#she owns the dress she dies in currently

[radiance1]

Vlad Masters has died.

Or at the very least, that is what the upper class was lead to believe. Could you blame them? His death was wildly convincing, and the thing was.

No one knew who would inherit Vladco and his fortune.

As far as they knew, Masters never had any heirs to speak of at all. Not even an illegitimate child, or a foster care. He doesn't even have relatives that the fortune and company could go to.

So, safe to say, they were quite looking forwards to what would happen to the company. Would it sink, or stay afloat?

Now, normally, Damian wouldn't have cared a single bit about what would happen. But seeing as he is forced to go to an event held at the very dead Vlad Masters' mansion, he thinks he should have the right to see what'll happen.

The company's various stockholders were all gathered together, as well as Lex Luthor and other rich upper-class individuals. He knows that Vlad and Lex didn't like each other very well, so he thinks that Lex Luthor may or may not be backing the biggest current stockholder so that he'll have a say in the man's company when they take over.

Honestly, the event was pretty boring. He thought there would be... more, happening. Considering the context of this event.

So, he leaves. He's really just exploring to stave off his boredom, but if he found Vlad Masters' secrets before his death, well. Might as well, really.

He comes upon a room filled wall to wall with merchandise that screamed Masters was a packers fan before his death. Quite the large one at that as well. He picked up one item just to take a look at it, it wasn't something he was too interested in, but it was sort of impressive.

He turned when he heard the door open behind him, and saw a girl that was probably around his age staring at him with concern.

The thing is, she wasn't dressed like a guest. Or even a maid. She was dressed like a poor person.

So obviously he thought she was breaking in to find things to steal and sell off.

"I'm telling dad you tried stealing his packers merch." And with that, the girl was off, and Damian found himself running after her.

Why?

Boredom.

But also, father? He genuinely considers who she was talking about, clearly it couldn't have been anyone participating in the event, so was he also another thief that wanted to steal from Masters?

What sort of thief reveals they have another roaming around where they're stealing from? And their blood relation at that?

He realized that they were running towards where all the guests were gathered, and Damian thought that this girl was either lost, or genuinely didn't know what she was doing.

"Dad! Some kid is trying to steal your merchandise!" Said the girl, slamming open the doors and causing the attention of everyone present to fall directly on her as she paused.

Damian couldn't see it, but he thinks she's quite stupefied in that moment, paused on her pause. It was completely, and utterly quiet for a moment as the guests stared at her, and she stared back.

However, the next moment. The very detailed coffin laying in the center of the room suddenly swung itself open with a great pillar of green fire that reached the ceiling, causing his attention to switch over to it.

He saw lines on the floor around the coffin, lines that he previously ignored as some kind of design choice.

Lines that were filled with a liquid none to dissimilar to Lazarous Water.

A hand reached out of the coffin. "WHO DARES TO TOUCH MY PRECIOUS MERCHANDISE!?" And from beyond the grave the previously dead now arisen body of Vlad Masters pulled himself out of his own coffin, with inhumane red eyes.

So. Damian came to two conclusions that night.

One, Vlad Masters may or may not have had ties with the League of Assassins in some way, leading to his now ressurection.

Two, Vlad Masters has a daughter that was extremely well hidden from basically everyone present at the gathering and, maybe even the world at large.

[starogeorgina]

𝐔𝐧𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧

Paring: Aemond Targaryen × Targaryen reader, minor Daemon Targaryen × Targaryen reader

Warnings: Swearing, kidnapping, self harm

1.03

“Shh, shh,” you try to gently rock Daenys to sleep. “Please, calm down, sweet girl.”

Your daughter was brought to you in the early hours since she woke up fussy and wouldn’t latch onto the wet nurse. Luckily, she fed from your breast without issue, but your silver-haired baby was still unhappy and crying. From the flush in Daeny's cheeks and the redness in her gums, you suspect she has started teething.

“Princess,” one of the handmaids approaches you while nervously pulling on the sleeve of her dress. You often wonder how the servants who followed Rhaenyra to Dragonstone felt watching the way their beloved princess was treated. “The maester wishes to speak with you as a matter of urgency. There is a wet nurse in the room down the hall; would you like me to take Daenys to her while you dress?”

Reluctantly, you nod and hand your daughter over to the younger woman. As soon as you’re left alone, you bring the faded nightgown over your head and redress yourself, choosing to put on the light grey gown you were wearing the night you were taken. It was made to accommodate the swell of your stomach, and now the extra fabric hung loose down the front. You had others to choose from, but it was one of the only items you had that was truly yours.

In every passing moon, the maester would examine you for any sign of pregnancy, which was humiliating, so you’d at least attempt to try and maintain a shred of dignity. You comb your hair with your fingers and try to straighten out the creases on your dress. Just as you finish adjusting yourself, the door to the room opens, and the maester, followed by a handmaiden, enters.

—

You were cursed by the ghosts of your father's blindness and your mother's lies. Your mother claimed that before King Viserys died, he declared he wanted Aegon on the throne, and all the men who deemed a woman unfit to rule believed her. Your father turned a blind eye to your family's scheming for years, and now the future of the realm would be full of war, murder, and misery.

As you dig your nails into the palm of your hand to stop yourself from screaming, blaming your parents for this situation was an easy option. If the throne wasn’t usurped, then envoys would never have been sent; Lucerys would still be alive, as would Jaehaerys, and you and your daughter would be safe in Aemond’s arms.

And if your father had been stronger-willed, none of it would have happened.

Being so caught up in your own thoughts, you don’t notice Prince Daemon entering the room. It’s not until you feel his presence beside you that you finally address him, “What is it?”

“A raven arrived from the red keep; one of my little spies has informed Criston Cole and your cunt of a husband that we have taken you north.”

No, no, no.

“They are currently gathering the green forces and will leave in a couple of days. Which means the false king won’t have that hoary old bitch, Vhagar, to hide behind. With only Sunfyre on his side, we can easily take the city back with the mere threat of Caraxes, Syrax, Vermax, Moondancer, and Tyraxes.”

“Need I remind you, uncle, which side my dragon is on?”

Gripping your jaw tightly, Daemon shoved you against the wall. “Need I remind you, niece, that you’re nothing more than a prisoner? I’ve spared your daughter's life, something the fucking kinslayer didn’t do for Luccerys.”

You slap his hand away and say, “You’ve got what you wanted; you're getting another child. Do not fucking touch me again.”

Daemon places both hands firmly on the wall beside your head, caging you in. His eyes flickered over you; he didn’t quite believe what you just said. “The maester confirmed this?”

“I haven’t bled in two moons; the maester is convinced my stomach will swell again soon.” Sarcastically, you add, “Congratulations; I hope you're as excited as I am.”

—

After speaking with the maester himself, Daemon kept his original promise and had you move to a larger, more comfortable bedchamber with crimson colors and dragon decor, and soon a crib would be brought in and your daughter would join you. All you cared about was keeping Daenys close.

You feel the lavish oils soothing the ache in your shoulders when one of the handmaidens rubs them onto your skin. This was the first time in many moons you had bathed properly, and the luxury of having a clean body, hair, and clothing wasn’t something you’d take for granted again.

“My Prince,” the handmaiden nods her head at him, then attempts to cover you up with a towel, causing your uncle to chuckle.

“It’s considered bad manners to interrupt a lady while she’s bathing.”

“It’s nothing new," he says as he stands at the bottom of the tub, showing no attempt to advertise his gaze from your bare breasts. “Perhaps I wanted to join you in bathing.”

“I’d rather you drowned me.“

Aemond smirks, “Leave us.”

The handmaiden gives you an apologetic look, then leaves. No matter how many times Daemon spilled his seed inside you, the reality of carrying his child never felt real until now. You’d already suffered on the birthing bed out of duty; now you’d be doing it again to keep Daenys safe. You don’t even realize you’re crying until you taste the salty tears on your lips. “What happens if this pregnancy doesn’t end well?”

“What do you mean?”

“I had two other daughters once; both of them died.”

Daemon comes to the side of the tub and crouches down so he’s eye level with you. “I wasn’t aware.”

Red blotches appear on your chest and neck as you struggle to stop your voice from cracking. “The first girl's name was Anya; she came early after three days of labor.”

Your mother had remained by your side throughout your labor, and the look of horror on her face when she saw the ‘thing’ you delivered would be forever etched in your mind. Anya’s skin was covered in small scars that looked similar to dragon scales. But no matter how monstrous she may have appeared to others, you thought she was beautiful. Against the maesters advice, Aemond visited you before the silent sisters had come to take the baby, and it was the first time since the night he lost his eyes that you’d seen him cry.

“I gave birth to Rhaella the following year; she was born at the end of the fall but was taken by the winter fever.“

The expression on Daemon’s face was hard to read; he himself knew of the pain you and Aemond have suffered from losing a baby. And you could only begin to imagine the grief and suffering the blacks felt after Lucery's death. “And news of this never reached Dragonstone?”

Your eyes sting from crying. “Our family has always been divided; who would have told you?”

“My brother.”

“Ha,” you scoff. “You saw what my father was like in the end. He had consumed so much milk from the poppy that he became oblivious to everything around him; the only person he ever wished to speak with was Rhaenyra.”

Frowning, he skims his finger over the water.

“I feared I would never again bear a living child, but the gods blessed me with Daenys. But I shall ask again, uncle, What will happen if this pregnancy doesn’t end well?”

“You do not want to find out, niece.”

[cobragardens]

The Colors of Crowley

Black is the color Crowley uses to cover himself, red is the color that represents Crowley to himself, and yellow is the color that represents Crowley to Aziraphale. What each color symbolizes and how it's used give us important information about Crowley (and to some degree Aziraphale) and about the ineffable relationship.

I feel kind of dumb writing this post because I'm sure it's glaringly obvious to everyone else, but there's this Metro UK article of all things (the Metro is owned by the hardcore rightwing Daily Mail, btw, so please don't link to it) that mentions the red stitching on Crowley's gloves in 1867, and it made conscious some details I had only subconsciously noted, so fwiw to anybody else, here are my notes on the colors associated with Crowley in Good Omens and their significance in the context of the way each one is used.

I don't think we need to cover black-as-evil in Western color symbology. [And yet here's a long-ass paragraph about it anyway! --Ed.] Light:dark::good:evil has been a thing with Christianity since before Christianity was even Judaism. The Israelites picked it up from the Zoroastrians way back before YHWH had subsumed El as 'God,' which may have been before they were Israelites as well; I mean it was a LONG time ago. Good Omens has been using black and white to represent Hell and Heaven, respectively, long before the show. In the UK, the book was published in paperback with a choice of black or white cover with an illustration of the contrasting character in the contrasting color: Crowley illustrated in black, Aziraphale in white. The current hardcover is grey.

Crowley wears black, and the Bentley is black. At the metanarrative or authorial level this is obviously for the purposes of the black/white demon/angel contrast, but on the intra-narrative level, the Watsonian level, it's interesting to note that Crowley doesn't have to wear black. He's obviously not free to choose from the full color palette, but Furfur's shirt and sash are is dark emerald green, Dagon is in ultramarine (as befits a marine Elder God), and Shax has only been on Earth for four years before she's wearing head-to-toe oxblood. When she shows up later in battle dress she's got a lot of oxblood there, too. And yet Crowley wears black.

Authorial reasons aside, black suits Crowley for a couple intra-narrative reasons. For much of history, black was the most expensive color to dye and maintain in clothing, and as a result it has always been fashionable. And for several centuries in Christendom, wearing black was also a sign that you were in mourning, which was a social and religious obligation when someone close to you died. Whether you could wear other colors with it depended on how long ago that death had occurred.

Again: black is what Crowley chooses to cover himself, and as there is a sharp distinction between how Crowley presents himself to fulfill his obligations and who he thinks of himself as being, there is likewise a distinction between the colors that represent those two quantities as well.

Red is the color the show uses to represent Crowley to Crowley. The most obvious reason is his hair. This is another change from Book Omens, where Crowley is described as having hair that is "dark." A lot of fans in the UK hated the change when S1 came out because fans hate change and the British have a thing against gingers, but Crowley's red hair suits him better than dark imo because the Mother of Demons in Jewish religious literature, Lilith, is traditionally depicted with red hair. Red hair has been associated for more than a millenium in the Middle East and England and Wales with sorcery, witchcraft, demonic influence/possession, and satan-worship.

Crowley wishes his mom was this cool with snakes.

A good case can be made that Crowley genuinely likes the color red in addition to considering it demonically appropriate. I say this for three reasons. Firstly, because when he has a (limited) choice of (again, demonically appropriate) colors, he always chooses red. The marble of the desk in his apartment is not green or grey. He can have any color stitching on his gloves or lining of his jacket collar he wants, but it's always red. Secondly, it's not only red he chooses, it's almost always bright red.

We know Crowley's red isn't supposed to represent blood or violence, because we have another demon character whose use of red represents just that, and it's not the same red:

Compare Shax' oxblood and burgundy to

and

and

and

Crowley's red isn't just red, it's lipstick, cherry, crimson red. And in case we weren't sure that we should read this red as symbolizing passionate, romantic love:

Romantic symbolism aside, bright red is also the color of passion (romantic or otherwise), optimism, heat, vitality, life, (hell)fire, and warning.

Red and black says don't fuck with Jack.

The third reason I think we can safely say that Crowley actually likes the color red is that he hides it. It's always tiny little touches, some of which you have to look for to see. (I still don't know where they snuck in the red on his Elizabethan habit, e.g.) And we know this color is a risk for him, and that he is right to hide it, because Ligur, who doesn't approve of any of Crowley's less-than-fully-demonic embellishments and may share Hastur's opinion that Crowley has gone native, comments on one of Crowley's more noticeably colorful items.

And I think the red tells us one more thing about Crowley, too.

Bright red is the colorest of colors, you know? When we can choose only one color to represent all colors, to represent colorfulness itself, we choose bright red (even in cultures where red symbolizes other meanings than it does in Western art).

Remember how Aziraphale gives Crowley's jacket a tartan collar when he swaps bodies with Crowley and impersonates him in Hell because Aziraphale feels the need to maintain some small secret token of his identity, some tiny unremarked sign of something he loves and thinks is beautiful, when he is down there alone in the gloom among enemies?

Crowley is down there alone among enemies every second of every day and night, whether he's in Hell or on Earth. And he's already had his identity stripped from him once. If you were someone who said

about this

and then you got recruited by the fash downstairs bc the fash upstairs threw you out for not being fashy enough and you had to start wearing nothing but dark colors and more importantly had to hide everything that made you feel warmth or softness or joy, and that was it, that was the deal for eternity, but you could add one (1) little touch to everything you wore to remind yourself that there is some beautiful part of you left, something you loved once, that no one has yet been able to steal or brutalize out of you...what color would the stitching on your gloves be?

Lastly, Yellow represents Crowley to Aziraphale. I'm going to skip the chain of evidence for this bc I think it's obvious, but the way it's used also lends itself to some inferences supported in other areas in the show.

Here's where I think changing Crowley's hair to red from Book Omens' dark is a good decision in another way. Crowley always has red hair, and if he has any color in his clothes it's going to be red. Red is eye-catching; it always stands out, but it doesn't stand out as demonic. And yet the color Aziraphale associates with Crowley and calls "pretty" isn't red.

I suspect that when Aziraphale says he can make Crowley an angel again, Crowley hears "You're not good enough for me to accept you as you are, let me fix you" because these are words Aziraphale has said to him many times, and has meant some of those times. But

tells the audience differently. The color Aziraphale associates with Crowley, the color he calls "pretty," is the color of Crowley's only overtly demonic feature. Aziraphale doesn't love the angel he knew who isn't Crowley, he loves Crowley, the demon, the person he is now, his yellow demon irises.

Yellow appears in three other places in S2, and they're all symbolically significant, and in fact serve to establish another symbolic significance to the color yellow in addition to that of Yellow Is the Color of My True Love's Eyes.

One of them is a feather duster:

Crowley reacts to a feather duster like a cat confronted by an unfamiliar object

The other three are private conversations between Aziraphale and Crowley:

The walls that surround Crowley and Aziraphale when they speak openly about their situation and how they will handle it are drenched in yellow, and that is super interesting, because in Western color symbolism yellow is the color of fear. The archangel of whom Crowley and Aziraphale are both (rightly) terrified wields a tool the color of fear. The color of fear saturates the backdrop of conversations between Aziraphale and Crowley when they have to discuss their situation and their actions openly.

Remember how Aziraphale's voice shakes here?

Crowley realizes the crows have just handed an angel evidence the angel can take to Hell and use to have Crowley killed

Even the Bentley, that clear sign of Aziraphale's love for Crowley, is also a yellow coffin enclosing him. For Aziraphale, thoughts of Crowley are always entangled with fear, because Crowley is not just Crowley, he is also Crowley's Fall.

And I think fear is what Crowley's eyes themselves represent. For Crowley, fear is now a fundamental part of his perception, his nature, his identity.

The angel Aziraphale once knew is not Crowley, and yet from what we've seen, the chiefest difference in character between this sweetheart and this mischief-maker--

--is that the Starmaker does not know yet that he should be afraid, and the Serpent does. That knowledge and its fear has, shall we say, colored his view of the world.

Aziraphale learns that fear early by observing others rather than Falling himself, and knows enough that by the first time we meet him in the Before, he is already afraid.

Pink was once symbolically equivalent to red; in modern Western color symbology it is a color of innocence, youth, beauty, and first love. Hashtag just sayin'.

The cruellest thing this suggests to me is that, rather than rebellion or his propensity to ask questions, rather than the knowledge of good and evil, the Starmaker's Fall was caused by his innocence. it wasn't the questions that were the problem: it was that he didn't know any better than to speak them out loud.

Y'all, Crowley and Aziraphale do not suffer from communication problems. Despite both being male-coded and British, they don't even seem to lack emotional intelligence. What they do have is a universe of silence and fear they have to communicate within and around. What they lack is the safety to speak and love freely. The true color of Crowley is crimson, but someone gave him those eyes, and Aziraphale either watched that happen or knew about it, and now Crowley covers himself in black--which btw is also the symbolic color for mystery and secrets--and only lets Aziraphale see him as he really is now, because Aziraphale won't judge him for his yellow eyes (or punish and forsake him for his questions). Because Aziraphale carries that fear with him too.

[writingsfrombeyondthegrave]

An Accidental Haunting

Astrid Deetz x Ghost!Reader

Summary- After your daily stroll through the cemetery to pass the time, you overhear a conversation between Astrid and her mother. Fearing that she would do something terrible to herself, you follow her home and make sure to keep her safe.

Warnings- Reader was m*urdered, specifics about readers death and markings, Su*cide mentions, mentions of death and the afterlife.

Your afterlife had been relatively uneventful since your death. It had been 12 years since you died, and you had a pretty good routine down now. After you check on your parents you would go to the cemetery and talk to the wandering spirits there. Often times you were a comfortable distraction to their sorrows.

Currently there was a funeral going on and you pretended to blend into the background, hiding behind the group of living people. Your outfit stuck out more than you'd like. An old AC/DC shirt and green flannel overtop of black ripped jeans. Thinking back, you should've dressed nicer for your final moments alive.

The funeral in question was for a "Charles Deetz", which you had heard of before, having been a part of the family that lived in the famous Ghost House. He had been eaten alive by a shark, which seemed pretty gnarly. You were only partially listening to his widowed wife Deelia droning on about how much she couldn't live without him. By the end of the speech, she was pulled aside and talked about how she couldn't wait to form an art piece around her suffering. Thats when you decided you had heard enough and began to roam around the cemetery again.

Astrid sat far away from the group after the funeral had dispersed. Her head was tilted towards the dirt, and she had a deep scowl on her lips. Clearly this man had meant a lot to her and her family, so naturally you felt bad and walked a bit closer.

Lydia came over to comfort her daughter and sat beside her. She looked over at Astrid in silence before speaking up quietly. "Death is hard"

Astrid responded emotionlessly, not making eye contact with the woman beside her. "Yeah, sometimes I think life is harder"

Your eyes widened and you took a step back, shocked by her response. It's not that you didn't agree with her to some extent, it was just different hearing it from someone else. After a moment of the world moving without you, you finally snapped out of it to see them both walking back home and quickly followed.

Their house was crowded with people, all talking to each other with frowns. Mourning had always been an odd concept for you to understand. It was even odd during your own funeral. Comforting people was easy enough because they all wanted to hear the same things. "You'll be alright, this sadness will pass", "They're in a better place now, it's good that they're not in pain anymore". It was all a routine you used to comfort people both in life and death.

Being a psychic yourself, you felt as if it was your responsibility to help people both living and deceased, even after you had died. Now was your mission to help Astrid. She was a stranger, yes, but you just couldn't help yourself for some reason.

Astrid sat at one of the tables away from the crowd, mindlessly twirling a tassel on the end of the tablecloth. She clearly didn't want to hear the routine speeches you had on the tip of your tongue, so you stood away and just simply watched to make sure she was alright.

A frown graced your lips as time ticked by seemingly without change before she finally made her way into the kitchen. There was luckily no one hanging around in there when Astrid eyed the knife on the countertop. After a deep breath, she reached out to grab it. This certainly wasn't how you expected her to end her life, especially since there was a crowd outside.

Without thinking you leaped forward and swatted the knife out of her hand. It imbedded itself into the plaster and you smirked, proud of your work.

She stared at it with wide eyes before groaning, clearly more annoyed than spooked. Her day was already hard enough and now she was imagining things. Prying the knife out of the wall proved futile and she closed her eyes, plopping down in the chair with defeat. All she wanted right not was to make a simple meal, but the world seemed to be against her.

A short laugh echoed through the room and her head shot up, searching for the source of it. Was she hearing things now too?

Days had passed with your attempts to save her life.

Astrid grabbed a rope to hang the skeleton for Halloween and it kept falling from the rafter 'mysteriously'.

Another time, she went to the attic to grab a box of heavy photo albums, piled up so high that she couldn't see past them. You graciously knocked the top ones off so she could see better. Yet another inconvenience and strange occurrence in this house, but Astrid continued to ignore it and just picked up the books after she had placed the box on the floor.

One time the gas on the stove kept turning off whenever she would turn away to grab an ingredient.

Eventually she had had enough of the house, her mother getting remarried, the death of her grandfather. She felt stifled and had to get away, so she went to the only place that felt normal to her anymore. She had a date with Jeremy that night anyway.

You watched her leave with a groan, tossing your hands in the air to no avail as she still couldn't see you. "Him, really? He's a murderer!" you cupped your hands around your mouth to yell, only gaining the attention of an elderly deceased lady walking by the end of the street. you laughed awkwardly and returned to the house. Thankfully you couldn't show embarrassment with no blood rushing through your veins.

You had decided not to follow her on her date, not wanting to be seen as some sort of stalker. Sadly, you soon regretted that as time ticked by. It felt like years as you waited in the house for her to return. The nicknacks on her desk kept you entertained for the time being, but you were quickly getting bored again as you walked to her bookshelf.

Halloween used to be your favorite holiday. Yet looking outside now and watching the trick or treaters smile and live their lives made you grow more depressed than you'd like to admit.

You could go out there, but you had a mission to save Astrids life and you needed to be here when she returned. You could never forgive yourself if she died.

If you were alive, your feet would have ached with how much pacing you were doing. The book you had taken from the shelf was about morbid and unsolved deaths throughout the United States, which did pique your interest at least.

The door to her bedroom swung open and Astrid stood in the doorway wearing her Marie Curie dress which was absolutely covered in dirt and decay. You couldn't help but smile at seeing her alive still, while her eyes widened comically and raked over your entire figure meticulously. Your smile soon dropped as you finally noticed the state she was in.

"I could've told you he was bad news" You shrugged your shoulders, trying to ease the awkwardness with conversation. The silence between you two loomed on for minutes before your smile returned. "So, you can see me now, huh?"

All the response she provided was a small nod, barely moving. You looked down to see your shirt, having momentarily forgotten the state you were always in. There were several stab marks in your stomach with blood covering the lower half of your shirt where it was torn. Quickly covering yourself with your flannel, you tried to turn away. "It's not a pretty sight, I know. But by now you know it's not exactly a Halloween costume" You joked, wanting her to say anything at this point to ease your ever-growing anxiety.

Astrid walked further into her room and shut the door behind her. She sat on her bed and her dress billowed out around her, kicking dust up around her. You laughed, not being able to help it. "I'm guessing you've been to the afterlife? I must say, you're the prettiest corpse I've seen in years" Her eyes lit up, just barely at your comment and she cracked a small smile at that, patting the spot beside her for you to sit.

You obliged but kept your distance, afraid to scare her more after the clearly traumatic experience she had.

Moments went by in comfortable silence before she spoke. "Why... did you get killed?" The words were soft and barely audible, but you picked up on it from a mile away, turning to look at her.

"People fear what they do not understand" You replied simply.

"Isn't that from To Kill a Mockingjay?" She smiled widely, having gotten over her anxiousness a bit more now.

You laughed. "Actually, I was quoting Batman Begins, it was one of my favorite movies as a child." A beat passed before a smirk grew on your lips. "But let's go with your idea, it makes me seem deeper and more mysterious"

You both laughed together, smiling brightly at the other.

Part 2

A/N: This was partially written when I was sleep deprived at 2am, so if there are a lot of mistakes I apologize. Not sure if this was platonic or romantic so you guys get to choose that. I also kept the reader GN but if you'd specifically like a female or male reader, specify when requesting please!

Please like/comment/repost and let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is always encouraged and appreciated. If I left out any important trigger warnings let me know and ill add them.

Credits:

Graveyard and Ghosts Dividers- @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Header- Me

[heesdreamer]

skin on skin

PAIRING ➩ jake x reader

GENRE ➩ religious corruption au, church boy jake au, evil reader

WARNINGS ➩ heavy criticism of religion in an extreme exaggerated manner, manipulation, multiple smut scenes, the mc is straight up mean and evil and says mean things all the time lol. parental and spousal abuse… think that’s it maybe lol it’s an intense read

WC ➩ 20.4k (😵‍💫)

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ the spacing is a bit weird because apparently this exceeded the length amount in tumblr… i don’t care about your think pieces on religion or the way it’s discussed in this so please don’t try to educate me on the actual ways of christianity! it’s a story! that being said this is in no way making a mockery of jake and his religion. this is my favorite story ive ever done and i had a good time writing it which is rare lately so i really hope you enjoy it and if you make it to the end let me know what you think! hope you like it as much as i do

It wasn’t like you came out of the womb with horns and a little forked tail.

The nurses didn’t scream in terror and your mother didn’t faint at the sight of you, it wasn’t some grand discovery that anybody could see or anybody could plan for.

You made it through your formative years relatively normal, or at least as normal as you could be considering who your father was. But it wasn’t until middle school when you realized how different kids would treat you because of this.

Those were your favorite years you could remember. The half decade before anybody cared, or knew enough to care, what it meant for you to be who you were. Then you were old enough to have consciousness and design your own set of morals, something all the parents in your town dreaded.

Your town was barely that, more so a few neighborhoods sprawled across barren lands with more fields and trees than concrete and signs of the modern world that had seemingly developed everywhere, except for where you’d been born.

Sometimes you wondered if you’d been cursed to stay here forever. It seemed like everybody who was born here, died here, but unlike you they all seemed pretty content with this fact. Proud even, the elders stating the amount of years and generations they’d own their rusty old homes like it didn’t create a nasty pit in your stomach.

Time was frozen and the world had moved on, leaving all 2,000 of you behind to die and birth and die again until eventually the last generation killed themselves off in an act of sympathy, a mercy slaughter.

It was probably immoral to be thinking about your entire town dying whilst in church. But you didn’t think much about the implication of having sinful thoughts anywhere, regardless of how many crosses were currently burning stares into your back.

More than 70% of your life was spent inside these four walls, on this exact weathered seat on this same old pew.

See, when turned 12 years old and the kids at school made you aware of the fact your dad was the lead preacher at the only church in town, you figured this made you some sort of royalty.

Not once did you feel the overwhelming holy presence of god that everybody else seemed to be experiencing everyday after school and work when you all settled in together to listen to your fathers teachings.

You’d sit with a scowl on your face, turning around in the front row pew reserved for the preachers family and you’d observe the people around you. You knew everybody in your town, some more than others, but you always thought people looked different when they prayed.

The nice man who worked at the grocery store looked far more guilty and weathered with his eyes closed and the angry woman two blocks away who yelled at the kids riding their bikes too close to her sprinklers, looked peaceful like she was talking to an old friend.

Your mother would hiss under her breath in an attempt to catch your attention, sending soft pinches to your thighs until you’d begrudgingly turn back in your seat and plop down in your puffy dress, tuning out the sound of your fathers loud voice.

Looking back on it now, your mother seemed to notice the dark parts of you brewing before you even did. The two of you never saw eye to eye and despite the fact you were her only child, much to her dismay considering they tried for years after your birth to have another but to no avail, she never treated you with any sort of motherly warmth or kindness.

She’d glare at you from across the dinner table while her and your father conjoined hands and thanked the lord for the meal that your mother had cooked. You’d started to sit on your hands at dinner when you were 7 years old and what once was a cute misbehaving habit quickly became the warning sign of your future endeavors.

Still, part of being the preachers family was playing an act. So you’d all get up early in the mornings and wordlessly move around the house like the backstage of a play, dressing the part and giving bright smiles to each family that walked through the doorway on Sunday morning.

Your mother would stand behind you with a long stretched out smile, hands on your thin shoulders as she dug her nails down every time she felt you tense up at a greeting.

Then you were 16 and for the first time in your life, you heard her voice the thing you’d always assumed she believed. You stood in the hallway in your nightgown, standing stiff as a board to avoid the creaking wood of your old house, peering around a dimly lit corner to hear your parents conversation more clearly.

“She hasn’t done anything wrong Mary.” Your fathers rough low voice was flowing in your direction, sounding tired and agitated. You could vaguely hear the sounds of his rough hands rubbing over his unshaven scruff in frustration.

“She will.” Your mother sounded panicked and alert, desperate for him to understand her case. “I can’t explain it but she has this darkness in her, I’ve felt it ever since I was pregnant.”

Your breath caught in your throat as they spoke, understanding now they were referring to you. You were only slightly surprised, no grand feelings of fear or betrayal arising.

That nights conversation had ended with your mother in a fit of tears and your father uttering words of reassurance in an attempt to calm her down as you used the sounds of her loud sobs to sneak back to your room, getting under the covers and blowing out the candles by the time your father was opening your door to insure you were in bed.

He’d stood there for a few minutes, the door cracked with his hand on the knob. Do this day you wondered what he was waiting for. Maybe he was expecting you to talk in your sleep or he was trying to get some sense of the evil your mother was spewing about, but eventually you heard his tired sigh and the door shutting.

It’d been three years now since that conversation and you still hadn’t fully understood the evil your mother was referring to. You didn’t believe in god, that much had been clear to you from a very early age but you didn’t believe in the devil either.

You didn’t feel things maybe you should be feeling, sadness when an elder passed away unexpectedly or happiness when a new baby was born into the community. You didn’t feel pain when your mother shot you looks of disgust and you only felt slight jolts of satisfaction when she leapt in fear every time you entered a quiet room.

The seed of evil that was apparently inside of you never bloomed, no matter how much you waited for its arrival.

Until the day the Sim’s arrived to town.

It was extremely rare for somebody to move out of your hometown, and you’d been instructed to never speak about the families that left, to let yourself forget their names and faces. Forget any interaction you’d had with them now that they were gone.

But you’d never once contemplated the fact that it was possible to move here willingly. It hadn’t occurred to you that somebody would choose this place to live and that they’d be allowed to stay peacefully, and especially not given a grand welcome.

So you felt yourself uncharacteristically thrown off guard as you found yourself at church on a Saturday, typically your only day you weren’t required to be here. You’d spend these days down by the creek or riding around the abandoned section of town on your bike, trying to find something interesting to see.

As you stood near the stage, where your fathers podium was perfectly centered and polished, greeting the usual faces with a forced smile, your eyes landed on the most interesting sight you’d ever seen.

The Sim’s were a direct mirror of your family as they stood in front of you. Only three of them, a tall man giving your father a sturdy handshake and laughing like old friends and a small meek woman who was holding your mothers hand in both of hers, a thankful smile on her face.

Placed directly in front of you was a boy, seemingly your age, shifting back and forth on his feet as he waited for you to initiate any form of greeting.

There was people your age in town, your graduating class held 25 kids and over half of them were girls, daughters that were considered blessings for their special ability to continue on your towns population. You’d met boys, few handsome but handsome none the less but nobody who looked like the one standing in front of you.

He was taller than you, peering down at you from behind thin framed glasses and about double your width. You imagined you were hidden behind his shoulders to the view of the people stood in line behind him, waiting to greet your family.

His skin was tanned, something that you imagined wouldn’t last long considering you weren’t sure your town was blessed by the sun at all, almost constantly grey and dreary looking even in the peak of summer.

You took your time observing the boy, not feeling any sense of urgency at the knowledge people were watching and waiting, not even at the fact your mother was stood directly next to you and you could feel her stare on the side of your face. Her loss of attention seemed to make the boys mother nervous and she placed her hands on his shoulders.

“And this is our son, Jake.” She was chirping out and you almost wanted to laugh at how desperate she seemed to impress your family. The boy, Jake, was looking at you still for a second before his eyes shot to your mother and he gave her a nervous smile. “He’s shy at first but he’s a very good boy.”

His eyes flicked back over to yours as she spoke and your mouth quirked up in a small smile, finally sticking out your hand in offering to him.

You felt a strange feeling build up inside you, splattering against your ribs and painting your insides with something deep and powerful. As you held his hand in yours, your eyes caught onto your mothers and you could see the fear crossing over her expression at her own realization.

“Hi Jake.”

And the seed bloomed.

——

It wasn’t more than 30 seconds after your father finished his last word, the remains of it still echoing throughout the room underneath the chorus of ‘amen’s, that your mother was gripping your arm and dragging you back into his office space.

She closed the door swiftly and you yanked your arm out of her grip with a scowl, staring at her for an explanation about her sudden behavior despite having a slight inkling of what she was about to say to you.

“You can’t.” She spoke vaguely, an angry desperation in her voice like you were a feral dog with a hungry look in its eye.

“What are you talking about?” You lowered your agitation, doing your best impression of a confused and fearful daughter. She scoffed at your expression and held a hand to her mouth like she was genuinely amazed at your audacity.

“You leave that boy alone Y/N, or so help me God.” She was shaking her head at you and you felt a surge of annoyance at her tone, her voice shaky and weak.

You thought she was slightly pathetic. She’d spent her entire life treating you like the devil, implying your evil and avoiding you at all cost but the second you finally start to understand her concern and she’s immediately turned to pleading and bargaining. There was no fun in this for you.

Soft knocks against the door caught her attention and she looked over your shoulder, trying to ignore the fact you were still staring at her and not bothering to turn and face whoever had entered.

“Go home and get dinner started.” Your fathers voice was entering the room now in a hushed whisper, like somebody was still outside behind him. “We are going to have a welcome meal with the new residents.”

Your mothers eyes shot back in your direction at his words, like she was begging you to remember her previous warning and you offered her a small smirk before turning to face your father with a toothy grin, expression changing now.

“Of course father, whatever you need.”

——

You’d ignored your mothers glare the entire time you worked on dinner together, setting the table casually and changing into a less formal dress that gained a thumbs up of approval from your father.

When the Sim’s arrived, you greeted them similarly to how you did at church except your mother made sure to shake Jake’s hand for a prolonged amount of time so you couldn’t, only breaking apart when your father cleared his throat and ushered you all towards the polished dining room.

He took his seat at the head of the table and you briefly wondered what type of man Jake’s father was. He was larger than your dad, much larger and you noticed a hint of irritation in his face when he took a seat on the side. You imagined he sat similarly to your father at his own house and didn’t find great pleasure in the new arrangement.

There was three seats on each side and your mother had rushed to take a middle seat next to you, attempting to block anybody else from being seated beside you.

However your father cleared his throat subtly and sent the both of you a small glare, confused at the fact she hadn’t adorned her usual seat next to him. You were sure he realized it would be strange for her to sit a seat away from him, making them look distant or troubled.

She sent you a small angry look but shifted over a space so she was now sat in her usual place, leaning an empty chair between the two of you.

An empty chair that was soon taken by Jake, his mother sending him an encouraging smile and giving him a slight nudge in your direction. You remembered what she said about him being shy, not hiding the fact she was trying to create a friendship between the two of you.

His mothers face angered you more than your own. She was small and weak looking, constantly smiling with wide eyes like she was waiting to drop into a conversation at any time to force a connection, yet she rarely did throughout dinner. For the most part she stayed silent, nodding along obediently every time her husband spoke.

So you kept your attention on the boy for the most part, figuring the adults were too busy kissing eachothers ass’s to care about what the two silent teenagers were doing at the end of the table.

You knew he could feel the way you were watching him, sending you small glances out of the side of his eye and shifting uncomfortably in his seat every time he realized you were still looking.

He really was handsome you were deciding. You’d never really paid attention to boys before, understanding the difference between being attractive and not but it didn’t have any affect on you. You liked the slope of his nose and the way his throat bobbed with every nervous gulp he took.

Your father was seemingly noticing your mutual disinterest in the conversation, you watching Jake and him watching his empty plate. “Y/N honey, why don’t you take Jake to your room and show him some of your notes on our latest teachings.”

Both of your heads turned towards him as he said this, your eyes lighting up with excitement and Jake’s widening slightly.

“Oh..” His mother was starting and you resisted the urge to glare in her direction. “Jake isn’t… he’s never..”

Jake’s father sent her a sharp look and she snapped her mouth shut immediately, looking away from him. Your excitement only doubled as you realized she wasn’t comfortable leaving her son alone with a girl, leading you to believe he never had been before.

“Of course father.” You smiled at him softly, standing and flattening out your dress in a prudish manner. Jake glanced in your direction as you stood, clumsily rising out of his own chair as you headed up the stairs and down the hall to your room.

He followed wordlessly behind, still not speaking even when you stood in the doorway and let him awkwardly squeeze past you so he was stood stiffly in the center of your room. You closed the door behind you and he froze, eyes widening again.

“What are you doing?” His voice was high with worry and you realized it was your first time hearing him speak.

“What are you talking about?” You played dumb as you observed him, walking backwards until your legs hit your bed and you could sit carefully. He stayed standing as he watched you with confusion and worry.

“Mother says not to close doors.” He was shaking his head and it looked like he wanted to go and open it himself. He didn’t move however and you leaned back to rest on your hand, cocking your head in his direction.

“Do you always do what mommy says?” You questioned.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly at your condescending tone. You’d seemed nice enough at church and dinner, not speaking much but polite to your parents whenever you did. He was suddenly worried he had angered you.

“I guess she did say you were a good boy.” You quoted what his mother had said when she introduced him, voice carrying a faint mocking tone as you spoke.

He didn’t say anything after you said that, just standing there looking at you like you were some form of animal he’d never seen before. And maybe he hadn’t you were beginning to think, his speech was structured and tight like he was reciting lines and you were curious if he’d ever had a conversation with somebody his own age.

Your hand reached over to pat the bed next to you, raising an eyebrow at him and urging him to sit.

He watched you with that same look for a few seconds before looking back at the door like he was contemplating how fast he’d have to bolt out of it before you could sink your claws into him. He seemed to decide it wasn’t worth it, crossing the room and sitting down as far away from you as he could possibly get.

“Where’d you come from?” You didn’t plan to say that but the curiosity was driving you crazy, not quite understanding how he could be so sheltered.

“A village not far from here.” He was eventually answering with a soft shrug. He was sat perfectly straight on your bed, posture making him look even taller than he already was considering you were still leaned back on your palm.

You should’ve figured he was from a village, suddenly understanding why his mother was practically a house wife from the 1800’s and his dad looked relatively similar to a lumberjack.

“No girls at your village?” You were watching the side of his face as you questioned him, growing slightly agitated that he wasn’t looking at you. “Jake.”

He turned his face towards you when you addressed him, eyes widening like he was worried you were going to scold him from the sound of your stern call.

“I asked you a question.” When he didn’t immediately answer you assumed he hadn’t heard you, repeating yourself. “Was there no girls where you’re from?”

He was shaking his head swiftly, looking at his hands and then back towards you. “None like..”

“None like me?” You interrupted him as he started to trail off and your lips quirked into a smile. “So no pretty girls then.”

He frowned as you hummed and nodded your head like you’d made sense of what he was trying to say. He didn’t look like even he understood what the things you were saying meant and you almost pitied him as you slowly unlocked the full extent of his naivety.

“You’ve probably never even held hands with a girl right?” You kept your tone sweet despite your intentions.

He looked like he only slightly relaxed at your change of tone, glancing at you as he shook his head as a way to answer your question. He didn’t understand why you wanted to know this.

You were sitting back up straight, off your hands, and leaning sideways to get closer to him. He watched you with panicked eyes as you reached down near his lap and took his hand in yours, similarly to how you shook it at the church but the tension in the room was a direct opposite.

He made a strange noise when you touched him, a semi squeak at the suddenness of your contact and you smiled at him, scooting closer so you weren’t awkwardly stretching your arm in his direction.

“How does it feel?” You murmured, fighting the urge to lean against him and whisper in his ear. You didn’t want to scare him off just yet.

“I don’t think I should be in here.” He was shaking his head as he spoke and staring down at your conjoined hands or maybe the floor past them. They were resting in his lap, the back of your hand on his right thigh.

You frowned softly although he wasn’t looking at you, trying to keep up with your act. He seemed to be more pliant earlier when he thought he had upset you. “Jake.”

He glanced at you as you said his name, just like he had before, and his gaze looked guilty when he noticed the frown on your face. You squeezed his hand to try to bring his attention back to the fact you were touching him but he shook his head again.

“I really need to go Y/N.” He was still trying to sound polite despite his obvious discomfort and you almost smiled at the innocence of that.

“You don’t want me to touch you?” You let a small whine sink into your tone, really trying to drive home the idea that he was upsetting you and you felt him squeeze your hand absentmindedly.

He didn’t reply after you said that and the room fell into a strange silence. Then he was sending a heavy glance in your direction and your mouth parted in realization, understanding his inner monologue by the thick amount of guilt in his expression.

“You do want me to touch you.” You let your smile show now, not finding any reason to hide it now that he clearly took your bait. He squeezed his eyes shut as you said this and shook his head again, his hair messy now and falling into his face.

“What’s wrong Jake?” You were almost cooing at him, your hand sliding out of his and up his wrist, in result the back of your hand going further up his thigh. You kneaded at his wrist bone and he grunted at the almost painful sensation. “It’s just skin.”

He looked at you with a frustrated expression, holding eye contact for a few seconds much to your surprise. You were almost worried he was going to cry. You didn’t mind it personally, if anything you were thinking about how pretty he’d look with watery eyes and a red nose, but you imagined it would cause some level of concern with the parents.

So you released your grip on his wrist, taking your hand back and placing it on your own lap. You were still sitting far too close to him but he visibly relaxed at the lack of touch, however slightly confused why you had backed off.

Almost like the world had been paused for the entirety of your conversation and now played again, a soft knock on your door caused you to leap away from him and grab the bible your father insisted was kept on your nightstand at all times.

You were relieved to see his face when the door opened, knowing your mother would have most likely immediately sniff out what you’d been doing. Or at least attempting to do.

Your father looked between the two of you and the large space, nodding in approval when you flashed him a smile and opened to a random page in the book. He didn’t seem to notice how tense Jake was or the fact your door had been closed in the first place.

“Your parents are leaving Jake. You can stay a bit longer if you two are having fun.” Your father was saying in a welcoming voice but Jake was hopping off your bed before he even had a chance to finish.

“No, sir. Thank you but I really should get home and finish unpacking.” He was stumbling over his words and awkwardly shifting in place, waiting for your dad to move out of the doorway so he could make his escape.

Your dad shot you a confused look over Jake’s shoulder and you gave him a small shrug, fighting the urge to smile.

——

Guilt was eating Jake alive the entire ride home. He wasn’t quite sure what he had necessarily done wrong, what level of sin he had just committed, but his mother kept shooting him disappointed looks in the mirror.

“Will you stop looking at the boy like that.” His fathers gruff voice was mumbling from the drivers seat and his mom snapped her eyes back to the front window obediently. “It’ll be good for him to make a friend.”

“What type of girl leads a boy to her bedroom?” He was surprised his mother had spoken again, especially in the harsh tone she was using. She must’ve been angry enough at you and your behavior to forget the fear she held for Jake’s father.

He felt a bit strange as she said that. You were definitely weird and had made Jake feel something he’d never experienced, and he positively wanted to leave your room as quick as possible but he didn’t think you deserved such a mean comment.

He continued to feel strange for the rest of the night.

Jake laid in bed, hours past his usual bed time, and replayed your interaction in his head. Every time he got to the part where you grabbed his wrist in your tight hold, he squeezed his eyes shut and asked god to forgive him.

He could feel his stomach light up when he thought about your hand on his pants and he wanted to dig his nails into the skin as a self punishment for the thoughts brewing in his head, thoughts he had never had before and didn’t understand.

Rolling over in his bed, stomach to the mattress, he stuffed his face into his pillow and cried softly until he eventually fell asleep.

——

You felt giddy in the church pew the next morning after seeing Jake walk in with his parents. You immediately knew your plan had worked judging by his puffy face and swollen eyes. He’d clearly gotten no sleep and you could take a strong guess at the reason why.

A sick part of you was ecstatic at the fact you had something to do, something that actually managed to catch your interest.

If all it took to keep Jake up all night was you touching his hand, than you were preparing for more fun than you originally thought.

The morning had gone routinely as you remained in your seat for the entire sermon, not spinning around to try to catch a look at the boy despite the urge constantly in the back of your mind. You didn’t focus for a second but you did a solid job pretending until you heard a hushed voice behind you excusing themself.

You snuck a glance back to see Jake passing through his pew with muttered apologies and thanks to the people he was passing, smiling softly at them.

You watched him exit the pew and make his way down the main aisle, no doubt heading towards the bathroom hall since it was the only other part of the building outside of your fathers head office. You let him disappear from your sight and counted to 30 before abruptly standing and following his path before your mother could grab your hand in denial.

By the time you made it to the hall, Jake was exiting the bathroom with damp hands and a few wet strands of hair like he had splashed his face in an attempt to wake up.

His eyes widened when he saw you approaching and he glanced behind him like he was considering disappearing back into the bathroom so you couldn’t say anything to him. You smiled at this but didn’t move closer to him, leaning against the wall.

“What are you doing?” He watched you with careful eyes, not quite sure what you wanted.

You shrugged and furrowed your eyebrows. “What are you doing? You look tired, did you not get any sleep?”

He didn’t say anything as he looked at you, eyes heavy and guilty again like he was afraid you could read his mind. Unlucky for him, you didn’t have to read his mind to know what was happening in it.

“Were you thinking about me?” You pushed forward on his suspicions when he didn’t respond to you, tilting your head as you looked at him.

He didn’t respond again, letting out a small tired exhale before leaning against the wall opposite of you. The hallway was tensioned despite not being close enough to touch even if you stretched your arm out.

“I was thinking about you.” You suddenly confessed in an attempt to catch his interest or potentially get him to lower his walls enough for a solid conversation. It seemed to work considering his head was snapping up and he was looking at you with wide questioning eyes. “Is thinking a sin?”

He watched you for a few seconds, slightly embarrassed that you had somehow realized what his inner dilemma lead back to.

“Yes.” He answered matter of factly and you let out a small laugh.

You observed the way his lips awkwardly quirked up, like he was pleased he made you laugh despite being dead serious in his answer. His smile pulled at his cheeks for a second and you liked the way he nervously wiped his sweaty hands on his pants.

“What… what were you thinking about?” He squeezed the words out like they were painful after a silence fell between the two of you. You felt a bud of satisfaction at the fact he’d been curious enough to ask.

“Touching you.” You shrugged like it was a casual thing to say, watching his shoulders tense and his mouth part slightly in shock and disapproval.

“My hand?” You were a bit surprised that he asked a follow up question, voice dropping into a scared whisper like he was worried somebody was eavesdropping, maybe he was worried god could hear him.

You were watching him for a few uncomfortable beats, liking the way his cheeks turned red and he kept looking away from your gaze anxiously. Then you were shaking your head to answer his question, taking a step closer to his side of the hall.

His breath hitched as you kept taking small strides in his direction, taking your time with a loose smile on your face like you were out for a casual walk. You stopped next to him, turning and pressing your back against the wall he was leaned on so your shoulders were pressing together.

You wondered if he was planning to hold his breath the entire time you were touching him this time around, his face reddening even though your skin was separated by multiple pieces of thick fabric.

“Would you let me touch you again?” You leaned over slightly so you were closer to his ear, your chin hovering over his shoulder.

“You can’t.” He was immediately denying your request, stiff and agitated sounding. His voice was tight as he spoke like he was having to force the words out. “Please don’t do this.”

“Because you’re a good boy right?” You were even closer now, your lips touching the shell of his ear and he was shuddering against you, a frustrated whine in his throat.

He sent a sharp glare in your direction, at least as sharp as his features could get. You thought he looked cute when he was mad at you, eyes brows furrowed and his glasses sliding to the tip of his nose. Despite the way he was looking at you, he made no attempt to push you away or step apart himself.

“I want you to come to my house after church.” You whispered to him and he didn’t say anything, for once not shaking his head and just looking at you as you spoke your cruel demands. “I’ll tell my dad to talk to your parents about helping you catch up on his teachings.”

He looked amazed at your audacity, to not only lie to your parents but to lie about the lord and the Bible made his stomach turn in disgust.

Still, he almost couldn’t help but to lean his shoulder closer to yours and watch you with wide eyes and a parted mouth. He felt almost transfixed by you and your newness, the unique energy you gave off that made his head spin. He nodded his head slowly and watched you smile.

——

You’d waited for your mother to leave the house, a very rare occurrence for her outside of her weekly bingo nights at the recreational center in town, before you poked your head into your fathers office to request he calls the Sim’s.

You felt strangely jittery as you waited for them to send Jake over. Surprisingly, the Sim’s hadn’t moved into a house that far from you and you imagined he could probably ride a bike to your house in less than twenty minutes if the weather ever allowed it, rainy days an almost constant feature around this time of year.

It was only around half an hour before you heard knocks on the front door, followed by the low tone of your fathers voice and eventually the creaking of the steps as somebody made their way up to your bedroom.

Jake seemed thrown off when he saw you, dressed in far more casual clothes than he’d seen you in so far. He also looked momentarily relieved at the fact your door was wide open and you didn’t make any move to shut it as he crossed into the threshold of your room.

“Hi.” He politely addressed you with a slight bow and wave, avoiding looking at you fully where you sat on the bed. You gave him an incredulous look and sighed before patting the spot next to you.

He looked like he was dreading this but expecting it, only taking a few seconds of hesitation before he was shuffling over and sitting slowly down on your soft bed. You immediately scooted closer to him and grabbed his hand in yours.

His reaction wasn’t as intense as last time although he did immediately stiffen and his eyes snapped wide open, but he didn’t let out a small shriek at the feeling of your touch like he did yesterday.

“Are you going to let me touch you today?” You kept your voice low and he was suddenly very aware of the fact your door was completely open and your father was just a few feet away downstairs.

He slowly looked over at you, peering up from behind his long eyelashes and you wanted to grab his face with your nails. He looked like a puppy who had just done something naughty, big eyes unmoving from nerves as they darted around your face so he could avoid holding your strong gaze.

“This isn’t right.” He whispered back, eyes pleading as they finally locked onto yours. You almost felt sorry for him as he spoke, obviously so desperate to set you back on the right path in life. “Mother said I shouldn’t lay a hand on anybody, not even myself.”

You almost smiled as he said this, pleased at the new information he was unknowingly providing you with.

“It’s just skin.” You were reminding him again, slowly leaning against him so your chest was pressed against the side of his arm. His breath hitched at this and he glanced down at your upper body for a second. “You’ve never touched yourself?”

He shook his head immediately, face annoyed like he was offended you’d even suggest he would do such a thing. You liked that even though he was uncomfortable and denying his thoughts towards you, he still wasn’t seemingly capable of pushing you away. He’d still shown up to your house.

“I touch myself.” You were leaning forward more so you could talk into his ear again. A soft whimper left his throat when your lips grazed his skin again but he didn’t say anything, like he was waiting for you to continue. “On this bed, I touch myself every night.”

It was a slight exaggeration. You hadn’t really felt a strong need to touch yourself ever, never having a subject of attraction that left you longing enough that you’d roll around in bed late at night thinking about it, squeezing your thighs together in frustration.

But you were transfixed by the way he immediately tensed again, glancing back behind you towards where your pillows were and then immediately shooting forward and falling to the cross hanging on the wall in front of you both.

“It’s just skin.” You repeated to him again and he sucked in a shaky breath as you said it, bringing his guilty pained eyes back to you. You almost cooed at him, clicking your tongue and holding his chin softly. He leaned into the touch like he wasn’t meaning to and you wondered how touch starved he must be.

Your hand that wasn’t holding his face fell down to his lap, laying flat and still on his thigh as you let him process what you were doing.

He stiffened again and let out a low troubled groan, shaking his head again at himself. You wondered what he was thinking right now, if he was convinced he was heading straight for hell because of his thoughts alone so maybe it didn’t matter if he let you touch him. Or maybe he was seconds away from bolting downstairs and telling your father about what you’d been attempting to do.

“This isn’t right.” He was whispering and still trying to shake his head the best he could with your grip on his face. His repetition was starting to bug you, suddenly feeling impatient as he still hadn’t taken the bait fully.

“But it feels so good.” You purred into his ear, turning his head back to look at the cross and scooting closer so you were pressed tightly against his side. The sensation of this mixed with your hand on his leg was overwhelming and he felt slightly suffocated. “I want to show you Jake, let me show you how good it feels.”

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds and you considered letting him go, wanting to have him completely might mean waiting some time so you didn’t scare him off.

Then he was surprising you and looking back in your direction, your hand falling to his collarbones instead so he could decide what to do with his head. He gave you a soft nod, looking like he immediately regretted it when you wasted no time, pushing your hand forward onto the center of his pants.

He immediately lurched forward with a loud groan at the feeling of your hand on him and you shushed him softly, using the hand on his face to bring him back up to a sitting position and pet his face lovingly.

“You have to be quiet Jake.” You whispered in his ear and nodded towards your open door. He looked at you with a desperate glance, like he was pleading for you to close it despite his upset at that yesterday. You shook your head softly. “Can you be a good boy Jake?”

You started to slowly knead your hand against him, wanting to smile at the fact he was already hard before you had touched him. Light teasing and your soft hand on his thigh already had him bothered.

He was making small noises and you kept his face turned in your direction with your hold back on his jaw. You were sitting up straighter than him so he was a bit below you, having to look up through his eyelashes as he surprisingly held eye contact with you.

“Doesn’t it feel good?” You murmured excitedly, eyes wild and eager. He didn’t reply verbally, another small whine slipping from his throat and you pressed down hard on his cock through his pants. “I asked a question.”

Now he was nodding desperately, hands reaching out to grip your wrist in an attempt to lessen the pressure you were applying to him. “Good- feels good.”

His voice was strained and raspy like it was crawling its way out of his throat and you smiled with sick satisfaction, leaning forward so you were closer to his face. Your nose pressed against his and you thought about kissing him for just a few seconds, eventually deciding against it.

Jake was writhing on the bed now, desperately moving into your hand with small groans and whines, his hips lifting off the blanket in an attempt to chase your touch every time you removed it. He didn’t even seem to realize he was doing it, a dazed expression on his face.

He seemed out of it until your hand was leaving his face and sliding down his sweater covered chest. He didn’t seem to realize you were doing it until your hand was pressing on his stomach slightly, fidgeting with the singular button on his jeans and tugging on the zipper impatiently.

“No, no.” He was whining, grabbing your wrist to stop you from snaking your hand down his pants, touching him without any layers between. “You can’t do that.”

“Why?” You asked incredulously, leaning forward so you were hovering over him slightly. He leaned back on his hand a bit to avoid bumping into your face and you were a few inches from laying on top of him. “I promise it’ll feel so good Jake.”

The usage of his name made him wince, realizing he liked it far too much when you said it. He’d never really considered his name before, completely indifferent to it until he heard the way it rolled off your snake like tongue.

“You aren’t supposed to do that.” He practically spat the words at you but his tone lacked any anger instead sounding fearful and pained. “You can’t touch me there, you just can’t.”

You felt slightly sorry for him as he hiccuped, his voice breaking around the words as you watched tears collect in his pretty eyelashes. His eyes kept darting to the cross on the wall with a guilty expression.

You took your hands off of his lap, listening to his sigh of longing at the loss of contact. You weren’t quite sure what to do in this situation despite seeing it coming, eventually opting for sitting up further on the bed and pulling him into your neck, wrapping your arms around his shaking body in a hug.

He leaned into it and hesitantly wrapped himself around you, tucking his face into your warm neck and letting out a few sobs, tugging you forward slightly by your lower back.

You let him cry for a while, hushing him softly every few minutes just in case, although you were in a less compromising position now, you still didn��t think your father would be thrilled to find you half in the lap of a sniffling boy who was still hard against you.

“Jake.” You were eventually murmuring into his hair once his hiccups subsided slightly, he nuzzled into your neck further at the sound of your soft tone. “What if I didn’t use my hands?”

He picked his head up at this and furrowed his eyebrows at you, his eyes puffy and red with wet streaks still going down his face.

“I don’t understand.” He looked more puppy like than normal as he said this in a soft breathy voice, voice hoarse from crying and his lip almost jutting out into a confused frown.

“Can I show you?” You kept your voice soft as you spoke to him and he immediately nodded his head. He clearly had found some sort of comfort in your embrace, a connection being made enough for him to fall into this state of vulnerability, willingly to accept what you were wanting to give him now.

You felt a sick rush of adrenaline at his lowered walls, the sudden dumb eagerness in his eyes as he seemed to seek out any sign of contact from you.

You imagined it was a flood of emotions, a confusion and tiring feeling to suddenly be presented with a situation that went against everything your life had been carefully crafted around. Not to mention how addicting it must feel to suddenly learn what was on the other side and how good it felt, having unbothered access to it as the two of you sat huddled on your bed.

Kissing his cheek softly, you slowly slid off the bed onto the floor, suddenly thankful you had a thick rug on your bed side. He watched you in confusion, looking like he wanted to grab you and help you up before you shot him a stern look.

Your hands were back on his jeans now that you were fully situated and he looked like he wanted to object for just a second before lifting his hips off the bed so you could pull them down to pool around his ankles.

You took just a second to admire him, his pretty tanned skin overwhelming you a bit in its sheer amount. His legs were surprisingly thick, muscular like an athlete and you briefly remembered you didn’t know much about him at all.

That didn’t bother you at all, if anything it made you want him more when you looked up at him to see his nervous eyes staring down at you in concern. He looked humiliated and you imagined it had something to do with the fact he was still extremely hard, even after crying for so long.

If he was more stable in his emotions, less flighty, you would’ve made fun of him. You would’ve called him names and made him cry all over again and then taken his innocence without a second thought.

Instead you carried on the kindness act, leaning forward and pressing a kiss against his length through his underwear.

He immediately hissed and shot forward, not realizing what you were planning to do and not understanding why you were doing this. He started to stammer out in confusion and you shushed him again, sending a sharp glare towards the open door in warning.

“What are you doing?” He sounded absolutely blown away now, even more than he did earlier and it settled in your mind that he clearly had absolute no sexual knowledge, including blowjobs. “That’s dirty, you can’t do that.”

“Why not?” You were mock frowning up at him. “Did mommy say so?”

He knew you were making fun of him but he still nodded in response, not liking the sudden return of your mean tone. He forgot all about it when you were leaning forward again, this time touching your lips to him longer and sucking softly through the fabric.

“Mommy’s not here.” You were breathing out when you pulled away from him again, much to his dismay considering he immediately lifted his hips back in your direction. “And doesn’t it feel nice?”

He was nodding his head dumbly in agreement, feeling dizzy from the foreign emotions. He still didn’t understand what you were doing but it felt too good to keep questioning, forgetting momentarily about sin and how much punishment was going to come his way after this.

You were sliding your hands up his thighs slowly, stopping at the waistband of his boxers and glancing up at him for any sign of refusal. You didn’t care much for his discomfort but you weren’t going to force him to do anything, despite how much fun you were having with him.

He didn’t make any move to stop you, not even seeming to notice or understand what you were planning to do until you pulled on the elastic swiftly.

Then he was shooting back up from where he’d been leaning back, shaking his head again and covering himself with his hands. You smiled at him from your place on the floor and he looked at you like you were crazy.

You were getting slightly frustrated despite your pleased expression, wanting him to quickly understand what you were planning on doing. You gripped his wrist tightly and pulled them away from his lap

“What are you doing?” He was whispering in a panicked tone, his hands hovering above your head like he was debating pulling you away from him. He let out a yelp when you leaned forward and took the head of his cock into your mouth, watching him with hooded eyes. “T-that’s dirty, stop it.”

You wanted to laugh at his wording choices, sounding like he was a worried mother scolding their child for playing in mud.

“It’s dirty?” You frowned at him when you pulled back for a moment, his wide eyes falling on your wet lips. They squeezed shut just for a moment when you were licking up his full length slowly, humming at the taste of him and his weight on your tongue. “I should probably stop then right?”

He let out a panicked cry and ran a hand over his face in frustration. He wanted you to stop or at least he knew he should want you to stop. His mother had been right and you were not a nice girl, not the type of girl he should be around and he felt his stomach turn at the knowledge he was committing a very large sin by finding pleasure in your lust.

But the pleasure was prominent and overwhelming him to the point he couldn’t think straight.

He understood what sex was and his father had taught him about boyish lust, the kind that wakes you up from your sleep needing to change into a new pair of pajamas but he’d been warned from an early age to simply ignore the occurring urge.

He could still hear his mothers shrieks and cries when she caught him with a pillow between his legs in high school, could feel the welts on the back of his hands from the ruler his father had punished him with. Jake sometimes wondered if other people experienced this urge, this call to sin, as much as he did or if he was rotten inside.

But for the first time in his entire life, Jake couldn’t find it in himself to think about the consequences to falling victim to it. Not when you were touching him in ways not even his dreams could think to imagine.

When he didn’t answer you’d taken him back in your mouth, slightly impressed by how thick he was. He bucked forward his hips instinctively, pushing himself deeper into your mouth and you pinched his thigh roughly in warning.

You heard him cry out in a sob, his hands gripping the blankets so hard they were turning white and shaking at an almost alarming rate.

“Please.” He was begging and you weren’t sure he even knew what for, his voice coming out desperate and needy. “Please i-it feels really weird.”

You hummed around his cock in understanding, your hand petting his thigh and pushing his shirt up on his stomach so you could feel more of him. He didn’t even seem to register you touching him, the sounds of his soft cries and pleads distracting you slightly.

You tapped his hip bone a few times and he seemed to somehow understand the message, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth at a slower pace this time. You let him do what he wanted despite the urge to take control of the situation, knowing there wasn’t any chance he was lasting more than 30 seconds anyways.

He was slightly surprising you already, truthfully you’d expected him to cum before you even got his boxers off his thighs.

You imagined his inner monologue was causing him some issue as you listened to him cry softly from pleasure, little overwhelmed gasps and hiccups as one of his hands grabbed onto the one you were running across his stomach and squeezed it tightly.

“You need to just let it go baby.” You were whispering to him as you pulled off for a second when his hips started to twitch awkwardly, overwhelmed and not understanding what the feeling building up deep in his gut was. “Don’t worry about making a mess.”

The second you took him back in your lips he was following your instructions with a loud moan, completely forgetting you were meant to keep quiet as he came inside your warm mouth.

You winced slightly at the unexpectedness of it, leaning backwards on your knees as you waited for his hips to stop jerking forward.

He was shaking his head at you, eyes teary and his face red as he squinted his eyes in confusion. “What w-was -“

“You came.” You said matter of factly, standing up with a groan from your uncomfortable kneeling position and sitting next to him on the bed again. He leaned sideways into you, much to your surprise, and you resisted the urge to push him off you.

“Was I supposed to?” He whispered in embarrassment and pushed his face into your neck again. You were slightly uncomfortable at his clinginess but you let him do it, knowing he must be feeling a lot.

“Yes Jake. Maybe not all over my face though.” You were trying to joke with him to lighten the atmosphere but you sighed as you heard him let out a little cry into your neck, clearly upset and humiliated.

He was mumbling against your skin, repeated mantras that you couldn’t quite understood through his sobs but had a good guess in what they contained. You imagined reality was coming back to him now and he was processing what he’d just done without the hazy cloud of need cursing his judgement.

“Jake, you need to stop crying.” You were sighing and bringing your hand up to his hair, petting it softly to try to calm him down.

“Did I do a bad thing?” He pulled off your neck to look you in the eyes, his wide and desperate like he was fishing for any bit of reassurance that what you’d just done was okay, that he hadn’t just committed a sin so unholy. You could tell by his expression he was asking just to hear it reaffirmed, for you to tell him again it was just skin.

“My poor baby.” You were cooing at him, lips jutted out in a pout as your hands came up to hold his face, cupping it softly and wiping his teary cheeks with your thumbs. “Of course you did a bad thing.”

He froze completely in your hold and you felt a laugh bubble into your throat, holding it down with all your might so you could get the full extent of his reaction. He sat up slightly, attempting to pull out of your hands before realizing you were holding his face too tight. He gave you a confused and hurt look.

“What?” He was stammering out and his face was curling back into another sob.

“How could you let me do that?” You were tsking at him as you spoke, eyebrows furrowed like he had genuinely offended you. He watched you as panic settled into his eyes at the sound of you kissing your teeth and shaking your head softly. “We were supposed to be studying.”

“B-but.” He was shaking his head and holding onto your wrist, eyes filling with tears. “But you said that..”

He trailed off and you watched him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for him to pass the blame off onto you. Of course he didn’t, his expression hardening although you knew he hadn’t quite realized your motive. He was too innocent to believe you’d deceive him, too stupid to understand every action you did was a carefully crafted lie.

“Maybe it’s time you go Jakey.” You were nodding as you spoke, petting his hair and pushing it back out of his eyes.

He didn’t say anything else, his expression dazed out as he came out of such a vulnerable compliant headspace with a jolt. You watched him in silence as he gathered himself enough to get dressed awkwardly and walk out of your room, loose and tilting like he had just woken up.

You waited for him to be completely out of sight, the sound of the front door closing, before falling back on your bed with a big smile.

——

You’d fallen asleep soon after that without much thought on the situation, feeling only a deep satisfaction at the progress you’d made with Jake and a slight tinge of excitement for the next time you got to see him.

By the time you’d woken up, your mother was already in your room and standing staring down at you. You barely reacted to her presence although you were slightly unnerved and curious just how long she’d been watching you sleep.

“Can I help you?” Your voice was groggy as you sat up and pushed your bedridden hair out of your face.

Any other mother might have found your tired movements cute, maybe they’d give you an endeared smile and reminisce on when you were a baby waking up from naps.

However you were born with a very specific type of mother, maybe one of her kind. She was watching you with a nasty scowl, a knowing look in her eye as she did a slow pan around your room. “Your father said the boy was here yesterday.”

You hummed in agreement, tilting your head softly to try and get a further reaction from her.

“His mother called and said he won’t be at church this morning.” She spat the words at you, accusatory and nasty. “He’s sick.”

You could tell by the way she said that she knew it was a lie, wether Jake was the one telling it or his mother. At first you were slightly shocked he’d lie about being sick but you figured he might just be feeling so, driven by the extreme emotions he’d been feeling.

“What a shame. He seemed more than fine yesterday.” You put in a pity filled voice, shaking your head as you let the innuendo sink in for her, watching the way her face curled with disgust.

“Almost ready?” You father was suddenly in your doorway, observing the scene with a raised eyebrow as he buttoned the cuff of his sleeve.

“Father, would it be okay if I stopped by the Sim’s before heading to service? I’d like to bring Jake some soup for his cold.” Your voice was dripping with sweetness and you vaguely saw your mothers jaw tick with irritation.

“I can do it.” She was rushing to say.

Your father shook his head immediately and held a hand up to silence the both of you from speaking again. He finished buttoning his sleeve and cleared his throat before speaking. “You agreed to meet with the Lee’s today Mary. I think it’d be a good idea for Y/N to go, since they’re friends.”

You smiled appreciatively at him and he gave you a small nod before leaving the room. You glanced at your mother to see her stony expression but surprisingly she didn’t say anything, simply shaking her head in disapproval and following behind him.

It was strange to not leave for church with them, to stand in the window with the curtain pulled back as you smiled and waved watching the car drive off.

You dropped the grin the second they turned the street corner and hurried out the door to get on your bike and head over to the Sim’s house.

You hadn’t been there before despite your father pointing it out on your way home yesterday but it looked pretty much the exact same as the other houses in the neighborhood. It was large and eerie, the rainy atmosphere not helping it.

The door was opening before you could even dismount your bike let alone knock and you saw Jake’s mom standing in the archway with a small frown.

“What are you doing here?” Her tone was harsh and for a second you wondered if he had told her about what happened, confessed his sins in a fit of guilt.

You were so thrown off that you didn’t immediately respond, suddenly aware of the fact you didn’t bring any sort of soup or medicine like you had originally planned, too eager to get out the door to remember your cover story.

Lucky for you, Jake’s father was coming into sight now and a small grunt from him sent the rude woman cowering away.

You observed this with a curious expression and tried not to frown. Maybe Jake wasn’t as innocent and pure as he seemed considering he apparently had some familial issues, obvious in the way his mother showed a fearful obedience to the large man in front of you.

“You here for my boy?” His voice was low and gruff and it was a bit remarkable how different Jake was than his father.

You opted for a small nod, only slightly playing a part considering he actually did a good job at intimidating you. He let out a hum of approval and stepped aside so you could enter the house, not asking anymore questions.

“It’s good you two get along.” You were taking in the main living space as you entered, his voice picking up a conversational tone that sounded slightly unnatural. “I was beginning to think he’d never talk to someone his own age, let alone a girl.”

He had a typical mannish tone, one you’d heard in movies or from the gross men who sat outside the town bar in a drunken haze as they catcalled and talked at a volume far too loud for your small town. It lacked the usual religious hold you were more used to, he almost sounded pleased at the idea of his son being with a girl.

You glanced at him and held his stare. You wondered for a second if he was testing you now, waiting for you to reveal any sinful intentions you had so he could run back to your father and earn some brownie points for catching your sickness in the act.

He raised an eyebrow at you as you cocked your head, willing him to talk further and continue in his attempt at baiting you.

“Upstairs on the right.” He eventually said, your stare unrelenting. You unfroze your stony expression and gave him a small smile, knowing you probably looked crazy with how fast your face changed.

You were walking away from him before he could say anything else or before Jake’s mother could return, skipping a step at a time in your haste to get upstairs.

Without knocking, you pushed open his door and barged in.

He was sat up in bed, lower half under the covers, and he let out a small shriek of surprise at your sudden intrusion, furthered by a quick inhale when he realized who it was that had just walked in.

“W-what are you doing here?” He was rushing out as he watched you close the door behind you and sit down on the end of his bed.

“I came to check on you.” You said it like it was obvious, a soft shrug of your shoulders. “Since you’re sick.”

His mouth parted in confusion for a second before he seemingly remembered he was meant to be ill, looking awkward and guilty at the reminder he had lied.

You didn’t address his obvious reaction, telling you what you already assumed, and instead climbed up further on his bed. He made a strange noise when you got closer to him, pulling back the blankets and getting underneath them with him. You briefly caught sight of his plaid pajama pants before you covered the both of you up.

“M-my parents.” He was shaking his head and anxiously looking at the door like he was waiting for his mom to walk in any second. You watched his distress, wondering if he was possibly hoping for that to happen, before you heard the sound of the front door slamming.

A look of fear passed over his face at the realization his parents had just left him alone with you. You were a bit surprised yourself but you kept your face neutral, watching him to drink up his reaction.

“I came all this way and you can’t even say thank you.” You tsked and relaxed against his pillows with an annoyed expression. “Especially after what you did yesterday.”

He looked upset at the reminder and he was sitting up more now, the blanket pulling forward around his thighs and he practically kneeled and titled forward in your direction. He wasn’t touching you but his hands were clasped together as he practically did a full bow on his bed.

“I’m so sorry.” He started to say the words but his voice broke around them and he rocked slightly back and forth. You almost laughed at the fact he was already about to cry and it’d only been about five minutes alone with you. “Thank you for coming.”

You imagined he’d been doing a lot of crying since you saw him last, staying up all night running your words on loop in his mind. The sincerity in your voice when you told him he committed a disgusting sin.

“Get back under the covers.” You spoke in a calm voice and he picked his head up to look at you in confusion, face red and eyes teary. He looked surprised you weren’t scolding him, having seemingly forgotten you were the one who practically forced him to let you touch him.

He stayed frozen like that for a few seconds before snapping back to reality and nodding appreciatively, getting back under the blankets and pulling them up again so you were covered. He seemed to only now realize you were laying back against the pillows and he mirrored you, laying on his side so he could face you.

“I won’t tell anybody what you did.” You whispered to him now that his attention was fully on you. Your hand came up to hold his face and he tensed for a second at the contact. “Or maybe I will… I haven’t decided.”

He shook his head hastily, scooting closer to your body and grabbing ahold of your hand that was on his face, wrapping both of his around your wrist and squeezing it softly in desperation.

“Y-you can’t.” He urged and you felt his hands shaking around yours. “I mean you can b-but I’m really so sorry and my dad, he’d kill me.”

You shushed him as he started to ramble, petting his cheek and frowning deeply at what he had said. You figured Jake’s dad hurt his mother but you hadn’t considered it extending to his child as well. A strange surge of anger ran through you despite your own twisted intentions.

Scooting down a bit more so you were completely laid down, you put a hand on his back and pulled him towards you until he got the hint and curled into your side with a soft cry. He was stuffing his face back into your neck like he did yesterday and you rubbed his back softly.

You vaguely acknowledged the fact he was completely pressed against your side now, almost laying half on top of you in his emotional state.

“I won’t tell.” You whispered, his soft and messy hair tickling your face as you spoke. In his desperation for comfort he seemed to forget about not touching you, his arm coming up to wrap around your stomach, tugging you closer in a rush of thankfulness and your eyebrows raised in surprise. “But only if you answer my questions.”

He nodded immediately and picked his head up off your neck so he could look at you more clearly. He looked particularly cute like this you decided, his hair unstyled and still sticking up from where he’d slept on it and his soft pajamas that were rubbing against your legs.

“Did you touch yourself last night.” You held his chin as you spoke so he was looking up at you, his head almost resting against your chest as he peered with big wet eyes.

He was shaking his head as much as he could and furrowing his eyebrows like he did the last time you asked him. “I don’t- I wouldn’t. I don’t know how even.”

This fascinated you slightly. You figured he didn’t understand masturbating or its purpose outside of it being sinful but the fact he’d never once curiously touched himself was interesting. You wondered how many nights he laid in bed crying with confusion at the dull ache between his legs.

“Did you like being in my mouth?” Your voice dropped lower for the second question and an automatic whine slipped out from his lips, his face immediately flushing with embarrassment as he seemed to replay the memory.

He was nodding hesitantly much to your annoyance, you wanted to hear him say it but you figured you could take it easy on him today.

Maybe easy wasn’t the best way to describe your current plan for him considering the way you were suddenly pressing your thigh in between his legs, smiling at him when he groaned loudly and tightened his grip on you.

Your side burned slightly from the force in which he curled his hands up at the sudden contact.

“You’re hard.” You said matter of factly, telling the truth and not just teasing him. He was solid against your thigh now and you heard him whimper when you shifted slightly so his tight grip on you was more comfortable. “I barely said anything and you’re hard.”

He shook his head in disagreement but his hips twitched forward, rubbing his erection against you and making a low drawn out sound at the feeling.

“Did I say you could do that?” Your tone was harsh again and he immediately froze, groaning softly and tucking his head forward onto your chest. You let your hand go back to this hair, petting him for a second before gripping it tightly and tugging his head back up to look at you.

He winced at the pain, face contorted as he tried to scoot away from you. However he still didn’t remove his arm from around your stomach so he wasn’t able to go far, his hand still kneading against your side like he didn’t realize he was even moving it.

“Ask me.” You instructed him, still holding his hair in a tight fist. “Clear words, no crying bullshit.”

He looked momentarily taken back by you swearing and being so harsh but then he had a look of guilt like he was remembering the other day and he was attempting to nod in head in agreement.

“Please I want… I want you to touch me.” He settled on, not sure how to word what he needed. You smiled softly at him for his attempt but you weren’t convinced, deciding on helping him ask you properly.

“Tell me you’re disgusting.” You whispered, leaning your face forward so your nose was touching his again, like it did momentarily yesterday. “Say you want to hump my leg like a dog.”

He looked confused and overwhelmed at your words, shaking his head in refusal until you moved your leg again. It rubbed against him and you almost laughed at the fact he was almost harder now even after your tone changed. His hips chased the feeling and you tugged his hair again in warning, listening to his soft groan of frustration.

“I want..” He hiccuped softly and shook his head, trying to force the strange words from his mouth. “I want to hump your leg please please.”

You let go of his hair and his head fell back down onto your chest. He hadn’t completely fulfilled your request but it was good enough for now.

“Alright baby.” You didn’t need to say anything else for him to understand, immediately pulling you closer again and rocking against your side.

You listened to his soft little whines as he humped against you desperately, moving in messy motions as he tried to chase after the feeling he recognized from yesterday.

The feeling of his hand gripping your side was making your head spin a bit much to your irritation and you gripped it tightly, moving it off your waist. He seemed to misunderstand and instead placed it directly over your belly button where your sweater had ridden up, pushing down softly as he rubbed the soft skin of your stomach.

You let out a small groan and this seemed to ignite something in him because he let out a little cry and nuzzled further into you as he dragged his clothed cock over your hip harder.

“Tell me it feels good.” You instructed him and you felt more annoyance at the fact your voice came out breathy, not liking the effect he was having on you.

“S-so good.” He immediately responded and you felt his leg wrap around yours, trying to get closer to you despite it being impossible. “Going to die it’s good, it’s good.”

You laughed softly at his dramatic wording and pet his hair again, trying to get his attention. He slowed down the grinding of his hips to look at you and you nearly cooed at his hooded wet eyes, trying to focus on your face but struggling.

You were originally planning on teasing him some more, attempting to get him to repeat the words you wanted to hear earlier, but at the sight of his pretty overwhelmed face you couldn’t help yourself from leaning in and kissing him softly.

He yelped at the feeling, tensing up for a few seconds before closing his eyes and trying to kiss you back, failing miserably.

You laughed against his lips and you could feel him frowning, face getting red with embarrassment as he uncomfortably shifted against you.

“Come here.” You tapped his back softly and nudged him so he was fully on top of you, squishing you under him but making it so you could reach his mouth better. “Rub your cock on me while we kiss.”

He whined softly, nodding his head despite the flush on his face and you waited while he slowly experimented with the new position, practically in missionary now. When he started to move his hips again, his hard cock was now rubbing directly against your core and he faltered at the feeling, nearly collapsing on top of you.

You smiled at his reaction. You had full doubt that he knew what sex was or the fact he was basically imitating it but you imagine he could get the gist that what you were doing was wrong.

You leaned your head forward to kiss him again, easier now that he was on top of you and seemingly more eager to get it right this time. He was still sloppy, not really understanding how to move his mouth or when but you took over, moving your lips against his slowly.

He seemed to get the hang of it eventually and you could feel his thrust getting more desperate as the kiss got deeper and faster.

Your tongue was in his mouth before he even realized and he made a small startled sound, hips stopping against yours at the new feeling. He was letting out high pitched whines and moans as you licked into his mouth, him drooling slightly and desperately trying to keep your tongue where it was.

You could feel him sucking on it, twisting his head to try to get it deeper in his mouth and he instinctively gave a particularly hard thrust, causing you to moan into him.

This seemed to startle him, pulling back off your face with a wet chin and hooded eyes, looking down at you in amazement.

He did it again experimentally and you could feel the hard print of his cock directly against you, your back arching as your hand came up to grip his hair and stop him from doing it again. You were reminding yourself this wasn’t about your pleasure, you wanted to ruin him and nothing else.

But you couldn’t deny your attraction to him, almost the perfect boy for you if there was to ever be one.

It didn’t help he happened to have an impressive size on him, although you doubted he even realized he was bigger than usual or would know what to do if given that information.

You wrapped a leg around his side and he sucked in a breath, having better access now. He kept rolling his hips sloppily into you and moaning loudly, forgetting who he was or where he was currently at.

“What would mommy think if she saw you like this?” You took it upon yourself to remind him, whispering into his mouth with a pant and almost laughing at the way he immediately tensed and stopped humping against you. “If she walked it to see her son so desperate to sin.”

He was shaking his head and lifting it slightly to be able to look at you better, eyes welling up with tears as he glanced back over his shoulder at the closed door. You hadn’t been there long and you imagined church still had a few hours before it’d be over and they’d be heading back but he seemed to forget all this at the mention of his parents.

“I’m not.” His hair was messy in his face, bangs slightly damp from sweating and his previous tears. “I don’t want to sin, I don’t want to be bad. Please.”

You hummed softly at him, lips forming a mocking pout as you looked at him with gentle eyes. You stroked his cheek and he closed his eyes, leaning against your hand like a puppy.

“My poor baby.” You cooed and kissed him again briefly, he immediately chased after it when you pulled away and you tapped your finger on his cheek to stop him. “You have no idea what I’m going to do to you.”

He seemed confused at what you meant but too drunk on the feeling of your touch and lips, chasing after them again in a messy kiss that was mostly just him trying to get his tongue back against yours.

You indulged him and let him lick into it, letting out soft desperate moans and you were suddenly realizing how much you were aching for him despite managing to keep a cool demeanor on the outside.

You shifted your leg that was wrapped around his middle and he seemed to remember that he was currently on top of you and he went back to writhing against your body, his hard on rubbing against you an almost painful amount now that you were granting him more access with the switched position.

He wasn’t able to hold himself up, curling up on your chest while he moved his lower body with sobs of pain and need.

“God, I thought it’d take longer to break you.” You were trying to make fun of him but your voice broke in a moan at the feeling of him pushing himself against your sensitive clit. “You’re so fucking nasty, look at yourself.”

He was shaking his head and crying fully now, chasing after a high he didn’t even understand and you were almost feeling dizzy from the pace he was going.

“I’m good.” He was blabbering out and looking at you again, trying to lean forward for a kiss but letting out a sharp cry midway and falling back down with his head on your chest.

“You’re a good boy Jake.” You cooed at him, nodding even though he couldn’t see you and he felt sick at the constant changing of your tones. “My good boy right?”

He was suddenly sitting up again, pulling himself against you so he could look at you directly in the eye, if he could see through his tears. He was nodding his head in earnest and you felt your lip quirk up in a smile.

“I’m yours. I want to be yours.” He was rushing out, hands leaving your stomach to balance on either side of you. His tone was pleading and you wondered if he even knew what he was asking for or if he was just repeating what you’d said dumbly.

You kissed him softly and he let out a shaky breath of relief against your lips. However he started to frown when you were suddenly pushing him off of you and patting the empty space on the bed right beside where you were laying. He looked confused and hurt but he didn’t ask any questions, simply rolling over and waiting to see what you were attempting to do.

You watched him for a few seconds, taking in the change of appearance in such a short amount of time.

He was laid back fully on the bed, eyes hooded and cloudy. His mouth was parted slightly as he panted, his chest rising and falling at a fast speed as his arm reached up to try and push his messy hair out of his face. You liked the way he looked like this, especially the way his shirt was ridden up on his stomach, a sliver of skin showing.

He started making small impatient whines and groans so you took mercy on him, flipping yourself over slightly so you could situate yourself on his lap.

You sucked in a breath the second you did, quickly shutting your lips tight after so he didn’t catch sight of the display of pleasure. He was hard underneath and pressed tightly against your core as you sat on him.

“Oh my god.” He was crying out and his hands jutted forward like he was going to grab your sides, stopping midway and flailing around as he didn’t know what he was meant to do with them.

“Touch me.” You spat at him, reaching down to grab his wrist and put his hands on your ass as you leaned forward so you were in a similar position to his a few minutes ago, laying on top of him.

He froze as he touched you and you almost scolded him for acting so prudish with touching you like he wasn’t just trying to fuck you through his cute little pajamas. However you figured it was harder for him to deliberately do something versus acting purely on the overwhelming lust he was feeling.

You gripped his jaw harshly in your hand, your nails digging into his skin slightly as you used your thumb to pull his mouth open and hummed with satisfaction.

“Say you want me inside you.” You whispered, leaning down to talk into his open mouth. You watched his eyes widen in confusion but you rubbed your hips against him as motivation and he immediately complied.

“Want you inside me.” He moaned out, big fat tears sliding down his face. “Y/N please I need it please.”

He didn’t even know what he was asking for but he was overwhelmed and sinking back down into that fuzzy headspace, willing to do anything to get pleasure from you.

You kept his mouth open after he was done speaking and he opened it wider for you, although not understanding where you were heading with this action. He watched with wide confused eyes as you leaned over him and slowly spit into his open mouth.

He cried out, hips bucking up instinctively at the sensation of your spit on his tongue so directly and you almost fell forward from the roughness in which he fucked himself up into you. You smacked his cheek lightly and he snapped his mouth shut with another moan, eyes shut in euphoria.

You hummed at him in approval, leaning back down to kiss him again and lick into his mouth, letting him turn his head sideways in an attempt to get your tongue as deep as possible. You wondered if he was purposely imitating the blowjob you’d given him or if he was just that desperate to be consumed.

“I’m going to take you to hell with me.” You whispered, pulling out of the kiss and petting his hair softly. He shook his head and let out a small sob, this time not from pleasure.

“Do you want to cum?” You didn’t address his denial or tease him further for now, knowing now you had him completely hooked. He was addicted to you and the feelings you gave him and no mean words would be able to keep him away from you.

He seemed hesitant in his nod, now once again thinking about the sins he was committing and the fact he was skipping church to touch a girl inappropriately. But he did eventually nod his head, eyes still watering.

“Then fuck me baby.” You rolled back over as you spoke, flopping onto your back and rubbing his chest through his shirt, slightly surprised by the thick build he had. He was immediately on top of you again and you almost laughed at his haste.

You didn’t mean it literally and you didn’t fear him taking it as such considering he didn’t even know what it meant, he just knew you were cursing and being dirty.

You wondered if he even knew what you had inside your pants, scrapping that idea for another time instead so you didn’t get yourself too worked up thinking about how much it would ruin him to feel you.

He didn’t last long once he was back on top of you, only a few seconds passed before he was letting out a loud cry and hiccuping, his hips jutting against you a few more times in aftershock before he was collapsing on top of you.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He was sobbing into your neck and you wrapped your arms around his back, rubbing it slowly with an eye roll. “I’m sorry, God please forgive me.”

——

Jake had fallen asleep on top of you shortly after that, exhausted from everything you’d been putting him through both mentally and physically.

You let him lay there on top of you surprisingly despite how uncomfortable it was and how much you kept readying yourself to shove him off of you and leave him without any comfort, you simply couldn’t.

You weren’t quite sure why, it wasn’t like being mean to him was going to ruin your plan and make him not want to talk to you anymore. He was trapped now with you.

Yet you found yourself staying and not only staying but watching him as he slept. He looked younger like this, despite always being very puppy like and boyish you couldn’t deny that Jake was a man and he could be an intimidating one if it wasn’t for his personality. His eyelashes were long and fluttering like he was having a vigorous dream and his back would rise and fall with every deep inhale he took.

By the time he woke up you’d been laying there for probably an hour or two staring at him or looking around his room with curiosity, you felt him shifting against you and almost pretended you were asleep before deciding against it.

He froze his movements when he realized where he was exactly, or at least who it was underneath him. Then he was rolling off of you onto his back with a groan and you were suddenly feeling very cold without his weight and body warmth.

“Did my parents come home?” His voice was low and groggy from sleep and crying and you turned your head to look at him now that you were laying side by side.

“Are you kidding? Like your mother isn’t going to run in here the first second the car parks and hose you down.”

He laughed softly at your words, almost a scoff and your lip quirked up in a smile at his casual reaction, knowing his guard must be down since he was still so tired.

“She wouldn’t do that.” He eventually whispered and you could feel his shoulder pressing against yours. “At least the hose part.”

“Is she as bad as mine?” You weren’t sure what prompted you to ask him something so personal or why you were even making conversation with him in the first place but you were suddenly curious.

“Not sure.” He was looking at you, you could feel it on the side of your head. “My dad is though.”

You hummed as a response, already figuring that from the times you’d interacted with him and the way Jake talked about him earlier. You felt a sudden wave of discomfort at your current situation and fidgeted in your spot on the bed.

“Are you going to leave?” His voice was a whisper still and he wasn’t looking at you anymore from what you could tell. He sounded slightly upset like the thought of you leaving wasn’t pleasant.

“You wanted me to earlier.” You scoffed softly but it was humorless, for some reason feeling offended at the reminder despite knowingly doing everything in your power to make him uncomfortable for your own satisfaction.

He didn’t say anything for a while and you listened to him breathing softly, wondering if he caught on to the hint of insecurity you were accidentally showcasing.

“Well… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He eventually said and you barely heard him considering how low his voice had gotten.

“See you tomorrow Jake.”

——

Tuesday’s were another day that your schedule was slightly shifted after church service. You had always been instructed to some form of community service on that day of the week, wether is be picking up trash or teaching a small class to the elders and children.

You didn’t mind this despite your distaste for religion. You got some sick satisfaction from watching religious people interact, like babies excitedly chatting about fairy tails and wishing for a big grand gesture to fix their own shitty lives.

Plus it got you out of your house and kept you slightly on the good side of your mother typically although you doubt with your recent actions you’d ever be on that side of the fence again.

So it was particularly annoying when you were tasked to clean the church basement, an area usually unseen by anybody in the town including yourself.

It was a mess of overfilled shelves and baskets stacked to the brim with old holiday decorations or donations from past families that were never put to use.

You’d been hesitant to agree, having to try ten times harder than usual to apply your usual fake smile towards your father when you graciously nodded and accepted the task. Luckily a handful of other volunteers had also followed you down the creaky stairs, one of them being Jake.

Not on his own volition considering the way his eyes bulged out of his head when his father roughly nudged him as you stood at the center of the stage requesting helping hands. He hesitantly held his in the air and avoided making eye contact with you as you smiled happily.

The same smile you held now as you stood side by side with him, taking things off the shelves and throwing them into a trash pile. He looked more anxious than usual, like he was genuinely worried you’d try to do something to him while people were watching.

“Miss Y/N?” One of the older women who had volunteered was approaching the two of you, holding a small basket of, what looked like, old arts and crafts. “I found this and was wondering if you thought your father might want to hang them up in the youth study room?”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea ma’am.” You were smiling widely at her, eyes soft and full of light. “You should bring them up to him.”

She was smiling appreciatively at you before turning and heading back up the stairs, missing the way your smile immediately dropped back into a blank expression.

Jake however, didn’t miss it and you heard him scoff from next to you as he observed the interaction. You glanced at him with a raised eyebrow and he shrugged.

“Don’t you get tired of doing that all the time?” He questioned and you faltered slightly. You hadn’t ever really considered it as something you were doing necessarily so his statement threw you off.

“I don’t know… I do it with everybody. I just do it.” You shrugged and awkwardly looked away from him, feeling confronted.

“You don’t do it with me.” He suddenly declared and you were reminded that you didn’t actually know Jake or his personality that well, completely caught off guard by his bluntness.

“Maybe because I knew you were just as bad as me.” You dropped your voice into a small whisper, leaning closer to him slightly as he glanced around to see which volunteers were over in your side of the basement.

He picked up an old toy and tossed it off in the distance, shaking his head in denial. “That’s not true at all.”

“Why isn’t it?” You cocked your head at him and stopped rummaging through the shelf, more interested in what he was saying. You turned your body so you were facing him and could lean against the wood.

“I believe in this.” He looked around the room as if to emphasize what he was referring to. “I love god.”

“Do you? Or have you just been told to?” You were already sure of the answer but you were curious what he would say about that, if he’s ever sat and thought that over or if his faith was really that unwavering.

“I never questioned it before.” He confirmed with a stern voice, sending you a sharp look so you would understand he was serious. “Not once in my life until we moved here. Not once until..”

He trailed off but the implication was heavy and he looked away with a bright flush on his face. He was obviously referring to you and you felt a small spark of satisfaction at the fact he was implying you were the first thing to ever make him doubt, implying that he was doubting at all.

He scowled slightly when he noticed the bright smile that was on your face, one you didn’t even realize you had.

“I’m serious Y/N. If anyone ever found out I…” He didn’t finish his sentence again but you could get the gist of what he was implying, your smile dropping into a frown.

“You think I don’t know that? The stakes are way higher on my side of things incase you forgot.” Your tone was harsher now but you were taking a step closer to him, not bothering to check if anybody was watching. “But you’re mine right? Like you said?”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, turning to face you and taking a big gulp when he realized you were practically close enough to kiss now. You waited for him to say something against your claim, to tell you he had been lust drunk or he didn’t mean it.

Instead he slowly nodded, eyes shooting down awkwardly to your feet. His shy expression was one you were more familiar seeing him with and your smile returned.

“Can you come over today?” You whispered and he looked back at you with a shocked expression, clearly not expecting you to say that. “I have something to show you.”

He was nodding again, not trusting himself to speak without stuttering and you grinned, turning back to the shelf and continuing with your sorting.

——

By the time church was over and Jake got to your house, you were already sat outside on the porch in a big sweater and a scarf wrapped around your neck.

“Are we not.. going in?” He was standing at the end of your driveway, putting his bikes kickstand down and watching you with a confused expression.

“I said I had to show you something didn’t I?” He watched you as you stood from the cement slab, grabbing your own bike from off the side of your house and walking it down towards him with a half smile.

He didn’t say anything as you both got on your bikes, following behind you as you rode off the curb and down the street.

The ride was long and cold, the sky grey as you passed by old houses and empty shops that’d been abandoned as the owners aged. Jake found the town sad a bit but he was curious what you were leading him too and slightly excited that you wanted to spend time with him in a different way than normal.

Eventually you were crossing the threshold of the city limit, a big sign with chipping paint that was welcoming you in or wishing you safe travels out.

After that it wasn’t long before you were slowing to a stop, surrounded by trees and a large field. Jake watched you get off your bike with a raised eyebrow, waiting until you looked back at him with a beckoning hand.

“It’s this way.” You urged and he hopped off, pushing the bikes alongside each other until you were on the other side of the muddy field, approaching a large river. The sound of it was loud as it rushed but not loud enough to block out the noise of the highway across from it, just off in the distance.

Jake watched it as you unpacked your backpack that he didn’t even realize you’d been wearing until now, unfolding a thick blanket and laying it down on the wet grass.

“They can’t build houses over here because the river always overflows.” You started to explain, pulling out a thermos and something wrapped in paper towel as you talked. “The water levels higher than usual because all the rain we get.”

“Sometimes I wonder if they even know we are over here.” You continued with a scoff, sitting criss cross on the blanket now and looking over at Jake who was dropping his bike.

He sat down too, carefully keeping his wet and muddy shoes off of the fabric.

“Do you come here a lot?” He was muttering what felt like his first words of the day, looking around the area and seeing virtually no signs of civilization other than the highway. He wondered for a second if you had even been able to hear him over the sound of it.

“I guess. There isn’t much else to do if you haven’t noticed by now.” You were shrugging as you spoke, you stuck one of your legs out so it nudged against his.

“I’ve been pretty occupied since I’ve gotten here so I guess I didn’t.” His words made you laugh although he was being serious, only having gone from home to church to your room.

He didn’t say anything as you laughed and he still didn’t when you were suddenly moving out of your sitting position, crawling towards him on all fours until you could press yourself against him.

Every part of you was touching as you sat side by side, both facing the rushing river and trying to not focus on how cold it was outside, the sky slowly darkening now since it was around dinner time. That reminded you that you had packed sandwiches and you were leaning forward slightly to reach them, handing him one and watching him unwrap the paper towel in confusion.

His cheeks turned red when he saw what it was, glancing at you and nodding softly in appreciation before taking a bite.

“Why are we here?” He was breaking the silence the two of you had fallen into as you ate and passed the warm thermos back and forth, watching the highway and the building traffic.

“I don’t know.” You felt strangely vulnerable at this question, not really knowing yourself why you’d taken him to such a private place. “Don’t think too deeply about it.”

Your sudden change of tone made him frown and tense against you, a harshness seeping into your words as you reminded him what type of relationship you had going here.

To further prove your point that this wasn’t anything being sin and attraction, you were quickly turning your upper body so you could face him before leaning forward and pressing into a kiss. He froze completely for a few seconds, brain short circuiting at the sudden contact.

Then he was closing his eyes slowly and kissing you back, a low him of appreciation slipping through your lips and vibrating against his.

You turned your body more so you could climb over his legs, straddling him and making a small noise of surprise when his hands were immediately on your lower back, tugging you in tighter against him.

The two of you kissed like that for a while, you sitting comfortably in his lap and feeling him grow hard underneath you embarrassingly quick. He felt strong and sturdy under you but he was letting out little whines and whimpers and he kept trying to pull you in closer, almost like he was trying to merge the two of you together.

Then you were sitting up on your knees and tugging your long skirt up so it was bunched around your hips, mouth parting slightly at the feeling of the cold air nipping at your bare skin. He watched you with confusion, eyes darting around your legs so fast he felt dizzy.

You sat back down on his hard on, now only separated by his jeans and your underwear and he let out a low moan, shooting forward and ducking his head forward into your neck.

“Y/N.” He whined out and you shushed him, petting his hair and rocking your hips slowly against him, liking the way his mouth parted against your skin as he took deep shuddering breaths.

“I want you to feel me.” You were whispering into his hair and he picked his up in alarm, shaking his head and glancing down at your exposed lap.

“I- I don’t know how.” He was rushing out and you laughed softly, reaching down to grab his wrist off the blanket and pick his hand up.

You placed it against your stomach like it was the other day when he was pressing on it absentmindedly, letting him feel the smooth skin above your underwear line for a while before pushing his hand down slightly past the elastic and listening to his gasp.

You were still rocking against him but slower now, letting him feel you for the first time at his own pace and trying not to overwhelm him.

His hand was shaking fast, from the cold and nerves. You imagined he could feel his own hand pressing against his cock as he kept moving it down, trapping it between the both of you. You dipped down again when he hesitatingly stopped moving it once he was fully in your underwear and he let out a cry at the feeling of your wetness against his skin.

“W-what?” He was crying out in concern, eyes shooting up to look at yours. “Are you okay? Are you bleeding?”

“I’m wet.” You explained to him with a breathy voice despite the fact you knew he didn’t understand what that would mean or if it was good or bad. “Means I feel good, you make me feel good.”

That seemed to alarm him more than the idea of you bleeding, his hand instinctively twitching and pressing against you. You leaned down to kiss him again and he reciprocated, forgetting his hand was on you for a few seconds before you were lowering your hips again.

He wasn’t doing anything but just the feeling of his large hands cupping you was making you feel dizzy, rocking against him again despite the strange noise he let out.

“Touch me baby c’mon.” He looked up at you at the sound of your urging, eyes big and wet. He looked nervous but he hesitatingly moved his fingers, curling slightly and pressing against your clit. You let out a cry and he immediately froze, mistaking it for pain. “No Jake, it’s okay do it again.”

He didn’t look sure but he followed your instructions anyways, curling his hand up and being amazed by the way you threw your head back in a small cry.

The two of you seemed to forget about your surroundings, about the rushing lake or the freezing air that was only making the cold grass more bitter to sit in. You almost forgot who you were or the fact you were only a few minutes outside of town, practically riding Jake in a field visible to anyone who cared.

“You’re so pretty.” You remarked and he frowned at your gentle word causing you to lean forward and kiss him softly. “I want to keep you forever.”

You were too lust drunk to think about the heavy implication of your words or the fact saying them went against everything you’d previously been attempting. The whole reason you’d even started touching him today was to distract him from the fact you’d taken him to a place personal to you, to make him forget your act of kindness.

“You can keep me.” He was stuttering out in a high voice, not really sure if you meant what you were saying considering how confusing he found you, how strange this whole situation was.

Jake had accepted at some point that his life was changing now and for some reason, god had put you in his path. At first he figured you were some type of test of faith, if he could just ignore you and your evil nature then he’d be able to prove he was a good man, a holy man. But he began to wonder eventually if you were truly as terrible as he originally thought, as his mother kept remarking every time his father wasn’t in the room.

You made him cry and you occasionally would say terrible things to him. And it was no doubt you had a habit of sinning and making him sin, even when he didn’t want to.

But he thought you were kind at other times and he could tell by the way you zoned out in church during service and were nice to the young residents or helpful to the old, that you didn’t have no emotion. Maybe you were right, although you had a twisted way of teaching him about it.

You were leaning down to kiss him again and he was taking his hand out of your underwear, wiping it on his pants briefly before cupping your face in both his palms and keeping you there.

“Did I ruin you?” You were muttering against his panting mouth with a small smile, hands petting his hair affectionately.

“Almost.” He answered with a slight laugh, kissing you again.

——

By the time you and Jake had left the field, giggling together while you stuffed the wet blanket back into your backpack and jumped over mud puddles, the sun was set and gone.

You followed the streetlights home, walking the bikes side by side the entire time so the 20 minute ride turned into an hour walk.

You went a few streets without talking for a while, listening to the sounds of your tires rolling over gravel or the music nature provided from the surrounding woods just off in the distance. By the time you were crossing back into city limits and setting your sights on the abandoned buildings on the outskirts of town, your curiosity was weighing on you.

“Why did you move here anyways?” You were mumbling on accident so you weren’t sure he had heard you until he cleared his throat.

“A council member caught dad hitting mom.” He said it casually and you wondered if he was used to it or it was a practiced tone. “I guess they thought it’d look bad to punish him there so they sent us away.”

“Does he hit you too?” You weren’t sure why you asked that considering you were already pretty positive of the answer.

“Yeah sometimes.” He shrugged and tried not to fidget at the feeling of you watching him, kicking at a loose rock in the gravel road. “I think he’s mad I’m not very manly.”

“I think you’re manly.” You were frowning and furrowing your eyebrows, only deepening when you heard him let out a disbelieving scoff. “I’m serious.”

And you were. Despite Jake’s outwardly timid personality and the way he basically turned into a nervous obedient puppy everytime you got your hands on him, he was clearly a man. Both in his broad athletic build and in his day to day actions and personality. He was blunt and honest, telling you what he felt even if he thought it might anger you.

“Yeah, whatever.” He was whispering, still not trusting what you were saying and you froze in your tracks, stood directly under a streetlight. He slowed to a stop when he realized you were walking anymore and looked back at you in confusion.

“You wouldn’t have picked on me if I was manly.” He was explaining once he caught sight of your frustrated expression. “You probably wouldn’t have even noticed me.”

“You think I’m picking on you?” You ignored his second statement for now, eyes darkening at the implication of the first.

You weren’t sure why it struck a nerve within you considering he wasn’t half wrong. You had originally sought him out as a victim for you, an experiment or a game. Maybe even a way to further upset your mother, but you didn’t think he thought you were picking on him entirely.

“I don’t know what to think.” He was shaking his head and his eyes looked sad. He started to push his bike again and you rushed to catch up with him. “This is just confusing.”

“Well I’m not.” You kept your voice firm in an attempt to assure him and he didn’t say anything else, sparing you a long glance before looking back forward so he didn’t accidentally hit a pothole.

The two of you didn’t talk anymore after that, walking in a comfortable silence as you slowly got to a more familiar area for him and he realized you were slowly approaching his neighborhood. You must be planning on dropping him off before making you own way home he decided.

Those plans were quickly halted when you turned the corner of his street and saw your own parents car in his driveway, right next to the Sim’s. You both froze in place and stared in front of you in horror.

“Maybe it’s a coincidence.” He whispered and you jumped at the sudden sound of his voice, the words shaking slightly. “We can tell them we got caught up studying at the park.”

“If they’re here they already know.” You immediately stated in a flat voice, having a sick gut feeling as you looked at the two cars. The lights were on in Jake’s living room and you could vaguely make out multiple shadows walking around inside. “I don’t understand.”

“Maybe your dad heard something the other day.” He was rushing out in a hush, looking at you and your uncharacteristically frozen figure. He’d never seen you scared before and it made his skin crawl. “Or that lady in the basement.”

“No that’s not possible, I was-“ Your words faltered and you sucked in a panicked breath, trying to recall the two incidents he was talking about. You had been so caught up in your giddiness to talk to him that you hadn’t paid attention to your surroundings this morning at all, saying damning idiotic things to him in the church of all places.

His hand was coming up and brushing against your arm that was covered in goosebumps. “Go home. I’ll think of a cover for you, I’ll handle it.”

You looked at him with big eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by his presence and the fact he was willingly to lie for you so easily, willing to sin to both his parents and yours so you could be spared from punishment.

“I can’t leave you with them.” You were shaking your head in earnest and he deflated, understanding immediately there was no way of talking you out of it.

You both stood there for a few more beats, staring at each other under the street light and you briefly wondered if you’d see him again after this. You weren’t sure what your parents knew or if they were just following a strong hunch but you knew it didn’t matter. The second they suspected anything, atleast the men, you wouldn’t be allowed to see Jake anymore.

Eventually he took the first step, setting his bike down at the corner of the street and nudging for you to follow suit although you gave him a confused glance.

Following closely behind him, you tried to match his slow casual pace approaching the door and almost felt like you were going to throw up on the porch when he pushed it open without knocking, deciding to not give them any warning you were approaching.

The sight was just as dreadful as you imagined it would be, your parents sat on the Sim’s old couch while his were standing at attention and listening to whatever it was your father had been saying before your arrival.

All heads turned in your direction when you entered, half looking surprised you were together and the others showing no reaction. Your mother was immediately leaping up from the couch and approaching you with a scowl.

You felt her hand hitting your cheek before you even processed she was crossing the room, your head shooting sideways as your own palms came up to grasp your face in shock. Despite your differences, your mother had never directly struck you.

“You’re a disgrace.” She spat, literally, in your direction and you vaguely saw Jake flinch in your direction like he wanted to grab you. “No more games little girl, they finally see what I have all these years.���

One glance in your fathers direction told you she was telling the truth. He’d never been a good father but he wasn’t cruel, choosing religion over warmth and parenting. So upon seeing his cold stare you automatically knew things were too far gone.

“And you.” She was turning to sneer in Jake’s direction now and you were slightly surprised to see him square back his shoulders, jaw clenching. “How can you be so stupid?”

“Mary, please advise yourself on how you speak to my son.” Jake’s mother was piling up from the couch “I thought we agreed that your daughter is the one at fault here.”

“What?” Jake was spitting out and your eyes widened, wanting to tell him to shut up and let it run its course. “It was as much me as it was her.”

“No it wasn’t.” You were shaking your head at lightning speed, taking a step forward but rocking back again when your mother shot a glare in your direction. “It was all me.”

Jake was glaring at you but you knew he held no anger, only frustration that you were attempting to take the punishment for this. He was crazy to think you wouldn’t considering it was all your doing in the first place.

“It doesn’t matter.” Your fathers cool and calm voice was ringing out and everybody turned to look at him. “Tomorrow morning Y/N will be sent to a correctional school. I should’ve listened to your mother when she begged me to send you years ago.”

Your eyes were watering as you looked at him with pure betrayal. Despite your hatred for your town, for your longing to leave and never return you felt an overwhelming sense of panic at the thought of being sent away. You looked over at Jake to find him already watching you with the same panic in his eyes.

Then he was turning back towards your father with a shake of his head and a stony expression. “I won’t let you do that.”

Jake’s father scoffed, making his first noise of the night and you glanced over at his large frame. He was watching Jake with disgust and amusement but you saw a faint hint of a challenge in his eyes.

“And what will you do son?” He was approaching Jake with a sneer, looking down at him. Jake raised his chin to meet his stare, his hands shaking against his sides. “You can’t even protect your own mother.”

It was said in a whisper so only Jake could hear it but you were standing close enough to faintly catch it, mouth parting in shock at his blunt admission before opening further when Jake was suddenly moving faster than you could even pinpoint when he had started.

Jake was on his father before he even had a chance to prepare for it and you could hear the shrieks of the women, your own fathers grunts as he jumped off the couch to try and control the situation. You were standing on the side, hands out and trying to grip a hold of Jake’s jacket to tug him back when he glanced back at your hurriedly while his dad was disoriented.

“Go.” He mouthed the word at you and you felt your heart shatter slightly, shaking your head in denial before he gave you a firm nod and a soft smile.

You could do nothing but watch in horror as his dad took advantage of him being distracted, slamming Jake onto the ground, nearly blocking the front door. You took your chance to run before somebody realized you were going to and stopped you, sparing Jake one last look before heading out the door.

You aggressively wiped your tears as you ran down the street, sobbing as you could still hear the screams and grunts of pain from Jake coming from the door you’d left open. Your cheek was stinging still but you powered through it, letting the cold numb you as you hopped on your bike you’d abandoned under the light and started peddling so hard your thighs burned.

The wind was howling as you sped past your own neighborhood and the church, the empty buildings a blur through your teary eyes and you fell off your bike once you finally approached the field you’d been in earlier that day, landing in the mud with a cry.

You left your bike near the entrance, wobbling closer to the river with harsh sobs ripping through you, your knees and skirt dripping in mud.

For a moment you wondered if this was it. If you’d been wrong your entire life about religion and sin and this was god letting you know he was here and he was furious with you for the evil you let harvest.

If taking Jake and hurting him was all because you had done bad things and harmed the people around you. You let out a scream of frustration and looked up at the dark grey, wanting to tell him you didn’t care if he was watching and it wasn’t fair.

Instead you let yourself fall against the wet grass, curling into a ball and hugging your knees to your chest as you listened to the rushing river and the honks of traffic. You briefly remembered you were still wearing your backpack and it contained a blanket you could cover up with but you had no energy left to reach back to get it.

You weren’t sure how long you laid there crying, the sky getting darker and darker as you sat and waited.

You weren’t positive what you were even waiting for. Maybe for your parents to come searching for you so they could drag you away to some far away place or maybe the more hopeful part of you was waiting for Jake to come, to tell you he was okay.

The thought of him made you cry harder when you remembered the sounds he was making as you ran out and how furious his father looked about being struck. A man with an ego was dangerous especially when it got wounded.

Waves of guilt were rushing over you for dragging Jake into your twisted fantasies, for wanting to keep him even after you’d gotten what you wanted. For liking him despite not knowing you were capable of that until he arrived. You wished the river would fill up and swallow you inside it.

Over all the combined sounds you barely registered a few being added.

You didn’t hear the sound of the bike tires approaching, or the splashing of the mud puddles underneath hurried feet. You didn’t hear his worried pants or the desperate call of your name in the distance.

It wasn’t until he was there did you feel him, it wasn’t until he was reaching down to grab your arm.

Not until it was skin on skin.

[thesunloveschips]

Eye of the Storm: Prologue

Summary: In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes is a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.

Chapter Summary: The three Illyrians visit the Bone Carver after Rhysand becomes High Lord. In an uncharacteristic act, Death God gives them hope.

Word Count: 1.4k

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

****

The three Illyrian bastards walked slowly into the darkness, armoured to the toe with weapons strapped to every part of the body their hands could reach. The ominous sounds of the Prison and its inhabitants echoed around them and among them sounded the crack of bones.

Once.

Twice.

And again.

“It seems congratulations are in order.” The voice of the Bone Carver greeted them. “High Lord of the Night Court.” The wicked smile of the ancient creature always unnerved them. But then it continued, “My deepest condolences, shadowsinger, for the demise of your mate.”

Rhysand and Cassian immediately turned to Azriel who was as stone faced as he was whenever they were in the Prison but his shadows spoke volumes about his innermost feelings. They were quiet. Even the swishing sound they usually made was not there. Azriel was furious.

“I do not wish to incur your wrath anymore so I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Information shone in his eyes. Information that the spymaster wanted to torture for. Azriel’s bloodlust rolled off him in waves. His brothers suppressed a shiver but the Bone Carver himself did the same before he began. “She will be reborn.”

“What do you mean?” Rhysand was the one who asked. The only thing Rhys and Cass were able to discern from the Bone Carver’s twisted words were that Azriel had a mate and this mate was dead. They had never seen him with anyone. They hadn’t known.

“How would you know? The bond hadn’t snapped for either of them and he only felt it when your sister died.” The horror in Rhysand shook him to the core. His biological sister. His brother by choice. They were mates. They hadn’t had a chance. And now Azriel was left behind to be alone. And now this creature was saying that she would be reborn.

“Did you not hear a word I said? She will be reborn.” It seemed to Cassian, the only one who could even think a bit clearly in the current situation, that the Bone Carver was being a bit too desperate to convey this piece of information to them. He made no comment about it but stored that piece of information aside to discuss it with his brothers in the privacy of their home once both of them were calm enough. The last part seemed to distant a reality for the near future since the deceased female previously mentioned was Rhysand’s sister and by the looks of it, Azriel’s mate.

For the first time after feeling her death, Azriel felt hope. Funny that it was the Bone Carver who would do that to him. “She will come back.”

Azriel did not know why he felt his entire self being drained when he saw the dead body of that young girl. He had not felt that hollow even when he saw the body of the female who had raised him like her own. He attributed that feeling to the fact that she had been too young to be ripped away from life. That her wings had been cleaved from her body. He had seen the heads of the females and tracked down their bodies. The shadowsinger had found many bodies near theirs.

Upon reporting to Rhysand mind to mind, the High Lord and his Heir soon joined him to investigate. And for once he saw a male instead of the power hungry and unforgiving High Lord. A male who grieved his mate’s death. A male who heard his findings that the attackers were dressed in attire from Spring. A male who recognised the few dead attackers as the sons of the High Lord of Spring. A male who took one look at his son shedding tears, conveyed the information mind to mind and winnowed them in pursuit of revenge before the son could properly mourn his mother and sister.

Azriel winnowed back to Velaris where he had been stationed. He paced across the room furiously. Hours later, at the crack of dawn, the High Lord of the Night Court returned with blood in his hands and fear in his eyes. It was not the High Lord who had left but the Heir who had inherited his father’s throne and power. And if the magic had crowned him High Lord, then the father was dead.

Before Azriel could bow properly to the new High Lord, his shadows conveyed something to him. He took one good look at the male before him and realised that at this moment, this was his brother standing before him. Azriel marched over to Rhysand and helped him while he vomited. Once Rhys’s vomiting session was over, he helped him wash his mouth. The shadowsinger then decided to remove the blood stained leathers Rhysand was wearing and just as he had removed the first of the fighting leathers, Rhysand’s knees gave up and he collapsed on the bathroom floor.

Rhysand remembered how much he had cried and screamed. During the few moments he could gather his senses, he had asked Azriel to track down Cassian. Morrigan could not help him with how much she was herself in mourning. And when Cassian did reunite with his brothers after years, he did not believe that their reunion would be short of tears. But he walked into a house with one completely broken brother, another uncharacteristically angry brother and a devastated friend. All mourning over the deaths of one female who had raised them and the other who had been a friend to them all. In their world, it was a fortune to have a friend and a mother and to have both was a blessing something that took the wish granting powers of a thousand stars from the skies of Night Court.

Cassian knew he was devastated. The only mother he ever had had died. The only sister he ever had had died. And he was sick to the stomach. He did not know how Azriel gathered the stomach to break the news to him. He saw his family, broken beyond repair, hope drained from their eyes. And he knew that if Rhys did not gather himself then the war would be lost. That if Azriel did not come back to them, they would lose all hope. And if Mor did not stop crying then dreams would be lost. Cassian would do that. He had to. And to whatever extent he could, he did.

Rhysand had taken over his duties. Azriel had been appointed Spymaster of the Night Court. Mor had been given charge of governing Velaris. Cassian himself had been granted command over the Night Court’s armies. They immersed themselves in tasks one after the other. War raged. It ended. And while Rhys healed in the cabin, Morrigan and Cassian attended the signing of the Treaty as representatives from the Night Court. Azriel was travelling between the cabin, Velaris, Illyria and Hewn City to help Rhys rule their Court.

And now, after Rhysand’s decision to visit the prison for the first time after being crowned the High Lord, this creature was telling them that his sister would be reborn. Cassian’s disgust for the Bone Carver knew no bounds. Was this a joke?

“It is no joke, General.” The sharp tone grabbed his attention. His siphons glowed a bright red. And this was the General and Commander of the Night Court’s armies. He glared at the Bone Carver who merely laughed. “Do with it what you will.” And the creature turned away. The sounds of bones against each other resumed.

And the shadowsinger had decided then and there that he would wait for her because the heavens knew that he would do the same to come back to her. Rhys and Cass knew. They took one look at him and knew what he had resolved. No matter how much time it took. He would not cry. He would not falter. He would wait.

He had known his mate when she was Rhysand’s sister. A young girl every bit the dreamer belonging to the City of Starlight. And even though no romance had bloomed between them, they had loved each other in their own way. As friends. And if she were to reincarnate, Azriel would find her and give her the life she deserved to live. A life of happiness and opportunities and safety, far from the clutches of death.

[hippiegoth97]

Eddie Munson One-Shots Master List

Collage by me :)

Banner by @cafekitsune

Current Posts

Be Kind, Rewind (Female Reader)

Any Way You Want It (Female Reader)

Cum On Feel the Noize (Female Reader)

Dr. Feelgood (Female Reader)

Last Christmas (Female Reader) Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

Girl On Film (Female Reader)

She-Bop (Female Reader)

Smalltown Boy (Male Reader)

Girls, Girls, Girls (Female Reader, M/F/F Threesome)

Relax (Male Reader)

Wild and Untamed Things (Steddie x Female Reader) Pt. 1 Pt.2 Pt.3

Love Bites (Female Reader)

Sweet Dreams are Made of This (Female Reader)

Heat of the Moment (Female Reader)

Master of Puppets (Female Reader)

You Couldn't Ignore Me If You Tried (Female Reader)

Roam Pt.1 Pt.2 (Female Reader)

Where Is My Mind? (Female Reader)

I Want to Know What Love Is (Female Reader)

Ballcrusher (Female Reader)

Divider by @strangergraphics

Upcoming Posts

Thriller (Female Reader)

Time of The Season (Female Reader)

The Killing Moon (Female Reader)

Rainbow in the Dark (Male Reader)

Object of My Desire (Female Reader)

I Melt With You (Female Reader)

I Wanna Be Your Lover (Female Reader)

Beautiful Boy, Darling Boy (Trans FTM Reader)

Renegade (Female Reader)

Future Request Prompts

These are some leftover ideas from my wattpad days, and ones I may write someday. Feel free to send a request in my inbox, and I'll do my best to finish it in a decent timeframe. I'll do any preferences you like, just follow my request rules that can be found here. I'll do any gender, pairing, etc., though obviously I have some preferences of my own in the descriptions. Also, please feel free to use these ideas for yourself, there's plenty to go around. If you do, don't forget to tag me so I can read your amazing work!

•Graduation Day/Party: You and Eddie graduate together in '86, and have some fun at a graduation party hosted at your house. (I envisioned cheerleader!reader for this, but it's up to you. And preferably the party would be at their house, and they're rich or something.)

•Sub!Reader/Dom!Eddie: Eddie tortures you with toys and edging, very kinky BDSM type stuff.

•Criminal!Reader: You're a runaway dropout who is honestly up to no good. Eddie encounters you when you start cutting in on his business, and you get into all sorts of illegal hijinks together.

•Punk!Dom!Steve Threesome: You and Eddie go to a rock show together, and you happen upon none other than former King Steve Harrington! He's dressed to the nines in punk attire, dyed/buzzed hair, piercings, tattoos, DIY clothes. You and Eddie are very taken with him, and bring him home for a good time (preferably this would be an MLM story, I haven't written queer content as much as I'd like.).

•Vamp!Eddie: Eddie nearly dies in the upside-down, but the bat bites turn him into a vampire. You hide him in your house, feed him, things get bitey, yada yada. (I know it's been done to death, but not by me. Well, not like this, anyway.)

•Truth or Dare: You and the grown teens of the Main Party have a gathering at your house. There's drinking, smoking, teasing games, the like. Everything is going great, until Eddie suggests you play 'truth or dare'. He knows you've been crushing on him for months, and he knows exactly what to do to get you to fess up.

•Canon (but also not) Steddie Threesome: You stay at Steve's with Eddie when you lose your home in the earthquake. You can overhear them having sex at night, which excites you. You try to ignore it, give them their privacy, until you hear the boys talking in bed about how much they want you, what they'd do to you. Eventually, the cat comes crashing out of the bag when you let it slip that you've been hearing them. This was all part of their elaborate plan, of course, much to your delight. (Again, preferably MLM on this one.)

•Wet Dreams: Eddie has a wet dream about you. Any dream you like.

•High School Reunion: It's 2006, the 20-year reunion for Hawkins High Class of '86. Eddie is a megastar, and you haven't even bothered to leave town. You hooked up once back in the day, and you always regretted letting him leave for LA to kickstart his career. Well, without you tagging along, at least. He shows up, much to your surprise, and you swear it's like he never even left.

•Hostile Uterus: You're in an all-girl rock band (named Hostile Uterus, if you couldn't tell), and Eddie sees you perform in a local festival-type event. He falls head over heels almost instantly when he watches you, needing to get to know you. You don't let him in so easily, and you're definitely not one to relinquish control. (Sub!Eddie and Bitchy!Dom!Reader preferred for this, but I'd take suggestions.)

•Oh, Eddie...You're So Fine: You work at a convenience store, which Eddie frequents on a regular basis. You often fantasize about him, your mind traveling to very nasty places while on the clock. One day, Eddie asks you out on a date, making all your wishes come true.

•Tattoos: You get a brand new/your first tattoo and are excited to show it to Eddie. He loves it, and goes crazy on you. (There's so many tattoo possibilities, so I'm leaving that open.)

•Brat!Reader and Dom!Eddie: Eddie is busy working on a new campaign, but you want his attention NOW. You start knocking things over, throwing a little bit of a fit, huffing and puffing. Eddie tries to ignore you, and the teasing you employ, and finish his work. He warns you many times to cut it out, but you don't listen. So, you earn yourself a very big punishment.

Tag List: @rafescurtainbangz @voyeurmunson @xxbimbobunnyxx @taintedcigs @mediocredreams

@slowandsteddie @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @babygorewhore

@rattkween86 @violetpixiedust @bimbobaggins69 @purplehazed-h @morning-rituals

@eddie-van-munson @msgexymunson @munsoneightysixx @impmunson @mysticalstar30

@jenniquinn @oneforthemunny @succubusmunson @ddeadly-succubus @prettyboyeddiemunson

@sanctumdemunson @stalactitekilla @s6raphic @hellfirenacht @birdysaturne

@ohmeg @h-ness1944 @pretendthisnameisclever @ahoyyharrington @micheledawn1975

@costellation-hunter @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @yourdailymemedelivery @spacedoutdaydreamer

[suguwu]

MOON EATER I TWO

"But truly, Master Diluc—why am I here?"

"I would wed you," he says, flexing his hands in his lap. "If you are amenable to it."

minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

masterlist

pairing: diluc ragnvindr x f!reader

notes: hopefully this posts bc dividers are giving me trouble but mostly i hope you enjoy!

content: marriage of convenience, politics, some manipulation, pining, jealousy, some blood and gore.

wc: 5k

You take the Ragnvindr name on a mild autumn day.

It’s a simple thing, Diluc thinks. Two signatures side by side, yours jagged like a cliff face, his flowing like a peaceful river current. He watches the ink sink into the paper as Jean clears her throat.

He glances up at his old friend; her eyes—the gentle blue of the early morning sky—soften. He stiffens. Jean has always worn her heart on her sleeve and now, the smile that curves her lips is a dandelion thing, delicate and fleeting. There’s something melancholic to it.

“Congratulations,” she says, quiet but firm. “May the breeze bring its blessings to your union.”

The wind curls in through the window, catching against the marriage certificate, the edges of it fluttering in the sudden puff of air. The breeze swirls through the office, tugging at your simple dress with cheeky fingers, sending your earrings dancing. You laugh, free and delighted, and Diluc’s chest tightens. 

(Your little sailboat spun around in the current, small enough that the water churned around it like a storm-struck sea. 

“I’ll get it!” Diluc called as he rolled his pant legs up, exposing skin as pale as the moon, dusted with freckles, cinnamon on top of cream. He waded into the river before you could protest. The water was cold, eddying around his legs, and he grunted as he reached for the toy. It drifted away from his grasping fingertips like a crystalfly rising to the sky, just out of reach. He reached out further, stretching as far as he could over the deeper water, where the current grew teeth. He grit his teeth as the boat bobbed along, buffeted on all sides by the rippling water. He stretched further, rising to the tip of his toes, a stubborn ballerina.

“Be careful!” Kaeya called from the shore.

Diluc startled. He tumbled into the deeper water, yelping as it swallowed him in its frostbitten mouth. The current spun around him, sinking its teeth into him, but he sputtered his way to the surface. It tugged at him as he treaded water. Diluc spat his soaked hair out of his mouth as he looked for your boat, but it was long gone.

Kaeya and you met him in the shallows. Diluc stood, grimacing as his clothes suckered to him, still heavy with cold water. 

“Are you okay?” Kaeya asked.

“Yeah,” Diluc said. He looked at you. “Sorry about your boat.” 

You stared at him for a moment, eyes wide. Then you laughed, loud and echoing, as bright as the sunlight reflecting off the river’s surface. Diluc’s heart fluttered against his ribcage. 

“You’re an idiot,” you said, but there was almost something fond in your voice. “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

Diluc beamed.)

The wind dances around Jean’s office for a moment more. It undulates around you, ruffling the pristine cecilia pinned sweetly into your hair, and your laugh billows out like campfire smoke once more. The breeze plays over Diluc’s neck, tugging at the crimson strands of his hair, making them dance like flames. 

Finally, the breeze dies out, but only after it makes the marriage certificate flutter once more.

“Well, well,” Lisa purrs from her place beside Jean, gazing out from beneath the rim of her hat with a bemused expression. “A blessed union indeed.” 

“You think so?” you ask, and you’re back to that rosebud smile.

Lisa nods. “Of course, cutie. With that timing? There’s hardly anything else it could be.”

Diluc meets Jean’s wide eyes. He thinks of fish mouthing along the top of a pond, but the expression is quickly gone as Jean gathers herself. 

“Well,” you say, glancing over to Diluc, your eyes shining, reflecting his own image back at him. Your ability to be unreadable has plagued Diluc over these last few months; he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised you give nothing away now. “An auspicious start to our union, husband.” 

“Yes,” he says, unable to conjure up any other words, too caught on being called husband by you. 

Lisa chuckles before reaching out for the certificate. She signs as a witness with a flourish, even though her handwriting is atrocious. Jean takes it next; her signature is looping and beautiful, curling like sweet pea tendrils.

You tilt your head. “Is there anything else needed?” you ask Jean. 

“No,” she says, handing off the certificate to the Knight’s clerk that has just appeared at the ring of a bell. “You’re legally married. Congratulations again.”

“Thank you,” you say. “You’ll be at the party, yes?”

Jean nods.

“Wonderful,” you say. “We’ll see you then.”

“Actually,” Jean says, “I was hoping to speak to Sir Diluc for a moment.”

He blinks.

“Of course,” you say, before murmuring a goodbye. You sweep out of the office, brushing past Diluc as you do. He breathes in and the scent of you fills his lungs, with the sweet addition of the cecilia’s pollen. The door closes behind you. 

“What is it?” he asks Jean roughly. 

“Sir—”

“I’m not a knight anymore.”

She flushes, the apples of her cheeks pinkening like ripening strawberries. The air goes ozone heavy, the breath before a lightning strike. He glances at Lisa; she smiles sweetly despite the static electricity crackling around her. Jean lays a hand on her shoulder. 

“Of course,” Jean says to Diluc as the ozone starts to fade away. “My apologies, Master Diluc.”

“What is it?”

She coughs. “I understand that you don’t like the Knights, Master Diluc, but it’s important that they’re present at your wedding celebration.”

He stiffens. “Why?”

“There will be several diplomats attending, including representatives of the Qixing,” she says, looking mournful. “The Knights will need to be present as a protective measure.”

“My staff are—”

“Not Knights of Favonius,” Lisa says. Diluc frowns at her; she flashes her teeth in a lazy smile. “It needs to be the Ordo, not civilians.” 

“Won’t the Qixing have their own people?”

“Yes. But the Knights will need to provide an escort anyway.” 

Diluc grits his teeth.

“Master Diluc,” Jean says, far too gently. “It is only for a night.”

He bristles. “One night is one too many,” he snaps. 

Jean’s face hardens. “This is a matter of national importance. It is not a suggestion, Master Diluc. There will be Knights present as security at your wedding celebration.” 

(The blood on his face was still hot. 

It dripped down his cheek, but Diluc paid it no mind. He reached out with a shaking hand to his father, his body propped up against the carriage like a broken puppet. The gash on his father’s side was deep enough that Diluc could see the white glint of bone, like teeth in the crimson mouth of the wound. 

“Father,” he gasped. 

His father grabbed his wrist as he reached for the wound to put pressure on it. “Diluc,” he wheezed, his rich voice breaking over the syllables. “Please.”

Something opened in Diluc’s chest; it poured, and poured, and poured.

He knew what he had to do.)

Leather creaks as he clenches his hand into a fist at his side. Jean’s eyes dart to it, but she stays firm, her lips set into a thin line. In this moment, he realizes she looks every inch the Grand Master, with her head held high and her blue eyes burning like a comet through the sky.

“I’m sorry, Master Diluc,” she says. “We cannot budge on this. And your wife has agreed.”

“Fine,” he snaps. “But only for the celebration, not before or after.” 

Lisa opens her mouth, but Jean holds out a staying hand. “Very well,” she acquiesces.

“Is that all?”

“Yes, Master Diluc,” Jean says, her voice soft and a little bit sad. “That’s all.”

He strides from the room without a goodbye. The door clicks shut behind him, the guard outside it coming to attention. Diluc pays no attention to him, heading towards the exit.

He’s almost to it when he realizes there’s no sign of you. He halts, glancing around with a furrowed brow. There’s not even a hint of your scent to guide his way. He closes his eyes for a second, resigned to his fate, but before he can ask the guard if he’s seen where you went—

“My, my,” a velvet voice purrs out. “Lost your new wife already, Master Diluc? Impressive.”

He sighs. He turns around to face Kaeya, meeting his pale lilac eye with a scowl. The other man smiles, an indolent curve of his lips, a fat cat lounging in a golden patch of sunlight. 

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Kaeya asks, raising a perfect brow. “I’ve barely said anything.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” 

Kaeya laughs. “I’ll keep your wife’s message to myself, then, shall I?”

“Didn’t know you were a delivery boy now.”

Kaeya’s eye crinkles with his smile. “I made an exception for her.” 

Diluc takes a deep breath and ignores that. “What’s the message?”

“Oh? I can talk now?”

“Sir Kaeya.” 

The knight hums. “She’s at Good Hunter. She says you should join her for lunch. And surely you won’t keep a lady waiting, will you?”

Diluc turns on his heel. Behind him, Kaeya laughs, an airy puff of sound. 

“You’re welcome!” 

Diluc ignores him and makes his way to Good Hunter. Most of the townspeople leave him be as he strides through town. He takes the long way around, trying to give himself time to shake off the remnants of his conversation with Jean. He comes to Good Hunter from the opposite side, and he catches sight of you from the terrace above the little plaza. You’re chatting with Sara, a small smile on your lips. He pauses to watch you for a moment. The afternoon sun is casting shadows around the plaza, but it haloes you, burnishes you gold.

Sara laughs, barely audible over the hubbub of the plaza. Your smile quirks at the edges, picking up on her joy, and Diluc thinks of how the moon has no light of its own, that it only reflects what it’s given.

As if sensing his gaze, you glance towards him. You wave, elegant and sure, and Diluc nods back to you before he realizes that the two Fatui stationed just beside the terrace are waving back. He grits his teeth. He stalks past them on his way to the stairs; they quail before the scowl he knows is carved into his face.

By the time he reaches you and Sara, though, he’s managed to calm himself. He comes up beside you and tries to ignore the soft heat of you. 

“Master Diluc,” Sara says. “We were just discussing some menu possibilities for your reception.” 

Diluc raises a brow. “I thought Adelinde was taking care of the preparations?”

“She is,” you say smoothly. “I told her I’d bring some of her notes to Sara when we went into town today.”

“I see.”

“Is that all you need?” Sara asks.

“Actually, I was thinking we would get lunch here. What do you think?” you ask, turning to Diluc with a little smile.

“I had intended to go to the Angel’s Share to check in,” he says. 

“Oh,” you say. “Let’s get something to bring there, then.” 

Diluc sighs. He wonders briefly if Adelinde had put you up to this—she’s always vexed by how often he forgets to eat while he is working. 

“Very well,” he says. “Sara, we’ll have an order to go.”

She nods and takes your order. As she steps away to prepare it, you and Diluc step to the side as well. The two of you are quiet for a few long moments. Diluc tugs on his glove, fixing the way it sits on his wrist, the buttery leather sliding back into place. 

“I had hoped to return to the winery by midafternoon,” you say. “Will your work be finished by then?”

“You don’t need to wait for me,” he says. “I can take a horse if you wish to take the carriage.” 

You blink slowly, a gentle sweep of your eyelashes. They catch the sunlight, the fan of them casting sweet shadows on the top of your cheeks. “I don’t mind waiting for you.”

“Oh.”

You smile, a slow bloom of your lips. “Besides,” you say, “I should think it would be interesting to see exactly how Master Diluc runs his tavern. I’ve heard you bartend. And that you’re good at it.”

He can feel the tips of his ears start to heat. “I do bartend on occasion.”

“You’ll have to make me a drink sometime.”

“As you wish.” 

Sara calls out for you then, her voice a sharp, bright chirp that cuts through all the plaza’s noise. You hum, stepping back to the counter. Diluc follows you quickly, pulling a pouch of mora free from his belt. He reaches around you to hand it to Sara.

“Thank you, Master Diluc,” she says, sounding amused. She starts to count out his change as you whip around to look at him. 

“I could have paid,” you say, nose scrunching up the smallest bit.

(“Don’t do that,” you said, nose scrunched up into something crinkled and ugly as you batted Diluc’s hand away. 

“Sorry,” he said softly, drooping like a wilting flower. You glanced up at him. Sighed. 

“Just sit,” you said. “You can watch.”

“Okay!” 

Diluc plopped down beside you. You were pressed shoulder to shoulder; you were a long line of cool skin against the pyro-enhanced heat of him. He leaned into you to better see what you were doing and grinned when you didn’t pull away.)

“I’m aware.”

You examine him for a moment before shaking your head. “Thank you,” you say to him. “I suppose.” 

Diluc accepts his change from Sara, leaving a hefty tip, and then hoists the basket of packaged food onto one arm. Tentatively, he offers the other to you; you tuck your hand into the crook of his elbow without hesitation. He catches himself before he makes a sound.

The walk to Angel’s Share is quiet. You return any greetings you receive, but you don’t stop, allowing Diluc to continue leading you. He’s deeply aware of your hand on him; it feels as if you’ve sunk beneath his skin, singed a mark into his bones. You give a little squeeze that makes his breath stutter. He walks a little faster, but you don’t seem to notice, matching his pace unconsciously. 

“Morning, sir,” Charles says as the two of you slip inside Angel’s Share. He pauses for a moment as he takes in your presence. “Miss.”

“Good morning, Charles,” Diluc says as he locks the door behind him; he’s long learned that people will try to come in no matter the posted hours. “How is set up going?”

“Business as usual, sir. Is there something I can do for you? Wasn’t expecting you today. Didn’t realize you were in town.”

Diluc clears his throat. “We had an errand to run,” he says. “I thought I’d take a look at the books while I was here. I’ll—we’ll be in the office.”

“‘Course.”

Diluc starts to head towards the office. You follow him after a moment, calling out a quiet goodbye to Charles. The door to the office sticks a bit; as always, Diluc makes a note to get it fixed. You watch him force it open with a little smile on your lips, but you don’t say a word. He watches you take in the small, meticulously organized office before you cross the threshold and settle in one of the chairs before the desk. Somehow, you make it look like a throne. 

He sets the basket of food on the desk, careful to avoid the few papers lying on it. “I’ll get some utensils,” he says. 

You nod. He stands there for a moment, unsure if he should say anything else, but you’re starting to unpack the basket, carefully moving the papers to the side. He steps out of the room and blows out a quiet breath. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s rubbing at the crook of his elbow, where your hand had rested. 

When he comes back to the office, you’re settled in the chair, the basket fully unpacked. You’re pursuing one of the books that had been stacked in the corner, your brow crinkled as you read. You glance up as he steps through the door and smile. It’s that rosebud smile of yours. Something in Diluc aches, deep in his bones.

(Kaeya’s smile was tentative as you tugged him along, your fingers laced together. Diluc frowned at the sight, running up to meet the two of you. 

“Where have you been?” he demanded.

“We just went to the sandbearer tree, Luc,” Kaeya said, his violet eye wide.

“You didn’t wait for me!”

“You were taking too long,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “And we’re back now, aren’t we?”

“I guess,” Diluc said, kicking at the dirt of the courtyard. “Did you climb it?”

“Yeah!” Kaeya chirped. “We went really high, too!”

Diluc frowned, his brow thunderous. “I wanted to climb too.”

“Okay,” you said. “Let’s go, then.”

Diluc perked up. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” 

“Great!” 

You smiled at him, as sharp and golden as the amber mountains of Liyue, and his heart pounded.)

You tilt your head in question. Diluc shakes himself out of the cobwebs of memory and steps closer.

“Shall we eat?” you ask.

“Yes,” he says, rougher than he means to be. “Let’s.”

You smile, flower petals yet unfolded.

He wonders if he’ll ever see you smile for real again.

—

This is, Diluc decides, worse than any battle with the Abyss has ever been. 

Your wedding reception is in full swing, the music rising to the winery’s rafters, carried by the light breeze winding through the open doors. Beyond them, the sunset is pouring across the horizon, dotted with bruised clouds that are limned with orange, a fiery kiss on a painter’s palette. The crowd spills out into the vineyards like wine, pooling together in small groups. Several people are well on their way to drunk, and Diluc watches them with a frown, glad the harvest is already done. 

The Knights, of course, are doing nothing. They’re stationed around the vineyard and the winery itself, but most of them are watching the festivities with wistful expressions on their faces. They’d be useless if they were needed. Diluc’s staff, on the other hand, are casually moving through the crowds, light on their feet, their eyes sharp. Someone shifts in the shadows at the top of the stairs; Diluc doesn’t need to look to know it’s Adelinde surveying the winery from above with shrewd jade eyes. 

(“Young Master Diluc,” Adelinde said. “Young Master Kaeya.”

Both boys flinched. When they glanced up at her, she was watching with sharp, verdant eyes, the green of them gone to seaglass in the low light, washed out into something softer. 

Diluc and Kaeya exchanged a glance. They’d been careful when they sneaked out the balcony door, tired of the never-ending parade of guests, desperate to loosen their starched cuffs. No one was looking their way.

Somehow, Adelinde always knew. 

“Hi Adelinde,” Diluc chirped. “We were just getting some air!”

“Right,” Kaeya said, after Diluc jabbed him with an elbow. “It was…stuffy in there…”

Adelinde stared down at them before her stern face softened. “You shouldn’t be out here alone,” she chided. 

“Please, Addy?” 

She sighed. 

“Alright,” she said. “But I’m staying out with you.”

“Okay!”

She melted into the shadows. In time, Diluc forgot she was even there at all.)

Adelinde shifts again, stepping further back in the shadows, her eyes gleaming in the candlelight. Diluc watches, but she moves again, and she’s gone. Even with his discerning eye, if she’s there, he can’t tell. 

He refocuses when you touch his hand. It’s a ghost of a thing, a gentle brush of your fingers over the back of his glove, but it scorches through him like a forest fire. He glances at you.

You’re resplendent in the candlelight, your skin aglow and your painted lips curving like the crescent moon. There are cecilias pinned in your hair again, the cream petals dainty as they catch in the breeze, revealing golden stamen tucked between the petals like treasure. He’s sure that if he touched one silken petal, it would bruise under his fingertips. 

You wear them like they’re made for you, nature’s finest crown. The breeze ruffles the delicate petals once more, loosening a flower. The bloom threatens to fall, a collapsing ballerina, and Diluc reaches out without thought, pressing it back into place with careful fingers. 

“Ah, the sweetness of youth,” someone says, and Diluc jerks back as if burned. 

It’s a Liyuen who carries himself with the quiet confidence of someone with influence. He’s older, his hair gone gray as riverstones, but he stands tall. He speaks in Liyuen for a brief moment, the phrase just familiar enough that Diluc can recognize it as a formal greeting. 

You smile, your eyes crinkling with it. 

“Zhiming,” you say, bowing slightly. “Thank you for coming. I know the journey is long.”

The older man inclines his head. “Not nearly long enough to keep me away from something as important as this.”

You laugh, covering your mouth behind your hand. Your wedding ring flashes in the candlelight. “You’re too kind,” you say. “Diluc, may I introduce Zhiming of the Liyue Qixing? We work together on trade policy.” 

Diluc gathers himself at the mention of the Qixing, though he’s very aware that the tips of his ears must be bright red. “A pleasure,” he says, nodding to the older man. “Diluc Ragnvindr. The Dawn Winery is very grateful for our continued partnership with the trading unions.” 

The other man eyes him for a moment, his deep brown eyes keen. A hawk’s assessment. Diluc meets his gaze. 

“As are we,” Zhiming finally says. “May it continue for many years.”

Diluc nods.

“Are you staying long?” you ask lightly.

“For quite a few days,” he says. “The Knights of Favonius have kindly agreed to provide me an escort around Mondstadt during my stay. Hilichurls have been gathering of late, apparently.”

Diluc can’t help his scoff. 

Your smile ripples as Zhiming raises a brow. “Is this news to you?” he asks.

“No,” Diluc says. “My staff works hard to keep the road to the winery clear of them.”

“Not the Knights?”

“The Knights are inefficient at best,” Diluc says. “My staff is much more capable.”

“I see,” Zhiming says thoughtfully. His gaze darts to you for a moment, a lightning strike glance. “How unfortunate.” 

“Diluc exaggerates,” you say with a little laugh, resting your hand on Diluc’s forearm. You squeeze and he stiffens. “He simply prefers his staff, since they’re handpicked. Now please, Zhiming, go enjoy yourself. Yumei is here.�� 

A flush settles onto the older man’s cheeks, darkening them. “Oh. It would be rude to not say hello, wouldn’t it?”

“Very,” you say, a smile curling on your lips. Zhiming dips his head in farewell before disappearing into the crowd.

Your smile shifts as you turn to face Diluc. He finds that you’re once again unreadable, a still, serene pond with murky depths. You lean in close; his heart skips. He can smell the cecilias, can smell the delicate notes of your perfume, the salt of your skin. He catches himself before he sways forward to be even closer. 

“What was that about the Knights?” you ask.

“The truth.”

“I understand that you’re upset—”

“You understand nothing.”

You take in a breath. Your eyes gleam in the candlelight, knife-edged. Your mouth tilts, lips thinning into a gash, and Diluc thinks of the way the crab broke beneath your hands all those years ago.

“Your quarrel with the Knights is your own,” you say softly. “I will do nothing to involve myself in it. You may have your opinion of them, and have it freely, but you will never disparage them in front of a foreign guest. Do you understand me?”

Diluc sets his jaw.

“It is hard to have my opinion freely when you constrict it so.” 

“Master Diluc—”

“I have a right to speak my mind on the Knights and their poor performance.”

“Do you truly have no thought for their image?”

“If the Knights are so concerned about their image, they should do something about it. Perhaps if they tried being competent—”

“Shut up,” you bite out, and Diluc is so taken aback that he actually does.

You meet his stunned gaze steadily, and suddenly, he is back in the dark of a thick pine forest, the crunch of fresh snow under his boots, the endless, unyielding cold sinking its teeth into his very bones.

He thinks he sees why the Harbinger likes you so much, now. You must remind him of home.

“I would ask that you think of the consequences of saying such a thing,” you say, voice frostbitten, so different from your usual careful tones. “Of what it means to dismiss our country’s protectors in front of a foreign agent.”

That gives Diluc pause.  “I—”

“Hadn’t thought that far? Yes, that much is clear to me.”

Someone coughs. Diluc glances up and the grin he sees makes him want to groan. Kaeya tilts his head, his navy hair flowing down his shoulder like the night sky chases the sunset. His smile sharpens into something sly. 

“Out of the honeymoon stage so soon? Such a shame,” he says.

Diluc resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “What do you want, Kaeya?”

Kaeya hums. In the candlelight, his lilac eye has darkened to the color of a fresh bruise. It glitters like frost. “Why, nothing from you, Master Diluc.” 

Diluc frowns.

Kaeya turns to you. “From the bride, however—a dance?”

He holds out a hand, his long fingers unfurling like petals. He bows too, ever-dramatic; a smile flutters to life on your lips.  

“Of course, Sir Kaeya,” you say, placing your hand in his. He curls his fingers around yours delicately and Diluc thinks of trailing ivy, how it swallows everything it touches. 

He watches Kaeya lead you through the crowd, artfully spinning you through it, a thread through the needle’s eye. There aren’t many people dancing, but the musicians strike up a tune for the two of you. You murmur something to Kaeya; the man’s smile grows sharp, a fishhook grin. He whirls you away, your skirt flaring like a blossom. The two of you move like silk, rippling and flowing together. You laugh as Kaeya bends you back over his arm. 

Diluc looks away. 

—

It’s late by the time the reception begins to wind down, the silver moon a lonely mirror hanging high in the velvet sky. Diluc watches from the courtyard as people begin to drift home, laughing their way along the road to Springvale and the city, their joy spiraling to the sky like smoke.

You’re laughing too. He watches as you bid goodbye to a couple in Liyuen clothing, bowing slightly to them as they start down the path. The next group to leave is a group of merry-makers, their cheeks flushed with alcohol and their voices booming. He loses sight of you among them and takes a single step forward before he catches himself. 

“I hadn’t thought of you as a worrywart,” Lisa says as she sweeps up beside him. He wrinkles his nose as the scent of the roses she’s wearing woven into her hair reaches him; they’re cloying, the aroma heavy in the air. 

“I’m not.” 

She laughs. “If you say so.” 

He stares out into the vineyard again. The group has moved on, a few laughs coming from them as one of Diluc’s workers corrals them away from the vines and back onto the path. You have apparently had enough, as you’re coming back up to the winery, tugging at your dress to keep the hem off the ground.

(“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Kaeya said as he eyed the path up the mountain. It had churned into a thick, oozing mud with the rain that trapped the three of you inside yesterday. “If we get dirty—”

“It’s just clothing,” you said, already hopping over the worst of the mud.

Diluc hesitated. His father would scold them if they got too dirty. But you glanced back at him, a challenge burning in your gaze, and he scrambled after you.)

“Hi,” you say, a little bit breathless. “Is that everyone?”

“There’s a few more stragglers inside, darling,” Lisa says.

“Including you?” you ask, but you’re smiling.

Lisa’s lips quirk. “Including me. Jean’s helping clean up.”

Diluc frowns. “She doesn’t need to do that—”

“Oh, I know,” Lisa says. “But you know how she gets. I’ll convince her in a few minutes. I just wanted to see Master Diluc carry his bride over the threshold.” 

Diluc starts. He glances at Lisa and for the first time, he notices the tipsy flush in her cheeks, the way her bright green eyes are hazy, a morning mist over a lush valley. Her smile is a little bit wicked. 

“We hadn’t intended to—”

“Oh?” she says. “But it’s tradition, Master Diluc.” 

“We’ve hardly been traditional,” you say wryly. “Stop trying to get a rise out of him, Lisa.” 

The mage pouts. “You’re no fun.”

You smile serenely. “So you say.” 

“I suppose I’ll go get Jean,” she says, “before she starts washing dishes.”

She sweeps off without another word. The scent of roses lingers behind her, sweetening the air. You sigh. “Sorry,” you tell Diluc.

“Is that something you would want?” he blurts out. 

You blink. Light from inside slants golden through the windows; it highlights your eyes, makes them gleam. “Pardon me?”

“Being carried over the threshold,” he says. There’s warmth rising in his cheeks and he can only hope that his blush isn’t as crimson as his hair. “I can do that. If you want it.” 

A smile unfurls on your lips. “It’s fine,” you say. “But it was kind of you to offer.” 

Diluc nods, tugging at the cuff of his glove. 

You tilt your head, that same little smile on your lips, but you don’t say anything. Diluc glances away, taking in the way the crystalflies are fluttering through the vines, glowing softly. They’re flecked through the darkness like stars. When he glances back, you’ve gathered your dress and are making your way towards the doors to the winery. He flexes his hand and casts his gaze back to the vineyard.

“Diluc,” you call. “Are you coming?”

He glances at you. You’re haloed by the light of the winery’s open door; it limns you with gold. Your face is hidden in a broad stroke of shadow, but Diluc thinks he sees the starlight gleam of your smile before you turn to step into the winery. 

Diluc does the only thing he can.

He follows.

[alastorsfuckassbob]

You're Never Fully Dressed-

Alastorxfem!reader

oh boy everyone's favorite! Please I have never written before, I just figured I'd give it a shot it was 1:35 and I was not feeling sleepy so an hour later here it is, its not edited so SORRY ABOUT THAT- all of my friends are normal and would definitely not proof read this hot garbo!

Basic Plot!! Yikes another song fic i know i KNOWW, the reader knew our good pal Al in her life but oopsies he "left" her (he died duh) and now shes taking a sad hot girl bubble bath to reminisce!!

Lyrics are bolded, past events Italics for the most part.

ALSO Please DNI if you're a minor k thanks bye!! You are responsible for your own internet consumption, so here are the warnings! If you don't want to view that ✨dont✨

Warnings include:

-Swearing

-Violence

-Alcohol Use but not abuse! (its hell duh)

-Abusive Relationships

-Slight Innuendo but not a strong one!

-Angst

The fire danced, flitting left and right. It was different than any other fire set in hell, it wasn't meant to hurt anyone or destroy anything. It was just a small flame, melancholically melting the dripping wax down the white lilac scented pillar. Floral scents were hard to come by unless you made them yourself, it was hell after all, its not like theres a flower garden planted on every corner. The candles single wick didn't produce more than a drop of light. It just flickered every now and then, entertaining its own little lonesome sway. Your demeanor softened as you looked at it from the petal filled bath you currently resided in.

Oddly you felt at peace, understood, almost comforted. You had learned to dance the same way it seemed. You caught yourself when you fell, twisting and turning to please an audience. It was a cruel existence. At least the flame looked content in some way, at least it would never know what it was like to contort under the will of another. Yet it was still a light in darkness, shining for no other reason than to survive...All it could ever do was take, even if it didn't want to, fire needs to burn. To burn it must destroy. You sighed sinking deeper into the bubbly water. You didn't want to think about your past. Not anymore. You didn't have to anymore anyway. Life had not been kind to you and that constant displeasure followed you through your death and into the pits of hell. Funny how suffering could follow biting desperately at your heels and the man who was so "desperately" in love with you in life just couldn't find it within himself to stay...God you sounded bitter. To be fair you were. After all he had ruined your life and he didn't even know it...It wasn't that bad was it? You probably would still be in hell regardless, even without his "involvement" or lack of- you had always been a sinner. It wasn't worth it to be upset, not anymore he's most likely dead, you definitely are, whose to say if he'd even wind up down here. You paused a moment, laughing at the silly conclusion overthinking had led you to.. no that fucker is definitely in hell. Sweet as he was up front, he had a dark side that went much deeper than his soft exterior could cover. You closed your eyes..

1923- Central New Orleans

Suddenly it was 1923. The flower lined streets of late spring in New Orleans. His smile never wavering as he dragged you from store to store. As your dear companion, and biggest supporter, he had asked you to assist him at the radio station. Now that you had finished school you would need a job anyway. You'd always had a beautiful voice and a knack for writing. It just made sense. His hand squeezed yours lightly pulling you from your thoughts. In his hands, he held a burgundy day dress and a matching bow.

"Darling, would you try this on for me? I believe it is high time you were rewarded for all of your hard work. I believe you would simply sparkle in this color"

You smile softly at his gentle tone, taking the delicate dress in your hands. You find yourself caught in his eyes. It feels like you two are the only people on the planet

You feel the familiar sensation of tears on your face, you open your eyes again, you hadn't realized you'd started crying.

you let out the shrill scream you didn't know you were holding in. the fluke of champagne you had so tediously been savoring since you began your bath cracked slightly. You downed the rest of the glass, and grabbed the bottle sitting lazily on the floor. You didn't want to think about him or your life anymore...but it consumed you. You had so many more important things to fret about in your..current..environment. Songs to sing, bitches to kill, people to fuck. A grand glorious array of newer shinier problems, and yet you were stuck sulking about the past. You take a deep breath shaking slightly despite the warm vanilla scented water surrounding you. You remove your hand from the water motioning to the shadow hiding behind a vase (of no more than slightly wilted roses). It slinks forward at your beckoning, climbing to the white marble countertop of your vanity, it clicks the worn down knob of your rickety old radio. light jazzy music trickles out and fills the air with lovesick nostalgia you weren't entirely prepared to let in. No matter what he had done...you would always fall back to him. Even if he was nothing more than ill-fated failed fourteen year "endeavor". fourteen years is quite a long time, even if the majority of it was spent more or less platonically. You really did love him. Love doesn't always follow those that leave, you are testimony and truth to that. You let your mind wander guided by the static filled notes of the radio.

Hey, hobo man

Hey, Dapper Dan

You've both got your style

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

Even through the shudder of the static, it really did sound like him. Despite being the "host" of the station. He had his fair share of performances. For such a Hell bound soul he had the voice of an angel.

You close your eyes once again and allow the melody to take you back to an easier time.

1926- New Orleans, Your apartment

You sing along with whatever tune the radio gives you. You're at peace, simply existing for no other reason than to be with your friend.

"Dance with me my little canary, your voice lights a fire within me"

He pulls you in by the waist. His hands splayed across your hips holding them with a gentleness you'd never expected him to hold for you. He leans his head down against the yours and places a chaste kiss on your forehead

"Alastor" you giggle, the sensation tickling you slightly. "You are quite ridiculous"

"Ridiculous?" he feigns hurt. "My darling I am so far from ridiculous the word does not find sense within my ears" he spins you around and into his chest, you roll your eyes ignoring his antics

"Dearest are you aware you are speaking with the future of radio?"

"The future of radio? Please Love, don't jest. The 20s surely have more in store than you" You laugh into his chest and he shockingly laughs with you.

Neither of you know it but you are both so drunk on the sound. To you, his laugh sounds like the swift church bells that used to ring throughout your home town whenever someone got married. It feels familiar and yet like a distant memory. It makes you want to hear it over and over again until your ears stop working, and even then you'd settle in just fine feeling the vibrations of his chest. He sounds like home. To him, your laugh sounds like the rushing creek and smooth algae covered stones resting deep beneath the trees draped in Spanish moss of his mothers cabin in the woods. Just hearing your laugh he can feel the spotted sunlight speckling his freckled face underneath the big willow tree. You sound like home. Everything about you- it felt like home to him. His hands were crafted to hold soft curves of your body. His ears were made to hear your voice and your voice alone. You were purpose, his home. You don't know it, but it is that realization that sparked the idea of marriage into his heart.

That fire was put out not long after.

You at least had those nine years as his friend, three years as his "copain" if you will- and two years as his fiancée...and so many years alone. You only spent 14 years in the company of this man. You had lived before knowing him a good 17 years, and a good long bit after.

Why were you so stuck?

You hum along subconsciously, the objects in your bathroom begin to glow a familiar pink, levitating slightly in the air as you continue to hum. Your ability isn't weak by any means, but for some reason you were. You were nothing in comparison to hells overlords, especially the newest trio of Vs. Your power is so deeply connected to your voice, how can you hold power when it doesn't belong to you anymore? You drift back to the memory of your arrival. Scared, alone, dressed a great deal less than modestly, and equipped with nothing more than a pair of horns, some wings you couldn't quite use yet, and a thin devil like tail. It was only your third hour in hell. You didn't understand the rules. You were playing a twisted game in which you didn't realize you were just another piece of.

Shock can make a person anxious and fear will make them stupid. He was tall and smelled distinctly of cigars, soured whiskey, and something pungently sweet you couldn't name. It burned your nose as you inhaled it. You would become well aquatinted with the smell of lust in the years to come, you just didn't know it yet. It seemed innocent at first, just a simple contract, no different than a job. All you had to do was sing and dance at a club, in exchange for safety. But it was different and it wasn't innocent. He was cruel and yet no different than so many of the men you had dealt with in life. He agreed to your terms of anonymity and thats about it. You had your private life and his life. Valentino never played fair. You didn't know that yet, and now you're hells favorite sinner, a least no one knew it was you. If he had asked you another day later you would have realized you could have probably fended for yourself, with some difficulty anyway. At least you wouldn't have to be in this mess. You wouldn't be fucking six people before noon. You wouldn't be constantly covered in bruises and scars...Maybe you could have found him, Alastor that is. Maybe you could have at least been friends again. Its silly to hope for anything more since your romantic relationship ended...✨the way it did✨

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

1931- New Orleans, The river

The two of you sit beside each other in a small wooden row boat. Your hair is tied back with your signature crimson ribbon. He fiddles with the pocket of his jacket. The Louisiana soundscape of crickets, frogs and running water accompanies your conversation. Fireflies light up the air, almost bringing the stars down to your fingertips. With a buzz and a gentle green glow, the small creature lands on your hand. Your smile leaks wonderment and Alastor can hardly contain the love he feels for you.

As a Radio Host, he is quite agile in the way of words, yet something about you has him constantly at a loss. He takes a deep breath, unsure of what to say his voice wavers as he begins to speak.

"y/n, I want to thank you for the effect you've had in my lif-"

"My love look at the stars!" You didn't mean to cut him off, Your arms stretched upwards your face turning to meet his. The stars were so much brighter then they were in the city, it was only natural for you to be excited

"Yes doll, I see them, they're the same as they were last night and many many nights before hand"

You let out an impatient huff

"that doesn't make them any less beautiful." a mischievous glint hides in your eyes "now wouldn't it be so dreadfully terrible if I got bored looking at you just because I've already seen you before?" You fake a yawn and look at him eyes seething with boredom

"It would be so dreadful considering I was about to propose to you"

There is no other word to describe what you felt other than shocked. You had been an item for quite some time, but you never figured he would stick around (and "seal the deal" if you will).

Tears begin to run down your face rambling small words of agreement and love. You had never expected him to..love you that way. He was who he was, a dreadfully popular radio host, and you weren't really anything more than an assistant. People really only listened for him..yet in this moment, he was speaking only for you.

"I love you so dearly my y/n. If life without you exists I do not want to exist through it"

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

1934: New Orleans, Alastor's house

The house was empty. He was gone. Fully and truly gone. It had been a year since you'd seen or heard from him and six months since the birth of your son. It didn't feel like your house, it didn't feel like your life anymore. It was all still his. His things still bled into your side of the closet, his last purchase, a book, dust encrusted and unread. The blankets and pillows set on the couch exactly as you both had left them after falling asleep to the rain the night before he left wordlessly. You found yourself sporting one of his shirts more often than your own...until eventually they didn't smell like him anymore. The whole house used to reek of his signature vanilla smell. Theres nothing left here but dust and the crooked board of the desk he insisted he could build himself "just fine".

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

That matters

1936- New Orleans; ✨that shitty bar you performed at✨

"Get the fuck up you bitch"

You felt his hand tangle in your hair and pull you to your knees. All you could do was groan in pain.

"I'm so sorry it won't happen again I promise"

You mutter almost to yourself. He rolls his eyes shoving you into the counter smashing a glass in the process. Your vision blurs for a second seeing the glass shards decorating your h/c locks in a halo. You feel the blood trickle down your forehead.

"Do you think anyone else would hire you? A whore with nothing to her name and a useless ugly bastard child from god knows who?" You feel angered at his words. Insulting you is one thing, but your child?

But then it sinks in, he's right. The 30s are a sick decade, nothing progressive about them. No one else would hire you. You are lucky to work here..despite it all. You tell yourself anything is better than living on the streets. The mantra doesn't dull the pain but it makes it easier to put up with. You don't have a choice. You have a child to take care of.

"Get rid of him"

you stay silent unsure if you heard him correctly.

"Get rid of the boy. I don't care if you leave him in a box on the street or kill him yourself"

He reaches for a small silver knife under the bar's counter. He places it against your throat.

" y/n..You won't like it if I do it dearest, besides you are saving him the shame of having a mother like you. At least if he's adopted elsewhere he has a chance at a half decent life" he took a deep swig from his un-shattered glass of whiskey, looking at you with such deep distain.

You had never hated anyone the way you hated that man..But he was right. You would never be able to give your baby the best life. It would never get better because you couldn't make it better. So you found a young couple not to far from New Orleans, they took him in, and he got to be happy. he ended up living a successful life. He still is. If nothing else theres that. You know your own misery doesn't automatically allow others to be happier, but at times its what keeps you going.

Your mind is flooded with more and more thoughts. Thousands of little memories pilling themselves on top of you. Who would've thought, even deceased, even owned by Valentino, even trapped in an ever so violent place, the real plight of hell would be your thoughts. You light a cigarette and get out of the tub. You throw on a dark red robe and sit on the vanity's counter to brush your damp hair. The song continues into a jazzy interlude before it reprises again

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But, brother

You're never fully dressed

You're never dressed

Without a smile

You stretch out your wings in the mirror, looking at your demonic self. No matter how many times you catch yourself in the mirror, even after ten years of this hellish existence. It still strikes you as odd. You look more or less the same. The same hair color and skin tone, although slightly more grey. The tail was just fucking weird no matter how long you had it. The song erupts into the finale distracting you from your thoughts. You begin to sing along with it, smiling softly. It really does sound like him. The same pink glow takes over the room as well as your body, Your eyes begin to glow that same soft pink, your hair floating above your shoulders.

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

You're never fully dressed without a smile

The last line comes out much quieter than the rest. A sense of sadness overtakes you once again as you realize how pathetic this whole night turned out. You'd spent the whole night "Simping", as Velvette would say, over a relationship that ended decades ago. Yikes. The static from the radio clicks up a few notches, You cover your ears at the sudden noise. You quickly reach for the dial in order to turn off the device..And then you hear it. You hear him.

"Dearest.." Its almost unintelligible through the static

You think you've finally fucking lost it. Ten years in Hell and you've officially gone "delulu"...another Velvette saying but it feels fitting.

“y/n.”

He called softly, the static in his voice heavy and nearly unreadable.

You almost didn't believe it.

"Y/n" He repeats the static fizzling out leaving his voice raw and almost natural. Fuck this was real. You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to. You weren't sure if he could even hear you..how he would respond? Would it be worse if he did? It had been an entire decade since you fell, All of this time- he never bothered to contact you. Why now? Why so much later?... Had he forgotten about you? Did he just..die? You cant discern which is worse...that he had left you and your son and lived a long guilt free life...or that he made no attempt to even speak to you in the decade you had inhabited the same existence.

Ok that was all like exposition and shit..considering part two but I AM VERY TIRED RN

[palskippah]

Hi!!

Here's two pages of sketchy drawings of Queen River and baby Bowser bonding I did for @raysbrainrot! I loved drawing it, thank you very much!!

(Here's my commission info btw!)

Also, here's a few points that I think are nice to say but didn't fit in the drawings :''v (I have so many thoughts of them hepl 🧍)

-Queen River tried to sew a bib for baby Bowser bc he was drooling everywhere and of course she could buy them the nicest bibs in the whole kingdom and all- but she wanted for it to be special. She knew that many koopa mothers usually made clothes (only when needed because koopas don't really use clothes but babies sometimes need them) or accessories for their koopalings, so she tried that too.

>Thing is, she's much bigger compared to her own baby, and she struggled a lot to sew Bowser's name on the tiny cloth, she used no more than five stitches for each letter and even then she didn't account for the space needed, so all she could put there was 'BOWS' with a crooked S.

>She was embarrassed as hell when Kamek asked what was it that had her so upset and she showed him the sewn bib while he looked at it and she covered her face in shame, he started to laugh- and then the drawing happened and that.

>Kamek started almost always dressing baby Bowser in that bib, and soon the nickname 'Bows' stuck for a while, until the queen died and from then on Kamek started calling him Bowser or 'little prince' or 'your *insert current emotion*-ness' solely, bc it was the queen who (without meaning to) gave Bowser the nickname, and it was like a reminder that she wasn't there anymore. With time, the nickname faded into forgetfulness, and no one ever called the koopa prince that anymore.

-Btw remember that baby Bowser had like they/them pronouns mostly bc they didn't have idea if the baby was boy or girl 🧍something about royal koopas idk

-When Kamek told Luigi of all he could remember of the queen and Bowser bonding, there was a very clear fondness in the way he remembered her, even after so many years (Bowser's like thirty-and-a-few years old, so it has been so long ago), and that's another part Luigi thought was very adorable, aside from the mom and baby.

-I imagine babies marvel at the fact that there's a very big being taking care of them, so imagine baby Bowser also thought so of the very big koopa that always was very sweet and congratulated him even when he didn't do anything and cuddled him very lovingly- and then one day she wasn't there anymore and it felt like he lost a part of himself (I can't remember when is it that babies realize their mom isn't a part of themselves?? But :''''v), even if the other being that took such good care of him (dada) was still there, he cried a lot because the main one (mama) wasn't there anymore and no matter how much they called her she didn't come to comfort them.

That's all pipipi :'v I love them

Addition!

-After Queen River's death her portraits and pictures had to be taken down in the whole castle (maybe except the one in Kamek's room, which he looked at very sadly-) because baby Bowser kept seeing them and getting excited and making grabby hands to the portraits to reach them, and then they'd get sad and would cry when the paintings obviously didn't reach back for them. Kammy and Kamek (with a big pain in their heart) had the paintings and any art representing the queen to be taken down, so the prince wouldn't see them. That's also why Bowser started forgetting about her very quickly, and then they didn't get sad nor missed their mom 👍 cries

[lambtotheslaughterr]

Us Forever

A Rafe Cameron Oneshot

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 3.4k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

ALWAYS YOU (prequel mini series)

OONA'S MASTERLIST

request for @waskaf

requests are currently CLOSED

Summary: Reader's life two years after Rafe Cameron forced her into a relationship. She still dreams of freedom but a special surprise at Midsummer's threatens those dreams...

            Being Rafe Cameron’s girlfriend never became something you got used to. Not even two years later. You only felt like a trapped wild animal that had been forced to become a domestic house pet. But little did that matter to anyone else. Not your family, not the Cameron’s, & more so, not Rafe.

            You never told anyone the truth or details of how you & Rafe came to be a ‘couple’, but you also never hid your desire to be anywhere else but there beside him. Your parents reprimanded you for it, ecstatic that their only daughter was dating the Rafe Cameron & would ultimately be moving back to the island—something you had no say in. And Rafe’s parents? They were just happy that someone, that person being you, was the reason their son made a complete 180. But you had nothing to do with that, not willingly anyway.

            Ever since Rafe forced you into a relationship & took control of every aspect of your life, he had begun to take his role as his father’s only son seriously. Ward introduced him to the business world & before you knew it, Rafe was working under his father, learning the ins & outs of what would one day be his responsibility.

            It unnerved you often Rafe talked about his ‘legacy’, in more ways than one. Most of the time he would come home from working at the office & crawl into bed beside you, telling you about his visions of the future for the company. How, with his father’s teachings, he would bring the company to it’s highest capacity. He was confident in his skills. Even you were forced to admit that he was good at what he did, though you never said it out loud. But at the end of those talks of the future, Rafe would always look adoringly at you.

            “The company will thrive. I’ll be in charge. And you’ll be right beside me for it all. Me, you, & a couple little ones.”

            Whenever he spoke about ‘little ones’, you felt nauseous. You never wanted to be a mother. Your mom never took you seriously when the topic arose, saying the predictable stuff like ‘you’re young, you’ll change your mind’ or ‘you’ll regret not having kids when you’re older’. But you were solid in your decision. Having kids was never on your agenda, but neither was moving back to the island & being trapped under the hand of Rafe Cameron.

            The only remotely decent thing that came from being Rafe Cameron’s number one girl was that he had softened towards you over time. In the beginning, you were resistant, & you still were to this day, but you didn’t put up as much of a fight as before. It was like grieving over losing someone you loved who died. The days got easier as time passed but the gap they lift in you life would always be there. Your gap was your old life. Before Rafe. Before Tyson. Before all the bullshit. But soon enough, your life with Rafe became normalized, if not still regretful. All you could hope for, despite knowing hoping was a foolish thing to do, was that Rafe would one day grow bored with you. And then you could leave & never come back.

            On this particular day, you were out shopping for a dress. The Midsummer’s Soiree was that evening & Rafe wanted to buy you a dress just for the occasion. You insisted that you had plenty to choose from, which you did once Rafe began spoiling you with clothes & material goods, but he said it was a special night & he wanted you to feel as special as he thought you to be. So, you didn’t fight against him. It was better to just give him what he wanted, Tyson’s words from two years ago always echoing in your mind…

            He’s a child. Give him what he wants & he’ll stop his crying.

            And though Rafe never exactly cried, he did get frustrated easily, frighteningly so. Therefore, you almost always gave him exactly what he wanted.

            You were browsing a rack of dresses in one of the finest dress shops in town when you felt Rafe appear behind you, his hands on your waist. He leaned forward to kiss you on the cheek before hugging you from behind. You learned to not react to his touches despite them always making you uncomfortable.

            “Find anything?” He asked, a smile evident in his voice.

            You shrugged in response. You had no heart or genuine interest in finding a ‘special’ dress, let alone attending Midsummer’s. The only time you ever attended the annual event was once in high school your freshman year. You went with your parents & they danced all night while you sat off to the side in misery. A place among those people was never where you were meant to be, & now you were around people like that every day.

            “No.” You muttered, mustering a smile, “We really don’t have to get a new dress, Rafe. I have plenty at home.”

            Rafe spun you around then to face him, he placed your arms over his shoulders as he locked his hands together on your lower back. He peered down at you knowingly, “Remember what I said…”

            Your teeth sunk into your lip, nodding, “Yeah, I know. A special dress for a special night.” Whatever that meant.

            “But this works out.” Rafe added, “Because I had one specially ordered for you. Designed with you I mind.”

            That forced a frown from you. It wouldn’t be the first time Rafe ordered something without your knowledge, but usually it was lingerie that would be for his eyes only. What the hell did he have in mind for a dress?

            “And as much as I love your look.” He fingered the hem of your skirt. You glanced down to take in your outfit. Unlike most of the women on the island who dressed like it was them who should be partnered with Rafe, you still chose to dress as alternatively as Rafe would allow you. He admitted one time that that was one of the things that drew him to you in high school, your ‘abnormal’ taste in fashion. You knew there was nothing abnormal about it. Back in the city, you fit in perfectly, but on the island, you were like a sore thumb among the label fashion wearing sheep.

            “I want you to be the most beautiful woman at the party.” Rafe smirked at that, “Even though you already will be.”

            His compliments did little to comfort you.

            “Whatever you say, Rafe.” You sighed, pulling your arms down. But before you could return them to your side, Rafe caught a wrist & began tugging you through the store near the back where the dressing rooms were.

            Once there, a woman wearing a blouse & pencil skirt greeted the both of you, “Mr. Cameron, your order.”

            You eyed the black garment bag she held in her hands.

            “Thank you, Genevieve.” Rafe accepted the bag from her before he spun around to face you, holding it up, “Well, try it on.”

            Inhaling sharply, you forced a smile. Taking the garment bag from him, you entered a dressing room at the furthest end of the private corridor. But before you could close the door & lock it, Rafe pushed his way inside.

            “What are you doing?” You asked sheepishly, not particularly liking where this was leading to.

            Rafe closed the door behind him, locking it before smirking knowingly at you.

            A dizzying headache hit you then.

            Memories of that night that felt so long ago flooded your mind.

            Rafe’s house. The party. Tyson & Bridgette. The basement bathroom. Rafe trapping the two of you within in, much like he was doing now. His hands, his violent hands. The predatory look in his eyes. The sound of his heavy breathing as he…

            No, no. No.

            You stumbled where you stood, catching yourself on the wall in the tight space of the dressing room.

            “Whoa, hey.” Rafe caught your other hand, “You alright?”

            No. You weren’t.

            Though you were with him every day for the last two years, you managed to block out the memory of that night, at least most of the time. You really only ever dreamt about it, often waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, your heart racing. It killed you, knowing that you were strong-armed into being in a relationship with your rapist, but you trained yourself to not think about it, it was the only way you could survive being with him.

            “Here, sit down.” Rafe moved you to the bench big enough for only one person as he kneeled before you, “What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing.” You lied. You never spoke about that night, let alone to Rafe.

            “You’re crying.”

            You frowned at that, bringing your hand to your cheeks. Indeed, you were. Your cheeks were wet as tears slipped down them.

            “I’m fine.”  You repeated. But the walls of the small space were closing in on you.

            Rafe sighed then, eyeing you sadly, “It’s about that, isn’t it?”

            His question made your body shake. You didn’t want to talk about it. Couldn’t.

            Shaking your head, you tried to stand up again, to force yourself to be normal, but Rafe kept you where you were, his hands on your shoulders.

            “_____.” Rafe caught your reddened eyes, “Don’t lie to me.”

            Swallowing a lump that had formed in your throat, you shook your head again, “I’m okay. I promise.”

            But your attempt at reassuring him only resulted in him hanging his head in disappointment.

            “Ya know, I already apologized for that night.” Rafe reminded you.

            It didn’t matter though. It didn’t change anything. You were still trapped with him, literally & figuratively.

            “It’s not about that.” You retorted, your voice wavering.

            He looked at you then. It was apparent in his eyes that he didn’t believe you.

            “No?” You watched in quiet fear as his eyes darkened.

            You said nothing. If you said anything more than his anger would only grow in size.

            “Get undressed.” Rafe stood to his full height, his eyes glaring down at you, “Now, _____.”

            Pressing your lips together to hide your quivering lips, you nodded. Standing up, with Rafe’s slender yet large frame taking up most of the space, you reached for the top of your skirt. You shimmied out of it, letting it pool around your shoes. Then you slipped your top off, avoiding Rafe’s eyes as he watched you in the mirror. You then kicked your shoes off before reaching for the garment bag that was on the opposite wall.

            But Rafe blocked you.

            Your heart lurched in your chest. Willing yourself to look up at him, you feigned normalcy, “I have to try it on, don’t I?”

            He said nothing, only stared at you. The tension in the small space could be cut with a knife. The way he towered of you, watching you with that hard stare of his, only kept you feeling you were back in that basement bathroom.

            “How many times do I have to apologize for that night?”

            You could never apologize enough, you thought to yourself but didn’t dare say it out loud.

            “I thought we had a good thing going, _____.”

            “We do!” You rushed out, trying to smile as best as you in an attempt to cool his brewing rage. “We do, Rafe. I’m just not feeling well, that’s all.”

            But he only shook his head, “If we had a good thing you wouldn’t keep lying to me!”

            His voice was harsh, but low so as to not draw attention.

            “I love you.” He told you firmly, as if he was willing you to believe him. But people who loved one another didn’t rape them then trap them into a relationship they couldn’t get out of.

            “I always have, it’s always been you. No one but you in my eyes.”

            The tears returned & you felt your feet shifting nervously beneath you. Your heart was hammering, your breath coming in pants.

            “I know.” You replied, “I love you, too.”

            Rafe snatched your chin then, his fingers digging into your cheeks. You whimpered pathetically, gripping his wrist as he forced you to look at him. His eyes stared into your own, “Then quit your fucking crying. I could have anyone I want, all of them happy to be right where you are, but I chose you.”

            “I know, Rafe, I’m sorry.” You clung to his arm.

            “Good.” He cocked his head, “Because you’re mine. Always will be. It’s you & I, _____. Us, forever.”

            With that, Rafe released you & you collapsed into him. He stabilized you as you rubbed at your cheeks. You sniffled, shaking off the nerves Rafe caused you. When you felt as put together as you could, Rafe snatched your shirt off the ground, thrusting it into your chest, “Get dressed. You can just try the dress on at home.”

            You nodded but said nothing, not wanting to upset him further.

            Rafe caught you by the chin again, though his grip was softer this time around. You forced a content smile. He didn’t return it. But he did close the distance & kiss you, his lips harsh & possessive over your own. You willed yourself to return the kiss, to which he sighed satisfyingly into.

            “I’ll be waiting outside.” He told you as he wiped any sign that you had been crying from your cheeks. “Don’t make me wait.”

            With that, Rafe exited the room, & you could finally breathe. You collapsed against the wall, your hand on your chest as you felt it pulsing with fear. Slowing down your heart & breathing, you finished getting dressed before grabbing the garment bag. As you exited the room, you jumped in surprise at the woman, Genevieve, who appeared to be waiting for you.

            “How did you like it?” She asked gleefully.

            You were momentarily confused before realizing she was referring to the dress.

            “Oh, it’s beautiful.” You lied, not even having seen a peek of it.

            She chuckled happily at that, “You’re so lucky. So many girls would kill to have their boyfriend personally order a dress just for them. It’s clear how much he adores you.”

            Yeah, lucky.

            The dress was indeed beautiful. Not to your tastes, but beautiful, nonetheless. The look on Rafe’s face when you emerged from the bathroom had his eyes lighting up like he was seeing one of the seven wonder of the world for the first time. Had you been in a consensual relationship with him, you might have felt beautiful, too. But after how he cornered you in the dressing room, you were only resolved in your thoughts that Rafe would always be a monster. It didn’t matter who he worked for or what he bought you or how he looked at you. Rafe Cameron was your living nightmare.

            The Midsummer’s Soiree was as sophisticated as you remembered. Everyone was dressed in their best, & you & Rafe were no exception. You could tell that he was more than happy to parade you around, boasting about how he worked with the designer to create you a one of a kind. You smiled along, agreeing with all those who didn’t know any better that Rafe was the best thing to happen to you.

            Ward & Rose had a table near the dance floor that you spent most of your night at. Ward & Rafe were off networking or talking about god-know-what with anyone they could. Rose was making her rounds, her boisterous laugh reaching your ears every now & then. As much as you loathed to be there, you were at least relieved that you could remain seated & alone for most of it. It was like when you were fourteen all over again.

            But at some near the end of the night, you felt eyes on you. Raising your head, you caught Rafe’s from across the garden. He was smiling in your direction, his gaze soft & light. To anyone else, it likely looked like some scene out of a rom-com film, but the reality couldn’t be further from the allusion.

            A moment later, Rafe began walking towards you, your eyes holding each other’s until he was standing right before you. He held out his hand, his eyes dancing over the details of your face, “We haven’t danced once tonight.”

            You knew better than to deny him, especially before others.

            Accepting his offer, you slipped your hang into his before he led you onto the dance floor. The song was a slow one & other couples around you clung to each other romantically. You steeled yourself to do the same.

            Rafe peered down at you, the corners of his mouth upturned as he admired you.

            “You’re beautiful.”

            You feigned embarrassment, “Thank you, Rafe. But I think it’s the dress doing the job.”

            He shook his head, his eyes never leaving your own, “No. You’re beautiful just the way you are.”

            And as if the cosmic gods were playing some cruel joke, Just The Way You Are by Bruno Mars began playing over the speakers.

            Rafe noticed as well, & he began to laugh lightly, “See? Not the only one who thinks so.”

            “Ha.” You chuckled awkwardly, “Yeah.

            Rafe stopped dancing then but he still held you in his arms.

            “I meant what I said earlier, _____. I love you. It’s us, forever. I’ll always take care of you.”

            You felt the urge to frown but resisted, managing to stare up at him as lovingly as you could possibly manage, “I know. You already have been.”

            He nodded at that. Then he dropped your hands before inhaling deeply, as if he was growing uncomfortable. You watched warily as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, his eyes on the floor as you stood there dumbly. Others were still dancing to Bruno. But you two were not.

            “This is my promise to you.” Rafe finally spoke as he pulled out a small velvety box from his pocket.

            Your eyes widened in shock as Rafe lowered himself to one knee.

            “_____, I promise to love you with all of my being. To protect you from what scares you most, even if sometimes that is me.”

            Rafe snapped open the box, revealing a stunning ring that glinted under the lights of the soiree. At this point, a majority of people realized what was happening & watched in awe as the man before you proposed to spending your whole lives together.

            “I have been in love with you since I was sixteen, & now you’re here & you’re mine. I’ll never let you go. I promise to remind you of how loved & beautiful you are every single day, until the end of time.”

            Never before had your heart raced as fast as it did then. Not in the bathroom two years ago, not in the dressing room earlier that day. Never. But they all still had one thing in common: that you were trapped, & would be forever.

            “Please, marry me. Make me the happiest man alive, more than you already do just by putting up with me.” Rafe’s hand shook as he held the ring up to you, his eyes staring longingly into your own.

            Squeals of joy sounded around you as women gushed at the public display of affection. Over Rafe’s head, you spotted Ward & Rose, arm in arm as they watched on, their own prideful smiles on their face as they watched their son unveil his raw feelings for everyone to see. Your world was spinning & you could do nothing to stop it. Tears blurred your vision, & much to your demise, every single person around you mistook it as tears of joy. But they were tears of exhaustion.

            There would be no getting away from Rafe. You would never be free of him, & that ring he held up was a symbol of that. But you could do nothing, say nothing.

            “_____?” Rafe’s voice, which sounded far & faded, stole your attention.

            You peered down at him, your brows creased & cheeks wet.

            “Marry me.”

            Unable to say anything, all you could do was nod. With that, Rafe beamed up at you, rising to his full height. He caught your left hand & slipped the rock onto your finger. Cheers of celebration filled your ears as you stared at the ring. Rafe gathered you in his arms, kissing the top of your head. It took everything in you to hug him back.

            “It’s you & I.” Rafe whispered in your ear, his voice filled with triumph, “Us, forever.”

this is 6/10 requests from my 500 followers celebration request opening!

thank you to @waskaf for request a sequel oneshot! please, share your thoughts w me!

as always, leave a comment, reblog w reviews, or drop an ask. they keep me going.

thank you for reading!

oona<3

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taglist: @jsrafesgirl @bunnycvnts @ditzyzombiesblog

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[nefellibatta]

My father is a kind man

Young!Rhaenyra x Alicent's younger sister!Reader ; A little Viserys x Alicent's younger sister!Reader

Everything changed after Viserys chose INN to be his bride instead of Alicent. yn is scared on her wedding day and Rhaenyra comforts her.

Tw: Old marriages, comfort, swearing, anxiety, age difference (yn and Viserys), Otto be a Bad Father

"I'm scared,"

Yn said as Rhaenyra tightened the ties on her beautiful white wedding dress. Rhaenyra looked at the Hightower girl and sighed, softening her gaze. She knew Yn was scared, and at just fifteen years old she was already marrying the current king of Westeros, Viserys Targaryen.

Rhaenyra wasn't close to Alicent's younger sister, but to Alicent. They were both friends, best friends, but seeing little Hightower almost tremble with fear made her rethink whether she really wanted to have children, after her own mother died in that damned childbirth.

"Don't be, my father is a kind man"

"I'm talking about the wedding and the… wedding night, I'm scared"

Yn said turning around and walking around the room making the Targaryen stop tying her dress, she could see the tears welling up in Yn's eyes along with the fear, Rhaenyra felt strange. Was this the feeling of wanting to protect a little sister? Did Alicent feel that way too?

Rhaenyra just gently held Yn's hands and hugged her gently, it was strange for both of them but it was necessary at that moment

"Don't be afraid, I will ask my father to be kind and I will be by your side at the wedding"

Rhaenyra said as she hugged Yn tightly which was returned by her, she looked at Yn's belly and felt sick thinking that at only fifteen or sixteen years old she would already be pregnant with her first or second child

"My mother told me that our battle is at the time of birth, I will be with you"

Rhaenyra said finishing preparing yn, Rhaenyra gently kissed the Hightower's forehead and left her chambers. The hall was full of food, wine, parties while Viserys stood in front of the current Septon

The doors opened and Otto stood beside his youngest daughter, Iyna. Alicent stood beside Rhaenyra and the Targaryen could see what seemed to be anger in her best friend's eyes. The footsteps approached and Otto kissed his youngest daughter's forehead. Soon Iyna stood beside Viserys who kissed her hand.

"You are beautiful, my bride."

"You too, my king."

Iyna tried to make her voice sound strong but it still failed. Hearing the Septon's words made her feel desperate, a lump in her throat, suffocating. How cruel was her father? In addition to forcing Alicent on Viserys, Otto also tried to manipulate Iyna into refusing the marriage.

"Now the husband may kiss his wife."

The Septon's words stopped Yn's turbulent mind. Viserys smiled gently and held Yn's hands. The girl gave an innocent smile and soon their lips met.

While the party was going on, Rhaenyra stood next to Yn. Perhaps the Targaryen wanted to adopt her new stepmother, and her father would probably let her, and no one would stop her.

[ang3l-fac33]

Sorry if I already sent this in! Was inspired by bambygourl’s fanart and a TikTok I saw (this right here, https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRTkJvGK/ ). Dressing up as Roger and Jessica Rabbit for a costume party with Lucifer. I think he’d be all pouty and grumpy about dressing up as such a silly character and not a suave charming character. Especially since he’d take a look at the white button up, red trousers with suspenders, and blue bow tie with yellow polka-dots and see it as a fashion nightmare XD. And don’t get him started on the bunny ears and tail. Tho his mood is sufficiently uplifted when he sees the reader dressed up as Jessica Rabbit. Low cut red dress with a slit and all. Just imagine pulling on his suspenders or bow tie for a kiss, getting lipstick on his mouth and face, and cooing over how adorable and handsome her honey-bunny is.

i’ve actually never seen who framed roger rabbit so i hope i got a good idea of this!

warnings:not proofread

—

there was really no convincing you otherwise, not even his puppy dog eyes worked on you! you even went as far as to use the ‘do it for me and charlie?’ card since the costume party was being hosted at the hotel, and you knew he couldn’t say no to that.

charlie had been super excited to throw this little party, and even expressed how excited she was to see what the two of you would be dressing as. there was no way he could refuse after seeing his daughters excitement. he hated and loved how you knew all his weak points.

so that’s how he ended up in the current situation, standing in front of a mirror with a frown on his face. he already had his roger rabbit outfit on and now was waiting for you to finish dressing up in the bathroom.

as he looked himself over in the mirror a wave of embarrassment washes through him. how could he go out looking like.. this?! he looked goofy! he looked more like a clown than anything else. and do not get him started on the bunny ears and tail!

how was he supposed to go out looking like this? he was the ruler of hell! he should be treated with respect, to be seen in a better costume than this. he was supposed to be feared and intimidating! he’ll only be seen as a joke if he goes out like this!

and not to mention that the outfit and the character itself does not fit him at all. he was charming and suave, not some silly cartoon bunny. it goes against all that he is. and the outfit was a fashion nightmare! he could go on and on about everything that was wrong with this.

he sighed grumpily as he adjusted the suspenders of his outfit, a wave of embarrassment washing over him. he was definitely in charge of picking the outfits next costume party for sure.

“oh honey-bunny, i’m ready!” you called from the bathroom, opening the door and stepping out of it. lucifer groaned and turned around. “i told you not to call me that-“

he had prepared to scold you more for using that dumb nickname, but the words died in his throat upon seeing you in the jessica rabbit outfit. you looked absolutely stunning in your costume! his mouth hung open slightly as he took a good look at you, from the way you had neatly styled your hair to how your body looked in that dress.

you smirked at the way he was looking at you, and you slowly approached him in a similar movement to jessica rabbit. “hm? what were you saying dear?”

lucifer stuttered, a small blush lighting on his cheeks. he was obviously stunned, and didn’t know what to say. “you’re.. beautiful.” is what he managed to stutter out.

you giggled again, a small blush of your own appearing on your cheeks. “thank you dear. you look very handsome.”

that seemed to snap lucifer out of his trance, his stunned expression turning into a pout. he crossed his arms and huffed. “i don’t look handsome, i look totally ridiculous! i can’t believe you talked me into this..”

you sighed playfully and rolled your eyes. lucifer could be so dramatic at times, but you usually let it pass since it was cute. while lucifer was too busy being pouty, you leaned down and hooked a finger around his suspenders, a smirk resting on your lips.

lucifer blinked, looking a little surprised now. he opened his mouth to say something, but was once again stunned into silence when he realized how close the two of you were.

with a hum, you tugged him even closer, both your lips meeting softly. lucifer froze for a moment but was quick to recover, kissing back with a small sigh. the kiss only lasted for a few seconds but when you pulled away lucifer seemed in love all over again. he would never get tired of your kisses, especially when you were so pretty.

“my handsome little bunny..” you cooed, caressing his cheek gently, which made lucifer’s heart leap. he momentarily forgot about his complaints about the nickname and the outfit, leaning into your touch.

“you really think so?” he murmured, his eyes shining. you nodded, giving him a peck on the cheek. “i know so. now are you all ready to go? you don’t want to keep charlie waiting.

lucifer sighed dreamily, seemingly still lost in the moment. “alright..” he said without a fuss, and you smiled. taking his hand, you led him towards the front of the door.

despite looking goofy and unserious in this costume, he knew that he would be having a good time tonight.

—

i hope you enjoyed this! <3 it was really fun to write! and thank you for submitting

[forthegothicheroine]

Henchwomen Through the Ages

The "ages" of comics are not hard and fast things, and even comic book historians argue where they begin and end. They're more like moods than time periods, and your standard game of Henchwoman RPG will probably be set in a vague time period that could be anywhere from the thirties to today with an overall Silver Age mood. Still, let's take a look at how the roll of the Henchwoman has evolved, shall we?

Goldie is a gun-toting, cigar-chomping bank robber in victory rolls and a bullet bra. She's not called a henchwoman- she's called "Look out, that broad has a grenade!" She's loyal to the boss despite his dumb penny gimmick, but if he ever finked on her in court, he wouldn't live to see the sunrise. There's no Henchwomen's Union for her to join yet, but she's provided muscle for plenty of mob-backed unions. Goldie can't afford to be soft on heroes since they'd be just as happy to throw her off a roof as to arrest her, but she might be wooed by an appeal to patriotism- she ain't no Nazi rat! Her hobbies include matinee shows, swing dancing, and blasting coppers.

Sylvia is a competitive surfer and was a cocktail waitress until they fired her for slapping too many customers. Thanks to the newly formed Henchwomen's Union, she's treated much better by her current job, which usually involves crashing parties to steal themed jewelry. She and the heroes she fights have an understanding- they'll never be rough with her, and she won't check up on them after putting them in a death trap to see if they've died. On her off hours, she can go dancing in the same outfit she worked in- a silver jumpsuit, gogo boots and a purely decorative motorcycle helmet.

Brawny is a member of the Sisterhood of Wicked Witches, and she fights for a cause- or rather, several causes. These range from the reasonable (Save the whales!) to the less reasonable (A free ray gun for every child!) The Henchwomen's Union is strong enough to get her good pay, so many of her problems are philosophical- is she a good guy or a bad guy, and what do good and bad even mean? Brawny has to be a bit more careful than she would have been ten years ago, since death may well stick- but that also means she might really kill a hero, at least for a while, and that's what matters!

Tenebra prefers to be called a Dark Muse, a member of a vampire circle dedicated to bringing art to life, painted in colors of blood. Her eyeliner is swirly and her gowns are velvet, and she wears them onstage in her sideline darkwave band. Tenebra arranges her crimes in accordance with pre-raphaelite imagery, with victims displayed in heartbreakingly beautiful and mythologically-influenced poses. Her boss may technically be the Queen of the Vampires, and she may have a card with the Henchwomen's Union, but her true loyalty is to art itself.

Ferra is a mercenary with a separate pouch for each type of bullet, and she has a lot of types of bullet. Her stilettos are tall but her hair is taller, and she can strike intimidating poses that would break a normal person's back. The Henchwomen's Union had its own back broken by the bosses, and is now more of informal underground thing, but it still hooks her up with real deal bad guys. She'll kill without a second thought for her boss, but she's only one bad day away from turning her gun on him. It might even happen accidentally, since he and the heroes dress exactly the same. Ferra somehow has a heavy metal soundtrack even when there's no music playing.

Ally got a degree in psychology but until she can afford grad school, she gigs as a henchwoman. Her bosses are sillicon valley dickheads, but the first one to offer her real benefits will have her loyalty for life. Thanks to the resurgence of the Henchwomen's Union, Ally gets to wear big stompy boots instead of high heels, but she still has to wear a big day-glo logo on her leather jacket that might as well be a target sign. Her hobbies include pop culture conventions, smoking weed and credit card fraud.

[b0xerdancer-writes]

Paper Faces on Parade

Tamlin x Reader

Summary: Tamlin was once mates with Rhysand's younger sister, but in his eageness to properly court her he did not see his father's deception and almost got her killed. Rhysand let him live upon realizing it was a honest clouded judgment error but that Tamlin would have to spend the rest of his life making it up to her, though when she believes Tamlin to have given up on her she begins moving on with Azriel yet Tamlin threatens to envoke a blood duel over her.

Prompt: Masquerade

Warnings: Heavy descriptions of violence, Blood duel, Wing cuting, murder, assassination attempts, depression and self deprecation. Mor x Elain because no one can stop me. Im sorry i hurt Azriel in this (not really). implied smut.

Word Count: 14,265 Yep this is a beast.

Notes: Phantom of the Opera was my inspiration from this prompt so uhhhh I nerded out a bit combining two of my favorite hyperfixations. its about 14,000 words/39 Pages of me being a phantom nerd. Msquerade from royal albert hall and Devil take the Hindmost from Love Never Dies are quoted here highly recommend those songs btw. Not proofread at all, I think i caught most of the plot holes/contradictions though.

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

Hybern had finally been defeated and all of Prythian was celebrating, the high lords especially. Even with the tragic losses they were planning a ball or some kind or an event to celebrate what they had overcome. It had only been six months of peace when Rhysand suggested a masquerade ball in the court of nightmares.  Tamlin was less than pleased with the idea but he knew Rhysand’s little sister, his mate would be there so he agreed to attend. As far as anyone knew he had always had a thing for her, no one was quite sure what it was, save for Rhysand; it had started as children when he had taken her under his metaphorical wing. He had taught her everything he had known about music after the female had taken an interest in it. Her presence left a throb in chest and sorrow in his heart.

In truth they had been incredibly close before her family was murdered by his father. He had been bitter at how they had left it, she had been screaming, crying, and punching his chest; he couldn’t blame her it was partially his fault, he misunderstood his father’s intentions. He had asked his father for permission to court the female and his father had requested he speak to the girl's father for permission, he had said that they were staying at an illyrian camp for several weeks.

So he replied to Rhysand that he would attend, his heart yearning for the princess of night; little did he know the princess of night had recently gotten engaged to the spymaster without telling anyone, everyone knew they were flirtatious and close but knew not of the truth behind their relationship, two that as far as anyone knew had never and would never find their mates.

+

The day of the masquerade approached faster than Tamlin thought possible, he had a mask of his beast form crafted and set off for the night court, he decided he would travel with Lucien who was adorned in a new fox mask that showed his mixed court lineage: gold like his own with a crown of sun rays; both males wore regal clothing. Lucien, who had adopted some of the Day Court traditions, was draped in white robes while Tamlin was in a deep emerald green suit adorned with a long one shoulder cape that dragged the ground behind him, a gift for the Night Court tucked under his arm that was tied with a velvet bow and would be reminder of the history the two courts had before the first ultimate betrayal between the two current high lords. 

+

Rhysand and Cassian had spent the entire evening of the party setting up, Rhysand was dressed up as the suriel and Cassian as an attor.

“Rhys this is going to be a fucking splendid party.” Cassian cheered.

“The prologue to a bright new year.” Rhysand agreed.

“It’ll be a night, they’ll be impressed.” Cassian offered.

“Well one does one's best.” Rhysand mused and offered Cassian a drink from his desk. 

“Here's to us and to the Night Court.” They cheered clinking the glasses together.

“A toast to victory, what a pity that Tamlin will be here.” Cassian and Rhys joked between each other.

The boys  set off from the office to gather their dates, Nesta was dressed in a Black Gown, adorned with a silvery shawl and mask while Feyre was in a shimmery sheer black dressed made to look like bat wings with tiny ones on the back of her dress, a silver, crown and mask like Nesta’s.  While the group was still gathering in the living room of the estate house the ballroom in The Court of Nightmares was beginning to flood with partygoers and performers, dressed in an array of costumes and colors, in all sorts of fabrics from scratchy tulles to  shimmering satins and silks. By the time the inner circle, minus Azriel and his date that is, flooded into the ballroom. The party was in full swing with everyone excited that the wars were over for the time being and there was no looming threat in the distance for once, every face within the palace of the Court of Nightmares was a different shade and anywhere one could look another mask answered back. 

Colors painted the normally dark court brilliant whether it be a flash of mauve in its pale purples or a splash of puce that echoed like a blush across its wearer, greens and blacks washed the room with the reminder of life and shadows or like that or precious onyx and emeralds, traces of rouge mixed between painted lips and intricate brilliant silks and satins, beautiful blues like sapphires or the skies offered cool tones to the room offered a refreshing sight, yellow fabrics imported from day court that could only make one beam, reds from autumn that were so rich and vibrant it could make ones head spin. The entirety of Prythian had dressed to the nines with intricate costumes and masks themselves, masks of jesters, comedically painted versions of The King of Hybern, ghouls, geese, dramatic caricatures of the human queens that one could almost find offensive, faces of beats from all across Prythian were a common sight in the ballrooms. The sheer assortment of colors and facades could leave one guessing as to who was who, to some it was a challenge or a race per say to outdo each other with the complexity and grandiose of one's own costume. Everyone seemed to be drinking up the attention and the lights, a mix of champagne glasses and civil chatter or music and a full dance floor; it could only be described as a spectacle but as much as it was a sea of smiles it was a pool for gossip, those lingering in the shadows seething with peering eyes as a male danced with a female someone else favored or those in their circles of chatter breathed lies into existence. 

The inner circle had been spread out across the grand event but had finally pushed their ways through the crowds towards the throne dias, the only place that was really empty in the crowded underground palace. Rhysand who leaned comfortably against the throne in which Feyre sat finally eyed the Shadowsinger, dressed to mimic his own high lord, and his sister ,who he had a gown custom made for to look like the night sky above Velaris even her small tiara mimicked the three stars that sparkled above the city of dreamers, push through the crowd; he offered them a curt nod as the two joined the dancefloor. With the event as grand as it was in attendance it was no surprise that one would feel themselves being watched but even if you would try to run and hide from the lingering stares there was always some other pair of eyes that would find you in the new location. 

Mor had offered Elain her arm as a way to escape the sheer amount of eyes that lingered on them when they stood on top of the dias. Mor had dressed herself in a spectacular red, black, and gold dress that reminded herself of the faire hosts on the continent and she had helped Elain into a more modest pink priestess like costume dress. Elain’s laugh was melodious as Mor spun her around in her arms at the base of the dias. 

“What a night!” Mor had exclaimed as she had pulled Elain into her from a spin.

“What a crowd!” Elain had countered bouncing on the toes of her flats with a happy smile on her face as she looked up to Mor. 

Cassian and Rhys had overheard the two fewmale’s exclamations and retorted back with their own remarks. “Makes you glad we hosted it!” Cassian exclaimed as he took a drink from the champagne flute he held in his hand. 

“Makes you proud,” Rhys offered as he clinked his glass against Cassian’s own flute before taking a sip. “With all this creme de la creme.” 

Nesta had snorted, offering her own two cents “They’re watching us watching them.”  

“All our fears are in the past!” Elain and Mor had cheered and giggled as Mor swept Elain into a dip.

“Six months,” Rhys had started before being interrupted by the rest of the circle. 

“Of relief,” Feyre had offered as a fill in.

“Of delight,” Nesta raised her glass towards Amren in silent cheers.

“Of mother sent peace.” Amren had raised her own glass back towards Nesta proud of how far the female had come.

“And we can breathe at last.” Elain and Mor had sighed happily, as Mor pulled the shorter female in for a chaste kiss. 

“Here's a health” Cassian had announced before downing his glass and motioning one of the staff to bring him another glass.

“Here’s a toast to a prosperous year.” Feyre smiled, content in watching her family’s cheerful demeanor as they celebrated. 

“And may its splendor never fade.” Amren had finally turned to fully engage the conversation.” 

With a final round of cheers the dias emptied as the inner circle all moved to do their own things, Azriel and his darling shooting star moved towards one of the drink tables and away from the center of the dancefloor.

“Think of it!” She mused. “A secret engagement! Look, your future bride! Just think of it!”  She giddily offered a champagne flute to Azriel who offered a small smile back to her.

“But why is it secret? What do we have to hide?” Azriel had countered taking a sip from his glass, pulling her close to him with a flirty smile.

“You promised me,” She whined.

“You promised me.” Azriel pouted as he leaned in to kiss her. 

“No, Az, please don’t they’ll see!”  She squirmed trying to pull from his grasp.

“Then let them see,” he groaned. “It’s an engagement not a crime. Starlight, what are you afraid of?” 

“Let’s not argue,” She countered, trying to dismiss his questions.

“Let’s not argue.” Azriel agreed, taking a sip from his glass and releasing her waist. 

“Please pretend.” She begged.

“I can only hope I’ll understand in time.” Azriel sighed.

“You will understand, in time that is.” She held one of his hands in hers with a thankful smile.

Rhysand had found the two by the table, Feyre having moved to dance with her sister, Rhysand interrupted the two with a small nod towards Azriel and pulled his sister onto the dancefloor. The pacing of the dance had changed and both Rhys and Az were separated from their starlight as she was surrounded by a gaggle of females. Azriel had begun moving through the crowd till she could see him, he offered her his hands but just as their hands touched she was spun into the arms of another dancer; Azriel groaned, pushing himself through the crowds till he reached the beverage table where Rhysand now stood pouting and began to antagonize the high lord to go fetch his own sister as everytime he attempted to they were split up again. 

The music swelled and swirled as she was forced towards the front of the room, closer and closer to the dias, the music began to quicken and darken its pace, Azriel had noticed where she was heading and pushed through the crowds to catch her again after Rhys had shrugged him off.  He managed to just catch her and she pulled him into the final few spins of the number, the two smiling happily between each other as Azriel lifted her by the hips into a spin as the number began to swell for a final time, the rest of the inner circle somehow having found their way to the front beside them, as the music spun into its ending and the next song was beginning no one seemed to mind or recognize the music as a darker intro played.

She had froze in place, the familiar tune echoing in her ears as the rest of the inner circle turned to chatter amongst themselves.  Clicking of heeled boots made her heart race and fear began to slowly fill her chest; she was sure she was the only one who could hear the male’s gait and have it memorized so thoroughly, Rhys was the one to notice the change in his sister’s behavior and moved to question her. Though as he followed her gaze up to the dias he no longer needed an answer as to what was wrong. 

Tamlin had decided to make a dramatic entrance, as he was known for now, and while it was admittedly hard for him and Luicen to set up, it was worth it now to see the faces on the Inner circle and the rest of the Prythian’s high lords. He had handed Lucien a stack of music sheets and a heavy pouch of gold to bribe the musicians into playing for his introduction, a song he knew that would only matter to her: the song they had been writing together when the mating bond had snapped in place between them, their song. It admittedly was a bold move on his part, but he was planning on sweeping her back into his arms and declaring his intentions to her in front of the entirety of Prythian. Or at least that's how he had imagined it while talking to Lucien, he planned to beg for her forgiveness for everything that had happened to her family when she was younger, make a grand reveal begging for the girl to come back to him and pleading with her to accept their bond.  He had not expected for her to be on Azriel’s arm but then after all he wasn’t quite sure what he expected after all this time had passed, it was go big or go home with the gestures he figured.

Everyone had frozen as he leaned on the black stone and metal throne, a snarky smile on his face as he saw Azriel pale, saw his star’s eyes widen, saw Rhys move towards him before stalling just a few steps in front of the rest of the inner circle. They had been expecting him, just not like this, this was borderline disrespectful towards Rhysand and Feyre but he wasn’t here for them he was here for his darling mate. Feeling the tension of  their high lord and his inner circle  the entire gala ran quiet.

“Why so silent good messieurs?” he took a step away from the throne, straightening his stance and watched as Rhys ushered the entire room back a step.

‘Ahhh that explained it’, Tamlin considered their reactions before deciding on one reason as to why they would be reacting the way they were. ‘They don’t trust the reason I’m  here, they are so used to there always being a threat around the corner that they must think I'm here to ruin their celebration of peace.’

“Did you think I wouldn’t show up Rhys? You act like I’m not one of the Lords that helped usher in this peace.” Tamlin joked, though his tone suggested otherwise.

He took a single step down the dias and while addressing the entirety of the room he opened his arms with a smile. “Have you missed me, good messieurs? I have brought you an announcement.” 

It was true, he was so busy trying to figure out Hybern’s plans he had turned down countless invites to balls and galas and then after it was found out he was playing host to Hybern the invitations had stopped coming in completely. After he had helped Feyre and everyone escape Hybern’s war camp and it was made common knowledge he was playing double agent people were still hesitant to trust him and while invitations did start coming back in he often put them off to work on restoring his court instead. 

“I figured it would be best to announce myself here, at such a grand celebration, where everyone could see what it means to me.” He smiled brightly, his emerald eyes glinting in the faelight gleaming from the grand chandelier.

“I advise you to hear me out, my meaning should be clear. I intend no malice here.” Tamlin raised his hands as if to calm the crowds.

Rhys seemed to relax as Tamlin made his intentions aware, Tamlin gestured for his darling star to step forward Azriel’s brows furrowed and he tried to pull her behind him but all he could do was reach out for her as she shook his hands off and stepped past Rhys to lock eyes with Tamlin. Tamlin took another step down the dias and extended one hand out for his star to take, when she complied he pulled her tight against him. 

He dropped his forehead to touch hers, and he sighed as if it was the first breath of fresh air he had taken in in a very long time. “Our souls still sing as one, you never rejected me?” 

She took a sharp breath in. “How could I? I only ever heard bad or negative things about you but through it all you never once closed off the bond, but you never reached out for me either.”

Tamlin tensed as he smelt the underlying cool musk scent that he was familiar with as the Shadowsinger, mix with her own soft night wind scent. “You smell like the Shadowsinger…”

Azriel reading the situation with a negative connotation rushed forward to pull her away from the High Lord of Spring. Rhysand’s eyes widened as he processed the news of his little sister and old best friend having a mating bond the two had never consummated or had never been closed off or rejected like he had assumed it had been after everything that had happened; his attention had flitted from the sweet and sincere scene on the dias to Azriel ,who’s movement was rage filled and volatile in stark contrast to his normal behavior, before the male could pass Rhys took hold of his arm. The shadowsinger turned to look back at Rhys with a pained snarl on his face that softened when he saw the look in Rhys’s eyes, a plea to not make this any worse as they both knew Tamlin was not an honorable male and she was in so much danger being that close alone that if he were to walk up there Tamlin might very well sweep her away and start the next war to keep her as his. Or that was how Azriel perceived it, Rhys however wasn’t sure the exact clarification for how he meant it but he knew it was probably a good thing he didn’t let Azriel march up there; Rhys knew Azriel fancied his little sister and just wasn’t good at proclaiming it, he knew that the chance of Az saying ‘Fuck it’ and  storming up there with his rage scrambling any clear thinking would end up in one of them declaring a blood duel.

Azriel had been asking Rhys for weeks now for permission and advice on properly courting her, it was a ploy Azriel had ran by her as a way to keep the rest of the circle out of the details of their relationship, instead hiding the true nature within bedroom walls. It had been sudden for Azriel, his Starlight had been down in the dungeons on order of Rhys while he was out; he had just been coming back in from a mission and was about to start writing a report for Rhys when she was on her way out. She had stopped at the basins to wash some blood off her hands and Azriel didn’t know what quite compelled him to stop but he was glad he did so now, she had looked up at him with eyes sparkling like the stars and a happy smile on her face as she welcomed him back; his eyes widened as he took her in and his heart ached, he wasn’t sure what had changed between now and the last time he had seen her weeks ago, maybe it was the fact she was one of the only ones who genuinely responded to his letters more than the basic check ins he did with his brothers. Whatever it was though, Azriel knew he needed her close to him then and there, he had thanked her for keeping the dungeons in check for him and offered to take her out for dinner on the Sidra. That was how it had started over a year ago now, after the war with Hybern Azriel had proposed to her but confided in Rhys that he wished to simply court his sister, other than that to the inner circle they were simply flirting but did not necessarily belong to one another.

When Azriel had stormed into his office the first time begging Rhys for permission to court his younger sister and if he was allowed how should he go about doing so Azriel hadn't let Rhys get a word in before he had worked himself up and left the room apologizing profusely, it was probably for the best in the worst possible way because if Azriel had let him speak Rhys would have quizzed him on where this sudden romantic interest in his sister was coming from and probably denied the male outright. Rhys was over protective of his little sister, more so than he probably needed to be but no one was complaining so who was he to judge, Rhys had assumed Azriel was too worried and anxious to actually act on asking her out.  He knew Azriel cared about her more so than was probably good for the spy master and he had every intention of telling the spymaster it wasn’t a good idea if Az ever made his way back into his office, which just hadn’t happened yet so Rhy bid his time separating them if Az ever got too close to her for his liking.

It wasn’t that Rhys had anything against Az and her being together and honestly they would have made a cute couple but Rhys knew more than he probably should have, she was his sister after all and he was the one who had carried her half alive body from the cabin where she had been left on death’s doorstep ripped apart and bloody; it was one of the only things he could never forgive Tamlin for in all honesty, she had trusted him, he had trusted him. He hadn’t thought much of it about a week before the attack on her, his mom, and their other sister, when the she had winnowed in from the spring court drunk on Spring wine way after their father had already turned in to bed for the night; she had been rambling, hardly able to fly in a straight line when she had landed on the balcony and Rhys inwardly groaned as he pulled her up the stairs towards her room.

It was only after the door had clicked shut and he had sat her on the neat padded couch and asked the house for water did he think to ask her what had led to the late night drinking spree.

“Alright fess up, what got you in the drinking spirit?” He had asked placing the glass of water in her hand before standing up and moving towards the girls dresser and sifting through it looking for a pair of the girls silk pajamas.

“Tam-” She had started but was interrupted by a hiccup as tears started bubbling in her eyes.

Pulling out the pair of black silk pjs Rhys’s brows furrowed, a growl threatening to spill from his throat. “What the fuck did he do to you?”

“No, no, no Rhys… its not like that!” she pulled her knees into the couch and turned herself around to look over the back of the couch at Rhys as he walked back over pajamas in hand.

“Then how is it?” Rhys’s voice softened. “I thought you had music lessons with him today?”

“I did,” She confirmed. “We were working on this piece together, he was teaching me how to write music and well, we just kept moving closer and closer as we worked on the song.”

“And?” Rhys prodded sitting the pajamas on the coffee table.

She shifted back to face forwards with a pout. “It was going really well, he was super proud of the progress we had made on it. Like I said we kept getting closer, well when we wrapped the song up he just. Well he just leaned forward and kissed me!” Her voice was raised in a ‘can you believe the audacity of that man’ tone.

Rhys laughed. “You decided to drink because you were upset he kissed you?” 

She shot him a look that read ‘Why the fuck would I do that dumbass’ “Mother no! Let me finish Rhys!”

He had to refrain from laughing again at her attitude. “Go right ahead.”

“Thank you!” she huffed. “Well, when he kissed me I felt this like spark in my chest and I knew what it meant, he felt it too I think ‘cause his eyes widened and then he deepened the kiss and mumbled something about thanking the mother it was me as his mate. He was so excited he offered to take me out drinking as a celebration. We ended up calling it a night so I just winnowed back, took me a couple times believe me but when I finally made it back into the court I flew the rest of the way back up here. Cold Night air is not as sobering as you would think.”

Rhys smiled and patted her shoulder. “Well then congrats on finding your mate dear sister, with Tamlin of all males as well  there couldn’t be a better match. Get some rest, don't forget we have to fly out to Windhaven tomorrow afternoon.” 

“Yeah, yeah get out so I can go to bed.” she waved him off, grabbing the folded silk pajamas from the coffee table and making her way into the attached bathing room.

Rhys left to his own room and found himself at a writing desk he had tucked into the corner, writing to Tamlin his own form of congratulations; after all he had already considered the male a brother and now even more so if he was actually to be mated to his sister.

When the morning came she barely remembered the interaction with him, and had practically begged him to keep it a secret until her and Tam had a chance to talk. He had agreed as they flew out then winnowed into the camp grounds, Rhys wished he could have frozen those moments in time; when everything was happy and alright, when he didn’t get hung up on what could have been like those powdered icing sugar cookies he got from the bakery a block over from the river estate that had opened recently: his youngest sister would have loved those, she had one of the biggest sweet tooths around.

Five days had passed and he was needed back in Velaris, leaving the rest of his family in Windhaven but something just didn’t sit right with him like an anxious pit in his stomach. He should have told Azriel and Cassian to be on guard or something to have patrols out in the area around the cabin but for some reason he didn’t and now he blamed himself for so much. 

Rhys had woken up that night as his father stormed in the air buzzing and electrified with palpable energy. “Up boy, hurry get dressed. Something’s happened. I have already sent word to Windhaven to check we will meet them there.”

Rhys paled and his stomach dropped as he threw his leathers on half haphazardly. In all honesty he had barely slept maybe ten minutes here or there, he had just drifted off for maybe fifteen or twenty minutes finally when that door had swung open; in all honesty Rhy should have been exhausted but the adrenaline pumping through his system was convincing him otherwise. 

The night was a blur painted in red for him, when he had gotten there Cassian amd Az were sitting on a rock with their hands in their hands, they had been sleeping in the barracks recently in some way to show the others they belonged here just as much as they did, both males perked up when they heard the sound of Rhys winnowing back into camp.  They offered him a pitiful look that worried Rhys, his eyes darted between them and the door and just as they were beginning to stand Rhys took off in a full sprint towards the slightly ajar splintered door; he heard his father’s voice call out for him but he was through the door and standing in a pool of blood before any words processed in his head.

It was a mess, the table had been flipped and chipped on the counter the chairs were thrown across the room and had splinters or pieces missing, broken ceramics and wood chunks from dining sets were scattered across the floor; the living room was a mess in its own the couch had been flipped, wood pokers strewn across the floor in front of the fireplace with one tipped in blood and tossed to the other side of the room. By the cauldron Rhys was going to be sick if it wasn’t for the adrenaline pulsing through his body right now, blood was absolutely everywhere: splatters pools, streaks, handprints, you name it; What Rhys found the worst was the two bodies slumped over in the kitchen, absolutely brutalized in gouged scratches and gaping wounds. Rhys stilled, two there was only two in here his mom and the youngest sister both of whom where half dressed and had bones sticking out and gaping gashes in their back where their wings had been, he realized how bad the attack and assault had been due to the tear tracks and the disorder in their undressed states. 

An alarm was going off in his head. Where was his other sister? His eyes scanned the room as a sob bobbed in the back of his throat, they were born only a year apart and had grown up incredibly close together they acted as if they were twins despite the fact they weren’t. She had been here when the attack had been sprung he deduced, there were three plates made at the table and two others off to the side just in case Cas and Az decided to show up to eat with them instead of in the main house. She had been the person in the living room he reasoned based on the fact the bodies were in the kitchen, she would have been relaxing on the couch when they barged in and put the couch between her and the attacker she had taken the fire poker as a weapon, she wouldn’t have been able to get up to her room where her actual weapons were.   Yet her body wasn’t down here and there wasn’t a significant amount of blood in the snow, only the pool right outside the doorway, then his eyes landed on the footprints leading up the stairs and the small drops of blood trailing up the stairs.

He had never booked it up a staircase faster, his eyes following the trail on the floor; had the attackers still been there he would have been a goner, he stopped as he came face to face with the slightly ajar door to his sisters room. The boys bunked together which left her to bunk with their youngest sister and their mother had her own room; A small bathing room was at the opposite end of the hallway, he had to swallow an anxious breath as he pushed the door open slowly.

He had wanted to sob, the room was barely touched except for her, laying on her stomach on her bed, like care had been taken with her; the same scene as her mother and sister in the severity of the wounds on her back, Rhys would thank the mother everyday that while he was observing her she wasn’t in the same state of undress and that he was able to catch her weak breath. Her face was looking at him and yet her eyes were weak and open a small weak smile graced her face as she let out a small bloody cough, she had tried to call his name but all that had come out was a wheeze and more coughing that swept her into unconsciousness. Rhys’s brain went from being on a stall to being in overdrive as a sob wracked his body, he hauled her up into his arms as gently as he could and took off back through the halls of the cabin and down the stairs out into that frigid cold air.

When his feet sank into the snow outside  everything happened so quickly he could barely remember screaming that she was still alive, that they could still save her if they got her to Madja in time.  He knew their father had taken her from his arms and was gone within the minute, his knees had given out and it had been Cassian and Azriel that had caught him.   When he had finally made it back into Velaris the next night he refused to leave her bedside even when Madja advised that he should just let the girl rest, it took his father waltzing in with that dark look in his eyes that made Rhys finally step away.

The firm hand on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts, his fathers hardened steel eyes met with his own. “I found out who it was.”

“Who was it?” Rhys’s voice was hoarse; he had barely said a word in the last 24 hours and any use of his voice was from screaming or crying.

“Spring court.” His father had told him and he had to take a moment to make sure he had heard his father correctly.

“Spring court?” Rhys had double checked.

“Yes, you seem surprised, has something happened?” His father had asked quizzically.

“I just don’t understand why Tamlin would have helped do something like that.” Rhys looked down with his brows furrowed.

“Look son, I understand you both have been friends for an incredibly long time but-” His father had started before Rhys had interrupted him.

“No, it's not for that reason!” Rhys had barked out with more venom than he had intended.

“Then for what reason do you mean boy?” His fathers gaze hardened.

“Just,” He sighed. “I don’t see why Tamlin would attack his own mate at all, especially when they both came across as happy about it.” 

“She's his mate?” His fathers eyes drifted to her sleeping body.

“She had just found out before we left, Tamlin was planning to ask his father for permission to court her properly.” Rhys mumbled.

“You know this how?” His father had asked.

“She was drunk the night before we left, spilled her guts about it to me. Her and Tamlin had gone out for celebratory drinks, after I had put her to bed I wrote a congratulatory letter to Tam and he had wrote back thanking me and asked me to keep it quiet, he said he was going to ask his father to properly court her and if he got permission there he was going to come to you to ask. I told him we would be up in Windhaven if he needed to find us to get your permission or if he needed to run away.” His voice was shaky as he stumbled to recall what the letter he had received from Tamlin had said.”He said he loved her and he was bound and determined to court her either way, even if he had to run away. Something had to have happened.”

“Possibly, I’m sure something happened or there was a lie somewhere along the way.” His father offered him a sympathetic nod in comfort. “Either way we head out tonight, you can deal with Tamlin and I’ll deal with his father and brothers.”

“Okay.” Rhys nodded.

“Be on the balcony just past midnight.” His father had turned to step back out of the room, his hand falling from his shoulder. 

The air hung heavy as he returned to his seat beside her bed, if he stayed standing he would begin to pace while thinking about what he would say to Tamlin tonight although he knew no matter what it would end in blood and violence.

+

When night finally fell, Rhys was leaning in the archway of the balcony before even his father had made it downstairs; he had spent too much time being able to brood on the situation and now his entire being was pure rage, he fully believed Tamlin had been lying to him about the entire situation now, that was why he had decided to go out to drink and that he just had to pull her along with him to not arouse suspicion. 

His eyes almost seemed darker than his father’s did when the older male finally had joined him down stairs, one set of darkened steeled violet eyes met another in an unspoken vow on how the rest of the night would go.  His father, the only one able to winnow in and out of the mountain palace’s wards, took the male by the shoulder and winnowed them as close to Rosehall as they could without setting off the wards and silent alarms, due to the estate having frequent visitors you could walk through the wards but not winnow and it was considered a ‘safe guard’ though it was one of the weakest safe guards Rhys had seen.

Getting into the estate was rather simple, it was late enough even the servants would be asleep and they had a tendency to not lock the door, Tamlin had told Rhys that once and in turn he had made a note of that to his father; as they snuck around the side of the estate ducking under window sills in case any late night wanderers or the heir and his father decided to get up for a late night wander, with a silent nod they tested the handle on the servants quarters door and stepped inside to a silent house. The servants quarters were easy to sneak through without a care for exactly how silent they were, it wasn’t until they reached the main hall that they tested every step with a soft foot before putting any pressure on a floor board, any noise could give their position away. He felt the familiar knock of his father’s clawed hands on his mental shields and accepted him in with a questioning look.

‘You take care of Tamlin and I will deal with Verdanon and the others. We split up at the top of the stairs.’ His father’s voice was stern in his head.

Rhys simply nodded following the older male’s steps, turning down the left hall as his father went down the right hall; Rhys looked over his shoulder watching as his father passed the empty room’s of Tamlin’s long dead brothers without a second thought, he turned back towards Tamlin’s door at the end of the hallway. His steps weighed heavier and heavier as he approached the familiar oak carved door, his thoughts drifted as his hand fell to the iron door handle a scratching sound on the other side of the doors followed by a frustrated growl and the soft sound of something with scarce weight hitting the floor caused the hair on Rhys’s neck to stand on end. 

He straightened his stance, he could hear the creak of his father opening the door at the other end of the hall ever so softly, turning the iron handle and inching the door open till he could see Tamlin stationed at his writing desk with his back to him and his head in his hands. 

Before Rhys could take another step into the room he was startled by Tamlin calling out to him. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to show up here.”

Rhys stepped into the room, forgoing any thought of being quiet as he heard the beginning of a struggle down his father’s way. “And here I am.”

His voice was venomous towards Tamlin and in all honesty he hadn’t meant it to be so dark, he couldn’t claim to know the whole story; it hurt him more when he saw Tam flinch in his seat.The flinch had his gaze sharpening on the blonde male and he strode forward quickly, unsheathing his dagger with full intent of sinking it into the blonde. 

Hearing the familiar sound of metal being wielded against himself Tamlin rose quickly from his chair, the light wooden thing clattering against the glossy hardwood floors as he turned to block Rhys’s attack with only a letter opener. It bought him just enough time to try and grab ahold of Rhys’s wrist with his free hand, even though the attempt failed miserably and the dagger had sunk against the bones in his arm. His eyes widened, and breath trembled as he took in the emotions etched into Rhys’ very being. 

“Rhys!” He called out with his voice wavering. “Please talk to me about this, I swear to you I had no idea what my father was planning to do!” 

“Don’t lie to me Tam.” Rhys had growled, pressing the blade hader against the bone of the blonde’s arm. 

“I’m not Rhys,” Tamlin swallowed a shallow breath, the edges of his vision beginning to turn white with pain. “I promise if you ask me for all the details of what happened I won't lie to you.”

The weight of the words hung in the air as Rhys’s gaze narrowed, without removing the blade from the male under him he extended his non dominant hand in an offering. “If you do lie I won’t hesitate to kill you I can promise that.” 

Tamlin nodded, dropping the letter opener and shaking the ravenette’s hand as magic sizzled in the air around them  settling into a small shooting star pattern; instead of the regular black ink bargains and promises normally settled into the one that seared itself into their skin was nearly white in color looking instead like a scar on their arms, a metaphor maybe Rhys thought now for the scar the damage of that night had done on their families. Rhys ground his jaw as he pulled the sword from its spot embedded in Tamlin’s arm, the latter flinching at the grinding noise as it was pulled from the bone.

Tamlin moved to pick up the chair as Rhys sheathed his dagger and noted the fact his arm was taking a moment to seal up, probably due to the damage to the bone, as his blood dripped against the floor he offered the chair to Rhysand. Tamlin sighed and leaned against the ornately carved wooden poster of his bed letting the raven haired male adjust and fixate his violet gaze onto his own green ones.

“You know the details of how we found out so I will spare you the details of that for times sake and instead will start us with dinner the next day if that is alright with you.” Tamlin had offered Rhys a chance to rebuttal even though it was more of a statement.

“That's fine with me, get on with it.” Was the responding growl.

“Like I told you I was ready to completely flee this court if it was necessary, Rhys, please don’t give me that look.” Tamlin had looked up at the other male with a miserable pleading look in his eyes. “I love her mind you, I’d still walk out of here if I didn’t have a clue how tonight is going to end.”

“If you love her, why would you hurt her like that Tam? Can you answer that question? She still hasn’t woken up, I hope you know that.” Rhys’s gaze was hardened into a glare that had the blonde sinking against the post to drop his head defeatedly into his knees.

“I tried to protect her the best I could at that moment in time, I wish I could have done more but all I could do was carry her upstairs so she couldn't see the carnage or her mother and sister.” Tamlin had sighed, the disappointment in himself obvious as he sank to the floor.

“You were the reason she made it upstairs?” Rhys questioned and Tamlin nodded.

“Yeah, but I should start at that dinner, not in the middle of it all. Please give me this one thing, Rhys.” Tamlin asked and Rhys could see the swirl of sorrow deep in those emerald orbs.

“Get to it then.” Rhys barked and Tamlin nodded.

“I was nervous, I stayed in my room the entire day trying to think of how to ask for her to my father whilst being surrounded by my brothers.” Tamlin had rested his arms over his knees fiddling with one of the several rings on his fingers with a sad smile on his face. “When I was called down for dinner I was so nervous I could hardly sit still, we always go by birth order for events of the day or subjects we wished to discuss so I of course was the last one to get asked. Normally I turn down the invitation to scramble back to my poetry books but they all turned to look at me when I had said actually I did have something I wanted to ask about.”

Tamlin let his head fall back against the wooden post. “They were surprised but were more than happy to let me have my piece, I started it with an upfront statement,  That I had settled on a female I wished to court, my father asked me who of course and I said her name that she was actually my mate and we both were aware of it but I wanted the chance to properly court her.” He broke up his sentences with a scoff. “I should have known better than to believe he would have been okay with it from the get go, should have figured there was something off when he said he'd ask your father and that should have been the end of the conversation but no I had to push it because I knew you all were not available in Night Court. I told him you all were going to be in the Illyrian mountains at the camp instead that your mother had a cabin on the far outskirts of the camp and that you all would be staying there and we needed to send the letter there instead. A couple days later he told me he had gotten a letter inviting us out there to meet with you all and that afternoon we set out to head towards your court.”

“You didn’t think anything of simply being informed of the letter and not seeing it with your own eyes?” Rhys had frowned at the blonde’s lack of consideration.

“I was too excited with the prospect of being able to properly court her and wedding bells on the horizon at the time to see the cloud of deception hanging above me.” Tamlin bit his tongue to prevent himself from getting snappy.

“Figured you smarter than that Tam.” Rhys taunted.

“We will see about that on the day you find your mate Rhys.” Tamlin countered with an eye roll, continuing with his story before Rhys could interject with another comment on his actions. “We made it out to the camp, I figured you were going to be there. Honestly I didn’t know you and your father had headed back to your estate yet so I thought nothing of it when my father simply knocked on the door. Your mother was the one to answer and my father was pushing inside with a blade drawn quicker than I realized, I stood in the doorway frozen as I realized he had lied to me. He attacked your mother and youngest sister first took their wings, and then he attacked her she had put up the most fight, had been yelling at me the entire time to step in but I could feel her fear and it doubled my own I couldn't move until my father dragged her over to me and dropped her at my feet saying I needed to finish her. He moved into the kitchen where you mother and baby sister were, when I realize what he was doing I pulled her into my arms and under the disguise I wanted her privately to myself so I could really cherish her I carried her up to her bed and sat with her, I cried and begged for her apologies told her I didn't know he was going to do what he did and that it was all my fault for not seeing through his lie. She reached out to touch my cheek, told me it was okay she wasn’t mad at me, and in turn I told her I would spend my whole life trying to find a way to make it up to her.” Tamlin’s voice quivered as he hurried to sum up the story, wiping a tear from his cheek that he hadn’t even realized he had shed. 

“I mean that Rhys, even if making it up to her is staying as far away as possible.” Tamlin mumbled looking up to Rhys who actually had pity in his eyes for the male.

“You truly didn’t mean for what happened to happen?” Rhys scowled. 

“It truly was not my intention, I figured by bringing her upstairs she would have the best chance to make it through, that by doing so she would have some chance to survive so that at least that way she didn’t have to watch her mother and sister be slaughtered; I knew if she stayed downstairs he would make sure her life was ripped from her, he had already taken her wings and there was enough blood on me for him to believe she was dead.” Tamlin sighed.

When no stinging came from the tattoo Rhys decided he was satisfied with the answer. “My father has slaughtered your brothers and no doubt is working on your father now. If my father survives the fight you will have to make yourself nonexistent and flee into hiding, you will never be able to see her again as long as he lives and I swear to you I will do my best to keep her from you even if the opposite is true. You have hurt her in a way I as her brother can not forgive, even if she does the second she wakes up I still will not; You will have to earn her trust all over again and until I am convinced you have redeemed yourself I won't allow you near her.”

“Those are terms I can agree to.” Tamlin looked up at Rhys hopeful.

“I will not make it into a bargain for your sake, it will simply be of my own determination if you have redeemed yourself in my eyes and I will not lay out the terms for what that entails.” Rhys stood from his chair and extended a hand to Tamlin who took it in kind to stand from his position on the floor.

Rhys pulled Tamlin into a half hearted hug, catching the blonde off guard. “For everyone's sake in this, I hope you do manage to redeem yourself. For what it’s worth Tamlin, you had always made her happy.”

Tamlin felt his heart shatter as Rhys’s words sank into his chest, that one word destroyed his world: had. Tamlin decided that one word would haunt him until he felt himself a good enough male to finally attempt to redeem himself for her. Though no words were spoken further as screaming and clattering spilled into the room from the hallway on the other side of the door, there was an unspoken acknowledgement between the two of what was to come. 

It was the last time Tamlin and Rhys had really seen eye to eye on anything, Tamlin never felt like he was worthy of trying to redeem himself and then everything with Amarantha had Tamlin feeling disgusted in himself, he let his self hatred for what he had allowed of his court, of his people, of his friends, and of himself outweigh the thoughts of redemption for all of the above. He drowned himself in paperwork, in Lucien’s understanding on nights they would get drunk and miserable about loves lost to them, in Feyre so he could forget what he should have had. His distaste in himself turned him uncaring and cold, he found himself unable to care for the once human girl because she would never really have his heart. He threw himself into trying to be enthusiastic with court relations and wedding planning where he had almost snapped Ianthes head off for how pushy and annoying she got to him, he didn't honestly care about the wedding it wasn’t her, the one he really wanted to be going through this with. 

When Rhys came to collect Feyre from the wedding Tamlin hated how thankful he was to the ravenette and wanted to turn in on himself for how hopeful he had gotten that Rhys might have dragged his sister along for show. When Feyre ran off to join Rhys’s side after nights of Tamlin being haunted with memories of his inability to protect dear little starlight caused him to lash out at her and seal her in the estate, Tamlin hated that he had taken his inner grievances out on her. He hated that when she had finally returned but fled with Lucien that he understood why both left him, even after everything he had been through with the day court's heir. It wasn’t until he had caught a glimpse of her after the high lord’s meeting where he had been so cruel did he remember why all of this was happening in the first place, all he had seen was a passing glimpse of her and those terrible scars on her back that his cold, calculated, purposefully arrogant, and admittedly self detrimental walls shattered again yet even more painfully this time; he wanted to call out to her to drop to his knees and beg for her to forgive him for every callous action he had taken but he couldn’t, no, he wasn’t worthy in his own eyes to have her own eyes land on him, it was the one sided interaction that had catapulted him into trying to claw his way back out of the pit he had dug for himself. It wasn’t until rhys walked through the archway she had just disappeared across that Tamlin realized he had been staring at the spot she once stood, all Rhys had offered him was a raised brow as he approached and a touch to the shoulder; Rhys knew he had seen her that her very presence had been enough to shake him at his core.

“I think I’m ready to start to redeem myself for her.” Tamlin’s voice was hoarse and it even shocked himself to feel how close to tears he was.

“Then do your best to earn it, for her at least.” Rhys nodded and patted the spot his hand rested at tamlin’s shoulder.

Tamlin moved to turn to walk back down the steps and back towards the other camp he hated so violently but could not do a thing about it, not yet, at least he had offered the plans to the other lords.

“Oh, and Tamlin,” Tamlin was caught by surprise when Rhys called out to him and he looked over his shoulder turning slightly to look back at the male who had a small smile on his face, his arms crossed, and the slightest teasing head tilt as he watched the blonde male walk away. “You were right.”

Tamlin’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“What you said all those years ago, about the idea of marrying your mate clouding your brain. I get it.” Rhys offered the oher a nod as Tamlin let out one sad, dry, laugh to himself.

“I told you so.” Tamlin had muttered as he turned away from the other male and slipped out the castle’s walls. 

The two had been against each other for so long that they both had forgotten what it had been like to banter with the other. Rhys’s soft smile turned into one of sadness as the doors closed behind his old friend, he looked down at the floor before turning to join his family in the courtyard that conjoined their rooms all together. He watched his sister play Azriel in chess from a spot leaning against a column, Tamlin realizing he had to change for her was the first positive mark in his book and he knew more were to come if such a fleeting glimpse was enough to move the male the way it did. 

Rhys knew she still cared about the blonde it was evident in the way she wore the emerald Tamlin had sent Rhys him home with the night they both became highlords to give to her, around her neck; Rhys didn’t think she had taken the thing off except for the one or two times the clasp had broken in the hundreds of years since. 

His belief of where her affections still truly lie was only solidified the night Elain had been kidnapped and Feyre had gone undercover to return her with the aid of Tamlin. When they jumped the cliff one of Hybern’s archers had shot an ashwood arrow right into his ribcage while he was still in beast form; it had rendered him unconscious and trapped in his form. She had rushed out of her tent at the commotion and her face had paled when she had seen the great beast with laboring breaths, Rhys had frozen on his spot as she pushed through the crowds to drop to her knees and began immediately assessing his wounds; processing there was no bane in his blood she had screamed at Rhys to give her his dagger and when Rhys didn’t move she was rushing over to take it from off his waist. When medics finally caught up to the scene she was ordering them around as she rolled up her sleeves and muttering apologies to the male as he was slipping the dagger into the skin either side of the arrow to cleanly remove the barbed edges without the ash wood splintering inside of him. When she had tossed the arrow off to the side and his body finally caught up with the removal of the arrow the medics were hauling him off to the tents and she rushed off to her tent to clean the blood from her shaky hands. He had gone to check on her that night, finding her absent from her tents and instead in the private medical tents crying over the blonde male; Rhys simply sighed before turning to leave without saying a word or even alerting her to his presence.

Everything since then had been leading up to now and somewhere deep in his chest he knew it was coming and expected it but could see how violent the situation could turn at any second with two males vying for the same female's attention. Rhys would never admit outloud if he had to choose between the two males on who he would have her married off to that it would be Tamlin, Azriel was a good male and less temperamental but he had females throwing themselves at him and he liked to toy with that fact and he had no doubt that she would get hurt if he decided to take that toying a bit too far; Tamlin though had only ever held any interest in two females, her and Feyre, but Rhys, Tamlin, and Feyre all knew it was simply forced and situational with her after the truth was revealed and while he was temperamental Rhys had seen her calm him plenty of times when they were younger. Plus Rhys had seen how Tamlin had worked his ass off after that night even restoring the entire Spring Court and Rosehall by himself, he had worked for this, he had worked to keep the unspoken promise between the two.

So as the reality of the situation currently on display for anyone in Prythian to see Rhys’s mind was going a thousand miles a minute as Azriel struggled against his hand and Tamlin’s eyes sparkled sadly as his green orbs took her in that close to him yet she smelled like another male.

Rhys’s nostrils flared and his head snapped towards him as he had to bite his tongue and grind his teeth when Azriel’s voice rang out against the murmur of the crowd. “She is to be my bride, take your filthy hands off her.”

The entirety of the inner circle’s attention stilled on the aggravated male whose wings were flared in a posturing behavior to make himself seem larger than the blonde male. Rhys’s eyes flicked over to the blonde male and his sister whose eyes had dropped to the floor and carried a self disappointed sadness in them from where he stood. 

Tamlin’s eyes steeled on the angry illyrian and turned to the female in his grasp, his thumb and forefinger coming to rest under her chin as his voice was soft and sympathetic. “Look at me.” When her eyes rose only to his lips he sighed. “In the eyes, darling.” 

Rhys watched as her entire posture changed, Tamlin offering her a small smile as he mumbled a small bit of praise her way, “There she is.” 

Azriel fought and yelled against him, even turning threats towards Rhys himself when he refused to let him pass, the two on the dias having an unspoken conversation; their eyes weren’t glazed over so Rhys knew the conversation wasn’t in their heads simply reading the others emotions in each other's eyes and over the bond, the two seeming to come to some understanding as she was the first to move.

Cupping one of Tamlin’s cheeks, the blonde nuzzling against her soft touch her voice was weak and she was clearly on the verge of crying from whatever Tamlin had shown her. “Oh, Tam…”

Tamlin simply pressed a kiss to the palm of the hand she held his face with but the action had Azriel pushing through Rhys’s hold, Cassian realizing at exactly the same time as Rhys both males struggling to get any kind of grasp on him as he surged forward. The sudden violent movements had her startling and her eyes glazed over for a split second as her pupils shrunk, Tamlin felt whatever emotion she had sent down the bond as he growled and pushed her behind him getting between her and Azriel. The Illyrian had no intention of hurting her but she was always one to easily panic at sudden violence that was directed in her general vicinity, well at least after a similar sudden wave of violence had cost her her mate and nearly killed her. The growl was a warning for the spymaster, as Rhys and Cassian managed to barely keep a hold of him, indiscernible threats and promises of violent actions fell from the winged males tongue.

Tamlin simply tucked the small female closer into his side and raised a brow above those hardened emerald orbs. “Is it to be a blood duel then spymaster?”

The hair on the back of Rhys’s neck stood up at the sincere threat that hung in the air, knowing as much as he loved Azriel Tamlin was a high lord, who was fighting for his mate and that was a monster one would not truly wish to push into a blood duel. “Azriel.” His voice was a sharp chastising warning to the struggling shadowsinger.

Something in the way Rhys had hissed his name had Azriel coming back to his senses, watching the way she desperately clung to the blondes emerald vest with shaky fingers.

He looked to the ground for a second before meeting the green eyes of the High Lord, his wings tensing closed behind him. “She looks for sympathy, I give her sorrow. She asks for honesty, I’ve none to borrow. She needs a tender kiss, begs it of me, in turn I give her ugliness so why does she love me? She yearns for higher things, things I can’t give her. The rush her song brings, the one you wrote with her, I can’t deliver that. Even when she plays and soars above me, I try to clip her wings and shut down whatever it is she's playing; can you answer me then why does she love me? I've tried to get her to leave the hurt behind even when I knew not the reason behind it.” 

Tamlin sized him up with a simple rake of the emerald orbs over the muscular figure of the shadowsinger, fully ready to pounce if the other male agreed to the duel, making sure he had one hand to steady her and calm the panic that slowly rose in her chest that he could feel echo in his own like a whisper. Rhys and Cassian exchanged looks past Azriel, questioning looks between eachother as a silent question of ‘Did you know about this?’ was exchanged, only for the looks to turn worried as Azriel slowly pushed their hands away and rolled his shoulders to stand at the base of the dais.

“She wants the man I was, supportive and caring, at least she thinks she does, She needn’t bother when I was acting like she was overly fragile and would shatter at the slightest touch. In reality beneath the facade I wear for her, that's nothing like me, just cruel, protective, and obsessive in all honesty. She knows little of what I’ve done to others but knows how I allow females to flirt with me at her expense. So what about you Tamlin, what makes you so deserving of her?” Azriel hissed, with a roll of his shoulders, Rhys and Cassian ready to pull Azriel back away from the dais if he seemed like he was going to storm up the dais at the blonde. 

The two offered another hiss of his name in warning and he looked back over his shoulder at them. “What it's not like he’s any wortheir of her than I am, he may be a high lord but I am not afraid of him.”

Tamlin straightened his posture, but angled his head lower like a predator would do when assessing if he should pounce on his prey now, it was clear where this conversation was going and what Azriel would decide on. He pulled her hands off him so she could take a few steps back from the possible fight that was to break out, and took a step down the stairs causing Azriel’s head to snap back in his direction.

“Not afraid of me you say, yet no one asked if you were in the first place.” Tamlin growled. “You think yourself more worthy of her, that you own more of her heart than I do?” 

“She is my finance,” Azriel hissed right back at him.

“She is my mate.” Tamlin countered, that rumble deepening in his chest.

“Your bond may speak to her, but her heart will always be mine.” Azriel snapped venom on his tongue, “I was the one to help her with rehabilitation while Rhys threw himself into new high lord duties.” 

“You think so?” Tamlin chuckled a dark teasing tone to it as he sneered down at the shadowmaster. “You really think that? That she would belong to you with all your… flaws. Dare I call them that instead of other things.” 

Azriel straightened as Tamlin took a few steps around him down the dais like an animal circling its prey; when Tamlin had become high lord the significance of the fact that habits of a predatorial beast carried over into his regular fae form from his beast form and stuck with him more and more as the years went by and he let the savagery take hold of him, as much as he had tried to lessen the evidence of that fact some habits stuck and he couldn’t unlearn them permanently having just become instinctual. 

Tamlin hissed as he circled behind Azriel and back up the stairs of the dais. “Look at you, indebted to your high lord for pitying you,  a cruel torturer who makes up for the abuse he suffered in his childhood by taking it out on those his highlord orders him to torture for information, it’s almost pitiful. Answer me boy, Shall we settle this with a blood duel? Let fate and the mother guide us here and let the cauldron take the hindmost?”

Azriel tensed at the turn of phrase, he recognized it from the human/fae war as something that was said to keep armies moving together at the same pace. ‘Cauldron take the hindmost’ it sickened him to hear it again a wish for the cauldron to enact its will on any who fell behind and could not support the cause, yet it enlightened Azriel to the fact Tamlin viewed this as a declaration of war.

Azriel scoffed, Hazel eyes sharpening on the beast like emerald ones in front of him. “Look at me? No. Look at you, a foul beast, traitorous, unlovable, who hurts anyone who gets close to him because he is an unworthy feral beast of a high lord who was never supposed to even inherit the title he was given. Call the stakes then, I’ll partake. May the Cauldron take the hindmost.”

Azriel and Tamlincould hear the audible gasps and disappointed sighs around them but were too focused on one another as Azriel climbed a couple steps to stand toe to toe with Tamlin.

Tamlin, brushed the mask from his face tossing it to the dark high lord who fumbled trying to catch it all of a sudden. “Then we shall duel tonight, for the hand of the Princess of the Night Court.” 

Azriel and Tamlin were getting snippy back and forth, yet Azriel nodded. “Tonight is fine. Draw the line.”

Tamlin tilted his head in a cocky manner, taunting the raven haired illyrian. “Is she yours or mine? You’ll lose tonight.”

Azriel hissed back. “I won’t lose.”

Tamlin puffed his chest out a mimic to the illyrian’s earlier wing posturing. “If you lose, you leave her be, you will never speak to her again and we will leave from here she may speak to anyone else from the night court but not you.”

Azriel agreed yet again, “Fine! And if I don’t? If I win?”

Tamlin scoffed. “The opposite will apply to me, i’ll never speak to her again and will close off the bond. I will never step foot in this court again unless strictly on business with Rhysand.”

Azriel nodded, stalking to the far side of the platform and stripping any excess accessories from his figure so they wouldn't get in the way during the fight, at least it wasn’t to the death like blood duel’s had a tendency to be. “Then let’s begin.” 

Tamlin moved to shake Azriel’s hand after discarding the eccentric cape and accent pieces, signifying the rules being set in place. Both men nodded with the agreed upon statement of “May the Cauldron take the hindmost.”

Tamlin went to step away, to move to his side of the platform, looking to Rhys to signify he was to be the mediator here, but as Rhys began climbing the stairs Azriel snapped, pulling Tamlin to him with a low warning hiss. “You think fate is in your favor? You think you are in control just because of a damned mating bond? You can't cheat on this one even if you tried.”  

Tamlin countered with a growl, more calm and collected than the other male. “This duel,” He scoffed. “All the rules have been rearranged, every move is riskier.”

Azriel pushed him away and rolled his shoulders, shaking out the aggravated nerves in his body with a quick stretch of his wings before they settled back against his back in a tense manner. “I will gladly bet against the bond, fuck it I’d even double down. Fate has redesigned itself before.” He had raised his voice, gesturing to Feyre. 

Tamlin simply took a deep breath, letting Rhys come to stand in between them in the center of the platform as he moved to take the waistcoat off as well and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Fate is on my side, it led me to her long ago and has always continued to do so. It will do so again today.”

Azriel was getting frazzled at the blonde's simple and collected exterior. “ I’ll wager that when this duel is done, I’ll have won her from you then.” 

Tamlin snapped dismissively over his shoulder as he turned back to face the male across the room from him and nodded towards Rhys. “Either way.”

Rhys looked to Azriel who gave him a frantic nod, Rhys sighed as he rolled his shoulders back and spoke loud enough for the crowd to here him. “May the Cauldron take the hindmost.” 

Both males lurched forward as Rhys stepped back to let fists fly at each other, eventually Azriel had Tamlin pinned to the ground with his knees either side of the blonde’s ribcage and trying to barrel down on the blonde’s face though many attempts failed and collided with the stone and tile floor leaving his fists a bloody mess.

“Her heart belongs to me. The engagement has secured that.” Azriel had yelled only to be stunned by Tamlin’s cocky smug smile.

“Are you sure?” Tamlin had flicked his tongue over his busted lip with a cocky laugh and a knowing smile plastered on his face.

“What?” Azriel had faltered.

“Are you so sure?” Tamlin reiterated, slowing down his speech mockingly as he  held Azriel’s wrists who struggled to reel back to throw another punch at the blonde.

“What do you mean?” Azriel's question was quick and clipped as if thrown off by Tamlin’s prideful ego in his questioning of Azriel and the lord’s mates bond.

Tamlin was quick to flip them, pinning Azriel under him the same way they had just been only with Azriel’s hands pinned under Tamlin’s knees. The blonde leaned back a smirk on his face as he pointed towards the girl curled into Rhys’s side, she could tell Tamlin was pulling punches, he knew he had won even before offering the duel, he could see it in her eyes and feel it in the bond.

Tamlin leaned down to grab Azriel by the collar. “The necklace that she wears, such a design is strange to see, wouldn't you agree? The color isn’t a standard one used in this court, it's representative of something else, of someone else that isn't you. Isn’t the color of your siphons and that you choose to represent yourself with a dark blue? That's a far stretch from green isn’t it?” 

“No-” Azriel had started a snarl on his lips. “Rhys gave her that.”

Tamlin snarled back with a smirk. “He gave her that for me, the night we both became High Lords an unspoken promise between us solidified in the emerald she wears around her neck. Doubt yourself now boy, If I wasn’t worried about her being upset I’d have had this duel be for your life.”

Both males snarled at one another in the face of truth, yet it was Azriel who continued to taunt Tamlin even though he couldn’t get out from under the Spring lord. “I call your bluff and we will see who wins out once and for all.” 

Both of them growling in eachothers faces. “He who wins, wins it all.”

Yet it was Tamlin who slammed Azriel’s head back against the tile floor by ravenette’s throat and hissed lowly “May the Cauldron take the hindmost.”

It was then as Azriel struggled to breath under the blonde’s grasp that the female the entire fight was over rushed forward. “Stop! Stop it both of you!”

Tamlin sighed, smiling and released the Illyrian’s throat as his wings thrashed beneath them both. Tamlin moved off of the illyrian, staying on his knees with his hair a mess and back straight as he looked up at her, an adoring look on his face as he caught his breath. Azriel rolled  onto his stomach and into a push up as he coughed and tried to regulate his breathing head weakly lifting to watch her take Tamlin’s  face into her hands.

Tamlin’s eyes sparkled as she cupped his face. “The duel in your honor has pleased you then?”

She smiled and laughed, “You always were a show off who was eager to please.” Before leaning down to pull him into a kiss.

“I’ve missed you, you asshole, making me wait so long I feared you had given up and moved on.”She chastised him.

“I could never truly do that, you are my only, you should know that my dear.” Tamlin crooned back trying to lull her to lean forward and give him another kiss, when she relented he hissed as the adrenaline wore off and the busted part of his lip stung. 

She sighed running her finger over the clotting blood, watching as his brows furrowed for a split second before his magic started kicking in to heal the cut. She hummed softly, “Stand and we will leave to get you cleaned up.” 

She offered a nod to Rhys who was checking on the defeated Illyrian on the ground, Rhys nodded back at her as he patted the coughing male's shoulder and back. Tamlin had rose wobbly to his feet, chest still heaving as she placed her palm to his chest an unspoken sentence asking for just a moment; Tamlin nodded and she stepped away and pulled a second necklace from its hiding spot below the neckline of her dress, slipping it off the small silver ring inlaid with the blue cobalt stone dangled on the chain and she hung it around the illyrians neck with an apologetic smile. The illyrian let a sob wrack his body and Rhys offered her a sad smile, knowing what he was about to say would probably hurt his brother more but Rhys knew the seriousness of this situation, he would be discussing matters of a wedding and a mating bond with the blond soon enough. 

His eyes flicked over to Tamlin, who now had a worried Lucien rushing to his side. “You may both stay here for the night, come the morning we will discuss matters of your mateship and wedding, the town house is yours for the night and the rest of us will be at the river estate if you need us.” 

The high lord had since tucked the female into his side, Lucien standing on edge with the waistcoat, cape, and mask in his arms, offering them to Tamlin Lucien dismissed himself. “I’ll be at my apartment then.” before he was trailing off down the hall to a winnow safe room.

Rhys made a gesture for the two to leave and she nodded, pulling Tamlin down the hall Lucien had disappeared into just a few seconds ago, pulling him into a small circular room the inner circle used to flit in and out of the court of nightmares. The chilly night air nipped at her collarbone and shoulders as she rushed him into the townhouse that her family rarely used anymore. Neither spoke a word, both nervous and on the edge as she ushered him through the door once the wards had unlocked to let them pass. 

Dim faelights lit the house in a soft yellow light fitting for the time of night, Tamlin stayed close behind her as she stepped into the memory filled living room and ran her fingers nervously over the carved wooden backing of the couch but stilled in the doorway to observe the silent house littered with some of Feyre’s paintings; taking a sharp breath she turned to look at Tamlin with a pleading look. Tamlin smiled back at her taking a few steps to close the distance, cupping her face in his hands for a change he pressed his forehead against hers and let his eyes flutter closed simply appreciating her presence.  

“I can’t cook for you since we should wait till we make it to Spring to-” She had started rambling nerves getting the best of her, yet Tamlin simply hushed her with a kiss.

“I’m not worried about that right now love, It's been hundreds of years since I have simply got to appreciate you, your presence, your very being. Let me simply hold you like this for a minute.” He sighed letting his shoulders sag as any and all tension left his body. “Plus I had plenty to eat at the ball, so I'm not really hungry, rather exhausted actually.”

She nodded quickly pulling him close to her to rest his head in the crook of her neck and let him pin her against the back of the couch, the sentiment was there but it caused Tamlin’s nostrils to flare, his pupils to find themselves in a slit like state, and a growl at the back of his throat. “You still smell like him, as much as I’d love to continue this I need to scrub his scent from your body before I lose my composure, well any I still have at least.” 

She straightened her back, a mix of aroused and startled at his possessiveness over her. “There's a bathing room attached to my room if you wish to follow me up the stairs then.”

He nodded, taking a slow step backwards to let her move freely towards the stairs, instead she entwined her fingers with his own and pulled him up the stairs behind her. Towards the end of the hall of doors was a door decorated in decorative ivy and faelights, she stopped to push the decorated door open and smiled as the faelights flickered to life within her room. The room Tamlin realized was decorated like how Rosehall used to look, oak walls a contrast to the normal darker wood if not stone walls that were normal in the Night Court, dark emerald green curtains covered the door to the balcony with more of the false ivy and dangling soft lights. Emerald Green seemed to be the frequent accent color in the room, the silk sheets topped with golden furs, the curtains, a throw blanket over a loveseat in the corner, even a rug on the floor was reminiscent of his court and Rosehall. 

Tamlin’s brows furrowed as she moved to toss the silk shrug style stole onto the small loveseat. “You made it look… It looks like the old Rosehall?”

His eyes that had been scouring the room fell to her figure that was pushing through a door into the attached bathing chambers, they stilled at the sight of the deep scars visible due to the open back of her dress. 

“Yes, I did, it just felt right. Some memory of that place before the darkness touched it needed to be preserved.” She smiled at him in the mirror as she wiped away the kohl lining her eyes.

Tamlin’s steps felt heavy as he took a few steps forward as his calloused hands fell to the small of her back and his head dipped to press his forehead between her shoulders sighing as his voice came out a weak whisper. “You are too good for me, you know that right?” 

The tender touch to her back had caught her off guard, her breath hitching as his head came to rest against her. “Tam-”

He sighed, his breath brushing against the sunken scars on her back and finding her eyes on him he offered a mischievous glance from behind her shoulder.  “I mean it Starlight and,” He leaned back down to pepper kisses across the indentions. “I will spend every day of the rest of our lives making it up to you.”

She turned around in his hold, pulling him down for an actual kiss; he smiled through it before sighing as he pulled away to rest his forehead against hers. “Don’t try and distract me here! I mean it and I intend to start with that promise tonight.”

Her brows furrowed in a teasing and playful manner she scolded him. “Tamlin!”

He chuckled as he scowled at her. “Not like that silly girl,” He stopped for a split second to consider his words. “Okay, perhaps like that but I should first ask if you've any body lotions. I intend to offer a massage first and then mayhaps I’ll make my downfalls up to you by devouring you for a few hours.”

[katewritesthings]

Love Me Like I Can - Prologue// Introductions

This is just prologue to test interest. Most of Diana's songs are by the artist JoJo. ( For the song Joanna, just pretend it's Diana)

pairing: Joe Burrow x Singer! Original Female Character

•summary: Inspired by Scandoval and Taylor/Travis. R&B singer Diana Hayes navigates falling in love after a cheating scandal captures the attention of America and a certain Bengal.

•warnings: Cursing. Cheating. Sexual Situations. Drinking. Drug use. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Prologue // Introductions

October 18, 2023

Finding out was a complete accident. Diana was not the type of person that had the unquenchable curiosity for what is on their partner’s phone. In hindsight, maybe she should have paid even a bit of attention to Connor’s. Maybe the revelation wouldn’t have blindsided her, hitting her like a ton of bricks.

Every step that led to her finding out was motivated by trying to support Connor. His band, Bedford Scrolls, had just finished playing their final show of tour in their hometown of Boston and she was trying to get the best videos and pictures she could of him playing his bass. The entire tour was being documented on the reality show that the band starred in, but Connor always liked personal videos he could post on TikTok. She opened his camera roll to see if the pictures she took turned out the way she wanted when she scrolled one picture too far. The rage of betrayal washed over Diana as her stomach hit the ground. She was staring directly at her best friend’s bare chest. On the phone that belonged to her boyfriend of seven years. Unable to completely process the situation at hand with the screaming of the crowd surrounding her, Diana opened the camera roll to the grid revealing the pictures that Connor had taken in the past three months. There were numerous pictures of Hannah in various states of undress peppered in between the pictures of Diana  In a flash, she began selecting all of the photos that didn’t contain nudity and AirDropped them to herself while trying to navigate herself back to Connor’s dressing room.

After she felt the buzz of confirmation from her own phone in her pocket, Diana opened Connor’s phone app and dialed Hannah’s number. If the show had just ended that meant that the traitor was currently at the band’s hotel. With a huff, Diana mentally cursed herself for getting Hannah put on the band’s payroll. “Hey, baby! I thought you’d still be on stage!” The familiar voice of her best friend hit her ears as she navigated backstage to slam open the door to the green room. Connor and his three bandmates were freshening up while a few other friends lounged about.

“How long have the two of you been the absolute scum of the earth,” Diana heard her own voice sneer. The question captured the attention of the entire room she had just entered and silenced the woman on the other end of the phone.

Miles, the band’s lead singer, looked like he was about to open his mouth to ask for clarification for the whole room before Connor cut him off. 

“Let’s not do this here, Di. Let’s go somewhere to talk about this in private. You don’t want to embarrass yourself,” he said, voice even and calmer than he should be. Diana saw red, knowing what he was attempting to do. Connor had a habit of wanting to paint their relationship as picture-perfect, he wanted to do damage control and convince her to let this go. Unfortunately, this was not a random girl in Miami like at the beginning of their relationship. This was a new level of betrayal.

“Fuck that, Connor. What’s embarrassing is knowing that I thought you were good enough for me. Let everyone know how you’ve got more naked pictures of Hannah on your phone than I could count,”

Gasps and sounds of shock almost drowned out the sound of Hannah ending the call. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back to Diana. She felt like her throat was closing up as she began to process what this meant for her. Not only did this change everything when it came to her personal life, it was going to cause huge issues in her professional life.

Diana had been in the industry since she was 14 and nominated for her first Grammy. Even as a young teenager, there was a soulful warmth in her voice that combined with her range led to her first album winning Best Contemporary R&B album in 2012. Her career continued to steadily climb over the next few years as she dabbled in acting and released three more albums in 2014, 2016, and 2018, but she had never felt the security of someone on a bigger label. It had been almost six years since she had released music and that was supposed to be coming to an end. 

Diana had been planning on recording her third album after Bedford Scrolls’ tour and recording of Band Together had finished filming. Connor’s manager had promised her that if she went on tour with them and was featured in the season, it would drum up attention for the announcement of her return to music. He had talked her into signing a contract to appear in at least six episodes this season and the reunion. He even hinted at the possibility that she could use the networking to secure a documentary about making the album. 

All Diana could think about at the moment was how all of that was now a pipe dream. In her anger, she threw Connor’s phone across the room and let her phone carry her to the back exit of the venue. Emotions were swirling through her head and the thought of the material she had worked on about and with Connor now made her sick. She was going to have to start over, but couldn’t until the reunion was filmed in mid-November. 

—-

OCTOBER 20, 2023

DIANA AND CONNOR CALL IT QUITS! ALLEGATIONS HE CHEATED WITH.. HANNAH MALONEY!!

Musicians and stars of the reality show Band Together, CONNOR LEWIS and DIANA Hayes are officially no more, representatives for the pair have confirmed to TMZ.

After seven years, the couple has reportedly decided to go their separate ways. As surprising as this news is, it’s not nearly as shocking as news that Connor is rumored to have an affair with cast member, employee, and friend Hannah Maloney.

The Show Band Together follows the musical career of Connor’s band Bedford Scrolls as they navigate the messy life of music from writing to touring. Diana has been featured occasionally on the show in past seasons but was heavily featured in the trailer for Season 3 which premiered October 8. Hannah is a close friend of Diana’s who eventually became an assistant for Bedford Scrolls and is also featured on the show.

In the promo for Season 3, it was suggested that Connor and Diana were in an open relationship. This rumor was quickly shut down when Diana shared the promo to her Instagram stories with the caption “I’m not that cool. Bisexual =/= polyamory”

Show sources let TMZ know that the break up was recent as the couple has been seen together at tour dates for Bedford Scrolls as recently as Wednesday. Fans also report this as they say that Diana was Connor’s biggest fan at the final show of the tour, but left the venue alone in tears in a cab shortly after the set ended.

—--

October 29, 2023

DIANA SEEN OUT SWIFTLY AFTER SPLIT WITH EX, CONNOR

Edibles singer DIANA HAYES was spotted in NYC, leaving Electric Lady studios this morning. This is the first public sighting of Diana since news broke of her split with ex-CONNOR LEWIS. 

Last week TMZ reported that the couple split after Connor had an affair with Diana’s best friend, HANNAH MALONEY. Cast members of the reality show Band Together, and bandmates of Connor, have seemingly confirmed this by posting pictures of them with Diana in support. The hashtag #TeamDiana was trending for most of last week.

Sources close to Diana inform us that she has been staying at a rental in New York and has been offered support from big names such as Taylor Swift and Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson and even romantic offers from bachelors such as Drake.

Eagle-eyed fans are curious to see how this drama unfolds in this season of Band Together. Click here to catch up on this season of Band Together, airing now! 

—----

November 28, 2023

@DianaMusic: Wow. Where to start? 

First of all: Thank you all so much to for the outpouring of love and positivity you have sent my way over the past few weeks. Without the support I have gotten I would not have even been able to process the insanity that has happened, but with your care, I was able to throw myself into healing creatively. With this healing journey comes some good news and the bad news. 

First, this will be my last season of Band Together. 

More importantly, over the past few weeks, I have been processing through creating. This means I have recorded 4 new songs to put on an EP called, “Run” that will be released at midnight. It has been so long since I have released new music into the world that I began to question whether I had anything left to say, but now I do. This EP is just a taster of what is to come next year and I cannot wait to grow and heal with you all. 

What didn’t kill me better run. Liked by joeyb_9, conlew, and 1,423,798 others

VIew Comments.....

@taylorswift13: So proud of you! @IslaNg: They better fucking run! @hallebailey: This EP is about to be my personality

—---

RUN.

Diana 

Anxiety (Burlinda’s Theme)

Dissolve 

Man

—--

December 29, 2023

The past three months had been a whirlwind for Diana. After the revelation that Connor had cheated on her, she immediately threw herself into writing new songs. Before her flight from Boston to New York landed she had already written two of the four songs on her new EP. Diana and Anxiety were the outcomes of her mind working on overdrive about how the public was going to perceive the breakup.

Realistically, Diana knew that there would be people who blamed her, that’s just part of being a woman. Unrealistically, she was convinced that the public would take Connor’s side due to her unofficial hiatus from the public consciousness. Bedford Scrolls released their last album in September and had been touring and promoting constantly since. 

What the songwriter didn’t expect was for scandal to take the nation by storm in her favor. The nation tuned in every week to watch Band Together in hopes that they find clues of the affair in the season. As the episodes aired, it became clear that Diana was a devoted supporter of Conno meanwhile he took the chance to insult her every time she wasn’t in a scene. The footage broke Diana’s heart and ignited a vitriol for Connor like never seen before. Even Connor’s bandmates only spoke to him to berate him at the reunion for the reality show

The finale for the show had aired Sunday and it had been the only episode, bar the reunion that had been filmed after Diana had ended her relationship. She had never seen support like the outpouring of comments left when people watched as she asked Connor if he ever really loved her at all. Some fans had even correctly theorized that she had written Dissovle after filming had ended that day.

Diana had taken her new friend Taylor’s advice when she reached out and had booked as many performances as possible so she could turn the attention back to her career. She knew it was opportunistic, but after what Connor and Hannah did to her, Taylor reassured her that she deserved to secure her own future with the publicity. 

Diana had just finished singing acoustic versions of Dissolve and Man as the intro to a funk cover of “Any Man of Mine” by Shania Twain began to play. “I decided to do this song because I recently realized that it’s not selfish to want your partner to please you or be dedicated to only you… Here goes.”

—-------

DECEMBER 31, 2023

REUNION SECRETS REVEALED

Last night, the reunion of Band Together aired and exposed much more about the affair of CONNOR LEWIS and HANNAH MALONEY than we previously knew.

Isla, the drummer for Bedford Scrolls, posted on their instagram stories earlier this week defending their support of DIANA over their own bandmate Connor, saying: “You’ll see guys, some shit comes out at the reunion. Like, we found out shit we had no clue about and some stuff that was said that was absolutely heinous. As a human, it would be hard not to take Diana’s side after watching.”

After watching the reunion, it is clear what Isla was talking about. Diana, Connor, and Hannah were all in the same room for the interview where Hannah admitted the affair had been happening for almost a year.  

Things only got more heated from there as the host Andy Cohen asked Hannah why she loved and believed she could trust Connor. Hannah answered with a sexually explicit answer saying, “Connor and I are in love in such a deep way, it’s different than their relationship. He wouldn’t even go down on Diana and he’ll eat me any chance he got.”

If that weren’t enough fuel to the fire, Connor had to be removed from the stage for his safety after saying something under his breath that fans believe to have been, “Could you blame me, who wants to go down on a redhead?” because Miles and the guitarist, Zach, had gotten him into a headlock.

Fans are speculating that this might be the end of Bedford Scrolls as we know it.

—---

JANUARY 1, 2024

Diana was doing her best to try to avoid every bit of media she could for as long into the New Year as possible. It turned out, as long as possible ended up being 3 PM. Biz, Diana’s sister had burst through the AirBNB bedroom door tha Diana was currently holed up in, trying to smoke a bowl watch the newest episode of the new Percy Jackson.

“Did you see the Cheifs vs Bengals game yesterday,” the younger girl excitedly shrieked as she dramatically flopped herself on the bed next to her sister. “Uhm, is this an alternate universe? When have you ever seen me watch a sporting that I didn’t sing at” Diana shot her sister a look of confusion and taking a hit from her glass pipe.

“Because! Your name came up, watch this video!” Biz excitedly thrust her phone into her sister's hand.

The sound of her own voice was audible in the background of the video as a player with the number 1 on their jersey was being interviewed.

“I see you all are fans of Diana,” the interviewer joked as a player with a wrist splint in the background was seen in the background mouthing the words to “Man.”

“Yeah, we Team Diana in this locker room!” The player said laughing.

“Oh, yeah? Is her music on a lot in the locker room?” 

“Not like we have a choice though, with how obsessed Joe is,” the player let out another laugh pointing at the injured player in the background. Chuckles from nearby players were heard. “Shut up, Ja’Marr,” the injured man, presumably Joe shouted from the back.

 “All I’m saying is you kept saying this song was about you when you first heard it,” Ja’Marr called back over his shoulder. “Diana if you’re watching this: Hit up my boy Joey B! He ain’t afraid to e-” The video was cut off as Ja’Marr was put in a headlock by Joe.

Diana stared at her sister’s phone, uncertain who or what she just witnessed, waiting for an explanation. When none came, she looked up to find Biz’s expectant face looking hopefully back at her.

“So?” the brunette questioned, “Are you going to do it?!”

“Do what? I don’t even know what I just watched,” Diana stated, still confused. 

“You just watched Ja’Marr Chase ask you to hit up one of the most thirsted-after quarterbacks ever: Joe Burrow, and imply that said quarterback would like to get freaky with you,” Biz explained. “You have to respond.”

Diana’s cheeks filled with warmth as she mentally replayed the video in her head. She had no idea who this person was, but she had to admit he was attractive. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have her agent try to reach out for his phone number. ===== Next Chapter.