hands grip his hair and he lets out a low grunt against my mouth. The sound is sinful. It makes me want more of him.

We pull away after a while, though, and none of us say anything. My eyes flutter open almost at the same time as his, and for a moment It's like a sort of dream where nothing is real.

But of course, he has to ruin it.

"Wow," Fred's dazed smile widens. "What a nice way to say 'Thank you for saving my life'."

I blink a few times and it takes a moment to snap out of my trance, and when I do I am mortified. When I finally come to all my senses, I unwrap my arms from his neck and push him away. As soon as he lets go, I start to look for my wand. I finally find it lying next to the Cup but I don't even bother to grab that. It was a mistake to even try and steal it. It has already caused way too much unnecessary drama.

Plus, I just kissed Fred fucking Weasley.

My clothes are sticking to my skin and I'm still dripping from head to toe, which just adds to my distress, but I don't let it stop me as I run back to the castle. I hear Fred calling after me but I don't turn to look back at him. I am way too embarrassed and frustrated at myself to do so.

#fanfic #fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #writing #imagine your ocs #writers on tumblr #fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred wealsey fic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley scenario

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chocsra · 6 months

Note

if you’re ok with writing for multiple characters, could i request a platonic oneshot with chuuya and dazai x fem!reader who is apart of their “double black” (except ig it wouldn’t be double black anymore) and both mediates their arguments and instigates them? (maybe a snippet of friends to lovers between chuuya and the reader 🤭) tysm have a nice day!

"Unlit Cigarettes stained by Warm Lips"

15! Chuuya x gn! reader x 15! platonic! Dazai

A/N: ofc! yall i should keep my mouth shut bc i make too many promises i cant keep. HALLOWEEN IS SOON BTW AAAAAA

Content: stuck in a jail cell with your unfortunately idiotic subordinates, fluff, crack, mafia work, reader is MEAN, a little romance w chuuya, dazai may be ooc but i like to think that in this kinda dynamic he acts more like a normal teen, slight soukoku, smoking, lots of swearing, NOT PROOFREAD‼️‼️

"Missss.. [Y/N]s smoking."

You slap the lanky boy's shoulder harshly as you shove the cigarette box back into your sleeve, watching as your other subordinate's face contort in surprise as Dazai mockingly whines. "Ow.." he rubs his shoulder with bandaged fingers, the ginger next to him looks at you with amusement and confusion. "Where the hell did ya get that?" he asks, you sulk in annoyance from the whining bastard beside you, "Up your ass." a quiet click of the tongue from the ginger can be heard as you defy his genuine question.

Unfortunately, these two are your subordinates, your partners in criminal work, your associated murderers in the underground business. Even though Double Black is all scary and terrifiyingly violent, you thought they were a pair of funny, immature and idiotic assholes.

Dazai Osamu, a lanky, greasy boy wrapped in bandages, loved dying. Yes, he wanted to fucking die, but he doesn't. You sometimes question his skill of staying alive after that many suicide attempts, but it's alright, you suppose. The mafioso had messy brown hair and wore massive suits that did not fit him and constantly smells like dog shit. He claims he has a silver tongue with women but the only woman he 'has' is the front-desk suicide hotline lady. If somebody ever asked your opinion on him, you would answer.. "He's.. interesting."

Next is Chuuya Nakahara, a short, but strong arrogant boy who is frustratingly brutal. Veeery brutal. He's extremely competitive and takes every minor activity as a sweat-inducing challenge. Karaoke is a pain when he's screaming his ass off, simplistic cooking or baking is horrifiying because this shithead works like he's donating food to charity as if his fatass isn't going to inhale everything afterwards, and any sort of video game was devasting, any one.

He had short ginger hair and stormy azure eyes. His fashion sucked until Koyou, a fellow superior of yours knocked some sense into him. Chuuya had a rather small figure but fairly muscled. Yeah, he flexed his abs (ribs) in the mirror randomly. The boy loved fedoras, chokers and classic, fancy clothing that made girls scream 'DAMON TORRANCE 😍‼️' under his Instragram posts. If someone were to ask your opinion on him, you'd say: "He's an alright guy," with a shrug.

Some dumbass landed you three in jail for a reason you'd rather not speak of, and now you have to deal with the aftermath of waiting for your 'beloved' guardian, Mori Ougai to come bail you three out.

"Mackerel," Chuuya jabs Dazai's side, intensely glaring at him. "Why'd you get the guard's attention? I could've smoked." he hisses, causing the taller boy to snap back at him with an eyeroll. "Nah it's fine, I don't have a lighter anyway." you mediate the tension, boredly playing with the flimsy cigarette box in your hand. The redhead scoffs a little, leaning back in the concrete seat of the jailcell, impossibly manspreading further. "We could use Dazai's hot ass breath as a makeshift lighter.." Chuuya suggests with a smirk, the lanky teenager sassily scoffs, "Or rub pipsqueak's oily hair until it catches fire."

"Like- how would that make a fire?" you retort in amusement, "Have you ever been to a science class?" Dazai and Chuuya shrug in sync unshamefully,

"Was busy protectin' gangsta kids."

"Missed most of middle school 'cause of an attempt."

...

"Fair enough," you shrug back, fixing your hair. "Y'know, Boss is gonna kill us when he gets here." you add on, leaning your head against the prison wall. "I know, I'm not fuckin' prepared," Chuuya copies your movements beside you, loosely throwing an arm around your shoulder. Dazai's eyebrows knit in amusement and embarrassment at the sight, "Pipsqueak, you are NOT smooth." the ginger almost glitches as he flew away from you at those words, now chasing the brunette around the jailcell.

"'Playfighting between you guys is a fuckin' hazard, even for the mafia." you mumble, placing the unlit cigarette between your lips to feel the sensation once more. "This isn't playfighting! I'm gonna kill his ass!" Chuuya pants between missed kicks thrown at Dazai. "That's why [Y/N] thinks you give 'dog vibes'!!" the brunette retorts, bringing up a previous conversation based off you psychoanalyzing your coworkers.

"Why you!-" the smaller boy curses, flying off a wall aimed towards Dazai's head. "I'm not wrong though!!" you fling your arms up in surrender, smiling cheekily as Chuuya rolls his eyes. "After this fuckboy, you're next." You swallow thickly in slight fear. You swore you could hear walls crack and floors thump at the loud commotion, drowning out the poised footsteps towards your cell.

"Sir, are these your children?"

A kind, petite policewoman points to you three fighting like rabid animals. Mori Ougai, your tall, diabolic and terrifiying boss smiles fakely, watching his underlings fight in pure irritation.

"Unfortunately."

The tall brunette immediately halts as the ginger almost decks him in the face. Your hands stay frozen in the air as if you've been caught instigating a chicken fight.

Dude, you are so fucked.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #15 chuuya #bsd x reader #15 light novel bsd #chocsra #chuuya x reader #15 dazai x reader #dazai osamu #pm dazai #dazai x reader #crack fic

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mingisdoll · 1 month

Text

To Love a Siren

Includes: mentions of sexual activity, afab!witch!reader, siren!Yeosang, angst with a fluffy ending, cursing, yelling, drabble based off a song titled Shouldn't Couldn't Wouldn't by NIKI & Rich Brian. We need more siren Yeo in our lives lol

@newworldnet

Thank you to @minkilicious for proofreading and shout out to my mother @itsnotmydejavu and my fellow moot @bethelighthalazia

You were in his bed. Again. Your sisters told you to stay away from him yet you couldn’t. You even had Hook stand guard for you every time you did something mundane like go to the grocery store or help Henry with his homework. However, you fell too deep into his trap and there was no way you could escape his clutches.

I’m talking about the deadliest siren known to all of mankind.

Kang Yeosang.

He had brown hair, a unique birthmark on the side of his right eye, irises red as blood, and silver scales that littered his body. He was known for having the smoothest and deepest voice out of all of sirenkind. The sickly sweet honey vocals would lure even the most intelligent pirate to the bottom of the sea and they wouldn’t even know they had died until they found themselves in the Underworld.

How were you involved in all of this? Well it started back when you were on a mission to gather some things from Skull Rock. Meaning you had to go through. Meaning you had to go through the rambunctious group of Lost Boys who stayed when you captured Peter Pan.

From there, you spiralled downwards. You wanted to unravel the mystery that was the beauty behind the siren. However, you made a pact. A pact that you slowly started to regret. Why? You broke the number one rule when you first started sleeping with him. It was the most crucial rule you guys had yet you went and broke it away.

You fell in love with him.

Little did you know

He fell in love with you too

Due to his siren nature however, it ruined everything.

You were arguing with him earlier over God knows what. Perhaps it’s the bottled up feelings spilling over at once. Or maybe it was pent up frustration. Either way, you were screaming each other’s heads off.

“YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME!”

“OH REALLY?! THEN EXPLAIN HOW I GOT YOUR BAD HABITS ALL MEMORIZED!”

“WHAT BAD HABITS?!”

“WHEN I KNOW YOU NEED ME MOST, YOU GO AND SHUT ME OUT! I figured though since you’re a damn Gemini.”

Yeosang rolled his eyes and looked down at you, crossing his buff arms that somehow made his scales shimmer even now. Perhaps it was the sunlight reflecting off his beautifully milk and honey mixed skin.

“That doesn’t mean shit though. Stop acting like you know all the answers to everything.”

“I’m not saying I got all of the answers though. But oh boy have I been in love before.”

“Ok and? Your point?”

At this point, you grabbed his hand, to which he flinched. He wasn’t expecting you to step closer to him, let alone grab his hand. You truly must be brave in order to do that.

“It’s not always peachy. Life ain’t that easy, Yeosang. Believe me. But one thing I know for sure is it shouldn’t be this hard. Sure you couldn’t dtr (define the relationship) and you’re thinking ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if we could stay friends?’ right?”

“Yeah. But I know we shouldn’t. We’re too deep into this… thing we have with each other.”

“Exactly. You know what?”

“What?”

“If I had your heart, it wouldn’t be this hard.”

Yeosang sighed and pulled you into a long needed hug. You could smell the rum off his breath and you sighed. You figured he would drink before a serious talk like this since he needed the confidence boost. After all, being a siren isn’t easy.

“Is that why you acted so indifferent the last time we saw each other?”

“Yes.”

“You do realize that it was a bit too much right?”

He tried to joke about it, but you glared at him and he sighed, apologizing quietly for the poorly timed joke. Clearly, he didn’t understand still yet you remained patient since he was still learning.

“Is there anything else I said that pissed you off?”

“It’s not anything you said. Rather… it’s everything you didn’t.”

“Oh? How so?”

“You always answer my questions with more questions. Tell me. Are you scared?”

“Honestly? Yeah. We’re not always peachy, you know. We fuck like we hate each other when obviously, we don’t. We’re just clueless. Well… I’m just clueless.”

You giggled at his statement and Yeosang felt his heart swell with adoration at the sight. Perhaps he could try to love you in the way you truly deserved. After all, you saved him from the throes of Neverland.

“I drank too much tonight. I’m looking to get it out of my system.”

“Well, I’m here, loverboy. Let’s establish something once and for all.”

“You know I’m not one for titles, especially that one. Maybe I’m terrified.”

“Why is that?”

Yeosang leaned down and kissed your neck, his fangs lightly scraping your skin. You moaned quietly and you felt him smirk against your skin. Like you with his bad habits, he memorized all your spots that made you grow weak.

“I wil admit. That pussy kicked my rules out the door.”

He then swept you up in his arms and led you into his room, where you got lost in each other’s touches and were drunk off of each other’s lips. As Yeosang’s hands skimmed all over your body, you heard your phone ping.

“I could take more shots or I can take you off your blouse.”

“Do the latter.”

Yeosang smirked and ripped your blouse in half. You whined and he shushed you with a scaled finger pressed against your lips. He then slowly inserted two of them into your mouth and you sucked on them happily. He then took off your pants and groaned at the wetness seeping from your panties.

“Normally, when we were actually fucking instead of talking and… well in the process of making love, my favorite part is either when I’m done or when you’re walking out of my house. However, I realize that I don’t want that.”

He then sat on the bed and brought you into his arms. You were shocked by the gentleness of his movements and when you stared into his eyes, they weren’t their normal red. They lightened into a softer shade of pink. He tilted his head and explained some more.

“The next time I call you, you better pick up. From now on, I’m calling you mine. I want to show you off to everyone and prove to your sisters that even though I’m a siren, I can love like a human.”

At the end, he could dtr. It wasn’t hard but it also wasn’t easy. Wouldn’t it have been nice if they stayed friends? Yes but…

Y/N had Yeosang’s heart. And no one could take it from her.

#newworldnet #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez smut #Spotify

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aemondsbeloved · 1 year

Text

The Lady Strong

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x strong!reader

summary: your father's death left two ghosts that haunt you in the shape of Rhaenyra's bastard children, but you have more ghosts to tend to and justice for wrongs unknown to you cannot go ignored for long. When Aemond has to decide between justice for the only one who could have his heart or to continue to betray his elder sister, the choice is easy. He chooses you. (4.5k)

warnings: canon violence, reader is an OC because she is a strong and is described as bearing resemblance to Jace and Luke

“Why must you go?”

This is what you asked your father that late afternoon in your solar those many years ago. A young girl of no more than ten, he had sat you down and kneeled in front of the chair. “It is for the best,” he had told you after struggling to find the words. “Harrenhal is our family’s seat and I will be the Lord of Harrenhal one day. And one day, it will be yours.”

“But I cannot come with you?” your eyes searched his for an answer. All you saw in his amber eyes was regret.

“Once I am settled I will come for you. Your uncle will stay here in the meantime, but your grandsire will return to you.” He kissed your forehead before he rose, affectionately placing a gloved hand on your head briefly. The touch is fleeting and full a warmth. It is a touch you will try to remember for years.

Those words never came true. Your father did not return to you and neither did your grandsire. The King’s Hand and your grandsire Lord Lyonel Strong along with your father, Ser Harwin Strong had died in an accidental fire in Harrenhal.

People always did whisper that Harrenhal was haunted. You could only try to stop thinking of their charred bodies in the aftermath of the fires.

The loneliness had been fiercer than the grief after the death of your family and there was nothing that could be said by Septas to quell your anger. It was only in your fury that you could forget your dead father and grandsire.

Days after the deaths it seemed the stranger was visiting another. There was nothing that could keep you from Driftmark and Lady Laena’s funeral, even your imprudent refusal to your uncle.

“Why should I care about her?” you had demanded when your uncle told you this. “I have a greater loss to mourn. My mother is already dead. Now my father and my grandsire join her. You are the only one left of my family, why should I care of someone else dying?”

Your voice had trembled towards the end, sounding like angry and more uncertain. “We must go,” your uncle said softly. “Do not worry. I will not die, have no fear.” The words sounded placating at the time.

Despite the stares at Driftmark you had not noticed Princess Rhaenyra’s eldest son looking at you by your uncle’s side. Neither had your uncle who was smiling proudly at the Queen, though that day you would not notice such a thing. Moving in front of the flames the brown haired prince was there and a silver haired one you knew as Prince Aemond.

Jacaerys left immediately but Prince Aemond glanced at you. “I am sorry for your loss, my lady.”

His words sounded peculiar, especially as he called you a lady. It was all so formal and you were children. But still, no one had truly sounded sorry for you these past few days. “Thank you, my prince,” you said in a small voice as you warmed your hands in front of the fire.

A long pause passed between you both. Quietly, though determined to meet his eyes, you told him your name.

“I know,” he replied and smiled half heartedly. “I am Aemond.”

“I know,” you repeated but this time it was easier to smile.

Despite the turn of the night at Driftmark and the changes that had occurred, as well as the truth of your father’s deeds finding your ears, the friendship that had begun there did not fade. The only constant throughout the years to follow was the silence and peace you only found around Aemond.

Eight Years Later

“Lady Strong,” a voice behind you greets. As you turn around from where you stood near the staircase to the royal family’s apartments, you are met with a hair of brown hair and dark amber eyes that are familiar, though the one who has them now is a stranger.

“Prince Jacaerys,” you greet politely with a nod. Your voice is constrained, perhaps due to the knowledge of who he is and who you were. Perhaps it is the bad blood with Aemond. “I did not know your family was visiting the Capitol.”

“Her Grace Queen Alicent bid my mother to relocate to the Red Keep as King Viserys health worsens. It would be best for our family to be together when time for the coronation comes. There is a pact being agreed for peace as they speak I am told.”

You nod in understanding, but you do not know why he is telling you this information because it is not something a prince tells a lady of a minor house. Perhaps it is because he knows the truth, but unlike you does not ignore it.

“I was hoping to speak to you.” It is the hand he holds in front of himself between you and the nervous yet determined gleam in his eyes that made you understand his meaning.

“That is what we are presently doing,” you tell him dryly and seeking some distance, you turn your body away from him.

His eyes were bright like a Targaryens but gleamed amber like your fathers. He looked much like your father. Once that would have swayed you to his side in foolish childish disputes had you known the truth.

Before Driftmark and your attachment to his uncle. Aemond might be cold, ruthless and cruel to some but he had also been maimed without consequences as a child. Now Jacaerys eyes so like your fathers only made you think of the righteous air about him and his brother.

“I thought we might speak freely about my father—”

You could not let this go on. “Many speak highly of Ser Laenor,” you cut him off, not daring to look at him as you tell the same lie many had done for years.

Jacaerys stiffens when you do glance his way. A strange, faraway part of you pities him for a moment. “Your father and mine suffered poor fates,” you went on, thinking of the tales of Ser Laenor’s death and the charring of the flesh in his father’s hall. How your father’s death was more or less the same. “The burden of carrying our father’s fates is a heavy one. Best to prepare to wear it well.”

You smile at him in an attempt to reassure to and perhaps silently warn him not to approach you again to speak of what he wished. To admit he is a bastard would ruin more than his life as yours was held by a thread. He is not Aemond, so the smile you give him feels mechanical. Jacaerys seems to understand the message all the same and nods in a rough gesture, though we he lifts his head his eyes are tender.

So like your father he looked in that moment you were sure your father might have looked just like Jacaerys at this age.

You walk up the staircase to the Queen’s chambers. Being summoned to her is an occasional occurrence and one you do not begrudge. She is fair and kind despite what people like Daemon Targaryen would have others believe. Her trust for your uncle has seemed to grow into trust for you too.

Most days you would find Aemond but you knew he was in the courtyard training with Ser Criston. You would take the Queen’s company instead.

Larys is not in the Queen’s chamber as he usually is in the evenings. On this morning it is only Queen Alicent and though a pleased smile is directed towards her upon walking in, it drops slightly when you see her grim face.

“Princess Rhaenyra has just been to see me,” she admitted to you. Following her gesture to sit at her table, you slowly lower yourself into the chair. For years the Queen had made it known how much she dislikes the Princess, but since Driftmark and the decline of the King’s health and Rhaenyra’s move to Dragonstone, there was a longing made unavoidable since Rhaenyra had announced she would return. Few knew it was the Queen who asked her to. “She fears there will be resistance when she claims her father’s crown.”

The long look the Queen gives you is not missed. In private you had never denied who the father of Rhaenyra’s sons were. “No one would resist the rightful heir.”

This is not the answer to the Queen’s silent question and she regards you wearily. You think this must be about the loss of station for herself and her children when Rhaenyra comes into power. There is nothing else there could be bothering her.

“No,” she smiles at you in reassurance. You see through the facade quickly but say nothing. “You are right, of course, my dear.”

That afternoon Aemond was a ghost. Where you had once always been relied upon to find him, he was nowhere. Not in the training yard and not in the library. You felt your will to see him slipping away, resigning to letting him come to you when he wished to, until you hear a roar that could only be from one dragon.

Rushing to his rooms, you forgot what it was to be a lady and have some sense of propriety. He does not come for a lifetime as you pace the room. The books near the fireplace are familiar to you as are the weapons he has hanging on his walls.

“What are you doing here?” Aemond asks in his doorway, quickly shutting the door before his guard saw you here. You might look frenzied from your pacing and worry but Aemond is something stranger, surprised.

Still in his black riding leathers and hair swept messy from the skies, he take a few steps toward you. He opens his mouth to say something but you wouldn’t know what it is nor do you noticed the hardened look of a man who knows a horrible truth in his lilac eye.

“Something is wrong, Aemond. I can feel it,” you whisper harshly, taking a step near him. “Your mother looked grim this morning when I saw her. All because of Rhaenyra and her sons, no doubt.”

You are growing more angry towards your father’s bastards by the minute as the day went on and for no reason at all. If anything you should hate your father or maybe hate your friend for leaving the Keep for the day without telling you, but instead you hate Jacaerys Velaryon and are sure every problem is his doing.

“My sister sent me on a mission for the crown,” Aemond admits. Your pacing stops and you look at him, something between anger and confusion.

Much had happened that you could not understand. The slip of Aemond calling Rhaenyra his sister, something he had always refused, did not escape you.

He takes another step toward you, more cautious as he guages your reaction. “Viserys is not long for the world. It is important that no one usurps the rightful heir.”

Your eyes feel like they could be bulging at that. His hands are crossed behind his back and it is almost easy to ignore the wariness and knowledge in his expression.

“My uncle has been assisting in making sure Aegon would be King one day.” This is a truth you had not been blind to but not involved in. Your love for Rhaenyra was nonexistent and you trusted your uncle, what more was there than that?

Aemond jerked his head down in a quick nod. “Rhaenyra will be Queen and my family will have a high standing, heir to the throne or not.”

“So you cleave to her for a higher standing, for power?” you ask him harshly, looking like your father then and there with the way your pride is ruling you.

“We know Aegon would be a poor king,” Aemond insisted, for the first time showing a hint of emotion as he pleaded with you.

“This has never bothered you before. You will have my father’s bastard sit a throne after everything he has done?”

You do not know if you are fighting for the wrongs done to Aemond or to your own pride and the proof of who your father loved. Pride was a festering wound eating you whole as it once did to Aemond, except now he seemed to see something else.

“Jacaerys is not a monster.” These words seem to cost Aemond everything, making you wonder what caused his change of heart. In your heart you know Aemond is right but feeling frustrated at everything, you turn away and want to flee the scene.

The hand on your wrist that pulls you back to him is unexpected. “Let go,” you say in a choked breath, not wanting to look at him as the tears fall. “You can do as you please and support Rhaenyra, what I say will mean nothing.”

He is persistent, gently tugging your wrist until you turn your head and look at him with tired eyes. “I would not help her without cause,” he points out and pulls your body nearer to his. Another time this would have felt romantic as you both towed the line of friendship or something more, but with your tears and the secrecy you are simply exhausted. “You know that.”

You do. Aemond had never liked his sister and hated his nephews. Maybe it was because he had lost much at their hands, maybe it was because his closest friend had been resigned to watching her father’s bastards walk around the Keep, Ser Harwin’s ghost never leaving his daughter. Aemond does nothing without reason even amidst your anger.

“There was a whisper passing through the lands of Harrenhal that the fire that killed your grandsire and father was no accident,” Aemond tells you, watching your reaction with careful eyes and his hand refusing to leave your wrist. “Someone started it. Rhaenyra sent me to find out who.”

You feel a wave of sickness overtake your body and for once, you feel like one of the maidens in the stories and think you might faint. Aemond holds you by your upper arms. “The news is grim, my lady.”

Again you are a girl and he is a boy, and the titles feel strange and formal for ones so close friends. “Why would anyone kill my grandsire and father?” you ask in disbelief, shaking in his grip from the shock. “My grandsire was a good hand to your father, respected by all. My father had left the Red Keep, he was not a threat to any Targaryen.”

He sees where your mind is going and stops it by cutting it out root and stem. “There was no Targaryen who is responsible. Rhaenyra is the last one who would have done it.”

“Then who?” you are desperate, hanging onto his arms now as you search his face. No longer do you flee his touch and are desperate for it.

“Larys Strong,” he tells you the news in a soft voice, the blow is twice as hard as it knocks the air form your lungs.

“Liar,” you accuse as you grow rigid in his grip, wanting to claw through his very skin. “This is a lie. An illogical one. My uncle–”

“Stole your position,” he interrupts you. “By all rights you should be the heir of Harrenhal but he took that from you. Your father wanted it to be yours.”

You shut your eyes tightly as a heavy breath moves past your lips. Looking at Aemond again, you steel yourself. “My uncle loved his family. He would not kill his father and brother.”

“And yet he did kill his father and brother.”

“Why?” you demand, now glaring at him, or maybe the truth he has learned. You were comfortable in your misery before he spoke it. “My father loved him. He would never do this to us.”

Aemond’s eye roves your features. From the tremble of your lips to the agony in your eyes, he will not look away. “He betrayed you still.”

Protests continue to pass your lips, determined to cling onto pretty lies but Aemond does not move and slowly, you come to terms with the reality. Your uncle, the one who had been there for you when you got the news and comforted you, had betrayed you.

“Why?” you beg Aemond again, body beginning to fall into his as he holds your limp body to yours.

“Power and position,” he tells you, his hands rubbing soothing circles into your sides.

His words only make you cry louder but he still holds you. “He will pay for this, my love,” he swears as your cries quiet. Neither of you are bold enough to determine what his last words mean for you. You only have energy enough to be in his arms.

“Can I stay?” you ask him. Your voice is a quiet in a way that makes it sound like a ghost of yours.

“Always,” he answers immediately.

That night you sleep in Aemond’s arms and knowing a line is being crossed, neither of you speak of it. Tonight was a night of rest, justice would have to wait for the sun to rise.

In the morning your eyes are not open yet when you feel Aemond’s arms wrapped around your middle. At some point in the night he must have reached for you, or you reached for him. Whisps of his pale hair rest on your shoulder and tickle your face. If it were anyone else you feel out of comfort and push them away, but it is Aemond, so you pretend to be asleep to live in your fantasy.

If the world were different, it would be expected for him to hold you in your sleep and there would be nothing wrong about sleeping in his rooms. In a fantasy that stayed in your mind, he might be your husband, but he was not. Your uncle had frequently alluded to the match that was bond to happen, one between you and Aemond. It had not been for your happiness, just another trick to get himself closer to power Queen Alicent yielded.

“How will it happen?” you whisper, knowing he was awake.

Aemond breathes over your shoulder and rest his chin on your shoulder. “In the throne room, before he expects the severity of his fate.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and do not feel pity as you think of Larys’ fate.

Aemond’s fingers leave a featherlight touch to your sides as you leave his bed. His bed, you think, half mourning your fantasy and the other half of you giddy for this moment you had even in your devastation. Before you leave the room, you turn to him. There is a smile on your lips as you regard him and though it is one of someone who has lost everything, you smile all the same.

“I will be by your side,” he promises and because he has never lied to you, you believe him.

It could have been minutes or hours until you were in the throne room, but you found yourself there all the same. A dress of the pale blue found on your house’s coat of arms drapes across your figure. Not for the first time in your life, you feel every part of the Lady Strong. But there is a change, one you do not realize until you alone walk down the steps into the throne room.

Everyone is there— the Queen, the Hand, Princess Rhaenyra in her father’s place, beside her is your father’s bastards. Rhaenyra’s new consort, Prince Daemon is there. As is your uncle, but he sees the change in you too and for the first time, Larys Strong appears perplexed.

You do not stand next to Aemond, though even in a room full of other people of the court, you are drawn to him. He is a Targaryen as he stands next to his brother and sister, but you are a Strong. You must stand alone.

When Queen Alicent moves forward closer to Rhaenyra than she had ever been, they almost look like allies despite the polarizing green and black dresses they both wore as Alicent faces the court.

“It is the responsibility of the Protector of the Realm to insure that the lines of succession in every house across the realm are just. In the absence of King Viserys, his true heir Princess Rhaenyra will be the hand of justice today.”

Your uncle looks at you for a long moment, but your eyes do not leave the Queen’s. When the Queen steps back to stand near her children and father, and Rhaenyra sits the Iron Throne you are sure your uncle is quivering. When you glance at him you are sure that his grip on his cane is stronger than ever before.

“Lord Larys,” Rhaenyra says cooly. “You are accused of treason. You are deemed guilty of starting the fire in Harrenhal that killed Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin Strong, and corrupting the line of succession of House Strong by usurping your niece. You are accused of colluding to usurp me in favor of Prince Aegon.”

He flounders but only for a moment and when Larys recovers, the performance is convincing if you forget that this man had lied to you for half your life. “This is slander, Princess. You have been lied to. I loved my father and brother as I love my niece.” He smiles and perhaps it is charming once, but now you can only look at him and chant liar, liar, liar in your mind. “And as far a colluding to usurp you,” he laughs, lightly making a joke of justice as he turns to you. “Niece, tell the Princess how she has been lied to.”

“I think not,” you say as though you were musing, a poet finding his words instead of calling your uncle a traitor to the court.

He laughs without humor and shakes his head at you. “What is this?” he asks with a chill that would surely travel up your spine if the whole court was not witnessing this, if Aemond were not here. “You believe these lies?”

You say nothing, knowing when your restraint would weaken and he is testing every bit of it.

“How do you plead, Lord Larys?” Rhaenyra demands.

“Not guilty,” he proclaims with an edge to his voice. “Of course I am not guilty.”

The bite of ugliness in his voice does nothing to put off Rhaenyra. Somewhere deep within you, there is a ghost that whispers she would make a fine queen. Even now, your father haunts you by whispering the truth in unwanted moments.

“Queen Alicent has told me the truth of how you killed your own father so that her own would be reinstated the Hand, a favor she did not ask you and one that you thought might give you more power. I see your niece’s rightful title you stole from her did not sate your lust for power.”

All eyes on him, your uncle directs his rage at Alicent. “You lie for her now?” he spits the words, no respect for Princess Rhaenyra and the power she wields now.

“There is no lie,” Alicent says cooly without a care for his rage. “You frequently spoke of how the Princess Rhaenyra would not sit the Iron Throne because there were many who supported Aegon’s claim. In many of our private audiences your niece heard these words being said.”

“Niece,” Larys pleads and this is the first time he has ever sounded like a beggar when he turns to you. “Tell them this is slander. You know in your heart these lies mean to set House Strong apart.”

“I cannot say that which is not true,” you tell him lowly, your hatred for him coming in the shape of a frown pinched on your lips. Looking to Rhaenyra, you decided to put your loathing for her aside for a moment. “My uncle often spoke of Aegon’s claim and how one day it was he who would be King. His intentions were clear, the treason from him is no slander.”

There is a flicker of appreciation in Rhaenyra’s purple eyes as she regards you before she turns her sight to Lord Larys. “You see, you are already guilty of the highest treason of colluding against the crown. You will die, Lord Larys. Do you wish to meet the stranger without speaking the truth?”

You were sure he would not budge. What was the truth to a man like him? He had lied to you for an age.

“Your father was never meant to die,” he turns to you, and the grip on his cane is desperate as he looks to you.

“And yet you killed him,” you meet his gaze unflinching. “You stole my inheritance and had my grandsire and father killed all for your own greed.”

He cannot fight the truth now, not when the sentence has already been given. “You have been a daughter to me. I would never had—”

“And yet, you did betray me and our house. I do not want whatever affection you think recompenses this.”

There is something ugly that creeps up his face. He is a man without anything to lose. “You think your father’s bastards could be your family?”

In the silence, the sound of steel being drawn is heard and out of the corner of your eye, you are sure Prince Jacaerys and Lucerys grimace at the insult.

“You took my family from me. I have nothing that you have not already taken from me, Uncle.”

“For years you had hated him for what he did,” Larys reminds you. “The sons he gave to a woman that was not your late mother, the ghosts that haunt you for their likeness to him.”

That is true enough. “For years I have been lied to.” And that is all that matters.

He says nothing, spatting at the floor in Rhaenyra’s direction. His lies are all that matter, you remind yourself.

“So be it,” he concedes. “Short may your reign be, whore.” You do not know if it is the Princess he speaks of or yourself as the new Lady of Harrenhall.

Nothing else matters when the blade wielded by Daemon cuts off his head, the blood and remains of your uncle on the floor now. Nearly the last of House Strong on the floor of the throne room. You are all that remains now.

In the chaos of it all you do not look at Larys anymore. Across the room your eyes find Aemond. His pale lilac eye is already on your face. Something tells you that all will be well now, so long as Aemond is there with you.

“It was Ser Harwin’s wish that his daughter would succeed him,” you hear Rhaenyra vaguely over the buzzing in your ears. Still, you do not look away from Aemond. You cannot bear it. “To the Lady Strong, the rightful heir of Harrenhall.”

Your eyes meet Rhaenyra’s and if it were any day except this one, you would think she had another motive to give you your inheritance back. But there is something in her eyes that makes you change your mind. Maybe your father haunts her too. Maybe her sons are the ghosts of Harwin Strong to her as well.

You wonder if you haunt her sons as well.

#aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond oneshot #aemond one eye #aemond imagine #hotd x reader

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loviatarsluv · 2 months

Text

Would That I

"It's not tonight

Where I'm set alight

And I blink in sight

of your blinding light"

(all credits to the op of this gif!!!!!)

pairing: Gale x f!tav (my own oc, Elara)

(takes place in an AU where the absolute and the cult basically don't exist so this is non-canon compliant, I guess)

rating: mature (mostly pretty tame, but gets a little spicy toward the end ;) )

CW: yearning and pining, mentions of family member death, an interrupted bath, gale being precious, tara being equally as precious, and last but not least, (m) masturbation (HEHEHE)

in summary: Elara has been sent to stay with Gale of Waterdeep whilst her uncle is gone, and becomes his assistant/apprentice of sorts, and in the meanwhile is crushing on him so hard that she can barely even stand being around him. (real asf honestly) little does she know, he is equally as besotted just slightly better at hiding it (or maybe she's just clueless) and ends up having to let out his feelings somehow … ;)

a/n: I've been wanting to write a sweet romantic gale fic that did not take place during the canon of the game and let gale have tara with him and be in waterdeep and all the other things he deserves so here it is!!! this will definitely be an ongoing series, i'm not sure how long but i love a good slow burn so we'll see :)

word count: 8.2k (I know this one's a long one buckle in besties)

She’s always loved the color brown.

It was easily one of the most overlooked colors— one we so easily take for granted. Yet, some of the most lovely things in life appear in the warmest shades of brown.

A cup of hot tea on a chilly day while the rain pours and patters against the windows. The leather bindings of her favorite book that brought her boundless comfort more times than any one person ever had, worn from the years of reading it and tucking it into her bag so that it was always at her side. The rough bark of the great oak tree near her home in Waterdeep— well, someone else’s home that she just so happened to occupy space in.

She spends many mornings sitting on the roots of that tree, the large and weathered trunk shielding her from the harsh rays of the rising morning sun, either reading a book she nabbed from the library in her boss’ office or scribbling nonsense in her notebook. Occasionally her boss’ tressym companion, Tara, joins her, sitting beside her and allowing the sun to warm just the back half of her, basking her fur and wings in a beautiful golden glow. There are brown spots on her fur. She’s lovely.

The loveliest of things, though, were the things she tried with everything within her not to think about— like Gale Dekarios’ long chestnut brown hair, or the silver streaks that adorned the dark waves near the top of his head like it were a crown atop a prince’s, and the way he would tie it back into a messy half updo that perfectly accentuated his face and neck. The small pieces of hair that would fall into his eyes that she so desperately wanted to brush away. His perfectly groomed facial hair that had matching gray streaks and how he’d run his hands through the hair on his cheeks or rake his fingers through his hair when he was deep in thought.

And his eyes— gods, his damned eyes. So warm and kind and full of a genuine sweetness that she’d never seen in another person’s eyes before. Eyes that seemed to read her so well despite not knowing her for very long, especially when she least wanted her pages to be turned. Eyes that really seemed to see her. Many had looked at her before— none had ever really seen her. Eyes that when in the right lighting, appeared golden, like the richest honey in all of Faerun.

No, she certainly didn’t think about it. Not often, really. Only when his hands would brush against hers as he took the scroll from her hands that he’d asked her to fetch for him. Or when he would utter a groggy but kindhearted good morning to her as he ambled into the kitchen first thing in the morning, the first light of dawn breaking through the parted dark velvet curtains that drape over the large windows and beaming on him in just the right way to make him appear otherworldly. Or when she would fall asleep on the chaise in the study and wake to find a blanket draped over her body.

Not often. Not really.

She’d begun working for him (he loathed referring to what she did for him as working for him, and preferred words like ‘assist’ or ‘help’, he always said it made him sound like a tyrant) just around six months ago, him having taken her in somewhat as a favor to her uncle Alastor, who had been good friends with him for quite some time. She was never sure how their friendship came to be, but she never really asked. They were a strange pair in her opinion, her uncle being significantly older than Gale, who seemed to be somewhere around his early to mid thirties, based on her estimations. She was closer in age to Gale than Gale was to her uncle.

Alastor essentially raised her, as her parents passed just before the nearing of her fifth birthday. He took her in with open arms, naturally— but in truth, she always knew that he’d never planned or intended to cater his life to caring for and raising a child. He was a rather adventurous and solitary wizard, and before he’d taken her in, he had been to the furthest edge of the Sword Coast and back several times over, even explored the vast expanse of the Underdark a handful of times. He told the best bedtime stories.

As she got older, over time she noticed him get… strange. He was already a strange and rather eccentric man, but as the years passed he almost seemed to become a different person entirely. Still kind, still the same fun loving and gentle man he’d always been, just… lost, almost. He always seemed as if he were meant to be somewhere else, and had just taken a wrong turn and somehow ended up where he was. Like the clock was ticking and he was on track to be late for something, but she could never figure out what for. And in the months leading up to him sending her off to Waterdeep, he almost seemed to retreat into himself entirely, rarely leaving his chaotic and disordered sty of a study that she would often offer to clean and organize for him, only for him to wave her off and tell her not to worry.

She always worried. How could she not? He was the only living family she had left. He was the only true friend she had in the world.

On one particular night, the night he sent for Gale to come over under the guise of a friendly dinner, he seemed unusually ordinary. Normal. Almost as if he were his old self again. If it didn’t scare her so much, she would’ve been overjoyed to see the still eccentric, but wise and happy man that raised her once again.

That was the first time she had ever truly met Gale Dekarios.

She had seen him a handful of times before in passing, as her and her uncle would run into him at the infamous Sorcerous Sundries— but the two of them had never exchanged a word. He would offer both of them a bright and friendly smile, and she would return it in kind.

Her eyes would follow him as he walked away, trailing behind him as if she were trapped under a spell, her neck craning and watching him over her shoulder as he would disappear into the crowded city streets of Baldur’s Gate. Her uncle would tease her, jabbing his elbow into her side and wiggling his eyebrows. She would smack his arm and try desperately to hide the furious crimson blush in her cheeks, waving him off and dismissing his teasing. But he knew. Anyone who could’ve seen the look on her face when Gale Dekarios was around would know.

This was the night wherein she officially met him— the first time she ever heard her own name repeated back to her as she introduced herself, as if he were trying to memorize it and memorize her along with it. The way her name sounded so much more beautiful in his voice and the way his lips wrapped around every syllable as he said it. The first time she saw those eyes— those damn eyes— and they saw her back.

She hoped that he didn’t find her terribly rude after the fourth time she had to excuse herself to run upstairs and calm herself and the incessant fluttering in her chest and stomach as she spoke to him. She felt like a schoolgirl with her first crush all over again. Pathetic. Besotted.

By the time she came back downstairs, she caught the tail end of the two men’s conversation, ducking behind a wall and eavesdropping.

“You would be doing not only me a great kindness but also my dear Elara. I fear you may be her safest bet, for the time being.” She overhears Alastor say, his voice low as if he were attempting to whisper, but still loud enough to where she could hear him as clearly as if he were right in front of her.

“I understand. She is more than welcome to come to my tower in Waterdeep— though, forgive me for not asking before, but is she aware of this arrangement?” Gale asks, concern still evident even in his hushed tone.

There’s that fluttering again.

Her uncle sighs heavily, releasing all of the air from his lungs and pausing for a moment in shameful silence before continuing. She assumed he shook his head before speaking. “I knew that if I proposed this to her, she would have said no. I have it in good authority that she may perhaps be very unhappy with me when she learns of this.”

Anger was not the emotion she was feeling, far from it. Concern, perhaps. Confusion? Definitely. Anxiety? Without a doubt.

Her head was spinning as she tried to wrap her mind around what she was hearing— why was her uncle concerned for her safety? And why was Gale Dekarios the one who could ensure it?

Before another word could be exchanged between the two men, she emerged from her hiding spot, her shoulders hung low and her movements slow as if she were trying to avoid landmines from going off under the weight of her feet. Their heads snap up in her direction, and immediately they catch on. Gale gives her a sympathetic look that she immediately has to avert her gaze from. Alastor bears the look of someone regretful, but not entirely. Hopeful, almost.

“Elara,” He breathes. “Assuming you heard most, if not all, of our conversation, what are your thoughts?” The older man sitting at the far end of the dinner table asks, his tone simply inquisitive, versus that of someone who just got caught trying to pull a fast one.

None, really. None that she could express eloquently or with any sort of grace and dignity, at least.

“Where are you going?” She asks, her voice emotionless and calm in spite of the storm of emotion brewing within.

Alastor gives her a pleading look, as if he was begging her not to ask a million questions like he knew she likely planned to. Only because he knew he had no answers that he could freely offer her that would suffice in easing your mind.

“It won’t be for too terribly long. Though, in the meantime, perhaps Mr. Dekarios could pick up on your old man’s slack and actually teach you some damn magic.” The older man jokes, receiving no laughter in response.

She and Gale exchange a glance, almost as if they were surveying each other. He seemed to be studying her facial expressions and attempting to gauge her feelings on this whole situation, and basing his responses on her. It made her cheeks burn so hot she feared that she may break into a sweat.

She had heard of his magical prowess and acclaim in the wizarding world through the overheard hushed conversations of fellow wizards gossiping about him while she browsed Sorcerous Sundries. She had no doubt at all that he would be an excellent teacher— he just seemed like he would, even based on her limited interactions with him. So that was not something she was even slightly opposed to— if anything, it sparked a buried and long forgotten childish excitement in her.

She’d been wanting to learn or study the arcane arts for years, but for some reason her uncle Alastor always had an excuse against it. She picked up on small things and simple incantations that helped her tidy the house better or even minor illusions just for her own entertainment, but she always wanted to learn more.

That was far from being her main concern, her main concern being oh gods, how in the nine hells am I supposed to live with a man that I can’t even bare to be in the same room with for too long before needing to leave and calm myself so I don’t appear like a love stricken puppy under his gaze?

Aside from that, her concern for her uncle had begun to set in as she really digested what was being proposed and why it seemed to be getting thrust upon her— where on all of Faerun could he be going that he couldn’t take her with him? That he didn’t want to take her with him? She had never adventured with him before, he never allowed it— but that didn’t mean she hadn’t wanted to or begged him to let her go with him just once. He said no, obviously. Every time. It never stopped her from trying, though.

She knew her uncle well enough to know that whatever it was had to be quite important, if he were sending her off like this. She trusted him, more than anyone in the world. So who was she to argue?

“Are you okay? With all of this?” Gale asked her, standing and crossing the room, approaching her tentatively but not coming too close.

Okay was ill fitting to describe her feelings toward this situation, but there really wasn’t another word to replace it with. So she just nodded, not offering any more explanation as she was petrified of anything that might come out of her mouth at that moment.

Gale continued to watch her, as if he were waiting for her to do something— burst into tears, shout, curse them both out, anything— only for her to stay planted in the spot she stood in the middle of what would only be her home for a handful of days more. The only home she ever truly knew.

Gale and Alastor continued to discuss the details while she began tidying the mess that had made of the kitchen by the tornado of a man in the other room, and zoned out as she scrubbed the same spot on one of the dishes for what felt like hours, only returning to reality when she felt a warm and ridiculously soft hand very gently take the plate from hers. Her eyes shot up to meet his, his body dangerously close to her as he offered her a friendly smile.

“Allow me. You should probably rest up as much as you can. You know— before the big move.” He offers, somehow managing to mash gentlemanliness and awkwardness together into one terribly endearing sentence.

Gods, this is going to be rough.

She stared up at him through round eyes, just now noticing the significant height difference between the two of them now that he was as close to her as he was. Yet another thing to add to the growing list of things she needed to not think about if she wanted to preserve the last few crumbles of her own sanity.

She steps aside after a moment, not uttering a word to him but giving her best attempt at a thankful smile, then runs upstairs to her room and flops onto the comforts of her bed for what was one of the final times she would be able to for gods know how long. She savored the last few nights in the room that she’d spent her most formative years in. The room she dreamt in, cried in, discovered herself in, and fostered memories that she would eventually have to say goodbye to.

Then the day she was set to leave finally came, but she didn’t feel as melancholy as she expected to feel. She’d spent the prior few days drowning in her own nostalgia as she visited every forgotten corner of her childhood home, rifling through her old toys and relics from before her parents passed, making sure to set aside the most sentimental things so that she could take them along with her. She shed a few tears here and there, but mostly she felt a selfish twinge of relief.

As much as she loved her uncle, she had been craving a change in her life for so long now that she had made peace with eventually leaving long before Alastor had even considered sending her off with a man that was a complete stranger to her.

But something about that added to the excitement— she was truly being thrown into the unknown head first. An unfamiliar city, an unfamiliar home, and an unfamiliar person that undoubtedly had a whole wealth of knowledge and stories to share with her. It was a lot of change, but she welcomed it eagerly.

Though, eager as she was to leave, saying goodbye to her uncle proved to be a lot harder than anything else.

She hugged him for as long as he would allow her to, clinging on to him and shoving her face into his worn out old robes and savoring the scent that she’d always associate with comfort— tobacco, sage, and a hint of his favorite wine— leaving behind a few small wet spots from the tears that she silently shed. He kissed the top of her head and placed his hands encouragingly on her shoulders, and gave her an affirmative nod. He had never been good with words when it came to expressing affection, but she didn’t feel like she needed it. He showed his care for her in so many other ways that words just seemed unnecessary.

To be cared for is to be seen. To be loved is to be known.

She wished him luck on his quest, whatever that may be, then disappeared into the portal that would take her straight to her new home.

That day almost feels like a lifetime ago. Uncle Alastor checks in every once in a while, sending both her and Gale individual letters. She wants so badly to know what he had to say that was so different to Gale than what he says to her, or rather what he wants him to know and her to not—but she never lets curiosity get the best of her, regardless.

The one he sent today was unusually brief and simple, assuring her that he was doing well and that he hoped to come by to visit sometime soon— as he’d been saying for months and had still yet to do so.

She watched Gale read his as he sat at his large mahogany desk, his glasses sat just at the end of his nose and his brows furrowed as he read. His expression didn’t change or seem anything other than relaxed as he read, so she took that as a good sign. She relaxed slightly into the plush cushions of the chaise, a weight she didn’t realize she’d been bearing lifting off of her shoulders.

She lounged in her favorite spot in his office where she would spend hours reading and researching with him, or where she would sit as she intently listened to him bestow her with random tidbits of knowledge that he found riveting, his cadence as he spoke about it making her feel just as excited by it as he was.

“I wonder how many more times he’ll promise to visit before he actually does,” she jokes, breaking the comfortable silence.

Gale huffs air from his nose, never looking up at her from the assortment of scrolls, parchment, and tomes scattered across the surface of his desk. “Knowing your uncle, he’s probably already forgotten he’d ever mentioned it by the time the letters made it to us.”

She chuckles lightly and sighs, leaning her cheek against the top of the backing of the chaise. “I imagine you’re probably right.”

Another comfortable silence fills the room, as it often did while Gale busied himself with whatever studies he found pressing enough to indulge in. She tried her best not to interrupt him or disturb him, just simply existed near him in the event he were to need her help or wanted to rant to someone about whatever was occupying his excellent mind.

She quietly hops off of the lounger and pads over to the large open window on the other side of the large room, perching herself on the windowsill and gazing at the vast expanse of the ocean below, the sun shimmering on it in hues of orange and pink as it began to set. The breeze is pleasant and the faint salty scent of the ocean drifts with the wind and fills her senses. She closes her eyes and indulges in it for a few moments, feeling a kind of serenity that she hadn’t felt in a while.

When she finally opens her eyes, she finds Gale has turned in his seat and is watching her with a peaceful grin on his face. She holds his gaze for a moment before she has to tear herself away, nervousness rumbling in her gut as she squirms under his intense gaze.

“Would you like to go for a stroll? It’s a beautiful evening,” he asks, causing her to nearly topple over and fall out of the open window. Great.

Gale jolts in his seat, preparing to rescue her from her own potential idiotic demise, before she quickly hops down and plants her feet firmly on the ground and shoots him a reassuring glance.

“I don’t think my heart can handle being around you, at times,” he jokes. His eyes widen and his face pales, and he clears his throat nervously before he continues. “That’s the second— no, third— time you’ve nearly fallen out of that window. I’m starting to consider casting an arcane lock or an invisible shield on the damned thing.”

Her stomach is doing flips and somersaults as she replays the words he’d said in her head a million times over, despite him quickly correcting himself. Little did he know, she felt very much the same way around him, but for an entirely different reason.

“Sorry,” she whispers, her eyes dropping to the floor sheepishly. “I’ve never been exactly graceful.”

He sighs, silently chuckling and shaking his head. “So I’ve gathered.”

He stands and joins her in front of the window, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back slightly as he mimics what she’d done just moments prior, minus the potential self-defenestration.

A stronger breeze passes, blowing back his chestnut waves and his lavish looking robes with it. His very slightly aged and weathered skin is bathed in the peachy hues from the sunset. She takes a moment to realize he’s much younger than he appears— she wonders if stress has aged him and caused his graying hair, and what could have stressed him so terribly that it physically affected him.

“What do you say?” He asks, turning to her once again, his hands clasped behind his back.

She swallows hard. The thought of a stroll in the warm twilight with Gale of Waterdeep was nearly too much for her heart to bear. She fiddles with the bottom hem of the blouse she was wearing, her gaze fixed on a random point far off into the horizon.

Say yes. Say yes!

“U-um, I’m actually not f-feeling very well… I may need to lie down for a bit. But perhaps… another time?” She stammers, her voice meek and unconvincing. At least to herself.

Stupid, stupid.

Gale nods, but is unable to completely hide his disappointment, a slight frown gracing his features that would almost be impossible to notice if it weren’t for his expressive eyes. Her heart nearly breaks at the way his brown irises resembled a puppy who’d just been denied a treat. Was it too late to take it back?

“Are you alright? Is there anything I can do for you?” He takes a step closer, concern replacing the disappointment in his eyes as his brows softened and his hand raised as if he was going to reach for her, before quickly lowering it and dropping it to his side.

Her body stiffens and her back straightens, her heart pounding. How did she get to this point— where something as simple as him extending base level kindness to her was enough to affect her this much? You’d think after living under his roof for half a year and getting to know him that these feelings would have subsided or dulled themselves by now— but if anything, the more time she spent with him, the more she ached to bridge that gap between them. To be close to him in every way, to tangle herself in him and pray the knot never loosens.

But she had already accepted that such a thought was silly and childish— her juvenile crush on him would eventually subside and she would forget all about it, like it was never there to begin with. So for now, all she could do was endure.

“I’m fine, really. I think I just… maybe I just need a nice relaxing bath, or something.” She offers, throwing it out meaninglessly then realizing that a hot bath sounded absolutely divine.

An unreadable expression flashes across his face for a flicker of an instant before he recomposes, then smooths the front of his coat down with his hands and clears his throat. He offers her his usual warm grin, and nods.

“By all means. Perhaps I’ll start dinner while you do. It should be done by the time you’ve finished.”

She can’t hold back the nearly giddy smile that teases the corners of her mouth. He is so sweet. So genuine.

She nods. “That sounds good. Thank you.”

Without exchanging another word, they disperse, him retreating downstairs and her essentially running to her room to grab her towels and toiletries.

She grabs two towels, one for her body and one for her hair, then the soap that she’d gotten the last time she went to the market to pick up a few of her personal essentials. The shopkeeper let her know that it was a special soap, made particularly with ingredients that had calming effects on the user. Perfect.

She pads out of her room, closing the door behind her and making her way to the large bathroom at the far end of the hallway.

Gale had a way of leaving his mark on every space he inhabited, and this bathroom was no exception. The room was cozy, draped in various deep purple curtains and several houseplants that looked as if they’d been cared for by the most skilled of botanists, not a single dead leaf or weak stem. There were robes hung on the wall closest to the large clawfoot tub on one end of the room— his robes. She mindlessly runs her hand across the soft fabric of one of them, noticing a small tear in the collar and a few scuffs and singed marks throughout it. She wonders what mischief he’d gotten himself into while wearing it, picturing him perhaps trying out a new spell and it backfiring on him. She smiles and chuckles quietly to herself.

She tears herself away from her thoughts and his clothes, and approaches the tub, turning the ornate handle for the hot water and watching it run, slowly filling the marble basin. She perches herself on the edge of the tub, staring blankly into the rippling water.

She thinks of how many times Gale had probably done the exact same thing as she was doing right now— how he would sink himself into the water and finally truly rest his weary and aching bones, and wash away the stresses of the day even if it were only for the small duration of him being enveloped in the comforts of a warm bath. She wonders if he ever—

No. Another thing she absolutely could not think about. A thought to avoid at all costs if she intended on ever being able to look him in the eye again. It was hard enough already as it was.

The tub finally fills just as she shakes her head to clear herself of the beginnings of what were certainly very perverse and not very platonic thoughts, thankfully allowing her to now focus on something else. She quickly disrobes, folding her clothes neatly and setting them aside on the chair in the corner of the room— a habit she’d picked up from watching him do it.

The room, apart from the heat radiating off of the water in the tub, is chilly against her flushed skin, instantly raising gooseflesh all over her as she peels away the thin layers of clothing she’d been wearing. The tile feels icy against the bare soles of her feet as she returns to the tub, reaching over and grabbing the soap off of the shelf she’d placed it on earlier as she begins to submerge herself.

The second her body dipped below the surface and the warm water completely enveloped her, she felt all tension in her body release like it had never been there to begin with. She hadn’t even used the soap yet and she felt the calming effects of it from the smell alone as she dunked it underwater. Lavender and a hint of citrus.

Sometimes she caught a whiff of lavender when the window in the kitchen was open and the breeze would jostle the lavender plant that sat on the sill. She remembered Gale telling her that he loved the smell of fresh lavender. Not that that was the reason she bought the soap. Not at all. Not really.

She takes her time scrubbing each inch of her body, savoring this moment of pure bliss and wondering why she’d never enjoyed baths as much prior to this one. By the time she’s done, she dreads abandoning the comforts of the marble tub, but due to her fingertips pruning she knows that she’d probably been in there longer than she needed to be, and Gale was surely done cooking dinner by now.

She begins to stand, the water and whatever remaining suds rinsing off of her and splashing loudly as she does, which you’d think would have been enough of an audio cue that she was still occupying the bathroom and prevent Gale from bursting into the bathroom, much to both of their horror.

She lets out a startled shriek and attempts to maintain her modesty by covering herself with her hands, which barely achieved anything. Gale quickly shields his eyes with his own hand, stammering and stuttering incoherent apologies and curses.

“I— I thought— your bedroom door was closed, so I assumed you were in there— forgive me! I just— um—” He clamors over himself trying to make any sort of sense at all, never moving his hand an inch out of the way of his eyes, closing them tightly for good measure. “D-Dinner is finished and on the table waiting for you when you’re ready. Take your time.”

He darts out of the room, slamming the door behind him and the sound of hurried footsteps down the hall preceding.

Her heart pounds in her chest as if it were a wardrum and she’s almost certain that she might actually die of embarrassment. If she doesn’t resort to drowning herself in the leftover bathwater to avoid going downstairs and facing him, first.

She stands there, frozen in place for far too long before she realizes that she was very much still naked and drenched as a shiver rakes down her spine and her teeth start to chatter.

Fine. The world’s most awkward dinner ever, it is.

She wraps one of the towels she brought around her body, then the other around her shoulders for extra coverage before peeking her head out of the door, checking if the coast was clear before dashing down the hallway and into the safety of her bedroom.

Once inside, she shuts the door with a loud click, then leans against the wood and sighs.

Within one singular day, within at least an hour of each other, she’d rejected him (unintentionally, mind you), and he’d seen her bare naked body. After half a year of living together and nothing strange ever occurring between them aside from occasional extended loaded eye contact and a smile that felt like it bore hidden intent here and there that she brushed off and assumed it was just a glimmer of hope clouding her judgment.

Accidents happen though, and he just so happened to accidentally manage to walk into the bathroom at the exact moment her entire naked body was visible from the doorway. Things happen. It’s fine.

She recalls him saying that her bedroom door was shut and that was why he assumed it was safe for him to come in. She’s not sure why him noticing something like that made her stomach twist and do flips as if she were tumbling very suddenly down a hill, but it did all the same. She wonders what other things he notices about her, if anything else at all. The thought makes her throat run dry.

She pulls on an oversized blouse that fell well past the top of her thighs as well as a comfortable pair of pants, feeling the need to cover as much of herself as possible to maybe cancel out the fact that he’d seen everything only moments ago. It didn’t work, of course, but it was worth a try.

Realizing that he was probably sitting at the table and waiting for her before eating, as he always did, she finally forces herself to face the inevitable and join him downstairs.

She peeks around the corner and sees him exactly where she expected him to be— the same seat he always sat in for any meals, opposite the chair she always sat in, staring blankly down at his plate, massaging his temples with his fingertips. He looks equally as perturbed by their encounter as she does, and she can’t tell if that is a comfort to her or if it made her want to shrink and disappear.

She catches a flash of auburn and gray fur as Tara flies in from an open window and perches herself on the table beside Gale. He doesn’t acknowledge her physically, but utters a quiet ‘hello’ that sounds more like a groan.

“Mr. Dekarios, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost!” She chirps, pawing at his bicep with concern. “Where is my favorite reading companion? Have you finally scared her off?”

Gale swats her paw off of his arm and shoots her a look of annoyance. “Not now, Tara.”

“Did something happen between you two? About time, I say. I do rather like having her around, you know.” The feathered feline continues, pacing in front of Gale and nearly stepping right in the middle of his plate before he scoots it away.

“I fear she may run for the hills like a bat out of a crypt after today,” He groans. “I’ve made a complete ass of myself. It seems to be my specialty these days.”

“Mr. Dekarios, I may just be a simple tressym but I have it on good authority she won’t go anywhere.” Tara says, her tone meaningful and full of insinuation as she pokes and prods Gale’s arm once again.

He looks at his companion with soft eyes full of despair, his entire body seeming to sag in his seat in contrast to his usually perfect and poised posture. “I hope you’re right.”

Silence fills the room as Tara comfortingly bumps her head against Gale’s shoulder, eliciting a sweet smile from him that makes her insides feel fuzzy. She waits a few moments more before exiting the stairway so as to not appear suspicious or that she’d been eavesdropping. Her steps are extra quiet as she carefully tiptoes into the dining room. Tara notices her first and greets her warmly.

“Elara! There you are! How are you, my friend?” Tara calls to her, strutting across the large wooden surface of the dinner table to her side, sitting right next to her plate.

She glances at Gale for a brief moment, his eyes boring into her as if he were anticipating something terrible to come from her mouth. She offers him a shy smile, then turns her attention back to Tara.

“I’m well, thank you. I missed you this morning, Tara. Find any juicy pigeons to snack on?” She jokes, patting her head gently. Tara purrs and bumps her head against Elara’s palm, almost appearing to smile at the affectionate gesture. Gale’s eyes darted back and forth between his two companions rapidly, an unreadable expression on his face.

She tilts her head at him in a silent inquiry, to which he simply waves his hand and invites her to sit.

“Oh, yes, of course. You’ll have to come with me some day.” She offers, and Elara chuckles. As silly as it was, she knew how sweet it was for Tara to invite her to join her for a hunt, regardless of whether or not she ever actually would.

“I’d love to.”

She pulls out the chair and sits, eyeing her plate and finding that somehow her food was still steaming hot as if it were fresh, while Gale’s appeared to have gone cold and stale.

“I warmed it for you.” He says, answering her question before she even had the chance to ask. She smiles a grateful smile before taking a bite, not realizing how hungry she’d been until the very second the food landed on her taste buds.

They eat mostly in silence, aside from the sound of Gale’s fork scraping against the plate as he pushes his food around. She wants to ask why he didn’t bother to heat his own plate as well, but doesn’t want to pry. Perhaps he just wasn’t that hungry.

The echoes of something she overheard Gale say in response to Tara’s teasing linger in her mind, reverberating off of the walls of her skull as if he’d shouted them into the mouth of a cave.

I hope you’re right.

He hoped she’d stay. He wants her to stay.

The sound of Tara taking flight startles her from her thoughts, catching a glimpse of the tail end of her as she flies toward the staircase, likely heading to her favorite spot in Gale’s office on a blanket right in front of the fireplace. The departure of what acted as the buffer for the awkward tension between the two of them made it impossible to ignore the proverbial owlbear in the room.

Gale’s voice is the one that breaks the silence. “I apologize again— for earlier. I should have knocked.”

She waves him off, keeping her gaze focused on her plate. “Things happen.”

He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I just fear that I’ve made you uncomfortable more than once today.”

Now her gaze is locked right on him, confusion coating her features. When he notices, he sighs.

“When I asked you if you wanted to go for a stroll. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Oh.

Gods, why is he so damn considerate?

“No, no,” she says, her voice softening and her eyes matching it. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable at all.”

It’s his turn to be confused now, his eyebrows knitted together and mouth pressed into a line. “Why did you say no, then?”

What answer could she give him that wasn’t entirely incriminating? ‘I said no because I’m in love with you and you make me nervous’? Not a chance.

“I… I’m just feeling a little tired today.”

He eyes her and suddenly it’s like she’s completely naked under his gaze once again, only she nearly feels even more exposed now than she did when she was actually naked. He can tell there’s more to it, but he doesn’t push. He never pushes.

“Well, do know that I’m always here if you need to talk. If there’s something bothering you, just say the word and I’ll do what I can to help.”

Only there isn’t anything he can do to help— hells, even this conversation is doing the very opposite of helping.

“Thank you, Mr. Dek— I mean— Gale.” She smiles sheepishly, earning a disgruntled smirk from Gale at her slip up.

She remembers a conversation they had not too long after she moved in, where he told her that referring to him as ‘Mr. Dekarios’ was unnecessary, and preferred that she just called him Gale. For her comfort, but also his own. He didn’t delve into why, but she just assumed that that was a Tara exclusive thing and never questioned it further.

“My pleasure,” He breathes, pushing his chair back and standing with his plate in hand. “I apologize, but I may turn in early tonight. Don’t worry about your dish when you’re finished, I’ll take care of it in the morning.”

She watches him as he scrapes his plate into the waste bin and then places it in the sink basin, rubbing his hands together and then turning to head for the stairs. He breezes past her and she catches a whiff of that familiar scent she’d caught from the robes hanging in the bathroom— sandalwood, bergamot, and a hint of old parchment. Something she would try not to think about if she weren’t reminded of it everyday that she spent surrounded by him, still feeling as though he were in the room with her even when he was away.

Just before his foot lands on the first stair, she turns and calls to him. He pauses, turning his entire body at the sound of her voice.

“Thank you, again. Goodnight.”

He beams at her, his smile reaching his deep brown eyes that she could see the twinkle in even from across the room. She swears she’d even be able to see it from miles away.

“Goodnight, Elara.”

Lavender. Gale loved the smell of lavender.

It lingered throughout the halls and wafted out from the bathroom for hours after her bath, and he found himself stopping just outside the doorway without realizing it, as if some invisible force was drawing him to it. As if that smell were a siren’s call, and he was a fisherman lost at sea being lured into her claws. He smelled it on her when she came downstairs, her hair still damp and falling in her face, her skin still flushed from the warmth of the water.

Selfishly, he could not get the image of her out of his head— the elegant curves of her body and the way it glistened as the hazy light of dusk paired with candlelight cast an ethereal glow that almost made her seem like nothing more than a conjured illusion. Though, he was sure no wizard would ever be able to conjure something as meticulously crafted as her, something that exquisite couldn’t have even been sculpted by the gods.

It felt wrong and he felt the weight of guilt on his shoulders for violating her privacy tenfold, and yet, his brain could not seem to let him forget for even a fraction of a second. He was incredibly thankful he was able to make it downstairs and hide his arousal under the table before she saw him again and was truly put off by him. He cursed himself internally for being unable to contain himself— one can’t always be a gentleman, it seems.

It was purely a miracle that he managed to contain himself as he walked past her to finally retire to his bedroom after what felt like the most mentally exhausting day. It was a miracle every day that he managed to contain himself around her, really. Especially on days that she wore dresses— he adored dresses on her. He pictured taking her for a proper evening out in Waterdeep. Greeting her at the door with flowers, walking hand in hand and buying her dinner, showing her all of his favorite parts of the place he loved most in the world, then kissing her goodnight on the stoop and smiling like a giddy schoolboy the entire rest of the night after they departed.

He’d been enraptured by her from the first moment he laid eyes on her, the first time he ran into her and Alastor at Sorcerous Sundries— so much so, that he completely forgot what he’d even gone there for and entirely abandoned whatever it was and returned home as quickly as possible, his heart racing as if it were trying to escape his chest and run right into her grasp. Sometimes he thinks maybe it has.

And then when Alastor asked him to let her stay with him, all hope of properly courting her the way she deserved had somehow been entirely dashed in an instant. While you’d think having the object of your desires right within your own home at all times would make things easier— it did not. It only further complicated an already somewhat complicated situation.

He valued his friendship with Alastor greatly, and feared that he would not take kindly to him beginning a romantic relationship with his only niece who had basically been raised as his daughter. She was worth trying for, he’d decided, and had been planning on coming around more and getting to know her the right way— and the rest is history.

Now, he’s tormented by her being so close and yet not close enough to touch. To occupy the same home as her, but never the same space was downright agonizing.

She had become the bane of his very existence, only because every day she made it even harder to resist her.

For example, the way she interacted with Tara— whom, mind you, generally disliked most other humans aside from himself and his mother— the way Tara greeted her with such ardor, not too different from the way she would greet him. The way she not only allowed her to pet her head, but even purred as she did so. Tara is many things, but easily swayed by people is not one of them. And yet, she welcomes her into their home as if she’d always been there. As if she’d been simply waiting for her to come home all this time.

It had begun to feel that way for Gale as well— his heart ached at the thought of Alastor coming home and her leaving again. While he missed his friend, he could not deny that he’d miss her presence in this house much more.

He felt himself going mad. Absolutely and truly round the bend crazy over her.

He wasn’t proud of what he’d done the second he made it into his bedchamber for the night.

To make matters worse, it wasn’t even the first time he’d done such a thing.

The pained straining of his erection against his clothing was making his entire body ache along with it, as if it were punishing him for neglecting it for as long as he had. The second he released it from the confines of his pants and underclothes, a bead of precum leaked and he groaned.

Gods, this is madness.

Perhaps maybe if he did this, he could get it out of his system and forget about it all in the morning. Yes, he thought, that makes perfectly logical and reasonable sense.

He clumsily strips his day clothes off apart from his underwear, uncharacteristically discarding it into a heap beside his bed before jumping into the expanse of the large mattress in the center of the room and making himself comfortable.

He looks down at his own pathetically swollen and throbbing cock, and he almost wishes he could call her into his room and show her the effect she has on him. He pictures her long dark curls fanned out across the pillows at the head of the bed, the way her complexion would be complimented so beautifully by the violet silk sheets beneath her, her legs spread for him. The way he’d devour her and drink her in as if she were the richest wine or the sweetest peach in all of Faerun. The way his name would sound cried from her lips in pure ecstasy.

The thought alone was enough to bring him closer to the edge— hells, he was sure he’d been on the brink of orgasm for longer than he’d like to admit. He was almost certain the second he began to pump himself into his fist that he’d be done for.

He started slowly, hoping to savor it for at least a few minutes and give himself more time to indulge in his fantasies. His chest heaved and his cheeks flushed with desire, and he had to try to keep himself quiet on the off chance that she could overhear him. Despite his efforts, he grunted softly as his pace quickened, now pumping himself with a steady rhythm that felt right— that if he closed his eyes, he could picture her on top of him, instead.

That didn’t last long, as within a minute he was spilling onto his own stomach and coming completely undone, chanting her name in breathy whispers over and over as if it were a prayer without even realizing he was saying anything at all in his lust addled haze.

He grips himself as he rides out the aftershocks until the sensation was entirely too much and he had to let go, his entire body going limp and exhaustion finally presenting itself to him and each one of the muscles he’d just expended in that process. He looks down wearily at the mess he’d made of himself, and throws his head back into the pillows.

He wonders if her pillows smell like lavender. He imagines that they do.

God I am a shameless wizard kisser I need him so bad I need him in a way that needs to be studied in a lab

this is part one of a series - ✧ (chapter 2)

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