#my feet in rivers at any chance i get

[hearth-of-olympus]

i love june. june is just the best month. june is perfect

[devil-in-hiding]

On The Run pt 2

By the time the five of you are in the house, you’re soaked through once more, teeth chattering when the cool air of the house hits your skin as Gaz opens the door, holding it open long enough to let the dogs trot in.

“Hey! Shake over there!” He shoos, flinching when Maggie sprays him with her shake off.

“Let’s get you taken care of pretty.” Price murmurs, and you push weakly at his chest, struggling to get down. Your mind is foggy, exhaustion fighting to take over, but there are four strange men now standing in your living room, and that seemed more pressing.

Price grunts, but finally gives in, setting you on your feet, and you put as much distance between yourself and them as you can. “What do you want? What is going on here?” You demand, trying to ignore the shake of your voice.

They glance at each other, having a silent conversation, and you glance towards the stairs. You had an old cell phone, and the service this far out was absolutely shit, but it was a chance-

“We would like a place to stay.” Price’s voice interrupts your thoughts, and your eyes shoot to look at them, and a shocked laugh tumbles past your lips.

“A place to stay? After what just happened? For god’s sake I don’t even know you!” You laugh, slightly hysteric, and Price takes a cautious step towards you, holding up his hands. “We didn’t mean to scare you sweetheart, honest. Didn’t think anyone lived here by the looks of it.” His tone is soft, comforting. He approaches you slowly, and you back away until your back hits the wall.

“How did you even know we were in there?” Ghost speaks this time, eyes trained on your face and you try not to crack under his gaze.

“You spooked Sebastian. In the six years I’ve lived here nothing has ever spooked that horse.” You glare, anger flaring when the four of them laugh. “You think scaring my stallion is funny?”

“No little bird, just…” Ghost trails off, chuckling and you can feel your eye twitch ever so slightly.

“It’s cute how protective you are over some animals.” He finishes, and he can tell his words are winding you up, the crinkle around his eyes indicating he finds this amusing. Bastard.

“They might just be animals to you,” You start, your frustration seeping into your words as you straighten your back. “But when I found this place they were starving and on the brink of death. I worked my ass off to make sure they made it. I worked for their trust after some asshole abandoned them here to fucking die. They are my herd, this is my land!” Your shoulders heave, sucking in a deep breath as you try to calm your racing heart.

They stare at you, quiet and you close your eyes, clenching your fist as you struggle to maintain yourself. “You broke into my barn and scared my animals, held my own knife to my throat and invited yourselves into my home. Why is god's name should I let you stay here?” You ask, opening your eyes to stare them down, and for the first time tonight, they seem to crack under your gaze for once.

“Have you… Do you have any way of hearing the news?” Price questions, wincing and you frown. “The radio when I’m cleaning the barn. Why?”

They hesitate, looking between themselves as they shuffle their feet. Your eyes bounce between them, trying to think back to anything of importance that a reporter has broadcasted as of late.

Missing sheep from a town more than four hours north of you, a four way pile up down one of the highways,a break out at the prison, a wheeler transporting 60,000 gallons of wine tipping near the river…

A break out at the prison.

You freeze, all air leaving your lungs as you stare at them, four wanted criminals standing in your living room. You feel your knees buckle.

They notice your realization, hesitation crossing Price’s face when he notices your stiff figure.

“Please. Let us explain ourselves.” He all but begs, and you feel your hands shaking.

“You are wanted criminals!” You hiss, and they cringe, their previous bravado has disappeared.

“We will explain everything to you, we swear. Just… Please give us a chance.” Soap steps forward this time, big wide eyes trained on you. They’re just as soaked as you are, and in the light of the living room you see the bags under their eyes, the tension in their shoulders. They look exhausted, and not just from this night. There’s a haunted look behind their eyes, and you curse yourself when you feel your heart ache ever so slightly.

You make a noise at the back of your throat, turning to head up the stairs.

“Pretty where are you-“

“You’re soaking my floor. You can explain it to me after I’m out of this damn gown.” You mumble, hearing one of them mumble ‘damn shame’.

“I heard that!”

After a few moments you come back, a box of clothes in hand and they all raise a brow. “Thought you said no one else lived here?” Gaz asks suspiciously when they notice it’s a box of men’s clothes. You roll your eyes, shoving it into his hands.

“They’re my ex-husbands, I took it by mistake when I moved my boxes.” You huff, crossing your arms. It’s your turn to raise a brow at their shocked expressions. “What’s with your faces?”

“What kind of eejit divorces such a gorgeous lass?” Soap asks, and you feel insulted, till you realise he’s not joking. They all look you over, and you feel your face warm at the way their eyes darken. Turning away, you clear your throat, pointing up the stairs.

“The guest room is down the hall, it has a bathroom and towels. Leave your clothes in the tub.” You order, making your way towards your bedroom. You feel the stairs shake as they bound up them, and as they pass, Price give’s your hip a little squeeze and you swat at his hand.

“Thank you pretty.”

“I haven’t said yes yet. You were just ruining my hardwood floors.” You sniff, smacking his hand once more when he doesn’t let go.

“You are testing my patience most of all.”

“You haven’t made us leave though.”

“I can change that very quickly.” You snap, pulling his hand off your side and he takes the opportunity to pull you close, leaning down next to your ear.

“But I don’t think you will, will you sweetheart?” He whispers, and you bite your lip, pushing at his chest. “For god's sake, go change you old perv.” You hiss, wiggling in his grasp and he flashes you a grin before letting you go.

You slip into your room, locking the door before pressing your head against it. What have you gotten yourself into?

You quickly take a hot shower, letting the scalding water bring warmth back to your stiff joints. You towel off quickly, slipping into an oversized hoodie and some old pajama pants.

You can still hear the shower running down the hall when you step out, a boom of thunder sounding in the distance. You slip down to the kitchen, grabbing one of your mugs. You had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

How could you be so foolish as to be letting escaped convicts use your bathroom?! God the feds were probably spread to every point in the world trying to track these men down. You can’t remember much the broadcast had said, just that there were four dangerous men on the run from one of the maximum security prisons a couple of hours away. How on earth did they wind up here?

You’re so lost to your thoughts you don’t hear the stairs creak, staring out into the backyard as you mull things over in your mind.

“‘Ppreciate the clothes lass, loads better!” A cheerful voice spooks you and you jump, dropping your mug to the floor. “Shit!” You curse, a matching ‘ah hell’ leaving Soap.

“Didn’t mean to scare you again bonnie, I’m sorry.” He sighs, running a hand over his face. You’re surprised to find genuine guilt there, and he gives you a sheepish look. “I’ll clean this up for ye.”

“Gone and lost us our chance Soap?” Gaz asks, frowning at the glass on the ground but Soap just waves him off. “Accident, scared the poor lass.”

“We keep doing that, she'll never give us a chance.” Gaz smiles at you, soft and sweet but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the bags under them worse after having cleaned up, and you feel that strange ache in your chest again. You glance at Soap, who is picking up the shards with his bare hands and you frown, swatting his hands away as you kneel beside him.

“Are you trying to hurt yourself?” You scold, and he gives you a surprised look before smiling, shrugging as he gently stops your hands from piling the remains of the mug. “Could ask the same of you bonnie, hands like these are much too pretty for such sharp things.” He mumbles, scooping up the shards without a care.

The two of them eye you nervously, and you can feel knots in your stomach. Taking a deep breath, you motion towards the living room. “Sit. I’ll make something to drink.” You offer. They raise a brow and you glance at the ground.

“I’m sorry, I just thought-“

“No need to apologize, it’s just…” Gaz starts, trying to find the words and glances at Soap.

“We’re honestly surprised you didn't run for the nearest house possible when you had the chance.” Soap says bluntly, and you wince.

“No one around for miles.” You admit, and their faces fall slightly, shoulders tensing and you clear your throat. “I said I would hear you out. I plan to.” You say firmly, turning to walk into the kitchen, just to bump into a large chest.

“I gotta worry about you keeping your mouth shut little bird?” Ghost asks, arms crossing over his chest as he stares you down.

“I do have a radio that connects me to the closest ranger station. And another for the Police station in the little town 3 hours north.” You admit, and you see his eyes flash, but you hold up your hand before he speaks.

“No. You aren’t taking it.” You snap, and his eyes narrow, exhaling sharply.

“If they don’t hear from me periodically they get worried. It’s a small town, everyone knows one another and I do have to take trips to the store every month or so.” You don’t back down from his dark gaze, but your palms feel clammy.

“They ever check up on you unannounced?” Price is last to arrive, voice stern as he levels the same cold glare as Ghost and you swallow, standing straighter, Gaz and Soap looking between the three of you nervously.

“Not unless I ask them to or I haven’t called in a few weeks. Takes too long to get out here.” Your voice shakes towards the end, slipping between the two looming men.

“You’re all here, you can start talking anytime.” You quip, and Ghost scoffs. “Got a mouth on you don’t-“

“You are asking to stay in my home. Watch it.”

He snaps his mouth shut, glaring at you and you turn your back to him. Price clears his throat, his gaze heavy on your back as you turn on the stove.

“Listen. There has to be some type of trust for this to even begin to work. You haven’t hurt me, and besides that oaf holding a knife to my throat,” You and Simon glare at one another, but he breaks first, eyes crinkling in the corners. “You’re a feisty little thing.” He laughs, crossing the kitchen to plop down at the kitchen table like he owns it.

“Besides that, you haven’t given me any reason you’re here to harm me or rob me, considering you have no car. You could easily overpower me and keep me locked in one of my own rooms and you haven’t. That’s a good start.” You finish, hands shaking slightly as you start to make your tea, and Price gently takes the kettle from your hands.

“But you’re still scared.” He states, and your shoulders stiffen. “Four men are in my kitchen asking to hide from the police. I’ve only put together who is who with your little code names by listening to you talk to one another. I’m sorry for being a little frightened.” You spit, jumping when you feel his large hand on your hip.

“Oh if you don’t quit that-“

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you pretty.”

“Okay! I think we all need to take a minute, yeah?” Gaz announces, him and Soap staring at the three of you nervously. You pry Price’s hand off your hip, again, pushing him away.

“Start talking, now. Before I let Soap and Gaz stay here and let the two of you rot outside.” You huff, taking a seat at the table and they seem surprised.

“I told you, I put together who is who, and those two,” You point, glaring at Price and Ghost as you speak. “Have been very respectful and kind.”

The two of them perk up, lapping up the small praise like thirsty dogs as their chests puff out.

Price frowns, keeping eye contact with you as he slips into the chair opposite of you. “We’ll behave.” He mutters, cutting a look at Ghost when he makes an offended noise in the back of his throat.

“We’re sorry. We didn’t mean any of the harm or fear we have caused you, really thought this place was abandoned. The boys and I appreciate you hearing us out when you have absolutely no reason to. And I… apologize.” He clears his throat, casting you a glance over before meeting your eyes once more.

“Haven’t been around such a gorgeous little thing like yourself in a long time. Forgot my manners.” He grins now, causing heat to bloom in your chest and you splutter, narrowing your eyes at him as you fight the heart crawling up your neck.

“Story. Now.”

“Oh come on pretty, am I at least forgiven?” He asks, and you know he’d deny that he’s pouting, but it still makes a small smile tug your lips.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“I could sweet talk you some more.”

“Much more interested in why you were in prison.”

Price sighs, but there’s a smile on his face as he relaxes in his chair.

“Better settle in. It’s a bit of a tale.” He crosses his arms, settling back.

“I’ve got all night.” You shoot back, resting your chin on your hand as you get comfortable.

What have you gotten yourself into?

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Angel || LN4

Summary: Kingsday gets a little wild, in honour of Lando’s nose. Warnings: alcohol, injuries, blood WC: 1.7k

Lando wasn’t drunk, but he was by no means sober either. Everyone had warned him the Kingsday event was a marathon not a sprint so he was taking it slow, sipping his rum and coke out of the orange paper cup while the river boat cruised its course.

By midafternoon it was another story completely.

Martin had taken a break and let a playlist continue the party without him on the deck while he went in search of Lando. The British driver had reached the point of being tipsy and fallen into a state of drunkenness where he could no longer block out his intrusive thoughts. Everywhere he looked couples were dancing or making out and he couldn’t help the despair of loneliness that separated him from the fun.

Leaning back on the cushions that covered the bow, Lando looked up to the bright blue sky and wondered why he couldn’t find someone that loved him with the same passion he had. He was always the one to fall harder and knew it was why things didn’t work out long-term.

The half empty cup was stolen from his hand and Lando lolled his head to see Martin drinking it dry. “No more for you, my friend. Smile! It’s Kingsday: the sun is out and the music is loud.”

“Sorry,” Lando sighed, not quite able to muster up a real smile.

“What’s wrong?” Martin dropped onto a cushion beside him and nudged his shoulder until Lando spilled the thoughts he was harbouring.

—

“These heels are killing me,” you complained as they wobbled on the cobblestone. “Can we stop for a minute?”

There were groans from some of the guys in the group but their girlfriends silenced them. You smiled gratefully at your friends but knew they were in just as much pain after hours of drinking in the city for Kingsday. The thought of walking any further to the house party someone had invited everyone to nearly had you calling for a taxi, despite the chances of getting one next to nothing.

“Lennon said there will be tons of single guys at the party. In that dress you will totally pull a 10,” Sarah said as she leaned back against the bridge rail and rolled each ankle to ease the ache.

You laughed at the statement and mirrored her position, careful not to drop the glass you had accidentally stolen from the last bar. “Getting laid isn’t the problem, it’s getting the guy to stick around afterwards.”

“Relationships are overrated,” she said, blowing a kiss to Lennon when he looked her way and raised a brow. “Not ours, baby.”

You sighed longingly as they shared a smile. “I want what you guys have.”

“Well then you better hurry up because the love of your life might just be waiting for you. Wouldn’t want to miss that, would you?”

You rolled your eyes but decided that you would continue the walk barefoot and put your heels back on when you got to the house. Leaning against the rail, you balanced on one foot and reached for your heel just as a drunkard went flying past on his e-bike.

“Ah, shit!” you screamed as you lost your balance, toppling back over the rail and straight towards the murky water below.

—

Martin yawned as he listened to Lando’s long winded explanation for why he was alone and all his friends were in relationships.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I was putting you to sleep,” he sassed.

“Well if you want some advice, from someone in a relationship, you’re not helping yourself moping around. For starters, you need to get up,” Martin encouraged as he rose to his feet and offered his friend a hand before the sunlight disappeared, the boat passing under one of the many bridges. “Love isn’t going to just fall into your lap-”

A scream pierced the air before a flurry of orange material crashed onto Lando, both their eyes squinting to readjust to the bright sunlight out of the tunnel.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you realised you were still alive and you looked around to see what had broken your fall. “Holy shit, I am so sorry!”

A stunned man sat beneath you and you reached for his face as you noticed the blood running down his nose. “Oh my god, did I do that? Are you alright? Shit, you probably don’t speak English.”

“He speaks English. It’s getting him to shut up that’s the problem,” a man standing above you said with a laugh. “Lando, mate, snap out of it.”

You started to climb off his lap but his arms tightened around you and he shook his head with a wince. “Don’t move, you might have broken something.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” you apologised again.

“Not me, you muppet,” he laughed. “You might have broken something.”

You patted yourself down, straightening your dress back into place at the same time, but everything felt fine. You tested your wrists and ankles too, only to notice you had indeed broken things.

“What’s the damage?” Lando asked.

“Ego mostly,” you admitted sheepishly. “I think I broke my heel on your face.”

“Pretty sure that was your glass,” he said looking at what remained in your hand, the sting of the cut on your palm finally appearing when you noticed the blood on the broken glass. “How bad is it? Am I hideous?”

“You are still a 10,” you giggled after noticing he was devastatingly handsome, even with the cut across his nose. Grabbing the hem of your dress, you gently dabbed the blood away before realising that it was a stupid idea. “You don’t have any diseases, do you?”

“Rabies,” his friend joked.

“Speak for yourself, mate,” Lando shot back and while they bickered jokingly you heard your name called from the river bank. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“Are you alive?” Lennon shouted as he ran along with the boat.

“Nope, I’ve died and gone to heaven!”

“I’ll let Sarah know!” He grew smaller as he stopped running and the boat continued downstream to some unknown destination.

“That’s my best friend’s boyfriend,” you explained as you patted your bra but found your phone missing. “Can I borrow your phone? I think mine drowned.”

Lando carefully shifted you so he could get to his pocket before settling you back on his lap. The grateful smile you gave him almost made him drop the device and he had to enter his passcode in twice before he got it right.

“Where is this boat heading to?” you asked as the dial tone connected. “Hey, it’s me, calm down, I’m alive.”

“Good, I’ll kill you myself! You gave me a fucking heart attack, woman!” You had to hold the phone away from your ear as she shouted her concern.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, but I’m sorry for giving you a heart attack.”

“As you should be! Len said you landed on some guy. Is he hot?”

Your face heated and you knew he had heard the question with the curious look on his face. “Mhmm, very.”

“You should invite him to the party and do a little sexy dance for him!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I kind of…broke his face.”

The silence was damning before you swore you heard her laugh from all the way upstream. “Only you could have the worst luck with men.”

“Trust me, I know all too well. Anyway, they are stopping at the Rose Bridge so I’ll just meet you guys there. Guess my luck isn’t all that bad.”

You ended the call and handed the phone back.

“What party are you going to?” Lando asked as he pocketed it again.

“I don’t know, it’s some house party. There’s a local DJ playing.”

Lando’s smile grew and he pointed to his friend. “Local DJ, ha!”

As it turned out the house party wasn’t actually a party at someone’s house and the DJ wasn’t just locally renowned. Once you were finally introduced to Lando’s friend you found out he was the DJ, Martin Garrix, and Lando was even more famous.

“I can’t afford a lawsuit,” you groaned when you realised you had practically assaulted a celebrity.

“It’s just a scratch,” Lando assured you after Martin found a first aid kick. His poor attempt at wrapping a bandage made Lando look like a mummy so you took the box yourself and found a couple of small butterfly stitches. “Nothing a kiss wouldn’t fix.”

You giggled at his flirty nature you had come to adore in the last hour and if you hadn’t drunk so much liquid courage at the bar you probably wouldn't have been able to lean closer and kiss his cheek. His skin was warm and soft beneath your lips and when you opened your eyes you found his blue eyes staring intently back. “Better?”

He shook his head. “Nope, I think it needs another try.”

“Hmmm, good idea.” You kissed his other cheek and grinned when he pouted. “No? One last try.”

Your fingers delighted in the feel of his soft hair as you combed the curls and dipped your head to his. Your heart rate spiked and you closed your eyes as you kissed his pillow-soft lips teasingly slowly before his hands cupped your face and he deepened the kiss.

You broke away with a small gasp and your eyes were wide with the want for more. It was a look reflected on Lando’s face as he gently stroked your heated cheeks.

“Hey, lovebirds! We’re here,” Martin called as the boat reached the canal edge.

You kicked off your broken heels and Lando frowned before he gave you his, looping his fingers into the straps of your shoes to carry them. You were already wearing his shirt since your dress had his blood on it and you were certain you looked at absolute mess.

“Ready to party, Angel?”

“Angel?”

“What else would I call a beautiful woman who fell from the heavens?” Lando wondered if he was making a mistake and moving to fast like he always did but it was too late, the question was already out there.

“You could call me your girlfriend.” You cringed in an instant. “I mean not tonight, that would be way too quick but-”

Lando cut you off with a kiss and you felt his smile against your lips before he asked, “How about tomorrow?”

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Fourteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Secrets are revealed, relationships are tested, and the arrival of new guests at the River House make things all the more complicated. Oh and some canon typical violence.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

There was something cold and damp against your forehead, the bitter taste of medicine lingered on your tongue, dry and acrid, and a faint pulsing near the base of your skull.

“She’s waking up.” Gwyn’s voice came to your ears through fifteen feet of water. “You can hold her hand, if you’d like. She can handle it now.”

A hand slid into yours, palms calloused from hundreds of years spent swinging a sword. Warm and heavy. Golden light pricked behind your eyes like sunlight through thin curtains and you woke up to the sun smiling down on you, red-eyed and weary.  

“Helion?” His healing touch traveled over you, whisking away any remaining tenderness in your stomach. You whimpered when he wove his fingers through your hair, gently peeling apart any tangles. It felt nice to be touched by him. Safe.

“I’m here.” 

“It hurts,” you murmured, even though you couldn’t identify the pain very well. It seemed to exist both within you and outside of you, pressing down on your chest until even breathing felt unnatural. Everything just… hurt. Your head, your heart, your throat. Like you’d swallowed a mouthful of hot ash. “I’m so… I’m so tired.” 

Again Helion combed your hair back with his fingers and you felt the sore spot on the back of your head prickle when he touched it. The blood had been cleaned, the wound closed, but you could still feel it there like a stamp sinking into your skin. The same way you could feel the stretch of scar tissue over your stomach. A thick, pale line a few inches below your sternum.  

“You’re ok, my dear. Rest. I won’t let anything hurt you.” 

“Thanks Dad,” you whispered, but you were already slipping away. You wouldn’t remember what you called him when you woke up again. 

Helion gritted his teeth and brushed away the stray tears that dripped down your cheeks, then his own. 

“I won’t let anything hurt you,” he said to the empty air.

The next time you awoke was not so pleasant. There was no caressing hand down your face. No slow murmurs from your father. No warm light blinking in the darkness. 

There was the banging of doors. Cassian’s alarmed shouts mixing with Rhysand and Mor’s, and Feyre’s commands for Nyx to take Velaria upstairs and lock the door behind them.

“Don’t come down until I get you, ok sweetie?” The boy’s footsteps were light and quick up the stairs as he calmed a startled Velaria with gentle coos. 

“Gwyn?” You reached across the bed for the priestess’s hand. Her robes looked like they were glowing to your sleep-dazed eyes. 

Her teal eyes were hard. The grip on her knife tight. 

“Gwyn, what’s happening?”

“Shhhh. Go back to sleep.” 

Helion roared and the River House shook down to its foundations. The silky covers stuck to your weak arms, slippery and cool as you gripped Gwyn’s arm and forced yourself to stand. Your knees immediately buckled and Gwyn’s awaiting arms caught you in a sprawl of heavy limbs. 

The House trembled once more. The wooden banisters creaked. The faelights that sat on swooping, wrought iron curls blinked on and off, signaling the House’s alarm as the floor slipped and slid beneath your feet. Help me! The House seemed to shout. 

“Gwyn.” 

“Hold onto me.” 

You leaned heavily against the priestess’s side, her arm wrapped around your waist, and together you stumbled out the door and into the hallway. 

You blinked, eyes adjusting to the lamplight just as Cassian flew across the room, crashing into the fireplace mantle in a burst of color that had you turning pale. The glass figurines and picture frames cracked and shattered in a rain of glass. But Cass only grumbled, “This is what I get for helping,” before bouncing onto his feet and charging back into the foyer where Rhysand, Feyre, Nesta, and Mor stood. Rhysand kept his arm out in front of the two sisters and grabbed Mor’s arm before she could step further. 

“Let them go.” Rhys said, his voice low and deadly. He knew something they didn’t. “Helion has a right to this.” 

“It wasn’t Azriel’s fault,” Mor seethed.

“Doesn’t matter. I’d do the same if anyone hurt Velaria.” 

“What the hell does that—” 

Helion slammed Azriel’s bloody and bruised body against the wall with a snarl. The shattered vases in the hallway and the blood dripping from Azriel's broken nose clear evidence that you'd stumbled upon this fight a few minutes late.

Helion held a fistful of black leather in one hand and a gleaming sword of pure light angled up just beneath Azriel’s sternum in the other. His skin burned so brightly even Azriel’s shadows had slunk away to seek shelter in the few remaining dark corners of the House.

“You bastard,” Helion spit out the words like venom. 

Azriel hung limp and exhausted, wings brushing against the floor. The bruises beneath his eyes and the cut of his cheeks spoke of days spent without sleep. Days spent prowling Velaris for Andrian. Days spent waiting outside your door for you to wake up. 

“You think I don’t see what game you’re playing? This pathetic pattern of yours?” Helion’s eyes flashed a dangerous yellow. 

“Helion!” Your voice was weaker than you wanted it to be. “Let him go!”

“It’s not a game,” Azriel said through gritted teeth. “It’s never been a game. Not with her.” “Don’t. Lie. To. Me,” Helion snarled. He pulled Azriel off the wall only to slam him back into it. Cracks splintered out like spiderwebs. Dust floated down and landed in Azriel’s hair like snow. “It wasn’t so long ago that you were convinced enough about a mating bond with Elain to invoke a fucking Blood Duel with Lucien Vanserra. Now you’re chasing after Y/n’s skirts like a dog? Looking at her with lovesick eyes as if being near you won’t bring anything but death on her head?” 

You went still.

He’d… he’d challenged Elain’s mate to a Blood Duel?

He’d believed they were mates?

All at once it made sense why Elain and Lucien had disappeared to the Mortal Lands, chased away by a violence that should have ended with either Lucien or Azriel ritualistically buried in the ground. Nothing but a pint of blood and a name to remember them by. All at once it made sense why it had been so long since their family had lived under one roof. 

Your words shriveled up in your throat and died there.

Azriel stiffened, eyes flashing dangerously. 

Helion clicked his tongue in disapproval. “You’re not the only one who hears whispers, Shadowsinger,” he hissed. “First it was Mor you pined after for five-hundred years, then Elain, then the priestess. One right after the other like a prize just out of reach.” 

Gwyn tensed beside you and your heart tightened in your chest like untempered glass ready to shatter. 

“Gwyn?” You whispered. 

You had no right to Azriel, no right to know about his past exploits with females, but still it felt like something you should have been told after long nights spent in the priestess’s presence. Months of living under their roof, eating their food, and falling in love without a whisper of warning. The things they must have whispered about when you weren’t in the room. 

Her silence was all you needed to hear. Greasy and rotten.

Azriel’s hands shook the more Helion spoke. 

“You like your females broken and vulnerable. You like it when they need you. When you get to swoop in feeling like some grand hero. So you felt you had the right to go after my daughter! And then you were too weak to protect her when the time came? You dared to lay a hand on her are you fucking kidding me?!”

The world froze at those two words. The Inner Circle was shocked into complete silence. 

You swayed dangerously as the floor tilted beneath your bare feet. 

Is that what they thought of you? Is that what Azriel thought of you? Broken. Weak. Pathetic. Someone who couldn’t handle their own. Someone who had needed saving. An easy target to charm and dazzle. A Librarian who’d been left alone for so long she’d throw herself at the first handsome male who smiled in her direction. 

Azriel stiffened. 

You were Helion’s daughter. And somehow that made everything worse, because Azriel knew how lonely you’d been as a child and how much losing your mother had nearly destroyed you. You’d shoved yourself into the Alcove where everything was familiar and safe, and all this time Helion had just stood by and done the bare minimum. 

Azriel had been holding back his rage — his pain — but he felt it erupt with new passion. Lingering jealousy, that acid that had been building up every time you mentioned Helion or touched the necklace he’d gifted you, added fuel to the fire. Shadows burst out from his hands and ate away at Helion’s magic like a plague.

“Don’t you dare,” Azriel growled and spit blood onto the floor by Helion's feet, “You weren’t even here. She could have died on those streets.” His voice was hoarse and on the verge of breaking, “And you wouldn’t have been there.” 

And he might not have been there either. 

Rhys had held him back, refusing to let go even as Azriel had tried to crawl to you on broken bones. Even as Azriel had screamed for you. 

Helion's face twisted into something ugly and foreign to you, because deep down he knew the true reason he was so enraged at the Shadowsinger. It was like looking in a mirror. They’d failed you in similar ways. 

“Helion… Helion no!” But your father didn’t listen. 

His power shot out in a blaze of light and heat and slammed into Azriel’s chest. His shadows were barely able to soften the blast. Azriel saw you then, shock and horror seeping down the bond along with something that felt a lot like heartbreak. You watched wide-eyed and slack jawed as the wall bowed out and then snapped in two. Azriel was thrown onto the front lawn, a gaping tear left in the House like a knife wound. 

Helion stepped outside and stalked up to Azriel like a lion out for blood. There was murder and hatred in his eyes. 

Everyone was shouting again as he raised his sword. 

You felt a flare of something bright and hot in your chest, like a shot of whiskey or the first bleeding rise of the sun. You stood up on your own, eyes burning with a glassy, gold sheen that had Gwyn stepping away from you with a gasp. You were glowing, pure and clear and strong. 

You’d only felt like this twice before. First, when you’d grabbed hold of Henna and stopped hiding who you really were, and then once more at the Palace of Hoof and Leaf mere minutes before Azriel had turned the book to ash. Both moments where your power demanded to be felt. Moments when your emotions turned to magic. 

“Helion.” Your voice echoed throughout the room and into the wide open space beyond, eerie and calm. So loud. So quiet. Like an aching whisper in pitch black darkness. “Let. Him. Go.”

Helion blinked in surprise with his arms still raised over his head. Inch by inch that blade of bright light faded away with the dying light of a sunset. His eyes cooled and that magic rage left his body. He staggered away from where Azriel lay on the ground. 

Your hands were trembling, but you forced them to be calm as Azriel got back on his feet, hazel eyes boring into yours. He drank in the sight of you. Your wrapped forearm. The white bandages around your middle peering through your thin nightgown. Your clean hair. 

The smell of blood was but a distant nightmare, even if he swore he could still feel it on his ruined hands. Slippery and dark. 

You turned to leave.

“Y/n, wait!” Azriel shoved a stunned Helion out of his way, racing back into the House in a blur of darkness. “Y/n,” he begged and reached out his hand, “Please let me explain.” 

You froze. The weight of his hand wrapping around your wrist and the rough feel of his scars against your fluttering pulse pinned you to the floor. You felt uncentered — off kilter — and without meaning to, you were thrust into his mind. 

You felt the way he’d pined after Mor for centuries. Always close by. Waiting. Watching for the moment she might actually look at him and realize what he was willing to become for her. Someone to love and kiss and take to bed. Someone who’d never have cast her off into that wood. Someone who would do whatever she asked until she was smiling and whole again. 

You felt the way he looked at Gwyn, like she could be the answer to all his questions. Like she could be the one to hone all his sharp edges with her delicate smile and her creamy skin and dewdrop eyes. Because if she could love him, it might actually mean something. It would mean he was capable of fixing, not just destroying. 

You… you knew the ways he’d imagined Elain. Three sisters for three brothers. Mates. Fate. Love. How he’d imagined touching her. How he had touched her. The thrill of hiding away in dark corners and the soft skin of her fragile neck beneath his lips. The arch of her back. Wood grain beneath his fingers as he pressed her up against a wall and kissed her. How he couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else ever again. 

You felt the acidic contents of your stomach surge and wrenched your hand out of his grasp. 

Azriel faltered, eyes wide and staring. Something inside of him fractured and broke. You hadn’t pulled away from him like that since Summer Solstice back when you were strangers and meant nothing to one another. But even then you hadn’t looked at him with this much feeling. This much betrayal. 

His arm was still outstretched and hanging in the empty air. 

Tears dotted your eyes, but you forbid them from falling. Not in front of him. Never in front of him. 

“I am not broken.” 

You went back to your room and slammed the door shut. 

“I thought he liked me,” you murmured pathetically, leaning against Helion’s side. He’d slid into your room quietly and approached you like a wounded animal ready to scatter. 

Your father hesitated, fingers caught in hair that reminded him so painfully of Leda — of your mother. Things had not ended well between them, but he could think of her with nothing less than fondness and gratitude. After all, Leda had given birth to you. Brilliant, wonderful, beautiful you. 

He listened to the House and the way it seemed to be holding its breath. The doors shut a little tighter. The curtains hugged the windows. And across the hall shadows lingered by the door of Azriel’s room, reaching out towards yours but never crossing the threshold. They were held back by their master’s tight leash. 

“I know this might come as a surprise after what I did, but I… He did like you. He does like you. They all do. How could they not?”

You shook your head slowly. “But not in the way I want him to. Not in the way I lo—” You shut your mouth and sighed bitterly. Your cheeks flushed with warmth and before you knew it you were crying again, leaking tears onto Helion’s bare shoulder and feeling wretched. 

Azriel curled in on himself, collapsed on the floor like a broken doll with knees pulled up to his chest as he ignored the pulling of his shadows. 

She needs you. She needs you. She needs you. They repeated over and over again, yanking on his leathers and strands of ebony black hair. Helion had left for one of the guest bedrooms upstairs after you cried yourself to sleep. Now was Azriel’s chance to beg for your forgiveness. To explain himself. To hope.

She needs you.

Azriel shrugged them off, scattering their disembodied voices with a wave of his gloved hand. He was back to wearing them. 

I am the last thing she needs.

“Lucien’s found one of Bethsevah’s descendants.” 

Gwyn stood by the doorway, pale skin and blue robes outlined by the mountain’s red walls. The priestess kept her hands behind her back, wringing them in a nervous twist of bitten fingernails, and waited for you to finally look up from your notes. 

You didn’t like spending time at the House. You hated the way everyone’s attention shifted to you whenever you entered a room; the look of tight, empathetic smiles and knowing glances filling their eyes. It wasn’t that they were trying to be unkind, but you knew they whispered about the power you’d displayed. About your status as Helion’s bastard daughter. About the absolute state that Azriel was in. 

This morning, when you’d left your room for Cagniv Library, Azriel had been waiting, filling his bedroom door frame with a hauntingly tortured look in his eyes. 

“Y/n, please—” 

You’d left without a second glance in his direction, footsteps hurried and head bowed down. His shadows had followed you to the front steps of the house, but no further and you couldn’t help but feel a weight in your chest thinking about how Azriel had looked. He’d started wearing the gloves again. 

Bethsevah’s name rang through the air like a jolt of electricity. After thousands of years, her name still held a strength that demanded to be felt. The book was gone. Whatever magic Azriel had been forced to perform had swept it away to the Continent, and Rhys and Feyre had been wracked with worry and preparations ever since. Favors called in. Threats made. Weapons forged. Bodies armed. At any point they might be called away to the Continent, or forced to reckon with a Death God at their door. 

You’d helped in your own way by digging through your notes on mating bonds and the manuscript that was becoming more useful each day. 

Thanatos and the Bone Carver, one and the same, and mated to Bethsevah Mordeigh. Magic that wasn’t the same, but perfectly complementary. Magic that worked as a lock and a key. 

You were made to ruin me.

Your initial theory, the one you’d shared with Azriel in that cramped apartment at the Alcove, had turned out to be true. Bethsevah, and Bethsevah alone as Thanatos’s mate, had possessed the ability to split him from his power and lock him away, and because his magic was cut from the same kind as his siblings, Beth had been able to do the same with Stryga and Koschei. Her blood, her genetic connection to that magic, would be the only thing capable of releasing the power in the lake. 

All magic could trace itself back to a biological underpinning. 

You were made to ruin me.

The memory was burned behind your sleepless eyes and haunted your dreams, but sometimes when you stopped concentrating so hard on the harsh angles that made up the Bone Carver’s face, you caught him transforming. Black eyes turned to brandy. His reed thin body filled out and grew strong. Wings sprouted from his back. His pale skin turned tan and scarred.

You were made to ruin me, Y/n. Azriel would say, and you’d pretend that the look of utter love and adoration in his eyes was real. 

“When will they be arriving?” 

Gwyn sighed in relief. You’d been so quiet the last few days. “Tomorrow.” 

Mor bit her cherry red lips, glancing at Rhys and Feyre with worry in her eyes as they all stood in a row ready to greet their guests. Rhys was schooling his features into one of careful neutrality, but Mor had known him for centuries. She’d seen him through his awkward teenage years when his skin wasn’t so perfect and his body grew like a weed in Spring. Back when his temper wasn’t so honed and his ego undeserved. She knew when he was agitated. The squaring of his shoulders. The set of his eyes. The faintest twitch of his left ear. 

What a fucking mess this all was. If he thought about it too hard it gave him a raging headache. 

Azriel and Y/n were mates, although Y/n didn’t know and no one knew how to tell her, especially after Azriel had stabbed her through the chest under Andrian’s influence. Helion had nearly killed Az. Azriel had nearly killed Lucien. And if anyone ever told Lucien about Y/n being his half-sister, he was sure Lucien would try and kill Azriel too… again. And— oh FUCK. Helion didn’t know Lucien was his son. Y/n didn’t Lucien was her half-brother. Fuck fuck FUCK. Cauldron boil me.

Rhysand rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. 

Azriel stood motionless, nothing but the minor sway of his wings and the masked look of anguish in his eyes to hint that he was still reeling from that day in the market square. He couldn’t stop glancing over at where you stood between Mor and Cassian, every inch of your skin covered and a forcefully blank look on your face.

Truth Teller was no longer strapped to his thigh. His shadows had returned, but with hesitance, and Rhys couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Azriel eat something. Every family meal that you didn’t attend, Azriel would just stare at your empty seat and flinch at the sound of knives dragging through meat.

Feyre winced at the onslaught of Rhysand’s thoughts. Do we even want to attempt to fix any of that right now?

Feyre darling, where would we even begin?

At least Helion’s moved to the House of Wind. Feyre offered it as a small consolation. Took me a while to convince him of that.

Rhys gritted his teeth. And he will stay on that fucking mountain.

Lucien had gone his entire life not knowing about Helion precisely because when he stood next to his brothers he blended in. There was just enough similarity there in the silhouette of their faces and their overwhelmingly bright red hair, that no one had ever batted an eye at the seventh son of Autumn. But put Lucien and Helion side by side and a keen eye would make out the same strong slope of their noses, the same dimples on their cheeks when they smiled, and the way their brow bones hung over deep set eyes.

You possessed such an eye — an eye for details and specifics. So when Lucien Vanserra walked through the front doors with the setting sun splashing his frame with fire and light, Elain glowing and beautiful beside him, you knew immediately who he was. 

Fuuuuccccckkkkkk. Cassian groaned. Nesta, she knows. 

Stop it. There’s no way she figured it out that quickly. Nesta said. Then she actually looked at you. Your mouth was open in a round “o” and your face had gone pale. Oh for fuck’s sake. Really?

Your gaze was locked on Lucien as he walked up to Rhysand and shook his hand. 

“Lucien, welcome back to the Night Court. It’s been too long.” 

His golden eye whirred, moving up and down the line and lingering first on Azriel. His full lips flattened, freckled nose twitching with thinly veiled distaste. “Not long enough.” But his many years spent as emissary wiped the emotion from his face quickly and he moved on, greeting everyone with a detached kindness. 

“Luc.” The High Lady grinned, finally tugging a genuine smile from Lucien Vanserra’s lips. 

“Hey Feyre.” 

She wrapped him in her arms, closing her eyes and giving him a hearty squeeze. 

“It’s good to see you again.” 

“You too.” 

There was a somber familiarity there, and you got the sense that Feyre was the only one Lucien truly felt connected to. Whatever history he had with the other members of the Inner Circle was tolerable at best.

You finally caught his eye — the one strange face he’d never seen before. He easily towered above you, built with Helion’s strong legs and resplendent in a deep green riding cloak and cream-colored trousers that accentuated the tinge of color in his skin and his mismatched eyes. 

He tipped his head to the side, his long braid falling over his shoulder, and smiled softly. “You must be the Librarian that got roped into all of this madness.” Yes. Because that’s all you were to him — some unnamed female from the Day Court. An unfortunate victim of circumstance. “Y/n Halwynn.” 

You blinked, surprised to hear him speak your name so casually when you were reeling over the fact that standing in front of you was another one of Helion’s children. Another bastard that perhaps should never have been. Your half-brother.

“The one and the same.” 

Lucien evaluated the shrewd set of your eyes and the fit of your clothes over straightened shoulders and found that, at first glance, he quite liked you. You were of the bookish variety — that much was evident in the small novels dragging down your pockets and the smudged inkstains on your fingertips — but you held yourself in front of him well. You looked kind, if not skittish. 

“Lucien Vanserra.” He held out his hand and you regarded it with hesitance before accepting it. 

“I know the name.”

“It is a rather infamous last name.” 

“Bit of an infamous first name too.” 

Lucien smiled a little wider. Yes. He quite liked you. 

Elain hugged her sisters in turn, breathing in their familiar scent and gripping them tightly. Her time in the Human Lands had served her well. Gone were the days of frail bones and heavy eyes always looking out sunny windows. Her skin was flush with color, her hands strong and calloused, and her knees pleasantly bruised after months spent laboring in the fields outside Vassa and Jurian’s manor. She smelled like soil and flowers. She was as lovely as everyone had always described her. The second Archeron sister who’d been born with an unnatural beauty even before turning fae. 

Your eyes dropped to the floor so you wouldn’t have to see what Azriel did when she greeted him. But it didn’t matter. They avoided one another carefully, and Azriel kept looking at you, begging you to lift up your eyes so he could offer you a smile. 

A word. 

A glance. 

Anything.

Bethsevah’s descendant appeared next, willful and stunning in her own way as she waited by the door. Her frizzy grey hair was held away from her face with a strap of leather, stormcloud eyes staring out unflinchingly from a time-worn face. Everything about her was grey from her hair to her clothes and the iron jewelry that hung from her neck and wrists. Cassian sometimes forgot how humans wore their age so openly, and how this woman in particular seemed to brandish it like a weapon. 

“Ione Morgana.” Her voice was deep and hardy. Her eyes narrowed at everyone now that the familiar introductions had finished. “That’s my name and it’s the name my family has carried as long as we can remember. Although the redhead seems to believe otherwise. I am old, as you creatures can very well see, and I am tired. My parents are long gone. My sons dead. My sisters dead too. Now,” she banged her walking stick on the ground, although she hadn’t used it when walking up the steps, “Which one of you will see me to my room?” Her words came out more as a command than a question. 

Rhys tipped his head to the side, his surprise evident on his face. “You’re a very bold woman. Do you not comprehend who you’re standing in front of? My wife in particular?” 

“Boldness comes with age.” She stuck her nose in the air like a wolf sniffing for a bunny, “Something you’d do well to learn.” 

An amused smile grew on Rhysand’s face. “I’m over five hundred years old.” 

“You certainly don’t act like it, standing all crooked like a tryhard.” 

Cassian coughed into his fist and Mor snickered. 

“I could kill you.” 

Rhys!

Relax, my love, I’m just curious how she will react. 

The woman — Ione — hardly reacted at all. In fact, she almost smiled. “Time can kill me. Sickness can kill me. At this point a stiff wind could knock me down and break my back. You’re not special.” She whacked her walking stick again, harder this time. “Now. My room?”

Nesta raised and then dipped her head in silent acknowledgement and together they disappeared into the east wing of the house looking like two grey chess pieces moving over the tiles. 

“Wonderful isn’t she?” Elain commented with a fond look in her eyes. She was Ione’s favorite by far.

Jurian came in last, sweat beading his brow as he dragged a huge steel cage up the steps, and Lucien and Elain’s faces turned solemn. Vassa flitted inside her prison — a cage within a cage so that she couldn’t snap at Jurian’s hands when he got too close. His eyes were bloodshot, knuckles bruised and bloody. 

Your breath hitched in your throat. You’d imagined the firebird as something majestic. You’d imagined feathers dipped from the richest dyes trailing light from their ends like red, green, and blue sparklers. Instead, her eyes were the only vibrant feature about her, and they were sharp from hunger. 

“What’s happened to her?” Cassian breathed. When he stepped forward, Vassa lunged from her perch, screeching when she clashed with the steel grate. Her claws tore at the metal but never broke through the magic Lucien had placed there. 

Jurian whispered words of comfort and love through the metal, and in time, Vassa seemed to settle. 

“It started last week,” Lucien said through clenched teeth, “The day Koschei got his hands on the book, Vassa started going mad. She can’t sleep, not in her human form or as a firebird, and she keeps… hungering for something she can’t name. The day we found Ione, she…” 

“She tried to kill me.” Jurian raised his hands and slid his sleeves down. Claw marks, barely healed, ran jagged down his arms. “Let’s not mince words, Lucien.” He grimaced. “Koschei’s trying to call her back to the lake, but she’s fighting it with everything she has.” He looked back at Vassa, eyes dull and tired. She screeched once again and feathers fell from her body before curling up into blackened husks on the floor. You could just make out the sections of skin where she’d ripped out her own feathers, raw and dotted pink with blood. “I suggest you give us a room far away from everyone else.” 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

^^ Me writing this chapter because Helion finally beat the shit out of Azriel and revealed all the tea about his past relationships with Mor, Elain, and Gwyn and because I got to bring Lucien to the Night Court. And soon! We'll get to see how Lucien reacts when he learns that Y/n is his sister!!!!!!!

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: seven months after his defection, you run into dazai osamu by sheer chance. you know in your heart what you should do—traitors are to be disposed of, regardless of any previous relationship you might've had with them... but can you bring yourself to do what must be done? or will you be more driven by the questions you desperately need answered?

(wordcount: 7.1k; fem!reader, pm!reader, angsty (i promiseeeee i have some happier ones coming up with pm!reader and pmzai), alcoholism, dazai is in a particularly bad mental state)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: this one was suchhhh a doozy. the third installment of my pm!reader & pm!dazai universe, this is why i had to retcon he's my collar because originally pm!reader didn't see him at all during the 4 years but i got the idea for this fic like 2 ?? weeks ago and it was too good to not use - tomorrow i think i'll put up the masterlist for it so you guys can see the chronology and planned installments

Against all odds, you run into Dazai Osamu seven months after his defection.

You should put a bullet in his skull. You watch absently from the mouth of the alley as the ex-Port Mafia executive groans, trying to push himself to his feet only to crash back onto the pavement, blood smeared across his face from a crooked nose and split lip, bile pooled on the ground where he’d landed.

Gross, you think, lip curling up in disgust as his lithe fingers smear through the vomit, blunt nails scraping against the pavement as he attempts to push himself up again but fails. His shoulders are heaving, breath slow and labored as he lets out another wretched sound, crumpling back to the ground. 

You click the safety off of your gun, pulling it out of your pocket as you quietly make your way deeper into the alley, over to where he’s still struggling to get off the ground. He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence until he hits the ground hard again after nearly making it to his feet. This time, he falls onto his shoulder and gasps in pain as he rolls onto his back, blinking up blearily through glazed-over eyes that can hardly focus on you or the gun pointed at his head.

You should just get it over with, pull the trigger, and leave the body for cleanup to handle. It’d be a better fate than he deserves, cleaner and quicker than he’d ever give himself, and not even half as painful as it’ll be when the Port Mafia inevitably get their hands back on him. 

You’d be sparing him, really; it would be a mercy.

And it’s what is expected of you. Letting a traitor as high profile as Dazai Osamu go free when you have a clear chance to execute him would be more than enough to have you stripped of your rank and thrown into the torture chambers, body dumped in the river when the Port Mafia is done punishing you. 

But still, for some reason, your finger hesitates as you move to pull the trigger. 

“You…” His voice is so slurred that you can hardly make out coherent words, but you use his words as an excuse to bide even more time, curious to see what he’s going to say. You can smell the whiskey on him from where you’re standing, his skin is paler than it usually is, and you notice, idly, that the bandages on his right eye are gone and you wonder when he chose to shed them. “You’re not real.”

Your eye twitches in irritation. 

You pull the trigger. 

If he was sober, he would have expected the reaction from you and dodged the bullet, but he’s not sober, so his eyes fly open in shock as the bullet grazes his ear and embeds itself in the pavement next to his head. He doesn’t look any more sobered up by the pain, which you suppose is a testament to how drunk he really is, but he does look significantly more confused. 

“You shot me,” he says, pale lips parted as he stares up at you—too pale, you notice absently, brows furrowing a bit as you try to consider what to do.

“Yeah,” you say, voice rough with irritation. “Real enough for you?”

Dazai blinks, you don’t even think your words are registering and you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. 

Get it over with, you tell yourself again, this time positioning your gun over his forehead. A clean kill. You won’t move it to the side at the last minute again. You remind yourself that this is what he deserves—he’s a traitor to the Port Mafia, to you. Killing him now would be a mercy compared to what the Port Mafia would do to him, compared to what he’d do to himself. 

He stares up at you, brown eyes wide and glassy. He parts his lips to speak but you can’t give yourself the same excuse; you don’t wait for his words this time. 

You pull the trigger again.

But Dazai is moving. He rolls over onto his side trying to push himself back to his feet and the bullet lodges right into the ground where his head had once been lying. You stare down at it in disbelief, gun falling to your side as your fingers start to feel a bit numb and clunky, breath catching as you realize what you’d almost just done—what you tried to do. 

Dazai makes it to his knees and he tries to reach out for you but you step back out of reach. His brows furrow before he keels over again, dry heaving now—there’s enough bile around him for you to realize he’s probably thrown up everything in his stomach and then some. He leans against the wall, the glassiness of his eyes spilling over his cheeks as he continues to dry heave but your gaze is still trained down on the ground where the bullet is embedded in the ground where his head had just been laying. 

You just tried to-

You think you’re the one who feels sick now. The dinner you’d had out with Chuuya and Kouyou rises to the back of your throat as you take another step away from Dazai. Your vision blurs as your gaze turns to him again, but instead of the tattered and vomit-stained clothes he’s wearing now, he’s back in the dark suit you’re accustomed to, crumpled on the ground still, but not because he’s drunk because he’s been wounded on a mission that he took on so you wouldn’t have to. 

You just tried to kill Dazai.

Dazai, who’s been your closest friend since the two of you were sixteen and at the center of the most violent conflict to rock Yokohama’s foundations. Entirely inseparable, forever entwined since the moment the two of you met; the type of instant click that most people could only ever dream of experiencing in their lives. 

You almost killed Dazai.

Dazai, who promised to put a bullet in Ace’s head if the man ever came near you again after he found out the newly promoted executive had insinuated putting one of his collars on you during a confrontation between the two of you. He knew that even he would face consequences for threatening another executive, that he would face even more if he dared to follow through with his threat, but he didn’t care and he had every intention of following through if it meant keeping you safe.

You would have killed Dazai if not for sheer luck. 

Dazai, who used to kiss you with trembling fingers and quivering lips, because for as much as his reputation as the Demon Prodigy had spread throughout the country, he was still just a teenage boy who’d never had his first kiss until the two of you got drunk on champagne after a successful mission when he made the mistake of admitting to you that he’s never kissed anyone before. The two of you’d spent the entire night giggling between chaste kisses, getting through just about two bottles of champagne before you started throwing up.

He held back your hair and laughed at you as you leaned over the toilet, miserable. But he was gentle with you in a way that Dazai Osamu is never gentle with anyone, fingers carding through your hair, rubbing absent circles on your back to soothe you as you choked over sobs and gags. 

Then there’s you. You, who not only a moment ago, looked down at him with your lip curling up in disgust, unable to hold your grimace at the way he laid in his own vomit. You lifted the barrel of your gun in his direction not once, but twice, and you pulled the trigger not once, but twice.

When you showed vulnerability to him, he showed you a type of tenderness that everyone thought was long lost to the notorious Demon Prodigy. 

When he finally shows vulnerability to you, you only show him cruelty in response.

You try to convince yourself that it’s different, that the circumstances are different now but the words ring hollow in your head, taking no root, because you think the circumstances shouldn't matter. This is Dazai. Dazai. There are no circumstances that justify executing him.

Your head spins and you take another step away, you don’t know where you dropped your gun and you don’t want to know. You don’t want to look at it. You don’t want to touch it. You’ll send someone else after it later. You blink, and for a moment, you can visualize what almost happened: you can see Dazai motionless on the ground, blood pooling around his head and a bullet wound piercing through his forehead. You gag, pressing your hand to your mouth as you force back the bile that nearly comes up. 

“Wait,” Dazai garbles out, pushing off the wall toward you but he propels himself right into the ground again, face first, scraping his cheek on the concrete. “Don’t leave again.”

Again? The word nearly pulls you out of your daze, the bitterness that’s poisoned you for seven months returning with a vengeance as your eyes focus on him. 

Dazai, who left you without a word or a warning. Not even the slightest goodbye. He abandoned you like you meant nothing to him. 

“I need to-” he gags again as he pushes himself to his knees. He tries to reach forward again but his whole body sways, eyes half-rolling back as he tries to steady himself, on the verge of passing out. “I need to tell you this time. I need to-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, slumping back over onto the ground unconscious—in a puddle of his own blood and vomit, naturally. The logical part of you knows you should just leave him there. You’re already playing with fire by not executing him on the spot, but you also know if you leave him here, it’ll be as good as a death sentence. If he doesn’t die on his own from alcohol poisoning, then he’ll certainly be found by the Port Mafia patrols. You think Dazai is a fool for drinking so much so deep in Port Mafia territory, for not being careful enough to make sure he didn’t wander out in the open. 

He should know better. 

He does know better.

A part of you wonders if it was intentional, if he thought that he’d stumble into Port Mafia territory and he’d run into someone eager to lay claim to the fame of being Dazai Osamu’s executioner.

If that’s the case, he nearly got his wish—that thought alone almost sends you spiraling over the edge again, having to shove away more nausea. You force all thoughts of the Port Mafia and betrayal to the back of your mind as you fall to your knees next to him, gathering him up into your arms and pushing yourself back to your feet. He curls into you instinctively, even while unconscious, smaller than you remember, smearing blood and bile all over your suit. Your grip on him tightens, a shaky breath escaping your lips when you realize that this is the first time you’ve touched him since the night he left. 

You shake your head to clear your mind, desperately trying to focus. You can’t stay out in the open with him for long otherwise you’ll risk someone seeing you with him, and that’ll open a can of worms you’re not prepared to deal with.

You’ll drop him off somewhere safe, and then you’ll get back to base.

That’s all.

That is not all.

The safehouse in Sakae that the two of you would run to whenever you wanted to avoid Mori is just how you left it the last time you spent the night with him there over half a year ago. One of his jackets is still draped over the couch, one of your ties thrown haphazardly on the ground—you remember the night vividly, the way he smiled against your lips as he lead you into the back bedroom, stumbling over each other and fumbling with buttons as you tried to undress the other while walking to the room, high off the success of a mission that everyone had said would fail because the odds were so stacked against the two of you. Even Chuuya had laughed in your face when you said you’d take the mission, but you knew so long as Dazai had your back on it, it would work out in your favor. 

He’s woken up several times, you don’t even know what he’s saying in his incoherent babbles. Every time he wakes back up, he’s calling for you, stumbling out of the bed you laid him in after getting him cleaned up and crashing to the ground before he reaches the hall. It’s irritating, you have to go back to help him back into the bed every time and he starts babbling again, passing out before you can figure out what he’s saying. You finally had to move yourself into the back bedroom with him so he didn’t try to get up again.

You don’t know why you’re still here. 

You lean your forehead against your hand as you sit on the bed next to where he’s lying, one leg tucked beneath you while the other hangs over the side. You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want him to get up drunk trying to look for you and then crack his head open, but it’s a weak excuse because Dazai Osamu is not your issue anymore. It’s not your job to watch over him when he gets shit-faced drunk, it’s not your job to patch him up when he gets hurt, it’s not your job to look out for him. 

He left you, not vice versa, You don’t owe him anything. He lost that privilege when he betrayed you. Fuck the Port Mafia, he betrayed you when he left without a word. You deserved better than that. You deserved a goodbye. You don’t owe him shit. You should leave him here to rot in his own vomit and blood but-

But you won’t.

Your gaze drifts back over to him. He’s still out cold—cleaner now, because it had never just been ‘get him somewhere safe and then go back to the base,’ as soon as you got him into the safehouse you wrangled him into the bathroom to clean him up. He was uncharacteristically pliant as you manhandled him into the shower. You suppose it was because he was unconscious for half of it but even for the moments where he was awake and blearily blinking the water out of his eyes, looking up at you through wet bangs with those stupid big eyes of his, as if he was still unsure if you were actually there.

Instinctively, you reach out to brush the back of your knuckles against his swollen, split lip, wondering if it was just from him being clumsy while drunk or if he’d managed to piss someone off at a bar. Both are equally likely—Dazai is a rather cantankerous drunk when he’s alone and drunk on whiskey, and even after cleaning him up and dousing him in soap to get out the reeking scent of his vomit out from where it’d sunken into his skin, shoving a toothbrush into his mouth to brush his teeth and scrubbing so they don’t rot from the bile, you can still smell the whiskey on his breath.

You wonder how much he drank. His skin is still pale, his breath shuddered, and he’s shivering even though you wrapped him in three thick blankets. Some degree of alcohol poisoning, that’s for sure. You tell yourself that’s why you’re not leaving—you don’t want to leave before you’re sure he’s pulled through the worst of it. You’re not going to admit to yourself that you don’t want to leave because you’re worried it’ll be the last time you see him for real this time. 

You hesitate right before your knuckles brush his skin, swallowing thickly before you withdraw your hand back into your lap, eyes sliding shut as you sigh.

What the hell are you doing?

If anyone from the Port Mafia knew what you were doing right now, you’d be hunted down right alongside him, branded as a traitor and sentenced to death. Chuuya would kill you if he knew what you were doing right now—and not because you betrayed the Port Mafia by helping Dazai, instead because you’re a fucking idiot. You’ve done a lot of stupid things in your life, but this might take the cake for the stupidest, sticking your neck out for someone who didn’t even care enough to tell you goodbye. 

You rub your forehead, tired. You try to summon the anger you felt when you first found out he betrayed the Port Mafia from Mori and Chuuya—from the hot fury you felt in the direct aftermath, screaming and breaking everything you could get your hands on as you cursed his name and burned everything he left in your apartment to the cold rage you felt when you finally calmed down, bitter and lonely and betrayed by the one person you never thought would betray you—but you can’t. And you think it’s pathetic because what use is all of that anger if you can’t utilize it when the reason for it is lying right before you?

If Chuuya were here right now, he’d drag you out by the hair and leave Dazai to suffer on his own. You left your phone in the kitchen after turning off your location, because he was already buzzing incessantly wondering where you are. You’d told him that you wanted to stop by one of the fishing ports in Kanazawa to check on a small weapons shipment that should’ve arrived earlier in the night before heading back to your shared apartment—you’d moved in with him after Dazai’s betrayal. He made the executive decision himself, not giving you a choice in the matter because he realized that you living on your own in the apartment that Dazai had practically moved into with you was not conducive to you healing from his betrayal.

Plus, you think he was lonely too without Dazai around anymore, but he’d never admit that.

You should’ve been back an hour ago. You’re sure that he’s getting suspicious and it’s only a matter of time before he tries to track you down. You don’t think he knows about this safe house in particular, Dazai had threatened you with piling up mission reports onto you if you told him about this one, but you wouldn’t be surprised if Chuuya learned about it through other means—somehow, he always seems to know everything. 

You sigh again, heavier this time as you try to figure out what to do. You know what you should do, but you also know you’re not going to do that. Your gaze drags back over to him and your breath catches when you realize he’s awake again, bleary brown eyes trained on you, brows furrowed. 

His lips part to speak again and you tense, waiting for whatever he has to say, unsure if you’ll even understand it.

“You… came with me. You never come with me. Are you… really here?” 

Even though his eyes are still glazed over and muddled, his voice is less garbled than it was before. You think that’s a good sign, but even so, you let out an even heavier sigh, this one more irritated, and a bit confused because you don’t even know what that means: you never come with me. 

“Yes, Dazai,” you say sharply, but then you let out a puff of air. The same memories that hit you before coming right back to you, remembering all of the nights Dazai would stay up having to take care of you, patient in a way that he never was with anybody. You soften your voice a bit as you say, “Yes. I’m here.”

Dazai looks at you like he doesn’t believe you. He blinks once slowly, then his brows furrow deeper and his lips turn downward.

“You don’t call me Dazai.” He speaks the accusation slowly, as if to make himself sound more coherent, but you can still hear the clear slur in his voice. “You never-”

You turn away because if you don’t, you think you might lose your temper. He’s drunk, you remind yourself, but he’s still ripping open wounds that never properly healed, because how dare he expect you to still call him by his given name after everything. It had taken months for you to get used to calling him Dazai again and-

You feel your chest start to cave in again and your throat spasms. Your eyes flutter shut and god, you want to hate him. You thought you did hate him, you convinced yourself of it in all of the bitter rage and acidic betrayal you’ve felt the past seven months but now that you’re confronted with him again, you know that it was never hate. You could never hate Dazai Osamu. You'd just missed him so terribly that the pain was easy to mistake as hate; love and hate has always been a treacherously thin line, and Dazai more than anyone else wavers on either side of it.

Your heart feels like it’s about to leap from your chest and crawl right back to him, you have to physically place your hand over your chest as if to hold it in place, to make sure the traitorous thing can’t go back to the very man that tore it shreds. You force yourself to breathe, in and out, steady, trying to settle down. 

This was a mistake, you realize, this was a mistake. 

Just as you’re about to push yourself up, you feel lithe fingers curl around your arm. You freeze, not even daring to glance back at Dazai. You can hear him pushing the covers off of him as he crawls closer to you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His movements are unsteady, and you can’t bring yourself to push him off of you when you feel him slump against your back.

His weight is familiar, comforting in a way that it shouldn’t be. If you close your eyes, you can imagine that you’re back at the Port Mafia base seven months ago and Dazai is draping himself across your back, complaining about being overworked by Mori and trying to convince you to take over his paperwork. You’d have to drag him halfway across the base trying to get to your office with his dead weight hanging onto you, you remember all of the wary stares from your subordinates as they try not to let their gaze linger on the two of you but let their curiosity get the best of them regardless.

You hate that you don’t push him off right away, that you’re letting yourself indulge in his touch again. You’ve moved on from this—from him. It’s been seven months. You’re over all of this.

“You… understand, don’t you?” 

You barely hear the words muffled against your back, but you do and you can’t help but stiffen at them. He shifts against you, fingers biting into your skin as he pulls himself up a bit more to bury his face in the crook of your neck, arms looped around your waist as he leans all of his weight onto your back. You can feel his breath warm and shuddered against your neck, making your hair stand on end, and his hands are limp in your lap now, fingers brushing against the material of the clean slacks you’d pulled on after getting Dazai showered.

It’s all so familiar that it could make you sick.

“How could I?” you ask bitterly, even though you know you shouldn’t take out your resentment on him while he’s so drunk; he probably won’t remember any of this in the morning anyway. There’s no point, you’ll just be wasting your energy.

His arms tighten around you, breath hitching against your skin. “I had to, Odasaku-”

The noise you let out is such a sharp scoff that you can feel Dazai flinch behind you. You almost shove him off of you but you refrain, taking in a deep breath to calm yourself down. You never really had any feelings about Odasaku—he was always just there, you heard about him from Dazai occasionally and he seemed pleasant enough the few times you encountered him—but after all of this, you can’t help but hold a grudge against him, irrationally blaming him for Dazai leaving you.

“Odasaku wasn’t your only friend,” you say tightly. “You had me. Chuuya. You-”

“It’s not the same,” Dazai protests, clinging to you as if he hadn’t just driven a knife right through your back into your heart. 

This time you do shove him off, barely sparing him a glance as he lets out a surprised yelp, sprawling back onto the bed. You push away the mistiness that threatens your eyes, breathing in and out slowly to try to keep yourself calm. It’s not the same, you repeat his words, bitterness poisoning your blood and clouding your head. What the fuck does that even mean? You know logically you should take his words with a grain of salt, that he’s so drunk he probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying, but you just feel so angry that it’s hard for you to keep that in mind. 

You hear him scrambling behind you: a thump as he hits the floor hard and then a rush of movement as he pushes himself to his knees. His fingers curl around your ankle before you can get further away and you have a half a mind to kick him off of you and leave.

You don’t.

“Don’t leave,” he pleads. He drags himself to his knees, pulling at your pants and it takes all of your self-control to not look back down at him. “I didn’t-it came out wrong. I didn't mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it then?” you ask him, even though you by all means should not even bother to hear his shitty explanation.

“I just-I didn’t mean it like that.” You’ve never heard Dazai’s voice crack before, but it does now. “Don’t leave. I miss you.”

“You miss me?” you spit out, and you finally turn to look down at him—a mistake, of course, because he’s on his knees in front of you, looking up at you with those stupid, big brown eyes and you almost let your anger fizzle away at the sight of it. He’s drunk, you remind yourself again, but it doesn’t stop you from snapping at him. “You left me, Dazai. You have no right to miss me.”

“But I do.” His fingers fumble for your hand, grabbing one of yours with both of his. “I miss you so much, I think about you all the time.”

His lashes flutter, fingers brushing along your forearm as he presses his lips to your knuckles and then to your pulse point before leaning forward to rest his forehead on your thigh. You can’t even look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the wall, because your lashes feel wet and heavy and you know that you’ll give into him if you look at him now and he doesn’t deserve that.

“I couldn’t go to you before I left,” Dazai whispers and he sounds oddly coherent now even though you know he’s not. “I would’ve asked you to come with me.”

For some reason, that hurts worse than if he’d just admitted he didn’t care enough to say goodbye. Because what does that even mean, I would’ve asked you to come with me, would that have been so bad? He didn’t want you with him? Why wouldn’t he have wanted you with him? If you had left, he would’ve been the first person you ran to, begging him to come with you.

“How terrible that would’ve been,” you say, and you’re proud that your voice remains cold and steady, not betraying the hurt ripping through your chest.

“I wouldn’t have been able to handle it,” he says, voice breaking over a hiccup. “Odasaku had just died and-”

He cuts himself, and you dare to look down at him when you feel him lift his face from your thigh. You regret it immediately. Glassy, glazed-over eyes beg for you to understand, and you scare yourself because you want to understand when he shouldn’t even matter to you anymore. You’ve moved on. You have. It’s been seven months. He left you without a word. So why do you care so much for what he has to say right now?

“You wouldn’t have come with me,” he says, shaking his head. “You would’ve said no. You never would have chosen me over the Mafia.”

Your lips part to deny the allegations, to say that of course, you would have come with him, but the words fizzle out before they even form on your tongue because-

“You can’t even bring yourself to deny it, can you?” Dazai asks, and although he sounds more cogent now, you can’t help but notice that he’s starting to look sick again, the back of his throat making that faint clicking sound it always makes when he’s about to throw up. “You never would have chosen me.”

You would choose Dazai Osamu over a lot of things. You would choose to save his life before yours if put in the position, and you would choose to trust him over anyone else in the whole world. You’d follow him to the depths of hell and deep into the shadows, until your blood is black and corrupted and you’re entirely irredeemable, but you can’t follow him into the light. 

You can’t choose him if it means betraying the Port Mafia. With his defection, the two have become mutually exclusive: Dazai or the Port Mafia, there’s no way of having both anymore. The boy you’ve come to love or the only home you’ve ever known. The only family you’ve ever had. A shitty family maybe, but a family nonetheless. If you don’t belong with the Port Mafia, you don’t belong anywhere on this earth, and as someone who’s always had a desperate fear of alienation, the thought makes you sick.

You stare at him, throat tight, and then you say, colder than you intend for it to come across, “... If that’s really why you didn’t say goodbye, then I’m glad you didn’t put me in that position.”

The expression that crosses Dazai’s face is something caught between ruin and shock—and you can’t help but wonder if he held out hope, thinking maybe he was wrong in his assumptions. That there had been a chance that you might’ve chosen him if he’d given you the option. That he’s been living his life in the what-ifs for the past seven months and now that he’s finally gotten the chance to bare his heart to you, you’ve crushed it.

Your chest tightens, your throat spasms and it takes all your self-control to not immediately take back the words, regret flooding you so intensely that it nearly makes you physically stumble. Because it’s true, you never would have picked Dazai over the Mafia, but he didn’t have to know that—especially not now, when he’s drunk and vulnerable in a way that he’s never allowed himself to be before.

You hope, for his sake and your conscience, that he doesn’t remember any of this in the morning.

His lips part to respond again but his hand is flying to his mouth instantly, doubling over, and you’re cursing, reaching for the trash bin you’d brought into the bedroom and falling to your knees next to him, helping him kneel upright and holding the trash bin in front of him as he starts gagging again.

“I would’ve-” He’s still trying to talk through the bouts of nausea, gasping over air, body trembling as he leans into you for balance.

You don’t want to hear what he has to say.

“Dazai-”

“I would’ve chosen you,” he finally forced out, voice breaking over the words and you’re not sure if it’s a sob or another heave that escapes his lips as he continues. “If the positions were reversed, I would’ve chosen you.”

Oh.

The words echo in your head so loudly that it makes you want to cover your ears even though you know it won’t do anything. You want to accuse him of lying, tell him that he’s full of shit and just trying to make you feel guilty, but you don’t think he’s capable of lying right now and you don’t think this is anything Dazai would have ever admitted to you if he was sober. He guards his heart more carefully than anyone you’ve ever met—in the two and a half years you’d known him, he never admitted he cared about you. You knew it just from how he treated you, but you think he might’ve ripped his own tongue out before actually admitting it.

You wrap an arm around him as his whole body shudders through another gag and he tries to push you off—angry, upset, you don’t know what he might be feeling because you’ve never seen him like this before—but your arm only tightens around him and Dazai crumbles.

He heaves again, clutching the small garbage can to his face as he throws up all of the water you’d managed to get in him before he passed out earlier. Tears spill over his cheeks, his face is pale and his lashes are fluttering again, on the verge of passing back out. You swallow thickly as he leans into you, letting him collapse into your chest after he’s finished vomiting.

“Will-” he tries to say, but his voice is slurred and weak. He’s desperately trying to stay conscious, you can tell, but he’s fighting a losing battle. “Will you be here in the morning?”

No.

You don’t want to say it, you think you’ve done enough damage for the night, but there’s no need. As soon as the words leave his mouth, Dazai is slumping over unconscious, head laying limp on your arm, lashes brushing his cheek. You sigh as your grip around him tightens before you adjust him in his arms to carry him back into the bed, laying him comfortably beneath the covers.

You don’t linger for long after that. After another hour or two passes and Dazai doesn’t wake up again, you make your way back into the bedroom, raising your hand to his face to brush away the dark locks in his eyes before cupping his cheek. Even in his sleep, he leans into your touch, and it makes your chest feel so agonizingly tight that you think you might be having a heart attack.

You lean down to press your lips to his forehead, to his nose, and then to his lips, indulging yourself one last time. Your forehead rests against his as you consider your words—there are a million things you’d like to say to him before you leave, but you don’t have nearly enough time to get them all off of your chest.

Instead, you tell him softly, “I hope you don’t remember any of this in the morning.” You don’t move your hand from where it’s caressing his cheek as you stand straight again, thumb drawing absent circles on his skin. Your voice is thick with emotion, eyes welling with tears that don’t spill over. “We’ll meet again one day.”

Dazai wakes up the next morning with a hangover so bad that he thinks he might die.

He sits up in bed and is instantly groaning, hand flying to his forehead as his brain throbs inside of his skull. He needs to figure out where he is—the last thing he remembers is…

The bar?

His eyes slide shut as he tries to think, but it only makes his head hurt more. He flops back onto the bed, arms splayed out. He still feels nauseous, he can feel it rising to his throat and he desperately does not want to throw up again—it’s one thing vomiting when he’s too drunk to remember, it’s an entirely different thing to vomit while he’s sober and conscious. 

Dazai thinks he might rather die. 

He lets out a heavy sigh as he begs the nausea to go away, breathing in and out deeply. He lifts his hand to brush a lock of hair away from where it’s tickling his ear and-

Ouch.

Dazai’s eyes fly open again, confused now, as he rips his hand away from where he’d touched his ear to stare up at the ceiling. He’s used to waking up with odd injuries after a night of blacking out at whatever bar will still have him, but his ear is a particularly strange place to be wounded, isn’t it?

Driven by curiosity now, he forces himself into a sitting position, and it’s only when he pushes himself out of bed, does he finally start to recognize the room he’s in. His lips part in a distinct mixture of shock and confusion as he looks around the room slowly, making his way over to the mirror.

The safehouse in Sakae?

His chest feels heavier instantly, and a tight feeling rises to his throat as he catches sight of an old jacket of yours draped on the desk chair, the one that had ripped during the last mission you went on together—just the way you left it the last time the two of you were here. A pair of his old dress shoes are lying haphazardly outside the closet door, he’s sure that if he peeks into the closet, all of your suits will be hanging there because you refused to share the closet with him so all of his spares are stuffed in the dresser. Dazai suddenly feels sick again and he doubts it’s from the hangover this time.

How did he get here?

He needs another drink desperately.

But first… Dazai leans over the dresser to look into the mirror—a bit dusty after so many months with no one stopping in—he lifts his hand to brush his hair behind and then-

What?

His jaw drops and his brows furrow, his fingers graze over where the top of his ear used to be, only to find the whole upper quarter of it missing. 

What the fuck? He mouths as he stares at the missing cartilage, and then he looks back around the room, and just as his eyes catch a trash bin that should be in the bathroom, his vision blurs, and his head is aching. He’s suddenly stumbling down an alley, he’s lying in a puddle of his own vomit, unable to stand up straight. He can hear someone approaching and he knows he should get up, find some dumpster or crevice to wait out the night until he’s sober enough to get the fuck out of the heart of the Mafia’s territory in Yokohama, but he can hardly move.

He can lift his head from the pavement just enough to-

Just enough to see you.

Dazai can hardly cope with the emotions that rattle his chest. Longing, because he’s missed you so terribly the past seven months. Disbelief, because you shot his fucking ear off. And… and Dazai isn’t quite sure what the other emotions are. They’re heavy and light at the same time, his chest feels bubbly but his ankles feel chained—it’s a weird mixture of hope and dread, he thinks, because the safehouse is eerily quiet, seemingly void of any life other than Dazai himself, but the chance that you might still be here…

“Will you be here in the morning?”

The faint memory of the last words he spoke before he passed out the last time rings through his head, and his feet drag against the ground as he forces himself to move from the bedroom into the main room of the safe house. His fingers hesitate against the wood of the door—scared that he’s going to open it and you won't be there, scared that he’s going to open it and you will be there. He doesn’t remember the things he said to you last night, but he knows that he’d been staring at old pictures the two of you took before he blacked out. He can hardly imagine the things he might’ve said to you when given the chance.

It takes all of his strength and all of his willpower to push open the door. 

It takes even more to actually step out of the bedroom.

The safe house is empty.

You’re nowhere to be found.

Dazai’s feet are moving before he’s fully even registered what’s happening.

He makes his way into the kitchen to rummage around for another bottle for him to drown away his sorrows, but he doesn’t pull out the untouched bottle of his favorite whiskey he knows is sitting in the cabinet—he goes straight for the wine fridge. He nearly shatters three bottles of whites before he finally gets his hands on your favorite red, the one you’d asked him to stock up in there for you three days before he left, knowing that the two of you had a mission coming up and you’d be celebrating here, as always. Not knowing that he’d have betrayed you by then. 

He struggles to uncork it, the frustration causing his headache to return with a vengeance. It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for him to finally get the bottle open, but when he does, he brings it to his lips immediately, eyes sliding shut as he downs a few generous gulps.

The taste is familiar. Pleasant. It makes his heart ache with such an intense longing for you that it nearly makes him throw up.

He can almost imagine that he’s tasting it off of your lips instead.

He leans over the counter, elbows digging into the marble as he tries to push away the ugly feelings ripping apart his chest. He can’t. He never can. He hasn’t been able to since the day he left you behind seven months ago. He can only numb it.

With a hand closed around the neck of the bottle, Dazai slides down the cabinet to sit on the ground. His cheeks feel wet, but he doesn’t dare lift his hand to acknowledge the tears sliding down them.

Instead, he lifts the bottle to his lips again and drowns himself in the memories of you for another night. 

[wh0re43van]

Jealousy- (Dom!Peter Maximoff X Reader)

Summary: You and Peter are having a nice day at the river when you run into an old ‘friend’.

(This was a request, but I lost it. I believe the request said something like: “Dom Peter Maximoff. That’s the request”)

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: smut, throat fucking, slight choking, gagging

A/N- y’all I’ve been having such bad writers block and I just started college again so please bare with me 😭🙏🏻

My body buzzes with warmth as the mid summer sun beams down on me. In the distance there’s a group of young teens giggling and splashing as they take turns jumping off the rope swing into the river, but their joys are muffled by the newest Pink Floyd cassette playing in Peters boombox.

Suddenly, I feel a cold blob of something plop onto my stomach. I gasp, quickly sitting up in confusion. My questions are answered when I see a chuckling Peter standing above me with two overfilled ice cream cones in his hands.

“Oops,” he grins as he sits down on his towel beside me, placing the cone in my hand. Peters solution to the mess on my stomach is to lean down and lick it off. I laugh, attempting to shove him away from me.

“Ew Peter,” I chuckle as he licks up the last of the ice cream.

“Tastes like tanning oil,” he smiles while licking his lips. I just shake my head, looking at my dork of a boyfriend with pure adoration.

The soft breeze blows Peters silver locks around on his head as he lap at his sweet treat. The melted desert drips from his hand onto his toned chest and blue swim trunks.

“Babe, you’re a mess,” I laugh as I try to eat mine as neatly as possible, but the frozen delicacy is no match for the summer heat.

“Hm, guess we’ll just have to clean off in the river,” he smirks as he finishes the last of his cone. With a fwip he’s in the water.

“Hey!” I holler after him with a giggle. I set the ice cream down before standing to my feet.

“Come on y/n you’re so Slow!” Peter shouts over the sound of the rushing water. I wipe my sticky hands on his towel then grab a scrunchie to pull my hair back before our swim.

“Y/n?” I hear an unfamiliar voice behind me. I turn with a puzzled look, my hands behind my head as I braid my hair back. I’m shocked by who I see.

“Oh my god! Elijah? I don’t believe it,” I say in disbelief, staring at the boy I haven’t seen since freshman year. He smiles, seemingly pleased that I take the time glance over his now muscular body.

“I look pretty good, huh?” He laughs confidently. His red swim trunks don’t leave much to the imagination as he does a spin, allowing me to see how mature he’s become. He flexes his dark umber toned arms as he holds his head up with pride. The sun shines down on his hair, each tight raven curl lays neatly beside the other as they hang down in his face.

I gulp, feeling a bit guilty for staring.

“Uh, yeah! You look great, dude,” I laugh awkwardly as I look around for Peter.

“You here by yourself? That’s awfully dang-“ Elijah begins but is quickly cut off by Peter who seems to appear out of thin air.

“Nope,” my boyfriend says with a smug grin as he flings his arm around me, much tighter than normal. If I didn’t know better, id think Peter was jealous. I’ve been dating Peter for almost six years and I’ve never seen him so much as look twice at any guy who flirts with me.

‘Let ‘em,’ he always scoffs. ‘I’m the one who gets to undress you,’ Peter knows that no other guy has a chance with me; he actually finds it quite amusing to see guys get horribly rejected by me. Peter is a very confident guy, but right now his jaw is tensed out of annoyance and he’s gripping onto me as if Elijah might tear me from his grasp at any moment.

“Peter, long time no see,” Elija smiles at an unamused Peter.

“Yeah, last time I saw you, you were trying to sabotage my relationship with Y/n,” Peter says flatly, shrugging his shoulders with his lips pulled into a sarcastic grin.

‘Awkward,’ I cringe internally as I remember the last week we spent with Elijah before he moved away.

The two boys and I were best friends since 6th grade, so when Peter decided he wanted to confess his feeling for me, he spoke about it to Elijah- the best friend who he wasn’t in love with. Elijah came to me the next day, telling me that Peter was going to ask me out as a prank, so I should say no- which made me extremely angry since I’d had a crush on Peter for years.

Long story short: Peter was not going to ask me out as a joke, he was completely serious and Elijah almost ruined his chance with me because he wanted me to himself.

“Oh come on peter, that was like four years ago,” Elijah scoffs as he crosses his arms over his chest. He’s right. That was teenage drama that I’ve long forgotten about, however this seems to still be a sore spot for Peter who is now scowling at our old friend.

“whatever man just get lost,” Peters voice drops, his tight grip on my shoulder never faltering as his eyes shoot bullets into Elijah. This is a side to peter that I rarely see, and I cant help but notice the butterflies that are starting to flutter in my stomach.

“Woah quicksilver takes an awfully long time to get over his hurt feelings,” Elijah laughs as he keeps his confident stature. Peters eyes narrow and his face becomes flushed with anger. I open my mouth in attempt so deescalate the situation, but I don’t have time. “y/n is over it,” he smirks, winking in my direction. Before I can defend myself, the wind is knocked out of me.

With a fwip, we’re in the shower cabin. The hot damp air in invades my lungs as I try to catch my breath.

“Peter!” I groan as I pull myself out of his arms. He knows I hate when he does that. “What the hell has gotten into you? I’ve never seen you so-“ my complaint is cut short as Peter smashes his lips to mine. His hand grips the back of my head, keeping me as close to him as possible. His other hand trails up my back.

“You’re mine,” Peter growls against my lips as he backs me against the wall. My stomach drops at the possessive tone coming from my boyfriend. I wrap my arms around his neck and manage to pull my lips away from him enough to catch my breath.

“Of course Peter,” I pant as he trails wet kisses up my jawline and down my neck. I sigh in content, leaning my head to give him more access. I want to pull away, but I cant bring myself to do it.

“All of you,” he says in a low tone, his dominant eyes locking with mine as he removes my bikini top in one quick flash. I gasp as his mouth instantly goes to work on my breast.

“Peter not here! What if someone comes in? Or hears us!” I resist verbally but do very little to actually push him off. Instead, I entangle my fingers into his silver hair.

“Good,” is all he mumbles against my breast as he leaves dark hickies on the soft skin. I know this is wrong. I know we shouldn’t be doing this in such a public place, but I’ve never seen this look in Peters eyes before. It’s not often that he takes charge, and the way that he has me pinned against the wall leaves my knees weak in anticipation.

Peters mouth switches to my other breast as he uses his knees to spread my legs. His skilled fingers pull my bikini bottoms to the side and he immediately dips into my heat, moaning at how wet I already am.

“That bastard wishes he could see you like this,” Peter mumbles under his breath as he watches his finger slide in and out of me. I let out a small whimper, biting my lip to stifle the sound as much as possible.

With his other hand, he grabs my face squeezing my cheeks so hard that my lips pucker, before he leans down almost touching his nose to mine.

“I want to hear every sound that comes out of this pretty little mouth,” he growls lowly as he runs his thumb over my bottom lip. “Do you understand?” He pants as he stares in my eyes with an animalistic glint, his fingers still pumping into me.

“Y-yes,” I gulp, letting out a loud moan when his thumb brushes my clit.

“Atta Girl,” Peter smirks before he moves his hands to my thighs, picking me up so I can straddle him with my back against the wall.

After I wrap my legs around his waist, he begins to grind against my bare core. The friction sends a surge of pleasure through my body.

“What Are You waiting for?” I ask breathlessly as Peters eyes scan my body.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands lowly as his hand gently grips my throat. My heart flutters at my boyfriends unusual- and extremely hot- dominant demeaner

“I-I want you to fuck me,” I stutter as I stare down his arm into his dark eyes. The corner of his lips turn up into a smirk before he drops his swimming shorts.

Peter removes his hand from my throat to bring his fingers up to his mouth, wetting them before grazing over my heat. I tense at the contact, letting out a small whimper. My heart pounds in anticipation as he lines himself up with my entrance.

“I want him to hear,” peter growls before he buries himself inside of me in one swift thrust. I cry out at the sudden feeling of him filling me up. Peter moves hips slowly, allowing me to adjust. Soon enough, his hips are rocking against me in a steady motion as his fingers dig into the soft skin on my hips.

“fuck peter,” I whimper out as he grazes my gspot with every stroke. Everything about this situation- the risk of getting caught, peter completely dominating me, the way hes hitting right where I need him- has me more aroused than I’ve ever been.

“Louder,” Peter grunts, staring at me with stern eyes as he brings a thumb to my clit.

“Fuck Peter!” I let out a pathetic shriek as he begins to vibrate his thumb against my sensitive bud. I throw my head back, squeezing my eyes, allowing myself to get lost in the immense pleasure flooding through my body.

“Much better,” peter chuckles as he speeds up his hips. Peter looks down at me, biting his bottom lip so hard that I fear he may draw blood. Small grunts and low groans mange to slip out as he pounds into me.

“Im so close baby please don’t stop,” I whine as my fingers grip his hair so tight that my knuckles turn white.

“Say my fucking name and cum for me,” he growls into my ear before biting on my neck, sucking hickies onto the sensitive skin. I cant think well enough to form a response as I clench around him, feeling pure euphoria flood my body.

“Fuck! Yes! Peter oh my god!” I moan loudly, I don’t even know what I’m saying. At this point, Peter has literally fucked me senseless. I’m putty in his hands for him to use in any way he’d like. I lay against the wall, Peter now solely holding me up as I attempt to collect myself. I open my eyes as he slowly pulls out of me, chuckling as he sets me down onto my shaky legs.

“Peter… I-“ I just stare at my boyfriend as my release starts to drip down my thigh. Peter smirks as he pumps his still rock hard cock, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“Get down and open up baby,” he says gently with a kiss to my forehead as he pushes on my shoulder. I obey, meeting his gaze as I get to my knees. I know that I’m drunk off lust because any other time I would not have my bare ass so close to the floor of a public showering cabin but with the way Peter’s looking at me, the thought of resisting doesn’t even cross my mind.

With my chest still heaving a bit, I take his length into my hand, stroking it slowly before kitten licking the tip. Peter throws his head back with a grunt as I slide him into my mouth, my tongue tracing up the bottom of him. I wrap my arms around his thighs as I begin to move my head back and forth.  Peter smirks, gently pushing some loose strands of hair out of my face.

“That’s it baby. You’re doing so good,” he hums as he begins to move his hips in rhythm to my face. Peter looks angelic as the sheen of sweat across his forehead glistens in the single beam of sun cutting through dimness of the cement room. His toned chest heaves as his dark eyes watch his cock violate my mouth, slipping deeper into my throat with each thrust. Tears begin to form in eyes as he slams into my throat, continuously slipping past my gag reflex

“I’m the only one who gets to use you like this,” Peter growls as his hands grip onto the back of my head. I do my best to nod and mumble a ‘mhm’ as drool begins to escape the corners of my mouth, dripping down my chest as he fucks my throat. My core still aches for him. I’ve had my release already, but the way that he’s speaking to me and using me is something far out of the ordinary for him- I cant get enough. I manage to pull away to gasp for breath as I begin to get light headed.

“Please,” I pant out hoarsely, tears and spit streaming down my face as I desperately kiss all over peters length between breaths. “Cum on my face baby please. Im yours. Please peter,” I beg breathlessly as I massage his balls. Peter lets out a whimper, seemingly more than excited to hear my pleads. His hand grabs onto his length, stroking himself closer to his climax. I sit back on my heels, opening my mouth, holding my tits- now covered in my own saliva from his ruthless face fucking- up, wanting nothing more than for him to cover me in his cum.

“God you’re so fucking sexy,” Peter groans as his hand moves in a blur along his length. He throws his head back and lets out a stream of profanities and groans as he shoots his hot seed allover my face and tits. “Jesus Christ,”’ Peter groans when he looks down to see the mess he’s made of me. I giggle, leaning forward, licking up his cock one last time to make sure I’ve gotten every drop. Peter watches me in awe as he attempts to catch his breath, grabbing my shoulders and gently pulling me to my feet.

“Do you feel better now?” I tease as I scoop some off his cum off my breast, bringing the salty liquid to my mouth. Peter groans at the sight.

“Much better,” he laughs as he reaches for his swim trunks. “You wouldn’t mind walking past Elijah like that would you?” he laughs as he grabs a paper towel by the sink.

“What? Half naked and covered in your cum?” I raise an eyebrow at him as he picks up my bikini top.

“Well, maybe put this on first,” he smirks, handing me the thin material. I laugh as he wipes me off so I can get dressed. The mood is back to its usual easy-going vibe and my calm and collected Peter has returned- but I can assure you that we will be revisiting this side of him quite often

-

-

Tags: @pretzel-bunnie @slvt4jamesmarch

[yanderemommabean]

This is my time sending a submission so hello!! I thought I’d share my thoughts on a yandere crow harpy :)

A funny lil gift giving, obsessive loving lil guy. He’s incredibly smart, but he acts dumb to make you laugh to keep you distracted from the kidnapping!!

So many things to say about crow harpy, not enough time 😔

❤️Brings you shiny things when he sees you

❤️Likes to squawk and chirp when you're around and loves to tell you about his days adventuring and finding said shiny items

❤️Doesn't like when other harpy's get too close...pecks at them aggressively and definitely insults their mothers in his native tongue

❤️He's just so happy and enamored with you. Loves everything about you and learning more each chance he can, and loves watching you do your day to day life even if you consider it boring. He could watch paint dry with you and have a wonderful time!

❤️When he eventually does take you to his nest, he swears you two are going to see the river or the woods during the full moon, and you let him carry you. Once you're in his nest however, he knows you're too scared to try and get down considering its one of those larger hundreds of feet tall tree's. Good luck looking down and not getting vertigo!

❤️Now he can show his true self. More mature, intelligent, and carries himself with a lot of confidence. You'll stay up here, in this nest, until you accept his courting. Try any tricks, act out too much, and well...the ground is right there, he can always help you greet it. (Not that he'd ever do that! He would just keep you up there longer, maybe even without blankets! Oh but would that be too cruel? He doesn't want to hurt you! he just wants your love!)

❤️Loves to scent you, give you his feathers in your hair to mark you as his, to have his teeth marks on your shoulder and neck, any sign that you're his is cherished.

❤️Loves to feed you too. Loves hand feeding you little treats and giving you small snacks, likes knowing he's providing for you, it soothes his more animalistic side!

❤️Puffs his feathers when threatened or angry, and even when embarrassed, and you have a hard time telling which is which when you say he's so cute you could eat him up

❤️Nonstop breeding sessions when in heat and I'm not sorry. Those talons cling onto you and you're going to take every drop he gives you, and you're going to do it while moaning his name.

❤️Loves to demand you cum when he cunts down, tells you that for every time you can't, it's another orgasm he's going to force out of you. Cum before then and he's tempted to be mean and say that it doesn't count, that you should learn to be on time! (He just loves to overstimulate and drain you darling! You're so pretty when fucked dumb and unable to fight him off!)

❤️You'll be lucky to not be bitten and bleeding by the time this rut has passed. During these periods, his kind are more protective, possessive, territorial and easy to anger. Playing with his feathers soothes him sometimes but others, well...It can get messy between you two, for sure.

(Hhhiiii! I loved this idea bean! Hope I didn't stray too far lol, I hope you like it too! -Mommabean)

[ivnxrori]

When Sun and Moon meet - S1

Zuko x Fem!WaterBender!Reader Enemies to Lovers

As one of the Princesses of the Northern Water tribe, you were blessed with a gift by the moon. However you were permitted to be allowed to use the gift at all costs. From many hidden waterbending usages, the aftermath of the avatar visiting the Northern Tribe had led to your beginning journey, hiding yourself as a water bender as a princess from the Northern water tribe

Warnings: None

Masterlist

҉ * ‧͙ ⋆ ⁺ ༓ ☾ Prologue

“We announce the birth of a healthy girl…Princess Y/N!” Chief Arnook announced as the crowd cheered for their new princes alongside Yue. What the crowd didn't know was the difficulties of even keeping her a healthy princess. Once the baby was born, she couldn't stop wailing and crying. It was like every bone of her body was in pain. All the medical help didn't do anything, they didnt know why the Chief’s daughter was in so much pain. Yagoda suggests going to the Spirit Oasis, it's their only chance. Chief Arnook sweats as well as his wife, as if they're bound to be unlucky for every life they give. The royal parents of this princess used the same technique as they did with their previous daughter. Dipping her in the Spirit Oasis while praying for her life to the moon spirit, the color of the girl's hair turned from brown to a graceful white. Silent cheers and cries as they held their newest child close to them, happy the moon spirit gave another one of their daughters a second chance.

“Stop touching the edge of your coat” My mother instructed as she pulled my hand from the cuffs. I whined but one stern look from my mother stopped me. I huffed as I stood up straight leaning more so to my sister, Yue who took my hand graciously. In books and stories becoming a princess sounds like a dream. You have money, attention and you could do whatever you want. Everything is accurate except the last one, I couldn't do everything I wanted. I had to be restrained to the guards and my parents eye, even Yue doesnt get this treatment as much as I do. However I forgot to mention how I even got into strict confinement in the first place. “What are you doing?” My father grabbed my hand making the water orb splash at both of our feet. “She's a water bender…” My mom whispered as my dad's eyes widened. “Y/N…” He spoke softly as he held both of my shoulders in a kindly manner. “Do not water bend, it's not allowed for people like you”. I furrowed my eyebrows as I looked at him confused. He sighed as he took my hand. “Y/N, where we live only men are allowed to use waterbending, that's their job…to protect” My father shows me to the boys training their bending. “Especially people like you and your sister, you're both very important to this nation”. I didn't listen, it's not like I didn't understand what he was saying, I just didnt understand why it had to be like this. I zoned off as I saw the male benders. Envying that they can use their gift while I couldn't use mine. I snapped out of my zoned out space with a little pinch given by my sister. I flinched lightly as she slightly giggled earning a hush from our mother. I don't understand us needing to come to these royalty meetings, neither Yue and I are close to 16. Well she is closer to 16 by what? 6 years? That's still a whole 6 years till 16! I'm only younger than Yue by a year, however people treat me like a polar bear dog, cooing at me constantly for doing the littlest task while Yue gets treated so much more maturely. Some might say I have it easier but honestly I just feel dumb. Once the meeting ended we respectfully bowed and got up following our father. I held back my yawn as I saw the now night sky, looking how beautiful the moon is. ҉ ☾ I woke up in the middle of the night, groaning as I looked at the moon. I brush through my tangled hair with my hand while walking outside near the river. Is anyone there? I internally thought as I scavenged the area to see if there were any witnesses. I double checked and took a deep breath. Opening my eyes I hold the water orb, feeling the calming air around me. “You're going to get caught if you keep doing that”. I yelped and dropped my water orb. I turn around immediately with widened eyes meeting Yue. “Oh Yue” I sigh in relief as she glared at me. “You could've gotten caught by the guards and gotten in more trouble then you already have”. I sigh in understanding but also in annoyance. This isn't the first time I have snuck out to try out waterbending. Some days I have been caught but some days I haven't. “I'm going back to bed” I sigh with my head down “Are you?” “Yes, I am” Yue giggled as she patted me on the back. “I believe you can use it one day Y/N, I really you” She whispered sweetly as I nodded. “Thank you”

Next ->

a/n: This is my first fic im starting and im getting brainrott from avatar :) im still learning how to write so if there is any suggestions please share. Im like half asleep while writing this authors note so I know it wont make any sense when I wake up lmao Also feel free to tell me if you want to be added in the taglist!

---

[parkerslatte]

Incompatible | Part Two

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Archeron!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: none.

Summary: Y/N receives word from the Inner Circle that she is to spend a few months in the Autumn Court. Azriel helps her pack and brings her to the High Lord of Autumn.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

Part One | Part Two |

•••

Three days later, Y/N sat in the River House, peacefully enjoying her afternoon. The past three days had given Y/N a sense of peace. Her family and Inner Circle did not crowd her as much as they used to, mostly leaving Y/N alone to her own devices. The only member who graced her presence was Nyx and Y/N couldn’t be happier. The small child napped beside her as she flipped the page of her book, her mind only half paying attention to it. 

The past seventy two hours had been strange for Y/N, she would constantly find her mind drifting to a certain High Lord. His copper hair, his amber eyes, his impeccable clothing. Everything about him caught Y/N’s eye the moment he saw him. But most of all it was his personality. The way his demeanour changed the moment they were alone. The genuine care and concern he had for her made Y/N smile into her book. No matter how the Inner Circle said that Eris was only being kind for his own gain, Y/N knew that his affections were truthful, she felt it.

Three days. He said that in three days time he would find a way to get her out of the house but nothing had happened yet. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on Y/N’s part. She was only human and Eris was the High Lord of Autumn. Realistically she wouldn’t blame him if he were only playing into her fantasy. But there was still that small glimmer of hope– knowing– that he would show up. 

As Y/N turned the page of her book, the peaceful atmosphere in the room immediately disappeared as Rhys entered the room followed by everyone else. Nyx immediately woke up crying. Rhys and Feyre rushed to his side uttering soft apologies. 

“I can take him to his room,” Azriel offered. 

Rhys nodded and allowed Azriel to pick him up. His shadows swarmed around the small boy in a comforting manner. Azriel swiftly left the room before closing the door behind him. 

“What’s going on?” Y/N asked, eyes darting around the room. 

“A letter came through today from Eris,” Rhys said. 

Y/N perked up. “What did it say?”

“I cannot go into detail but it demands that you spend a few months in the Autumn Court,” Rhys explained.

“Really?” Y/N got to her feet, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. 

Feyre nodded. “But we came to ask if you really wanted to go.”

Y/N frowned. “Why?”

“While Beron was High Lord, the Autumn Court was not a safe space for most, everything the upper class fae did was for power. It has not been too long since Eris killed his father and took over so I do not know how much it has changed,” Rhys explained. 

“But ultimately it is your choice whether you wish to go,” Cassian piped up. 

Y/N frowned. “Why does it sound like you are all trying to scare me away from going?”

“We’re not doing that,” Rhys said. “We are just warning you about what you may encounter. Life was difficult for fae living in the Autumn Court, for a human, it may prove to be more dangerous.”

“I’m sure that if I were in any danger, Eris would help me,” Y/N said. “And even if he wasn’t there to help me, I am sure I would be able to help myself. Despite what most of you may think, I can handle myself. I did any and all jobs on my farm for six years until you all took me from it.”

No one responded.

“I am going to the Autumn Court,” Y/N said her tone was final. “When do I leave?”

“Azriel will take you after you have packed a bag,” Feyre said. 

Y/N nodded. “I will go and pack my things.”

Before anyone had the chance to respond, Y/N left the room. As soon as the door closed, chatter resumed in the room in hushed whispers. Y/N rolled her eyes before walking down the hall to her room. 

“So you decided to go,” Azriel said, appearing from the shadows. 

“Yes,” Y/N replied without looking at him. 

“And there’s nothing I can do to convince you not to go?” Azriel asked. 

“No,” Y/N said, opening the door to her room. 

Azriel huffed out a laugh. “I wasn’t going to convince you to stay.”

Y/N finally looked at him. “You might be the only one. Everyone was trying to scare me into not going.”

“I know that you are going to shoot me down immediately but just listen to what I am going to say,” Azriel said. 

Y/N sighed. “Go on.”

“They are just trying to protect you,” Azriel said and Y/N groaned. “I know that our methods have been stupid.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Y/N mumbled, sitting down on her bed. 

“But,” Azriel emphasised, “it was only done to make sure nothing happens to you. Everyone here loves you, Y/N. We just want what’s best for you and if that includes going to the Autumn Court, I will accept it.”

Y/N eyes him carefully. “What is up with you being accepting of this? The last time I checked you hated Eris.”

Azriel chuckled and sat down on the bed next to Y/N. “I don’t hate him. I don’t think I can after all of his explanations for any previous actions after he became High Lord. I only dislike him.”

“Aww,” Y/N teased. “You’re making new friends.”

Azriel glared at her. “He is not my friend but I…trust him more than I did a few years ago.”

“Why?” Y/N asked.

“Since becoming High Lord, Rhys made me send my spies to see how Eris was acting at High Lord. He wanted to know if he would simply double cross us after we helped him kill his father. It is not my place to tell you what I found out but the way he acted was different to how I ever saw him,” Azriel explained.

“How long were you spying on him for?” Y/N asked.

“Not long,” Azriel answered. “A few weeks at most but in those few weeks I noticed him dismissing many members of his court, all of which lived and enforced Beron’s rule. I only spied on him once more after that.”

“When was that?”

“Three days ago, after he left our meeting,” Azriel said. “He took a liking to you and I just wanted to know if it was genuine or not. Rhys didn’t ask me to do it so don’t mention it to him.”

Y/N felt her heart beat faster. “And was it genuine?”

Azriel offered her a tight smile. “It was genuine.”

A smile bloomed across Y/N’s face. “Really?”

Azriel nodded and looked away from Y/N to the bag sat by her bed. 

“Why did you want to know if it was genuine?” Y/N asked.

Azriel shrugged. “You’re my friend, if something was amiss with his affections, I didn’t want him to lead you on.”

Y/N smiled. “Thank you, Az. Honestly, since I’ve been here you have been the only one keeping me sane.”

Azriel smiled though it seemed forced. “No problem.”

Y/N looked away from Azriel and to her bag. “Will you help me pack? I think it would be more fun with a friend here.”

This time when Azriel smiled, it was genuine and he stood to his feet. “Of course.”

It didn’t take long until Y/N’s things were packed into her bag. She didn’t have too many things since her things were spread out across the places she spent time in. The last thing she packed was a small sketch Feyre did of her when the two were eighteen and thirteen. Y/N smiled at it before she closed her bag. 

“I’m ready to go now,” Y/N said, turning to Azriel. 

“Do you want to say goodbye to everyone?” Azriel asked. 

Y/N sighed. “I suppose I should. Shouldn’t I?”

“Even if you don’t want to say goodbye to Rhys, at least say goodbye to Feyre and Nesta,” Azriel suggested. 

Y/N sighed before agreeing. She picked up her bag and together she and Azriel walked through the house.

“I’ll miss you,” Azriel said. 

Y/N looked at him, surprised. “Wow, I’m surprised that the big bad shadowsinger can admit he will miss me.”

Azriel laughed. “Ease up on the alliteration.” 

Y/N chuckled along with him before Azriel cleared his throat. “I am being serious though. I will miss you. With everyone spending time with their own families recently, I’ve been spending a lot of my time with you and you have become a good friend, one of the best actually.”

Y/N stopped in her tracks and turned to Azriel. “Thank you, Az. That means a lot to me. These past few years have been a lot and you have helped keep me from throwing myself down ten thousand steps.”

Azriel smiled, looking away. “I can hear everyone in the foyer.”

Y/N gave his bicep a small squeeze before the two continued to walk. As they entered the foyer, all eyes fell upon Y/N. 

“You packed quickly,” Rhys said.

“Azriel helped,” Y/N answered. “I have just come to say goodbye.”

One by one, Y/N bid everyone a goodbye, spending more time with her sisters, before moving to stand next to Azriel. “I will see you all in a few months.”

Feyre smiled at her and gave her a small wave. “Make sure to write to us. Nyx will be confused about where you have gone.”

Y/N nodded and turned to Azriel. “Let’s go.”

Azriel held out his hand and Y/N took it. Shadows surrounded them and Y/N was encased in darkness. 

***

The moment the shadows vanished they revealed the beautiful scenery of the Autumn Court and Y/N couldn’t help but let out a gasp. The sun streamed through the trees and cast shadows upon the cobblestone path leading to a small village in the distance. 

“This is the Autumn Court?” Y/N asked Azriel.

“Yes,” Azriel answered. “I will admit it looks more…welcoming.”

“Of course it does,” a new voice spoke up. A voice that sent shivers down Y/N’s spine. 

Y/N turned to the source of the voice and smiled. Eris stood in the centre of the path. He was dressed a lot more casually since the last time she had seen him. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, displaying his forearms to the world. He looked even more beautiful than he did when she had seen him three days ago. 

“I have taken up…replacing any negative voices in my court that want to still abide by my fathers rules,” Eris explained. “My court is no longer the place you remember, shadowsinger.”

Y/N dropped Azriel’s hand upon seeing Eris, missing the way Azriel’s face dropped. 

“Eris,” Y/N said, stepping forward. “I must say you look dashing.”

A smirk fell upon Eris’s face. “My dear, you are already starting with flirtations. I was not expecting this so quickly.”

Y/N smiled bright. “I’m full of surprises.”

Eris took one more step forward, his gaze never leaving Y/N’s for a moment. “I bet you are.”

Azriel cleared his throat, interrupting Y/N and Eris. Eris looked at Azriel, a hint of annoyance on his face. “I didn’t realise you were still here, shadowsinger.”

“I want to say goodbye to my friend before you whisk her away,” Azriel said, his voice holding none of the warmth she had gotten used to over the many months of his company.

Y/N turned to Azriel and smiled. “Believe it or not but I will miss you too, Azriel.”

Azriel’s smile was small as Y/N took a step towards him. She leaned up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I’ll be okay, Az.” 

Azriel circled his arms around her waist. “I know, I just want you to–”

“I swear if you say be safe,” Y/N warned.

“–have fun,” Azriel finished. 

Y/N pulled away from the hug. “That response was better than I thought.”

Azriel dipped his head. “I will see you soon, Y/N.”

Y/N took a step back from him, unconsciously stepping closer to Eris. “See you soon, Az.”

Eris smiled at Y/N before he turned his gaze to Azriel. “You are free to return to your court, shadowsinger.”

With a final parting goodbye, Azriel disappeared into his shadows and he was gone. 

The moment he was gone, Y/N immediately felt relief. A large weight lifted off her shoulders that she did not realise was there. For the first time in years, Y/N did not feel the prying eyes from the Inner Circle upon her. For the first time in years she felt free. 

“Are you okay?” Eris asked, the wind lightly blowing the copper waves out of place. 

Y/N smiled brightly at him. “I think I have never felt this good in a while.”

Eris smiled back at her and offered her his arm. “Well, let us drop your things off at the cottage and I shall show you around my court.”

Y/N linked her arm with his. “I would like that very much.” 

Eris picked up Y/N’s bag and carried it in his other hand. “It is about an hour walk away, if you wish me to winnow us there it is no problem.”

“No, I wish to walk,” Y/N said. “The beauty of this court is incredible.”

“Not as beautiful as the woman standing in front of me,” Eris said, a cheeky grin on his face. 

Y/N laughed. “Well, has the handsome man on my arm looked in a mirror? Because his beauty outshines everything around him.”

If it were even possible, a faint blush dusted across Eris’s cheeks. “You flatter me, Y/N.”

Y/N smiled. “It’s not flattery if it's true.”

Eris looked at her and smiled. “That’s true.”

Y/N laughed but that laugh slowly faded away. “I’m sorry for calling you a man. I know that is not what you are. A ‘male’ is the correct word, isn’t it?”

The smile faded from Eris’s face. “Y/N you can call me whatever you wish. I am a male, that is true but I am a man in your eyes, just as you call yourself a woman, not a female. You are not fae, I’m not going to force you to use the way the fae speak around me.”

“Are you sure?” Y/N asked. “After all, I am in the land of the fae, I don’t wish to be disrespectful.”

“Y/N, believe me when I tell you that you are in no way being disrespectful,” Eris replied.

Y/N smiled at him and they continued to walk down the cobblestone path. 

***

“I hope you don’t mind the dust on the surfaces,” Ers said as he unlocked the door to the cottage. “I changed the bedding and cleaned the best I could. Alas, duties kept me away from making this a perfect welcome for you.” 

“It is already perfect, Eris,” Y/N said, looking at the cottage before her. It was beyond beautiful with flowers growing up the trellis and falling over the doorway. 

The door unlocked and Eris picked Y/N’s bag back up and gestured her to step inside. As Y/N did, her eyes lit up. 

“It reminds me of the cottage on my farm,” Y/N said quietly. 

“We have similar decor taste’s then,” Eris said, closing the door. 

As Y/N looked at Eris and his relaxed form she found herself drifting closer to him. She wanted to touch him, she needed to feel his skin on hers. Despite these feelings, Y/N restrained herself and stepped further into the cottage. Everything was slightly dated and a little mismatched but it was perfect to Y/N. Her own cottage was the same way. 

“I used to come here to escape my father,” Eris said. “Everything in here consists of things I have collected over the many years I have been alive.”

“And how long is that?” Y/N questioned.

Eris placed his hand on his chest in mock offence. “Y/N, are you asking me my age?”

“Yes,” Y/N said. “Honestly I am a little confused by how the fae age. Are you immortal or do you just age very slowly?”

“Technically we are immortal and age slowly but the ageing process sometimes depends on the fae themselves. I have known others my age who look hundreds of years older, to put it in your case, decades older,” Eris explained. “I myself am five-hundred and thirty three.”

“You don’t look a day over five hundred and thirty two,” Y/N teased. “Since I so unkindly asked your age, I myself am twenty-eight, twenty-nine next month.”

“Well that is an excuse for a small celebration,” Eris said. 

“There is no need,” Y/N said. “I haven’t celebrated my birthday in many years.”

Eris hummed. “Well I suppose just this once, Y/N, that I will go against what you say because since you are in my cout, I will make sure you get the best damn celebration I can plan on such short notice.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “There isn’t a chance you will simply forget about it?”

That smirk that Y/N had begun to love was plastered on his face. “Not a chance.”

“Then make sure it is the best damn celebration you have to offer,” Y/N said. 

“I plan on just that,” Eris said.

Over the course of their conversation, Y/N had failed to realise how they had slowly inched closer together. If either she or Eris took only one step forward, their chests would be touching. She could feel the warmth radiating from him and she basked in it. If only he would wrap his arms around her body and pull her close–

Y/N stopped the thoughts swarming through her head. She had never felt this deeply for someone before and she didn’t understand why she was beginning to now. Y/N cleared her throat and took a reluctant step back. 

“If I am going to be here for a few months, I should start by unpacking my things,” Y/N said, picking up her bag. 

Eris seemed to snap out of a daze as he slowly followed Y/N’s movements with his eyes. “Do you wish for any help?”

“I’ll be okay,” Y/N said. “Though is there anything you don’t want me to move or touch? It is your cottage after all.”

“No, do whatever you wish. I am rarely here these days,” Eris said, looking at his beloved cottage. “Though I regret to say that I must return to the Forest House, I still have duties to attend to for the following days. I have left food in the cupboards for you, I will return with more tomorrow.”

“When will you be back?” Y/N questioned. “I only ask because I want to explore a little more and I doubt it is not safe for me to be wandering around without an escort.”

“There are a few things that need my attention for the following days but after that I am all yours for the next few months. All my paperwork will be split between my trusted court officials,” Eris explained. “There are wards surrounding the property up until the wicker fence, so you can go outside if you wish to. I won’t confine you inside for the next couple of days.”

Y/N nodded. “Thank you, Eris. Not just for allowing me my freedom, but for making sure I feel welcome and not like a caged animal.”

“There is no need to thank me,” Eris said. “I hope you enjoy it here.”

“I already am.”

Taglist:

@talesofadragon @impossibelle @the-sweet-psycho @lilah-asteria @acourtofbatboydreams

[metalhoops]

// Read Part 1 Here // Read Part 2 Here //

“Can you believe that bullshit, Stevie?” Eddie questioned, from his spot in Steve’s lap. 

The two were together on the Munsons’ beaten-up couch. Steve’s day had dragged on like bare feet in river mud. As far as he could gather, Eddie’s had been the same. The room was hot with the ghost of summer, despite it being mid-March. Eddie’s hair between Steve’s fingers was soft and fizzed. 

“Can I believe that Lucas refused to ditch the championship game for your fantasy club, that could be rescheduled? Yeah,” Steve paraphrased, feeling Eddie sit slightly as he craned his head to get a better look at Steve.

“You’re on his side, aren’t you?” Eddie mumbled, discontent clear in his voice. Steve didn’t like it. He hummed and leaned down to place a chased kiss on Eddie’s lips. 

“You’re not meant to be on his side,” Eddie grumbled, laying back down. 

It was rare that the two disagreed. The disagreement had to be big enough to get a rise out of Steve, but if the situation called for it, he’d put his foot down. 

“It’s a big deal for him,” Steve reasoned, watching Eddie’s jaw clench. 

He’d gotten to know the boy well enough over the past few months. He knew what would come next. If he didn’t act soon, he’d have to sit through a monologue on the sanctity of the game and Lucas’ betrayal at having chosen sports over his friends. Steve didn’t mind the rants. He liked that Eddie was passionate. He did, but Eddie was right. Steve was on Lucas’ side. 

“I know this is a big deal for you, too. Getting to the end of the game or whatever, but can’t you just do it another day? It’d mean the world to the kid,” Steve reasoned. 

He knew by the rounding of Eddie’s shoulders and the elongated groan that escaped his lips that he’d won. 

“Fine, I’ll postpone a week, but you owe me big time. Next date you’re paying.” 

Steve didn’t argue. Hell, he liked paying for Eddie. The guy normally wouldn’t have a bar of it. 

“Wipe that smug smile off your face, Harrington. I get to pick what we do. I’m going to drag you to the loudest concert this side of the Mississippi the first chance I get.” 

Steve nodded, twisting Eddie’s fraying curl between his fingertips.

“In the meantime, I was thinking of heading to the game,” Steve proposed. 

Eddie groaned. He knew Steve too well. He knew what was coming next. 

“You’re going to drag my ass to the basketball game, aren’t you?” 

Eddie sat, switching to the far side of the couch to show his displeasure at the idea. However, he threw his feet in Steve’s lap, so he knew they were okay. 

He thought they were okay. 

“Lucas will want you to be there.”

“You know we can’t actually go together without people talking,” Eddie noted as Steve drove his thumb into the heel of the boy’s foot absentmindedly. 

“I don’t care,” Steve stated. 

He meant it. He’d given up on trying to be Hawkins’ golden boy years before. He just wanted to be the type of person he could live with. 

“Maybe I do,” Eddie spoke, stopping Steve cold. 

Steve worried. He always goddamn worried. Yes, he was waiting for the day he lost someone he cared about to the hell dimension, but it was more than that. He also worried about mundane stuff, like Eddie waking up and deciding they were bullshit. He’d been so sure he and Nancy were in love up until the second she told him they weren’t. That was a blow he wasn’t sure he’d ever heal from. 

He must have gone too quiet, sat stock, still in the growing silence. Eddie sat up and tugged at the hem of Steve’s shirt until he lay down beside him. The two were crushed uncomfortably close, side by side. Eddie’s knee was tucked between Steve’s legs. Eddie touched Steve’s face. It was something only he could get away with. If it were anyone else, he would hate it. 

“Not what I meant,” Eddie spoke, implicitly knowing where Steve’s train of thought had headed. 

“I just meant, I care because I know if any dick head in town had enough brain cells to put two and two together, we’d be screwed,” Eddie began, taking a deep breath. Steve settled back, bracing himself for the monologue. 

“Your parents would kick you out. Then the town would try to run me out with pitchforks. I’m not saying we’ll never... you know. I’m just saying we’ve gotta be smart about it. When I’m done with high school and we save up enough money to have an escape plan for when things go to shit, then we can toss around the idea of going to stupid basketball games together.” Steve sighed but nodded, understanding Eddie’s point of view.

Sometimes Steve got sick of being cautious. He got sick of waiting for other people to change their minds about something that didn’t have anything to do with them. He’d had some good goddamn sense knocked into him. He wished someone would do the same for everyone else. 

“We can hang out after the game. I’ve got something to do first, but I’ll swing around your place after ten.” Eddie proposed. 

Steve didn’t ask what Eddie was doing. If Eddie wanted him to know, he would’ve told him, and despite Steve’s many hang-ups, he trusted Eddie as much as he could trust anyone. 

“Ten works,” Steve agreed. 

The afternoon faded. Steve left Eddie to go to the game. He watched with his gaggle of kids by his side, glancing down at Robin in the marching band when her high school crush took to the stage with a shit-eating grin. He wanted to be there with Eddie, but this was a good consolation. He was sure he’d have bruises on his side by morning from Dustin constantly elbowing him in the side every time Lucas got the ball.

He was so damn proud of Lucas for scoring the winning point. Though Steve would admit, he’d have been proud of the kid if they’d lost by a mile. He was learning what love was about, love without contingencies. Eddie, Robin and the kids were teaching him the lessons he’d never picked up from his parents. 

He got back to his place around nine, took a shower and switched on a mindless T.V. re-run to fill the silence while he waited for Eddie. He was two episodes deep when he felt the familiar sensation of dread begin to well in the pit of his stomach. 

Eddie was two hours late when Steve’s worry shifted to full-blown panic. He tried to tell himself everything was fine, that Eddie got caught up and he’d walk through the door any minute. He picked up his bat from beneath his bed and paced the halls like an animal in an enclosure. 

It was three in the morning when Steve resigned himself to the fact that Eddie wasn’t coming. He called the Munsons at the god-awful hour of the night, hoping beyond hope that Eddie would pick up. He’d be pissed off at Steve for waking him up, but then he’d let him know what was going on. 

He didn’t answer. 

Maybe Steve had read things wrong. Maybe he and Eddie had a fight. They were fighting. That’s why Eddie hadn’t shown up.

He lay in bed until the light of morning thawed his bones and set him free from his wide-eyed, paralytic state of unrest. Instead of heading to work, he drove to the trailer park, swerving the Beamer off the dirt track as the blue lights painted the horizon. There was a swarm of cop cars parked outside Eddie’s trailer. Steve’s body moved of its own accord, rushing through the swarm of cops to find Wayne Munson smoking at the picnic benches, a nearly imperceptible tremor to his fingers. 

Steve didn’t ask what happened. Not right away. His mind was full of worst-case scenarios, none of which could be true until they were spoken into existence. For now, everything was unknown. For now, there was a chance Eddie was safe. He let his legs buckle beneath him as he sat beside Wayne, wondering when he’d made a habit of having panic attacks with Munson men near picnic benches. 

“Was Eddie with you last night?” Wayne asked between drags of the cigarette. 

Steve shook his head. 

Eddie had told Wayne about them. Steve had sat across the breakfast table from the man half a dozen times, but they’d never really talked without Eddie in the room. 

“Was he meant to be?” With a defeated sigh, Steve nodded. 

“What happened?” He asked, at last, tired of drawing out the inevitable. 

“I came home from my shift and there was a body.” All the colour fell from Steve’s face. 

“Not Eddie’s. Some girl. Cops are sayin’ they think he killed her. I reckon we both know that ain’t true.” Steve didn’t know what to do with that information. Eddie was alive. 

He listened to Wayne describe the scene with a growing feeling of dread. He’d seen enough of the Upside Down to understand that an eyeless girl, broken and bent like a marionette puppet and a missing boy seemed like part of its M.O. He was late for work. 

He needed to let Robin and the kids know what was going on. He skirted past the police and drove to the video store. His body was working on autopilot. To his surprise, Dustin and Max were already there. 

He watched as a disgruntled Robin tried to shoo them from behind the register. Steve cleared his throat, hoping beyond hope that the kids didn’t notice the red rim of his eyes as he placed his hands on his hips. 

“What the hell are you two doing? Shouldn’t you be at school?” He tried to play it off like it was any other day, as though he was fine. Robin’s watchful eyes let him know she saw right through him. 

“We’re looking for places Eddie could hide.” Dustin breathed, stopping Steve in his tracks. He shut up and let them explain. 

“We were thinking he could be at Reefer Rick’s place,” Max supplied after Dustin finished his tangent. Steve remained uncharacteristically quiet. 

“Alright, well, quick. Get your shit, if we’re doing this.” Steve grumbled, sliding off his video store vest and leaving it on the counter. Eddie wasn’t dead. That was something.

“That’s great and all, Steve, but we still don’t know where the hell we’re going,” Dustin argued at Steve’s heels as the four rushed out into the parking lot. 

“I know where he lives,” Steve supplied, catching the disbelieving look shared between Max and Dustin. He hadn’t told the kids about him and Eddie. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. It was complicated. Everything about him and Eddie felt complicated. He didn’t want them to be a secret, but it was a necessity to keep them both safe, to keep Eddie safe. He’d told Robin because he knew she was safe. She was an extension of himself. He couldn’t not tell Robin, but the rest of the party was still in the dark. 

“I didn’t think you did drugs, Steve,” Dustin spoke sceptically as they piled into the car. 

“I don’t do drugs... Put on your seatbelt, Henderson.” 

“Then why do you know where a notorious drug dealer lives?” Dustin pushed. 

“Seriously, kid. I’m not backing out until you’re buckled in,” Steve warned. Now was not the time to get a D.A.R.E. presentation. 

“Steve, should I be worried?” Dustin asked as Max spoke up,

“Of course he does drugs. He’s at Eddie’s place all the time.” 

Both Steve and Robin turned back to look at the girl with wide eyes. Of course, Steve should’ve realised Max saw his BMW parked outside the Munsons’ trailer. He hadn’t been thinking. 

“What? I wasn’t going to say anything because we’re all going through shit,” Max elaborated as Dustin shot her a look of utter betrayal. 

“I didn’t think you guys were... friendly. I didn’t think you liked him,” Dustin gaped, finally buckling up. 

Steve tried to drive carefully, keeping his eyes on the road and the car under the speed limit, only sometimes succeeding. 

“What makes you think I don’t like Eddie?” Steve asked, trying to keep his mind off the very real potential that Eddie had just been dragged into the world he’d never wanted him to be a part of. 

Eddie kept trying to push for answers about what happened to Steve. He kept promising he’d give them to him when the time was right, but he could never bring himself to do it. Sometimes the best thing was to remain ignorant. All the same, Steve couldn’t lie to him either, so they’d remained in limbo. 

“You always drop me off at Hellfire, but you never say ‘hi’ to the guy." 

“I wave at him,” Steve reasoned. 

“From the car, Steve. It’s antisocial.” 

It wasn’t long before the group pulled up outside of Rick’s. Steve knew where Eddie would hide if he were there. He led the group to the boathouse, searching the place for any sign of the boy. That led to Steve blindly poking around in the dark with an ore and an odd sense of hope. All of which was thrown out the window the second a body sprung up from the darkness to shove him against a wall. 

It happened too quickly for Steve to process. There was a weight holding him in place and a sharp pressure at his throat. It wasn’t until Dustin’s calls that Steve made out Eddie’s body in the dim light. 

“Woah, Eddie. It’s me. It’s Dustin,” the kid called from behind them. 

The rest of the world fell away as he met Eddie’s wide, panicked eyes. He was safe. Scared as hell, but safe. The broken bottle Eddie held at his throat dropped from his hand in an instant, as did the ore from Steve’s grasp. 

“It’s Steve, Eddie.” 

Recognition flashed across Eddie’s face and suddenly Steve was being crushed again, this time under the weight of Eddie’s arms. The boy clung onto Steve as a drowning man would cling to driftwood. He buried his face into the nape of Steve’s neck and inhaled deeply. Steve could feel Eddie’s heart pounding against his chest. He snaked a hand around to hold the back of Eddie’s neck, forcing the boy to look at him. 

“Hey. You’re okay. Just breathe with me for a second, alright?” Steve spoke, echoing Eddie’s words from the first night the two had gotten together. He watched as the rapid rise and fall of Eddie’s chest slowed. 

“That’s it,” Steve soothed. 

“Stevie,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. 

“M’sorry I didn’t... I couldn’t go to your place, Steve. I wanted to,” Eddie continued, his hand having moved to grasp the fabric of Steve’s shirt. 

“I didn’t... I didn’t know if it’d follow me. I don’t know what the hell happened, I... you won’t believe me,” He finished at last, resting his forehead against Steve’s. 

It was slick with sweat but Steve didn’t care. The others in the room had fallen away entirely. There was only Eddie. 

“I think I should probably talk to you about that thing we keep meaning to talk about,” Steve breathed, drawing circles in Eddie’s skin. 

“Why now?” The boy asked, disbelievingly, a hysterical laugh slipping from his lips.

“Because no matter how crazy what you’re going to tell me sounds, I believe you.” 

“Alright, anyone care to tell me what the hell is going on? I thought you two hated each other,” Dustin called, shattering the moment between them. 

They pulled apart, though Eddie still kept his hand laced in Steve’s shirt while his hand migrated to the middle of Eddie’s back. 

“Why would I hate my boyfriend?” Eddie breathed, clearly not thinking, hopped up on adrenaline. 

“You’re what?” Dustin spoke, gawking open-mouthed at the boys. 

Steve inhaled deeply, squeezed Eddie’s hip and levelled Dustin with his best, unimpressed glare, practically daring him to push on. 

“That makes more sense,” Max muttered to herself as Dustin’s eyes continued to flicker between the two. 

“Shut your mouth, Henderson. You’ll catch flies. We’ve got more pressing issues here,” Steve muttered, trying to work out how exactly he could explain everything to Eddie. 

“I thought you were secretly dating Robin, not Eddie. What the hell, man? Neither of you told me,” Dustin pushed forward while Robin snorted, her nose scrunching at the idea. 

“Really not the time, Henderson,” Eddie confirmed, his fingers worrying away at Steve’s shirt. 

“That’s not fair. You’re not meant to be on his side, dude,” Dustin remarked. 

“Can we all just focus for two seconds? Eddie, what happened last night at your trailer?” Steve questioned, somehow managing to wrangle the group back to the task at hand. 

Steve knew by Eddie’s deep breath and trembling fingers what he was about to say. The world Steve had tried to protect the boy from had come to find him anyway. Now all Steve would do was be there to hold his hand as they walked through whatever hell the Upside Down had to offer.

Steve would keep him safe. Steve would always keep Eddie safe, no matter what.  

[iid-smile]

waterfall , tomioka giyuu

x gn!reader ! giyuu using his water breathing, he asks for permission to confess and impress you!

author's note: im having writers block with kny specifically (future sunny: thats a bad excuse btw... i just dont because idk what to write for majority of the characters) so literally everything these days is jjk. justice for kny!!!!

double author's note: hi... future sunny here. this message ^^ yeah, that was FOUR WEEKS AGO now its just laziness rather than writers block... thats why the dialogue has literally no description half the time and i really did not want to finish this

triple author's note: ahaha i bet you've never seen three in a row 😈 anyways i forgot to post this after i proofread it half asleep so here u go

"do you like rivers?"

"mhm."

"what about lakes?"

"i like anything to do with water, tomioka. you don't need to worry so much about what i like."

"i'm not worried." giyuu's gaze turns away from you, like it always does, and he looks straight ahead. "there's just something i want to try."

though slightly wary of his intentions, you know that giyuu isn't the type of guy to put you in situations where he doesn't have your consent first. and quite clearly, it's something to do with water, because he's been awfully chatty about different bodies of water, fishes, and just nature in general. it's difficult to make a guess of what he's planning, because sometimes he can just be so unintentionally unpredictable. and weird. he's a weirdo.

you walk behind him so he's able to lead the way. now that he's gone all quiet again, you can't help but furrow your eyebrows a bit. something he wanted to try? what could he possibly want to try in the middle of the night? let alone in a forest...

finally, he comes to a halt. obviously, you're a bit... confused, being stopped in front of a large, and deep body of water surrounded by rocks.

"hold my hand."

"why?"

as if he knew you were going to ask that, he turns to face you with not a single change in his expression, neatly holding out his hand to you. "i'm going to do something, and i don't want you to slip." something. there's that something again.

your eyes flicker from his hand to his face just a few times, then to the surroundings, looking out for anything odd. he wouldn't be the type to prank you, would he?

"do you not trust me?"

"i do. it's just this something that you mention..."

"don't worry. i won't do anything bad."

would it be bad to say that he immediately soothed your worries? he was already speaking more than he usually would, and you noticed his free hand was always on the handle of his sword, so he's vigilant. no worries at all. you take his hand. it's cold, and unexpectedly smooth. "what are you going to do?"

no answer. he takes a step closer to the edge, just one little tip toe away from the surface of the water. "by any chance.." giyuu remains quiet, head bowed to the water below before his eyes move back up to yours. "do you have a significant other?"

"no..."

"then," for a beat, he looks off to the side, and then turns his head back to you. "can i ask for your permission for me to... attempt to court you?"

"ah, is this why you brought me all the way out here? you have feelings for me?"

"...you found me out."

"you just told me that?"

"i didn't mean to."

the back of your hand comes up to your lips, poorly silencing your giggles. "you're a bit silly sometimes."

no response. "come."

giyuu takes a step down from the rocks, and into the body of water. from above, it was difficult to tell how far down the bottom of the lake was. "my clothes—"

he cuts you off. "don't worry. they won't get wet."

maybe he's telling the truth, since his aren't either. one last time, you look down at your covered feet, a nervous twitch running through them as the chill breeze suddenly became so apparent.

immediately, you're met with dreamlike arches of water and splashes surrounding the two of you, frozen in time and unmoving. for the first time, it feels like you're genuinely seeing his breathing technique visually, the sight similar to a vivid lucid dream. except this... this is way better. right in the climax, streams shoot up into the air, curving and twisting to form a heart in the center, then dispersing just as quick, the drops of rain disappearing into nothing as it touches skin.

it was beautiful, but beautiful wasn't even a word good enough to describe it.

"tomioka—?" but as you turn around, giyuu is nowhere to be seen. "huh? tomioka?"

you look left, and you look right. nobody's around: not a single life in sight. the trees are quiet, only the splashing of the waterfall fills in for the lack of noise around. and when you look down at your feet, you only see your legs submerged in water, all the way up to your knees. your haori steadily soaked up the liquid, the material darkening and growing heavier on your shoulders. "my socks!"

yes, you did have to walk home with wet tabi socks and zori with an uncomfortably damp surface. and yes, you did walk home with a constant flutter in your heart, not even knowing when the next time you'll catch a glimpse of him will be.

[maidragoste]

Unfair

Summary: After an incident between Baelon and Aelor you ask Aemond to talk to Baelon.

I'm glad I finally finished writing this and sharing it with all of you. I hope you like it 🥰🥰

comments, reblogs, likes are always greatly appreciated 💖💖

This is part of the "The Queen and Her Husbands" universe, if you haven't read it before I'm going to make a couple of clarifications: Reader is married to Aemond and Aegon; Baelon and Aemon are the twin sons of Reader and Aemond; Aelor is Aemond's bastard son with Alys Rivers; Daeron is the son of Reader and Aegon; Jaehaera is still alive just like the dragons; people refer to Aegon (Rhaenyra's son) as Egg.

Disclaimer: English is not my mother tongue so I apologize for any mistakes.

It was not normal to see the Hand of the King running through the halls unless he was following his children or playing with them. Aemond was running for his children again, but this time because one of them had gotten hurt. One of the servants told him that there was a fight in the courtyard between the children. Aemond didn't even bother to finish listening to the woman when he ran out.

He hurried into your shared chambers. Aelor sat while the maester daubed his cheek with ointment. You found yourself holding your son's hand looking at him with pure concern while your other hand was on your stomach. Aegon was behind you, his hands caressing your back trying to bring you comfort.

"I'm fine. It doesn't hurt" Aelor said trying to reassure everyone but every time the maester touched the wound he made a face and couldn't help but squeeze your hand.

"What happened?" Aemond asked going to his son's side. He couldn't see the wound because it was covered by the ointment but from the way the ointment was on he could tell it wasn't a small cut.

"He didn't need stitches. The maester says there's a chance he doesn't have a scar" you announced making your first husband frown because you weren't telling him what he wanted to know. He was still relieved to learn that the wound wasn't bad enough to need stitches. He still remembered the pain he had to endure while the maester stitched him up after losing his eye. He didn't want his son to suffer the same pain.

"My prince, try not to get your face dirty or touch your wound these days," said the master once he finished smearing the ointment and began to pick up his medicines from the table "Tomorrow I'll put more on it" he warned as he got up.

"Thank you for your services, maester," you said and the old man nodded before leaving the room.

"What happened?" the one-eyed prince asked again, caressing the brown curls of his son. Aelor shrank back in his chair. Not because he was uncomfortable or disgusted by his father's show of affection but because he was too embarrassed to tell him what happened in the courtyard.

"Ser Fell made Aelor and Baelon fight. They were having a good fight" Aegon said, the truth was that the fight wasn't long and it was evident that Baelon had more experience but knowing that Aelor was embarrassed and always wanted to impress Aemond he decided to lie for his nephew. "Until Baelon brought him down"

"And Aelor surrendered" you continued the story. The boy looked at his feet without daring to see his father's reaction. He was a Targaryen, he should have stood up and fought but he gave up fast. "Even so, Baelon continued to attack him" Your voice was calm but your anger didn't go unnoticed by any of your husbands.

"It was an accident. He didn't listen to me" Aelor lied, always loyal to his brothers and not wanting them to get in trouble because of him. He had angered Baelon by stealing Shrykos from him.

"It wasn't an accident," both you and Aegon said determinedly. It was impossible not to have heard Aelor's screams saying that he was giving up. You will never forget the terror in your son's eyes. Worst of all, the cause of that fear was your other son. If it weren't for Aegon acting fast and holding Baelon from behind, you were sure Aelor's injuries would be worse. For a moment you panicked, imagining Aelor without one eye. What would you do? What would Aemond do? You would have to impose justice. Could you punish Baelon? You never wanted to be in that situation with any of your children.

You rubbed your stomach nervously. If this pregnancy ended well, you wanted more than anything that by the time the baby was born all her siblings would get along.

"Aemond, you must talk to Baelon" you request feeling overwhelmed by the situation. This pregnancy already had you worried. Not only that, but you also had to keep an eye on the lords and solve any problem they had in addition to raising your children.

It wasn't the first time that there was a problem with Baelon, you had already reprimanded him on more than one occasion for his deal with Aelor but he didn't seem to listen. You hoped that Aemond could do something. You had the feeling that Baelon's attitude was due to jealousy for not having a dragon. Aemond would understand him better than you, and he would know what to say to him to come to his senses.

"Of course, I'll go look for him in a minute," your husband assured, continuing to caress the boy's curls. "Are you sure you're okay?" She asked, looking at him carefully for any other injuries.

"Yes, Kepa. I am strong, this is nothing" declared Aelor, wanting to show courage in front of him.

Aemond smiled at him and kissed his forehead. "Good. Why don't you and your uncle go to the kitchens for raspberry pies?"

Aelor's eyes sparkled with excitement as she heard her favorite candy "Can I have two?"

"Well you earned it"

"Thank you Kepa!" the boy said before quickly dragging his uncle out in case his father suddenly changed her mind.

You and Aemond both smiled at Aelor's excitement. You two always wanted to see their son happy. They both missed how carefree he was before learning of his origin. Ever since Aelor found out he was a bastard now he seemed more withdrawn. He didn't like to attract attention.

"How are you?" your husband asked, approaching you and looking at you with concern. The last thing he wanted was for you to be stressed in your state. He was afraid that you would have another loss. The memory of your last pregnancy still haunted him. He didn't want to see you go through that pain again.

You took Aemond's hand and placed it on your stomach so he could feel the baby kick "The baby is fine but I'll be fine when you talk to Baelon."

"I will, I just wanted to make sure first that Aelor and you are okay," he said as he caressed your stomach feeling a little calmer when he felt the baby.

"Aemond, this can't happen again" You started to get frustrated because he didn't seem to be losing his mind like you.

"It won't happen" your husband promised but still you weren't calm. You couldn't let something like Driftmark happen. If Aemond couldn't bring Baelon to his senses then no one else in the castle could.

"I can write to Cregan Stark, I'm sure he will have no problem accepting Baelon as a pupil"

You instantly noticed how happiness disappeared from your husband's face and how he became tense. You hated being the cause of his unhappiness but you knew it was the right choice. The North would make a good man out of Baelon. You trusted that Cregan Stark wouldn't treat him differently for being a prince and he would take care not to spoil him. Baelon in the North couldn't do what he wanted, he would have to learn to respect his customs and follow his rules. Cregan could teach him that dragons weren't the only important thing in this life.

“It was just an idea to keep in mind. Please, don't be mad at me” you said caressing his face.

•••••

Baelon watched out the window as Aemon and Jaehaera flew on their dragons when he heard the door open. He turned and instantly straightened when he saw his father walk in.

He didn't expect it, he thought that his father would be comforting Aelor and it would be you who would come to scold him. A part of him was relieved to see that he was wrong. He hated to disappoint you two but his father's look didn't have the same effect as yours. He could never bear to look into your eyes for long when you scolded him because the disappointment in your eyes always made him uncomfortable.

Baelon moved, leaving more space for his father to sit next to him, but he didn't say anything. His attention returned to the dragons as he saw his twin dragon pass by, closer to the window. Daeron, his younger brother, waved at them with one hand while the other clung to Aemon's waist. If Baelon had had something within arm's reach he would have thrown it at him. It was not fair. Daeron had a dragon but he still flew as his family's companion instead of flying himself because their parents say he was still too young to have his first flight. Daeron didn't deserve a dragon. If Baelon had a dragon, he wouldn't mind their parents' prohibition, he'd still get on and fly. He would show how brave he is and he would be the best rider. They could never bring it down from the skies.

"And? Would you tell me what happened?" Asked his father making him come back to reality.

"You know what happened" Baelon grumbled looking at him with annoyance. It seemed silly to him that his father asked him to tell her about his outburst in the courtyard when it was obvious that he had already found out from his mother. He preferred that they punish him once and for all and leave him alone.

"But I want to hear it from you," Aemond said, hugging his son by the shoulders. "I want to understand what made you act like that. I know you know what you did was wrong."

His father's words only made the boy more angry.

“I didn't do anything wrong!” He instantly denied it and angrily pulled his father's arm away from him not wanting his touch. "I only made Aelor pay for stealing Shrykos from me!" he balled his hands into fists and stared at the floor.

Aemond really shouldn't be surprised that the reason for his son's attitude had to do with dragons. But he couldn't help but be disappointed at Baelon's words. It was impossible for him not to be reminded of Baela's and Rhaena's accusations that he stole Vhagar. A dragon could not be stolen. Everyone knew that the dragon chose its rider from him. He understood the pain of his son in the absence of a dragon. He understood the yearning for wanting to have his connection. He understood it better than anyone.

"Baelon, you know that a dragon chooses its rider"

The boy knew that his father was right. He wasn't stupid, he had paid attention to his lessons but he was so angry because he wasn't fair. It was the second time a dragon had rejected him. Dreamfyre seemed ready to unleash her flames until suddenly his uncle's Egg stood in front of him as he desperately shouted commands in Valyrian and pushed him to the side. Baelon burst into tears thinking his uncle would burn to death because of him, but Dreamfyre didn't do him any harm. Baelon was relieved that his uncle was still alive but another part of him wanted to scream at the injustice of him getting a dragon when everyone knew he loathed them. He tried to justify rejecting Dreamfyre by telling himself that his personality was too overwhelming for that dragon, his previous rider had been his Aunt Helaena and people said that she was too calm, and his Uncle Egg's personality was more in line with Dreamfyre.

Dreamfyre's rejection hurt him but Shrykos's was worse. Aelor was a bastard. He shouldn't have a dragon. Why would Shrykos choose Aelor over him? He has true Valyrian blood. It didn't make sense…Unless there was something wrong with him.

“Shrykos should be mine, I have the pure blood of Valyria. Aelor is a bastard and I hate him!” he declared with a red face.

"Baelon!" Aemond grabbed his shoulder and turned to face him. It wasn't the first time Baelon had heard his father so furious but he had never been the recipient of his fury. “I don't want to hear you call Aelor that way again. He is your brother, he is your family." His father's hand wasn't squeezing him but Baelon had never felt it so heavy. “We are family and as a family, we defend each other. We didn't attack each other,” he reminded him, and Baelon nodded, a lump in his throat.

"I don't hate Aelor" he admitted in a muttered voice cracking "But it's not fair that he has Shrykos, he didn't even want to go claim it! Uncle Egg didn't want a dragon either and Dreamfyre still chose him! Why can they have a dragon and I can't? What's wrong with me?" Baelon started to cry and Aemond didn't take long to hug him, feeling how his heart ached when he heard the anguish of his son.

“Baelon, there is nothing wrong with you. The only reason you don't have a dragon yet is because the one destined for you hasn't been born yet. They say your mother's dragon will soon have another litter of eggs.” Aemond declared, wiping away the boy's tears. “You'll have a dragon one day, I promise. I understand better than anyone that waiting is hard, but you have to be patient and you don't have to get mad at your siblings just for having what you want. It's not their fault that you don't have a dragon yet."

"I know," Baelon muttered, embarrassed by his attitude. "I'll go apologize to Aelor," he announced, getting down from the window ledge.

"Good. Your brother could still be in the kitchens with your uncle Aegon."

Aemond watched as his son left the room and prayed that Baelon's good attitude would last, that his son had truly reconsidered because he feared that if Baelon purposely hurt another of his brothers again you would not hesitate to send him to the North.

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[dreamauri]

┊𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗔 𝗙𝗜𝗦𝗧 ┊─ ୨୧ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ :🪴: ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ୨୧ ─ ┊as spies from opposing countries, you each ┊try to beat each other to success, but sometimes, ┊you're going to need to be frenemies. ┇︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦˚₊   ┇ . 🌿 :: pairing — ( spy! max verstappen x spy! fem! reader ) ┇ . 🫧 :: ⁠genre — ( fluff )  ┇ . 🌿 :: ⁠word count — ( 1, 588 )  ╰ 🫧  :: ⁠ content warning — ( drugs, fernando being a better spy )

★ ☆ vote here if you would like to see more ━━━━━

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You hated the heels, how they clicked with each step as you walked through the crown on the hardwood flooring. You didn’t also fancy the crowd, but as a social species and with a job as such, you had to put up with it. ‘There he is,’ You thought recognizing the face you were present for tonight. Champagne glass in hand, you reached to put your hand on the guy's back when you were pulled away from your waist swiftly.

You found yourself walking past, looking up with a death stare at the smug face of the dutch blond. “I was waiting for you.” He smirked, leaning down. God you hated his smirk. “Get lost, verstappen.” You faked a smile trying to pull away only for him to dig his nails into your waist and pull you even closer. “That’s not a nice thing to say to your date, my love.” He took your free hand twirling you gently.

“Never thought I’d get to see you in a dress,” He leaned down, taking a sip of your champagne. “Navy looks good on you.” He chuckled and you gave him a death glare, watching him swallow the golden alcohol. He wiped his mouth in his suit sleeve, looking past you at the guy both of you apparently were after. “He’s mine.” You growled lowly, pulling yourself out of his grip. 

“I would love for you to-” Max cut himself off, putting his hand on his chest taking in a deep breath. His eyes glanced down to the alcohol champagne that was bubbling just a bit more than normal. “You silly girl.” He realised. You smirked, turning him around and pushing him from his back, leading him out of the party. “He calls her silly yet he falls for the oldest trick in the book.” You mock, walking down the halls and pushing him in an empty room. “You stay here, and don’t blow my cover or I swear on god it’ll be the last time you see the moon.”

Max rolled his eyes playfully, plopping on a cushioned chair. “You’ll come save me after you finish, right? You’re not going to leave me here, all alone.” “I’ll think about it.” Max watched as you exited the room with a slam from the door. He cozied up, taking off his blue bowtie. The drug would kick any minute now and he didn’t want to choke to death while being passed out. 

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Come on, sweetheart. Let's go.” Max awoke immediately when he heard the door open with a click. He watched the party host’s knocked out body splay on the leather couch and you tuck something in your bra. “Come on.” You urged Max, wrapping one of his arms around your neck and pulling him up on his feet. He got up with a pained moan, leaning all his weight on you. He pathetically attempted to try and reach into the top of your dress for the flash drive you were going to fight over later.

“Save your breath.” You smacked his hand away, sliding the window open and hopping out. Max followed soon after, landing on his face. It wasn’t a big fall since you were on the ground floor, but you should’ve taken a photo of the Dutch, you’ve never seen him be so ridiculous. With a shove in your passenger seat and buckling him up, you drove out of the estate, not giving the mansion one last glance. 

“Please die so I can dump your body in the river,” “Not a chance.” Was the last thing Max said before he passed out again. When woke up again he found himself in a dingy apartment, the sun stinging his eyes with the after effects and hangover from the drug and alcohol hitting him like a rock. The flat was empty, probably a temporary place to stay for this mission. It was quiet as well, minus your voice from the bathroom, talking to someone on the phone. 

“Aww c'est trop mignon. Dis-lui de le mettre sous un oreiller pour la fée des dents, je passerai, promis.” [Aww that’s so cute. Tell her to put it under a pillow for the tooth fairy, I'll stop by, I promise] Who the fuck were you talking to right now? Max watched in the reflection from the window as you held the flashdrive between your teeth, phone pressed to your ear as you brushed your hair into a ponytail. This was his chance. Maybe not.

He hadn’t realised he was cuffed to the bed, and had fallen flat on his chest just a few inches from your ankles. You looked down at him for a few seconds with an unimpressed and amused look. “Excusez-moi, les idiots se lèvent. Rendez-vous à X dans quelques jours.” [Excuse me, the idiots up. See you at X in a few days] Max pushed himself to stand up, looking at his half naked body, dressed in only his boxer shorts, ankle cuffed to the foot of the bed.

“If I didn’t know you I’d think you were up to some errotic shit.” You gave him a fake smile and a muted chuckle. “Well you don’t know me, and you're wrong.” “I mean, you’re in nothing but underwear.” The two of you stared at each other silently for a few seconds. “I value myself too much, why would I sleep with a man like you.” “I’m very good in bed, just so you know.” Max put his hands on his hips proudly. “I doubt that, virgin.” “I have a girlfriend.” “Where is she from? Your Imagi-nation? Sounds like a lie to me.”

“Girls you’re both pretty,” You and Max turned to the Spanish man at the door. Fernando looked between the two of you, putting his hands in his pockets with a smug smirk. You felt yourself groan putting the flash drive in your bra, locking the bathroom door shut. “I see you got busy.” The Spanish man teased the Dutch, looking around the room with a smirk. “We didn’t do anything.” Max defended, crossing his arms. “The hickies say otherwise.” Fernando chuckled, going through drawers and cupboards. “They’re bruises. I feel it on my face.” Max corrected, looking at the locked bathroom door. “That actually sounds like something you’d do, Verstappen.” “Are you really going to leave me out here for him to kill me?” “She left you for the sharks.” Fernando noted, hearing the bathroom window click open, knowing you climbed out.

 “Make this quick. I’ve already passed out twice in less than 8 hours.” 

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I hate you so fucking much fernando.”  “I love you too, hermosa.” [beautiful] 

It was a gathering at this point. Dutch, French, and Spanish spies all in one room. Only the Spanish spy was the one who wasn’t tied up on the floor. You wiggled on your seat, trying to get up on your knees only for Max to squirm under you. 

“Can you stop fucking moving?” “Can you stop being a pussy?” You spat back, shimmying your back up against his chest to try and get a better angle to untie your binds. Fernando from across the room, sitting on a desk, watched with a small smile, leaning back in his chair with his hands entangled behind his head. He had tied you and Max on top of eachother, purely for entertainment. 

“That’s my-- Y/N!” The small high pitched scream left his mouth had the rest of the men in the room laughing and you angry. “Bitch.” “Me the bitch? Y/N your heel is on my dick!” With a huff, you tipped your bodies back slamming Max back on his chest, hammering the air out of his lungs.

“Well, I have what I need,” With the shut of his laptop, Nando gets up waving goodbye and exiting the dimly lit basement.

You take a few seconds before managing to lift your body up so you were doing a handstand on your forearms. Carefully, you slip your body through the gap between your and Max’s bodies. You manage to untangle yourself, now facing each other in opposite directions. With your face to his, you gave each other dirty looks. 

“You’re ugly as fuck.” “Can you shut up, Y/N?! Can your mouth do anything else?” “It can suck pussy better than you!” “Oh shut up. I can suck dick better-- No-” “Haha- got ya.”

You did eventually push him to sit up, managing to untie the rope. You rubbed your wrists as you stood up, with a groan. “USB’s mine.” Max stood up groggily. He was in no shape to fight right now, having been fighting against fernando earlier, while you only got caught without being beat up.

“Look, you’re gonna fall apart, and he’s already across town. So I suggest you stay down.” “Aww, you care for me.” “If I had a knife I'd dissect you and frame your heart in my office.” “You love me so much.” He rolled his eyes, walking past you. Or he attempted to, because he received a straight punch to his gut that sent him curled on the floor.

“I wont punch you again if you help me.” “How about go fuck yourself. I’d give you a knife so you can dig my heart out rather than work with you.” “Aww, that’s so romantique.” [romantic]

[tasteleeknow-remade]

— bridges and storms

pairing: minho x fem!reader genre: smut, fluff, angst, established relationship [husband!minho], soft!dom minho. content: 18+ minors dni. warnings below cut. word count: 3.2k

summary: on your honeymoon both you and minho help each other through your fears. emotional hurt/comfort where minho distracts reader from a storm.

afab!reader. unprotected intercourse. minho is afraid of heights and reader storms. possessive behaviour. pet names. breeding kink. emotional hurt/comfort.

“I think we have to cross it,” you said, holding your phone out to your husband so he could see your planned route. It was the third day of your honeymoon and you were attempting to find your way to an art gallery. The only issue was that you were on foot and the only thing between you and your destination was a high pedestrian bridge across the river that ran through the city. Your new husband wasn’t the biggest fan of heights, at all. 

“Do you have to see this place?” Minho asked, staring across the long bridge ahead of you. Today was about your interests, you knew that. Your husband hadn’t put up any protest when you’d suggested your plans for the day even though you knew very well there were plenty of other things he’d rather do than wander through an art gallery for hours. You were planning a surprise for him later to make up for it, much more up his alley. 

“I guess… I can always see it another time.” You tried to keep the disappointment from your voice. It was honestly the thing you were most looking forward to seeing the whole trip. You had a whole list of pieces you wanted to see. You opened your notes app with your list of things to do in the city. You’d spent the last few weeks before your wedding researching for your honeymoon, unbeknownst to Minho. 

Minho took one of your hands, his fingers intertwining with yours. “You might not get another chance,” he said, “just…don’t let go of my hand.” You squeezed his warm hand in yours, failing to keep a smile off your face. 

“I’ve got you, love. Just tell me if it’s too much,” you said, kissing his cheek—his eyes still fixed on the other end of the bridge. He started forward, eyes fixed ahead. He did well at first, you kept glancing at his face—trying to discern his comfort level. You kept quiet, not wanting to overwhelm him. The wind picked up the closer you got to the middle, the breeze cooling your skin—slightly sticky with sweat from your walk. It wasn’t until you’d made it about a third of the way across that he suddenly stopped and you looked up to see his eyes squeezed closed. You stood in front of him, hand still grasping his. “It’s okay, I don’t need to see it. The exhibition is the main thing I wanted to see and it's overpriced anyway. A scam, really.” You reached up to play with his earlobe, something you often did mid conversation with him. The first time you’d done it he’d stopped mid sentence, waiting for an explanation. You’d pulled your hand away, embarrassed. You smiled at the memory. “Remember the first time I did this?” you continued speaking as he kept his eyes squeezed shut. “We’d only been dating a week or so and you made a face at me like I’d just done the oddest thing you’d ever seen. It was so embarrassing…”

“It was cute.” His eyes were still squeezed shut. “I can always tell when you’re about to do it; your eyes drift to my right ear, always the right.” 

You looked down at your feet, “I don’t know why I do it, I don’t do it with anyone else.” You lifted his hand to play with his wedding ring before looking back up to his face. “You must have irresistible earlobes.”

He smiled, eyes still closed but not squeezed tightly. “Keep talking to me.” 

“Hm?”

“Distract me.” He tilted his head down, chin nearly on his chest so he could peak his eyes open to watch his feet. You stood aside and he started off again. You kept your eyes ahead to the end of the bridge, his hand grasped in yours, as you considered which memory to distract him with. 

“Remember when we introduced the cats?” When you first moved in together you’d been nervous about introducing your cat to his three. Your baby had always been scared of other cats, you’d assumed he’d had a bad experience before you’d adopted him. “We did it one at a time, so we didn’t overwhelm Loki. Remember how nervous I was? You kept saying how nice your babies were, that they wouldn’t hurt him.”

“I was right, wasn’t I?” His voice was a little timid, but he was still moving so you continued. 

“I was never afraid they’d hurt him. I just didn’t want Loki scared to death all the time, in a new environment as well.”

“I gave them a lecture before you arrived.”

You looked at his face, his eyes still fixed on the ground. “A lecture?”

“I told them they had to be nice to their new brother.” He squeezed your hand. “I had to explain how important you are to me and how I needed you to live with us.” His voice sounded clearer, apparently successfully distracted. 

“They must be very good listeners then, they were very well behaved.”

“Of course they were well behaved. They’re always well behaved.” 

You noted how close the end of the bridge was. “Do you think they’re missing us?” you asked. His parents were babysitting and had been sending daily updates. 

A small smile formed on his face before he spoke, “Me more than you, probably.” 

“You spoil them, that's why they always come to you first.”

“They just love me more.” 

“I guess I can’t blame them for that.” You stopped walking, bringing his hand up to your mouth so you could kiss his knuckles. “You did it,” you announced, smiling. He lifted his eyes to yours then turned around to look back across the bridge. 

He was silent for a moment, and then the corners of his mouth curled up. “Easy,” he declared. “Let’s go then.” He tugged you forward, adopting a confident stride. 

After 4 hours of being very patient while you wandered around the exhibit, Minho announced he was about to drop dead of starvation. Luckily you had a plan and within only a 10 minute walk you’d arrived at a cat cafe where you could read anything from the large book collection, eat delicious food, and play with cats. You’d discovered the place on google the day before when you were trying to find some way to thank him for spending half a day at the art gallery with you. His stomach was now full and he was in a cosy nook with a cat on his lap, looking very content. “I was thinking we could ride bikes around the river tomorrow? There’s a really nice bike track apparently,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence. 

“Okay,” he said, not looking up from the cat in his lap. 

“We could do something else if you have anything in mind?”

“I don’t care,” murmured, still not looking up. 

“You don't-You don’t care…” You dropped your gaze to your screen. You knew he didn’t mean to sound dismissive but you felt a bit like you were dragging him around unwillingly. You had tried to make the last few days fun, keeping your time as full as you could. You hadn’t spent much time away with him before and you had been a little nervous that when he was forced to spend all his time with you for an entire week he might discover he didn’t like you as much as he thought. It was ridiculous really; you were married, you’d been living together for two years. You’d just never spent a whole week straight together. The cat that had been lounging on your husband's lap for the past 20 minutes brushed against your leg. You looked up to see Minho shifting from his side of the little reading nook, shuffling across until he was cramming himself into the small space next to you. He took your hand in his and started playing with your fingers. 

“I’m just happy spending time with you. I don’t care what we do tomorrow because whatever it is, I'll be doing it with you.” 

“I dragged you around an art gallery for hours today.”

“I very willingly came to the art gallery with you where I got to listen to all your very interesting thoughts. You’re cute when you’re excited.” 

“So you don’t regret marrying me?”

He burst into laughter, reminding you of how ridiculous you were being. You pulled your hand from his as he was distracted attempting to contain his outburst. You fiddled with the rings on your finger. He’d rolled out of bed one Saturday morning and reappeared 10 minutes later with the small ring box. When you’d said yes he’d fucked you into the sheets and then cooked you your favourite meal, making you feel like you’d reached the peak of conceivable joy. It wasn’t possible for a human to feel happier than you did that day. 

“How would the cats cope with a divorce, hm?” His voice broke through your thoughts. You looked up at his face, his eyes glinting with amusement. He patted his thighs with his palms. You hesitated, then climbed into his lap. “You’re mine now. Forever,” he whispered, hand brushing your hair away from your face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, bringing your lips to his. 

Your biking plans were ruined. It had started pouring before you’d left the cat cafe and by the time you’d made it back to the hotel it had developed well and truly into a thunderstorm. You hated thunderstorms. You remembered as a kid hiding under your blankets with your mum playing with your hair until your terrified sobs had exhausted you enough to fall asleep. Minho had ordered dinner to your room and watched as you picked at your food, too anxious to have much of an appetite. You really just wanted to hide under the blankets, like a child. The claps of the thunder would startle you every time, making your heart race. Eventually Minho had told you to go to bed, he’d join you after showering. So you had. 

You waited with the covers over your head, attempting and failing to listen for the sound of the shower over the heavy rain. You jumped when the covers lifted, Minho’s face appearing as he peeked into your cocoon of safety. “You alright?” he asked, his voice had taken on the gentle tone he used with his cats or when you were afraid. You reached out to grab his arm, prompting him to join you under the covers. You pressed your face to his bare chest, breathing in the scent of his body wash. His arms wrapped around you, rubbing circles into your back. “You’re okay,” he soothed. You closed your eyes as tears formed in your eyes, attempting to calm your breathing. You always felt silly when this happened, you knew logically nothing was going to happen to you; that you were okay. If only the rest of your body would get the message. A booming clap of thunder startled you, pushing you over the edge—a sob leaving your lips. “Please,” Minho pleaded, his arms tightening around you. “Don’t cry. I’ve got you.” You took a deep breath and held it. Minho pulled away from you, moving his hands to cup your cheeks and lift your face to his. “Breathe,” he whispered before leaning in to kiss the tears from your cheeks. You took a breath for each kiss he left, they were slow—slow enough that your deep slow breaths calmed your racing heart. By the time he was finished his lips were moist with your tears. 

“Distract me,” you breathed. He rolled on top of you, body covering yours—both of you still under the covers. You couldn’t imagine any situation that could make you feel safer than under the covers with your husband's body over yours like this. When you were a kid you’d had the most vivid nightmares, sometimes you’d wake up and swear you could see the creature from your dream in the corner of your room. You would pull the covers over your head, using them as a protective barrier. You’d make your breathing as quiet as possible and attempt to convince yourself it wasn’t real; that you were okay. Your protective cocoon worked the same for you now, except you weren’t alone now—you had someone else to let you know you were okay. 

“You need me to distract you, baby?” His warm breath tickled your neck as one of his hands slipped under the hem of your t-shirt. His fingers traced the skin on your stomach in patterns before moving to cup one of your breasts. “My girl has had such a big day…needs me to make her feel better, hm?” Light filtered through the covers as the room lit up with lightning and you reached for his arm—his skin warm under your palm. He withdrew his hand from your shirt and brought it to cup your cheek. “It’s okay, honey. Just focus on where I'm touching you, yeah?” His hand moved from your cheek…down your neck…down your torso and came to a rest over your clothed cunt. “You like when I grope your pretty pussy, don’t you? What about when I'm between your legs? When I play with you until you get all puffy… I love watching you get all twitchy and wet for me…” His fingers started lightly stroking you back and forth over your underwear, barely any pressure at all. His lips pressed to the skin on your neck, just above your collarbone—his lips were still wet from where he’d kissed the tears from your cheeks. He pressed slow kisses up to your jaw and then to your lips, all while continuing his slow strokes over your underwear. His lips tasted a little salty as they moved against yours. When he pulled away you watched as he pulled his hand from between your legs and pushed his index and middle finger into his mouth—sucking on his own fingers as he kept his eyes on yours. You pushed your fingers into his hair as he removed his fingers from his mouth. The covers had shifted down from your movements, both your heads free from your blanket cocoon. Your grip tightened in his hair as he slipped his wet fingers into your underwear and through your folds. You whimpered into his mouth as he reattached his lips to yours. “I know, honey. Feels good, yeah? Want you to feel so good,” he muttered into your mouth between kisses. 

“L-Love…. love-” you stuttered against his lips. 

“Me? My fingers? What do you love?” His fingers played with your entrance, the tips nudging against you but not quite pushing in. A clap of thunder startled you again, making you jump—his fingers sinking into you in the same moment. You threw your head back into the pillows, back arching off the bed—nipples pressed into the warm skin of his chest. “That’s it, honey,” Minho murmured, his fingers filling you. He started fucking you slowly, his eyes fixed to your face. Every now and then he’d let his fingers slip out of you and trail them up to your clit, circling you a few times before re-entering you again. It didn’t take long for him to build you up to your high, the more sounds you made the more he muttered along with you, “Gotta get you all relaxed so I can slip inside you…come for me, honey…then I can fill you up properly, yeah?” You clenched your eyes closed as you came, Minho’s mouth sucking a hickey into your neck as he circled your clit—drawing it out. By the time you’d come down from your high, opening your eyes again, he was between your legs—the covers well and truly abandoned now. 

“Minho?” 

He looked up from where he’d been focused on your sensitive pussy. “Mm?”

“You. I love you,” you said, voice a little shaky. 

He smirked before covering your body with his again. “Not my fingers?”

“Those too.” 

His hand moved down to pull his boxers down his ass. “What about my cock?”

“That too,” you whispered as you felt him rest his erection against your still sensitive cunt. He pressed his lips to yours, his hips rolling a little as he kissed you—his cock spreading your puffy folds as he moved. The day he’d proposed he’d kept his cock pressed to your swollen pussy as he cuddled you—leg thrown over you. He’d edged you both by grinding against your cunt until you were begging him to fill you. He liked when you begged. Tonight it seemed he was being generous because he pressed inside you without a single please required. Each of his elbows were pressed into the mattress on either side of your head, trapping you beneath him. His mouth hovered over yours as he slowly began fucking himself into you. He kept his eyes on yours as his slow deep strokes filled you.

“Should we make a baby?” He kissed you. “You wanna get back from our honeymoon already bred nice and full, hm?” Another kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him down so you could keep your mouth on his—moaning into his mouth. You’d talked about having babies one day, in the future. You were on the pill, you knew you couldn’t get pregnant right now but just the way he talked about it… like it was a real possibility; the next step in your lives together. You loved the idea of anything that would intertwine your lives together even more. You wanted to entangle yourself with him like a mess of fishing line, impossible to untangle—knotted together forever. 

“Forever…” you muttered, hips rolling to meet his thrusts. 

“Hm? What is it, my love?” 

You pulled his head down to the crook of your neck, hands entwined in the hair at the back of his head. “...Mine,” you finished, voice just above a whisper. 

“That’s right, honey,” he murmured into your skin. “Yours forever.” He sounded really out of breath now, his thrusts much shallower and faster than when you’d started. “Can you come again for me? Just once more…” 

You whimpered, pulling his head back up so you could kiss him. 

“I know…I know, baby…” he started chanting, panting into your mouth. “Gonna fill you… gonna-” His forehead dropped to yours as you felt him press all the way inside and flood you with his cum. You imagined you were off the pill, that he really was breeding you—you gasped as your second orgasm of the night took you by surprise. Minho collapsed onto you, pressing you into the mattress. 

“Heavy,” you panted, attempting to shove at his shoulders. He groaned, rolling off you. Your panting breaths were the only sounds filling the room. The only sounds. “When did the rain stop?” you asked, rolling to your side so you could rest your arm across his torso. 

“A little while ago, were you distracted?” He grinned, grasping the hand you had laid on his chest in his. 

please reblog and share your thoughts. caption, tags, replies, or ask box, i read it all. feedback is what motivates me to write more!

↳ masterlist ↳ part two: watermelon 🍉

[wanderingxiao]

-My Goddess-

NSFW, 18+ only Plz~ 

SPOILERS FOR SUMERU’S ARCHON QUEST BEWARE

Summary: Scaramouche brings you to Sumeru to have you witness his birth as a god, but he didn't plan for your reaction...

Pairing: Fatui! Scaramouche x Female Reader

Warning: Spoilers for Akasha Pulses Archon quest, foul language, god complex Scara, unprotected sex, Scara is nice but mean, degradation, creampie, and little bit of angst and fluff.

Word Count: 5.6K (How tf did this get so long)

Enjoy~

“Look at them, (Y/N)! All those tiny insects… building my chamber where I shall rule over them.” The silver blade that was normally referred to as the balladeer’s tongue was ever so gentle and caring as he gazed upon the contexts of the scholar’s creation. His pale skin shined underneath all the lights, arms outstretched marveling at the glorious creation. The mechanized machine loomed over you both, your place next to the Balladeer forever being cast out by his own shadow. He was an incredibly selfish individual. His goals were never to bring you with him in his accession into godhood. A small pawn on his chess board to dispose of. “Isn’t it magnificent? Everyone, is preparing for my birth into this world, as a god!” His tongue dripped with venomous anticipation, poisoning you to praise him, worship him, and bow before his feet like the underling you now realized you were. “Are you going to stare gawking or are you going to congratulate me on finally achieving godhood after centuries of careful planning?”

“I’m sorry, My Lord. Forgive me for my lack of words.” Your response clearly did not do much for his souring mood upon not receiving your praise. He turned his body towards you, the jingle of the bells on his hat chiming at his slow steps towards you. Your composure remained unchanged in the presence of The Balladeer, his cold expression having no effect on your heart. “Are you not happy that I am finally fulfilling my purpose for being created? I have my heart, and I will use my newfound strength… to rule over the insects of this world that grovel beneath me.” He stopped in front of you, dark lavender eyes gazing directly into your eyes that were unfortunately cast downwards. You knew he was looking, but you didn’t dare meet his gaze, remaining silent instead. This only seemed to anger The Balladeer more. “What’s troubling you? Is there something you dislike about the design? I will have it changed if that is what you want.”

“…What I want, Lord Scaramouche?” The tremble in your voice was evident, there was no hiding anymore exactly how you felt in that moment. The upcoming god could easily pick up on your changed emotions, suddenly becoming stricken with anxiety. “I… I want you back.” It was plain and simple as that. Your first meeting with The Balladeer was nothing short of fate. It was a cold day In Snezhnaya, your village near the Fatui headquarters always patrolled and watched closely. Remembering how the cold snow felt on your bare feet would forever be ingrained in your brain from that day, along with finding The Balladeer practically frozen near a river. He was welcomed into your home for 3 days, secluded due to the raging blizzard that always took the lives of any who dared challenge its icy wind laced touch. “You’re… You’re changing. You’re starting to leave me behind. You… replaced me already.”

“Huh?” His cold tone only fueled the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes, still recalling his harsh yet gentle nature as he resided in your home. He voiced his displeasure almost every minute, but he made no effort to walk out and take his chances with the vengeful blizzard. You learned a lot about him during those 3 short days. How he enjoyed bitter tea and despised anything sweet you had to offer him for dessert. The immense sorrow that lingered in his empty chest as he gazed over the stuffed animal in the house. The way he would become engrossed in reading about blade forgery, almost as if he had known about the art for centuries. And lastly, how much the all-powerful Fatui Harbinger detested insects. “What nonsense are you going on about? When did I ever give you the impression, I was every going to let you escape?”

“Just look at what you’re doing, Lord Scaramouche… you’re… ascending far beyond my reach anymore. It’s not a matter of trying to escape from you… you’re just starting to abandon me.” His breath hitched once those words left your soft lips. Never in his life did he ever think you would be saying those words to him. It was anticipated to be the other way around, but the tables had turned now. “You… praise Ms. Haypasia more than you do me…” That wasn’t true. Not to him anyways. You and that other human were completely different. She was just a mere follower, disposable, you were supposed to be by his side forever. “Even the way you look at this thing-“ You turned your head to look up at the machine that hung above. “-as if it’s your everything now. Your time with me has shortened, and the attention you once gave me has dwindled into but a small insignificant grain of dust… The gnosis, this machine… it’s your heart… I wished for you to gaze at me like that… I wished for you to stay with me until the world takes me… I wanted to be your heart.”

“No… that’s- that’s absurd!” His voice wavered just slightly, hands reaching out to grasp your arms, holding you tightly in his grasps. “You… You-“ The words kept getting caught in his throat as he tried to voice his conflicting emotions. After a few seconds of pondering for the right words, the thought died within his throat, choosing to remain silent. “I wish you… all the best, Lord Scaramouche. I’ll never forget my time with you. You will be in my thoughts always… and I’ll worship you until the day I die… I love you.” His breath caught in his throat hearing those words pass from your lips so carelessly. Throwing that phase out to him as if you weren’t about to leave him alone. His body was stiff when you suddenly placed your hands onto his cheeks, the feeling of your warm hands stunning him further. Your face was so close to his, he could feel your nervous breaths, almost hear your heartbeat hammering away at your ribcage. Your lips were soft against his own, moving gently against him even though he showed no sign of returning your affections.

Once you were gone from his touch, the world came crashing.

“You can’t leave. I forbid it.” You only gave him a sad smile, moving your hands off his cheeks. The attempt was quickly stopped by the harbingers intense grip slamming down onto your wrists to stop you. “I didn’t give you permission to leave. You are not allowed to leave my side.” His head was lowered, making it impossible for you to gaze into his dark lavender eyes and gauge exactly what he was feeling at this moment. You had an idea of what it was just by the way his hands trembled while holding you. “Lord Scaramouche, I hope you know I’m not betraying you like the others.” The grip he had on you tightened, his shoulders now trembling, still unable to gauge his emotions. You knew of his history as a puppet, and as the almighty electro archons creation. “I’m letting you go to achieve your purpose you’ve longed for. I won’t keep you grounded any longer. You’ve been through so much; you deserve this opportunity- “

“Then come with me! Let us both ascend together into godhood! Become my goddess. Rule by my side and stay!” The hurt in his voice was now clearer than ever. He was deeply troubled by your decision. To think you would ever consider leaving him drove him mad. All because of your selfless intentions not to hold him back? How absurd! Ever since he began seeing you more and more, he knew he could never let you go. That first kiss sealed his fate with you years ago. “L-Lord Sc-“ He lunged his hand forward to grab your mouth tightly, suppressing any words from coming out as he spoke. “You will be my goddess, whether you like it or not. We will become equals. Do not address me in that way again, or I will have to punish you.” Nodding quickly, your shaky fingers attempted to pry his tight grip off your mouth, slightly taken aback by his sudden outburst. A dark chuckle echoed in your ears when his lips came close to your ear. “Good… now there’s something I must take in order to properly claim you as my goddess. Something… I’ve wanted to do with you for so long.”

Your heart skipped a beat as his lips moved in slow motion in front of you.

“Your body.”

The sounds of machines in the background suddenly become more and more fuzzy as his demand came crashing onto your mind like a dozen bricks. The thrashing of your heart against your ribcage became more violent the more you imagined becoming one with Scaramouche. The relationship between you remained pure and innocent for a long time. The only thing you had ever done with him was hug him or give him a kiss on the head here and there and on very rare occasions give him a real kiss. To excel to something as serious as that? It was all too much for you to handle. You loved him. As much as you didn’t want to in the beginning you couldn’t help but fall in love with the Fatui Harbinger. Through his harsh acts and mean words, all he had ever wanted was to be loved and wanted. His walls broke when you indulged in his buried human desires.

“Kissing won’t be enough for me anymore. Once I finish claiming you… you will permanently be mine, to rule by my side forever, never to part from me. Doesn’t that sound nice? Bound to your god through body and soul. Is that what you want? Will that make you happy?” His questions were making your head spin. He knew the answers to his own questions though, it was all a means to influence you further. You didn’t need to respond to tell him how much you longed to be by his side. “It was idiotic to think you could simply leave after all we’ve been through. Even if you wanted to without such a selfishly selfless reason such as that…” His voice trailed off, slowly letting go of your mouth and replacing his cold hand against your neck, squeezing lightly. “Listen close, I will not repeat this.” He called, leaning towards your ear. His breath was hot despite his body being frigid. You shifted in his grasp, swallowed thickly before he spoke. “I love you too.”

“S…Scaramouche?” Your voice was soft and almost like a faint whisper whisked about by the clattering noise around you. That was the first time he had ever admitted such feelings towards you. His cheeks were a soft pink, scowling at you and himself in disgust over his emotionally human confession. He didn’t give you another second to speak or breathe before he attached his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. In an instant, you melted into his touch, your shaky uncertain hands coming to rest against his cold cheeks, nimble fingers edging closer and closer to his indigo locks. His hair was incredibly soft, so perfect to run your fingers through and pull. His hands came to your waist, pulling your lower body against his. His tongue slipped, parting your lips to rub against your teeth, ordering you to open your mouth for him. You obeyed him, letting him completely consume you. “M-Mmm… Scara-Mph!”

One of his hands came to grab your hair, pulling your head back until he was holding you against him, leaning you back to appropriately dominate you. Your arms wrapped around his neck quickly, scared of falling but knew he would never let you go. His tongue darted inside your mouth, swirling around your mouth in needy passion. His teeth clanked against yours as he pushed himself deeper, his tongue reaching the deepest parts of your mouth. Precious oxygen was beginning to become necessary, but you didn’t want to pull away from his blissful and loving touches. A low groan echoed into your mouth being swallowed by your small gasp of air before he closed you off again with his lips. You could feel yourself beginning to get weak in your knees, slowly falling to the floor while Scaramouche kept you close to him. He parted from you finally, a string of saliva connecting your tongues until he licked it away and swiped his tongue over his lips.

“Already weak from one kiss? Hah, how pathetic you truly are. It’s a nuisance that you’re human, that’ll change in due time if you’re going to be my goddess.” You didn’t understand what he had meant by those words, but you did know that your remaining strength dropped once he gazed into your eyes with a powerful, dominating lust. God were his eyes just hypnotizing. His gaze followed to all the workers in the large area, irking him further as he realized he had been too distracted by you. “Hey! All you pests! Get out!” His voice was booming and loud, his tone laced with toxic authority that should not be dared challenged. The workers all looked confused and exchanged glances, further angering the ascending god. “Are you all deaf? I said, get the fuck out!” The workers scurried away in fear, leaving all their tools, and exiting the area. He turned back towards you, his lips curling into a sadistic smirk. “Come, my goddess.”

“Y…Yes, Scaramouche.” You shakily rose, clambering into his arms as he drug you up into the chamber of the machines head. It was sparkling red, its contents almost like you were floating into space. He swished his hand out, the machine face closing behind you, trapping you inside with the godly creation of an archon. As soon as those doors were closed, his lips were on yours again, this time more desperate and needy. His hands were trailing up and down your body, exploring his inexperienced hands over every curve and crevice that your body hid. A sigh left his lips into your mouth, groaning at the feeling of how soft and smooth your breasts were. “Tsk. Childe is always chattering about how pleasant these feel… damn idiot was right about one thing for once.”

His hands continued to knead and squeeze your breasts, getting rougher each second hearing your soft sighs of pleasure. “Yeah? You like that don’t you? So filthy.” His lips curled and arched into a grin, his perfect teeth showing just how amused he was at how much you were loving his touch. It gave him a confidence boost. Truth be told he’d never done anything like this either, only read about from human books or got lectured about it from Childe or La Signora. “Yes, Scaramouche… it… it feels good.” He gave a raspy laugh, narrowing his eyes as you tilted your head to the side, eyes closing as you could only focus solely on the way his hands kneaded you. He took this invitation and leaned forward, his hot breath fanning over your delicate skin before sinking his teeth into you. He pushed you back against one of the walls, one hand slamming against it while his other continued to squeeze and grope. “Mmm! Wait-! Ngh…”

“No one gave you permission to talk back to your god. So hush, and be a good girl for me. Even your fragile body can do so much as that can’t it?” His voice was low and husky, his tongue slowly moving over the indentions in your flesh made by his teeth. A shiver slipped through your spine at the cool feeling of his salvia colliding with the cool air, your back arching into his greedy hands. Both his hands came and started to tear at your shirt, the sound of fabric ripping echoing in your ears that made your heart rate increase. He fumbled with the clothing that didn’t come off right away and yanked it off you, tugging and pushing your body to and from him. Once your shirt was completely off, he started to wander his eyes up and down your body, his cheeks a soft pink as his virgin eyes soaked in every bit of your untouched, pure skin. “Wow… if I had known that your body was this beautiful, I would’ve taken you for myself a long time ago. Haha, not as if I would let you go to begin with.”

“S-Scara… s-stop staring please, it’s embarrassing…” Your head turned to the side, squeezing your eyes closed trying not to focus on his hard gaze over your half-naked form. A low growl rumbled through his chest, his hands grabbing ahold of your waist tightly and leaning forward to aggressively kiss and bite your neck. “There you go again, ordering me around. Must I put you in your place the hard way?” He took a firm step forward, trapping you completely against his chest and the wall. You could only pant in response, whimpering in embarrassment as you urged your hands not to cover yourself. His head craned down, his eyes now intently staring at the gorgeous sight of your cleavage, fleshly mounds almost falling out of your bra from how they were pushed against his chest. “Let’s take this off and see the real thing, shall we?”

“O-Okay…” You pushed forward a bit, leaning into Scaramouche while his cool fingers traced up your back to find the clasps of your bra. His nimble fingers fumbled slightly, cursing under his breath trying to get the damn thing unclasped. Once he finally got the clasp undone, he pulled the back forwards, the straps adorning your shoulders becoming loose. “Shaking already? I’ve barely touched you yet.” You hadn’t even realized you were shaking until he made it known to your flushed ears. You were incredibly nervous. “There’s no need to worry so much, my dear goddess.” His hands wandered up your arms, lightly grasping the straps before pulling them down and letting your bra drop to the floor. Your hands twitched harshly upon feeling bare in front of him, the urge to cover up becoming increasingly more prominent. “Your god will take real good care of you. I’ll make sure you feel the best you ever have in your entire pathetic mortal life.”

“Y…Yes, sir.” You opened your eyes slowly, cheeks instantly flushing realizing he was staring intently at you. The deep pits of his irises lulled you in to fall deeper into the endless hole of desire and love. His eyes lowered to your bare chest, his own smooth cheeks becoming pink in surprise and embarrassment. He was starstruck. The beautiful curves and swells of your breasts were mesmerizing to him, and let’s not skip over the fact your nipples were cute and erected for him. He tested the waters of this new experience, pinching your nipple between his index and thumb, awaiting your response. A whimper fell upon his mechanical ears, his body urging him to do more for you. His fingers rolled the erect bud, causing your body to arch into his touch, a quiet moan resonating from your swollen lips. He groaned lowly at the noise. “Fuck… that’s hot. Give me more. Submit yourself to me, completely.”

His lustful actions continued, rolling and pinching your nipples while his eyes stared Intensely at your expressions, watching each and every twitch and wince of pleasure. He quickly found himself now addicted to making you feel good. Your sweet noises caused by his hands was such a turn on for him. Once he was done with your chest, he moved down to your hips, rubbing your hips soothingly before hooking his slender fingers around your panties and pants and pulled them down swiftly. A harsh shake shuddered through your body feeling more exposed before him. Of course, you’d never done anything like this before. It was all so embarrassing. For Scaramouche, it was all new and exciting. Seeing your voluptuous body on display for him, completely bare and vulnerable for him to pray on.

“You look so humiliating standing here, shaking before me. It looks as if your legs are about to give up on you.” He mused, lips curling into a sly and cocky smile watching you quiver beneath him. His dark lavender eyes trailed up and down your body, quietly admiring all your natural beauty. He couldn’t help but stare down at your nether regions, accented by tufts of swift curls. His hand came slowly, his slender fingers running over your upper thigh slowly. Your back arched in his cool touch, lip catching between your teeth trying not to cover up or run away from him. The thin digits of his hand slid across your thigh to run his finger down the middle of your folds, feeling the lewd slick that had started to gather and threaten to drip onto the floor. “It’s all wet and slippery down here. How lewd of you. Maybe I was wrong about you, maybe you are a dirty girl after all, hmm?”

“N-No… It’s… it’s because of you.” His eyes glimmered with lust hearing your confession, body involuntarily shuddering. He could feel a faint pulse in his shorts. It was at that moment he secretly thanked his creator for at least one damn thing. A dick to give you a nice, good fucking with (she really just wanted him to look as real as possible). The puppet grinned watching your shy eyes shift to meet his in a long and loving gaze, tainted with hints of lust. He leaned forward slowly not to startle you and captured your lips in an oddly soft and passionate kiss. Your body instinctively relaxed upon feeling his embrace, allowing him to slip his fingers up and inside. Your back arched into him, suddenly becoming tense and breaking the passionate kiss your lover initiated. “Ngh… f-feels weird, Scara…”

“Y-Yeah, it’s fucking tight.” His once confident voice was wavering as his finger was clenched tight by your hot gummy walls. The puppet experimented with his finger as he moved it around, feeling your cunt’s curvy walls and tight squeeze. “S-Scaramouche… Hmm.” He watched your expression closely before he added a second finger. You gave a pitiful cry of discomfort upon his second finger being added. His body shuddered, hips bucking forwards desperate to feel something, it was beginning to get painful. He used his non occupied hand and shyly placed your hand against the bulge poking out from under the metal plate that guarded his hips. The ascending god shuddered in ecstasy upon the light contact, a low growl emanating from his chest. “Touch me.” It wasn’t a request; it was an order.

“Mmm, Scara, I-it’s so… so hard.” A quiet mewl left your lips when your hand hesitantly started to rub and squeeze against the tip of his cock. Scaramouche moaned lowly against your face, a flurry of curses leaving his lips once you got more confident with him. If you were to get confident with him why not he do the same? He started thrusting his fingers into your core, his slender digits reaching deeper and deeper with every movement. You both were moaning into each other’s face, your hot breaths adding fuel to the already out of control fire of desire. “Fuck I need this. I need you.” Your lover pulled his fingers out, admiring the lewd fluid on his digits. You gasped once his fingers left, your cunt squeezing at nothing, disappointed at the loss of his fingers. A harsh clank echoed in the red sparkling space around you as Scaramouche removed the metal plate adorning his hips. “Strip me. Use your pretty shaking fingers and take off everything.”

His word was law. You began running your fingers over his chest, carefully removing the electro symbol that usually gleamed in the light against his chest. You stripped him carefully until all that was left was his shorts. The bulge was clearly now present, showing you just how big it was. His skin was so smooth without blemish or scar or scrape. His complexion was utterly perfect. He was crafted for godly hood after all. “Well? Go on. Take ‘em off. I did tell you everything didn’t I? Or is your head to far in the clouds to even comprehend your god’s order?” You shook your head before you carefully slid down the shorts that adorning Scaramouche’s thin hips. The harsh thumping of your heart echoed within your ears meeting his erect member, standing tall and proud. Your eyes shifted up to him, blushing more seeing how red his face was too. “Scara-“

“Shut up and turn around.” He roughly turned you around and grabbed your hips, pulling your ass back against his hard erection. A surprised gasp flew from your mouth feeling the touch of his length against you. His hands wandered up your back to carefully grab your hair, pulling your head back to place kisses against your shoulder and neck. “Are you ready for the main event? To become my goddess and rule by my side? Tell me.” He pulled a little harder, his voice attempting to sound dominant and hungry but only coming out as desperate and a bit nervous. A faint affirmation left your tongue, leaving the godly puppet to hastily locate your entrance with the tip of his engorged cock. “Good girl.” The tenderness of his lip caught between his teeth once he found it, slowly pushing it in before looking up to watch your reactions.

A wince escaped onto your expression, the stretch of his length in your inexperienced hole becoming overwhelming. His eyes continued to watch you closely, his grip on your hair loosening when he dropped his hand down to your hip. He could see the way your jaw clenched, the way your eyes scrunched, and it sent a flurry of panicked thoughts through his mind. He never intended to hurt you. He had heard this was supposed to be a pleasurable act, something that would deepen your relationship and make it nearly impossible for you to leave. Even though the puppet had lived through centuries, he was still a bit naive. His hips halted, hands lightly caressing you in fear that you might pull away from him.

“Hey… If you’re in pain say so. Don’t be a stubborn brat.” You shook your head and turned to gaze lovingly into his eyes with a smile. His face bloomed in a light shade of red. “P-Please continue, Scaramouche. I want you too.” He gave you a glare, tender lips turning into a deep frown out of embarrassment of your actions. He leaned forward to kiss you again, his body urging him to seal his lustful acts with a loving kiss to solidify your bond to him. He pushed his hips up until his groin was flush against the plushness of your butt. A whine of pain came to his ears, only pushing him to please you more with his lips. The tight squeeze of your velvety walls had his mind clouded in ecstasy. The temptation to begin bucking his hips into you at a ruthless pace becoming all the more irresistible. “Scara-“

“I know. Shut up and keep kissing me.” Your lips came back to his, your mouth open to allow his tongue to mark and claim you once more. You could feel him slowly pulling his length out, making you feel empty inside before he suddenly thrust his hips back inside. A quiet cry of pain fused with pleasure echoed from your throat, your lover grunting in response to the tight squeeze around his length. Your fragile mind couldn’t choose what it wanted to focus on. The way Scaramouche’s tongue easily pulls you into him or the possessive way he begins to buck his hips to push his cock to the deepest parts of your pussy. It was all so overwhelming you couldn’t help but mindlessly moan and sigh at each thrust of his hips and flick of his tongue.

“That’s it, hah, good girl.” The praise of your god sent goosebumps down your spine, the urge to gaze into eyes while he claims you urging you to attempt to turn around. He stops you quickly and pushes your shoulder harshly to keep your face away from seeing him. “Stop moving and -ngh- just enjoy what I’m giving you, hah.” Truth was he didn’t want you to see what kind of expression he was making. His brows were furrowed, cheeks a lovely shade of pink with heavy pants coming from his swollen lips. He himself was beginning to get lost in the tender squeeze of your cunt around his cock. He had never experienced something that felt so good, he would definitely find himself getting addicted to this feeling. “P-Please -mm!- wanna see you, Scara.”

“Tsk! Fine, if it’ll stop your whining.” Before you knew it, an empty feeling engulfed you before you were spun around and shoved up against the wall by your lover. He lips met yours harshly before he sheathed himself back inside, almost knocking the air out of you at the sudden action. He ruthlessly thrust his hips against yours, lewd noises coming from below you as your sexes collided again and again. A musky smell enveloped the small space of the crimson galaxy that surrounded. The sound of your sweet moans filled the former Fatui Harbinger’s ears, spurring him to become rougher and more possessive in his actions of love making. The feeling of the mushy head of his cock kissing the entrance of your cervix sent you spiraling into the depths of lust.

“Feels good, Scara, ahhh, feels so good.” Your lover’s indigo hair brushed over your forehead as he pressed against you, his deep lavender eyes burning holes into your soul from his heated, obsessive gaze. Scaramouche sighed in bliss against your face, his indigos brows furrowing while he continued to quicken his pace. “Fuck, it feels fucking ama- ngh!- amazing! You like it don’t you? Shit… like when your god makes you good like this? Yeah? Huh? Hah, hah, answer me!” Lust dripped off every word of his sharp tongue. You could only cry a feeble ‘yes’ with a meek call of his name. The lewdly wet sounds of his hips snapping against yours increased, your walls becoming tighter around his pulsing cock. “S-Scara! Hmm! Wait! Something- Somethings coming! P-Pull out!”

“Come undone for me. Ngh, yes, yes- damnit!” His thrusts began to become sloppy and mismanaged, hot and heavy pants coming out of your sexy lover. Your hands raked down his back, clawing at his skin for something to cling onto while a tight feeling began to build in your lower abdomen. Scaramouche’s hands pressed your hips against the wall, ramming his cock as deep as he could, holding you in place. His face buried into your neck, moaning uncontrollably as he neared his sweet release. “Scara, Scaramouche, p-please! Hmm!! Can’t hold it! It’s co- Ahh!” Your warning for him was cut off by a loud moan as you felt the previous buildup of pleasure snap in your abdomen. Scaramouche felt your walls tighten around him and your climax splattering onto his groin.

“Fuck!” His head fell to your chest, letting out a loud moan before giving one firm and harsh thrust inside before he could feel his length twitching, releasing all his sticky seed inside you, overflowing to the point it started to come out of your connected sexes. You both were panting heavily, holding each other tightly as you attempted to calm down from the immense emotions and feelings you both had undergone. A wave of drowsiness washed over your form, your legs numb and heavy, eyelids becoming droopy. “S-…Scara?” The god lifted his head to gaze at your tired expression. A quiet huff slipped through his nostrils as he carefully pulled out of you, a mixture of your sinful fluids splattering to the floor. You let out a soft whine at the empty yet full feeling down there. Scaramouche held you tight, supporting you and your weak state to sit against the floor, pulling some of your clothes over to cover you up. “Tsk… look how weak you’ve become after just one round. We’ll have to change that.”

“You’ve… done this before?” The pure look of disgust on his face let you know that that was not the case. He gave you a soft glare, flicking your head at your stupid accusation. “Are you stupid? No. Reading and having to babysit Childe and listen to his bratty bantering taught me more than I cared to know… but I guess it came useful after all.” You gave a sleepy smile and a small laugh, laying your head into his chest. You felt safe in his arms. Out of all the horrible things Scaramouche has done, you knew deep down that he would never even imagine hurting you. He would always protect you. “Sorry… and I’m sorry about the things I said… I just… want what is best for you, Scaramouche. You truly do deserve the best.” There was a comfortable silence that followed your apology, your lover contemplating how he should respond.

“…you really are stupid, you know that?” He gave a frustrated and annoyed sigh and pulled you closer to his thin frame, embracing you with a flustered blush on his cheeks. A soft hum came from your place on his chest, your body slowly succumbing to your drowsiness, but not before you proclaimed your love one last time. “Thank you… Scara. I love… you…” Once Scaramouche could hear your soft breathing and faint snoring, he gave a quiet sigh and lifted his gaze up to the crimson galaxy of the mechanical mask you both were confined in. He felt like his chest was about to burst open, body on fire, lips twitching uncontrollably as he held back a gentle smile, something he wished to show you. One day… when the entire world is at his feet, and the people of Teyvat worshipped only him, he would show you that gentle side of himself. When he knew it was safe.

“I… love you too, stupid idiot.”

“Are you deaf, or just stupid?”

-Scaramouche

[academically-stupid]

Avalon | Prologue

poly!bts x male!reader | vampire!AU | reader x vampire!bts | ot7 x male!reader

Caught one night when bathing in the river by his home M/n is taken by a group of men. Realising the situation he has found himself in, M/n's number one priority is getting out of there alive. Easier said than done when you've got to get past seven bloodthirsty and ridiculously horny vampires hellbent on making him their newest blood bag.

A/N: I got inspired while reading @colormepurplex2 's series, so go show her some support!! This is my first fic so pls give me advice or write if you notice any mistakes. Yess DPR IAN is my face claim for M/n, I love this man too much. Thank you thank you, enjoy!

His hands trembled as he followed the black-haired man down the hallway, thoughts running and changing faster than his mind could keep up with. Was this it? Was this where his life would end? Not that there was much of a life to begin with, but he had so many things he had yet to do, so many sights and places he hoped he would one day be able to see, even if only for a moment.

Stopping in front of a large oak door he paused, leaving a good distance between him and his kidnappers, just what did they want with him? If they were going to kill him then do it already? Why make him wait, why prolong the inevitable?

The man in front of him sighed, causing him to freeze up. Shit. Did he say something? Has he somehow made his situation even worse by making it seem as though he had not been listening, choosing to actively ignore the all-powerful man in front of him? The man who held his very life in the palm of his hands, free to do with it as he pleased. Free to end it any way he wanted. 

“You know," he said, looking back at him "for someone who doesn’t speak, you sure do have a lot to say”. Turning around he opened the door, with the taller man begrudgingly following shortly behind.

Beautiful. Truly whoever had decorated this building- this mansion- deserved the highest of praise. Deep maroon walls surrounded him, the colour seeming to match the aura of the brooding man before him. Only one window seemed visible, and even then, the curtains that hung from the high ceilings, cascading like a bloody waterfall, seemed to cover what little light managed to fight its way through.

“Well, are you going to come in or am I going to have to pull you in here myself?” Was all he said, cocking his head slightly, as though giving him a choice. Quickly he shuffled in as fast as his feet could make him. The illusion of a choice

Sure he didn’t really think this would in any way put a stop to his inevitable doom, but maybe listening to them would make the end less painful. Even if it sounded stupid in his head, the idea of there being even the slightest chance at a painless end spurred him to bite his tongue and do as the men told him.

Sitting down on the bed that stood in the middle of the room, the centrepiece, the man gestured to the space in front of him. Too close. He wanted him far too close for his liking. But what choice did he have? 

Begrudgingly he slowly made his way towards the man. Though perhaps he was too slow because the next thing he knows he’s being pulled by the arm, tripping over his own feet, falling to his knees in front of a now annoyed vampire. Shit.

A rhetorical question. He was obviously not expecting an answer from the man kneeling before him who had yet to say a single word. Did he not know that staying silent was useless, that he could hear his thoughts over the span of an entire forest? The very thing that got him into this situation in the first place? 

‘No’ Yoongi thought to himself, letting out a deep breath of frustration. There had to be more to it.

Of all the people Namjoon could have chosen from, why had it been him who was stuck on babysitting duty? No, babysitting was the wrong word for his current situation. The way that the man in front of him carried himself. The way he kept his legs tucked underneath him, hands clasped together on his thighs, the slight tremble visible only to the perseptive eyes of him and his brothers.

This felt closer to pet sitting if anything. He had not been blind to the way that he always kept a safe distance between himself and any of the guys in the house. Sighing he got up, for once having enough of the silence. The man was quick to jump to his feet. Whether to fight, run or hide Yoongi wasn’t certain.

"Stay here," he said walking towards the door he just came from. He had heard the front door open and close shut, signaling the return of the others. "I'll be right back, and I think we both know it would be in your best interest to stay put."

And with that, the door was closed. Sealing yet another victims fate.

Yet something kept bother Yoongi, as he walked down the corridor towards his brothers study, where the rest of them were bound to already be lounging about.

Why was this new humans scent so enticing? Was it even healthy for a living breathing human being to smell that much like death? Whatever it was Yoongi knew they were going to figure it out, with or without your cooperation.

One thing was for sure though;

This was gonna be a pain.