#PERHAPS THEY WERE MERELY HIGH FIVES

[that-one-malereader-enthusiast]

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 • 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

╰┈➤ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐉𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐑𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐭

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𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 || inspo: @nickgoesinsane the post !!!

⟩ » Part One « | Part Two ⟨

cw : MDNI - S1 Lestat, flirting, suggestive content, top male reader, goofy male reader, bagged the baddie by being autistic aesthetic, mentions of sexual interactions, slight Louis jealousy, one-shot.

Thinking of how Lestat would so leisurely find his way onto your leg, his body pressed against yours almost similar to how a feline would greet another. How he would lean his head over as you'd whisper to him what others only wish they could hear.

Ears perking up at the melodic laughter from the blonde beauty himself. His hand having to cover his lips as to stifle his own joy, afraid he wouldn't be able to stop himself. Your mere words brought him joy, a rare feeling when it didn't come from either spiting others or showing off his many 'talents'.

You spoiled the man rotten from your presence alone.

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Lestat had become absolutely enthralled with you.

Beforehand, he'd peered his way into your mind and saw you as nothing more than a simpleton who genuinely happened to stumble into a bar. Like a lost puppy, you seemed almost shy, scrambling for help in your mind as the bustling room seemed like a cry out of your comfort zone.

Oh how absolutely wrong he was.

By the time he'd occupied a seat next to you, the blonde man barely had enough time to introduce himself before you perked up and did so first. You were a bit of a motor-mouth, but a smooth one at that. Lestat seemed only partially annoyed as he practically got your life's story before saying a measly five words.

You were the perfect target for a good night, to sate both his needs of hunger. A gluttonous lust he'd have sprung on Louis if the man wasn't so tied up in his own family affairs at the moment. It couldn't have been laid out any better. You were alone, having moved from further down south to try and set up business, but you were lost and passing by.

You had no family or friends worried about you, you weren't of a high enough status to be searched for if gone for more than a day, and better yet, all your belongings were currently on you as you'd been trying to find a place to stay for the night.

Lestat did have to silence you for the moment as you rambled about your current situation. His nimble fingers seemed to caress your jaw, thumb place against your lips. "For such a handsome face, you speak more than you can breathe. Though I can't blame you, having to go through such a harrowing journey with no one willing to help you?"

You seemed to smirk behind his finger, a laugh leaving your slightly chapped lips. "Well, what can I say pretty boy? You simply took my breath away the moment you sat next to lil' ol' me."

Lestat was a bit surprised to say the least as you seemed openly okay with complimenting him in such a way. Many men, caucasian or colored, seemed to keep to themselves or explore behind closed doors. You? Your mind was open and unafraid, bold to say the least—though there wasn't a single degrading thought to behold at that moment, even as the conversation continued.

"Perhaps I could provide you a place for the night? I highly doubt you'd be willing to march to your destination after such a strenuous journey here, pauvre chiot..." Lestat removed his hand, one now tapping against the bar while the other lingered against your open thigh.

"That's mighty sweet of you! So, how could this poor country boy ever repay you for such a kind gesture mista..." You droned on, hoping he'd fill the space in order to finally introduce himself.

"Lestat, Lestat de Lioncourt," he practically purred out.

"Pretty name for an even prettier face. Ya' don't sound like you're from here yourself mister Lestat. Got a story of your own to tell?" You'd now seem almost infatuated with this man who'd barely begin to speak to you, much less offer a place to stay. In the back of your mind, you knew that it was a ploy to sleep with you, maybe even take some of your belongings, but the man seemed much too proper and seemed to hold himself to a higher standing than to be a petty thief.

"Oh, but would you rather I bother you with something more than a story, mon cher?"

"Maybe, but only if you explain what you just said. Sounded somthin' like you were callin' me a cherry. Not to disappoint you, but ain't the first time I've been called a fruit, I'll tell ya that." That seemed to get a genuine chuckle from Lestat, making the smile on your lips widen.

The blonde individual shook his head as his laughter died down. "It seems you are not familiar with the tongue I speak in. Just as it seems you are just as unfamiliar with the French quarter as well."

"I wouldn't mind becoming familiar, whether it be with your tongue or otherwise," you quipped. "I can do much more than yappin' yer ear off, but I do enjoy your voice much more than hearing my own. Wanna get out of this joint? Doesn't seem much like your style Lestat."

If it was an excuse to finally get you alone, he'd take it. As if you were already mesmerized by the devil in disguise, the two of you left the establishment and into the darkness of the night.

Even though you spoke to an extent that would annoy any congressman who'd have told debate against you, Lestat seemed to grow fond of the conversation, as well as the praises you seemed to give. You followed him willingly, though it wasn't much of a surprise to Lestat. There were people that simply swooned over him via their first meeting, but you were different.

Yes, you were charismatic, a bit awkward, and yes, a chatterbox, but your sudden infatuation with Lestat was odd to him. He couldn't see any current thoughts that were of the sexual variety, just genuine curiosity.

So he amused you with a short tale of his own travels, walking side by side in no direction in particular. He was simply biding time before eventually giving your life an end. Though he couldn't have imagined that an hour later, he would be settled in an empty field laying in the grass with you, laughing his heart.

"Chéri, how would he have even gotten his head stuck in such a place?"

"Beats me! Believe me, I called him shithead plenty of times, I just didn't think he'd take it in such a literal sense. Look, and that cow? I felt even worse for her." You ended as you recounted a story from your hometown. "You also keep calling me chair? Are you being funny? Look, you can sit on me, all you had to do was ask honestly—"

"Mon Dieu, you will be the end of me," Lestat wheezed out before sitting up. "I have not laughed like this in a very long time." Rubbing his jaw, he could barely feel an ebbing of aching in his cheeks from how hard he'd smiled before, his stomach tending from how tickled he'd become. "And no, I am not poking fun at you mon cher. Your humor isn't the least bit boring unlike some unruly men I've come into contact with. I assumed you simply had lines to try and...take off with me."

Your face flushed at the idea. "Well, you were also laying it on thick yourself Lestat. Didn't know if you wanted to help me or...somethin' else. I mean, I'm flattered, surprised too. What's a pretty thing like yourself doin without someone on your hip. I mean—you're proper as hell, a real gentleman if anything. A flirt too, charming, handsome, cute, radiant even. You're a diamond compared to the dull coin I am."

Lestat seemed even more surprised at the compliments he was getting, yet you seemed to neglect your own self worth. "Even coins are valuable, dull, dirty, or not. Why do you put yourself down so?"

There was a cloud of despair in your mind for a moment before a sad smile appeared upon your face. "Today could be my last for all I know. I haven't made a name for myself here, and if I were to disappear tonight well...what mark would I have made? You know me as this country bumpkin ya met at the bar? You'll forget about me tomorrow as if I never existed."

You weren't wrong, Lestat had planned to simply get rid of you then and there, but now you'd peaked his interest. "If...you were given the opportunity, to achieve what you'd like, would you take it?"

"No questions asked."

"Even if you had to make a deal with the devil himself?"

"I'd ask him to throw in beaut like yourself, I'd be all in."

Lestat felt a grin appear on his lips at your mere words. "You don't have much hesitation do you?"

"I've got nothing to lose. Go big or go home, right?"

"Indeed Mon cher."

Suddenly Lestat pounced, smashing his lips against yours in an almost bruising strength. You took it as a sign, knowing that tonight would mostly likely end in the two of you sleeping together. His tongue slipped into your mouth, now fighting for control as your own hands came to hold his waist. The kiss was heated, abit sloppy, and by the time Lestat pulled away, you were breathless and flushed down the neck. The moonlight gave way to his silhouette as he stayed hovered above your face.

"Are ya sure you want this Lestat? I've been told I'm a lot to handle."

"You've been so bold and quite forward all night, don't tell me you're getting shy now," a grin appeared on Lestats' face, his fangs peeking from behind his slightly swollen lips.

"Don't say I didn't warn you.."

♡ ͎. ｡˚ 　　°

Lestat seemed to stare at the headboard of the bed, almost lost in thought as just as he felt breathless. He only snapped back to reality as he felt a warm breath and kiss against his bare shoulder.

"You still with me Lestat?" Your voice was much softer, tender as you nuzzled against the nape of the others neck, the sheets covering both of your lower halves as your body hovered above his.

Blinking, the blonde seemingly loosened his grip on both the pillow and the sheet beneath him. He'd slept with others who also seemed full of themselves, but now the tables had turned. He was practically filled to the brim with your sheer girth alone, pressing against his more sensitive places. His tongue ran over his lips, lapping up the leftover drops of blood that filled his throat mere moments ago.

"I told you we could have gone slow...you're not hurtn' are you?"

Lestat was taken aback by your demeanor. Not many people seemed to care for his well-being, especially during sexual escapades such as these. "Mon cher, do you often become this worried about those you sleep with?"

"Couldn't say. You're...the first," your face completely bloomed at the sudden confession.

Lestat however was completely dumbfounded. You did not act like a virgin in bed. He would have never assumed it was your first time, not with the way you completely ravished his body by the time the two of you made it through the front door. Your touch like silk, finding every weak spot and milking it for all its worth.

A groan left the blonde's lips as you'd shifted, though he knew you'd be slightly dazed and possibly inebriated as you were unaware that he'd fed from you tonight. "Dieux, you must be humoring me again, no?" Even peering into your mind once again, he had seen the truth, and knew that you spoke of no jokes.

You made a small noise, but shook your head as you buried your face within Lestats' neck, kissing his warm skin and even up to his jaw. "I hope I'm not disappointin' ya..."

"Merde..."

Lestat didn't expect you to be a literal bucking bronco, but he couldn't deny how you made him feel. Physically, it was as if you were bringing heaven up on his flesh, every touch, flick, lick, almost other worldly. Emotionally...he didn't understand. By daylight you'd be dead, he was sure of it, that he'd have his fun and dispose of you before morning.

Though at the moment it didn't seem as if you were out of energy. A bit sluggish yes, but a certain part of you was ready for more. "Lestat..'" Muttering against his skin, your hips rutted upwards, making a heavenly noise leave the man below you. "You can be on top this time if you want..."

♡ ͎. ｡˚ 　　°

Three months ago, Lestat questioned his morality, though it wasn't the first time he did so. He always entertained Louis and even then, the humans around him weren't much worth the time or space when it came down to their needs or wants— whether it was self loathing, craving of sex, the need for food, or the wanting of home to go back to. They were all the same. It was the same with everyone he'd stumbled upon.

"Another round of drinks for the booth Chéri!"

Lestat found himself sitting on your leg, practically draped over you like a coat, his head tilted against yours. The spoils of laughter and joy you'd brought him within such little time was uncalled for, but granted, he never imagined someone like you would stumble into his life alongside Louis.

He saw no need to change you, though his eyes were set on someone else for such an event. You knew of his secret, and kept it to yourself. The nights where he'd come to see you, having dealt with racist snobs or uninteresting people, you were there to cleanse his boredom.

Though the two of you slept with each other quite often, you would never let him leave without pampering him after. And Lestat enjoyed every minute of it. Your sweet words, the true sincerity that you felt for him, that you loved him. Though it was hard to tell with Lestat if he felt that same way, or if he just adored you like any other human he might keep for entertainment.

Within the last few months the two of you had become business partners, having made a nightclub out of an old townhouse set to be demolished. Many strings had been pulled to get things up and running, but even then it happened to be a successful mission for both men. There was music, dancers, singers, all sorts of entertainers that came in to perform, and many people paid top dollar to come in.

Even Lestat had days where he'd perform on stage. To say he loved to peacock was an understatement.

This nightly job was as thrilling and fun as your nights in the town. Unfortunately, you were a horrible driver. Lestat had never been so unnerved about someone driving, and you? "A better lover than a driver I suppose?"

"I believe so ma chérie, I believe so..." It's safe to say that Lestat would be driving you around while you'd stay being his passenger princess.

Louis watched on from the other side of the half circle booth he sat in, his eyes narrowing at you as you practically wore Lestat, and the man let you. He couldn't understand what was so special about you. In his eyes, you were the same as him, maybe a little less.

Even as you'd been introduced to Louis, the two of you had never met eye to eye. Maybe it was because Lestat seemed to visit him just slightly less often than he did before you showed up. Maybe it was because he barely went out with Louis anymore because he was too busy riding you. With a glass in hand, Louis stared you down as you whispered something with Lestats' ear. He couldn't help but to wonder, seriously, what do you see in that guy?

Lestat stifled a laugh as he pressed the back of his own hand against his mouth. His piercing gaze seemed to shift over to Louis as his thoughts spoke much louder than others. The blonde couldn't help but to grin, pulling you in closer.

"He makes me laugh!"

"Hm?"

"Nothing ma très chère."

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Like, Comment, Or Reblog. || A/N: Thank you for reading! Any comments or notes help motivate me to post more often like this! Unfortunately I tend to overthink lots of my writings, which lead to me not posting or becoming unmotivated. This was written out as an imagine but I got carried away! Hope you all enjoyed! Will maybe edit and clean it up later!

[beomiracles]

⌞ 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 ⌝

DREAM RECALL “How much for one night?” — What? You blink, lips parting as you let out a short breath. At first you thought that he might be joking, but nothing about the way his eyes lingered on yours backed that statement up. “How much?” You ask, still in disbelief. He gives a small nod, barely noticeable, his eyes gleaming in the dim light of the bar. You bite the inside of your cheek, considering your options. Oh screw it. 

“Five hundred”, you state, leaning back against the countertop behind you. He cocks an eyebrow at you and you feel the corner of your lips twitch, “dollars.” — He smirks, then throws a glance over his shoulder, jutting his chin toward a table by the corner. Your gaze follows his as they land on a blond guy, his eyes finding yours in a mere second as he sends you a small wink. 

“And how much if there’s two of us?”

wc -> 5.4k

pairings taehyun x afab!reader x hueningkai warnings purchase of sex (do NOT ever), pwp, threesome, sub!reader, servicetop!kai + switchy!kai, softdom!taehyun, some power imbalance between taehyun and kai but no mxm, oral (f. and m. rec), breast play, marking, lots of making out, big dick!kai, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, slight edging/denied orgasm, overstimulation (both f. and m.), lots of cumming, cum eating/swallowing, kai and taehyun gets off on watching each other with the reader. as always lmk if i missed any, this is pretty smut packed so i most definitely have..

#serene adds ✎... my first ever take on a threeway, so if it's lacking in any way, that should explain it ( ´･･)ﾉ(._.`) debated for a long time on which members to use but tyunning just felt so right for this hehe !!

feedback is much appreciated as this is my first time writing something like this >.<

You were bored out of your mind. Swirling the small toothpick around in your unfinished martini, you rest your cheek on the back of your hand with a heavy sigh. Despite the bar being near crowded as people pushed past each other to get a seat, you still felt terribly alone. You probably should’ve called a cab home two drinks ago, but you didn’t want to end the evening before even midnight. So you stayed, telling yourself that it would be a shame not to wear your new dress out. 

A few guys tried their luck at chatting you up, none getting very far. It was almost painful to witness them gathering courage before walking over, stumbling past their words as they gave you the same compliment you had been told so many times that night. The way their gazes dropped to your chest within seconds, the tip of their ears turning pink as they awkwardly cleared their throat. Some offered drinks, but most of them just returned to their table with their heads hanging low. 

It wasn’t their fault, you thought. It must be hard, facing rejection after rejection like that. Perhaps your standards were too high, perhaps you were too quick to judge. But honestly, was it really that hard? All you wanted was for someone to look you in the eye and be direct, not stuttering every other word or throwing in a spent compliment. Was it so hard for someone to just walk up and– a light tap to your shoulder makes you lift your head as you turn around with a small frown. 

The man before you was handsome, really handsome. He had sharp striking features, dark and enticing eyes, eyes that for once weren’t afraid to hold your gaze. His lips, perfectly plump, curled into a faint smirk. The dark hair on his head framed his already godlike face. — But what really caught your attention was the way he carried himself, with so much confidence that his presence was easily felt throughout the room, garnering him a few curious glances from everyone nearby. 

You think that he might introduce himself, but he doesn’t, instead he asks the question you never thought you would hear in your entire life. 

“How much for one night?” — What? You blink, lips parting as you let out a short breath. At first you thought that he might be joking, but nothing about the way his eyes lingered on yours backed that statement up. “How much?” You ask, still in disbelief. He gives a small nod, barely noticeable, his eyes gleaming in the dim light of the bar. You bite the inside of your cheek, considering your options. Oh screw it. 

“Five hundred”, you state, leaning back against the countertop behind you. He cocks an eyebrow at you and you feel the corner of your lips twitch, “dollars.” — He smirks, then throws a glance over his shoulder, jutting his chin toward a table by the corner. Your gaze follows his as they land on a blond guy, his eyes finding yours in a mere second as he sends you a small wink. 

“And how much if there’s two of us?” 

⋮

You weren’t exactly opposed to trying new things, quite the contrary, there was little you had yet to experience. But the thought of a threeway.. it had never really crossed your mind. You had always imagined it as the stereotypical two girls one guy type of thing, so you had never found the appeal you suppose. — But as you sat sandwiched in the backseat of a cab between the two guys you had met only fifteen minutes prior, their hands wandering down your thighs, you slowly started to reconsider. 

The short ride was mostly silent, but you didn’t mind, it wasn’t awkward. Quiet murmurs of how pretty you were filled the car as their hands roamed all over you. To your right, the man who had approached you at the bar, leaned in to press a soft kiss to your exposed shoulder, his warm mouth lingering there as his hand slid up your inner thigh. — “What’s your name?” You wonder, feeling him smirk before exhaling against your skin. “Taehyun.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, giving him a small nod before your eyes flickered over to your left. The blond guy had yet to speak a single word to you, but despite that his hands tangled in your hair as he pulled your face to his. Unlike Taehyun, his features were softer, almost angelic, yet alluring at the same time. Your mouth opens in an unspoken question, but he’s quicker, “Kai”, his lips stretch into a crooked grin and your stomach flutters at the sight. 

From that point, the rest is a blur. Getting out of the car, Kai’s hands on your waist as he pulls you closer, Taehyun walking a few paces ahead. The lobby was breathtaking, marbled floors accompanied by a large golden chandelier that greeted you as you stepped inside. You did not dare think about how much this room would cost you. However Kai’s hot breath on your neck as he guides you toward the grand elevators makes you forget it all again. 

The room was as expected, out of this world. Large windows reaching from floor to ceiling, the fluorescence lights of the city reflecting through the glass as they casted the room in a dim glow. The king sized bed in the middle of everything immediately caught your eye, its four posters clad in sheer curtains inviting you over. And what you could only guess to be an expensive carpet, laid sprawled across the entirety of the floor beneath you. — You’ve barely gotten your pointy heels off when Kai’s tall frame cages you against the wall, his large hands roaming your thighs as he hikes your legs around his waist. 

His kiss was messy, hungry and urgent, but it was also sweet. Much like his almost angelic face, every touch of his was filled with sincerity and goodwill. You let his tongue slip past your lips, tentatively gliding against your own as he sighs into your mouth. Your sharp nails rake across his shoulders and back, feeling his muscles tense beneath you as he presses himself closer. — You can make out the faint sounds of Taehyun shuffling about somewhere to your left, but it’s not until he speaks that you open your eyes again. 

“Have the decency to at least get her to the bed.” His voice was low and almost demanding. And though you knew nothing about them, save for their names, you guessed the blond to be younger as he quickly followed Taehyun’s command, his large hands on your ass as he walked you over to the comforter with fast paced strides. — Your back hits the soft mattress, the spots either side of you dips as Kai hovers above you, pressing feathery like kisses to your jaw before working his way down your neck. 

Just as his lips on yours had been filled with urgency did his hands also not hesitate to roam your body as they groped at your chest. Though he never went as far as trying to slip you out of your clothes, his eyes instead flickering over to Taehyun who stood by the edge of the bed, an indifferent expression on his face as he watched the ordeal before him. The older male sighs as he shoots the blond a pointed look, “you’re too eager.” — Kai swallows as he pulls back from you with a sheepish smile, though his palms remain against your hips as he holds you in place. He mutters a small apology before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. 

Taehyun’s footsteps are barely audible against the fluffy carpet as he walks over to stand behind his friend. His posture still radiated the same waves of confidence it had at the bar and his gaze was unwavering as it pierced yours. “Where do you want him?” He asks and your mouth falls open at the blunt question, your eyes flitting between the brunette and his blond companion who was watching you with an expecting grin. 

“I…well I..” Color rushes to your cheeks at the thought of having to utter something like that out loud and you know that they both pick up on it as they give each other a small glance. Without further probing, Kai slides off the bed as he repositions himself between your legs, his hands running along your thighs before settling on your knees as he pushes them apart. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you, yeah?” He flashes you a small smirk as he leaves a wet kiss to your inner thigh. 

Too caught up in what was happening before you, it takes you by surprise when Taehyun's fingers suddenly trail down your sides. The weight of yet another person joining yours on the mattress as he presses himself close behind you, warm breath fanning your shoulders and neck. It felt new, foreign, to have the two of them so entirely focused on only you, but it felt good. Kai’s soft hands hook around the lining of your panties as he carefully pulls them down, discarding them on the floor behind him as his attention returns to your exposed cunt. 

Momentarily his gaze flickers up to meet yours, he sends you a reassuring smile before his eyes shift to your left, locking with his friend, as if to receive some sort of confirmation from  the older. You’re unable to turn and read the look on Taehyun’s face but it’s not long until Kai’s head is nestled between your legs, his warm breath caressing your bare skin. You emit a soft gasp as his hot tongue drags across your folds, coating them in his saliva and he groans at the taste of you. 

The sensation is joined by Taehyun’s lips on your neck, his arms wrapping around your abdomen as he keeps you still on the bed. “Go slow”, he mutters and Kai hums against your throbbing core, taking his time as his tongue explores your cunt. You resist a small whine as his nose rubs against your clit, the sudden spark of pleasure shooting through you like fireworks. Behind you, Taehyun’s hands have moved from your stomach and to your chest as he carefully peels your dress down. Cool air hits your naked skin and you let out a noise of surprise as his fingers twist and pinch your nipples.  

His kisses to your neck grew far more lustful as his palms rubbed your breasts, groping them softly as he let out a quiet sigh to your shoulder. Arching into his coordinated touch, you grasp at the silky sheets beneath you in order to ground yourself. Your jaw slacks as Kai pushes his tongue as deep inside of you as he physically could, his face practically molding with your wet cunt as your arousal smears all over him. — A harsh tug to your nipple makes you whimper, your attention briefly returning to Taehyun as he presses his lips against your ear. 

His hand is on top of yours, untangling your fingers from the bedsheets as he moves them to the younger’s head. “Here”, he murmurs, letting you intertwine yourself with his blond locks as your nails scrape across his scalp. “Tug on his hair”, he commands and you blink up at him only to receive a curt nod, “he likes that.” — Doing as he says, you give Kai’s hair a small experimental tug, watching as he practically whines against your folds, his hips jerking forward as he grinds onto the side of the bed. 

“Again”, Taehyun sighs before he leans down to continue his tender kisses to your neck and shoulder. “Harder this time”, he mutters, teeth grazing your soft skin and you shudder as you nod. — Kai’s large hands on your thighs stutter as he almost whimpers when you pull the blond mess on his head, his tongue moving with much more determination as he seeks to bring you to an orgasm; undoubtedly succeeding as you feel your legs tremble. 

You don’t know who to address, swallowing a small whine as your hips snap against the younger’s pliant face, making him groan into your cunt as his tongue shifts to swirl around your clit. Taehyun’s slender fingers are splayed across your stomach, feeling every muscle there tense as your breaths grow jagged. — “Do you want to cum on his face?” He asks to which you without even hesitating, nod, “I-I do..” The faint flicker of a smirk can be felt against your shoulder, “you hear that?” Taehyun asks to which his friend whines as he eagerly pulls you onto his face. 

It doesn’t take more than a final nudge of Kai’s nose to your throbbing clit in order for you to almost see stars, your thighs closing around his head as you grip his hair harshly. Had it been anyone else you would’ve probably been embarrassed about the moan that ripped from your throat, but Kai’s eager mouth against your clenching cunt makes you forget about it all in a mere second. — He kisses you sloppily, trailing his tongue over your spent folds, reveling in the way you shudder under his touch. 

Taehyun sighs against your neck, pulling back for a brief moment as he gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, his eyes raking over the many marks he’d left in his wake. You swallow as your high turns into a mere afterglow, finally catching your breath, you begin to see things clearly once again. Kai pulls back, more than half of his face is glistening in the sheer layer of your orgasm, but he only licks his lips as he watches you with hungry eyes. 

You find your gaze flitting between the two, unsure of your next move. Shifting against the mattress, you turn to Taehyun, biting the inside of your cheek as you wait for him to say something. His gaze is just as dark and piercing as it had been all evening and you never think you’d get quite used to it, it wasn’t at all like Kai’s soft one. But before you can even reach for the zipper of his jeans does he stop you. “Him first”, he drawls, releasing your wrist as he pushes your hair out of your face. 

Not having to be told twice, the younger male quickly gets up from the floor as he takes place beside his friend on the bed. Retaking his previous position, you slide down between his legs, Taehyun follows you as he helps you completely slip out of your dress, discarding it alongside your panties as his hand on your head pushes you flush against Kai’s clothed erection. Your lips graze the wet stain that had seeped through the fabric of the denim and the blond whines at the small contact. 

Without further teasing, you reach for his zipper, quickly undoing it as your hand slips past his soaked briefs. He was big, almost intimidatingly so, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to be phased. Instead you let the palm of your hand slide along his throbbing shaft, not before long does it become covered in the spilt precum oozing from his tip and when you wrap your fingers around him, it makes a squelching sound. 

Kai groans above you, his large hands bunching the silk beneath him into fists as he traps his bottom lip between his teeth; uttering quiet whispers of praise. Your stomach flutters as you clench around nothing, upping your pace on his cock ever so slightly. Taehyun’s fingers in your hair makes you shiver as he keeps your face locked in place. — Your eyes fell on Kai, the way his head was thrown back, exposing the veins climbing his throat, his open mouth, where ragged breaths passed through as you pressed your thumb to his tip.

Just as you had been eaten out before had you given head too, but this still felt so far from anything you’d previously experienced. Maybe it had to do with the brunette’s looming presence as he silently watches his friend writher on the bed, his hands in your hair maintaining a harsh grip as he urges your parted lips to the younger’s leaking dick. You let him. The wet feeling of his soaked cockhead meets your tongue and you carefully allow Taehyun to slide you further down his friend’s shaft. 

You refuse a small gag as the hands in your hair prevent you from retreating when Kai bucks up into your mouth, succeeding in hitting the back of your throat. The way your nails claw at his thighs only seems to spur him on further as he groans somewhere above you. — “How does he feel?” Taehyun wonders, his fingers massaging your scalp soothingly, as if to compromise for the burning sensation flaring up in your throat. Letting out a low hum you blink, unable to form neither a coherent sentence nor thought. 

He pulls you off, just enough to where the younger’s tip rests on your lips. You swallow, gaze flickering up to meet Kai’s dazed one and you feel your cheeks redden. “B-Big..” You mumble, fighting to not let your eyes drop to the floor. The blond lets out a strangled noise as his hips impatiently jerk toward your waiting mouth, his face flushed as he bit the inside of his cheek. Behind you, Taehyun hums as he guides you back onto Kai’s thick cock. “You’re doing good”, he praises as he relaxes the grip in your hair, allowing you to set your own pace. 

Your eyes screw shut at the slightly uncomfortably stretch as you carefully moved your head along his shaft. The wet noises filling the room made you throb and you shifted against the fine carpet as you rubbed your thighs together. — Taehyun’s fingers, once in your hair, now trails down your sides as he drops to the floor beside you. He brushes a strand of hair from your sticky face. And before you can react, he’s got a hand between your legs, long and slender fingers running along your already sensitive folds as your moans vibrate around Kai’s hard cock in your mouth. 

His movements are languid, as if he’s touching you just to get a rise out of you. It works, you uncontrollably squirm on his hand, nails digging into the blond’s thighs as you jerk forward, involuntarily taking him even deeper and he hisses above you. Kai mutters out a string of curses, his hands unclenching form the bedsheets as they move to the sides of your face, keeping you still as he fucks into your hot mouth. “Fuck”, he groans and your eyes flutter as he twitches against your tongue. 

“Are you gonna let him cum down your throat?” Taehyun asks, tilting his head to the side as he studies you with curious eyes. You glance up at the younger, your eyes meeting as he shoots you an almost pleading look. “Uh-huh”, is all you manage, lips stretched wide around his cock. The loss of the older’s fingers against your core makes you whine as Taehyun gets up. Though your grief is short lived as Kai’s hips stutter against you, the hands on your face bringing you impossibly closer as warm spurts of cum hit the back of your throat. With a small gag you manage to swallow most of it, a few droplets running down your chin as tears build in your eyes at the sheer pressure. 

Kai’s hands on your cheeks are gentle now, carefully pulling himself out, he makes sure to wipe your stained lips as he helps you back onto the bed. You silently thank him and he gives you a small smile. You open your mouth to say something but a tap to your shoulder makes you turn your head as you come face to face with Taehyun. He doesn’t say anything, instead pressing his lips on your own, his large arm snaking around your waist as he steers you from the younger’s grasp. 

Despite being shorter than his friend, Taehyun easily maneuvers you to lay on your back as his muscular frame hovers above you. You can’t remember kissing him once since you first stepped foot inside the dark room, and he was much different from Kai. The way his mouth pries yours open, tongue boldly slipping inside to connect with your own as he elicits a small gasp from you. Every touch of his was calculated and sharp and felt nothing like your tender moments shared with the blond male. 

Your hands move to his chest, only to find that he already lacked his shirt. He inhales against your skin when your nails flit across his torso, taking your time as you feel the defined muscle built there. — The bed creaks and your eyes flicker to your left, locking with Kai’s as he shifts himself into a comfortable position by the edge of the comforter. “Don’t worry about him”, Taehyun murmurs, his warm mouth leaving yours to drag across your jaw. “He’ll get his turn eventually.” 

The already existing marks he’d left on your neck remain and he hums in approval as his lips ghost over them. His hand is gentle but direct as he slides it along your calf, hiking your leg up above his shoulder before his gaze ventures to your glistening cunt. “So perfectly wet and ready for me”, he muses as he runs an experimental finger between your folds, drawing a small whine from you as you squirm under him. 

His lonesome finger is quickly replaced by the tip of his cock as it prods against your throbbing hole. In spite of having waited so long, he takes his time, patiently guiding his shaft between your folds as he coats himself in your previous orgasm. The way you so keenly push your hips up against him makes it all worth it as his large hand splays across your stomach to keep you down. “So eager”, he taunts, yet he slowly slides himself past your clenching walls, making your back arch off the mattress as you cry out in pleasure. 

Once you’re filled to the brim, he pauses, taking his time as he fusses with a few strands of your hair, making you huff as you silently plead for him to move. He tsk’s at your impatience, his thumb stimulating your clit as he pulls back, only to slam into you with a harsh thrust, pulling a startled yelp from you. The bedposters rattle and you blink up at him, your lips parted as they allow desperate noises to slip past them. 

Your hands are everywhere, unsure of what to do with them, you drag them across his chest, his sides, his arms, before finally resting them on his shoulders. Briefly, your gaze flickers to Kai, only to find him already watching you intently, his hard cock in his hand as he strokes himself leisurely. Seemingly following your train of thought, Taehyun huffs as he snaps his hips against yours firmly, making your eyes roll back as you emit a pathetic moan. “Do you want him to do that?” He wonders, and you frown, albeit confused as your attention flickers from the brunette, inches from your face and over to the blond whose cock twitches in his hand at the small attention received from you. 

“Tell him to stop and he will”, the older one encourages and you bite your lip as your gaze wavers. The thought of being in control like that, thrilled you, more than you’d ever thought it would have. With a trembling voice, your eyes find Kai’s and he swallows a small gulp, already anticipating your next words. “S-Stop.” — He bites the inside of his cheek, but the hand on his shaft stops moving completely as he uncomfortably squirms on top of the bedsheets. 

You barely catch the menacing smirk on Taehyun’s lips before he reconnects them with yours in a feverish kiss, his thrusts becoming almost smug as he put on a show for his friend, prolonging both his own and your orgasm for the sake of making the younger suffer. — Perhaps it was a little cruel, but you had never felt more empowered and your heart raced as your attention became torn between the two guys before you. 

“Gorgeous”, Taehyun breathes against your mouth, his thumb swirling across your clit whilst his free hand caresses the leg flung over his shoulder. You shudder at the small praise, fingers entangling themselves in his dark hair as you pull his face even closer, making his sharp nose brush up against your cheek and he groans. — Drawing your bottom lip between his teeth, Taehyun’s hips move relentlessly against yours as he coax you to your second orgasm that night. 

Your whole body shivers beneath him, a small cry ripping from your throat as you cling to him. His smirk can be felt against the sides of your face as he leaves sloppy kisses to your glistening skin, the wet sounds of his cock slamming into your overstimulated cunt filling the hotel room. — Your head shakes on its own, hands pushing against his shoulders, every move of his adding to the buzzing sensation between your legs that was slowly becoming too much. But Taehyun only coos as his hand envelops your chin, bringing you into an uncharacteristically tender kiss. 

His body jerks forward, one last thrust that makes you wail before he spills inside of you, the warm feeling blooming within you makes you draw in a sharp breath. He remains inside of you for as long as possible, leaning back to watch the way his cum dribbled down his softening cock, leaving a white ring around its base as your cunt continues to clench around him. — Not until Kai lets out a soft grunt somewhere behind him does he snap out of his trance, pulling out with a small hiss as he throws a glance in the direction of his friend. 

The younger’s gaze flits between yours and Taehyun’s as he apprehensively licks his lips, shifting slightly on the bed as his hard dick slaps against his stomach. With the small twitch of his lip does the older one remove himself from the mattress, tucking himself back into his jeans before walking over to one of the large armchairs not far from the bed. It’s not until he’s gotten comfortable, his legs nicely spread as he runs a hand through his hair that Kai crawls over to you, the same boyish grin adorning his face as he brushes a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead. 

“Think you can take one more?” He quietly wonders and you quickly nod, wanting nothing more than to please him. The grin on his face widens at the small confirmation and he leans in to press a soft kiss to your already bruised lips. — The contrast between their touches was stark, yet you found yourself taking just as much pleasure in both of them. 

Kai’s gentle caress to your face makes your eyes flutter as you hum into the kiss. The same cock you’d had your lips on not long ago pushes against your clit and you squeal at the way your sensitive cunt responded to him. “S-So pretty and, nnhhg, perfect”, he gasps as he carefully eases himself inside of you, catching the small cry you emit with a kiss as his arm wraps around your body. —  Kai sets a far more gentle pace than his brunette friend, his brows drawing together at the way you vigorously clenched around him. 

His lips trail down your neck, pressing against the marks Taehyun had left but he never made a move to add some of his own, instead he gently kisses the reddish hues covering your chest, tracing the splotchy patterns. With Kai there was none of the teasing, none of the talking, he was far more quiet, as if shying away from speaking. — Your head falls to your left, eyes finding a pair of familiar and dark ones in a split second. Taehyun shoots you a small smirk, his slender fingers wrapped around his cock as he overstimulates himself by watching the way your face contorted with each thrust of his friend. 

You felt your face flush with color at his blatant stare, though your attention was quickly pulled back to Kai as his thumb rubs against your sore clit, making your thighs tremble around him. “Kai”, his name is a mere whine on your tongue as your nails dig into his biceps, unsure of how much you could take before eventually succumbing to your third orgasm. 

He merely hums against your neck, finding his way back to your lips as he seals them in yet another kiss. “S’okay”, he mumbles, his words coming out slurred as he sloppily snaps his hips against yours, sweat trickling down his forehead. — Taehyun’s quiet groan snaps your eyes in the direction of his armchair, catching a glimpse of the way white ropes of cum shot from his flushed tip as his cock twitched in his hand, coating his defined stomach in a sticky mess. You whimper at the erotic sight, your cunt fluttering around Kai’s thick shaft, pulling a strained moan from the blond as his head rests on your shoulder. 

“F-Fuck”, he grunts, the thumb on your clit speeding up as he feels you throb against him. Once you hit your high for the third time that night, you were certain that you wouldn’t be able to take a single more. Wanton moans slip from your parted lips as your back arches off the bed, your nails on his arms were bound to leave dents but Kai hardly seemed to mind as he jerked up into your spent cunt, making you whimper in discomfort before he finally stilled, warm cum mixing with the remnants of both yours and Taehyun’s previous release, blending together to make a perfect mess.  

“You’re so perfect”, he murmurs as he gazes down at you lovingly, tenderly brushing your hair back before gently pulling out. You don’t really remember much from there, too tired to even comprehend what was happening around you. But you can recall Taehyun’s large arms as he tugged you to his chest. A damp cloth to your sweaty body as Kai cleaned you up again. It didn’t matter that you were too tired to even move a single limb, you didn’t have to, you had everything you needed right here. 

The very last thing to flicker before your droopy eyes is the image of the two of them on either side of you, their arms draped across your body as you fell into a comfortable slumber. 

⋮

The next morning you awoke to an empty bed. The hotel room eerily quiet, yet it was being basked in a blissful light as the first rays of sunshine pierced through the large windows. With a tired sigh you pull yourself into a sitting position as you rub your groggy eyes. You find your body wrapped in a silk robe, likely one that came with the room and your gaze searches for your clothes, only to find them neatly folded on the armchair by the bed. 

With a small frown you glance around the empty room, there was no sign of neither men and your lips form into a small pout before your eyes land on the envelope on the bedside table. It most certainly hadn’t been there yesterday. — You reach for it, hesitantly ripping the neat paper open. Your heart catches in your throat as you regard the two five hundred dollar bills. But beneath the two checks lay a small note, and with trembling fingers you pull it out. 

You can’t help the small smile that finds its way to your lips as you read the words written. 

Thank you for a wonderful night, doll. Though no money can ever make up for it, we want you to get yourself something nice. And should you ever like to do it again… 

070 XXXX XX XX 

K.TH & H.HK

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[slytherin-pen]

Safe In His Arms

A/N: my first imagine, woo! i’ve known for awhile Cassian would be the first because he just gives me those mushy feels i need in x reader fics. this one is an emotional ride but i hope you love it nonetheless!

summary: You and Cassian found yourselves in a rare argument. Despite being mates, there were certain touchy subjects where you both held differing views. Cassian usually kept his composure around you, mindful of not scaring his beloved mate. But on this occasion, emotions ran high and Cassian's usual restraint slipped away. After going to the River House to allow you both space, Cassian returns to find you amid a panic attack. Determined to comfort you, he pulls out all the stops to show you just how cherished and secure you are in his arms.

pairing: Cassian x fem!reader

word count: 4.5k

banner credit to @cafekitsune

all ACOTAR credits belong to SJM

warnings: anxiety, ptsd, mentions of canon typical violence, mentions of parental abuse, very brief mention of suicidal thoughts, panic attacks, negative self-talk, swearing, brief mention of self-inflicted injuries (but not like that)

As the sun dipped behind the mountains in Velaris, it painted the House of Wind with hues of pink, purple, and blue. You were nestled into an armchair beside the crackling hearth, your legs and the skirt of your dress tucked under you, engrossed in one of the house's romance novels. The only other sound in the room was your ragged breaths and occasional sniffles. Although the spring air had begun to weave through the Night Court, the warmth of the fire provided a sense of comfort that no amount of blankets could replicate. Maybe it was the reminder of campfires in Illyria where you grew up. Or perhaps a certain Illyrian whose body heat was akin to the flames in the hearth.

You missed that body. Broad, muscular shoulders that were covered in his hard-earned Illyrian tattoos. Long black hair you could never resist running your fingers through. And his eyes, cauldron boil you, his eyes masterfully flecked with green and gold. It's as if the Mother herself took a paintbrush and carefully selected the perfect place for each color. You wished you could replace this chair with him and plant yourself in his loving arms. The only place you felt safe.

Snap out of it, you thought to yourself. You and Cassian argued this morning. You were supposed to be mad at him. He had gone to the River House in an attempt to give you both space to process what had been said, leaving the House of Wind to you. As if you could go anywhere else. You were an Illyrian with clipped wings. You couldn't fly and you couldn't winnow. You surely weren’t taking the ten thousand steps down the mountain.

It had been at least five hours since Cassian left, and for the mere fact he knows you can't leave without him, you hope he’ll come home soon. He knows how anxious you get when you feel trapped. Your anxiety was a contributing factor to why you and Cassian argued in the first place. It was also what sent you into a state of panic.

You two had been talking about future theoretical children when the concept of joining the Illyrian camps came up. You would never allow your children to experience the abuse you did growing up. Being close friends with the High Lord of the Night Court and living in Velaris, you couldn't fathom subjecting your children to the same horrors you endured when you were fortunate enough not to have to.

But, Cassian views it differently. The Illyrian mountains shaped him into the male he is today. He embraces his heritage, barring some of the less desirable aspects, and he would be honored to witness his children follow his legacy. Unlike you, Cassian was able to turn his past into something that motivated him. He always had something to prove. He always had a battle to win. You suppose you shouldn't expect anything different from the General. The Illyrians saw him as a bastard brute, and he would die before he accepted defeat in changing their minds. One day, he would show everyone he was more than a bastard, and Illyria was more than the culture of misogyny and violence it harbored.

Your past quite literally weighed you down in the form of wings dragging behind you. While the bat boys were raised in Windhaven, you grew up in Ironcrest. It had been as terrible as the gossip the mothers told around the fires in Windhaven. They felt lucky to have their lives as opposed to those in Ironcrest.

Your mother died when you were a child. You hadn't been home at the time, busy with your chores around the camp. When you came home, your father was sitting on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees and a glass of alcohol in one hand. He was drunk. Not that it was anything new. What was new were the scratch marks down his face and a bloody, still-healing stab wound in his right wing. You still don't believe the story he told that day. ‘Your mother lost it,’ he said. Your kind, gentle, nurturing mother who would never hurt anyone. Unless it was life or death, she had taught you that much. How to use your surroundings and the resources near you to defend yourself. Your mother knew it would happen one day. Your father had never laid a hand on you until she died, but you’d always known he had a temper and he frequently took it out on your mother. She would tell you to stay away and lock yourself in your room, and she would keep all of his attention on her until he left for the bar. But then she died, and suddenly, your nightmares became your reality. He didn’t even wait a week before he clipped your wings - after he had knocked you unconscious with his fists.

Your father had never been punished. In fact, he had been praised by his fellow warriors. You knew, if something happened to your children, no one would help them. You doubted you or Cassian could be there in time, every time. Something terrible would happen one day.

The whole conversation had stressed you out, sending you into a spiral of thoughts of doom, doom, doom. They were absurd, of course. Creating all these fake scenarios in your head as justification for your opinions about non-existent children. But Cassian had well and truly riled you up. He couldn’t help himself when his pride was hurt, he felt backed into a corner, and he couldn’t stop the harsh words from tumbling out of his mouth. You attacked his pride, so he hit you where it hurt right back.

You never told him everything about what happened to you, not just the kind of life you were escaping, but how you got away and why you were so hurt when you arrived in Windhaven. You told them that you were running from your father, he had clipped your wings and intended to sell you to a vile male. Not far from the truth considering marrying you off was definitely on his agenda at some point. But you explained away your injuries by claiming as a defenseless female running through camps alone, you got into some trouble along the way. Rhysand and Cassian believed you. Azriel being the Spymaster remained skeptical. Not of your intentions, but your injuries did not add up to a couple of scuffles. He let it go, though. He understood not being ready to share the full, brutal truth.

But because of Cassian’s ignorance of the situation, he never understood why you were so jumpy, scared of the dark, and constantly afraid of things you couldn’t explain. Why you had such crippling anxiety that caused you to leave parties early. Why you rarely joined the Inner Circle at Rita’s. Why you have panic attacks over the smallest things. Your biggest insecurity was how different you were from him. He was the big, brave, Lord of Bloodshed. He killed people regularly for cauldron's sake. And you, the damsel in distress who can’t even walk alone down the stairs at night. You were powerless, defenseless, and flightless. The complete opposite of him. You were supposed to be his equal, according to the Mother, but you couldn’t help but worry about whether she got it wrong. Whether she shackled him to the wrong female, for eternity.

Him calling you dramatic was an arrow to your heart. It hurt. He hadn’t meant for you to take it to heart like that, he was referring to the current situation. But you couldn’t help yourself in thinking it was a secret he’d kept, just waiting for him to lose a little restraint before it slipped through his lips. Here it is, you thought. The moment you’ve feared since you and Cassian began courting. He would realize how pathetic you were compared to him. How you were more like a skittish child than the equal to a warrior.

When he left, you spiraled further and further down until you couldn’t breathe.

He’s going to leave you.

He’s not coming back.

He will find a female more worthy of him and bed her.

You didn’t want to believe the lies your anxiety told you, but without Cassian there to ground you, you were bound to crash. The panic attack was sudden; like a thunderstorm in the summertime. You thrashed and wailed, clawing at your neck just so desperate for air. Unsurprisingly, that was all entirely unhelpful and you eventually tired out on the floor by the fire. When you woke from your brief nap, you crawled to the armchair and asked the House for a book. You were utterly numb, but at least you could read about other people’s feelings.

Just as you neared the end of the chapter you heard the front door open and heavy boots step through the foyer. Finally. Keeping your eyes open was becoming difficult, the soft crackle of the fire lulling you to sleep. It was important to you both that you always talked things out eventually, specifically before you went to sleep at night. ‘Never go to bed angry,’ had been your promise to each other. As he approached the library, you gathered ‘eventually’ was right now.

Cassian slowly pushed the door open, the House purposefully causing the door to creak as he did so. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at that. Once he was through the threshold, he could see you facing the fire, turned away from him slightly. His hair was tied into a bun and his wings were tucked in tightly behind him. He took slow, careful steps as he approached. In his mind, you may as well be an injured animal. He knew he fucked up and he would deserve every snarl and lash of claws you gave him. His fierce, resilient, compassionate mate. You were a force to be reckoned with when you wanted to be. Before he left the River House, he needed his brothers to give him the confidence to face you. Your sharp tongue could slice him into a thousand pieces if you will it. And he prayed to the cauldron you wouldn't, but if that's what you needed from him, he would stand there and take it.

But as he grew closer to you and took in the dried tear stains down your cheek, red puffy eyes, and your mess of hair falling out of its braid- he realized you were not on the attack as he had expected. You just stared at the closed book in your lap, tapping the cover rhythmically with the nails of your thumbs, jaw clenched shut. Fuck, you were anxious. Probably had been for hours now. He knew he shouldn’t have left you but he couldn’t let himself, or you, continue down the path of spitting insults at each other. Plenty of lovers in his past had preferred those methods during arguments, but the two of you had never been like that and he didn’t plan to start today.

Cassian knelt in front of you and a pained expression took over his face as he noticed the raised marks down your neck. With his large, shaking hands, he removed the book from your lap and placed it on the side table. “Sweetheart,” he whispered as he enclosed your hands in his.

You had tried to prepare yourself for this. You wanted to be brave, talk this through like mature adults, but now that he was here his words rang through your ears like temple bells.

‘You’re being dramatic.’ You knew he meant how seriously you were taking the theoretical future lives of your children and not you, but in the moment it had felt more like a dig. You were dramatic. You had your anxiety to thank for that. Hypothetical, hypothetical, hypothetical. Your mind was consumed with hypotheticals every day and he had given you the signal to run with it. Until it went too far and you practically had steam coming out of your ears while Cassian paced back and forth muttering curses to the cauldron. That’s when he decided to leave for a few hours, which quickly became six after asking Rhys for relationship advice turned into him, Rhys and Azriel finishing a bottle of wine together.

You released a shaking breath as you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. Your eyes immediately welled with tears at the hurt across his face. Hurt for you. Hurt for him. You both said things you shouldn’t have.

Cassian didn’t hesitate to lift you before sitting down in the chair and settling you across his lap at the sight of your tears. He knew he had a temper and the Mother knew he tried so hard to keep it under control for you. When you first met, he was acting as General accompanied by the High Lord and Shadowsinger. They had come into the healer's tent to interrogate you about where you came from and you had been utterly terrified. Too terrified to even speak. Rhysand had let it go long enough for you to be treated and calmed down. You looked harmless enough and had been severely injured. He doubted you were looking to pick a fight in that state.

When they returned, you had been healed, cleaned, and fed. Looking less like the almost-corpse a couple of warriors dragged in a few hours prior and more like the beautiful female he held today. The bond snapped for you both a couple of months later, but Cassian courted you like a proper gentleman. He understood that mating bond or not, he had to earn your trust and your love. You had been hurt before and you weren’t going to so easily allow yourself to be vulnerable again.

The mating ceremony happened a year ago but you both had so much love for each other it felt like it had been hundreds. Cassian was going to make sure you knew that hadn’t changed, remind you that he loved you more than the stars loved the night. “Sweetheart I’m so sorry. What I said, i-it was terrible. And I didn’t mean to make you feel like I thought you, overall, were dramatic. It was a poor choice of words and I’m sorry.”

You burrowed your head into the crook of his shoulder and tightened your arms around his neck, shielding your face from his assessing stare. He was doing a damage check. He's not surprised a fight between you would cause a panic attack. Surprising or not, you hated how you reacted when things got tense or stressful. You always wanted to be strong like Cass, or unwavering like Mor. But behind the ferocious mask you could put on when you felt vulnerable and defenseless, you were still a traumatized female. A female who is still afraid any mistake could cause you to be sent back to Ironcrest. Afraid that any angered male might still strike you, despite being proven wrong by the gentle, giant bats of the Inner Circle. You could feel the mask crumpling. It had started falling apart ever since you became aware of his presence. You could never hide yourself from him.

The pads of his fingers brushed the hair out of your face. “Look at me, baby.” His voice was hoarse, his throat constricting at the thought of how upset you must have been, and he had left you alone.

You slowly turned your head away from his shoulder and looked up at him. You took a ragged breath before you spoke. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “I’m sorry too.”

He guided your hand up to the collar of his shirt, a spot he knew you liked to hold onto when you were anxious. The fabric in your grip and the faint thumps of his nearby heartbeat grounded you. “What happened here,” he asked, tracing the angry skin on your neck with tender knuckles.

You wiggled to get up, but he only reinforced his hold on you. “I’m fine, Cass please-”

“Shhh.” He gently pushed your head back to his chest and kissed the crown of your head. “Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. We both know you aren't fine right now. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

You shook your head. Despite the heaving of your chest, and your body still sensing something wrong, you repeated; “I’m fine.”

“I can hear your heartbeat pounding like a drum. You know I’m here for you when it comes to these things. I’m your mate, this,”-he motioned to you in his lap- “is what I’m here for.” He started running his fingers through your hair, coaxing you to tilt your face towards him again. “Let me be here for you. Not just physically, but emotionally too. I know there… are things you haven’t told me about where you came from.”

Your whole body stiffened at that. He hates you. He thinks you’re a liar. He’s going to leave you. “Hey, sweetheart, look at me,” his stern, concerned voice swam through the muffling of your thoughts. He gripped your chin and you realized while you were looking at him, you couldn’t see him. It was all so cloudy and distorted. Tears. You’re crying again, damnit. And you weren’t breathing. How long had you not been breathing? You could feel your face heat and the thump, thump, thump of your heart hammereing around in your skull.

“Deep breaths for me, baby. In and out,” Cassian’s voice sounded again. You attempted to gasp for air but all that did was release the wrack of sobs that you had been barely keeping contained. He squeezed your waist and rocked you back and forth. “It’s alright. Let it out. I’m here.” Your hand found his shirt again and you gripped it like your life depended on it. Tears fell onto his shoulders and before your other hand could scratch at your thigh, he took it and started to rub your knuckles with his thumb. He knew it would be bad, but he didn’t expect this bad. Guilt gnawed away at him. Some mate he was, leaving you alone in a time of need. You were having two panic attacks within hours of each other, no doubt draining your little body. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he choked out. “I won’t leave you again, I’m so sorry. So fucking sorry. I will stay here for as long as you need, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

Cassian knew, with a heavy heart, that he had discovered the magic words. Your wailing sobs turned to soft, shuddering breaths and he felt you finally hold his hand in return as you came back to reality. “You know I would never leave you right, sweet girl,” he asked with a strained voice.

The silence that followed was deafening. Cassian released a shaking breath of his own. “Alright,” he croaked. Now that you could see his face again, you noticed the silver lining his eyes. You did this to him. You hurt his feelings. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to be completely honest with me, baby. Can you do that for me?”

You gave him a small nod, the slight movement sent your head into another throbbing fit.

“Why would you think I’d leave you? Over one argument?”

Your eyes were still glazed over as you stared past him. “Because he’d always leave after. He was never sorry,” you whispered.

Cassian’s hold tightened around you on instinct. “Who?”

You took your bottom lip between your teeth before you spoke. “My dad. He used to hurt me, Cass, that’s- it’s why I’m like this,” you exasperated gesturing to yourself. You turned away from his glare to face the fire, stopping the scold right on his tongue. Fine. He could remind you not to talk about yourself like that later. “He killed my mom, I think. No one but him knows what happened that day, but I knew my mom. And I know him. I don't need Azriel to put the clues together for me. I was so young and scared when it happened I never questioned him to his face. But as I got older, I grew more defiant and he hated it. He’d say I was worse than my mother. But my mother would only let him when she had to protect me. I only had myself to protect, but it was useless. I couldn’t fly and I was so much smaller, so much weaker than him. I just- I just wanted it to end.”

Cassian swallowed thickly. “What do you mean you wanted it to end?”

“It was so stupid,” you huffed. “I thought, maybe if I pushed him far enough he just wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop unt- until I didn’t have to live with him anymore. But my self-preservation kicked in at some point. I hit him with one of the dining chairs, and then I just started throwing everything in my reach at him until he collapsed.” Tears trickled down your face but they were slower, calmer than the ones from earlier. “I didn’t pause to check if he was still alive. I just ran. I ran out the back door and I didn’t stop until I could feel my body shutting down. I would hide. Sleep. Then start running again before dawn. It took me two weeks to get to Windhaven. I didn’t know where I was. I thought I was dead when those males started dragging me through the camp.”

Cassian was crying now. War General be damned, his mate had been through Hell, and she kept it to herself all this time. “Why didn’t you tell me,” he croaked. “We asked you what happened that day and- and you said-“ His jaw snapped shut. He should’ve known. Cauldron, some part of him had known. He may not be the Spymaster but your injuries had been severe. He had so easily believed some cruel, passing Illyrians had done that to you but it all made so much more sense now. Not just what happened to you that day, but the fear that kept you in a chokehold day in and day out. The constant anxiety, looking over your shoulder around every corner, eyes constantly roaming the room for threats.

“I didn’t tell you because, well, originally I just wasn’t ready. Then we found out we were mates and I felt all this pressure to be your equal and I was scared if you found out I wasn’t-“

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Cassian’s commanding tone cut through. “You are my equal. Sweetheart, you don’t ever need to step on a battlefield or wield a sword to be my equal. In fact, I’d prefer it if you never did,” he said with a wink. “But you are strong. You are so strong. What you survived with your dad, and crossing Illyria alone, takes strength. Strength that even some of the warriors in my legion don’t have.”

You looked at him through your wet lashes and he took the chance to wipe away your tears with his thumb. “I never thought of it like that,” you whispered.

Cassian shot you a crooked grin. “That’s what I’m here for.” He gave your forehead a tender kiss and you let your eyelids close as you felt the warmth of his lips seep into your skin. “Have you eaten yet?”

The feral growl that erupted from your stomach was answer enough, causing you to blush. Cassian chuckled as he stood with you in his arms, careful of your drooping wings, and walked towards the dining room. “We need to fix that don’t we?”

You nodded sheepishly. “Time got away from me a little bit.”

“It’s alright, sweet girl. We’ll get you fed and then in bed. I’m sure you’re exhausted,” he suggested, earning a nod from you.

As he sat down at the table with you in his lap again, the House immediately provided a spread of small chocolates, fruits, and bread across the table. A second later a pot and two tea cups appeared in front of you and Cassian. “Thank you, House,” you giggled. You still weren’t used to just how sentient the house was. It knew you couldn’t eat a proper meal after the day you had, and instead opted for your favorite, comforting snacks.

Cassian poured tea into the cups and handed yours to you. “My lady,” he grinned. You hadn’t realized how thirsty you were until the sweetness of the honey started to soothe the scratchiness in your throat from all the crying, and you finished the cup instantly. You blushed even more as Cassian refilled your cup with a smile. “Good thing the house makes the pot bottomless.”

“I still don’t understand how all that works. I don’t have any magic so maybe I’m just stu-“ Cassian plopped a piece of chocolate into your mouth with a glare, hazel eyes blazing with determination.

“Do not,” the cold ferocity in his voice left no room for argument, “finish that sentence.” He clenched his jaw as his eyes bore into yours. He felt your body trembling slightly, cursed the cauldron internally, and cupped your cheek, brushing his thumb back and forth along your cheekbone. “You can’t talk about yourself like that, baby. You can’t. I love you. You understand? I love you, and it pains me to hear you say those things about yourself. I can’t even imagine what goes on in your head. I know it’s what you’re used to, it was all you had, and your damned father is to blame for it, but it’s not like that anymore. He can’t hurt you here, and I’ll kill the bastard myself if I ever see him, but you’re safe. You’re safe here with me, in our home, in my arms. You don’t have to go through this alone anymore, sweetheart. And I will spend the rest of our lifetime replacing every harsh word you say about yourself if that’s what it takes to prove you are worthy of my love and I will never leave you.”

You threw your arms around him and nuzzled into his neck. “I love you too, Cass. Thank you. I love you-“ your voice cracked as the raw emotion took over your chest. Cauldron, you loved him. How does he always know what you need to hear? He had learned a thing or two from the Spymaster, no doubt.

“Shhh. I got you,” he said as he tightened the arm around your waist and cradled your head with the other. “I love you so much.” He kissed the side of your head. “I’m so sorry about today. Let’s never fight again, agreed,” he asked with a chuckle.

You smiled as you inhaled his scent of snow, sandalwood, and burning fires. Safe. You were safe here, with your mate. In his arms where you always belonged. “Agreed.”

[interstellarflare]

A Cinderella Story || Anthony Bridgerton

-PART FIVE-

Summary: Have courage, and be kind. Words that you tried to live by ever since the passing of your parents. Though your step-mother and step-sisters did everything in their power to hide you and your status away from the rest of the Ton, you never expected to catch the eye of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton himself.

Authors Note: This is my first Bridgerton series! I had an absolute ball writing this, and I hope you enjoy it! There is a tag list open if anyone wishes to be kept updated for future parts. Gif by @venusianbabie

|PART ONE| |PART TWO| |PART THREE| |PART FOUR|

With the house descending into silence, you allowed yourself a moment to collapse onto the lounge in the living room with a loud sigh. With tired eyes your gaze focused on the ceiling, staring at the crystal chandelier as it glittered brightly.

A small smile crossed your lips, grateful for the peace and quiet. Lady Worthington, Mary and Elizabeth had left for the ball mere minutes ago, all of them excited and nervous about their prospects for the night. You hoped that Elizabeth and Lord Burton would get a chance to speak tonight, she had been so beside herself before she entered the carriage to depart. They had travelled with the Cowper family, who had sneered at your person when you had helped the Worthington’s to the carriage.

The train attached to Lady Worthington’s dress was a nightmare to manage, all bundled up in your arms so as to not drop it in the mud at your feet. You were covered in it now, thanks to a harsh push from Cressida who sent you sprawling onto the ground. Luckily however, you managed to save the train though.

You felt the sting of tears prick your eyes, a sense of sadness overwhelming you. How had you become so unfortunate? To be stuck with a wicked witch for a stepmother, and two stepsisters that laughed at you upon your little trip in the dirt. Elizabeth hadn’t said anything, nor looked your way when Mary and Elizabeth started to cackle loudly. She merely turned away; her eyes downcast as she carried herself into the awaiting carriage.

You missed your father, you missed your mother. Their love and kindness was completely gone from this home, the home you had grown up in as a child. You cried into the cushions, sobbing loudly and desperately. You had never felt so alone, so vulnerable…so lost. You knew that they would want you to be brave, to stay strong, and to have hope that everything will work out in the end. Your mind flickered back to the book you were reading earlier that morning, of the fabled prince charming sweeping the princess off her feet, and living happily ever after.

Perhaps your prince charming was around the corner, perhaps he was waiting for you somewhere to take you away from this now horrid home, filled with heartache and distant memories-

There was a loud knock at the door, so loud that it echoed throughout the foyer and into the living room. You jumped with a small squeak, bolting upright in your position on the lounge. You wiped your eyes, drying your hands on your muddy dress and wiping your nose with your apron. It was unladylike surely, but you were not a Lady anymore. After trying and failing to make yourself look presentable, you hurried towards the door as the knocking sounded again. It sounded desperate, frantic even, your face contorting into a confused expression as you tried to think of who it could be.

It couldn’t be a visitor for Lady Worthington or her daughters, the rest of high society was at Lady Danbury’s ball, and it was way too late in the night for anyone to be here in the first place. So, who could it be? As you opened the door your breath caught in your throat, your heart skipping a beat as you recognised the man that stood before you.

Viscount Anthony Bridgerton smiled, staring down at you with kind and soft expression. His eyes never left yours as he spoke, seemingly examining every inch of your face as he bowed politely.

“Miss Y/n, I apologise for calling so late, would I perhaps be able to come in-“

“Why are you here!?” You found yourself exclaiming, your eyes wide in shock as you felt your heart began to beat wildly. Anthony Bridgerton, one of the most distinguished men on all of the ton was standing on your doorstep. Why?

Anthony chuckled, his charming smile widening as he shrugged his shoulders. “Why not?” he replied lightly, finding amusement in your expression as it changed from shock to pure bewilderment.

“If you are here to see Lady Worthington or her daughters, they are gone” You replied shortly, your gaze falling nervously to the floor as you suddenly became very aware of your current state. You were completely covered in slowly drying mud, bloodshot eyes from crying, you no doubt looked like a complete wreck…wonderful.

Anthony hummed “I’m not here to see then, thank god. They arrived at the ball shortly after I left-“

“Why did you leave? Surely someone will notice your absence, and what will the ton think if you are found here, alone…with me-“

“My brother is good at coming up with excuses, I’m sure he’ll spin some wide tale about my whereabouts”.

“And is that something you wish to deal with?”

“Benedict can be a bit excentric at times, but I trust him wholeheartedly…” Anthony finished, clasping his hands behind his back and standing tall, “..now Miss Y/n, may I come inside? Or are you to leave your visitor out in the cold?”.

It hadn’t occurred to you until now, but as Anthony stood before you, you couldn’t help but notice how tall he truly was. You hadn’t noticed it this morning, but he towered over you, the top of your head just barely reaching his chin. You stared up into his eyes, searching for any sign of jest, that this was all some sort of joke, and a complete figment of your imagination conjured up by your saddened state.

But he was real, and he was here.

You released a short breath, a soft smile crossing your lips as you stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.

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[longing-for-the-past-times]

The four times you fell asleep on Ghost and the one time Ghost fell asleep on you - two.

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

word count: 3,157 (got a bit carried away)

synopsis: after a mission, you and Ghost end up in a safe house, waiting for exfil. Both of you are exhausted after two days of being under the fire, but will any of you give in to exhaustion?

notes: I definitely did not expect so much support on the first part, so thank you very much, I really don't know what to say. I hope you enjoy this as much as the first part!

reader's callsign is Bambi (she/her)

find it on ao3 part one part two part three part four part five

masterlist

two.

You hadn't slept properly in two days, but at least the mission was a success. As successful as a mission can be when you have to spend the night in a deserted safe-house, in the middle of nowhere, waiting for exfil.

At least you were not alone, you reasoned, as you lay on the ragged couch and pulled out your sniper rifle. And perhaps you could get some shut-eye before dawn if your partner would assign you to the first watch.

There was a catch though. The person you ended up in the safe house with was none other than your Lieutenant, Ghost. And after the embarrassing scene where you fell asleep on him on base last week, you were mortified to be in his presence, especially when you were alone and there was no one there to fill the awkward silence that would settle in. He hadn't even teased you about it—only that one time, immediately after you groggily awoke on his shoulder.

The memory of the moment lingered in the back of your mind: the exaggerated way in which he rolled his shoulder, as if to emphasize your weight almost put his arm to sleep, and the glint in his eyes, perhaps delighted to catch you off-guard. If you hadn’t been so busy avoiding him for the following days, you would have noticed his slight shift in demeanour towards you. Whenever you were in the same room, his gaze would linger on you, his eyes visibly softening as if he was silently reliving the scene. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but after he had the time to fully process the interaction, he’d felt oddly satisfied with himself - he made you feel safe and protected, even if it was only for a fleeting moment.

So why wouldn’t you look him in the eye when he tried to speak with you?

“You can go rest, L.T., I’ll take the first watch!”

He definitely did not want to give you that look, not when it had been two days since you’d last exchanged any words with him. But he was stubborn, and you were also stubborn, and the last thing he wanted was to argue with you.

“There’s a bed in the other room. You can rest there till they get us out.”

So he chose his preferred tactic: deflect your words, plainly overlook them, as if they were merely a background noise in the conversation.

He did not miss the way your shoulders tensed up or that you’d stopped cleaning your sniper riffle. The fact that your breath stilled was not lost on him, but he kept pretending he was busy checking his own riffle as if it would determine you to listen to his words and get some well-deserved rest. And yes, he was stubborn. But you were more than stubborn. And you had also won several debate competitions in high school:

“I was only involved in surveillance, I believe I am rested enough to take at least the first watch!" “We are not having this conversation, Sergeant!”, Simon rolled his eyes in annoyance, all too aware that you were only beginning your argument. “You haven't slept in two days!” “Well, technically I was in a position that allowed me to rest more than you! I was literally resting on my belly for most of the time while you were out there, in the line of fire!” "We both know that's not how it works, Bambi!", he let out a frustrated groan that made you widen your eyes in his direction. It was the second time he expressed himself in such an uncharacteristic way, not even seeming to be bothered afterwards by the sudden display of emotion.

But that did not make you back down. Instead, you propped your sniper riffle on the small coffee table, purposefully ignoring him as you busied yourself making the necessary adjustments so that it pointed towards the middle of the wooden door. Anyone who would try to barge in without identifying themselves would be pierced by your bullets before realising what was actually going on. Ghost placed his skull mask on the same table and discarded most of his heavy gear, until he remained in the tactical vest, a basic black balaclava covering his face. As he got up from the couch to check on his ammo, you also started to get rid of the heavy layers of your sniper gear, most of which was covered in grass and dirt. You wouldn't even bother to clean it up when you got back to the base - the messier it was, the more realistic it looked on the field. As you were checking that all knives were in their sheaths, your gaze fell on the skull plate casually tossed next to your riffle. You were so used to it being plastered to Ghost’s face that seeing it carelessly thrown on the table seemed out of place, inexplicably domestic even. The more you thought of it, the more you realised that you’d never seen it anywhere but on his face - he must have kept it stowed away somewhere when you were stationed at the base.

If you were sane and did not have a death wish, you would have at least asked for permission before leaning in to touch it. No, scratch that, the thought of the action itself would not even cross your mind: no one touched L.T.'s mask, whether it was on his face or not. But you were exhausted, the two days of constantly being on the lookout, with little news of your team, starting to take a toll on you. And the sight of splattered blood across the cracked white surface was troubling enough to make you let your guard down and start scrubbing the mask vigorously with your sleeve, in a seemingly futile effort.

You were so concentrated on the task at hand, eyebrows etched into a deep frown, that you did not notice the creeping silhouette that was lingering in the doorway. The sight of a 6'2" man, coming to stand directly in front of you with his arms crossed in a suggestive stance was completely lost on you as you kept rubbing your palm against the red stains, huffing in annoyance when they did not seem to go away. He must have been involved in some form of close combat as the blood clearly wasn’t his and although you knew he was more than capable of taking care of himself, the thoughts of what could have been if he hadn’t paid enough attention, or if he’d been outnumbered plagued your mind. You were not supposed to worry about him like that. He was just your superior.

And also the person you fell asleep on once.

In the meantime, Simon was at a loss for words. He too was tired, having spent the last 48 hours being shot at and almost stabbed a couple of times. And perhaps, if he had to spend the night with someone like Soap, he might have gone to sleep for a couple of hours, letting the demolition expert keep watch. But he couldn’t allow himself such a liberty when you came into the equation- the need to protect you, to keep you from harm’s way was too intense, almost burning inside him. He could not fathom the thought of trying to rest with you having to spend the night in alert, on the lookout for any potential enemies. It was not that he did trust you with such a task, he was aware you were fully capable of it, but it just didn't sit well with him.

Yet there you were, your hands holding a piece of him. More than a couple of years have passed since he'd donned the persona of Ghost and the mask that you rubbed your knuckles against was an integral part of it. Never before had someone dared to touch his mask, he knew that everyone was too scared of it, of the persona he'd created through countless missions and stories. He was used to hearing people whispering behind his back, scrawny recruits sloppily pointing at the skull plate he'd spent an entire night stitching to a balaclava. He was also aware of the bets made on that topic and the gossip that claimed he must have been some kind of mutant, his physical features too grotesque to be displayed to the world.

There was a time when he himself did not know why he was wearing it, but the familiar weight on his face was a comforting sensation, a lover's embrace. That was the moment he knew he was becoming one with Ghost. That, and the fact that people couldn't tell his mood based on his facial expressions anymore. It was sort of liberating, not having to be judged based on what your face looked like at a certain moment.

He slightly tilted his head to the side, both amazed and alarmed that you hadn't noticed him yet. He hoped it was because you didn't think of him as a threat, not because your situational awareness was dimmed as your exhaustion increased. And he had to bite back a smile when he heard you mutter a string of curses under your breath when the crimson stains didn't seem to go away. Should he tell you only bleach does the job?

He decided to keep that secret to himself, loudly clearing his throat to get your attention. At that point, he was willing his eyes to stay inexpressive in spite of his lips twitching as your reaction to him was worthy of your callsign.

You couldn't help but flinch at the sudden intrusion, quickly placing the mask back on the table. You gave Ghost a tight-lipped smile, all too aware of the heat that was spreading across your face, your eyes resembling those of a deer caught in the headlights.

"I'm so sorry, Lieutenant, definitely did not mean to pry like that!', you profusely apologised, trying, but failing, to not look into his dark orbs.

Those damned eyelashes, why did they have to be so perfect?

But Ghost was too distracted by your doe eyes that he did not process your words properly. He wouldn't ask you to repeat whatever you'd just said, but he also did not want to ignore you, not when you spoke to him more than you did in a week, so he said the first thing that came to his mind: one of his army puns.

"Why did the mask go to therapy?"

You blinked back at him, not quite accepting that he'd simply brush it off like that. But his look was so expectant, almost willing you to answer what you knew was going to be one of his bad dad jokes, that you had no choice but to gesture him he could go on.

“It had too much 'bloody' emotional baggage.”

You cringed visibly at the reply, letting out a small sigh as you sat back on the couch, with him plopping next to you:

"Not gonna lie, but that was really bad, Ghost!"

He gave you his usual unimpressed look and you could see his balaclava shifting as he opened his mouth to answer, but a huge yawn interrupted him. A huge yawn that you tried to cover with both of your hands and that made you give him a sheepish look, that of a naughty child who pretends to be innocent.

"Wanna hear another?" "Oh God, spare me-" "Why did the tired operator try to stay awake during the mission?"

It was your turn to look unimpressed. He was definitely making it up on the go.

"Because she thought falling asleep on the job would be a 'mission impossible'."

His balaclava may have been on, but his eyes were sparkling again, a small glimpse of amusement in them. You wished you'd known a couple of one-liners just to be able to keep that glimmer as it was.

"You're really enjoying yourself, aren't you?" "All I'm trying to say is that you should get some rest, Bambi. I know you think I'm also tired, and believe me, I am, but you know what do two tired operators make?"

If you were taken aback by the amount of words he put into that sentence, you did not let it show. Instead, you caught on the quip and dutifully replied:

"Two dead ones." "You're a quick learner. So just get some sleep, even half an hour would do it. In the bed, on the couch, hell, even on the floor if that's what you want-" "Ok, ok, you got me, Ghost! But on one condition!" "Let's hear it." "When I wake up, it's your turn to rest. Two tired operators are dead operators, but one rested and one tired operator are just as much!"

The defeated mumble that you got as a response made you smirk, purposefully avoiding his determined gaze, currently set on you. Shaking your head in defeat, you trudged to the bedroom, took the weighted blanket from the bed and placed it on the couch, unaware that Ghost had scooted over to make you more space. It was not a complete success, he'd rather you took the bed that at least had a mattress more comfortable than the springs from the couch, but he would make the compromise. And you would be sleeping in his presence again, not that he had any feelings, good or bad, towards it. He would just relish in the vulnerability of the moment and his role as your protector.

"Alright, wake me up in 30!", you warned him as you got under the blanket, leaning on the arm of the couch, bracing your knees to your chest.

The deep hum you got as an answer sent a soothing sensation down your spine, and you couldn't help but smile as you cuddled up in the fetal position you chose. Deep down, a part of you felt selfish for giving in to the weariness, but the Lieutenant was right: fatigue led to mistakes which could lead to getting you killed.

Besides, you would also make sure he got some rest before morning. You were confident you could do it, you just didn't know how. Yet.

***

The mark of half an hour came and went, but Simon did not shift from his rigid position facing the entry of the safe house. He couldn't bring himself to wake you, not when the faint noises you occasionally let out were a testament to how much you needed the break. And it was not like he could have slept as peacefully as you did - now that he had time to think and reassess the mission, his mind was plagued by alternate scenarios and what-ifs. What if Laswell's intel pointed them to the second building in the compound instead of the first, and they would have been blown up to pieces as soon as they'd broken in? What if Soap hadn't warned him through comms of the two hostiles that were headed towards him, from his blind spot? What if someone had noticed that their men were falling even when no one in the building was shooting at them, and sent someone to look for the sniper positioned nearby?

His trail of thoughts was interrupted when he felt a familiar weight near his leg. He momentarily froze and had to make an effort to look down at the couch and see that your head was resting dangerously close to his leg, your hair gently brushing against his worn-down tactical pants. You must have somehow shifted in your sleep, as the weighted blanket you covered yourself with was forgotten on the floor, your left arm hanging limply on one side of the couch. You were lying on your back, soft snores leaving from your half-open mouth, and all Simon could think of was that your head was almost in his lap.

Why did he want it to be there? He recalled your embarrassment when you fell asleep on his shoulder, back at the base. You would be mortified if you woke up with your head in his lap, and tactically speaking, it would make it harder for him to react to an immediate threat. Then why was he craving the contact like he craved the feeling of the sun on his face on those first days he wore the mask?

**

Another hour passed and Ghost had no intent of waking you up. You truly must have been exhausted, he thought to himself, as he took in your soft snores and occasionally small sighs. The night was dark and silent, and the only source of light that trickled into the room was a dingy lamppost from across the road.

Eventually, Ghost let his eyes wander over your sleeping silhouette, hooded eyes hungrily lingering over the delicate details accentuated by the faint glow. And in that moment, you were as boundless as the sea and vast as the universe. You were lost in a world woven from your dreams, while he, awake and aware, found himself trapped in a dream of his own. And he was in deep that he did not realise when he let his arm rest above yours, leaning his head onto the back of the couch. The grip on his combat knife remained firm, ready to jump into action if needed, but his eyelids were heavy, too heavy for his liking and the soft cadence of your breathing was too inviting. He would only rest his eyes for a bit, not that he could fall asleep like this. He shouldn’t fall asleep like this, not when he is supposed to keep you safe.

**

The faint crackling of your communications could be heard across the room, mingling with the sunbeams that filtered through the heavy curtains. Grunting in annoyance, you rolled on your side, looking for the blanket you’d covered yourself in earlier. It took your mind a moment to register you were not in your bed, but on a couch, yet it was too late to prevent you from rolling into thin air, the heavy thud of you falling on the floor reverberating across the room.

Ghost opened his eyes in an instant, eyes promptly directed to where you had been sleeping. The absence of your body sent his half-asleep mind into a frenzy, hands scrambling for a weapon which he pointed to the floor. His cold gaze softened when he saw your bleary-eyed figure, a smile dancing on his lips as he took in the string of curses you kept muttering under your breath.

“Watcher 1 to Bravo 0-7, how copy? Exfil’s inbound your way. I say again, exfil’s inbound your way.”

Not taking his eyes off you, Ghost pressed the button on his comms, wishing he had Soap’s Polaroid at hand:

“Bravo 0-7 to Watcher 1, copy.”

taglist: @neoarchipelago

[utterlyotterlyx]

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Eleven

Summary - Azriel grapples with the weight of his guilt whilst you receive a visitor, and in Autumn, a meeting changes the entire trajectory of your fate.

Warnings - trauma, ptsd, betrayal, morally grey antics, friendship fluff, depression, thoughts of death, some hope (finally!)

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten

There was a little nagging voice in his head, perhaps the shadow that adored you the most, telling him that he had allowed it to go too far.

Azriel lay atop the cream comforter of the bedspread that belonged to the woman he truly thought he would spend the rest of his life with if her brother would allow it. The pillows still held the faint smell of her, currents of the most intoxicating scent he had ever encountered flowing through him with every medial turn of the head.

He couldn't be there when Rhys took you, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from unsheathing the murderous tool that you often likened to a toothpick to get a rise out of him.

The bargain tattoo strained and withered around his bicep, contracting the muscle and making him regret every single choice he had made that got him to where he was. Laying on your bed, ready to tear the pillows apart just so he could hold the feathers drenched in the scent of you.

Nesta had left to follow you into a world of the unknown because of her unwavering loyalty to you, so had Elain and Lucien; Cassian was a mere shell of his former glory, Mor rarely spoke to anyone and often locked herself away with Amren, and Feyre, well, Azriel hadn't seen Feyre in a couple of weeks, nor Nyx.

Feyre had moved herself and Nyx to the House of Wind to escape Rhys, to put some space between them just in case one of them did something they would most probably regret. The night Rhys had taken you to The Prison was the night he permanently moved back into the River House, Feyre couldn't allow Nyx to grow up with the example of hatred that ran through his fathers veins.

The Prison.

Azriel could almost picture it. The cell lined with onyx stone to contain you, he could almost smell your fear and sadness, he could almost hear your heart cleaving into a thousand pieces. The Prison was a horrid place made for horrid creatures, and you certainly were not one of them. It was all his fault, he shouldn't have told Rhys that he witnessed Tamlin and Helion enter the Autumn Court, but if he hid it and Rhys found out then his entire façade would be blown and you would never get the chance to be free.

Scratches lined the palms and backs of his hands, some fully healed and others freshly scabbed over from his incessant self-mutilation brought on by his guilt. Azriel could only imagine how broken you were, that awful hum that you sang into the night still haunted his nightmares to the point where he refused to sleep, he refused to find comfort when you were on the verge of giving up entirely.

It was odd, how Autumn had moulded itself into your bones, your scent now tinged with hints of pine and mulled wine, of warm rain on the sun-kissed grass. It made him wonder how blind Rhys truly was if he couldn't tell that his sister had found her mate, and that that mate was none other than Eris Vanserra. It was obvious, the longing glances beyond the window, the void lingering in your eyes, the way your hand would occasionally drift over your heart like something was pulling at it.

The continent was safe from war thanks to your sacrifice, but you hadn't done it for the continent, you had done it for your family. A family that no longer had a place for him.

Azriel had told himself that it was fine, he couldn't blame you for hating him if you did, he deserved it, but that wouldn't stop him from doing what he needed to do.

It was silly of Nesta to believe that he hadn't seen what she had seen that day Under The Mountain, he had allowed her to think that she had found the book when they had split up, knowing that she would smuggle the tome back into Velaris and hide it. That evil was better hidden by her than it ever would be by him. Though, Azriel didn't account for Nesta hiding it so well; he had practically turned her room upside down looking for it to no avail. All he had found were a few of her raunchy novels that she usually never let out of her sight, but she had left them all behind when she had left the Night Court to join your side.

Azriel wished he had done the same, maybe things would have been different between the two of you if he had.

But you needed someone on the inside, even if it did feel like all of the odds were against you.

Rhys was stupid enough to believe it much to Azriel's pallid joy, the High Lord had no one to turn to, the rest of his Inner Circle had labelled his actions as monstrous to his face and refused to aid him further. Azriel was all he had left, and he was clinging to the Shadowsinger like the last patch of snow to the earth just before the Spring sun inhaled it.

It was too risky to tell you, everything you felt had to be real, Rhys' attention was solely on you and your behaviour and if that changed even a little bit then you would not survive his wrath, not when you had no power to protect yourself with.

Whisperings behind closed doors told Azriel what he already knew, that his family was frantically hatching a plan to get you out of Velaris and back into the safety of the Autumn Court. No matter the cost. And, in his own way, Azriel would make sure that they succeeded.

Maniacal laughter haunted what little sleep the island had tried to gift to you.

That along with the faint dripping of rain was all you could hear, the inner voice that usually caressed your mind had left long ago, and you weren't sure if it would ever return. The prisoners were relishing in the demise of the Princess of Velaris, cooing and taunting you every moment they could, and when one would fall to slumber, another one would take its place.

How you hadn't gone mad yet was beyond you.

It was you who had locked many off the vile residents of the putrid place away, and now you were one of them. Straining against the stone, you pushed yourself upright, your back hitting the glacial wall of the cell you had no choice but to call home; you shivered at the contact and attempted to wrap your thinned fingers around the blanket to contain some warmth within your decaying body, but it was pointless.

The altar taunted you, the rare stripes of moonlight pouring upon it like it was some holy artifact that you should be worshipping. A part of you had to admire Rhys' gall attempt to break you, forcing you to dwell in the same room as a thing that had ruined your life, that had stripped you of a fundamental aspect of your humanity. Looking at the glistening stone altar, you struggled to remember why people had been so afraid of you, you struggled to remember the mother tongue of your fury on the battlefield and the sultry wit that would fill the halls.

Hugging your knees to your chest, you let out a defeated sob, the pain throbbing at your limbs, threatening to allow the foundations to consume you if you didn't move. The queen within you had dimmed, leaving the weakest part of you on show for the continent to see, not that anyone would ever come for you there.

Poor little fawn. The cutest thing we have ever seen. Such a shame, to be a monster.

The little fawn is trapped. The little fawn will die here.

No one will come for her.

Raising you gaze to the ceiling, you allowed the tears to fall. If you were going to die then it would be worth it, to protect those who had risked everything to stand by your side, to protect those who had showed you love in the face of uncertainty and evil. Resting your head against the wall, you felt yourself succumbing to the words that had been chanted to you through the nights, your heart clenching at the little name that had always given you butterflies.

Fawn.

Your mind drifted, and you could almost see him. In your visions, Eris was happy, strolling through the forests with Willow in tow weaving between his legs and sunlight illuminating that gods-crafted face. You wondered if he had heard your song, if it had reached the depths of Autumn to tell him that you were still alive. Had Gwyn done as you asked? Did Eris know anything about your torture?

Before you could even think of a scenario that could bring you some hope, a quiet scuffle of feet sounded at the mouth of the hallway where your chamber lay. The sound was followed by a sweep of fabric against the floor, and your interest was captured by it. You shakily rose to your feet, leveraging your withering weight against the stone until you could find your footing. Firelight flickered, growing brighter with each passing moment, and you waited before the enchanted barred gate for the owner to make themselves known.

The silhouette was Rhys', that was undeniable, but as you watched him, you saw him shrink a few inches, you saw his usually short tamed hair grow and pour over his shoulders, and you watched as his entire body morphed into another entirely. The firelight from the torch illuminated her face, revealing ethereal beauty and the pale blue-grey eyes that you had always admired, "Feyre," you weren't sure if she heard the utter of her name from the broken cracks in your voice.

You sank to your knees in front of her and she followed suit, placing the torch against the wall and crawling to the bars of the cell, her bottom lip wobbling as she took in the sight of you. Matted hair, ashen skin streaked with tears, weary eyes with no fire or spark, chapped and bloodied lips, "I'm so sorry, y/n. I'm so sorry," her fingers reached through the bars, the pads of them massaging warmth into your cheeks, "We're trying, alright? We're trying to find a way to get you out of here."

"He'll kill you," hatred flickered in her eyes but it wasn't something she hadn't thought of already, "Feyre, you can't."

Feyre's nostrils flared, water pooled at her bottom lids and you leant into her palm, it being the first innocently warm thing you had felt, "None of us deserve you, y/n. We have all been complicit in this one way or another. and I am not the only one who can't stand to watch this anymore," sensing your wavering life, Feyre added, "You have to hold on. Your family is waiting for you. Nesta and Elain are waiting for you. Eris is waiting for you."

"You have faced things no one ever should, and it makes me sick to know that your family has done this, that we have done this to you. Even if it's the last thing I do, I will get you out of this, y/n. We all will. I need you to hold on for a little longer, alright?"

The stone collar growled in retaliation, burning into your flesh for entertaining the words and you visibly winced, "I don't think that I can."

"You must," Feyre's words exuded those of a High Lady, though she would never pull rank on you, she grasped your face in her hands and removed the matted hair from your face, "Gwyn has sent word, we are orchestrating a High Lord's meeting, then, you will be free. You have to hold on, otherwise it'll have all been for nothing and you are too strong for that. If you are going to die then it'll be when you're old surrounded by everyone who has ever loved you, not in this gods forsaken prison. Do you hear me?"

Feyre was holding back her tears, she had never seen anyone so broken, so close to allowing the darkness to swallow them whole to escape the torment they had faced. The resentment she held toward Rhys was palpable, it was rife within the creases on her forehead and in the deep hued bags beneath her eyes.

"How is Nyx?" You had often thought of the babe, if he even remembered who you were, if he missed you at all, if he had any idea what was going on around him.

Feyre smiled sadly, her fingers caressing your rough skin, "He misses his aunt, very much."

"He does?"

Feyre hummed in confirmation, her head tilted to the side, eyes peering down at your hunched over form like she had just found a wounded doe in a clearing, writhing in a bed of autumn leaves, "I have to go, before this place realises that I'm not Rhys and alerts him," her hand withdrew from your face and a whimper fell from your lips at the sudden cold that coiled around you, "I'll come back, I don't know when but I will, I promise," a dark spot pooled at Feyre's right, looming in the corner of the opening, it wasn't prominent enough for Feyre to notice it, but you were attuned to the darkness, you'd notice an anomaly anywhere.

The High Lady rose to her feet, clasping the torch between her trembling fingers and tightening her cloak around her frame. All you could do was stare up at her, "Remember, remember that you were born to make the world shake at your fingertips. Don't let him ruin you."

And with that, Feyre turned away, leaving you slumped against the confinements of the gates, morphing back into the image of her husband once she was far away enough that it wouldn't scare you.

Feyre had contorted into Rhys, just like she had Tarquin before the war, even her scent morphed into his. The footsteps fell heavy against the stone, the firelight reflecting off of the dampened walls as she stalked through the prison, winding through the halls and finding herself being grateful for the lack of chortles sent her way by the prisoners, but also finding herself yearning to return to you.

A cool breeze drifted through the hall, telling Feyre that the entrance was only around the corner, and soon she'd be back at the House of Wind with her little Nyx working with her family on the plan to free you. Though, as soon as she turned the corner, she halted, she straightened her posture and felt dread settle into her chest at the flash of blue that greeted her.

Azriel stood before her, no doubt seeing right through the body she wore, his fists and jaw were clenched and his eyes burned into her, "I have to that admit that I'm impressed, Feyre. Impersonating Rhys to sneak into this place to see her." The darkness curled around him as it always had and would, his siphons were glowering in the slick corridor, bouncing off the glistening walls wet by the most recent downpour.

Shifting to her original form, Feyre became comfortable with the possibility of hurting Azriel, after the hand he had dealt in your suffering, "I did it with Tarquin, it was easy," Feyre's fists clenched, the hem of her cloak drowning in the puddle behind her, "Are you going to lock me up as well, Az?"

Azriel stepped forward into the scope of the firelight, his eyes softened and shoulders lax, "No. I was coming to see her as well."

"You have no right," Feyre spat, her stance shifting as a blockade to prevent him from delving further, "You're the reason why she's here."

"I know that," Azriel admitted, knowing that nothing he could say could change that fact, "Do you think that I wanted to? Feyre, Rhys has lost his mind, someone needed to be on the inside, to be trusted enough to know what he has planned. None of you would be able to do it, so I had to, and I couldn't tell a soul of it, not if I wanted her to get out of this court alive."

"What are you talking about?"

Azriel ran a hand over his face in frustration and sighed, "Who do you think tipped Gwyn off to go into the River House?"

Feyre stuttered before the realisation hit her, "It was you. You've been playing double agent this entire time."

"I promised her that I would always look out for her, that I would protect her," he felt the bargain tattoo purr in reply, "If I had truly hurt y/n then I'd be dead, from my own guilt or from the consequence of breaking the bargain," his gaze flickered behind Feyre, like he was expecting you to round the corner, "I'll never be able to forgive myself for what I've aided, and I don't expect you or her to either. Gwyn will deliver the message to Eris and Nesta, they're meeting with Tamlin and Helion to tell them of what has happened here, one of them will call a High Lord's meeting. That's our chance to set her free. Tell the others to prepare themselves, it isn't going to be easy."

None of it was going to be easy, to defy the High Lord of the Night Court was an act of treason, they could all be wiped from the earth for it but it was a reality that they would all welcome if it meant that you had a real chance to live. Not just survive, but live a life that deserved you.

Azriel took a step forward, "Feyre," he coaxed his High Lady from her thoughts, "I need you to do this, for her, for all of us."

"I will," her voice lingered, "But you can't see her, she'll crumble if she sees you. You've broken her heart and thus her sanity, her mind will shatter if she sees you and we need her to hang on."

Everything within him was telling him to ignore her, even his shadows were screaming at the notion of not being able to be near you, they had always yearned for you, sought you out at every moment. Their entire spirit had dulled since the night you had left, like they were the first to know that you had denounced your place and title, they had curled down his spine and shuddered at the loss, and only became frantic the moment you had been dragged back into Velaris wearing those awful collars.

Azriel inhaled deeply, staring ahead at the pitch black hallway before resting his gaze on Feyre and offering his arm, "Let's get you out of here, we both have work to do."

Tamlin had always found a certain solace when visiting the Autumn Court, there was something about it that comforted him; he always thought it was the way the sun would kiss the browning leaves that had fell upon the grass, or that unique warmth spreading across the land like a blanket and weaving between the trees, breathing life into everything that it touched.

The High Lord of Spring had been surprised when he had received the note from Lucien, a twin to the one sent for Helion, but as soon as he saw the mention of you, Tamlin instantly agreed to the request to descend upon the Autumn Court. Though, what surprised him more was that he had been invited to the private residence of Fir Manor for the meeting, which meant that the matter was too important to speak of in a fortress of deceptive ears.

Fir Manor was a truly beautiful estate, towering oak beams encased by vines and delicate flowers, pale brickwork and a thatched but sturdy roof, large windows that oozed comfort, and gardens littered with fountains and the faint chipper of birds as they soared from branch to branch. Stones clashed beneath his feet, the sound alerting the inhabitants of the home to his presence; he wasn't exactly late, but by the faint scent of musk and petrichor Tamlin knew that Helion was already in the confinements of the manor.

The door opened as Tamlin stepped onto the porch, drinking in the wicker chairs facing outward to the pond, a blanket draped across the back that told him that it was someone's favourite spot. Nesta appeared before him, she seemed unphased by his presence, but her eyes were thankful and full of relief, "Tamlin," she greeted in monotone, she wouldn't forget what he had done to Feyre, but if he could help you then she could certainly forgive him for it.

"Nesta," Tamlin greeted with equal tone, wary of Lady Death in all of her glory. Nesta was poised, her shoulders straightened as she observed him; she stepped to the side so that he may be able enter, and he angled past her.

The interior was just as charming as the exterior, a log fire burned at the centre of the far wall, exposed wooden beams loomed overhead that connected to the coffee hued walls littered with golden embellishments; the seating area was rooted in place, large feather cushions sat atop plush red wine seating, and an array of artworks kissed the walls.

A faint scent clung to the air, one that Tamlin immediately recognised as yours, but it was a whisper on the atmosphere, like the home was clutching onto it, trying to inhale it into its bones so that an aspect of you might live with it for eternity. "Tamlin. Thank you for coming," Eris spoke from by the fire.

Noting his dishevelled appearance, Tamlin frowned, speckles of mud splayed up his riding boots, no doubt from a hasty morning ride through the forest. Eris' hair was messy and eyes weary and full of worry, the amber whisky hue dimming with every wrenching thought that shook through his mind.

Something was very off about the High Lord, and Tamlin couldn't quite put it together. He took the seat beside Helion, greeting him with the same pallid politeness before moving his gaze over to Lucien who nodded stiffly in his direction.

Tamlin returned the action and then allowed his eyes to wander about the room, noting all of its inhabitants, and then finding himself thinking of you and the intoxicating scent he often thought of. It was no secret that Tamlin held some form of affection toward you, he, like Eris, had grown up around you, seeing you grow and flourish into the impressive woman that you had become.

"Where is y/n? The note mentioned her, I thought she'd be here."

Eris visibly tensed at the question, squeezing his eyes shut and sighing before crossing the small space between the fire and the closest armchair and finding comfort within it, "Rhys has her."

The High Lord of Day frowned and moved from his lax position on the seat, leaning forward and examining the ire within the Autumn male, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Much like Tamlin did, Helion also thought very fondly of you, he enjoyed the wit and sass that radiated from you as well as the way you carried yourself, dangerously sultry yet elegant. Helion had asked Rhys for your hand multiple times, believing that you would make the finest High Lady, and his patience wavering each time he was shot down. Though, that didn't halt Helion from seeking you out at every dinner party or ball, he enjoyed your company greatly, as much as he enjoyed that beautifully knowledgeable mind you kept under lock and key.

"The day of your birthday, y/n found out that Rhys had sought to lock her away in Velaris for her entire life simply because she was more powerful than him, because her power threatened his position. Rhys used her to do his bidding, to be the terrifying monster of Velaris, he used her to threaten his enemies, but she was never able to leave the court without supervision. Rhys made y/n into a prisoner and she didn't even realise it," Eris recounted the knowledge as well as the pain in your face the moment you had figured out what he had done, "That night, y/n denounced her home and title and joined me here, Nesta, Elain and Lucien followed soon after."

"Rhys found her at the boarder to Winter whilst she was exploring, didn't realise how far she had strayed," Eris shook his head softly and inhaled deeply before he continued on, "He threatened us, he told her that he would kill us all if she didn't return, using the eons old Night Court tradition that an unmated female was the property of her family until they decided who to bestow her hand to."

Eris dragged his thumb over his bottom lip, trying to remember the way yours melted into his and the way they tasted on his tongue. It was difficult to ignore the bond that had opened within him, every inch of his essence was begging him to infiltrate the Night Court and save you, but his mind knew how dangerous that would be; if Rhys even caught one whiff of him then he would commit any manner of gut-wrenching acts upon you.

"And she's there now?" Helion enquired, the gold of his headpiece reflecting in the sunlight, scattering a glow across the ceiling, "Do we know if she is alive?"

The mere thought of you six feet underground made fury blaze within him, it was clear by how his entire body clenched, "We believe that she is, but we have no way of knowing," Nesta spoke for him from her seat to his side, "Rhys would have punished her for defecting, how, we don't know but we do know that he wouldn't have allowed her to continue on with her old life there. All of our contacts in the Night Court have been silent, there have been little to no whisperings of her, the only thing they know is that she has been said to be sick and is on strict orders to rest."

A blatant lie.

Throughout the entire display of information, Tamlin couldn't keep his eyes off of Eris, noting the way he shuffled in his seat and how his fingers would occasionally drift over his chest. Not needing to listen to Nesta for another moment longer, Tamlin cut through her words, "If you want our help then you will tell us the truth."

Eris' orbs burned, sticking to Tamlin with anguish before moving to Nesta, Eris nodded curtly and only once, a silent permission to divulge whatever it was that they were hiding. Nesta sighed, "There is a demon living within y/n. Amarantha placed it there the night she stole her wings Under The Mountain, she wanted to use y/n as a host, and if not y/n then the first child she could produce," Helion inhaled sharply, not expecting anything of the sort to ever be spoken in his lifetime. "That's not all," her voice drifted off but she didn't look to Eris, it was important that Tamlin and Helion knew everything, "Rhys also removed memories from both Eris and y/n, of the time they spent together throughout the years, of the love they shared."

A secret love that no one should have known of, but someone had sold you both out.

Helion's eyes drifted closed as he attempted to process the information. There was a demon living inside of the woman he admired. Rhys had taken you as a prisoner. Rhys had removed all memories of you and Eris from one another's minds. You and Eris loved one another. "You're her mate, aren't you?"

A gruff hum filled the void, "Yes. We are also Carranam."

Tamlin had heard of it, once, which told him that such a thing was a rarity, "Carranam," the word rolled off of his tongue, and he knew from the way Helion tensed beside him that he too knew what it meant. A bond that ran deeper than a mating bond, a bond that made the mating bond seem pale in comparison, "Rhys took your memories from one another so that her power couldn't be amplified by you, and then confined her to the Night Court so that she would never find out. A prisoner in her own home."

It was barbaric. To steal your chance of love away from you and confine you to your home court, and then have the gall to spread word of your monstrosity across the continent.

"I can't feel her," Eris strained, doing his best not to choke on the pain of the void dwelling within his soul, "He's done something to her, I know it."

Before them sat a male completely wracked by guilt and worry, who was clearly struggling to sleep, whose entire court was mourning the loss of you. Lucien was right, they couldn't sit by and allow history to paint this image of your demise.

"You're right," a genteel voice drifted from the doorway, the pop of red hair had Nesta rising from her seat almost immediately. The woman removed her hood, her red braid sweeping over her shoulders and blue eyes frantic, "I'm sorry that I couldn't send word, I couldn't trust anyone else with this information."

Nesta crossed the room, "Gwyn, what are you doing here?"

Gwyn was as pallid as a bedsheet drifting in the summer breeze, exhaustion fell from her, "Y/N sent me, and I brought you this," Gwyn presented a book from under her cloak, not just any book, it was the tome Amarantha had written that depicted every single thing that she knew of you, "I came as soon as I could."

"Y/N sent you?"

The woman nodded toward Eris, her lips curling downward, "She did. She asked me to deliver a message," her bottom lip wobbled slightly, "She asked me to tell you that she loves you, all of you," she emphasised, her sight flickering to Elain and Lucien, "She asked me to tell you that no matter what happens to her that there is no place you could go where she wouldn't be with you."

The final words of a woman losing the fight.

No.

Eris stood, "Where is she?"

The tone of his voice made the temperature of the manor rise, and the walls vibrated with it, "Rhys, what he's done - I can't serve anyone like that. I refuse."

Nesta grasped her friends forearms, willing her to focus, "I need you tell us where she is, and what has happened to her, Gwyn. Now."

"Rhys hired someone to manufacture some kind of collars, they've melted into her skin, they've drained her of all of her power and life, she's completely defenceless now. Cassian is trying to help her, so are Mor and Amren, they all know that he's gone mad. I don't think that she can hold on for much longer," Gwyn blinked hard, washing away the images of your thinning body and grey skin from her mind, "Rhys has moved her to the prison, Azriel told him that he saw Tamlin and Helion enter the Autumn Court and he moved her there as punishment."

Nesta dropped Gwyn's arms and stumbled backward, the dread and terror pooling into her gut at the image of you shivering in a cell. Alone and believing that no one was coming for you.

Eris reached into that bond, tugging at it harder and allowed part of himself to travel with it, almost whimpering when it was met by a wall of agony and darkness, pinging back to him like an injured animal searching for comfort.

"Call the meeting," Silence followed Nesta's dangerously low voice, and it only irked her fury more, "Call the fucking meeting," Nesta turned to Helion who had taken the book from Gwyn, he was flitting through the pages, his eyes pouring over every word and rune etched upon the pages. "If you care about her at all, you will do it. If you don't then I will destroy you, Helion. She'll die in there."

It had to be Helion. Rhys would find disrespecting Tamlin too joyous, but he wouldn't dare to show the same disrespect to Helion, not if he wanted their courts to continue their alliance, not if he wanted to avoid an all out war.

Helion's gaze lifted from the tome, his heart rumbling with what lined the pages, "Consider it done," he rose from his seat, his white tunic pooling at his sandalled ankles, "I'm taking this, I think there may be a code in this book which will help us free her of that demon."

The High Lord of Spring also stood, anger coursing through his veins at the revelation that one of the few people who ever truly saw him was locked away and suffering in one of the most inhumane places on the continent. It didn't matter to Tamlin that your mate was Eris, despite the tinge of jealousy that swarmed him that Eris was the one who able to call you his, all that mattered to Tamlin was that you were free and healthy, that you had the choice to be whatever you wanted to be. "It may take a couple of days, please try to be patient. I know that it's a ridiculous ask but we all need to prepare, and give the other High Lords time to respond to the request. We'll need all of them."

Approaching Eris, Tamlin rested a hand on his shoulder, "I'm sorry that this has happened to you," his words were solemn but he was being truthful, "We will return her to you, and we will do everything that we can to free her from the demon inside of her. I promise you."

Wasting no time, Helion muttered a short farewell, clutching the tome to his chest and winnowing from sight, hurrying to send the request to the High Lords of the continent to ascend upon the Day Court Palace as a matter of urgency.

Moments later, Tamlin also said his goodbyes, strolling from the hearth of the manor toward the boarder where Spring met Autumn, doing his best not to listen to the gut wrenching roar that erupted from Eris the moment he stepped beyond the treeline.

Author's Note

Breaking my own heart right now 🥺

Also very sorry for the delay, haven’t been very well recently so just been trying to recover 🫶🏻

Taglist

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[belokhvostikova]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | An apology is definitely at hand, and Eddie cements it when he drunkenly appears at your house despite your clear disdain.

𝐂𝐨��𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, descriptions of depression, self-deprecating thoughts, alcohol consumption, driving while intoxicated, mentions of neglectful parents, mentions of childhood abuse, mentions of domestic abuse, brief allusions to eating disorders, and brief mentions of predatory behavior.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | So sorry for the confusion, I was simply updating the color scheme of this chapter when an error was found in my tag list, which I had to edit. I had to remove the tag list, but everyone who was already in the list or asked to be will still continue to be tagged as new chapters are released.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

You stayed in your bedroom. Not studying. Not reading. Not eating. Barely even moving. The concavity of teals and pastels with trinkets and knick-knacks that constituted the room you found solace in for the last twelve years of your life had swallowed you whole. The bookcase. The vanity. The dying plants begging for life in a personified reflection to your state. Your knees. Your fingers. Your sullen face in the smudged mirror. You listened to the sounds around you. The cars. The birds. The buzzing bees of the blistering spring. So lively, not you. Your father, the whirring indication of the coffee machine that kept him alive, the clearing of his throat, and the crinkle of his newspaper, as if he didn’t proclaim the nastiest words of failure and disappointment against the child he fathered neglectfully. But you had everything—food, a roof, money—who were you to complain, right? Your bladder is full, it hurts, yet you don’t dare to move. You suck in a breath, forgetting to do so innately. Everything has become manual. Your breathing, your thinking, your will.

You’re eighteen, a senior in high school, and you want to go to college. Which one? The farthest one. You’re merely a girl, a teenage girl, a teenage girl deemed a slut because you were nice to a boy. Nothing more, nothing less. Until the next day, where you would be deduced to a whore, because that was the inevitable step for a teenage girl who was nice to a boy. And that’s all you think of. All you repeat. Because you don’t want to remember more. You just want to wait. For what? You don’t know. So you think, you sit, and you wait. Just waiting until there’s nothing more to wait for.

Maybe when you learn to let go, you’ll finally be free. 

-

Perhaps it was the jocular facet of Wayne Munson’s personality that humored the struggling reality of his life, or maybe it was as superficial as he liked to quip an occasional joke here or there, either way, the same teasing line declaring his rambunctious nephew to be the cause of his exceeding aging—the one that always got a good chuckle out of his buddies while sharing a beer or a shy giggle from the tired waitress who worked the overnight shift just to serve him his coffee in the early hours of the morning—was vastly proving to be a coping mechanism, because Wayne Munson swore he could feel a new wrinkle brandishing his forehead as his nephew was on the verge of getting suspended… and failing… and arrested. 

Eddie Munson truly did age the poor man into oblivion. 

“…Twenty-two tardies, fourteen absences, thirteen detentions…”

Wayne briefly freed the indented grays of his head from one of his many beloved trucker hats before securing it back on. His calloused fingers splayed against his stressed eyebrows at an attempt to alleviate the impending pain with a heavy sigh. It was midday. He should be resting for his coming shift at the plant. But here he was, having a parent meeting with the principal for his twenty-year-old boy.

“…Persistent insubordination, frequent public outbursts, and repeated offense of inappropriate comments made against staff…”

That one made Eddie giggle. Oh, Mrs. O’Donell.

“Okay, okay,” Wayne politely interjected with a tight-lipped smile, “I think I get the picture here.”

Principal Higgins scoffed incredulously, as he dropped the particularly heavy file of Eddie’s extensive high school record. “Respectfully, I don’t think you do, sir.” Eddie rolled his eyes, as he apathetically slumped in the chair. “Your nephew has been tormenting the sanctity of my establishment for six years, six years, sir, and he’s in for a seventh after assaulting a fellow student on school grounds!”

“Oh, please, Carver deserved it-”

“Ed.” Wayne gritted with sternness. 

“Mr. Munson, I specifically warned you of the potential consequences of another detention or suspension, and you went ahead and disobeyed my word! Now, charges are being threatened! This is monstrous! Vile, even! Blasphemous-”

“I told you, that jockstrap deserved it!” Eddie sat up to defend his stance, blatantly ignoring his uncle's plea to calm down. “Why aren’t you getting him in trouble, huh?! He’s the one that started all this shit! Going around and spreading lies about Y/N!”

And maybe this is when Eddie should have shut up, because the way Principal Higgins eyes bulged at the revelation honestly kinda freaked Eddie out a bit. 

“Ms. Y/L/N?!” Higgins spit odiously. “This is about Ms. Y/L/N?!”

Wayne blinked between both men. “Who’s Y/N Y/L/N?”

The poor man’s presence had long been disregarded. Once again, this had been extrapolated into a battle between Higgins and Munson, a long six year war that seemed to have no ending. And you, well, you fell victim in the crossfire, left unaided, to die, vulnerable to the vultures of Hawkins High that got to pick you apart free of consequences. Because that was human nature for a small town that capitalized the American Dream with infiltrations of conservatism and conformity for the need to prioritize normalcy. And Eddie Munson was not normal, therefore you were not normal. Because you took his fucking picture. 

“In my years of administration, I have never, and I mean never, have had this much havoc from two students!” It became quite astounding how much a single vein could protrude from a reddening forehead of a forty-seven-year-old man. 

“This isn’t her fault!” Eddie burdened to emphasize. “Why are you always blaming her?! You used to love parading her achievements around as if they were yours, and now that she’s friends with me,” you weren’t friends with him, “you suddenly got your little feelings hurt?! You’re unbelievable!” Eddie sneered with a heavy breath and condescending laugh. 

Now, Higgins had been far too familiar with Eddie’s bite, but the abrupt revelation had the man searching for words that would excuse his exaggerating behavior. “I-I, uh, well, I… t-this- this isn’t about Ms. Y/L/N, this is about you, Mr. Munson, and what you did!”

Wayne had reached his wits end, “Alright, alr-”

“What? Rightfully put Carver in his place? Yeah, I did-”

“Alright.” Wayne’s jaw was heavy with tension as a stern scrape of his teeth was gritted to end the commotion. “Look, I truly do not have the time to be doin’ this, so we’re gonna run this quickly.” He sighed with a hand massaging his stubble. “I’ll have Ed apologize.”

Eddie made his annoyance evident with a loud groan and scoff, as he waved his uncle off. 

“But,” Wayne interjected, knowing his nephew would spew out more words that would worsen his consequence, “you said it yourself, sir, that Ed’s been “disrupting” your school for a couple years now, so I don’t think another repeated year would do anyone any good. Right?”

“I- I… well, I, uh, I suppose so…” Higgins mumbled. 

“Perfect.” Wayne perched out of his chair with a groan from his aching back. “I think a… sincere, heartfelt apology will teach my boy a valuable lesson here.” He patted Eddie on the shoulder before yanking on his denim vest to pull him from his seat. “So, no detention, no suspension, that way Ed will get to graduate, he’ll be out of your hair, and all’s good in life.”

“I, well, I think we’re being a little too lenient-”

Wayne shoved his working hand in front of Higgins. “I appreciate your understanding, and I’m glad we were able to come to a consensus.” Dumbfoundedly, Higgins shook the man’s hand trying to process everything. “Now, I’ll get in touch with the other boy’s parents, hopefully talk them out of charges, and Ed and I will have a long talk as to why we shouldn’t hit people. Right, Ed?”

“U-um, uh, yeah- yes, sir, I’m so sorry.” Eddie nodded, faux guilt casting his face, as he pressed his lips in and threw his round eyes of disappointment to the ground. 

“Well, then” Wayne sighed, “I better get going, sleep’s not gonna catch itself.”

“Mr. Munson, uh, sir-”

“Again, thank you for understanding.” Wayne shoved Eddie past the office door, before sending a polite wave to Higgins, left speechless and open-mouthed, yet no protest could be formulated, as the Munson men were out quick with a slam to the door.

Upon reaching the empty halls of the school, Wayne wondered how ethical it would be to lean against the cold, metal lockers and light a cigarette, because he had no willpower to wait until he was outside. Wayne Munson loved Eddie, he truly did. It may not have been affectionately shown for the majority of his guardianship, but it was there; through every cracked joke, every greasy late-night dinner shared, and every moment when he would miss work, because Eddie always waited last minute to finish the algebra homework that he knew he struggled with, and Wayne was there to help. 

But parenthood, itself, was a troubling journey, and when abruptly placed onto a man who had no desire to ever have kids of his own, it became devastatingly unfathomable. It became worse when the kid in question knew nothing but abuse, no hugs no kisses, simply fists and swears to condition his mind with the wrongful notions as to how to express his emotions. It was grueling. 

Wayne cleared his throat. “Ed.”

“I know, I know,” Eddie was quick to explain, “but I swear, it really wasn’t my fault.” His eyes pleaded to avoid the wave of disappointment he knew he brought to everyone in Hawkins. 

“Boy, if this Carver kid and that girl, Y/N, are giving you trouble-”

“No, no, she’s not!” Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat, and huffed. “I-I mean, he is, yeah, but it’s nothing I’m not used to, so it doesn’t matter. But her, she, uh, she didn’t- I, fuck, look this is all stupid! He’s stupid, she’s stupid- I, no, she’s not stupid-”

“Eddie.” Wayne was seeing the younger boy Eddie had once been. Struggling with emotions, struggling with words, unable to process and formulate because he was scared. 

“She fucking hates me, alright!” Eddie heaved. “All of this is stupid, and it doesn’t matter, because she fucking hates me! And I can’t even blame her, because I’m an awful fucking person!”

“You’re not awful-”

“I am!’ Eddie sighed to catch his breath. “C’mon, Wayne, you know I am. I nearly fucking failed for the third time in a row, because I have no self-control and apparently no fucking emotional intelligence, and now I may end up getting arrested in the middle of the fucking school day. And she fucking hates me, Wayne, she hates me!”

The quietness of the hall became deafening after Eddie’s tangent. He knew his uncle didn’t understand half of what he just uttered, but it sure as hell felt good getting it off his chest. And by now, a cigarette was looking real good to the older gentleman. 

“I- shit, I’m sorry, just forget all of that.” Eddie groaned, a tense hand running through his tangled hair.

“No, no,” Wayne shook his head, “say what you need to say. It’ll do you some good.”

Eddie suspired. “Look, Jason was saying some really gross shit about Y/N that wasn’t true, and the only reason why they said all that shit was because she added me- uh, Hellfire to the yearbook.” Wayne raised an eyebrow. “I know, don’t give me that look, like I said, this is all fucking stupid. Anyways, I felt bad, he was literally causing a scene in the middle of lunch, and well, I punched him-”

“Well, see, you’re not an awful person.” Wayne pointed. 

“You didn’t let me finish.” Eddie, now highlighted with genuine guilt, casted down to the floor. “When she first took our picture, I kinda yelled at her, because I thought she was just being some two-faced cheerleader, which she wasn’t, but, uh, after the whole cafeteria scene, well, she told me to just leave her alone, and um, I got defensive and called her… a sl- look, I just really fucked up, alright.”

Wayne puffed out a big breath of air. “Okay.” He really didn’t remember high school being this cursory, granted it was over thirty years ago for him. “Uh, well, did you at least apologize to her?” He truly didn’t know how else to approach this problem. 

“Well, no, she got suspended yesterday because of the whole yearbook thing. Highly doubt I’ll get a chance.”

“Well, make a chance.” Wayne waved off simply.

“What?”

“You care that much about what she thinks of you, make the chance happen. Don’t just sit around, do something. And if you really don’t care, then just let it go and focus on graduating and not getting in trouble.” Wayne pulled out his pack of Camels. “Either way, I need sleep and you need to get to class.”

“It’s lunch time.”

“Then eat.” Wayne sighed, as he began walking away. “Just stay out of trouble, because there’s only so many free car repairs I’m willing to offer in order to keep your ass out of jail, boy.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.”

-

“I can’t believe this! I totally don’t look like this!” Dustin shrieked. “This is a terrible angle! And I specifically told the guy to get my good side!”

Mike laughed with a mouth full of greasy pizza. “You look like the orcs from our campaign.”

“Who looks like the orcs from our campaign?” Eddie announced his arrival, as he took a seat at the head of the table. 

“Dustin!” Gareth guffawed. 

“But, hey, if you really wanna feel better, take a look at Stanley Godwin who literally sneezed in the middle of his picture.” Jeff stole the yearbook from Dustin’s grabby hands. “Poor kid and his sinuses.”

But before Jeff could thumb through to find the sneezing sophomore, Eddie had forcefully yanked the brand new book from his friend. “Where the hell did you get this?!”

“I bought it.” Dustin answered. “The Yearbook Committee is already selling them. But, if you want my advice, don’t bother asking Nancy for a family discount.”

“You’re not family.” Mike sneered with a playful shove.

And in true Dustin Henderson fashion, the boy audibly gasped. “Have the last ten years meant nothing to you?”

“Is our picture still in here?” Eddie interrupted. 

“Yup!” Gareth smirked. “Front and center.”

Eddie flipped through the extracurriculars, filtering through the numerous clubs before his eyes bestowed upon their photo. There they were. All of them. Their faces and names representing the Hellfire title. 

“Hey, how’d the meeting with Higgins go?” Jeff snapped Eddie’s attention. “Your uncle dish one out to ya?”

“Uh, no, actually.” Eddie signed. “Got let off the hook.”

“Wait, Higgins isn’t suspending you?” Mike questioned, and Eddie merely shook his head in confirmation. 

“Wow, you’d think punching his precious star athlete would get you expelled.” Dustin laughed. “I mean, even Y/N got suspended for something less. Wish she was here, so I could thank her for the photo.” 

Your name had sparked something within Eddie. He quickly turned the pages to reach the senior class of 1986, and flipped until he found your face. Your fucking beautiful face. So pretty and proper, dressed in your best clothing, pearls shining around your neck, eyes glinting with perfection. You were perfect. Perfect. Down to the last minute detail. Your teeth, your lips, your skin.

Make a chance.

Eddie tore the page with much fervor in mind. 

“Hey, what the hell?!” Dustin whined. “That cost me forty-five bucks!”

“Sorry, kid.” Eddie muttered, as he stood from his chair, stuffing the torn page into the leather pocket of his worn jacket. 

“Where are you going?” Jeff catechized. “We’re in the middle of lunch.”

“To find Chrissy Cunningham.”

-

Chrissy Cunningham was a lot harder to find than Eddie had expected. She had been in the same lunch period with him for the entirety of the semester, but the one instance he actually needed to speak to her, she wasn’t sitting with the gaggle of cheerleaders and jocks that claimed the best seats in the lunchroom. The girls’ bathroom had been his best option, now he obviously didn’t enter, but after he begrudgingly called out her name through the doorway, he felt like a creep and left rather quickly. The gym was his backup, but after peering through the small windows of the double doors, all he saw was Coach Monaghan loudly instructing scrawny freshmen through enervating suicide drills for the sake of physical education. And the health room was no luck, as the guidance counselor was enforcing teaching the importance of abstinence to a group of girls—only girls—for the sake of sexual education. More like purity culture. Eddie was running out of luck. His watch indicated the mere five minutes he had left before he’d be obligated to endure Mrs. O’Donell. But, by the grace of whatever god may or may not be out there, Eddie caught sight of the strawberry blonde sitting alone upon the writhing wood of an old picnic table just outside of the cafeteria. He walked all around, just for her to be a couple yards from where he originally was. Sometimes Eddie could only scoff at himself. 

Appearing to be caught up in her own world, Eddie’s heavy footsteps went unnoticed, until he materialized into her peripheral, a startled shriek making him surrender with hands up in the air. 

“Woah, hey, sorry.” He raucously chuckled, looking around to make sure no one could fabricate some false story of harassment against a cheerleader. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

But his words brought no ease to her- clearly, it was just yesterday she was cleaning up her boyfriend’s lip, because of Eddie. “I, uh, I- well, if it’s alright with you, I, um, liked to talk- well, ask you for something.” He softly assured, as she eyed him timidly. 

“Um, a-about what?” Her voice could barely be picked up by the breeze of the afternoon. 

Eddie took it as an invitation to sit down across from her with a tight-lipped smile. It was awkward. He took notice of her uneaten lunch, merely picked apart but not savored—well, as savored as school lunch could be. “So, uh, what brings you out here?” Perhaps an attempt at conversation with someone he never even spoke to was too bad of an idea, but he simply chose the politeness path, as he ask was pretty hefty. “Finally got tired of Jessica’s big mouth?” He laughed.

Chrissy didn’t. Jessica had made a comment, one that sounded too much like her mother’s own words. 

So when Chrissy sadly shrugged, he dropped the small talk and diverted the conversation. 

“Okay, look, I’m just gonna be up front.” Eddie sighed. “I need you to give me Y/N’s phone number and address.”

Her thinly groomed eyebrows creased her forehead in confusion. “Um, what?”

“Look, it’s a simple ask, alright, I just need her phone number and address.”

“No, I hear you, Eddie, I just- well, I just don’t know if she would want me to-”

“No, and I understand that, I just really need to talk to her.” Eddie pleaded. “And obviously I can’t do that at school.” Chrissy stayed quiet with contemplation. “C’mon, you guys are friends- or were friends, right? I really just want to make it up to her after all the bullshit she’s been through. Us being partially at fault because of it, y’know.”

Chrissy’s guilty round eyes met his. “I just don’t want her to hate me more.” she whispered. 

Eddie’s mouth fell slightly agape, not knowing how to comfort. See, lying and saying all was good and merry between you and Chrissy in order to get what he wanted would have been his first solution—the asshole way of thinking. But being that Eddie being an asshole was the start of all your misery in the first place, he fought the urge to choose the easy way out and rubbed his face with agony. 

“Yeah, no, I, uh, get it.” He huffed. “And if it’s any consolation, she fucking hates me, too. Probably more than she hates you.” He smiled. And luckily, a sadden smile curled her lips, which was a start. “And I mean, rightfully so, we were jackasses to her.” He laughed.

“I should have stuck up for her.” Chrissy sighed. “She always has for me. I mean, she’s been my best friend for four years. But Jason, he just gets so far into this idea of what people will say and think, and he doesn’t want me or him hurting from others' judgment.”

“So you judged her instead?” He couldn’t really be one to speak on the morals of virtue, as he judged, too.

“I know, it’s so stupid.” She dropped her head into her palms with shame. “And I’m not trying to excuse it, I just want her to know I’m so sorry, but I haven’t had the courage to tell her.” She groaned. “Plus, her dad is really strict and really hard on her to be so successful, that I doubt he’ll want me over after she got suspended.”

Chrissy drowned with dejection. Four years of the purest bond between young girls had been cemented into a cascade of hateful rumors and a lack of clear discernment that severed their loving connection that persevered them through the pinnacle of teenage years. As naive fourteen-year-olds, you both had stolen the locked up booze from your father’s office, and cheered one another on as you took a sip, to ensure you both appeared to know what you were doing when you arrived to Bradly Leminski’s party. Turns out, you both had accidentally drank too much in the comfort of your bedroom and missed out. You’d even watched giddily, as Jason Carver asked Chrissy out, after you ran him through the basis of what she loves, because he was determined to get her on a date. But through the woes of boys and high school parties, you’d both been there for one another through the deepest of tribulations, like when Chrissy called you bawling, because her mother’s words manipulated the way she saw herself in the beautiful dress she’d been so excited to wear for the winter formal. Or when she held you tightly after saving you from the harsh grasp of a senior, Jimmy Saunters, who forcefully shoved multiple shots of tequila down your throat, and attempted to drag you into his friend’s bedroom when you were merely a baby freshman. 

Her comfort had saved you, just as yours did to her.

“Well, I mean, you can’t just not try.” Eddie reasoned. “Look, I fucking hate that she hates me, and I want to at least try to apologize to her, too, which is why I at least need her number and address, please. I’m sure she’d love to hear from you, too, whenever you get the chance.”

The school bell that Eddie had been all too familiar with screeched for the coming of class, and he jumped in hurry. “C’mon, Chrissy, please, you gotta help me out here.” The desperation became palpable. Chrissy turned and watched numerous students flood into the halls through the glass doors of the building. Caving in quickly, she rummaged through her backpack for a pink pen she’d nearly worn through after the excessive notes from her third period. But she simply grabbed Eddie’s jacket sleeve, and utilized the back of his veiny hand as a canvas for her information. 

He’d ache his neck with a contorted twist of his head to watch the fading ink print what he wanted. A seven digit number lined the back of his hands, a small smile consuming his face, but then Chrissy started capping her pen away. “W-wait, uh, her address, too.”

“Um…”

“Please, I swear, if she asks, I won’t say it was you.” Eddie rushed.

Chrissy sighed, before quickly scribbling the number and street name of your home. Eddie cursed under his breath. “Christ, Pinecrest Acres? I got hired to mow some dude’s lawn in that neighborhood one summer, and some prick called the cops on me for trespassing.” He scoffed, and poor Chrissy didn’t know how to respond at the irrelevance of his news besides with an awkward chuckle. “But, anyways, thank you. I’ll, uh, leave you to it.” Eddie saluted, as he headed towards the door.

But then he abruptly turned. “Wait! Uh, tell your boyfriend I’m sorry for the, uh, whole, y’know…” And Eddie laughed, as he mimicked the shocking punch that loosened Jason Carver’s front teeth. 

The entire reason why he hadn’t showed up to school that day. 

“Um, don’t you want to tell him yourself?” Chrissy sweetly proffered. “I’m sure it’ll mean more.”

Eddie could roll his eyes. It was Jason Carver. Nothing Eddie did could mean shit to him.

He winced with a hiss. “Yeah, see, I totally would,” no, he wouldn’t, “but since he’s not here, and you’re the next best thing, I trust that you’ll pass on the message for me.” He smiled so sickly, Chrissy couldn’t see the drenching lies of his words.

“Oh, okay.” She agreed. 

“Oh!” Eddie perked. “If Higgin’s asks, I totally did apologize to Carver, okay?” Well, maybe there was still a little asshole left in Eddie, but at least he wasn’t actively hurting anyone. Yet.

“Uh, o-okay.” She hesitantly smiled.

“Thanks, Chrissy.” He lifted his balled fist to bump with hers. It was telling of the fact that Eddie Munson had little interactions with girls his own age- or any girls for that matter. But she hesitantly bumped him back, nonetheless. “Y’know, you’re a really cool person, you should get better friends.” He affirmed, before waving a goodbye.

“Th-thanks.” She meekly watched him enter the school building. 

While uncomfortable at first, the overall start of the budding friendship between Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie Munson was one to look forward to. While they evidently had nothing in common, it was quite comical actually, they could find reassurance in one another that improvements needed to be made within themselves in order to speak to the one person they both genuinely cared for. You. They at least had that in common. And luckily for Eddie, in six hours, Chrissy Cunningham would confide to Jason Carver to drop any potential charges, and he would listen, because he loved her. 

-

“Fuck.” Eddie mumbled under his breath. He shook the nerves from his hands, and rolled his neck in preparation. “C’mon, you can do this.”

“So, uh,” Wayne snapped Eddie’s attention. His uncle was staring at him circumspectly, as he shrugged on his jacket, “you preparin’ for a marathon, or somethin’?”

“What?” Eddie blinked through his messy bangs. “No, I’m about to make a phone call.”

“Right.” Wayne cleared his throat, studying the newfound nervousness of his nephew’s demeanor, which he hadn’t seen in- well, ever. “Ima head out to work, see ya tomorrow morning.” It was clear Eddie was waiting for his uncle to leave, as Wayne caught sight of how quickly Eddie grabbed the handle of the phone as Wayne, himself, grabbed the doorknob. “Is this about that Y/N girl?”

Eddie’s shoulder’s dropped. “Shouldn’t you be heading off to work by now?”

“Alright, alright,” Wayne mumbled, “just askin’. Be sure to eat dinner.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it, Ed. Eat.” 

Eddie, in fact, did not eat. 

In order to not succumb to the nauseating feeling that was churning in the pit of his tummy, he came to the concurrence that a cold beer would extenuate the ferment that made his heart skip a beat every ten seconds. Now, in typical sense, Eddie had consumed enough beer in his lifetime, that a single one shouldn’t have affected him to the extent at which this one did. But see, Eddie didn’t listen to the wise words of Wayne Munson, and his gurgling, empty stomach rocked him to the edge of tipsiness far quicker than he was used to. 

And before he knew it, his cold fingertips were jamming the buttons to the sequence of Chrissy’s faded pink handwriting, and soon it began ringing- shit, the phone was ringing! Eddie began panicking in place, wavering between hanging up and bringing the phone back to his ear. He hadn’t even planned out what he would say to you. Well, he technically did, it was all that he could think about for the entire day, but each idea seemed unworthy to the standards you deserved, so he’d move on to the next thought, but then suddenly every thought was determined unfit by Eddie. Should he apologize? Fuck, of course, he should apologize, but for what first? Calling you a miserable bitch? An attention-seeking slut? Making a scene in the cafeteria? Yelling in your face? Making you cry? Jesus Christ, thinking it out loud, why on Earth would you ever accept his apology?! He should just hang up before it’s too late-

“Hello?”

Eddie Munson’s knees buckled.

He carelessly gripped the edge of his wooden table, and slowly steadied himself into the chair below. He should speak, but no words were coming out. His knuckle flew into his mouth, where his teeth brandished the tender skin with harsh indents. It was painful, but he couldn’t stop. 

You spoke so featherly soft, too delicate for his usual orotund tone. The one he’d use to berate you. “Um, hello?”

“H-Hi…” He pierced out, immediately cringing at the sudden loudness he uncontrollably spoke in. “It’s, uh- well, it’s me, um… Eddie.”

It was dead quiet for what felt like an eternity. 

No word, no squeak, no air. You were obviously holding your breath, and the mere thought was tearing at Eddie’s heart. “Please.” It came out so weak. “Please, Eddie, I don’t wanna start anything.” 

His stomach dropped, and his hands shook with how scared you sounded. You were scared of him. In the couple of instances he interacted with you, he scared you. Because to you, he brought harm. It may not have been physical, but it was detrimental, nonetheless. And you were scared. He was becoming the sole person he did not want to become, because he knew what it was like to be scared. 

“No, no, sweetheart,” he let out a shaky sigh, “I’m not gonna do anything. I promise.” He wanted to profusely vomit. It was the same words his dad had uttered to his bruised mom in order to sweet talk her out of leaving.

“I told you to leave me alone, Eddie.” You choked quietly. It was dinner. Your father was downstairs enjoying his takeout. Not yours. He stopped caring to ask the minute you refused to leave your bedroom. “I don’t even care how you got my number, but I need you to not call-”

“No, I know, sweetheart, but I really just need to talk to you.” His knuckles were casting white upon the tight grip he clutched the phone, as his lips brushed the bottom speaker in whispers. His other hand began insistently picking at the old wood of the kitchen table. Wayne would have a word with him about that. “I- what I did, I really need to tell that I’m sorry, because I truly am sor-”

“Eddie,” You gently interrupted, no energy to scream at him like your mind was begging you to do, “I don’t want your apology.” You sniffled. “If it really meant that much to you, you would have never done it to begin with, because I- I would have never done this to you. I would have never done this to you.”

His eyes clenched shut to mitigate the profound stinging of his eyes from the welling of tears his heart was urging to spill for you. He knew the probability of you accepting his apology was low, but his mother always seemed to accept his father’s after he sweet talked his way out of a domestic abuse charge. This is what was supposed to happen, right? You should be loving his words and running to forgive him, right? It was what he saw. It was what he experienced. It was what he was conditioned to believe. But you weren’t his mother. And he’d desperately do anything to not be his father. Yet everyday, the image in the mirror was sneering back that sickening smile that destroyed Eddie’s childhood. So you weren’t going to run in his arms. You were going to stand your ground, just like he wished his mother had done to his father. 

“Please, sweetheart.” A gritted through his tense jaw, as a tear stained his reddening cheek. “Please.”

“I don’t want anything to do with you, Eddie.” There was no admonish to your words, in fact, you were so demure, holding back tears of your own, because he knew the ugly truth that you were well aware of the fact that if you screamed, he’d scream. And you’d, once again, be scared. “Just let me be, please. I don’t want you near me.”

The buzzing of the cutting line shot his bullet in his heart.

Your voice was gone, and yet, the phone stayed glued to his ear in hopes that he was just imagining it all. You didn’t hang up. You were still on the line. You would take back your words. You would accept his apology. But your euphonious voice never appeared again, and Eddie aggressively slammed the phone back on the hook with a grunt of frustration. The heel of his palms stabbed into his weeping eyes, as his shoulders assertively shook with every choke of his tightening breath. Rejection, heartache, vexation, and patheticism rampaged his mind from any calamity, and before he knew it, the characteristics he so badly hated about himself were being proffered up to the surface of his being. 

In truth, this was the scary aspect of Eddie Munson that resembled the harm he was verbally and physically ingrained with as a tragic child who knew of no hope. All rationale was gone, and wrongful devotion rooted in his deepest fear of being neglected with disregard had overtook his judgment. Standing with all fury, his finger’s strained through the excessive flexing of joints before his balled fist broke through the drywall of his trailer. His knuckles split with blood, but it felt deserving to him. Who was Eddie Munson without the infliction of pain? Absolutely nobody, he affirmed in his mind. He was meant to suffer. 

Chest heaving, beads of sweat pebbled his forehead, and the fridge door broke open. His truculent, battered hand grappled onto the torn yokes of the remaining three beers, hauling them, as his other hand reached for the keys to his van.

Eddie Munson was about to cause more harm. 

-

“Please, jus hol’ on f’me…” His drenched lips slurred with beer, as his hand crushed the empty can he haphazardly threw into the passenger seat, where his growing collection stacked. 

In the grand scheme of things, Eddie knew he was attesting to the predisposition of his role in this town, but he couldn’t help it. A lowlife, criminal, an irascible danger to society. Would you actually accept him? No, you wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t blame you. But he couldn’t stand the pre-conceived notion he’d confirmed about himself to you, and he was in desperation to speak to you. Unfortunately, Eddie had panicked, and this was happening in the ugliest, most horrifying and sinister state he’d ever been in. And you would see it all.

As lucky as one can be under the influence while driving, the cracked roads had fortunately been desolate, as nuclear families gathered around their pristine tables to lavish in the draining emotional labor of home cooked meals by their underappreciated wives. He rejected all red lights and street signs, stampeding through neighborhoods, drifting past turns, and steadily accelerating until he’d approached the spotlighted sign of Pinecrest Acres. The affluence—actually the beer and sharp curves—made his stomach turn in disgust. The aristocrats of Hawkins housed together, where they frolicked with no worries in the prolific assortment of two-stories, pool houses, parterres, and vintage cars, all while the struggling families of Forest Hills had to huddle with worn blankets to survive the blistering winters of Indiana. Ronald Reagan’s conservatism sure had an ascendancy on this place. He came to an abrupt stop after his headlights reflected the engraved 630 of your mailbox. “6… 3… 0 Pinecrest fucking Acres.” He mumbled.  

His tire ran over the curb of your street before he pulled the keys from the ignition. For a second, he stopped. His breathing was becoming suffocating, as his chest fervently raised with each depth of an inhale. His hand found the door handle faster than his mind could process, and soon he was stumbling on inebriated legs to the front lawn of your house. Honestly, if your dad had found him, he would have shot him, but the man had driven himself into bed after downing the entirety of his rum. 

Eddie’s eyes scaled the height of the house. “Fuck me.” Maybe he shouldn’t have chugged four beers. He cleared his throat. His joints echoed in a rhythmic sequence of pops, as he pressed and twisted his fingers to loosen up. A guttural groan escaped as his neck was next, snapping it left to right to ease out any crooks. His breaths stammered in unprecedented waverness, as his ears ached through the thudding sounds of his beating heart that seemed to be amplified in his mind. Jaw ticking. Hands shaking. Mouth dried. Body sweating. What the hell were you going to do when he’d shown up without your consent? In fact, you explicitly said to leave you alone. “Shit, shit, shit.” Eddie wanted to cry. Should he knock? No, your dad would call the cops. Would you call the cops? He sure as hell would if a drunk man harassed his yard. 

But then, his stomach sank to his ass. 

The one room that had been illuminated by the glowing overhead light had accentuated your silhouette. You. It was fucking you. In your room. Where you stayed, where you studied, where you slept, where you’d been crying and chose stoicism to numb the pain of everything around. But everything had happened quickly, and soon, you were gone with a sharp close of your curtains. 

Eddie’s legs began working without thought, and he’d swiftly aligned himself with the window to your room, tramping the trimmed garden of crumpled rose bushes beneath his dirty sneakers. Your house had been complemented by the standing trellis that had been wrapped by vines of delicate nature. If there was any sign of either moving forward or leaving, the intricate trimming of your house perfectly starting where your trellis ended meaning Eddie had leeway to make it to your window, meaning Eddie’s intoxicated mind saw it was a passage to see you. “Jus do it f’her, do it f’her…” Regrettably, the rational part of his brain had fallen under the influence, which was screaming at him to just leave you alone. 

As stealthy as a drunk man could, Eddie prayed the trellis could hold his weight, as he began scaling the flimsy wood against your wall. All he could think about was you. Every step was for you. Every splinter was for you. Every stumble was for you. Yet his clouded judgment could not process the fact that you didn’t want any of this. But the bottom of his shoe was already scuffing the white trimming of your house, and he was hoisting himself to stand upon the hipped edge roof. Crouched and begging his intoxication didn’t drop him from the second story, he quietly approached the dormer of your window. 

His fingertips gently caressed the glass with great scrutiny. It was now just dawning on him as to what he’s just done. The danger he’s put himself and others in. The disrespect he’s inflicted upon you. The hurt. The knock was soft, barely comprehensible. You had ignored it, there was always noise. You tightly cuddled a bundle of your duvet, sinking yourself into the wallow of your bed in hopes of willing yourself to a serious need of sleep. But the noise continued. More apparent. More concerning. 

You jolted at the clearest indication of a set of knocks cascading against your window. 

Your heart began racing beyond compare, as the noise followed just outside. It was night, no one should be coming to your house, let alone your window at 9:27 p.m. And the one man you should have had full reliance on was currently passed out in his locked bedroom, where you knew awakening him would lead to a revile of the burden you’d become in his life. He said it when you were nine, and he’d freely say it again if you gave him a headache from his usual hangover. 

But suddenly, the trembling of your body succumbed when you heard it. 

“H-hello…”

Blindsided by the simple greeting, you stumbled out of bed with stupefaction that he would actually show up. Eddie. You ran to your window, swinging the curtains open to reveal him. Round, reddened eyes oozing with plead, as his hand pressed against your window. His heart sank at the look of disgust that his face garnered from you. He hated it. He hates your disheveled hair, your bagging pajamas, your wobbling lip. He hates you. He hates how perfect you were. Why the fuck were you so fucking perfect? 

You made out the shaky “please” that left his mouth. 

Opening the window swiftly, the cold breeze of the night engulfed you, as he helped you lift. “What are you doing here?!” You were quick to spit with spite.

“I-I,” upon seeing you, his eyes had an instant reaction to start welling for the shit he was putting you through, because he knew what he was wreaking was pure havoc in the normalcy of your life, “I just really needed to t-talk to you.” He managed to choke out.

His hot breath hit you like a truck, proffering memories of what a humid house party smelt like. “Are you drunk right now?!” He could only shamefully nod with closed eyes. “And you drove here?!” Another disgrace to his character. “Are you insane?!”

“M’so sorry… M’so fucking sorry, please, I-I jus- I jus-”

“You could have hurt somebody, Eddie!” Though whispered, it carried all the beratement of your anger. “You could have killed yourself!”

“I know!” He wailed with guilt. “I jus- I feel like m’losing my mind, because I need to fucking fix what I did. What I did to you! M’so sorry.” Your hands caught your head in anguish. You hated him, every being in your body wanted to shout at him, and yet, your heart was tormenting at the state he was in. And you fucking hated that you couldn’t hate him how you wanted- how you deserved. “M’sorry, I-I can leave and I swear I won-” 

“You’re not fucking leaving like this, Eddie, you’re gonna get hurt.” You began tearing in frustration.

“Nonono, p-please don’t cry-”

He tried to reach out to you, but you slapped his comforting hands away, forcing him to lose his balance, before you had to steady him yourself. “You’re just saying that because you know you’re the cause.” You mumbled far too low for his drunk brain to process, while you held a tight grip around his wrist.

At an attempt to pull him in, his heavy, limp body contorted trying to bypass your window alcove, brandishing it with the streaks of his dirty shoes, and it took all your strength to stumble him onto your bed with a huff. Having him sit in place, you kneeled in front of him to get a good look at his face through the peering moonlight. He looked beyond exhausted, a testament to the agony of contrition he’s been eaten by for what he’s done to you. His eyes wholly swollen with irritation and tears that stained his flushed cheeks, as everything around him felt like it was burning hot. You couldn’t yell at him. At this state, ambushing him with an onslaught of curses and shouts would only project him into a disposition of vindication in order to protect himself. And that side of Eddie Munson was scary.

“Eddie,” you sighed, as his hanging head managed to meet your round eyes and quivering lips. “You cannot do this again. Do you hear me? You’re scaring me.” He vehemently shook his head, as his hands were quick to cover his face with shame to shield from the embarrassment he was consumed by. You pulled his arms away. “No, Eddie, I need you to say it; that you won’t do this to me again.”

“I-I… I won’t do this to you a-again- m’sorry. I won’t touch you, I promise, M’not my dad.” He sobbed. 

You sighed in defeat. “What- why would you even do this in the first place? What are you talking about?” You pleaded to understand, as tears constricted your eyes. 

There’s so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t know where to start. “I fucking need to fix what I did to you. I didn’t mean it, any of the shit I said to you. Being around is just so nice that I get afraid. I don’t want to lose you… a-as a friend, because- because nice things don’t happen to me, and I don’t know what I would do if I lost-” His breath had caught up to him, making him retch on nothing but tears and snot.

“Breathe, okay, Eddie, just breathe.” You quietly instructed, as he endeavored to follow suit. Your hands softly took hold of his, trying to ameliorate the violent shakes of his stiffening body, fingers delicately locking to find solace within his. And he held back so tightly. 

“Nobody- nobody’s ever cared like you have.” He whimpered. 

“So why treat me like this?” You mewled, sinking your teeth to discontinue the incoming sobs that stung your throat. 

“Because I don’t fucking deserve you-” You were quick to immediately shush him, as your father was merely a couple doors down. “Sorry, but I can’t fucking like you, Y/N.” He murmured through a quivering lip. His mind was spewing his feelings, the one he so badly wanted to ignore, but alas, his intoxicated state was regrettably telling all. “I can’t, it hurts too much. Knowing- knowing you don’t belong with me, I-I can’t fucking hold you, hug you, I c-can’t.”

“Eddie, you could have just talked to me.” You softly cried.

“No.” He looked so terrified. “I can’t fucking hear you ignore me. I-I know you don’t like me-”

“You don’t know that-”

“Fucking look at me, Y/N.” He bawled. “Look at what I’m doing to you. You don’t fucking deserve this. M’not a good person. I hurt you. I fucking hurt you.”

“I just wished you would have given me a chance, and talked to me, Eddie.” You squeezed his hands.

“No, I don’t want to burden you.” He cried with heavy breaths. “There’s things I wanna say to you- do with you, but I should just be letting you live free from me. No one cares about what I have to say, and you know it.” He begged for you to get it. “All that bullshit about communication doesn’t mean anything when it comes to me. No one wants to hear me. No one wants me.”

Your heart shattered at the revelation because it was beyond the definitions of truth. From childhood, Eddie Munson knew he was nothing if not a punching bag to his father, a therapist to his mother, an obligation to his uncle, and a burden to everyone. It became unwarrantedly embedded into a six-year-old boy and vandalized into his twenty-year-old self. He recognized it. Everyone affirmed it. 

You raked your hands from his hold, choosing to sit next to him on your bed, where your arms inundated him into a hug he had not received in years. The last close touch given to Eddie Munson left him weeping with a broken nose. He immediately fell into your embrace, shoving his head in the comfort of your neck, where his cries only amplified with the desperation of being touched lovingly. Your own tears had dampened his unruly head of hair, as you caved into him. His heavy arms constricted you tightly. 

At this moment, you were not scared of Eddie Munson. You’d seen his reasoning and you understood. Not excused, but understood. A lot of people had simply scared him first.

“I hear you, Eddie. I want to keep hearing you.”

-

“Eddie?” You whispered into his curls.

It’d been an hour of nonstop wails of distress, years of pent up emotions, and the realization that his being could be accepted. Even if it was just for tonight. His eyes had endured a rollercoaster of feelings, and they soon gave up on holding him awake. You didn’t move. He didn’t move. A tight hug that was necessary for both of you after heavy stoicism from neglect in your own unique ways. 

You caressed his head. “Eddie?”

He was out. You let out a shaky breath of relief. Carefully maneuvering his body, you gently laid his head onto your pillow, prying his strong arms from your waist where they refused to let go, bunching the fabric of your sweater. But you managed to escape his needy hold. Huffing lightly, you carried his legs onto your bed, deciding to let his shoes dirty your clean blankets. His arms had subconsciously gotten comfortable, splaying out against your mattress, where he fell into deep relaxation in comparison to the lumpy bed he’d succumb to back home. You took sight of the fading ink across his hand, your information decorating his alabaster skin with the all too familiar pink of Chrissy Cunningham’s pen. You wondered how the hell that conversation had gone down. You tenderly eased his arms from the malaise of his jacket, bringing the denim and leather infused with cheap cologne and cigarettes up to your nose. It was Eddie. Soothing the beloved jacket against the back of your desk chair, a small paper had dropped from the nearly torn pocket. Reaching out, you picked up the torn page from Dustin Henderson’s yearbook.

Though, no other student could be seen. It was ripped haphazardly to only focus on your picture. 

You.

Eddie Munson had now seen you, as you had now seen him. 

Softly placing the photo back, you rummaged through your closet to retrieve another set of duvets and blankets, where you preciously placed them onto the floor of your bedroom. Your bed had now been stolen, but you weren’t complaining—that much, at least. You’d quietly taken another pillow from your bed, placing it onto your newfound cushion of the floor. There was a reason why you shoved this particular blanket into the closet, it made your skin itch uncomfortably, but you’d withstand the terrible material of the woven covers if it meant that Eddie could get the peace he needed. 

Because if Eddie was okay, you’d be okay. 

Because similarly to Eddie, who were you if not catering to the needs of others in order to keep sanity in your life. You just wanted stability. True stability. 

Cuddling into your blankets, you heard the snores of the past out man next to you. You sighed. In the mere three days of knowing Eddie Munson, you accepted the emotional labor that came with his damaged self. But that was okay. Because Eddie Munson seemed ready to do the same for you. Accept you.

But how willing were you to tolerate the impulsivity of Eddie Munson who knew nothing of stability?

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | Again, there was an error in my tag list, which led me to removing it. Luckily, it’s been a couple days, so I believe most who wished to be tagged already read this chapter. My tag list will continue, I just simply had to remove it for this chapter in particular. I’m terribly sorry for any confusion.

[endless-ineffabilities]

Maroon (part five)

modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

When the silence came, we were shaking blind and hazy How the hell did we lose sight of us again?

themes/warnings : angst, Aemond is a bit of an ass who needs therapy, jealousy, miscommunication

word count : 4k

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The Dragonstone ball continues to unfold... Will Aemond ever be able to redeem himself after tonight? Will the reader let him back in?

“... to these three, Strong boys.”

Aemond’s declaration brings the room into a state of silence, everyone in collective surprise. 

It is a known truth. One shared among people in hushed tones and averted eyes. But not like this. Never openly, in this way.

Aemond lingers on you, before something - or someone - cuts through in the corner of his vision. Gasps erupt across the hall. 

It’s Luke, who reaches Aemond in a flash and disarms him with a rough shove. Aemond barely budges, but is forced to take a step back, his chair skidding loudly across the floor. He laughs menacingly, and simply watches as his nephew makes another move. It doesn’t take long before the security team springs into action. Mr. Westerling puts a hand to Luke’s chest, halting his determined motion. 

“Not here, son.” His voice is gruff and commanding. The members of the high table look on, aghast. But Aemond stands still with a smirk on his lips. He raises his glass and takes a confident sip, all whilst staring Luke in the eye.

“You’ve crossed the fucking line,” Luke seethes.

“Have I?” Aemond croons. “I only speak the truth. I was merely expressing how proud I am of my nephews.”

“Aemond, that is enough,” Alicent pleads, wary of the prying attention from the onlookers. 

“It’s the truth, isn’t it, mother?”

“Not in front of all of these people.” Alicent doesn’t confirm her son’s statement, but she doesn’t deny it either, and Rhaenyra is quick to note this.

“Enough!” Viserys bellows, and all heads turn to the sound. “The feast… shall commence. Everyone, we apologise for this commotion. You see, this is why family reunions are not to be taken lightly.”

A nervous bout of shared laughter echoes. A line of servers rush out of the corner of the hall, platters of all sorts in their arms. Aemond’s outburst will be ignored. For now. 

His jaw is taut, arms tense on his sides like a viper still preparing to strike. You look down and notice that you’ve latched on to Jace’s arm in a death grip, your nerves getting the best of you. 

It doesn’t help that it’s the first thing Aemond sees when he turns his attention back to you. It’s enough to divert his thoughts from Luke’s provocation. As you move to sit back down along with the rest of the table, he swiftly strides over to you determinedly, weaving his way past the servers. 

“May I speak with you for a moment?” Aemond leans down, whispering. You hear a sense of urgency in his tone, or perhaps his mood is still heightened, his composure strained from the previous argument. 

Jace turns his head, and addresses Aemond with a passing glare, but doesn’t say anything. He leaves the choice up to you.

“Can’t this wait?” You whisper back, pausing to smile in thanks at the server who sets down a dish in front of you. “I don’t think I have anything to say to you right now, Aemond.”

“Please, darling,” he implores, still polite. But he knows that one way or another, he's going to have his moment with you.

You take a deep breath, sharing a look with Jace, and he merely nods in acknowledgment. To hell with it. 

“I’ll be back in 5 minutes,” you tell Jace. The entire hall is occupied with the feast, and they barely notice when Aemond leads you down an adjacent hallway, then through the side doors. You wonder what his date thinks of this, or if she has even noticed that he left. By the determined way he moves, you doubt whether he even cares.

His hand is at the small of your back, guiding you. Electricity shoots up your spine. Briefly, you consider if you should go back to the hall where it's safe, and it causes your steps to falter.

He appraises you for a moment, waiting.

“Where are we going, Aemond?” you finally ask.

“There’s a balcony just round there - ”

“This is far enough,” you gesture at the empty hallway. “I said I would only take 5 minutes.”

“That’s not long enough,” he protests right away, oddly sounding like a petulant little boy.

“Well, tough.”

He inhales sharply, biting his tongue as he wants to placate you. He wants to make you understand. 

He starts to speak, but you cut him off at the same time.

"Darling, I - "

“I don’t know why,” you shake your head at him, at the whole situation, “you do this. Maybe it is because of the accident, sure. I get that. It’s fucked up, what happened. But you shouldn’t have shut me off. I waited for you.” You step forward, and press your hand to his chest. You feel his faint heartbeat resounding beneath. “I didn’t even know what I was waiting for, or for what. But I did.”

He places his hand atop yours, holding it to himself. He did not anticipate that you would be so forward, and it catches him off guard. Whatever ill-prepared speech he had gets caught in his throat. “I didn’t know what to do,” he musters. “I didn’t think you would… still want me.”

Ridiculous. How could I not? “That’s just… an excuse.” Your thought makes itself known. The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement, briefly, before his brows furrow as if something in his line of thinking cast a shadow over what should be a nice sentiment. 

“Is it?” he queries, almost mocking. “Look at me. Look at what I almost did back there. You’ve known me for a while, darling, but perhaps you’ve not known me long enough to know how rotten I truly am.”

There’s a menacing glint in his eye, one you’re sure you haven’t truly seen before. Not until tonight’s incident at the hall, and now that it’s being directed at you, you struggle to come to terms with how it makes you feel. 

Is this who he really is? Was the Aemond you’ve known a persona he so conveniently wore in the time he met you?

But you cannot ignore that part of you, maybe even greater and strong enough to trump your worries, which knows that you have seen who he is. You’ve always known. Through hints and whispers. And you wanted him anyway.

Aemond’s only ever this gentle around you, everyone said. 

Why would he be? What could he ever have gotten out of it? What else, but you?

You say nothing, merely watching the storm in his blazing blue eye. His sneering expression softens, suddenly conscious at how you seem to study him. At how your eyes greedily rake over his face, taking him in like you haven’t been able to in a long while. 

After those long and tortuous weeks apart, this is the first time you get to look at him without any distractions. Without the commotion of the ball. Without him trying to hide. 

“Then show me,” you finally say.

He makes a surprised noise. His usual hum, but lilting. 

Maybe you can blame it on that damned firewine, or you’ve gone insane, because you didn’t expect you would be so gutsy at this moment. But before you can question where your newfound bravery came from, and before your nerves from earlier can resurface, you raise your hand and let it hover over his leather eyepatch. 

He hums again, this time low in his throat. A warning. 

Your fingers make contact, ghosting over the smooth surface. You wince internally as you also touch a patch of his scar right under. You don’t even want to imagine how much pain he was in. You can’t, or you’ll lose all your nerve, and likely start crying. 

Keep it together, now.

Aemond remains unmoving, a feat considering his pounding heartbeat. He lets you continue, and ignores the instinctive twitch in his palms that compel him to push your hand away. 

When your thumb runs over the bottom ridge of his eyepatch, you catch his eye. “Aemond,” you whisper, asking for permission.

You barely lift his eyepatch when his hand wraps around your wrist in a vice grip, halting any movement. You look at him questioningly, searching, but his expression stays the same. Lips pursed in a tight line, jawline taut. His gaze holding you in place. 

You don’t say anything for a moment, but neither of you show any desire to move away.

You watch as he finally lowers his head, the hand around your wrist gently drifting to cradle your palm against his ruined cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, all false bravado gone. 

“It’s okay,” you say, letting your thumb run gently over his scar. “You don’t have to show me.”

“I want to, I just - ” He looks at you, words left unsaid, but you understand all the same.

“I know,” you smile sadly. “I can wait.”

It’s not long before his arm abruptly drops to his side, causing your hand to fall from his face. 

“You shouldn't have to,” he looks away then, his distant expression returning. “It’s not fair to you. All this waiting.”

You shake your head at the change in his approach. The Aemond you think you know has always been a steady presence, observant and committed to the task at hand. Has he always been this mercurial? 

“Don’t you want me to?” you remark, disbelief lacing your voice. You step even closer, glaring up at him. “Is this why you brought me here? To finally put an end to all of this?”

He doesn’t respond right away, and the bastard just stares at you. His good eye rakes across the planes of your face, falling to your exposed shoulders and the outline of your dress, then back again. If you didn’t know any better, it almost looks like longing, like he actually wants you. 

And it infuriates you even more. 

You decide that - no - he doesn’t get to look at you like that and yet act in the way he does. “Our 5 minutes are up.”

You turn around, your skirts swivelling with the movement. Each step feels decisive, like you’re walking away from something - someone - important. But you do anyway. 

“Wait,” you hear him murmur under his breath, but you don’t let it sway you.

Then you hear his footsteps, heavy and sure. 

“I said wait,” Aemond repeats, commanding. You startle when he gets a hold of your arm, squeezing by the crook of your elbow, bringing you to a stop.

“For wh - ”

The words are stolen from your mouth in a rushed breath, when his lips claim yours. This is not the gentle Aemond you might have known, as he kisses you with an intensity that is bruising and relentless. 

You’re quite sure you had something witty retort prepared, something to put him in his place. Whatever that was, it’s all forgotten as his tongue glides along your bottom lip. As the kiss deepens and you feel the sharpness of teeth. 

“Hmm,” he purrs when he pulls away, and you feel it reverberate low in his chest where your palms are pressed. He connects his forehead to yours, and you’re grateful for it. The feeling of something solid calms the dizzying sensation in your head. 

You barely register the silence that filled the room, as your ears are ringing with the sound of your racing heartbeat and the small breaths that escape his lips. You think to say something and almost do, but then he crashes his lips against yours again. 

Demanding more. 

You feel yourself moving, Aemond guiding your movement, akin to the dance you shared in the great hall. Instinctively, you flinch when your shoulder blades collide with a marble pillar, causing you to bite down on his lip. 

A surprised hiss escapes his lips, followed by a low growl. 

Then, almost predictably, he dons his signature shit-eating smirk. He liked it. 

He hums as he lowers and plants a kiss on your neck, sucking a spot tender. "I think you missed me too, darling." Aemond has become a concoction of smugness and self-loathing, which makes for volatile tendencies as you witnessed in the Great Hall.

This won't make for a steady, healthy, calm affair. You just know it won't. But as he leaves a sure mark on your neck that causes the heat to pool down in your core, none of it matters.

You accept that Aemond is the poison you chose.

Gods, I'm starting to become melodramatic.

"Hmm?" he queries, and you realise that some of your private thoughts might have escaped the confines of your mind.

"Nothing."

He smirks, mostly to himself, gaze levelling with yours. He brings you closer, both hands gripping your waist, until your bodiced chest is pressed to the smooth leather of his tunic. From his height, he can't help but look down and enjoy the view.

A confession springs from his lips, without any hint of shame. "As much as you look good in that dress, darling," his gaze openly rakes over you, like a predator sizing up his prey, "it would look much more suited on the fucking floor."

Oh, damn him to the seven hells.

You’re so caught up in a haze, legs instinctively pressing together as a result of his lustful advances, that the oncoming clatter of heels against porcelain tile is almost imperceptible, but it snaps you out of it anyway.

“Aemond,” you grip his forearms and pry them away from you, having to use a bit more force now.

“Aemond!” Someone’s else voice echoes, closing in. It’s Alys, striding down the hall with sheer confidence. No doubt on her way to reclaim her date.

Her date. Not mine. What the hell am I doing?

You give him a withering look, and he straightens, folding his arms behind him.

“Alys,” he greets her coolly when she reaches the two of you.

“You can’t just run off like that,” she scolds, glancing at you just once before seemingly deciding you’re not worth the time. “They’re taking photos of everyone. You’re my partner. You need to present yourself with me.”

“There’s no rush,” Aemond says. And there truly isn’t. He knows that those bloody photographers would wait endlessly for him, of all people. No matter how long, just so they can get exclusive snaps of what people are deeming the return of the Prince of the City. “Give us a few minutes.”

"You've had more than a few minutes," Alys counters, unrelenting. Anyone else would've spun on their heel already, shirking under Aemond's pointed gaze. But not her. She's learned from having to deal with his moods.

And besides, he took her as his date. He owes her the satisfaction of having this as a part of her image. The city's most wanted bachelor with no one but her on his arm. Call her opportunistic, Alys doesn't care. This is the game, and she will play.

"Sweetheart," she says to you, the name not matching the condescension in her tone, "I believe Jace is looking for you too."

"Right, of course." You take a deep breath before finally walking away, hoping that the flush that's likely on your face doesn't give anything away.

Just before you pass by Alys, she says your name. Bringing a perfectly manicured finger to the corner of her lips, she dabs at it in some sort of gesture. "You've got a bit of lipstick there, sweetheart. Might want to tidy that up."

"Alys," Aemond warns, unamused by how Alys is sizing you up, like you're beneath her.

She knows. Of course she does.

Alys has a sneer that can make anyone feel like nothing but dirt on the sole of her high heels, but you stand your ground, despite the chill running up your spine. Her approach to you now is a drastic change from the friendly and poised confidence she sported when you first met her at the Targaryen penthouse.

Sparing Aemond a cursory glance, you address her with a self-assured smile of your own. "He's all yours. I'll leave you to it."

You feel both of them watch as you walk away. It might be all the glam and the buzz of the ball which leads to your next thought. Vain, but you let yourself have it anyway. Feeling like a runaway princess as your gown billows around your legs.

Aemond isn't yours. It was my mouth against his just a minute ago, his tongue dancing with mine.

When you return to the table, Jace immediately asks how it went, to which you just tiredly shrugged and said, "Uneventful."

He narrows his eyes at you. "You'll tell me later."

In the middle of your meal, Aegon approaches, clearly more sloshed drunk than he was before. Jace just watches him, with the calm recognition that this is not the uncle to watch out for.

"Hello, kids," Aegon leans against the table. He angles his head close to you, like he is about to divulge some secret. "Not that I was checking you out or anything, just saw it from where I was sitting over there and - "

"What do you want, Aegon?" Jace shakes his head, bored with his uncle's antics.

"Alright, alright!" Aegon playfully holds his hands up, wine glass and all. "No hostility from me, nephew. Just letting her know that maybe she should cover up my brother's work."

"What are you on about? Maybe drink some bloody water instead, mmm?" Jace counters.

His brother's work? Oh gods.

Your hand shoots up to your exposed neck, and the tender spot makes itself known as soon your fingers drift above it.

Jace's confused expression disappears when he realizes where your hand immediately went to. "Oh, really?"

You sigh guiltily. Scanning the table quickly, you don't find Aemond there to glare at. He must be posing for the cameras somewhere with his date. You find a friendlier face in Helaena, who catches on to your nervous expression.

She floats over to the small commotion of your little group, practically having to shove Aegon out of the way.

"You alright?" she asks sincerely, and you can't bring yourself to say, everything's fine, but I was wondering if you could lend me some concealer because your dear brother left something on my neck.

Thankfully, you don't have to. Or not thankfully, because Aegon does it for you in a way only he can.

Tapping on his own neck and gesturing to you, he explains, "Aemond's a monster, sis," through a graceless swig of firewine and then, "horny jail for him."

"Actually," he raises his arms like he's making some proclamation, "horny jail for both of you kids. Where is he anyway?"

"Leave it, Aegon." Helaena rolls her eyes, then offers her hand to you. "How about we run to the ladies room and take care of that?"

Thank the gods for Helaena.

"You owe me," she says, as the two of you head to the side of the hall, "and Aegon might be right."

"About what?"

She slaps your arm playfully, and you feign shock but a giggle slips out due to her expression.

"You and Aemond, I swear," she laughs dryly. "He's been even more sullen and emo since the accident - actually, the both of you have been - and now you're back to making out right in the middle of the ball!"

"We weren't - " you start to say, but you're met with Helaena's don't-you-dare kind of glare.

"It's your brother's fault, you know," you shrug as you enter the ladies room.

"Oh, I know," Helaena nods, pulling what she needs out of her purse. Right before she dabs concealer to the purplish spot on your neck, she can't help but smirk and add, "but still... horny jail for you."

- - - - - - - - - - 

Aemond doesn't know how much more of this he can take.

The cameraman clicks again, the damned flash is enough to blind his remaining eye.

Alys, being Alys, brought her own personal photographer to the ball. Which is fine, all things considered. She does this for every ball, every year. Aemond's well versed in her ways.

But for some reason, now it's driving him to be more irate.

She positioned them in a partially hidden alcove at the back of the hall. Something to do with a painting she wants to get captured as the background. But it's taking too long, and Aemond can sense the attention of some guests being piqued.

If they ask to take photos with him, too, Aemond just might pull off a runner and abandon the bloody ball.

But not without you.

Where were you anyway? One second you were at the table, then the next you were trailing after Helaena back out of the hall.

At least it was his sister you are with, and not Jacaerys. Or gods forbid, that degenerate Stark boy.

It wouldn't matter to Aemond that he's not his father's top boy, his most precious heir. Whatever pull he has with the Dragonstone empire, he will use against Winterfell Limited, if Cregan Stark ever thinks he can have his way with you.

He catches himself, mid-thought.

And she still thinks I'm not rotten.

"Aemond," Alys lightly digs her nails in his arm, smiling through gritted perfect teeth. "Smile, why don't you?"

"I am."

"Just one more."

So he does. Barely. But it's enough to placate her, and she quickly sifts through the photos.

Almost on instinct, like he's a moth drawn to your flame, he spies you and Helaena making your way back in the hall. Arm in arm, laughing to each other. You bite your lip as you lean in and whisper something in her ear, which makes her shake her head and laugh even harder.

Several heads turn as you pass by, and Aemond can't really blame them.

"Just like that," Alys says out the blue.

"What?" Aemond turns to her, unaware that she stands beside him once more, her photographer already dismissed.

"If only you smiled like that for our photos," she says. "It looks good on you."

Was he smiling? He didn't even notice.

You turn your head just before sitting back down at the table, and catch his eye even as he stands near the end of the hall.

You always will.

Aemond smiles.

- - - - - - - - - - 

preview: part six

You hear it. There's someone at your front door. Living alone has never given you much anxiety before, and you didn't think it would start tonight. But who could be knocking at your door past midnight, when you didn't buzz anyone in? You were never on close terms with your neighbours, either. 

You sit on your couch looking like a deer in headlights, staring at the door like it's supposed to silence the knocking. 

When did you get so wary? It could be Jace. It could be Helaena. But then again, they're not the type to show up unannounced. And also, you would have buzzed them -

Aemond's voice calls out your name, quieting your worries. 

You can sense hesitance in his tone. Almost embarrassed. Like he knows he shouldn't be here. 

"Aemond?" you find your voice, and go to open the door. You start to ask him just what the hell he's doing here, but the words get caught in your throat. 

"Hi, darling," he says weakly, obviously tired. "I didn't know where else to go." 

Something resembling a gasp escapes your lips when you fully take in the fresh bruise blooming under his right eye, in angry shades of maroon and violet. The skin split slightly, but thankfully his eye is untouched.

"Aemond, what - "

"Can I come in?"

Series taglist: @caught-in-the-afterglow @aemondtargaryensrider @punggo66 @dollfaceyourfear @candypurplebutterfly @moonmaiden1996 @mxrgodsstuff @lolitaisreal @blue-serendipity @melsunshine @thejanecampaign @fxngsfxgxrty @padfooteyes @msmarvel-19 @tempo-rary-fix @lauraneedstochill @julczimozart @sarcasticfangirl @witchyv @pyjama-shorts @bellaisasleep @zillahvathek @thincrusttheworks @krispold @yougotthatlove @raging-panda @fleetingly-artistic @throughgoeshamilton @polireader @katsav17 @minttea07 @kravitzwhore @meggiemay82 @hedonefox @daenysx @schniiipsel @namoreno @afro-hispwriter @aemondswifeisme @emcharra @malfoytargaryen @iiamthehybrid @fullmetalriotts @kellzlib @justsumtuffstuff @daydreamy-me @yentroucnagol @kezibear @queenofshinigamis @paprikaquinn

oh, Maroon...

My Aemondfire is decisively back <3 expect more of our favourite boy.

[clare-875]

One touch (Levi x Reader)

_____

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader Summary: When you find yourself cornered, Levi saves you Warnings: angst to fluff, sexual harassment/assault, men being pigs, Levi swearing Note: The above image does NOT belong to me [AOT Masterlist]

_____

I'm used to it. That was what kept you unflinchingly moving past them, even when their dirty words were hushed in the air. I'll ignore it. Those were the words you chanted to yourself, so you could get through the day without nausea and rage dictating your actions, even as they tried to gather your attention. There's nothing I can do. That was the notion you fell into as you made excuses for your lack of action, your lack of saying anything about the matter, even or maybe especially to Levi. But despite the constant rhythm of your words reverberating through your head, it didn't change the fact that you couldn't escape. You couldn't escape them.

Every day these past weeks, high-ranking officers from deep within the walls had come to Scout Headquarters; for what you didn't know. Perhaps it had to do with rising suspicions on the integrity of Erwin, and thus they were sent to merely observe or criticize. Perhaps it was the rising stakes now with Eren and his ability to become a Titan prompting more eyes pointed our way. Whatever it was you did not care. But somehow it still had everything to do with you. You were well known both within the Scouts and in the general public: The one that could keep up with humanity's strongest soldier; Levi. But you were also known for other traits, mostly the way you visually stood out amongst a crowd. It never bothered you how "distracting" this could be, but never had you thought it would cause you the trouble it did now.

Each time you passed the higher ranking officers, yet to face any consequence by your fist or your words, they would start to whisper. Scouts knew better than to mess with you, not only as a Captain of the Scout Regiment who commanded respect but by the partner of Levi. They knew what would happen if he heard even a glimmer of disrespect and god forbid the heinous acts of the higher-ranking officers who taunt you now. Their voices had grown louder with the passing days, bolder by the power they yielded. Yes, their power; their status. Had it been any other low-ranking officer he would've hit the dirt before the next sly comment left his mouth, but you could scarcely do anything to them. The Scouts were already on high alert, and you couldn't make matters worse. What you failed to realise was that their boldness would soon seep not only into their disgusting words but into their actions. You got used to the suggestive comments you got as you passed. You kept your head high, unflinching as you walked; as though you had heard nothing at all.

But you weren't used to this.

They had you cornered, about five of them.

Your heart churns more in disgust than fear, you would result to that much less willingly; you wouldn't give them what they so obviously wanted. "I'm sorry, but I have to be on my way Erwin will-" You try to maintain the benefit of the doubt, not that there was doubt in the first place; you knew what they wanted. "Erwin can wait, can't he darling?" A hand of one man reaches out towards you and you grit your teeth, bile rising in the back of your throat at their intentions. You can see it in the depths of their sinister eyes; their lust. You smack his hand away before it goes to caress your face and you see the first break of the facade; a flash of irritation on the first man's face. "I hope I'm not misunderstanding here gentlemen, but it seems you want something I won't offer." Two more men come from behind the first, shit-eating grins on their faces at your words.

"You understand just right sweetheart." One grabs your left hand forcefully backwards as you struggle, surprised by his underlying strength. "But don't worry, we'll take care of you." The other man brings his face close to yours as he restrains your right hand to the wall behind you and suddenly, you are encapsulated by panic. You had failed to realise that despite rotting away deep within Wall Sina, these officers still had military training, and were still strong compared to you, especially when you dealt with five. You refused to give in so quickly though, moving to kick one of the men forcefully and you do so, much to your satisfaction. The man groans out in pain, hearing the crack of a rib under the power of your foot. You then move quickly going to rid of the man who looks up in shock at your sudden movements, grip almost faltering on your right wrist. But you are stopped.

The fist that is about to collide with the next man is held back as the first man holds it within his grasp tightly. "Do you really want to do that now sweetheart? Do you know what we could do to the Scout Regiment? Erwin? Levi?" You freeze at his words, chest constricting at the intent behind them. They could bring the regiment to ruins if they so wished, one misleading report could have the Scouts under investigation. Would you be so willing to be the cause? But you would never let these men get away with any of this. You are so lost in your thoughts the four men who still stand use the opportunity to hold you down and your heart lurches in your chest. "W-wait." Your voice is strained against their hold as you feel the tightness of their fierce grip, knowing it will leave bruises. "W-wait! I said n-"

"What the fuck is going on here?"

Suddenly all comes to a halt. Suddenly the grip on your wrists loosens and the four men step away. Never. Never had you felt such relief at the sound of your lover's voice. Levi meets your glossy gaze and instantly his face morphs into one of pure rage; of the deathly intent to kill. His mind is swift at putting the dots together, realising what he had just witnessed. He moves forward grasping one man harshly who stutters out excuses before he is slammed to the ground in one deadly movement. "I asked a fucking question." He then elbows before punching another man against his head, who is knocked out in a second. "Can you guys not listen? Can you shits not hear?" The three remaining men cower under the anger of Humanity's Strongest Soldier. "Fucking pigs, don't touch my woman."

You have never seen the true depths of his strength and his speed until this moment, you have never seen such fear in men's eyes. He moved as if to murder, blood on his knuckles but more that splattered from those he beat up relentlessly. He didn't care who they were, he wouldn't care if one of them were the king of the walls. All he knew was that they touched you. The one he swore to protect. He was relentless. You saw the rebounding forms of the men who yelled out, trying desperately to escape his outrage. You knew of Levi's background; he wasn't above mercy. The men were soon covered, adorned with black and blue, crimson seeping deep upon their skin. But Levi never faltered, there was a mad look in his eyes; one you would only see beyond the walls. Despite wanting to witness their torture as much as Levi wanted to witness their deaths, you knew what would happen if he was left to these men any further so you reached out to him.

"L-Levi."

He responds to your hesitant voice instantly, hears the slight tremble in it and feels hatred brim within him ten-fold. "Levi, please, we can't- we can't." Levi knows what you are trying to say, but only stops when you pull him to your side and he sees the torment deep within your gaze. Scouts scurry around you as they notice the five bleeding men looking in shock at the high-ranking officers who now seem more dead than alive. Their eyes go to Levi and his stained knuckles but he merely stares back at them harshly. "Clean up the blood, now." The Scouts nod quickly at his deathly glare as they scurry to get the supplies. Levi goes to the only man who remains conscious, groaning as he brings him up to his face by his shirt collar. "You look at her, touch her ever again, you're dead, understand?" The man has enough decency to have a flicker of fear flash within his eyes and nod, as Levi drops him to the ground before coming back towards you. His grip is tight on your hand as he drags you away from the scene to which you are still in a daze.

You only seem to register the events that have conspired when you finally reach the room you and Levi shared. Levi was pacing up and down as he turned to you. "How long?" You look up in surprise at the tormented look on his face. "How long [y/n]?" You flinch at his sharpness before looking to the ground. "Weeks- I don't know, since they arrived. I couldn't- I couldn't do anything." There is a deep silence in the room and suddenly you are afraid. Would he berate you now, would you meet his anger? Worse, would you meet his disgust? Unbeknownst to you Levi looks to you in utter defeat, in utter rage at himself. He had promised to keep you safe from all that threatened you and yet you had felt it so necessary to hide your blatant discomfort and pain. All for the sake of the Scouts.

He reaches out, hand skimming yours before he holds it. He witnesses the light bruising of fingers upon your wrist and he fights the urge to go back to the men and finish the job. You look up eyes wide and tears brimming within them. He meets your gaze briefly before moving forward and you are shocked to be in his warm embrace. You lean your head against his chest, emotions suddenly overcoming you. "You should've told me." You shake your head against him gently but his grip is sure as he makes you face him and he sees the sheen of tears in your eyes. Hatred brims within him again at the sight of your afflicted state. "I would've you know, I would've killed them." You sigh deeply, leaning your head against his chest once more in defeat. "You know you can't." But Levi's gaze is far off as he holds you against him. "One touch; you know I would."

Needless to say, once Erwin was informed discreetly of the underlying situation, the men were stripped of their titles and sent away immediately. You never found out if Levi ever stuck to his uttered words but you also never saw the men ever again.

[sughuru]

seventh of december

- gojo satoru x reader

Satoru was never one to celebrate his birthday. Matter of fact, he actually hated it. Except on three occassions.

genres/warnings: fluff, birthday fic, kinda rushed tbh, not proofread

notes: happy birthday gojo, i know you're alive pls come back :((( anyways enjoy, i kinda rushed this bc i still have some school stuff to do so i hope you guys understand! as always, english isn't my first language so pls excuse my grammatical and spelling errors

home | masterlist

--

The seventh of December. A date to remember, a date that will go down in history. This is because it was the day Gojo Satoru was born. Born into the renowned Gojo clan, he is the first in 400 years to possess both the Limitless and Six Eyes. However, that’s all they ever celebrated about. The seventh of December was the day the strongest sorcerer alive was born.

Not merely Satoru's birthday, and he despised that. He loathed how his powers and name were incessantly brought up, dominating every conversation, overshadowing his personality and achievements.

All his life, he hated his birthday except on three occasions. 

The first birthday he ever genuinely enjoyed was celebrated with his high school friends, Suguru and Shoko.

Satoru checked his flip phone and noticed the endless SMS notifications from relatives to clan members he doesn’t even know the face of. He's well aware that these messages are only a formality, driven by respect and perhaps a tinge of fear. Deep down, he understands that some clan members harbor hatred at the fact that his parents were the ones to give birth to the next Limitless and Six Eyes user. He knows they all secretly pray for his downfall. Aside from that, if it wasn’t out of respect or fear, perhaps they wanted or needed something from him.

"Satoru," Suguru called to his friend, who was lost in thought on the sports court. Satoru looked up and acknowledged Suguru with a nod. In response, Suguru mouthed, "Come here," while waving him over.

The white-haired male walked towards Suguru, “hah? What’s this all about?”

Suguru brushed off his friend and kept walking, ignoring Satoru's attempts to get his attention. This annoyed Satoru even more. "Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me!" Satoru whined in the most grating voice imaginable, prompting even Suguru to question why he was friends with him.

Suguru shot a glare at Satoru, “maybe if you just shut up and follow me, we’ll get there sooner.” 

"Why can't you tell me now? Where are we going? Wow, are you here to take me somewhere quiet and kill me there?" Satoru quipped with a sarcastic tone.

"If you don't stop asking questions, yeah," Suguru replied dryly. Satoru rolled his eyes but continued to follow his friend.

Before long, they arrived at their classroom. Suguru opened the door to reveal a sight that surprised Satoru— all their friends were inside wearing party hats. Even Nanami and Ijichi were there.

"Gojo!" Shoko waved excitedly at the tall male. Suguru grinned, saying, "Happy birthday, Satoru," as he patted his friend on the back. He then led Satoru into the room to join the celebration with their friends.

It was a simple birthday, really. Celebrated among friends and closed ones. Nevertheless, Satoru regarded it as one of his favorite birthday memories.

The following year, Suguru left, and once again, he hated his birthday. Shoko was there to celebrate with him but it wasn’t the same without Suguru. After all, the trio did everything together.

“Happy birthday.” Shoko hands him a bag of kikufuku picked up from a store down the street. Before he could thank her, she was already off to treat some first year who got injured on a mission.

Oh right, they’re third graders now. The final year and final step to being a true Jujutsu Sorcerer.

After Suguru left, Satoru met with two kids and took them in. Megumi and Tsumiki, aged five and eight, respectively. While Tsumiki was generally well-behaved, Megumi proved to be a bit troublesome due to his sharp wit and sarcastic nature. Satoru couldn't help but wonder if he had been similarly mischievous as a child.

The second time he enjoyed his birthday was when he went home that day.

“I’m home…?” He was about to call out the kids, but heard someone bustling in the kitchen. Kitchens clanging and the water running.

"Don't touch that, Gojo-san said we shouldn't use the stove!" Tsumiki warned.

"Well, how do we make something before he gets home then?" Megumi interjected.

"Should we just serve it like this..." Tsumiki examined the plate before her. Megumi deadpanned at his older sister, "A banana on a plate?"

“Shhh! I hear him coming!”

Satoru giggled to himself, hearing their whole conversation, he peeked in the kitchen, “woah, what did you guys do while I was gone?”

Tsumiki and Megumi froze before slowly turning around, “s-surprise!” the two said.

"Happy birthday, Gojo-san. Thanks for taking us in!" Tsumiki presented him with... a banana on a plate.

Satoru smiled, charmed by their efforts. "Aw, did you two prepare this for me?" He didn't want to hurt their feelings, and truthfully, he was genuinely touched by their gesture.

“We also have our own gifts too aside from the cake-” 

“Banana.” Megumi corrected.

Tsumiki was the first to present her gift to Gojo. "I hope you like these!"

As Satoru received the gift, he couldn't help but recall the evening a few weeks ago when Tsumiki had asked him to accompany her to get origamis, claiming it was for a school project. Little did he anticipate that those origamis were intended for him. Tsumiki had crafted a jar filled with meticulously folded paper stars, each one carefully placed inside.

Megumi was next, shyly handing Gojo a birthday card. "Happy birthday," he muttered, avoiding eye contact with Satoru. Satoru couldn't help but smile, affectionately ruffling the younger boy's hair. "Oh, you're so cute. Let's see what you drew, hm?"

Opening the card, Satoru observed that Megumi's handwriting had improved. The small card read, "Happy bday Gojo." It was evident that the boy hadn't quite figured out how to spell "birthday" yet.

Satoru promptly hung Megumi's card on the fridge door and placed the jar of stars in a cabinet alongside other souvenirs for display. "Thanks for making my birthday great, guys."

The trio gathered for a photo to commemorate the moment. In the picture, Megumi frowned at the camera while Satoru and Tsumiki beamed with smiles. To this day, that photo remains tucked in Satoru's wallet, a cherished reminder of his first celebrated birthday with the kids.

–

After hearing Shoko and Megumi's stories about how they used to celebrate your boyfriend’s birthday, you found yourself pondering how to surpass the efforts of those two. You bought a small cake from a local bakery shop recommended by Nanami.

“That girl was really nice, I should go visit again next time.” you muttered to yourself as you walked back home. 

Satoru shouldn’t be home for another hour so you got to work. You printed pictures of him in high school, his baby pictures, pictures of him and the kids, students, pictures of you two; you transformed them into small cake decorations. Carefully pasting each one onto a wooden stick, you inserted them into the cake.

"Babe, I'm home." Satoru tossed his keys onto the table and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. "Today was such a long day at work," he whined.

You kissed his cheek. "Aw, is my baby tired?" you cooed, to which he nodded and began smothering you with kisses.

"Well, I hope you're not tired of blowing out some candles." You handed him the small birthday cake adorned with pictures of his face. Satoru's eyes immediately lit up. "You did this all for me?" he exclaimed in pleasant surprise.

"Well, I know it doesn't compare to what Shoko and the kids did, but..." you started to say.

Satoru immediately cut you off, his eyes filled with genuine warmth. "But it's perfect. No comparison needed. This is the best surprise, and it's all from you." He pulled you into a tight hug, expressing his gratitude and affection.

"I can't believe you went through all this trouble for me. You really know how to make a birthday special." Satoru continued, planting a sweet kiss on your forehead.

"Come on, let's have some cake before I start crying from how sweet you are," Satoru teased, leading you over to the table.

As you both enjoyed the cake, adorned with those little memories on sticks, Satoru couldn't help but comment on each photo. "Ah, high school me, can't believe you found these. And look at Megumi's grumpy face, classic!" His laughter filled the room, creating an atmosphere of joy and celebration.

As the evening unfolded, you exchanged stories, shared laughs, and basked in the warmth of the moment. It might not have been as elaborate as previous celebrations, but the personal touch made it uniquely special. Satoru couldn't stop expressing his gratitude, making you feel that all the effort was more than worth it.

"There's one more thing," you said, leaving the table briefly and returning with a bag. "It's not the best, but..."

You handed him the bag, and as Satoru peeked inside, he found a red scarf carefully knitted by you. His eyes widened, and a genuine smile spread across his face as he ran his fingers over the soft fabric.

"Did you make this?" he asked, with admiration in his voice. The warmth in his eyes showed just how much he appreciated the thoughtful gesture. "I love it, thank you." He wrapped it around his neck, a cozy addition to the perfect birthday surprise you had prepared for him.

The seventh of December. A date to remember, a date that will go down in history. This is because it was the day Gojo Satoru was born. Born into the renowned Gojo clan, he is the first in 400 years to possess both the Limitless and Six Eyes. However, that’s all they ever celebrated about. The seventh of December was the day the strongest sorcerer alive was born. Not merely Satoru's birthday, and he despised that. He loathed how his powers and name were incessantly brought up, dominating every conversation, overshadowing his personality and achievements. All his life, he hated his birthday except on three occasions.

The first occasion was when Suguru surprised him with his friends. The second was when the kids, Megumi and Tsumiki, brought a touch of innocence and joy to the day, making it about connection and family.

And now, as the day came to a close, the third occasion unfolded. You, with your thoughtful surprises and genuine affection, turned a day usually marked by the weight of power into a celebration of love and connection. Satoru found something he hadn't expected — a day to cherish, not for his abilities, but for the people who chose to celebrate him simply for being him. Satoru no longer hates his birthday, and he looks forward to his upcoming birthdays.

[heartfeltcherie]

Lucifer x shy Baker reader

very first lucifer story and i can’t tell if i like it or hate it lol but i hope u guys enjoy it!! :)

☾. °.   ࿐  ` , •

sugar. butter. flour.

that’s how most of your days went — baking pastries in one of hell’s finest bakeries, serving regular, everyday sinners, to the fanciest overlords of hell. it was tiring work, starting everything from scratch each and every morning and making sure every bite would be the freshest it could be.

you, yourself, weren’t an overlord — just a normal city goer on the streets of pentagram city, doing your job to make a living. even in hell you’re expected to pay rent; but i guess that’s why it’s called hell.

the door chimes, signalling a customer entering your quiet little bakery that smelled of strawberries and sweetness.

“hello, darling” and there he was — lucifer morningstar, the king of hell, himself. you look up from where you were putting the last of your pies in the display case, your cheeks becoming as red as the strawberries you cut up earlier. “oh, your majesty! hello!” you make your way to the front counter, hoping he doesn’t realize how flustered he makes you merely by his own presence.

oh, he absolutely notices. and it feeds his ego tenfold.

he rests his elbow on the counter, resting his chin on the back of his hand.

“i believe i ordered a dozen of your finest cupcakes. shaped like ducks, to be more precise” you chuckle to yourself — who knew the king of hell would get so much enjoyment out of rubber ducks? “let me go get those for you, your majesty”

“oh, dear, there’s no need for formalities. lucifer’s just fine. especially since i’m in here oh-so often” he looks at you with half lidded eyes, raising his eyebrows at you. he knows exactly what he’s doing to you when he speaks in that tone.

you try not to stumble over your own two feet as you get the fancy pink box that has a clear lid, perfectly displaying his highness’s order. you can feel yourself trying not to shake with nerves because satan, he’s so beautiful. “i’m beginning to think you come in here for more than just the sweets i bake” you place the box with fragile goods down in front of him on the counter. lucifer chuckles at your statement, drawing small circles with his pointer finger on your counter. “oh, really? and what makes you say that, hm?”

“i-i don’t know… maybe it’s just an observation, but you come here more than the regulars. and when you do, you usually strike up a conversation with me for hours on end until i have to tell you we’re closed” you chuckle shyly, recalling the countless times lucifer has come in just to talk to you, or give you so many compliments that turn you into a blushing mess.

you don’t understand why he has specific interest in you; he barely knows you, and you him. only in the fairytales in your mind are happily holding hands together.

“oh! haha! that!” he looks nervous, fiddling with his jacket lapels and wiping none existent dirt off his sleeves, not realizing how many times he’s come in just to see you. but he can’t help it, he’s craving the sweetness you give off of lavender and daydreams that it spins him poetic; and he hopes that maybe one day you’ll let him have a taste (you will). “i suppose you just have a way of… drawing me in, i-i guess”

“i just work here, lucifer… you don’t even know me”

“well then, perhaps we should change that then, don’t you think?” you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, tilting your head like a small puppy. lucifer’s heart nearly beats out of his chest. “what do you mean?”

“i meaaan… come by! a-and share some cupcakes with me! and we can also have tea! or chocolate milk! we don’t even have to have the cupcakes! i can get something made for us! michelin-tasting menu, free à la carte!”

you giggle at his excitement and lucifer swears he could listen to that sound for the rest of eternity.

“i-i get off work at five?” you ask with a shy smile, pink dusting your cheeks at the thought of a date with the man you’ve been crushing on for so long. “then i shall see you then, my dear” he kisses the back of your hand with a gentleness that leaves your head spinning as he picks up the box of duck-shaped cupcakes and walks out of your bakery.

please reblog/comment if you enjoyed my work, it’s greatly appreciated ♡

[arcane-vagabond]

By Its Cover: Chapter Two

By Its Cover: Chapter Two

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader (Last Name: Sinclair)

Summary: The frivolity of high society has never much interested in you. You preferred to spend your time reading, something your sisters couldn't fathom as they spent their time shopping the latest dress styles. The youngest of five children and the fourth daughter, not much was expected of you. You knew you might be married one day, but you hoped beyond hope that it would be to someone that might understand your intellectual pursuits. You begin exchanging letters with a mysterious stranger, and what's more, your older brother's rakish best friend seems to find himself in your path more and more as the season goes on. What's a girl to do? (Regency!AU)

Content Warning: Disapproving Mother, Reader gets scolded, Lingering Touches, Suggestive Jokes, Supportive Dad figures, Overprotective Brother, Shameless Sister, Feelings of Inadequacy. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 3.3k

Series Masterlist || Moodboard

You had dozed off at some point in the evening, Mr. Mitchell’s copy of Pride and Prejudice sitting on your lap when the man himself finally came to find you.

“It’s getting late, Bug,” he had whispered, shaking your shoulder as you grumbled your way into consciousness. The older man gave you a kind smile as you blinked the sleep away from your eyes, gazing at him in confusion.

“The party’s just wrapped up,” he chuckled, resting a hand on your shoulder as you slowly remembered who’s library you were sitting in. You turned to Mr. Mitchell with concern clear on your face, and he held a hand up to stop you in your tracks.

“Don’t worry, your mother didn’t notice you snuck away,” he smiled, pulling you up by your hand and offering you his arm. You took it, looping yours through his as he gave you a wink. “So let’s hurry you on downstairs so we can keep it that way, hm?”

You let him escort you back down the stairs, several people still milling about as the ballroom cleared, the servants already beginning their cleaning duties as members of the Island bid each other a pleasant evening. Your mother was speaking with Mrs. Mitchell, a beautiful woman who must have been an even greater beauty in her youth you surmised. Georgiana stood off to the side with William and Lord Seresin, smiling and batting her lashes at the blond who seemed to be pointedly keeping his eyes on your brother.

“Oh, darling!” Your mother exclaimed, rushing towards you with a knit of her brow. “Where have you been, dearest?”

“I found her outside in the garden getting some air,” Mr. Mitchell supplied smoothly, giving your arm a playful squeeze. You shot him a small smile, thankful for his understanding of your dislike for large gatherings. You had never been one for them, if you were being honest, the judging eyes that seemed to follow you wherever you went a constant source of anxiety and discomfort. Your father had always understood, telling you once that he felt the same way about them, and you were glad for Mr. Mitchell during this time as well.

He seemed to be the only one other than your late father and Natasha that understood you, the real you that was. Your mother tried, you knew in your heart she did, but she never seemed to know what to do with you, not like your brother and sisters. You found yourself wondering some days if you should perhaps disappear into the night, start a new life where no one knew who you were or where you came from. You longed for a life where someone saw you for who you truly were, not who you were presumed to be given the Sinclair name. You had thoughts and ideas that only Natasha, and Mr. Mitchell on the rare occasion, seemed to understand, but you knew that the two of them wouldn’t be around forever. Were you destined to a life as some miserable lady of the house whose husband merely saw her as a means to procure an heir and maintain appearances?

“By yourself?” Your mother asked, positively aghast. “Dearest, why would you do such a thing? Think of what could have happened!”

Your cheeks warmed at her scolding, glancing down at the floor and wishing in that moment that it would open wide and swallow you whole. You felt the eyes of everyone on you as you stood there silently, and you chanced a glance up, not expecting to meet jade green ones first. Your breath hitched in your throat as your cheeks warmed even more, a feat you weren’t sure how was accomplished. Lord Seresin studied you, a frown tugging at his lips, but it was the look in his eyes that gave you pause.

No judgement shown in them. It was something you weren’t sure you understood. Curiosity, perhaps? His gaze met yours, and you could have sworn they softened as the two of you looked at one another, your eyes widening and lips parting on their own accord.

“It’s alright, Celine,” Mrs. Mitchell soothed, placing a gentle hand on your mother’s arm, drawing her attention away from you for a moment. The movement broke you from your trance, your head ducking down quickly to avoid making an even bigger fool of yourself than you already had. Though why you found yourself so eager to have the young lord’s approval, you weren’t quite sure, and you were irritated with yourself at the realization.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” you murmured, looking up at her through your lashes. She pressed her lips into a grimace before letting out a sigh.

“See that it doesn’t happen again,” she clucked, though you knew she wouldn’t stay upset with you for long - she never did. Mr. Mitchell gave your arm another squeeze before gesturing towards the now empty room.

“Well, as much as I do love seeing you all,” he started, mirth ever present in his tone. “The hour grows late, and I must insist that you all return home so that I may get my rest.”

“He is quite a crankly, old codger when he doesn’t get enough rest,” Mrs. Mitchell teased, smiling endearingly at her husband. He gave her an affectionate smile in return, beginning to steer you towards the exit.

“It was so lovely to see you all,” Mrs. Mitchell continued as the others began to file out as well, your mother on William’s arm and Georgie on Lord Seresin’s, though you couldn’t help but notice that it seemed his attention was entirely on her. “I’m afraid I can’t walk you out, though. There are some things I need to attend to around the manor.”

“It was lovely chatting with you as always, Charlotte,” your mother smiled, earning one in return.

“Please do come over for tea sometime, Celine,” Mrs. Mitchell said, already heading in the other direction. “I do so enjoy your visits!”

The October night sending a chill up your spine as you pressed a little closer to Mr. Mitchell for warmth.

“I knew I should have brought a cape,” you muttered, earning a chuckle. Your brother offered your mother a hand to step up into the stagecoach, ever the dutiful son. Your sister turned to Lord Seresin with a bat of her eyelashes and curl of her lips.

“I do hope we’ll be seeing more of you, your grace,” she purred, puffing her chest out more than was entirely necessary. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at your older sister, clenching your jaw at her brazen display. If that’s what it took to get a husband, then you most assuredly wanted no part in it.

Lord Seresin cleared his throat, giving her a polite smile that looked entirely too much like a grimace as he dipped his head to her.

“I’m sure I’ll be finding my way to your family’s estate just like old times, Miss Sinclair,” he responded politely, passing her off to your brother who helped her into the stagecoach. You moved to follow, but Mr. Mitchell pulled you back, a twinkle in his eyes.

“You almost forgot this,” he whispered to you, pressing something into your hand. You glanced down to see the book you had been reading in the library, your eyes alighting in delight as you gripped it tightly.

“Thank you,” you whispered back, turning to find your brother had taken refuge from the cold inside the coach. You saw Lord Seresin standing by the door, waiting for you. You nearly balked, but Mr. Mitchell placed a steady hand on your back and pushed you towards him. Your cheeks suddenly felt too hot as you walked stiffly forward, avoiding the Duke’s eyes as best you could. Once you reached the doors, his hand appeared in your vision. You hesitated, and you weren’t sure why. The moment stretched on in silence, and you could feel the awkwardness at your lack of action grow stronger.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, his warm breath fanning over you as he leaned forward. “I only bite when provoked.”

You glanced up at him, cheeks aflame and eyes widened as before. He let out a low chuckle, meeting your gaze easily as his eyes twinkled.

“I’m kidding,” he smirked, tilting his head in a disgustingly endearing way.

“Bug, get in the coach before we freeze to death,” harped Georgie, shooting you a positively venomous glare. You gulped, slowly placing your hand in Lord Seresin’s as he gripped yours tightly. His hand was warm, comfortingly so, and a spark shot through you as your skin made contact with his. You sucked in a sharp breath, eyes flickering up to meet his. A smile curled at his lips as he looked at you with a hooded gaze. You could have sworn the world tampered out around you as he held your gaze, lips spreading into a smirk as his thumb smoothed over the back of your hand. Your lips parted, eyes darting down to his own on their own accord. They looked soft.

“Bug!” Georgie nearly shrieked, pulling you from your stupor. You cleared your throat, turning towards the coach once more, but not before noticing how Lord Seresin’s smile faded into a frown as you moved. You sat in the seat next to your brother, across from Georgie who still openly glared at you. Lord Seresin still held your hand as you settled in the seat, giving it a squeeze as you turned to face him.

“Lady Bug,” he purred as his hand slowly slipped from yours, green eyes intense as they watched you. You swallowed thickly.

“Your grace,” you replied, voice barely above a whisper. You glanced behind him towards where Mr. Mitchell stood, a brow raised, but not in your direction. You turned to see your mother looking back at him, a mirroring brow arched as she glanced over at you with a knowing look. You felt embarrassed as you pressed further into the seat. You refused to look up, even as the coach door clicked shut, the driver spurring the horses into motion. Even as you still felt the Duke’s gaze lingering on you.

You turned the page with a tired sigh, eyes flickering up briefly to watch as your sister paced around the large parlor. Morning light filtered through clouds and through the tall windows, casting shadows along the ornate, antique rug that had laid on the floor for God only knows how long. You were still tired from your night at the party, your sister refusing to leave until most of the crowd had left already. The sister in question was pacing haughtily across the carpet in front of you, shooting you poisonous looks as you buried your nose further into your book to try and ignore her. Your mother sat on the sofa across from you, her needlepoint in hand as she eyed your sister with exasperation.

“Georgiana, please,” she sighed, closing her eyes as if that might give her a moment’s respite. “Sit down before you wear a hole in my rug.”

“How can I sit still, Mama?” Georgie cried out, stopping in her tracks to spare your mother the briefest of looks. “She’s sitting there like nothing happened!”

“Because nothing did happen,” you muttered, which proved to be a mistake as your sister swung around to shoot you daggers once more.

“Right,” she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest, “because you didn’t practically drool all over him last night. I saw the way you looked at him!”

“Georgie,” you sighed, setting your book down on your lap to give her your undivided attention, “you know me better than that. I have no interest in courtship, let alone marriage of all things.”

Your words seemed to placate her some as she arched a brow at you, but at least she no longer glared.

“Besides,” you continued, eager to have her ire directed at something other than you, “it was you who he danced with all night, was it not?”

That seemed to snap her out of her tirade, a large smile forming on her lips as she let out a dreamy sigh, twirling in place.

“Yes, it was,” she gushed, cupping her cheek. “Oh, we must have looked so wonderful together. Wouldn’t you agree, Mama?”

Your mother hummed noncommittally as she glanced up from her needlepoint.

“What?” She blinked. “Oh, yes, of course, my darling.”

She didn’t sound too convinced as her eyes strayed to you, that knowing look making your cheeks heat once again as you looked away. Georgiana didn’t notice your silent exchange as she giggled to herself.

“I wonder if we’ll have a long courtship,” she mused, sitting down next to your mother, jostling the older woman slightly. “We shall have a wedding befitting that of a Duke and Duchess, surely.”

“You mustn’t rush these things, my darling,” your mother hummed once more, and you could feel her eyes still boring into you. “Much can happen over the course of a season.”

In that moment, your brother waltzed into the room, a familiar blond following close behind. You felt your heart stutter in your chest, hands clenching the book in your lap as you did your best to try and act like his mere presence didn’t have a most peculiar effect on your senses.

“Good morning, all,” William chirped, leaning against the mantle, a brilliant smile on his face.

“William,” your mother scolded, setting aside her needlepoint hastily before smoothing down her skirts. “You could have warned us that you were expecting company!”

“Sorry, Mother,” William grinned his demeanor contradictory to his words. “It must have slipped my mind.”

“Lord Seresin,” your sister giggled, standing so suddenly as to startle you, your book falling to the floor in your fright. You bent over to grab it, fingers just brushing the cover as a much larger hand brushed yours. You glanced up to meet jade green eyes, a nearly silent gasp leaving your lips on its own accord. His fingers, so large compared to your own, brushed the back of your hand gently before you gathered your wits about you. You yanked your hand away, the book along with it as you leaned back up. Your cheeks were on fire, your eyes looking everywhere but at him.

“My lord,” you murmured apologetically, sparing him another glance. His face was unreadable as he watched you for a beat more, slowly standing straight from where he had bent over.

“Lady Bug,” he nodded, pressing his lips into a tight line. You noticed the flex of his hand at his side - the one he had just touched you with - and you felt a fluttering in your stomach.

“Your grace,��� your mother began, but Lord Seresin held his hand up to stop her, a smile gracing his handsome features.

“Please, Lady Sinclair,” he said. “I much prefer it if you’d all call me by my given name. Like old times.”

“Jacob,” your mother amended with a bow of her head. “What brings you to our home this morning?”

“Jake was just regaling me with stories of his travels,” William chimed in, walking over to plop down on the sofa next to you. He reached up to tickle your chin, and you swatted his hand away with a vicious scowl. He grinned up at you, shooting you a wink before turning back to others. “I invited him to dinner tonight, I hope you all don’t mind.”

“Of course. You know you’re more than welcome here,” your mother smiled at the blond as your sister practically bounced in her seat from excitement. Your eyes flickered over to him of their own accord, and you were almost unsurprised to see him already looking at you. You blinked, eyes as round as saucers as you looked away. William gave you a look of curiosity, but wrinkled his nose as Georgie batted her eyes up at the duke.

“Jake,” she crooned, leaning forward, practically pushing her chest up for him to view. “Would you care to hear me play the pianoforte? I’ve become quite the good player since you were last here.”

Jake frowned slightly before putting on a charming smile.

“Please. By all means,” he said, gesturing towards the instrument in question. Georgie gathered her skirts before prancing over to sit on the bench. You had to admit, your sister was quite the excellent player. You wouldn’t say you were horrible by any means, but your sister had a knack for music. You were much more content with your books and paints. The delicate notes of her playing filled the room, and you smiled softly as she continued.

Your sister played for a while, and after a few minutes you turned to your brother to say something, stopping when you saw him. William didn’t seem to be paying attention to the music, no. His brow was furrowed, lips turned into a contemplative frown as he all but glared forward. You followed his gaze, stopping as you saw what had him so perplexed. Jake was already looking at you, that unreadable expression once again on his face. Georgiana finished her song, your mother’s clapping breaking you from your stunned silence. You began to clap alongside her, followed by the two men. Georgie rose from the bench, a coy smile on her face as she curtsied to the room.

“That was lovely, Georgie,” William smiled, the consternation having vanished from his demeanor entirely.

“Agreed,” Jake chimed in, and Georgie positively beamed under their praise.

“Thank you,” she gushed. The sun chose that moment to make its way through the gloomy clouds, casting bright light into the room.

“Oh, Mama,” Georgiana exclaimed. “Look! The sun is out. Might we go out promenading?”

Your mother cast her attention out the tall windows, taking in the sight of the almost crystal blue sky.

“It does look lovely outside,” she murmured. “Alright, yes, but be sure to grab your cloaks! Jacob, will you be joining us?”

Jake hesitated, glancing around the room before slowly nodding. “Yes, I suppose I shall if it’s alright with you.”

Georgie practically squealed as she raced out of the room, your mother close behind. You rose to your feet, book still clutched in your hands as your brother followed suit.

“I’ll take that as my cue and meet you all outside, then,” Jake chuckled, casting one more glance at you before heading off in the opposite direction. You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, feeling the stress leave your shoulders as they sagged slightly.

“Bug,” William said, and you turned to look at him. His expression was serious, brow furrowed once more.

“What is it?” You questioned, raising a brow at him. William seemed to mull over his words, teeth worrying at his cheek as he was prone to do when something was bothering him.

“Just,” he hesitated, “be careful. Jake is my oldest and dearest friend, but even I know his reputation is well earned.”

Your heart sank in your chest, but you schooled your features into one of nonchalance.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you sniffed, looking away and towards the wall. You weren’t stupid enough to think the duke had any interest in you, the strange youngest sister who had made it known she would never marry. You wouldn’t even know the first thing about being a duchess, and you weren’t about to start entertaining the idea. Not when someone like Georgie seemed so keen on it.

“Right,” William snickered, looking down at his shoes with a shake of his head. He seemed like he wanted to say more, but he must have thought better of it. He looked back up at you, gesturing towards the door.

“Go,” he shooed. “Grab your cloak quickly before we have to hear more of Georgie’s shrieking.”

You smiled at him, nodding before turning on your feet to do as he bid.

A/N: Here it is! I didn't get as much done as I would have liked this week, but I'm proud of myself for getting two different updates out in the same week! That's a lot for me! Anyway, I'm going to enjoy the rest of my week off and look forward to my one in July. Please be thinking about what you would like to see from me next, and let me know what you thought about this chapter!

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. If you would like to be notified on when I post updates, please follow my side blog (@arcanevagabond-library) and turn on post notifications! My work is cross posted on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator. Until next time!

[beomiracles]

⌞ 𝐒𝟐 𝐄𝐏 𝟒 ⌝

DREAM RECALL ⸝⸝ His fingers grasp your chin and reality slowly seeps back into your clouded mind. He was a complete stranger, you didn’t even know his name. It somehow excited you. It was the thrill your mundane life lacked, it was what your husband failed to provide you with. But this man, this stranger, he was ready to give you everything and more as his eyes hungirly roam your body, hands moving along your sides before sliding down your thighs to push your dress up. ⸝⸝

wc: 3.2k

pairings taehyun x fem!reader warnings infidelity, age-gap, strangers to ???, Taehyun is 22 & reader is referred to be around her mid-thirties, reader is slightly insecure, semi-public sex, unprotected + creampie, vaginal fingering, marking, kissing, hm hm hm let me know if I missed something !!

#serene speaks ✎... hii hii !! this is heavily inspired by one scene from the show 'Good Girls' eheh, because I'm rewatching it right now !! like I love Rio and Beth you don't get it. anyway, I'm not claiming this plot/idea as my own in any way shape or form, but you do not have to have seen the show to read this :3 this is horribly proofread on my part but my dear Izzy looked through it for me so fear not !!

The glass is cold beneath your fingers, the rim resting against your lips, waiting on you to take another sip. You do. The liquor burns your throat, it adds to the light buzz, the tingle of your body. — Chatter surrounds you, it’s everywhere but you can’t seem to pick up on it. The bar is beyond crowded, and so is your small table, placed in an ocean of others. Some guests are merely tipsy, others are on the verge of passing out. 

Your gaze shifts to the man in front of you, your husband. He keeps on talking and talking, somehow overpowering the murmur around you. His monotone voice makes you tick, the small wedge between his bushy eyebrows, the insistent moving of his lips, the pools of nothing swirling behind his eyes. Not a single comprehensive thought roamed that brain of his. 

You knew that he was cheating. You’d be a fool not to. The lipstick on his fingers, some smudging on the collar of his white shirt. His uneven hair and flushed cheeks, not to mention the constant talking, a distraction, as if he was still trying to cover for himself. — He must think you’re stupid. But you’re not. You’ve known for a while now. You just haven’t decided on how to pursue, decided on a suitable approach. 

Divorce was always an option, but what about your kids? They love their daddy. — You take another sip, swishing the alcohol on your tongue before swallowing. Perhaps you’d guilt trip him... — “Babe, are you listening?” He still called you that, it was despicable, you weren’t in high school anymore. You blink, painting on a small smile, the same smile you’d been wearing for the past ten years. 

“Sorry, you said something about your upcoming sales?” 

His face lights up, like a kid on Christmas, eager to tell you about things he thought you had no clue of, things he didn’t think you’d understand. He belittled you, almost everyday, and you were sick of it. — He begins rambling once more, he’s bound to be occupied for another five minutes, so you let your eyes wander. They scan the crowded bar, people leaning over the countertop to get their order across. 

Then suddenly, he leans back, easily parting himself from the rest, if only for a split second. The black shirt clung to his chest, sleeves rolled up to expose his near delectable forearms. He was young, at least ten years your junior. But he’d caught your eye the whole night. His gaze meets yours, dark eyes twinkling under the dim lights as he sends you a near unnoticeable smirk, just the faint tug of his lips, nothing else. His attention momentarily shifts over to your obnoxious man of a husband, but you don’t stray from him. 

“..And so if we put the Honda for sale, I’m sure it’ll attract far more…Babe?” Your husband leans forward, blocking the view of the stranger before you. Internally groaning, your wide eyes quickly snap back to him, “sorry darling, my mind’s all over the place.” Your husband nods, and his hand reaches for yours, you notice that he isn’t wearing his wedding ring. “Should we go home?” He asks the question like any other in the world, but it lacks any kind of sincerity. 

Brushing past him, your attention returns to the guy by the bar, he was talking to someone, but his eyes would shift to your table ever so often, an almost knowing look on his face. “Yes”, you bring the cold glass to your lips once more, downing the beverage in one go, “I’ll just go freshen up.” 

Without waiting for a response, you rise, swinging your small bag over your shoulder as you push your chair in. Your husband looks confused, though he quickly nods, murmuring something about waiting out in the car. But you pay the man you’d devoted fifteen years of your life to, little mind, instead you head for the bathrooms with long and determined strides. 

The room is small, cramped, and as the door shuts behind you with an awkward squeak, you lean onto the sink, gripping its edges tightly as you regard your reflection in the dirty mirror. With a shaky exhale you place your bag down on the cool surface, unzipping it as you reach for your lipstick, carefully reapplying the gloss across your lips. Resisting the urge to splash cold water all over your heated face, you run a hand through your hair. 

You think about your husband, and for a moment guilt gnaws at the corners of your mind. But the longer you picture his face, the lies, the betrayal. — The better you feel about yourself. 

You swallow, your throat suddenly feels dry, and a small bead of sweat forms on your forehead. Fingers drumming against the white porcelain, you count the seconds in your head, your mouth moving silently. — Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven..

Click. 

The door glides open, and a tall shadow slinks inside. He closes the door behind him, hands digging into the pockets of his black jeans as he watches you expectantly. Through the reflection of the mirror, everything is okay, but as you turn around, coming face to face with him for the first time tonight, your breath gets stuck in your throat. Fuck, he was really young, 21? 22? 

You bite the inside of your cheek, briefly hesitating. But he didn’t. He watches you with the same expression he had been all night, unmoving to the untrained eye, but you could clearly catch the glint in his gaze, the desire radiating off of him. You wouldn’t back down now. — So you take a step forward, one is enough to put you against him, chests brushing one another. 

He doesn’t say anything when you reach a hand out, fingers clasping around the lock of the door behind him as you seal the two of you away from the rest of the world. — Your soft exhale fans across his face, the smirk on his lips spreading, exposing sharp teeth. Part of you wants to break the silence, another part of you wants it to go on forever. 

You’re frozen, because in truth, you hadn’t planned for anything further than this. But he doesn’t seem to mind, an almost gentle look playing on his features as he draws closer, large hands finding their way to the back of your thighs as he runs them along your clothed skin. — Your dress is long, reaching all the way to your knees, certainly not what the twenty-something girls wore, but he didn’t seem to mind that either as he carefully bunches the fabric up. 

He takes a step forward and you take one back, you don’t even realize how far you’ve gotten until your now exposed skin hits the cold porcelain and you emit a small gasp. The sound rings out in the silent room, echoing off its walls almost melodically. — He huffs, and in one swift move, he hikes you up onto the cool sink. 

The determination of his movements make your panties dampen in a way they hadn’t for years. In all honesty you couldn’t even remember the last time you and your husband had sex, it might have been sometime before your youngest was born.. You tried to shake the uncomfortable thoughts away but it seemed impossible. Your hands roam his shoulders and the fine outline of his toned chest, he was everything your husband wasn’t. 

And you…You were everything they weren’t, the twenty-something girls. Would he even like you? — Sure beauty was subjective but would he hesitate when he saw the stretch marks on your belly? The dip of your hips, the plush of your thighs, your body worn out after birthing four children. Would he be disgusted? Would he back out? 

His fingers grasp your chin and reality slowly seeps back into your clouded mind. He was a complete stranger, you didn’t even know his name. It somehow excited you. It was the thrill your mundane life lacked, it was what your husband failed to provide you with. But this man, this stranger, he was ready to give you everything and more as his eyes hungirly roam your body, hands moving along your sides before sliding down your thighs to push your dress up. 

You shiver. Whether that was from the fresh air hitting your now naked skin or the anticipation swirling in the pits of your stomach, you didn’t know. His gaze searches yours as his fingers brush the lining of your panties, as if looking for doubt, but he only finds lust, and he smirks. — Your husband rarely touches you, and especially not like this, not intimately. You often thought that you might have been the problem, but as the man before you leans in to press a tender kiss to the skin of your shoulder, you find that it’s not. 

A small part of you wants to ask his name, his age, anything, even the slightest bit of information about him. But the unknown felt good, ignorance really was bliss. It was better this way, you tell yourself. Less strings attached, and it wasn’t like you were ever going to see this man again. You were doing something for yourself, for you. 

He dips a tentative hand beneath the soft cotton of your underwear, fingers experimentally swiping across your soaked cunt as he parts your folds. He has yet to pull away, to change his mind, and you internally sigh out in relief. — Your head falls forward, hands gripping his broad shoulders as you exhale against his neck. 

You catch him softly humming and mere moments later, the pad of his thumb presses against your throbbing clit and a small moan rolls off your tongue. You could barely remember the last time you’d even touched yourself. With four children and a cheating husband who stayed out late, alone time was near sacred. You were pretty damn sure it showed. 

The way he was touching you felt good, way too good, and you resist the urge to squeeze your thighs around his arm. — Just as his lips trace the shell of your ear does he push a finger deep into your core, drawing a breathless gasp from you as he curls said finger, almost immediately brushing past a part of you that had been kept stowed away for so long. 

The buzzing sensation the alcohol had left you with was nothing compared to the fire currently taking to life within you. And all you could think was: why hadn’t you done this sooner? Why had you denied yourself of the pleasure your husband has so liberally been granting himself for the past year. 

Your husband…

He was waiting for you in the car. Time was not on your side, and any other day, you would have been freaked out. Not today. Today your mind is set on one thing alone. — Feverish hands claw at his shirt as you urge him on, the second finger he’d added wasn’t enough, you needed more, and a lot of it. He complies almost immediately, a small grin splayed across his face as he yanks your panties down your legs. You wondered if he let the twenty-something girls boss him around like this too. 

Your neck feels damp, covered in his wet kisses, rough enough to where they’d surely discolor your skin. The idea of your husband seeing it was thrilling. But before you get to ponder said scenario further, he’s got you on your feet once more, spinning your around to face the mirror. Immediately you shy away from your reflection in the glass. The thought of seeing yourself like this, bent over the sink of a public bathroom in a random bar like some cheap fuck.. The idea was far from enticing. 

His hand is on your lower back as he guides you down, the other one trailing along your arm before reaching your neck. Fingers splayed across your throat, he encourages your head back up and your eyes flutter at the action. — And when they open, you find him already watching you through the reflection, lips pulled into the same smirk he’d been wearing the whole night. 

Suddenly, it felt okay again. 

The sound of his zipper being undone sends a small spark of excitement through your already anticipating body. — Leaning forward, he presses a warm kiss to your shoulder blade, firm chest meeting the slight arch of your back and the head of his cock nudges your nearly pleading cunt. 

Your fingers grip the porcelain tight, knuckles fading to match its pale color, making the wedding ring on your hand a stark contrast. You exhale, gaze flickering up to meet his through the reflection. Dark hair falls down onto his forehead, shielding his face from view until he looks up. — With a soft grunt, the hand previously on your back now resting against the curve of your waist, he pushes himself inside with one swift thrust. 

The feeling is familiar yet completely foreign and you gasp at the stretch, your cunt clenching around him almost immediately. He gives a small sigh, head falling to the crook of your neck once more as his hand travels from your throat and down your chest, getting a handful of your tits as he squeezes them through the light blouse you wore. 

He moves slowly at first, taking his time as he gauges your every reaction. From the twitch of your lips to the sickeningly sweet moans that he managed to draw. — But you both quickly realize that it’s far from enough. And it’s not long until his hips are snapping against yours with a force strong enough to make your eyes roll back. 

To be touched like this. To be craved like this. It was like a part of you, once long forgotten, had been awakened all over again. Your life before your scumbag of a husband, your life before the lies, the cheating, the must’s and the do’s. — It was your life before soccer practice with the kids every tuesday, it was life before turning in at 10pm each night, it was life before slaving away in the kitchen as you scrambled to feed your family. 

This. This was your life. Only you and this mere stranger, a mere stranger who made you feel like yourself again. — His cock buried deep within your throbbing cunt, twitching with your every persistent clench of arousal. Biting down on your bottom lip, you try to muffle the noises of pleasure waiting on your tongue, the thin walls of the small bathroom would surely give you away. 

Your knees feel weak, legs wobbling with each thrust of his, and if it hadn't been for his arm snaked around your waist, you would’ve been on the floor moments ago. — Your eyes get caught on him, his large frame towering over you from behind, broad shoulders spreading out above yours; biceps flexing through the material of his dark shirt. His breath is hot against your neck, coming out in heavy pants and faint grunts as his lips nip at your sweaty skin.  

You didn’t know his name. But he still made you feel things you hadn’t felt in forever. He made you feel sexy. Desirable. Like there was more to you than the sad house-wife who obliviously lets her husband cheat on her. 

When you finish on his cock, it doesn’t feel at all like it had with your husband, with the man you had devoted your life to. No, it felt better. Like this was how it was supposed to have been all along. It feels euphoric, like you’re floating, nothing was real and nothing mattered. Then suddenly, you want to kiss him. — Craning your neck slightly, a trembling hand unlatching from the sink as your fingers entangle in his dark hair, you pull his face to meet yours. 

Was this a bad idea? Was kissing taking it too far? Were you about to cross a boundary you couldn’t revert back from. It didn’t matter, you didn’t care, and neither did he. 

His lips are soft as they move eagerly against your own. It’s not like the quick pecks you and your husband shares before he leaves for work, before he leaves for someone else. Your kisses with your husband are solemn, melancholy, and almost chore-like. This was anything but. It felt like your first kiss all over. Hot but tentative, clumsy but absolutely perfect. 

He groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating on your tongue and you resist a small moan. Then he tries to pull back, but you don’t want him to, he can’t. Your fingers in his hair keeps him close, and with a soft hum he complies. Hips jerking forward one last time before his warm release shot up into your spent cunt. It felt like something you definitely shouldn’t be doing. Perhaps that was why you did it. 

You finally felt in control. 

As he pulls out, tucking himself back into his dark jeans, you realize that you had yet to speak a word to each other. The silence had been a minimal obstacle just moments prior but now…You wonder if you should break it. But what would you say to him? “Thank you?” You almost scoffed. 

His large hands on your legs startle you from your thoughts and it takes you a second to realize that he’s pulling your panties back on. The garment is beyond drenched as it sticks to you uncomfortably. — He’s close, so close that you can feel his warm breath caress your flushed cheeks. He exhales, eyes finding yours in the dim light of the small bathroom. Then he smiles, it’s not the previous smirk that had originally drawn you in, but a genuine smile. 

“Taehyun.” 

His voice is low, the name effortlessly rolling off his tongue and you blink dumbfoundedly at him before realizing that he’d just introduced himself. Feeling your face redden even further, you clear your throat before following his lead and doing the same. — Taehyun leads you out of the restrooms, ignoring the glances sent by the multiple people in line as his hand rests on your lower back. 

The cold air causes goosebumps to ripple across your skin the moment you step out onto the parking lot. Taking a small step back, Taehyun’s eyes roam the multitude of cars lined up, you do the same, eventually finding the familiar one amongst the crowd. After glancing back and forth awkwardly, you finally bid farewell to him, barely managing to catch the subtle wink he shot you. 

The car door slams shut and with a heavy sigh you slump against the leather seat, finally feeling the evening’s events catch up to you. — “What took you so long?” The annoyingly monotone voice of your husband rings out into the thick air and you’re thankful for the darkness of the night as you roll your eyes. “Long line”, you mumble. 

Your husband hums as the engine comes to life. “And who was that?” He adds, sending a small nod in the direction of Taehyun’s figure, leaning against the brick wall of the bar as he takes slow drags from a cigarette. — You shrug, feigning ignorance as you rub your thighs together, the dampness between them an evident memory of what had taken place just minutes earlier. 

“A friend of a friend”, you sigh, letting your gaze wander out the window as you pull out of the parking lot. “Yeah?” Your husband mutters, “what’s his name?” — You smile, shrugging the question off as you settle back into your seat. 

“I haven't got a clue.” 

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[asnowdriftsomewhere]

Daylight

Part 1 Cassian x f!reader

AN: Cassian has been on my mind a lot lately, so here is part 1 of a series of short stories about him being him ❤️

Summary: You are Helion's best courtier and researcher, but you have been... off lately. He hopes sending you to the Night Court will help you get back to your usual sunny self.

Warnings: depression, perfectionism, underlying unresolved issues

Word count: 1405

To be a member of Helion's Court was to exude excellence in every way. Perfection was the standard by which every member was held and the bar with which you measured yourself against your rivals. There were no mistakes, no second chances. If you could not stand in the light of Day gloriously unmarred and unbroken, then you had no place with his halls.

However, it wasn't Helion who held his people to such a standard but, rather, the drive of competition that you instilled in each other. The Court of Day had always been composed of fiercely ambitious individuals. He grew up marveling at the impressive work his fathers advisors had done when driven to prove themselves better than their colleagues. The previous High Lord fostered the cutthroat environment. He knew just the right thing to say to stoke the fires among his people and ensure that perfection was always achieved. Always in the spirit of healthy competition, of course. He didn't allow for things to devolve into petty squabbles or grudges that would only distract from the work. You never hated your companions. Were never frustrated by their achievements and successes. Only disappointed in your own abilities.

Perhaps that was why Helion sent you to work in the Night Court, in Rhysand’s library, under the house of wind. He saw how every accomplishment and accolade given to the other of the Court left you feeling hollow and despondent. You were his best researcher, his most knowledgeable Courtier, and yet he saw that light in you fading. Dulling to a mere ember when you once burned like the sun. He hoped that some time away from the high-pressure environment of his Court would reconstitute your usually sunny disposition and lift your spirits.

At first, it had the opposite effect. You never felt lower than when you walked the lowest levels of the library, tears falling quietly down your cheeks as you wandered through the stacks. He sent you away. He made you leave his court - leave the Grand Library - your home, and come here. Where you were left in suffocating silence as the Priestesses went about their own business. Researching whatever flight of fancy captured their attention in the moment and having no real structure about it that you could discern.

Not that you had the capacity to notice much of anything those first few days. You were a shell of a person, mindlessly snaking your way through the shelves as you idly assessed the collection of tombs you were to spend the next six months of your existence working with. It was perhaps one of the reasons you did not notice the dark wings and Illyrian presence following you into the shadows.

It wasn't even that Cassian was trying to hide that he was there. You simply did not pay attention enough to see him as he approached the sitting area at which you had gathered your materials. He didn't even know why he was there, really. Clotho had called him down to check on you after one of the Priestesses had informed her that you had not left the lowest levels in more than a fortnight. But why she didn't just wait for one of the others to get back from their trips baffled him. Mor and Az were on the continent doing what they did best. While Feyre and Rhys were currently on a tour through Prythian to strengthen ties with the other Courts. Even Amren was unavailable since Varian had come into town unexpectedly to see the tiny ancient one.

So here he was feeling five kinds of wrong as he approached you, a clearly unaware female alone in the dark. Though, as he made his way through the stacks to where you were reading, he supposed you weren't exactly sulking in the shadows as he half expected you to be when he had been summoned. Instead, as he descended into the lowest level he knew most avoided, he saw a light glowing dully through the rows of books. Something in his gut tugged him along, pulled him forward as if the mother herself were guiding him to the little sitting area and the female waiting there.

When he finally turned the corner, and there was nothing more hiding you from view, he felt his breath catch in his throat. You were simply beautiful, the most beautiful female he’d ever laid eyes on, and that wasn't even taking into account how your skin glowed like the sun itself prowled within your veins. An earth bound star, trapped in the dark.

You paid him no mind. If you were even aware of his presence, he didn't know. To focused on the tome before you to notice the male now gawking at you from the stacks. He shifted his weight, unsure of what to do as you continued ignoring him and the minutes dragged on. Finally, he cleared his throat, and you jumped back from the table. Your wooden chair chattering to the ground as you put distance between yourself and the Illyrian who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Hey, don't freak out,” he held up his hands. Showing you his empty palms as he gave you an awkward smile. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

“And yet your very presence does just that,” you sneered, your heart beating fast in your chest and your eyes darting to the darkened shelves that surrounded you. Too many places - there were too many places for others to hide-

“I'm just here to check on you,” he spoke evenly, his voice softer than any male you'd ever heard before. It made you still, “Clotho was concerned that you hadn't yet left the library.”

Your eyes narrowed on him, “And she couldn't be bothered to look for herself?”

He gave a half shrug, the movement slow and deliberate. You saw every muscle move. “She tried, and so did the other Priestesses. You didn't acknowledge them, and they don't like to be this deep for that long.”

You blinked once, your body shifting out of the half crouched stance you'd been in. “...They did?”

Cassian let out a soft breath, “Yes.”

“Oh,” a frown, more thoughtful than angry, pulled at your lips. “But why send you?”

He shrugged again, the movement more relaxed and natural though still slow. “I've been asking myself that question the whole way down.”

You didn't laugh, “Well, you can report to Clotho that I am just fine and in no need of coddling.”

He frowned at that, “Do you know how long it's been?”

You waved an idle hand, “A few days is nothing. Back home, I sometimes spent a week or more in the library. So they need not wo-”

“Seventeen days,” he cut you off, and you went still again. “Seventeen days without fresh air or sunlight-” you raised an eyebrow at him, a hand gesturing down to your glowing skin, and he relented, “You know what I mean.”

A heavy sigh came out of you, “I do. I hadn't… realized…” your voice trailed off as you dragged a hand down the text on the table in front of you.

He strained his neck forward, attempting to peer at the scrawled script without risking a step closer, “What are you researching anyway? Rhys didn't say. Just that you were coming for a few months and to clean out a spare room for you up at the house. One that you haven't deigned to use yet, by the way. Azriel has been absolutely devastated to know his hard work was for nothing.”

You slammed the book closed, “It's nothing. Don't worry about it.” The glare you threw his way was enough to deter any curiosity he'd been slowly building, and he held his hand up in surrender once again. “Tell Clotho not to worry. I'll manage my time better going forward. You can leave.” It was a dismissal, but he felt the truth in your words and turned around to return back to the High Priestess far above you. As he did, a flash caught his eye, and he stilled just inside the stacks. There, snaking through the books in a way he often saw Azriel's shadows do was a glowing fragment of sunshine. He watched it slide across the floor and circle your ankle before blending seamlessly into the light you emitted naturally.

A piece of daylight, returning to the sun.

Part 2

[misseviehyde]

BROKEN HEARTED

I would have done anything to make my friend Joe happy after his girlfriend dumped him, but soon I regretted ever giving him the Elixir.

My family had told me to keep the formula safe and never to make or use it unecessarily, but Joe had been through so much pain, I just wanted to make him smile again. I also perhaps selfishly thought perhaps Joe might want to date me once he was female... perhaps we could make the perfect couple?

The fact was Joe couldn't live without his stylish sexy girlfriend. His house was still full of her clothes and makeup. She had been a high maintenance bitch who had gaslit and treated him like shit. I suppose in hindsight, perhaps I should have realised Joe's feminine side might turn out just like her.

Joe was interested in trying the Elixir and becoming someone else... anything that would make the pain go away. He eagerly drank at my suggestion and I watched fascinated as he transformed.

Right in front of my eyes, my kind, sensitive friend morphed into a beautiful haughty bitch and there was nothing I could do but watch as Josie Hyde was born.

Josie was somewhat like Joe, but perfected in physical beauty. Her skin was creamy white and completely flawless, her eyes were beautiful but heartless and cruel. Josie's long dark hair was silky and perfect, her proportions womanly, her breasts, her waist, her legs all the perfect size. She was like a statue of a Goddess.

Josie looked good in anything. She effortlessly slipped into the designer dresses and stylish shoes of the former ex girlfriend. She made those clothes look even better on her!

Josie had soon mastered expensive makeup and jewellery. Indeed, she had a taste for the expensive... designer handbags and clothes, diamond jewellery and expensive fur coats.

Her face was like a beautiful mask, she hardly ever smiled but looked out at the world with a smug delight, knowing she was superior and men wanted her. Josie would snap her manicured fingers and expect me to come running. She had accepted my offer of a date, but being her boyfriend mainly seemed to consist of buying her things and carrying her bags.

When she turned back into Joe, he was no longer heartbroken. Instead he was now obessesed with Josie and he merely counted the seconds till he could become her again. Good thing too. He looked kind of weird walking around with five hundred dollar manicures welded to his nails and smelling of Chanel perfume.

His obession for Josie seemed to result in him selling his own clothes and filling his wardrobe with hers. He began wearing panties and a bra all of the time and adopting more and more of her bitchy mannerisms. It was like she was controlling him, even when he was male. She was like the worst toxic girlfriend ever, even worse than his ex.

And at least I thougnt even if his ex had turned up he would probably have ignored her with his new obsessions... or at least so I thought. I was so fucking wrong.

One day I entered a restaurant to see a table of women having brunch and recognised Josie sat with Joe's ex. They were laughing and talking about how pathetic their ex or current boyfriends were.

Josie and Joe's ex were now besties. Evil smirking bitches who delighted in using men for their own twisted needs. Joe had gotten his girl back, but now as his hot best friend. Josie and his toxic ex were just going to make each other even worse.

I walked in to try and do somethjng, but Josie saw me and without stopping or showing any shame, she laughed and told her friends how her current boyfriend was a total simp who would do whatever she wanted and she was actually fucking other guys.

As she said it, I saw her smile... and it made me shiver. I realised in that instant that Josie was using me and that I had created a monster.

"Like, tonight I'm totally going home with that hot black waiter. His big cock is gonna look so hot in my mouth. My loser boyfriend couldn't stop me if he tried."

And even though I knew it was true and she wasn't bluffing, I also knew she was right about one thing. Tonight Josie would be fucking another man and I would sit obediently next door and do my chores like a good boy. I'd listen to her getting railed half naked in lingerie on our bed, panting as big dick split her in half. I'd never even got to see her pussy...

Tomorrow even Joe would look at me with contempt. He too was Josie's submissive slave, she had control of all the men in her life.

As I realised I meant nothing to her and never would, I began to cry. Now I was the one with the broken heart and there was nothing I could do about it...

[ofsappho]

THE KNIFE OF MUAD'DIB (Paul x OC!Reader x Chani)

Wherein na-Duke Paul Atreides is not the Bene Gesserit's only prospect for the Kwisatz Haderach. Raised by Paul's side as his playmate and servant, Chryse, the Bene Gesserit's cuckoo child, will forge a new future for her master.

(previously posted on AO3 as Themis)

PART I: JESSICA

Lady Jessica focused her intent gaze on the Reverend-Mother’s... gift. This gaze, to which the minutiae of observation was second nature rather than practiced pretense, followed the lines of the girl-child’s high cheekbones up towards large eyes that appeared to overwhelm the face they were set in.

She’d seen that look in those eyes before. Perhaps a thousand times over, a million times over. Reflected in the mirror back at her on Wallach IX, reflected in the shadowed eyes of the girls she barely remembered. The girls that one by one fell, until amongst a hundred girls there stood five Bene Gesserit.

Jessica’s skirt rustled against the floor as she stalked closer, circling the child, examining every angle.

How interesting.

Such control in the child’s bearing, belied by such fear.

Paul had always been fascinated with off-world animals in the filmbooks; the agrarian creatures that inhabited Caladan for over twenty generations bore no thrill to her clever son. Jessica had never understood his fascination as the filmbooks rendered such organisms dead to her. Mere simulacrums of life with soulless eyes.

Perhaps one such simulacrum stood before her now in the form of a human girl. “Reverend-Mother, does she have a name?”

“We call her Chryse. However, if that name does not suit you, Jessica, you may name her as you wish. It is of no consequence to us.” Reverend-Mother Mohiam’s demeanor certainly hadn’t changed in the slightest from the days when she served her overtly. When Gaius Helen Mohiam spoke, everything from her inscrutable countenance to the even tones of her voice commanded subservience. “You will not harm nor bring harm to the girl-child. It is our one order.”

Jessica watched as Mohiam brushed her fingers against Chryse’s jaw to tilt her still face up towards the sallow light of the glow-globe. Not even a muscle twitched in her smooth facade. Jessica wondered what sort of chaos lay beneath, whether the girl would be like the jagged rocks under the beckoning surface of Caladan’s oceans. Only a fool would dive into the dark water blindly.

There was no other option but to acquiesce. “You have my word. She shall not come to harm under my care or the care of House Atreides.”

“Good.” A look passed between them, lasting only a second. Within that second lay an eternity.

The Reverend-Mother strode from the room with an economical gait, not sparing another iota of energy to look back.

Jessica knew then the precise nature of this “present”.

How many men had failed in the making of the Kwisatz Haderach? How many years, decades, centuries had her sisters carefully tended the most sacred plant, a mind that could bridge space and time. If Paul failed -

She stopped that fearful thought in its tracks, held it in the cradle of her mind’s eye, then let it pass through.

The Bene Gesserit were patient like mountains were patient. Time was an endless resource. It was better to cultivate many plants of good stock than to nurture a small garden and watch as its leaves shrivel and diel. Chryse was not and could never be the Kwisatz Haderach. Perhaps that fact ought to have assuaged Jessica’s fear. Yet - if Paul should die while he was only eleven, the House of Atreides forever extinguished, the child seemed poised to become the next vessel to carry the bloodline of the Kwisatz Haderach. Only ten years old, and she had mastered the prana-bindu like an adept three times her age. Who knew what sort of terror she had been bred to create?

Her son had already shown promise even without her training. Paul might flourish, grow into a man, grow into the mind that the universe needed. That would never come to pass if Chryse supplanted him.

Mohiam must have felt some minute degree of affection towards Jessica. If she hadn’t, the Reverend-Mother would not have left the girl in her care. The blade was double-edged; the Bene Gesserit cared not for which of the two survived, only that one of them did. Motherhood had softened Jessica to the point where she felt some empathy for her poor charge. Not enough empathy to entirely stay her hand, but enough that she wanted the girl to live. Enough that she intended to lift the burden of killing her from Paul’s narrow shoulders.

“Come here, girl.” Once she was close enough that the Bene Gesserit-trained woman could stretch out a single, finely-boned hand and press her fingers to the weapon’s temple, she bade her stop.

Jessica brushed her mind carefully up against Chryse’s, wary of the mind traps the girl had surely been taught from birth.

There were no traps. Not even a token protest.

Chryse had fewer defenses than a newborn infant. Her mind was splayed out in the open; even the slightest whisper of Voice guaranteed complete obedience. The Bene Gesserit had truly forged a weapon of a girl. She hadn’t a psyche of her own - where there should lay a personality was instead filled with iron bars of mind conditioning. Jessica’s heart ached for her. No child deserved to live like that.

A moment passed wherein she further plumbed the depths of her mind. Jessica knew then that Chryse could never use a Voice of her own. The same breeding that had left her mind wide open had left her unable to Speak. But of what use to the lineage of the Kwisatz Haderach was a girl entirely unable to use the Voice and critically susceptible to it?

The vision came on suddenly, as the waves did against the shores of Caladan. A figure whirled amongst dozens of men as they fell to their knees. The lady knew those movements by heart even though they felt wrong. It was the Weirding Way, without a doubt. At the same time, every action was utterly alien. Chryse moved through the battlefield like a valkyrie of old with hands that created ruination with every twitch. Her deficit of Voice was more than made up by her complete mastery over the physical realities of others. Lungs collapsed inwards; hearts refused to beat; nerves froze. Blood. Oceans of blood.

Without meaning to, her fingers fell away from the girl’s temple in astonishment and the vision dissipated like morning mist.

The Kwisatz Mother had bred an abomination.

The laws of nature should have forbidden such a being from coming into existence. No doubt, she wouldn’t have without the careful guidance of the Bene Gesserit. What infinite combination of genes could produce a person who could bend human bodies to their will? A weapon to be wielded against the very molecules of anatomy? Chryse had quite a bit further to go before she would become the war goddess Jessica saw in her vision, but her raw talent remained a cudgel poised over Paul’s head and ready to end his life.

This was an unacceptable outcome.

Forgive me, Jessica thought; forgive me for what I must do. “You will never harm Paul Atreides. You will never allow harm to come to Paul Atreides. You will always remain loyal to him and never betray him in the slightest. You will lay down your life for him.” She swallowed down her guilt as she watched her Voice take root in the blank shell of the young girl’s mind. That Chryse was now freed from Bene Gesserit absolute control was a small consolation for the crime done against her. For Paul to live, this girl must be subjugated.

Her wide, dark eyes blinked. There it was - a tiny spark of life in her young, solemn face. Chryse was just a girl. A young one, at that. Innocent. Guilt ensnared Jessica’s heart and held it in a chokehold. The sisterhood had not completely uprooted her weak personality, but there was no doubt that their conditioning program left permanent scars. Jessica’s Voice would not have affected Chryse nearly as much without it.

The lady resolved always to be tender to the girl. At a minimum, she could improve the quality of Chryse’s life. Jessica told herself this as she called for servants to take the girl, bathe her, dress her, and prepare a chamber for her near Paul’s. Was it so selfish of her to want her son to live? At any cost? Paul’s new companion would always be treated well and never punished. There were worse fates. For the Kwisatz Haderach, the Bene Gesserit could commit any number of sins.

But Jessica knew her mind and herself. This was a blood debt that she could never repay.

Paul would be safe, and the girl’s powers would never be used against him. That would be her consolation.

-

Her palms smoothed over the muscled plains of Leto’s back. The Duke was her husband in all but name, and Jessica reveled in how he relaxed at her touch. At the school on Wallach IX, she’d learned everything but the warmth of trust and partnership built from deep, mutual love. There was no room in the lives of the Bene Gesserit for any kind of love besides the love of the sisterhood. It was this trust and love that had led Jessica to birth Leto a male heir instead of the daughters she’d been commanded to produce.

Leto reluctantly pulled himself away from her to pick through some papers strewn across his desk. “What’s this I hear about a new handmaiden joining our household?” 

Involuntarily, Jessica inhaled. “Ah, my new charge. Chryse. An orphan, Bene Gesserit trained but not suited to the task. Reverend-Mother Mohiam, the Imperial truth-sayer, has entrusted her safety to me.” She kept her hands out of Leto’s line of sight so he couldn’t see the tension in her white knuckles. Ever so slowly, the lady exhaled. Again, guilt. The guilt threatened to consume her whole.

Her husband had always been far too intuitive for his own good. “She is young.” Sometimes a conversation with him was like playing chess. Every word, every tone, every movement playing off those of the other. Jessica enjoyed such a conversation far more when the stakes were not nearly as high. Perhaps he knew even subconsciously what she felt, what she had done.

Jessica let the silence in the air hang.

Leto sat at his desk, his brown eyes never leaving her smooth face.

She conceded first. “It will be some time before the girl will serve as my handmaiden in truth, but is she not of an age with Paul?” Not quite a lie, not quite a truth. A certainty presented as a question even though she had already decided the answer.

With no other child from her in sight and no political marriage alliance contracted to provide others, her son remained at the forefront of his father’s concerns. “Paul must keep his attention turned towards his lessons. I trust you, Jessica. He cannot be distracted.” Leto was known to others as inscrutable and honorable. She could read every emotion that flickered across his handsome face. He was worried; that much was plain. He was worried about what the legacy he’d built and the enemies he made might do to his kind son. His only son.

Even though he would never know it, the solution to his worries was close at hand. “My love, every child needs a companion. There are no children of an age with Paul on Caladan and certainly none suitable for his station. I’ve seen his loneliness. I know you have too.” The truth in her words was undeniable. Only eleven years old, and Paul had never known a friend his age on Caladan. He glued himself to his filmbooks and the stories of Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck. Leto cared for more than just raising an heir. Jessica knew he loved Paul. He worried about his well-being. Her husband would grant her this wish. Check.

“What better place for a friend than a girl in his mother’s service? They won’t have to be parted for quite some time. And there is no better judge of caliber than the Bene Gesserit.”

His resigned sigh echoed in the quiet of his study. Checkmate. “You’re right.” Leto’s footsteps as he got up and drew closer to her were a comforting rhythm. She knew that rhythm by heart.

“I do tend to be.” The impulse to feel the rhythm of his pulse beneath her hands overtook her, and she let it. Jessica reached out to press herself to him. Her Duke responded in kind as he gently drew her arms around his neck and brushed his forehead against hers.

It was more than enough sometimes to breathe in the same air as her beloved. To know that she shared space, time, and life with him.

Leto pressed a kiss to her mouth. Without any further words, he left the room.

Her fingers pressed against her closed eyes as if to alleviate the burden she’d taken upon herself. All of this would be justified in the end. Jessica had to keep faith in that.

Reposting this unfinished dune fic i started during the 1st movie and orphaned on ao3! Seems as if there's interest. LMK if you want on the tag list.