#Red Light Dregs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eddies-ashtray · 3 months ago

Text

white hot forever

Pairing: Logan “Wolverine” Howlett x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Most days exhaustion plagues him. But tonight, with his last dregs of energy, Logan cooks for you. Though he’s hungry for something far more enticing.

WC: 5.6k

Category: Smut (18+ ONLY, minors dni)

Content: Implied (non-specified) age gap, kissing, Logan throws reader over his shoulder/carries her, cunnilingus, unprotected pnv, reverse cowgirl, dirty talk, petnames (baby, old man, etc), beard burn, 1 single spank, some light nipple play, spitting, kinda dom logan/sub reader, light teasing/mocking, a dash of humiliation kink, lots of manhandling, an inordinate amount of animal metaphor/simile, mentions of logan’s exhaustion/aging due to the adamantium poisoning.

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His biceps strain against the thin cotton of his white button-down–the sleeves rolled up–as he finely chops a red pepper. His heavy hand lends to the particularly booming sound of the knife landing on the wood cutting board. But you don’t mind, content to observe from your ideal spot on the countertop of the island.

A half empty wine glass sits in your palm as your gaze lingers on the smattering of dark hair beneath the low-cut tank he wears under the button-down.

The kitchen smells of the sweetness of the cooking oil he used and the warmth of nostalgia. Faint memories from childhood of your mother bustling around the kitchen as she prepared dinner linger at the edges of your mind, brought on by familiar scents. When you breathe it in, you also catch lingering traces of Logan’s shampoo and, faintly, sweat.

“You ever…Ya know,” you pause, swirling the white liquid around. “Use the claws to chop an onion or something?”

Doing your best to suppress a smirk when Logan looks up at you from beneath his brows and pins you with a stern gaze, you hold his eyes.

You quirk a brow, waiting for his response as a snort threatens to bubble up.

A smirk cracks through his intense facade, crows feet deepening slightly. With an endearing shake of his head, he huffs a laugh through his nose. Logan’s a bit of a grump—even more so now that his hair has greyed and he’s let his beard grow somewhat unruly—but he’s not without a sense of humour.

“No,” his voice, though signed with a note of playfulness, is as gruff as always when he rests the knife on the cutting board. “But as you know, they’ve been useful for…other things.”

The word ‘other’ is loaded with intensity as the hand that previously gripped the knife handle lands deceptively gently on your right knee. It skates roughly up your thigh to thumb at the edge of your skirt.

You only hum in response. Despite the warmth of the kitchen, a chill runs up your spine and you shiver involuntarily. You’re not sure how he does that. Dial things up to 100 before you can even blink. It keeps you on your toes, even a few years in.

Now it’s his turn to quirk a brow–ever expressive–when his heavy gaze finally lifts from your legs.

Warmth begins to seep into your chest and stoke a small fire in your belly.

But the growing tension vanishes the moment a timer dings, shrill and intrusive.

Pulling himself away from your skin to tend to the sound, Logan bends at the knees to pull a steaming dish from the oven.

The crack of his joints is a quiet popping sound compared to the low grunt he releases when he stands back up to his full height to place the dish on the stovetop.

He tosses a worn out dish towel over his shoulder–the same one he’d used to pull the food from the oven.

Watching him carefully as he spins around in search of his whiskey glass, you remark, “You look handsome like this.”

You pass him the liquor, his large hand wrapping around the glass.

“Handsome like what?” he asks, a hint of a chuckle in his voice.

It’s not often Logan has the energy for this. Long days drain him now. Like sweet syrup from a tapped tree, a slow drip that takes and takes.

“Just–in the kitchen with me. Cooking…Taking care of me,” you say.

Another soft smile graces his lips and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek, a hand at your hip, and your face warms.

Gulping down a healthy sip of his drink, his throat bobs as he swallows the auburn liquid. When the glass clinks against the marble as he puts it down, you notice droplets linger in his beard. Once you’ve placed your own glass down you reach to thumb away the beaded liquid.

“Hm?” he hums, though it’s more of a growl when he does it, the sound rumbling up from deep in his broad chest.

“Just got some…” you trail off, expecting him to come to the natural conclusion himself when you lean in and cup his jaw. Feel the roughness of his beard against your palm as you swipe away the small droplet. “There.”

Logan leans briefly into your touch to kiss the soft skin of your palm in thanks. The gesture makes your heart ache.

You’re about to pull away, but Logan grasps your wrist in one strong hand, savouring your touch. He’s looking at you with an unexpected hunger behind his eyes as he feels the skin of your wrist beneath his rough palm. You can’t deny the way it revives the searing heat in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” The word comes out more breathy than you’d intended.

“Nothin’.” Logan shakes his head, holding your gaze. He releases your hand gently.

The word lingers in the air between you.

The way he says it–like it’s not really nothing–wires you right up again. You know he knows it too–his overly keen senses able to pick up the rhythm of your heart hammering against your ribcage.

You need to expel the energy or let the tension snap but can only think of the intoxicating scent of whiskey on his breath. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey.”

He’s quick to respond. “No? You want to?”

“Okay.” It comes out in a whisper. The atmosphere feels too fragile for any other tone.

Logan grabs the crystal glass, just another sip or two remaining. He steals another as he steps in front of you, his left palm falling to your knee to push your legs apart so he has room to stand between them.

He lingers above you and you lick your lips in anticipation, catching the way hazel eyes darken beneath furrowed brows.

Then, Logan looks away and you watch as he places the glass down on the counter and his palms flat beside your thighs, effectively caging you in so you’re trapped in his space. Logan is all you can breathe, all you can see, all you can smell as your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths.

Eyes finally returning to yours, his head tilts to the side–cocky, challenging. “Then give your old man a kiss.”

A whimper nearly escapes you before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and hungrily pressing your lips to his like it’s an order. It may as well have been, gruff as he is.

Logan grunts in response to your quick action, pulling your leg around his waist so your heel digs into the small of his back.

The roughness of his beard rubs your chin and cheeks, a pleasant sting against sensitive skin. Though you’re soon distracted when his hand leaves your calf in favour of greedily running up your thigh. They leave heat and tingling skin in their wake, and you gasp into the kiss when he gives the meat of your thigh a generous squeeze.

His desperation for you is matched only by yours for him as you wind your other leg around his hips to tug him closer. Grunting at your forcefulness, Logan finally slips his tongue into your warm mouth.

The whiskey on his tongue is overpowering as he kisses you like he’s starving for it–the meal he was making long forgotten. Warm hands brush up the length of your spine, eliciting a subtle shiver, before one of his large palms cradles your skull like you’ll shatter without the support.

His nose bumps yours as he deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth with fervour now. When his spare hand coasts over your chest to grab at your tits over your top, you arch into his touch with a moan like he demands it.

When you bite his bottom lip he growls, long and deep. A renewed sense of desperation claws at your skin as your kisses become increasingly wanton and sloppy. Tangling tongues generate sounds bordering on obscenity.

His claws may as well be dragging down your body, leaving bloody marks in their wake with the way his touch makes your skin sing. You hope he leaves bruises when he grasps at the flesh of your hips, pulling your lower-half flush against his pelvis.

You can feel him, hard and straining against his black slacks. It’s impossible not to moan, lips leaving his as your mouth falls open to release the breathy sound.

For a moment, you grind against his cock with your forehead pressed to his, using your hands wrapped around his neck as leverage. Feeling back muscles flex under your warm palms. The delicious slide of your soaked panties against his hardness is enough to drive you wild.

A gasp is pulled out of you when your clit catches briefly on his tip beneath clean slacks. Logan growls through clenched teeth, pressing you into him harder, fervently rolling his hips. The sound makes your pussy clench around nothing.

“Logan,” you whimper, aching for him as you pant into each other’s mouths. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he rasps before he’s scooping you up off the counter, hoisting you up over his shoulder. Squealing at the surprise demonstration of his great strength, Logan strides through the kitchen and towards the living room.

Desire burns deep in your belly as he carries you across the house like it’s nothing. He’s all broad chest, bulging biceps, and thick thighs. It makes you dizzy. You can’t help but reach out and pinch the meat of his thigh.

“Hey!” He barks.

Unsurprisingly quickly, Logan delivers a sharp smack to your ass and you yelp in shock, jolting against him. “So fuckin’ naughty.”

The lingering sting coupled with his gruff tone has you squirming in his hold, whining low in your throat.

In a single sudden motion, Logan manoeuvers you off his shoulder, dropping you onto the couch. And suddenly you feel deliciously small pinned beneath his hooded gaze. He towers over you. His staggering height emphasized from your perspective where you lay against the cushions.

He’s assumed that authoritative stance that has every atom in your body buzzing–his arms crossed over his chest. This paired with his hard gaze is a lethal combination. He’s got that look in his eyes, like what am I gonna do with you?

“Sorry.” Insincerity bleeds through your tone. You like to get him like this. To rile him up until he is more animal than man.

Hazel eyes narrow as he grunts, disbelieving your weak apology.

“You wanna be sorry?” He asks with a quick flick of his chin in your direction.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod. His chest rumbles with a deep sigh.

Unable to avert your gaze from his face, you bear witness to the glorious sight of Logan shedding his button-down. Your hips wiggle subtly in anticipation–though Logan would call it impatience. The cotton article is tossed carelessly over the chair by the couch.

He crouches down with a soft grunt, nods. “Okay.”

Swiftly, you are tugged to the edge of the couch by Logan’s hands on your hips. Your skirt gets rucked up your waist, exposing you to the warm air of the house. Though it feels far more jarringly cool between your legs where you’re hot and wanting, pussy weeping for the older man before you.

“So fuckin’ soaked already,” He mutters, more to himself than to you. The comment has pleasure boiling low in your belly.

“Logan.” He glances up at you briefly then returns his eyes to your cunt.

You watch with rapture as his nostrils flare, no doubt overwhelmed by your scent this close to your centre. A predator ready to devour its prey.

For the briefest of moments, Logan admires the wetness seeping through your panties, presses his thumb against the clothed, leaking well just to see your hips jump. Biting back a pathetic whine is far more difficult when his lips twitch into a faint smirk.

There’s a change in his eyes in a split second where brows lower and pupils dilate. It’s then that he rips your panties down your legs and you swear you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing. Gasping, you toss your head back between your shoulders, panting and warm all over.

His chest rumbles with a guttural sound, savouring the sight of you spread open wide and dripping for him.

Logan’s rough hands rub up and down your thighs, hungry. When they pause you swear you can feel his gaze burning a hole into the column of your throat.

“Eyes,” He demands.

You obey, catching a glimpse of him stuffing your panties into his back pocket from where he kneels on the floor between your legs.

The anticipation eats you alive, hips flexing, unable to remain still. Logan pins them down in an instant.

Everything quiets. Tunnel vision casts out any and all sound or sight besides him.

“Don’t move,” Is all he says before he’s diving in and devouring you, tongue hot on your sensitive skin.

“Fuck!” you cry, hands plunging into his hair.

He’s groaning the second his tongue licks up your cunt, dining on your taste. He gorges on you like he’s been deprived of your taste for far too long and he’s hollow without it.

You’re drunk and dizzy on the way his beard scratches against your skin. The way the thick hair rubs against your cunt and sensitive inner thighs. A carnal craving satisfied. He’ll pull away after and be covered in you, unable to kiss you without smearing your desire across your own chin.

The rough tug you give his hair causes him to grunt into you. He eats you out with zeal, an energy that so often eludes him these days.

“Feels so good…Shit…So-” you babble on, only half aware of the praise spilling from your mouth.

For now, you are not sorry about his overzealous approach. But you will be. After, when the burn becomes a sting. When you are unable to walk for a week straight without feeling the roughness of his beard between your thighs. When he’ll reach over while he’s driving and squeeze your thigh meanly as a reminder.

For now, you moan unabashedly as he nips at your clit harshly. Free roaming hands find warm skin, grabbing fistfulls of you. Rubbing your thighs, grabbing at your hips, spreading possessively over your stomach. Soon, his hand snakes under your top to squeeze at your tits, and you gasp sharply when he pinches your nipple between thumb and forefinger.

The fire in your belly rages on, burning bright, spitting ash.

“Logan,” You whine, long and drawn out, when he shakes his head back and forth animalistically, coating more of his beard in your wetness, your scent. He grunts against your pussy at the sound of his name hot on your tongue, the vibrations it causes driving you mad.

His roughness makes your cunt throb. You derive as much pleasure from the sensation of his tongue licking up your slit and circling your clit as you do from simply watching him like this. His eyes shut in concentration, locked in as he laps up your juices like it sustains him. Like he is taking his fill of you before he hibernates for the winter.

Just the obscene sounds of his hunger, the slurping and the groans emanating from deep within his chest are enough to prompt your hips to grind up into the pleasure his mouth provides. And he accepts all of it enthusiastically.

You get lost in it, his wet muscle prodding at your entrance, licking up your slit to spread the wetness he’d collected over your clit. He sucks it between his lips, causing you to groan.

Briefly, Logan pulls away, and you whine in protest. But his pause allows you to glimpse the parts of his beard that are now matted down with wetness. The sight causes warmth to spread across your chest, equal parts humiliation and pleasure.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he pants against your thigh, warm breath fanning over your puffy cunt. “Look at you,” he slurs, thumb rubbing over your pussy, spreading the wetness all over.

Your hips jump and you whine again. Logan growls a quiet, desperate sound before diving back in, practically making out with your pussy and inserting two of his thick fingers into your heat.

“Shit! Lo-” his name gets cut off with a girlish moan, a high sound only he could pull out of you, body completely overwhelmed by the excess of pleasure.

“There she is,” he drawls, voice muffled and thick with lust before enveloping your clit in the warmth of his mouth and sucking. Your grip in his hair tightens as your hips grind into his mouth and down onto his fingers. Fingers which curl up into the gummy walls of your cunt, languidly brushing that sensitive spot inside over and over.

Soon, slow movements evolve into quicker, but still consistent and deliberate, pumps into your weeping hole. It is precisely then that the ever-growing fire in your belly begins to consume you entirely. The moment Logan’s jaw goes slack and he begins to desperately lap at your cunt with a near entire loss of coordination, your vision goes white.

Your orgasm crashes over you, an all-consuming force as Logan continues to fuck you with his fingers. It’s like you are bursting at the seams, coming apart in his hands. Every cell in your body catches fire as you roll your hips into his hand, riding out the waves of your climax.

You’re panting as you come down, hips slowing to a stop as your body becomes over-sensitive to his touch. You twitch as Logan slowly pulls his fingers from you, his head falling to rest on your trembling thigh.

“You know…For an old man, that was-”

You suck in a sharp breath, hips jumping at the harsh sensation of Logan intentionally rubbing his beard over your already burning inner thighs. He chuckles lowly at your reaction, but is quick to soothe you, laying tender kisses across heated skin.

Your hands trail down from his hair, and stroke a thumb softly over his cheek. He allows the sweet touches to continue for several moments before he pushes off his knees with a grunt. Logan falls onto the couch next to you, legs spread wide. Eyeing him in your periphery, you can tell he’s just as exhausted as you; his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You’re still panting softly as you watch him, your limbs like Jell-O, skirt hastily pushed up past your waist, and top askew. The sight of him licking his fingers clean of you makes your clit twitch despite its sensitivity.

Finally, he finds your eyes.

“C’mere,” Logan rasps, patting his thigh.

It takes great effort for you to crawl into his lap, and you don’t do it without some assistance. Logan’s hands grip your waist, pull you so you’re seated sideways over his thighs so as not to further irritate the burn.

You wind an arm around his neck, tenderly stroking the hair at his nape.

Logan rubs over the dough of your thighs, thumbs caressing between the split of them. Later, he’ll help you gently rub soothing lotion into them, but for now he’s all desire as he gazes down at where his hands press lightly into your legs.

“How’s that feel?” he asks quietly.

You can’t help but squirm in his lap a little, feeling him hot and hard beneath your thighs.

“Mmh,” you muse, staring down at his hands on you, legs raw and tingling. “Good.”

You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, the warmth of his body beneath yours. “Yeah?”

You nod, meeting his eyes before cupping his jaw and scratching softly at his beard, feeling the lingering wetness there. Briefly, his eyes drift shut and he groans quietly.

“How’s that feel?” you repeat his question back at him, teasing.

Logan growls, grabs the back of your head, and desperately presses his lips to yours in answer.

You moan softly into the kiss, holding his face in your hands as you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue more than the whiskey now.

Then you’re trailing your hands down his chest and pulling away only briefly to tug his white tank off before your fingers deftly begin to undo his belt. The metallic clink it makes, the sound of leather sliding against cotton as it comes off, only makes your pussy clench around nothing as you whine into his mouth.

Your ardour makes Logan chuckle, breaking away from your lips in favour of kissing roughly down your neck. His hands now cup your jaw, allowing him to tilt your head back as his lips leave a trail of wet kisses across heated skin. You sigh as his beard tickles your neck.

“So needy,” he mumbles into your skin.

You groan and feel his smirk against the skin of your chest before he’s pulling your skirt and top off over your head and tossing them aside.

Wanting hands find their way into his hair again when he pulls away from your skin momentarily. He enjoys having you completely naked in his lap while he’s still mostly clothed. You can tell from the way his nostrils flare when he drags in a deep breath, the way his tongue wets his mouth before he pulls you close and latches onto your nipple.

He greedily licks and sucks and bites at one while palming the other in one large hand.

“Logan,” you breathe his name like a prayer, pulling him closer with hands locked in his hair.

His teeth graze your nipple, tugging it gently. Gasping in shock, your face twists up at the intense mix of pleasure-pain that swirls around in your gut. He releases your breast, breathing harshly over your now damp skin.

Impatient and needy, you can’t help but squirm in his lap, rubbing yourself over his hardness. Surely, you’ll leave a damp patch on his clean slacks. The thought only spurs you on, movements becoming desperate.

His cock twitches beneath you, tip probably an angry red and leaking sticky precum you selfishly wish to lick up. “Fuck, need to feel you, sweetheart.”

The whine his proclamation elicits borders on pathetic, and in a rush you’re helping him tug his slacks down just enough that his cock can spring free.

“So pretty,” you whisper, dragging your middle finger across prominent veins that run down his length, prompting him to twitch and hiss through his teeth.

Saliva begins to pool in your mouth, but you’re tugged back to Earth when Logan grabs your waist, ordering you to ‘turn around’.

Body buzzing in anticipation, you allow him to manhandle you into the right position, savouring the feel of his hands manipulating your movements.

“There ya go,” He praises, pulling your back flush against his chest. His hand sneaks up your chest. When it reaches your neck, he presses gently so your head falls against his shoulder.

Your eyes meet as your chest heaves.

“Open.”

Eyes remaining on his, you part your lips.

“Don’t swallow,” Logan instructs gruffly, brow quirked. He may as well have pointed a finger in your face, stern as he is.

You nod quickly, and he leans forward slightly to spit thickly onto your tongue. It’s so obscene a tremor wracks through your body as heat spills into your gut.

Hand below your chin, Logan closes your jaw for you, allowing his saliva to mix with your own before putting his hand in front of you, saying, “Spit.”

You obey a little messily, some ending up dribbling down your chin.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he says, smearing the sticky mess over your already messy cunt. You whine, all high and breathy. Still slightly sensitive.

Finally, he adjusts you, shoving you forward in his lap so he’s at the right angle to thrust into your wet heat.

Tandem groans are released into the air the moment he fills you. A millisecond to adjust. To savour how deeply he fills you before his hands are at your waist to help guide your movements.

Using your own hands on his legs as leverage allows for slow, deep thrusts that make your body quake. Those first sweet drags of his cock against your slick walls are enough to make you shudder.

Reaching a steady rhythm, you begin to pant, the exertion it takes to ride him like this tiring you out quickly. Though Logan is quick to help, supporting you with strong hands as he guides you up and down. Still, you’ve yet to lose your vigour. Entranced by the slow roll of your hips, the way his cock reaches the deepest parts of you in this position. His strong thighs bracketing your body.

“That’s it…That’s it.” Logan grunts lowly, nearly delirious and wholly mesmerized by how your body takes all of him. How you stretch around him to accommodate his size. Hypnotized briefly as he hungrily watches the place where you connect.

A gasp evolves into a moan as one of his hands leaves your waist in favour of seeking out the sensitive button at the top of your cunt. Clumsy fingers toy with your clit, slipping around messily. Flames lick at your nerve endings. On occasion he loses his place, unable to maintain a perfect rhythm from behind you, but just as quickly returns to circle the bud.

Another hand moves to your belly, pulling your body backwards, his sweat-slick chest now pressed up against your back. You wish you could drag your nails down his broad chest, watch as he loses himself in the feeling. But the closeness this position allows is worth the sacrifice.

Being nearly immobilized pressed up against him like this, giving him full control of your body, it feeds some deep desire. It’s the reason your head has gone a little fuzzy. He knows it too. He knows it when you let a whine slip past your lips. When you begin to grind back against him needily.

“Feel good, baby?” he rasps. At the same time, he rubs his middle finger over your clit in time with a deliciously deep thrust. All you can do is throw your head back against his shoulder, another wanton moan clawing its way up your throat, directly into his ear. That’s all the answer he needs.

Logan grunts in response. Pistoning hips setting a rhythm that is both intimate and punishing, making you dizzy. His closeness makes you dizzy. Those low grunts in your ear are enough to drop pearls of pleasure into the pit of your stomach. All of it contributing to the growing fog in your mind.

You writhe against him, an arm wrapping around the back of his head, keeping him close with a hand buried in his hair. Your other hand remains locked onto his forearm as it flexes with each rub of your sensitive clit.

Logan begins to grunt animalistically into your ear, unabashed about his desire for you. You feel it in the way his strong arms grip your body, ensuring your security. In the way he lets moans and grunts and groans rumble up from his chest, unafraid to let you hear what you do to him.

His hands all over your body, the deep strokes of his cock that reach the deepest parts of you, his soft grunts in your ear–it all feeds the flames in your belly.

“Fuck. S-so full,” you mewl, overwhelmed tears springing to your eyes.

“I know, baby. I know,” he placates, tone edging on mockery. His voice sends shockwaves through your body. The sweet humiliation it brings presses into your skin like a brand, leaving it white-hot.

More. You need more of him.

Desperately, clumsily, you grind back into him enthusiastically, writhing in his grasp. The rhythm turns staccato and messy as a result. But it doesn’t matter. You just need more.

You whine, turning your head towards him and he gets the hint, meets you halfway and licks hotly into your mouth the moment your lips meet. Your hands twist in his hair.

It’s messy and uncoordinated and your neck hurts twisted to kiss him like this. But then there’s the fiery taste of whiskey. And you. And him, his cigars. And the pain–it’s worth it. It’s necessary.

When you break away, only a thin line of saliva connecting your mouths now, it’s to gasp. Your brows furrow, pleasure twisting your insides.

You go cross-eyed trying to hold his gaze, and he grins. It’s a wolfish thing. A flash of his teeth, lips kissed red and puffy. The sight makes your pussy clench around him.

A smile tugs at your own mouth, probably fucked out and hazy with pupils blown wide. It only grows when the hand gripping your waist skims over your hot skin. On its journey, he grabs at your tits, pinches your nipple. Every sensation now blends together, overwhelming you with pleasure.

His hand pauses at the base of your neck where it grazes over the stretched expanse of skin.

A teasing squeeze. Once. Your brows knitting together. Twice. Your mouth dropping open. His grip not quite tight enough to cut off airflow and elicit that floaty feeling. But enough to make you whine low in your throat. You are at his mercy.

Eyes drifting shut, you cry out, feeling your climax building at the pit of your stomach. Breathy moans escape you with each rub of his finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves, edging on overstimulating. Each sharp thrust drives you closer to that edge, setting your body alight.

“Y’gonna come, honey?” Logan pants, voice hoarse.

These escapades exhaust him now. You’ve witnessed the way it sinks into his bones after. But there’s also the hint of a grin in his voice. Along with desperation. Desperation to feel you fall apart. An indication that the pleasure he provides, the pleasure he receives, is worth the exhaustion. It’s rewarding for him.

Your answer is the most pathetic whine, high and wanton as overwhelmed tears blur your vision, threatening to spill over. “Uhuh.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, and you swear his fingers were made to make you come apart at the seams when he rubs over your clit like that. Like it gives him pleasure too.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless, barely moving over his cock as he pounds into you from below, his strong legs beginning to tremble.

“Yeah,” Logan repeats. Mockery is thick on his tongue, a faux pout playing at his mouth. You lose it.

Everything else falls away. Tingling heat spreads beneath your skin as you finally let go. Your body thrums with your release, the feel of his damp skin at your back, his hands on your body, how full of him you are.

Logan has little room to be cocky. Because the moment you begin to clench around him–cunt pulsing with each wave of your orgasm washing over you–he’s grunting curses into your shoulder, leaving bite marks on the tender flesh as his warm seed spurts into you.

He shudders with his release.

“Fuck,” he growls, grinding up into you, his grasp on your body tightening.

In a flash, he removes his hand from your throat. And, distantly, past your post-coital fog, you hear the sound of metal unsheathing rapidly. You glance to your right.

Retracting claws reveal three deep holes pierced into the faux leather, showcasing thick wire springs and white stuffing.

Blearily, you drag your hand down his arm, running over hair and slowly aging skin. Reaching his wrist, you bring his hand up to your mouth, cup it in both of yours. You smooth your thumb gently over the edges of his knuckles, watch for moments as the holes very slowly begin to close.

You kiss his knuckles thrice. Once over each slowly healing wound.

Eventually, the skin will mend. The wounds will be nonexistent. They will heal in time. But his body is exhausted. And every time the claws come out, the cracks in his skin take longer and longer to repair themselves.

He collapses beneath you, rugged breaths pulled from tired lungs.

Carefully, he slides out of you and you help him tuck himself back into his boxers. Press a kiss to his forehead.

A whisper of, “Be right back.” against heated skin before leaving on unsteady legs to clean yourself up. His desire is a slow leak down your thighs now.

If he were a younger man, still full of strength and agility, he’d have done this part for you. You know he wishes he could. Part of you wishes he could too. But you like to take care of him too.

When you return, he’s still sunken into the couch, chest bare and sweaty. He accepts the glass of water you bring him, gulps it down thirstily.

Cuddling up next to him now, you brush the sweat-damp hair back from his face. You’ll allow him to pull you close. You’ll hold each other, stroke the skin beneath his eyes tenderly. The fresh dark circles there. And he’ll press soft kisses against the lingering bite marks on your shoulder, whisper praise into your ear.

When his honeyed eyes catch yours, you know he longs to spoil you. To scoop you up in his arms and take you to bed.

But this takes a lot out of him now. It will be days–maybe more–before you’ll be able to do something like that again.

So, you’ll take care of him. He’ll insist on having you underneath him. Begrudge the fact that the exhaustion will have yet to be leached from his bones. But acquiesce the moment your hands reach beneath his belt.

♡*♡*♡

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

3K notes · View notes

starogeorgina · 5 months ago

Text

𝐔𝐧𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧

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

Warnings: Swearing, smut, kidnapping, sexual blackmail, self harm

1.02

Feeling a dip in the bed, fresh tears swell your eyes. You freeze. The hour was late, and the only source of light in the room was from the moon and the single candle you had lit for your nephew, Lucerys Velaryon. Rhaenyra’s life was shattered into a thousand unfixable pieces because of what Aemond did at the end of the storm. Only if the gods had not made him so hot-tempered. Nothing would be the same again. You weren’t a fool like your brother, who threw a feast to celebrate; Rhaenyra and Daemon would be coming for all of you with fire and blood.

It was advised by the master that you sleep on your left side for the remainder of your pregnancy, and every night your husband would sleep on the same side and hold you close, making sure you wouldn’t roll into a different position. When you feel Aemond’s hand resting against the thin, silky fabric covering your swollen belly, wracking sob escapes you.

“Did you mean to do it?”

“No.”

By the time salty tears reach your lips, the room is completely silent. What could either of you say? He rubs small circles on your stomach; Aemond did that most nights, and sometimes he’d feel the baby move. You often joked that it was your unborn child’s way of telling him to let them sleep.

When your own tears have dried, you feel the wetness on Aemond’s cheek as he presses his lips against the back of your shoulder. You had only ever witnessed Aemond crying twice befor. “You’re a father, Aemond, and he was just a boy.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“No man is so accursed as the Kinslayer.”

You lean back further into his embrace, feeling the warmth radiating from his bare skin. You love Aemond; that would never change, but it terrified you. Not only by what he did, but because it didn’t change how you felt towards him.

Your lips part when Aemond’s large hand moves from your stomach to your rib cage. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No, should I be?”

“I’m scared of myself and of what I’d do to keep you safe.”

He skims his hand over to your breast and begins gently rubbing at your sensitive nipple, causing you to let out a small moan.

Feeling dampness between your thighs, you squeeze your legs together and involuntarily arch your back into his touch. Aemond knows how needy you are for his touch, especially in your current condition. With all the hormones constantly racing through your body, you’d be craving him for the slightest thing. “I need you,” he says, slowly bringing your nightgown to your waist. “Please, my love.”

You part your legs enough for Aemond to slide into you with ease. His thrusts are gentler than normal, and he peppers your cheek and neck with kisses. It’s only when you whine does he bring his hand to your clit, taking you closer to the edge. There was sadness in the air. This wasn’t the same as the other times being intimate; there was no primal urge behind it, just the need to be close to one another.

It doesn’t take you long to come undone, and feeling how tight you are, Aemond spills his seed inside you.

“Wait,” you say, gripping Aemond’s hip when he goes to pull out. “Don’t move; I want to feel close to you... Just hold me, please.”

—

Aemond picks at the scab on his palm; the irony of hurting himself by holding onto his wife’s necklace so tight after losing her for real wasn’t lost on him. His eye shifts from the small specks of blood forming on his hand to the crib at the foot of his bed. The light shade of blue on the bottom sheet inside the crib was an identical match to the shade most of his wife’s dresses were.

Ser Criston clears his throat, then hands Aemond a goblet of Dornish red and says, “My prince.”

Aemond accepts the wine, but unlike his elder brother, he doesn’t guzzle it down. Aegon finishes his drink, wipes the dregs from his mouth, and then slams the cup down onto the table. “Now, since we know where my sister is, how do we get her back? I say we attack at dawn.”

Aemond traces his finger over Dragonstone on the map in front of him. His beloved was so close, yet so far. “Mother has written to Rhaenyra again, asking for my wife to be allowed to leave, but if what our strong nephew says is true, then Rhaenyra has gone to madness.”

Frustrated, Aegon kicks the table. “The whore took my son, my wife, and now she has taken my sister hostage! Fuck madness!”

“Your grace, we have no idea which parts of the castle they are being kept in.” Criston says calmly, attempting to temper him. “If we attack at dawn, we may harm the princess and her baby.”

Aegon sinks further into his chair. “If Sunfyre and Vahgar fly over Dragonstone, the blacks will be distracted long enough, and my sister can mount her dragon and fly back.”

“My wife won’t leave without our daughter,” Aemond says, tapping his fingers against the wooden edge of the chair. “If Daemon sees us coming, there’s nothing stopping him from killing both of them. We cannot attack directly; we must be discreet.”

—

“That’s enough for now. The babe should rest for the night.”

Hearing Daemon's orders, you kiss Daenys on the back of the hand multiple times before handing her over to the wet nurse taking care of her. Your nephew Jacaerys had been right, and the more compliant you are with Daemon, the more your uncle allowed you to do, and that includes spending more time with Daenys. Unless Aemond came for you, you’d need to play along and wait out the storm until you had a window of opportunity to either kill Daemon or escape.

“Thank you... for letting me see her twice today.”

Sighing, your uncle gets to his feet and begins untying his breeches. “Behave throughout the night, and I’ll have the wet nurse bring her back up tomorrow.”

You move away from the now locked door and go to stand by the window. Without turning back, you drop your nightgown so it pools at your feet, leaving you completely bare. Focusing on the stars above you, you arch your back, but instead of feeling the tip of his cock pushing inside you, you feel the wetness of his tongue swiping across your cunny.

You hate it when Daemon brings you pleasure because of the guilt you feel afterwards. But yet you find yourself reaching back and gripping hold of Daemon's silver strands to keep him from moving as he eats you out. Making you cum before attempting to impregnate you was one of the few acts of kindness he granted you.

Against your will, soft moans escape your lips. Daemon stands and takes a fistful of your hair, then roughly slams into you and says, “Deny all you like, niece, but I know how badly you crave the touch of a dragon.”

He was partly right; you craved your husband's touch. But as you stare into the dark abbess of the sky, you yearn for something more.

You crave fire and blood.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen/you #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #house of the dragon fanfiction #Aemond Targaryen/reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen/you #daemon targaryen/reader #Daemon Targaryen x you #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon smut #unbroken

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natalievoncatte · 1 year ago

Text

It took four calls before Lena answered. It crawled across her side table, vibrating angrily like some persnickety insect until she gave it the attention she wanted.

You could just turn it off.

“What do you want, Danvers?”

Alex’s voice was thick.

“We can’t find Kara.”

Lena let out a slow, long, theatrical sigh. “So now you’re accusing me of crimes over the phone. At least your ex had the courtesy to cuff me in person.”

Alex’s patience was clearly short enough, and wearing thinner.

“I’m not calling you to accuse you. I’m calling you to ask for help.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because she’s burned out her powers and we can’t find her, Luthor. Supergirl is missing and she’s powerless.”

Lena licked her lips.

“Is this some kind of weird test to see if I’ll try to kill her? An entrapment scheme or something?”

“First of all,” said Alex, “fuck you.”

“Mutual,” said Lena. “What was the second part?”

“The second part is that I know you. I know you’re pissed off at her. I also know that you don’t react the way you’ve acted because your BFF lied to you, Lena. Just like I know that buying a $875 million company isn’t what friends are fucking for.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Lena snapped.

“Right. Help us find her.”

“No,” Lena said, coolly. “Goodnight, Director.”

Lena stabbed the end call key with her finger, resolving to herself that L-Corp was going to release a smart phone that made it more satisfying to hang up on people.

Then she very pointedly did not go out looking for Kara. Instead, she boiled water for tea, and spread open a technical journal on her lap.

After ten minutes, she had not drunk the tea, and her attention was sliding off the abstract like the wrong end of two magnets jammed together. Rubbing at her eyes, she decided she’d had too long a day for even light reading, and decided to enjoy a news broadcast with her tea.

Of *course* the lead story was Supergirl. She tried putting on the Lakehawks game, but that had been preempted for Supergirl coverage.

She turned to the science channel. Oh, of course they’d decided that tonight was the night to premier some ridiculous companion documentary for the World of Krypton exhibit running downtown at the convention center, and of course Lena works tune in right as Kara appeared on screen, grinning ear to ear as she charitably gave some literal kid reporter the interview of her lifetime, fielding softball questions about her dead planet.

“What do you miss most?” the kid asked.

Lena saw it, saw it the way only someone who knew Supergirl was just Kara Danvers, the nerdy, dorky, kinda basic goof in a pompous costume, could. The flash of real pain in the hero’s eyes, the softness in her voice, like she was apologizing for the honest of her answer.

“Red sunrises,” said Kara.

Lena threw the teacup across the room, and it shattered across the screen, leaving the dregs tricking down the surface. Lena wished the TV had been knocked out, but the screen was shielded by a transparent aluminum she’d invented herself.

So she changed the channel, just in time to get a face full of The Princess Bride, just as Buttercup was shoving a then-disguised Westley down the hill as he shouted the line the revealed his identity.

“Oh fuck you all,” Lena muttered, as she scooped her keys from the kitchen counter.

Lena decided it was a night for subtlety, so she took the BMW, driving with the top down and and her phone in her jacket pocket, so she could feel it if someone called.

Lena drove for the better part of an hour, reflecting on the absurdity of simply looking for Kara in a sprawling city; National City had about two thirds the population of Metropolis, but it covered nearly four times the land area and was surrounded by sprawling suburbs that extended the entire metro area to the size of a small state.

This was hopeless, unless Lena knew where to go.

You know what you have to do. You know what you’ve always had to do.

Kara answered on the third ring.

“Hi.”

Her voice was tiny and small, and Lena felt like she was clutching some small fragile thing to her cheek.

“Hey,” she said, with all the softness she could muster with the top down. She pulled to a stop on the side of Ocean Avenue so she could soften it further. “I heard what happened.”

“I beat the monster.”

“I know,” said Lena. “You always do. Where are you, Kara?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I don’t know who out you up to this, but you don’t have to do it, Lena. I know how you feel about me now.”

No, you fucking don’t, Lena thought, before she could silence her own frantic mind. If you knew you wouldn’t have lied to me.

“Tell me where you are.”

“I’m where I belong,” Kara sighed, the hint of slurring in her words hinting that she’d been drinking.

Then she hung up.

A wave of anger welled in Lena’s chest, and she clenched her teeth, seizing the shift lever to throw the car in drive and head home; Kara and her sister could handle their own bullshit.

She didn’t drive home.

Lena arrived at the convention center in a frantic five minutes, parking crazily in a towing zone. Finding a way in took another few minutes, and soon the flat soles of her tennis shoes were squeaking as they echoed across the polished granite floors of the lobby.

She found Kara in the exhibit, surrounded by quiet, dark displays as she stood in front of a bannered exhibit proclaiming “RAO, THE SUN OF KRYPTON”.

Kara ignored Lena as she approached, tipping back a sloshing, mostly empty bottle of Jack Daniels to take a hearty gulp.

“Kara?” said Lena.

Kara swayed slightly on her feet. She’d gotten a raincoat somewhere and put it on over her suit, cape and all, and even from a distance she stank of whiskey. She was staring at the display in front of her, an expansive orrery surrounding a lit model of Rao. Lena had never seen her so haggard, even her lustrous hair limp sallow.

“Hi,” Kara said, taking another drink.

“What are you doing?”

“Chasing a red sunrise.”

Lena approached slowly, until they stood side by side.

She stole a quick glance. Kara had a black eye and she was swaying slightly, and Lena wasn’t sure if it was from the booze or the fight. She started to take another drink.

Grasping the bottle by the neck, Lena took it from her. Kara didn’t resist as Lena tipped back a long pull on the bottle herself. It offended her palate in every possible way but one, but it was a good way to numb herself.

“Alex send you?”

“No,” said Lena. “She just had to tell me. She knew I’d send myself.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s a lot more observant than you are.”

Kara studied her for a moment, then reached for the bottle back.

Lena looked at it. “How much of this have you had?”

“Not enough,” said Kara, taking another drink.”

“If you insist on destroying your liver, at least let me give you something that actually tastes good.”

“It all tastes like paint thinner,” said Kara.

Lena sighed. “Get in the car.”

Kara shrugged and followed Lena out, flopping extravagantly in the passenger’s seat. Lena drove in silence, using the excuse that the wind noise made it too hard to talk.

When they arrived at Lena’s apartment, she practically shoved Kara inside, and poured the rest of the swill down the drain.

“Hey,” Kara muttered.

“There’s still some of your clothes in the guest bedroom. Take that damned suit off and put on something else.”

Kara complied, trudging into the bedroom. She emerged a moment later, looking small and sad with her hands tucked up inside an oversized hoodie, wobbling giving Lena a glassy look.

As she sat down, Lena handed her a glass of wine and perched on the edge of the couch cushion beside her, gently pressing an ice pack to her eye. Kara leaned into it and let out a soft, unsteady sigh.

“Pain hurts,” she observed.

“It’ll do that.”

Then she went quiet, sinking into Lena’s couch with Lena’s ice pack pressed to her face. Lena stepped into the kitchen and pulled out her phone. Alex answered immediately.

“I have her.”

“Thank God. I’ll be over to get her in a few minutes.”

“No you won’t,” Lena sighed.

Alex didn’t answer her for a too-long pause.

“Yeah. Call me in the morning.”

“Will do.”

Kara had found the wine bottle when Lena came back, and was taking a drink form it. Lena sat down next to her and took it, drawing on it hard before passing it back.”

“What now?” said Kara.

“Is the ice still cold?”

“Yeah.”

Kara curled up next to Lena, bringing her legs up, her toes wiggling in empty air. Lena sighed and found her a blanket, spreading it over her too carefully.

As soon as Lena sat down, Kara spread the blanket over her, too, and Lena noticed that her absurd body heat hadn’t abated from the loss of her powers.

“You have tea on your TV,” Kara observed.

“Yeah,” said Lena.

It took her a few minutes to find something on television that wasn’t Supergirl or The Fox and the Hound.

(Fucking seriously?)

Nature documentaries were Kara’s kryptonite, to turn a phrase, and soon she was sleeping on Lena’s shoulder, the ice bag fallen into her lap. Lena stared down at the soft features of the surpassingly lovely little goddess snoozing against her and couldn’t help it anymore.

She started to weep softly, her shoulders hitching as she struggled to stop it, knowing the attempt was hopeless.

It got worse when Kara began to purr, a deep and soothing rumble in her chest that seemed to seep into Lena’s bones. After a moment she realized that Kara was crying too; she’d woken up.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lena. I can’t… I can’t breathe I’m so sorry. I lost my red sunrise. I can’t lose you too. I’ll do anything. Please let me make it up to you I promise I will, please.”

Lena shifted to a more comfortable position, known this was it for the night, that something had shifted. No, shattered. She was tired of being angry, of being afraid, if thinking of could-have-beens and come-what-mays. Yes, Kara had lied. Lena had lied. They’d kept secrets and been stupid and and they’d hurt each other, but nothing in the world, no principles or closely held rules or petty anger would justify watching her suffer like this.

She was careful as she cupped Kara’s jaw, avoiding the injury, feeling a flash of rage at whoever had done this to her. (That his ass had been throughly kicked by an angry Kryptonian was irrelevant; her vengeance would not be forestalled.)

The kiss was quiet and gentle, at once too soft and quick, more request than declaration, and Kara swiftly answered with one so fierce and honest and hopeful that Lena didn’t care that Kara’s mouth tasted like whiskey and wine.

When it was over, Lena found herself whispering, “As you wish.”

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #literally made myself cry #angst #angst with a happy ending #happy angst #“hangst as it were #Kryptonians can purr #not canon compliant

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eupheme · 1 year ago

Text

— can’t get you out of my mind

joel miller x f!reader

rated e - 2k

tags: loose structure, flashbacks, jackson-era joel, joel pov, established relationship, light angst, slightly possessive!joel, floor unprotected piv, brief oral, praise kink, 1 ass smack, squirting, come marking

a/n: wip title was ‘reminiscing and railing’ - Joel railing reader while thinking back to their beginning.

The flannel you now wear around your waist bunches in his fist. Using it as leverage, the jerk of his hand as he pulls you back to meet his thrust.

His flannel.

Joel recognizes it. A relic from Lincoln, the green and reds fading with the trail long since traveled. Patched sewn over holes that match scars carved into his own flesh.

Sweat beads at the nape of his neck.

The days have started growing shorter, as the leaves have started to fade into shades of gold and copper.

But the weather still clings onto the last dregs of summer. A morning chill that melts under the heat of the afternoon sun, settling over your skin.

He used to like this time of year.

Barbecues and football. An evening spent in front of Tommy’s new big screen, splitting a six-pack of some cheap, shitty beer - something that would feel like a luxury now.

Back-to-school shopping, the twist in his heart as he pulled up to the old brick building on the first day of school. The smile and wave that he had always tried to match, though she was far braver than he was.

That was a long time ago. The memories have become blurry, ones he reaches for in his sleep. Slipping through his fingers.

Still trying desperately to forget what came after.

His birthday. The outbreak. Sarah.

A permanent stain, ink red. For years there had been a desire to just skip these months. To go to sleep in the heat of the summer and wake up in winter, instead.

But even that wish has started to fade, but only just. Though, it wasn’t time that did it.

Now, layers are shed as the early patrol comes to an end - a reprieve taken within the wall of an abandoned house you’ve come to know well.

The flannel you now wear around your waist bunches in his fist. Using it as leverage, the jerk of his hand as he pulls you back to meet his thrust.

His flannel.

Joel recognizes it. A relic from Lincoln, the green and reds fading with the trail long since traveled. Patched sewn over holes that match scars carved into his own flesh.

His fingers had fumbled, not more than a week ago. Flattening over the curve of his chest, as he peered at himself the in cracked mirror.

Where the fabric pulled a little too tightly over his back. The buttons straining across his stomach. Hard labor in Jackson had thickened his shoulders. The food you made with so much care had nourished him.

Finally a chance to breathe in twenty years - to not rely on ration cards, or his own skill with a gun to guarantee a hot meal.

You had found him like this, your soft smile reflected in the mirror.

He had forgotten all about it, by the time you stripped the shirt from him.

There’s something inside of him that burns, to see the fabric tied around you now. The strips of skin above and below - the catalyst that had kicked off this unexpected break.

Tempted by your bare legs, kicked up on the broken coffee table. A peek of your stomach, as you stretched - before knotting your stolen flannel around your waist.

A reprimand had been on his tongue since this morning. That only layers could prevent a bite, the scrapes and scratches of being in the woods. His own too-hot canvas jacket a sacrifice he was used to making.

Disappearing from his tongue somewhere between the look you had given him, and the floor you’re now pressed against.

That canvas jacket discarded, slipped beneath your knees. Your cheek pressed against the sleeve, the button like a brand against your jaw. A mark indenting your skin, as your eyes screw shut.

His own knees ache, where they knock against the wooden floor. The creak of his leather boot as he adjusts the angle - a leg rising, a heavy foot pressing firm and flat against the ground as he arcs over you.

Your lips part with moan beneath him, the sound strangled as the air is pushed from your lungs.

So deep. So warm - his breath coming in a rough rush as he leans into you. Nudging himself just a little bit deeper, a palm pressing between your shoulder blades for balance.

It had been barely winter, when he’d first found this place. Another month before he brought you here, sheltering from a storm.

Eyes still fixed out the bare windows, at the skeleton-fingers of trees as you had rode him. Your own head thrown back, chest heaving against the mouth that teased at your tits - too intent on your own movements to notice the way his eyes drifted.

Fixing out, into the forest. Unable to help the split attention, with wounds still fresh from Salt Lake City. Hands that had taken, too harsh in the way they had bit into your skin.

The rough slap of his thighs when the sliver of control had been wrenched from you - rolling you beneath him to finish the job.

Now, with the golden sun overhead, the gentle sway of the leaves in the breeze - he gives.

Eyes fixed only on you.

He’s spent too much time looking away. Almost realizing it when it was too late. All those weeks of looking anywhere but at you.

It had been easier, that way. Maybe a part of him had known, deep down. An instinctual inkling of what you’d become to him.

He hadn’t been ready.

Content to know the scuffs on your boots better than the color of your eyes, missing the way they crinkle when you smile at him.

The way they widen, flutter, squeeze shut - just for him. Only for him.

It’s always taken him a little time to come around.

It was winter when you had fallen together. But it had been earlier that spring when the seed had been planted, first taking root.

His first true spring in Jackson - getting to see the shoots push up in the community garden. The main road slowly waking after a cold winter, filling out with people and stalls and coming to life, again.

You were new, slipping in while the town had still slept.

Easily winning Ellie over with your baking, simple cakes made from what they had. Learned from those who had still remembered the before, passing down their memories.

He had been won over, later.

As the days had slowly grown longer, and then short again. Tentative smiles in the summer turning into excuses to stay just a couple minutes longer - when you showed up on his porch, something saccharine wrapped up in the wicker basket at your elbow.

The memory lingers on his tongue.

As sweet as the taste he had gotten between your thighs no more than a few minutes ago, your little gasp as he had groaned into you.

Unable to resist, as his thumbs had hooked around the elastic waistband of your shorts. Pushing them down your legs, letting them twist near your knees.

Seeing how you already arched for him, legs nudging wider for balance. Waiting for his fingers, but he had dipped - ignoring the dull stretch of his back as his lips had ghosted across yours.

His tongue following, where you’re plush and wet as the tip slipped against your slit. Pretty, he had thought, like he had a hundred times before.

You always were.

Under the sun, with the flash of your teeth, the cock of your head.

When your forehead wrinkled with worry, the urge always rising to press his thumb against them - wiping them away.

In sleep - with the flutter of your eyelashes and soft sigh, as you burrowed against his chest.

Your muscles had tensed - shoulders stiff and thighs trembling as you had taken him. A held breath hissing through teeth, turning into a sharp groan as the tip of his cock nudged its way inside.

As he enveloped himself in you, his own words near-stuttered with the way you immediately clenched down around him. Warm and wet and made for him.

“Come on, honey. You can take it.”

“That’s my good girl.”

That last one had you softening. Unable to hide the way his words affected you, your head lolling against your shoulder as his hips finally pressed flush to yours.

The sight will be one that he thinks of often. That twist of green and grey and red around your waist. The arch of your back, already a little shift of your hips as you encourage him to move.

All that soft skin, not nearly as marred as his. His palm flattened over the curve of your ass, a smack that is more sound than pressure.

Your groan filled the room, as he finally began to move. The soft snap of his hips turning sharp, as the memories had washed over him.

The shift of your arm brings him back, now. Eyes half-closed in bliss, the curl of your shoulder as your hand moves to slip between your legs.

Something pricks at him then, the bite of possession sinking its teeth into his skin. An ache to do this himself.

Though he might not need to - he can tell from the way you meet him, the bitten-back sounds you make, that the move was in desperation.

He should have been paying more attention.

No use thinking about the past, when he’s got you here now.

Joel catches your fingers, a broad hand curling around your wrist. Pinning it back against the floor as his knee drops to the ground again.

“Y’ don’t need it.” His chest presses into your back as he leans over you. Close enough for his stubble to scratch against your cheek, feel his weight as he cages you in, “Can come like this, can’t you?”

He says it like a question, but it’s not. Not really. An edge to his voice, your knees inching wider as they scrape against the floor. As his rhythm ticks up - sharper and faster than his lazy rhythm earlier.

Stroking against that spot inside you. Just a tease before, when his mind had wandered. Now he knows he has you there, right at the edge. Just needing a little more.

Something he’s sure he can give you, if you let him.

“Joel.” His name is broken, whined through your teeth. Laced with awe, as if he hadn’t done the same thing with his fingers - teased at your inner walls until you soaked them.

“I think I’m… oh my god-”

Breathless, as his nose ghosts against your neck. As he pins you further, arching your back more. Open-mouthed kisses pressed to your throat, as he feels you shiver beneath him.

“That’s it.” His teeth scrape skin, a ragged edge to his voice, “Know you are.”

Something that tips close to a plea, with the way he needs to feel it, with the way it punches from his lungs, “Lemme feel you come on my cock, sweetheart. Come on-”

Your fingers squeeze around his, clinging to him. A lifeline, as the feeling swells and then breaks - as he rips your orgasm from you. That warmth around him turning molten and wet as he feels that tight pulse, how you drip down his cock.

Down to where his balls grow tight, a sharp coiling in his belly. A feeling he tries to hold back, but you’re still moaning his name, eyes screwed shut as each pump of his cock draws your pleasure out.

Each thrust pushes the air from your lungs in a pretty gasp, too far gone to do anything but press your cheek to his coat. Hands trapped in his - one still pinned to the floor, the other biting into his wrist.

He’s too busy watching you to notice the way his thrusts have grown sloppy, off-rhythm in the way he’s racing to meet you.

“Fuck-” Joel’s jaw grits. There’s barely enough time for his hips to move - to pull his length from you, leaving you clenching.

Slick with your release as his fingers closes around his cock. Barely managing two pumps of his fist before he’s spilling over the swell of your ass, dripping down damp thighs.

His groan rough and broken in the empty house, panting breaths with the slick slide of his fist as he works himself empty.

Making a mess of you, your skin streaked with him, shining and glossy. It makes him he almost regret starting this here - that he can’t pull you into the shower, and then bed, after.

Instead, he hovers over you until his heart no longer races. Until he can push himself onto unsteady feet, finding an old rag in the kitchen.

Wiping your skin clean, as you sigh - boneless against the worn floor. Content as the sun streaks through the windows, warming patches of bare skin.

Sweat clings to his skin after, leaving him sticky. Heart still fluttering in his chest as you both finally move - backs pressing against the threadbare couch, clothes mostly fixed in place.

Your head presses against his shoulder, a loose little lean as your legs stretch out. Still just as bare as before, his hand curving around your thigh and squeezing.

Letting time pass, for just a little bit longer.

“Tommy said we would stop by for dinner,” You eventually break the silence - flashing a still-dazed smile, as your fingernails scratch into his forearm, “You wanna go? Ellie said she’d meet us there. Think she’s bringin’ a friend.”

So casual in the way you say it - as if they weren’t going to show up with bruised knees, still wearing his shirt. As if your skin wasn’t still stained with him, patches and still-drying streaks he might have missed.

Moving up to rub at the joints that grow sore with the heat and the cold. Such a small thing to remember, but you always do.

“Sounds good.” He sighs into your touch.

It ain’t a barbecue, but it’s close enough.

Joel used to hate this time of year.

But today… it doesn’t seem all that bad.

experimenting with different styles of writing - I thought of this as a sort-of sister fic to looking back! and thank you so much for reading, it is so appreciated 💖💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine

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kasagia · 2 years ago

Text

I'll be back for you

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/General Kirigan/The Darkling x reader, Kaz Brekker x reader Summary: The Moon Summoner ran away with Alina from the Little Palace with the help of Kaz Brekker's crows. The group successfully escaped from Darkling's hands, but that doesn't mean he will forget about his Y/N. He's going to chase her until she is in his arms again. However, Mr. Brekker did not let his childhood friend disappear without a trace from his life again. He will protect her. For all costs. After all, she was his newest investment. Warning(s): Darkling, Kaz fights haphephobia (but not as severe for him ), reader argues with Baghra, reader has internal moral conflict, curses, fights, and their red aftermath, I used a quote from TVD and The Invisible Life of Addie Laurie because… they fit and I love them veeery much It's my first one-shot for both Darkling and Kaz, so please be gentle (I'm very nervous and excited at the same time to publish it) <3 Word count: 14k (too long, someone should take me away from the keyboard in the middle of this)

~•♤♤♤•~ Part 2 (end) ~•♤♤♤•~

Every night since you escaped with Alina and Genya with the help of your childhood friend Kaz and his crows from Ravka, you've been haunted by nightmares. No. Not the usual horrible flashbacks of your past in Ketterdam or the Little Palace.

HE visited you.

The Darkling. The Black Heretic. The man who promised to keep your heart safe and broke it in two along with your trust.

Genya has a right to warn you about powerful men. But you, the lost girl kidnapped by slave hunters from Ketterdam, the girl who has nothing to lose and was happy enough to somehow end up in the general's tent and find out about being one of the most powerful Grisha, didn't want to listen to her.

You foolishly believed that you, of all people, were able to charm the most dangerous man in all Ravka with your beauty, character and mind.

You believed that sweet words, longing glances and tender moments between you were real, that they meant something.

But it was all just a game. A game that brought him your affection and blind trust. And Kirigan, Darkling, or Alexander played in it like mastermind.

You should have listened to Genya. At least those damn dark eyes wouldn't haunt you every time you closed yours.

With the taste in men you have, you should have predicted that the first guy you hooked up with would be a psychopath. Fate could only be a little bit more favorable to you and not connect you to the hundreds-year-old black heretic who created the fold.

You've always had a weakness for villains and gray characters.

Your first teenage crush only proved it.

Because who else but you would fall in love with a bastard boy from the barrel who started his criminal career with the Dregs, who couldn't stand the touch of other people, and who wanted nothing more in his life than revenge on Pekka Rollins?

If I survive this shit, I really should find someone normal to be with.

You thought before you somehow managed to fall asleep for the first time in a month, hoping that your bond with the Darkling would weaken for those few hours when you tried to find peace.

~•♤♤♤•~

It was pure darkness around you. Not that one when all the lights went out and it's only you and your bed. No. They felt too familiar for you to confuse them with anything else. Those were his shadows.

He must have been near, playing with you as he always had.

You carefully took one step forward. The shadows parted in front of you, so you could see the ground. You bent down to your boot and pulled out a dagger, hiding it behind the sleeve of your blouse. You had to be ready for anything. Even if it meant fighting the shadow lord himself in your own subconscious. You sighed, stepping uncertainly into the darkness.

Your eyes quickly adjusted to the place around you, allowing you to move faster along the path. You recognized this bloody spot. The path in the woods you raced down when he took you for your first ride. Then he dragged you to HIS fountain, telling you nonsense about how it's only here among other Grishas that you discover your true self. He was already weaving his manipulative web around you, and you fell into it like an oblivious fly.

The snap of a twig stopped you. You looked around, not seeing anything at all except for the fountain in the distance. You flinched as his shadows gently pushed you forward.

"I'm not going to play another of your games, General!" you screamed as you spun around, walking forward. If he was already disturbing you, at least he might have had the honor to step out of the shadows.

"Call me Aleksander…"

You shivered as you felt his soft whisper against your neck. You spun, summoning your light and shooting into the space behind you. Unfortunately, it didn't encounter any Black Heretics on its way.

You huffed angrily, continuing your walk until you reached the fountain.

It was different than when he brought you here last time. The engravings have changed. They no longer told the story of the Black Heretic who created the fold. They were of you and Aleksander. Slowly falling in love.

"The union of darkness and his light." you felt your body tremble as the fabric of his kefta brushed your hand.

"I would never have taken you for such a sentimental fool." you turned to face him, taking a step back to increase the distance between you. With a very smug smirk, you noticed that he had dark circles under his eyes. Good. At least the son of a bitch suffers as much as you do. "Especially not after what Baghra had told me."

"My mother has the amazingly irritating gift of ruining my plans. She also doesn't like the people I care about much."

"Hmm… what a pity. Maybe if you weren't planning to use us as weapons in your plans, I'd care more. Also, don't try to tell me that there are people in this world who are more important to you than yourself. We both know I'm not going to fall for it again."

"I understand your resentment." you laughed, shaking your head in disbelief as you turned your gaze back to the fountain. "What's so funny?" you relished every irritated word directed at you. Maybe you couldn't seriously hurt him physically, but at least you could be a pain in his ass.

"I just forgot how easy it is for you to choose words that both tell the truth and work in your favor. Please, continue. I didn't truly laugh for a very long time."

"You're making a mistake." he stood next to you, grabbing your arm to turn you toward him.

You yanked your arm out of his grip as soon as your powers met in that familiar dance of dark and light. You both sighed, stunned by the sudden combination of your powers coursing through your veins. You opened your eyes, which you closed in the flow of the moment, meeting his tender, longing gaze. The man reached out to cup your cheek, but you pulled away from him before your skin had a chance to touch again.

"Funny. That's what I heard from your mother before she made me realize what shit I got into."

"One conversation with my mother, and you're ready to give it all up? Just because she was faster than me? Because she revealed a truth about me that she had no right to? What if I wanted to tell you right after I dealt with the group that wanted to attack you and Miss Starkov?" the grudge in his eyes only fueled your anger. He had no right to resent you for running away from him at the earliest opportunity when he had been hiding this important piece of his past for so long.

"What does it matter, general? None of it was real anyway." you growled, turning your back on him again so as not to reveal your hidden emotions to him. You didn't want him to know that you still cared. Indifference was a worse punishment for him than your wrath.

"So c'mon. Prove your point. Turn around, look me in the eyes, and tell me that you didn't feel anything towards me for even the slightest moment."

You wanted. You really did. To look directly into his soul-black eyes and say that he meant as much to you as the dust under your shoes. However, you both knew very well that it would be just a poor lie. And you both knew each other well enough to know when the other was lying.

"Just because my foolish heart longs for something, it doesn't mean I'll give in to its stupid desires. Wasn't you the one who told me that wanting makes us weak?"

"You should know I've changed my mind by now." the sound of leaves crunching under his boots was the only warning you got before you felt his presence behind you. "You. You are changing my mind."

"Don't tell me I have any influence over you. It's a poor play. You can do better, Kirigan."

"You and I may change the world, Y/N…" you flinched as you heard the exact same words he said here so many months ago. You turned to face him when you felt the coldness of one of his shadows wrapping around your leg. You pointed your dagger at the man standing only one, little step away from you. He didn't seem affected at all as you pointed the dagger at him. He didn't even look at it. His eyes were only on yours. "You may not see it now, too blinded by your righteous, but not entirely fair, anger at me, but deep down, you know that we are destined for greater things than others. You, me, and Alina together can be the strongest creatures in the world."

"You know very well that we never wanted to live like this. Neither of us."

"Do you? Alina maybe doesn't want to be the Saint, but you, Y/N?" you took a step back and another as the black heretic approached you with his every word. He stood in front of you, letting the dagger you were holding in your trembling hands touch his chest. He smiled almost mockingly, seeing that your weapon against him was exactly the same one he gave you on your birthday, provoking your anger again. To spite him, you summoned wispy beams of white light that began to radiate from your hand to chase away his shadows.

"You don't know what I want." you growled, pressing the dagger harder against his heart to remind him that you were in control here. He could sneak into your dreams, but at night you were the most powerful Grisha in this bloody world. And even he had to reckon with your power.

"Yet I still see a desire in your eyes." you shifted your gaze to him, watching him silently and with hostility as his face was illuminated only by your powers. You were disgusted to find that, despite his betrayal, he was still equally handsome to you. "Not only for me but also for my power. You, my little moonlight, you want to be just like me. Strong, powerful, and ageless." he raised his hand deftly, dodging your dagger, and, under your watchful gaze, brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, stroking your cheek as he did so. He took a step towards you, causing you to press the blade against his neck as he got close enough to whisper in your ear. "You can run as far as you want, but you don't run from the truth that's inside you. And when you finally understand what you really want, I'll be there for you, waiting with open arms for my saint moon."

"Have fun waiting for this day, Morozova." you whispered, not giving in to his piercing gaze.

"I am a very patient man, after a thousand years on this earth, you will be too, Y/L/N."

"I'm not you, Aleksander. I don't wanna live forever, and I'm not gonna. I won't see the only people I truly love and care about die before me. Even eternity and unimaginable power are not worth it."

"They're still people you love and who can share this fate with you. Who will live long enough to be with you forever." one of his shadows began to wrap around your hand, forcing you to remove the dagger from his neck.

He leaned closer to you and rested his forehead against yours. You sighed, shivering as the scent of his familiar perfume enveloped you after so many weeks apart. You were tempted to give in to him again. And that dark desire in your heart terrified you more than the capabilities of the Black Heretic caressing your cheek.

"This isn't love. It was just a game. We were just playing a game. The same one you created a long time ago to earn my trust. But I'm no longer that naive girl who is desperate for somebody's attention and love. You made me stronger, crueler, ruthless. And believe me, general, I'll repay you for all you have done."

"You don't believe that. You can't have believed my mother that I am your villain so easily." in other circumstances, where your heart wasn't beating for his, you'd probably laugh at the desperation in his voice. But now that every fiber of you longed for the man before you, there was only one thing you could do.

"Then tell me, Aleksander..." you leaned in to him, rubbing his nose with yours as he closed his eyes and waited for your lips to finally touch after weeks of craving your slightest touch. "Why was I so tempted to do this?" you dug into his tempting mouth, giving you both what you needed.

In your head, you explained this crime against your friends as wanting to do what was originally intended to be your primary goal. The gentle prolongation of your longing, amazing, desperate kiss before you plunged the dagger into his side without the slightest hesitation wasn't your fault at all. Aleksander moaned into your lips, pulling away from you as he felt blood trickle down his side.

"Leave me alone, or I will make myself your villain." you whispered into his mouth before you somehow managed to get yourself out of your "dream".

~•♤♤♤•~

"Y/N?" Alina's soft whisper wakes you up. You opened your eyes, feeling how your chest was burning for fresh air and your heart beating faster than it should. The woman was sitting next to you, holding your hand.

In the corner of your eye, you can see Nina standing in the doorway of the room Kaz graciously assigned to you after you arrived in Ketterdam. You can swear on saints that Inej was looking through your window before she went - probably going to tell Kaz about your fourth nightmare this week.

And it was only Tuesday.

You felt attacked from all sides. If not Inej through the window, then the madmen through the door or in your dreams.

"What are you doing here? It's well after midnight." you asked her, gratefully accepting a towel from Nina to wipe the sweat from your face. Alina and Genya lived far from the club, in motels on opposite sides of the city.

"Just in case someone betrays us. At least one of you will save yourself if the Darkling comes to these parts."

Brekker's brilliant and preventive mind had already terrified you before you stepped off the boat onto the familiar land of Ketterdam. The fact that he thought through and arranged your accommodation before anyone could ask him was either another display of his otherworldly mind or a blatant act of arrogance and overconfidence in his strength against the Darkling. But you knew Kaz too well to assume that he underestimated the power of the Black Heretic even for a moment.

"Nice to see you too. Kaz sent for me."

"Since when does the sun summoner do all the Dreg king's orders?" you asked, making Nina laugh.

"Since the moon summoner is constantly skipping her bedtime. You have to sleep. You can't always be on Jesper's special energetic drinks." she scolded you like a little child, to which you snorted indignantly.

"I will take a gorgeous, lovely, very long nap right after we kill Kirigan. Before then, nobody can make me do that. And tell Kaz I remembered him as braver the last time we saw each other on your way back to the motel."

"We are just worried about you, Y/N. You slept the whole night only once since we left."

"Don't tell me you're surprised. If you were me, you would do the same."

"Maybe. But we both know you're stronger than me. I know you can beat him, and even if you can't do this alone, which I doubt…" she wrapped her hand around yours, making you look into her eyes again. "You must know I will always be by your side, like you by mine. It's you and me against the darkness, Y/N."

"You know, you've spent way too much time on that boat with your toughts. You sound like an old uncle giving good advice or something."

"Speaking of advice, if I were you, I wouldn't insult the only person who can wake you up from… this." Nina waved her hand in a circle, pointing to the miserable state you were in.

"You should see Kirigan. I stabbed him." you replied with a self-satisfied smirk, watching the heartrender gasp in shock and Alina shake her head in disapproval.

"What have I told you about starting unnecessary arguments with him and maiming him?"

"That this is a good way to vent my anger and frustration?" you asked innocently with a huge smile.

Alina drew breath to argue with you, but a knock on the door distracted her. You glanced at Jesper, peering into your room, and wrinkled your nose at the light-burnt sheets you and Alina had left.

"The boss wants you, moon girl."

"Not only him." you murmured, pulling the remnants of the quilt from yourself. You took your clothes out of the closet and turned to the people in the room with your hands on your hips. "Are you leaving or staying for the show?" Alina mumbled a silent apology, blushing in embarrassment as she left, along with a laughing Jesper and an amused Nina.

You sighed as you stood in front of the mirror and brushed away the sweaty hair that was stuck to your face. Thanks to Inej and Kirigan, it looks like you'll have a long conversation with Kaz about your safety again. Your friend was sometimes a bigger pain in the ass than you—an achievement that wasn't granted by you to just anyone.

"I just fucking hope you're writhing in pain right now." you muttered to yourself, not believing for a moment in the sincerity of what you just said.

~•♤♤♤•~

"You wanted me." you entered the Dirtyhands' office without knocking, taking a place of honor on one of the two comfortable armchairs in the room. Kaz didn't look up from his papers, but the slight crease of irritation on his forehead told you he had noticed your presence. You were surprised that, after years of separation, you could still read him easily. "It's rude to ignore your guest."

"It's rude to come in without knocking." he replied to your provocation, tracing something he had just written. You snorted in amusement, seeing that you managed to distract him.

"Well, I didn't come here for no reason. You sent Jes for me."

"Jes?" a diminutive you used for his sharpshooter, has earned the man's attention. He gave you a questioning look, throwing the papers on his desk.

"What? Can't I make a friend other than you?"

"I'm your boss." he hummed, getting his cane up from his desk and walking to his dresser. You rolled your eyes as you watched the man's back. The son of a bitch knew perfectly well that you hated it when he didn't look at you during a conversation.

"Sure, if it helps you sleep, tell yourself what you want, Brekker."

"You live at my club, sleep here, eat with my crows, and waste my time taking some useless gossip from downstairs." he enumerated, turning over his things and searching persistently for something.

"And I'd been doing this for four years before you became Mr. Scary Dirtyhands from the Barrel. You just proved my point, Kazzle. We are friends."

You got up from your chair and stood next to him. You glanced at the contents of his drawer and frowned, noticing something familiar. You reached for a small silver box with his REAL initials on it, but the man slammed the drawer shut before you could get your hands on the find. You snorted indignantly as you noticed the smug smirk on his face as he nearly clipped your fingers for your meddling.

Kaz Brekker was sentimental enough to keep the ashtray you gave him.

You involuntarily remembered what you told him when you handed it to him.

"I know you don't smoke and don't celebrate your birthday, but I think that's a pretty nice metaphor and the closure you need."

"What? An old ashtray from the market? Which you probably swept from under the noses of some heavy smokers."

"No, genius, in case you haven't noticed, it has a special engraving. Read it."

"For K.R., let him rest in peace. What's that supposed to mean?"

"You can consider it what you want. A keepsake of your former self, a lost life you might have had, an urn for the ashes of your former self... we both know you're not the same man you used to be. And you have every right to be, Kaz. It's just... I think you deserve something commemorating your old self. The boy who stole half-rotten apples with me to survive. Now you are someone else—someone stronger, wiser, cunninger... but know that I will never forget Kaz, who was my only light when I was at my worst."

"That's pretty sentimental for you. Also, calling me light is not quite an appropriate metaphor." he replied coolly, returning to his book.

You nodded to him, saying goodbye. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him stroke a silver object for a moment and put it in his pants pocket. You smiled. Apparently, you weren't the only sentimental fool in Ketterdam.

"Then, as my friend, you won't mind telling me about that strange connection between you and the Darkling that keeps you from sleeping without threatening to set my club on fire with your dazzling moonlight?" he asked, snapping you out of your flashback.

"No, because, as my friend, you won't be nosy, and out of politeness, you won't ask."

"I anticipated this reaction. That's why I got this." a velvet ring box magically appeared in his hands.

"Are you going to propose to me? Oh, Kazzie, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for this! You don't have to kneel, sweetheart. We can call Jes, and he'll do it for you. It's a perfect opportunity for him to practice before asking Wylan."

"Can you be serious for just one moment, please?" he asked, blushing slightly and trying to give you one of his famous menacing looks.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist. Besides, you could have foreseen in that plan of yours that I would never waste such an opportunity."

"Just open it." he sighed, tossing you the box. Too curious to find out what was inside, you decided to leave the poor boy alone and refrained from commenting further. You widened your eyes as you saw the real ring. "What? No enthusiastic and loud: "Yes, Kazzie, I'll marry you!", so my crows can tease me about it too? To be honest, I'm disappointed, Y/N."

"Well, I could have been joking about it when I didn't have a ridiculously beautiful ring in front of me. Sorry that I'm a little confused, Kaz."

"It's good you like it, but I'd rather know if it works as it should. Put it on your finger."

"As romantic as always." you murmured, trying on a silver ring with an opal and small diamonds around the stone. You raised your hand and, by using your power, increased the light reflected by the moon that was still in the sky so it could illuminate your new jewelry. "It's beautiful, but I have absolutely no idea what it is supposed to do."

"Protect you." you glanced back at Kaz, only to discover that he had been staring at you the entire time. The white sparkles in his eyes caused by your light captivated you more than the shining diamonds. You shook your head, remembering what happened the last time you gave in to your stupid crush.

"Protect me?"

"I've been doing some research with Alina and Nina about the bond between you and him, the amplifiers… we believe this will weaken the bond between you enough for you to sleep peacefully. He will not enter your mind uninvited." he said, spitting out the words about the Darkling like he was a plague. But you were more interested in something quite different from his open dislike of the Black Heretic.

"Why? Why are you getting through all of it for me? It's not your war to fight. You have no interest in it."

"I have. Since I got you out of the Little Palace, you've been my investment. And I protect everything I invest in and what's worth my time. No matter what."

"You do realize I won't bring you any profit? Alina would be a better choice than me." you questioned his choice. Kaz turned to the window, as if looking for Inej, whose arrival would interrupt this uncomfortable conversation.

Unfortunately for him, the saints had no watch over him. And one of them was waiting for him to gather his thoughts and answer her question. He had to do this without betraying the emotions that had been bubbling up inside him since he had first seen her at one of the Dreg's raids. He was lost the second he saw her and completely fated to love her after their first conversation.

But she couldn't know it.

She couldn't know that his heart was gone with her and that it took him ages to find himself after she disappeared. He promised himself to keep her away from him. To make sure he wouldn't fall for her beauty, mind, eyes, smile, and laugh like he had done as a child. But the second he saw her again, he knew that his heart was hers. Hers to keep, hold, break, play.

But she couldn't know it.... At least not now. Not when he had just snatched her from the Darkling's grasp.

Not when he wasn't ready to love her the way she should be loved.

"That's for me to evaluate and for you to make sure I won't regret this. Besides, I only invest in one-of-a-kind. I don't need more narcissistic saints to go into my office like it was their own." he said after a long silence, without taking his eyes off the window.

He was afraid that his eyes would betray the truth hidden in his stupid heart. He was grateful to all above that she wasn't a heartrender and couldn't feel his treacherous heart beating madly every time he looked at her. He just had to make sure Nina didn't reveal his little secret. He didn't know that the woman had been blackmailed into a similar case by the moon summoner.

"So I'm pretty lucky. I would die if I had to sleep on those inconvenient motel beds."

"Considering how much sleep you actually get, you're unlikely to notice a difference." you gasped, feigning indignation at the mischievous, amused tone of his voice.

"You're a cruel bastard, Kaz Brekker." he finally turned to you with a small smirk on his face. You giggled, only widening his smile.

"Go and check your ring. I hope you won't be threatened by any ugly faces."

"Yes, boss." you saluted, walking towards the door. You opened it and were about to leave when an idea popped into your head. You leaned against the door frame, looking at the man taking his place at the desk. "Kazzie?" you asked sweetly, biting your lip to keep from laughing too soon. The Bastard of the Barrel gave you a questioning look, fearing the familiar tone of your voice and the question coming. "As your fiancée, am I going to get half of your club?"

"Over my dead, cold body." he replied without a second of hesitation, perfectly prepared for such a provocation from your side.

"You know, you need to work on sharing if you plan to be husband material in the future. I feel sorry for your future spouse, unless it'll be your job."

"Go to sleep before I put you in bed myself."

"You should know better than to scare me with a good time, sweetheart!" you shouted back, leaving and pushing your way through the crowd of a few shocked Dregs who had probably heard the part about the fiancée and whom Kaz called to his office as soon as he saw them.

And as soon as he is done with them, Kaz will rip your legs out of your pretty ass. Even Alina and Nina will not be able to help you.

~•♤♤♤•~

The ring worked great. From that night on, you slept like a baby every day. The Darkling's face appeared only occasionally in your nightmares (both bloody ones and… more pleasant ones). But it wasn't REALLY him. Just a messed-up version of your sick imagination.

In the meantime, you trained with Alina and Nina (the woman needed the presence of other Grishas in Brekker's gang; besides, she was an amazing friend, and she also made wonderful waffles); you developed your powers; and you two gossiped with Genya, as she changed your looks every week so that no one would accidentally recognize you (by the way, you learned that David was heading this way to reunite with the love of his life).

You became close to Jes (you had the honor of being trained with HIS PISTOLS) and Inej, whose comforting company was invaluable (as well as the rooftop stealth lessons. Kaz cursed her after the first time you scared him by climbing through his office window and giving you a barrier. Of course you had your mind, and you didn't listen to him. Your unexpected visits to his office only became more frequent.)

So you could say that everything was on its way back to normality.

But it wasn't. Because one fine day, when the crows, Kaz, you, Alina, and Genya were eating breakfast at his club, someone showed up at your door.

Someone you didn't want to see more than the Darkling himself.

"What the fuck is she doing here, if I may culturally ask?" Alina gave you an apologetic look as Baghra walked casually into the crows' kitchen like she belonged here. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Kaz taking any sharp metal objects from the table that you might have used to attack the woman.

You and Baghra had a rough relationship. Due to the fact that you and Aleksander were something, the woman did not look at you very favorably. You had no intention of fawning over a woman who wanted to kill her own son, either. Maybe your feelings for the Darkling were... unclear, but you wouldn't wish anyone, not even your worst enemy, a mother who was willing to stand against her own child, to spurn him instead of doing... anything to help him out of his darkness. It was not in line with your moral views. But no one here seemed to care since they invited the mother of Satan to your table.

"It's nice to see you too, Y/N."

"I don't even have enough respect for you to lie to you and admit that seeing you didn't ruin my day. I will ask one last time..." you got up from the table, shielding Kaz and the crows as you summoned your power. "What are you doing here?"

"My son is looking for you all over the world, do you think I won't try to get to you first before he does?"

"Oh, you've already shown how much you care about outdoing Kirigan in reaching us. I'm asking you, what do you want from us?"

"I came here for you. Because of you, child." you stiffened slightly, wondering what else the old woman had to say. But you would die before admitting that Baghra's help would be invaluable to your little band of rebels. Your pride was both your greatest strength and weakness.

"Well, excuse me, but I have more important things to do than listen to some old lady's ravings. I haven't finished my breakfast yet, and I'm far too sober for another conversation about how everyone wants to use me as a weapon."

"Every day I'm less surprised by how you ended up with my son. You two are a perfect match for each other." she snapped, annoyed at your indifferent attitude.

"I'd suggest you get to the point. You were the one who wanted to meet with us. As our moon summoner mentioned, we don't have to listen to you. And trust me, I have absolutely no intention of stopping her when she wants to kick you out of my club." Kaz stood next to you, measuring the woman with a watchful gaze.

You were proud that he believed in your and Alina's powers and wasn't afraid to provoke the shadow summoner in your presence. You cast a fleeting glance at him, watching as Baghra gave him an appraising look.

"Mr. Breaker. It would be better for you and your club if work with the summoners of the sun and moon ended in Ravka. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

"I never make ill-considered decisions, and certainly not out of fear." he replied with his poker, business face.

"This is only a trait of the greatest winners or greatest losers."

"You don't have to worry about him. Mr. Brekker is always on the winning team." you answered for him, having had enough of this woman. Unfortunately, it looked like she wouldn't be leaving you so soon.

"Turn that light out, girl, before the Grishas swarm here. I won't hurt your boyfriend and his friends." you frowned as you heard Jes coughing in the background, trying not to laugh. With a wave of your hand, the white light around you vanished. You watched in displeasure as a smirk began to form on Baghra's lips.

"He is/I am not my/her boyfriend." together with Kaz, you both uttered these words as Baghra pushed past you. This caused you to turn to one another and exchange equally awkward, perplexed looks.

"Whatever, just get your lovebird butts over here." she murmured as she unfolded the map on the table and took a few items out of her bag. You snorted at seeing a small wooden statue of Aleksander.

It was going to be a long and tiring morning.

~•♤♤♤•~

"We have to hurry before your boy gets here. Good thing he is walking with the cane, at least it keeps him from sneaking up on us." Baghra growled at you. She'd only been here a week, and she'd already ruled everyone. You were no longer surprised at where Aleksander inherited his incredible self-confidence and arrogance.

"For the love of God, I'm telling you for the last time, KAZ IS NOT MY BOYFRIEND. Besides, if I were you, I wouldn't underestimate him. You could actually learn from him. You'll need a cane soon, too."

"Can you two just stop arguing for once and focus on the task at hand?" the sun summoner lingered, following you to the basement of the Crow Club.

"I'm sorry, Alina, that I'd rather banter with that witch than figure out how to seduce her son, lull his guard down, pluck the antlers of a wonderful steg out of his hand, and break the link between us once and for all."

"Start by undoing a few buttons on your blouse and letting your hair down; that should be enough for him to lose his mind." she advised you, making you and Alina shudder, both equally abashed.

"Seriously?" you asked mockingly, giving her a disgusted look. Nevertheless, you followed the woman's suggestion. "What is the next step? Shall I wear some nice underwear?"

"Not necessarily, but it would be nice to take off that ring. I doubt Aleksander would appreciate that someone other than himself gave you such gaudy jewelry." you snorted, taking off the only thing keeping the Darkling from crossing the walls of your mind.

You bypassed Baghra's outstretched hand and handed the ring to Alina. The older woman snorted indignantly at what you stuck your tongue out at. She didn't expect you to trust her with anything, even something as small as Kaz's ring, right?

"Done. What's next?"

"You need to make a connection. Every time he thinks of you or you think of him, you seek each other out and make a link. Imagine his face, voice, and silhouette; recall some memory associated with him; do anything to have him in front of your eyes. It should work and take you to where he is now. Just like when you two were getting into each other's dreams before Mr. Brekker gave you this ring."

"I did not seek him of my own free will. It just happened." you defended yourself, not wanting anyone to think you were looking for the Darkling like a lost puppy.

"You know him. He will continue to invade your thoughts and your life to convince you of the error of your ways and choices. This ring can work now, but what happens when you two get stronger in the future? It will stop working. You will be condemned to endure his pervasive presence. In the morning, afternoon, nights, and midnights. He won't let you go. Never. You cannot extract the stag from your own body. So you must find a way to block him permanently. Not by some magic ring."

You sighed, realizing she was right. You will be free of him only when any bond between you is gone. The only thing you were afraid of was that it existed between you and the Darkling long before you killed the stag...

Darkness and its light. Moon and shadow. Destined to be together. United at the end of the day.

"And what if I fail and he chokes me, stabs me, or just uses the cut on me?"

"We will observe the energy around you. If we see too many shadows or your light, we'll pull you out."

"All right. Let's get this over with." you sat down, leaning against the wall of the Crow Club basement, praying to all of Inej's mighty saints that your plan would work.

You closed your eyes, remembering the moment before your big performance at the winter fete.

You had to pretend that you didn't know Kaz, and then you had no idea what he was doing here wearing one of the soldiers uniforms. He promised to explain everything to you, but then Aleksander came.

"I'll take her from here." he said to Kaz, letting him know that he was no longer needed.

But he has not left you. Aleksander ignored him, examining your kefta carefully. It was beautiful. Genya decorated it with silver threads and embroidered stars and moons in different phases. However, the fact that probably delighted him the most was its black (but actually dark navy blue) color. But he didn't care about the true color of your kefta as long as it looked black to any other observer.

A clear signal that you were his moon.

"I have something for you." he whispered as he leaned closer to you so that your noses were practically touching. He pulled something shiny out of his sleeve. He held the silver chain up to your eye level so you could see the pendant. Moon with a star. You shifted your gaze from the shiny object to those mesmerizing black eyes staring at you in pure adoration. "I know you're practically festooned with these symbols, but I wanted you to know..." he interrupted, brushing your hair over one shoulder so he could place the necklace over your neck. He planted a quick, tender kiss on your nape as he clicked the silver jewelry. "That you're not just a Saint Y/N, summoner of the moon. You're mine moonlight in the worst darkness of mine. My hope and peace. The only light I let through my shadows."

You grabbed the pendant, noticing your initials carved into the back of the moon.

"It's beautiful." you turned in his arms to whisper in his ear, making him shiver as you kissed his earlobe. "Aleksander..."

~•♤♤♤•~

You opened your eyes.

A dim light illuminated Kirigan's war room.

You did it. Now all you had to do was seduce him. Piece of cake.

You let yourself watch him flick through some papers, wrinkling his nose and occasionally running a hand through his hair. The exact same one with the stag antler still stuck in it. You shook your head, remembering your task. You had to outsmart him. And in such a wise way that it didn't cross his mind that you might have bad intentions towards him.

"Aleksander." you whispered as you stepped out of the shadows. The man either really didn't notice you or he was a brilliant actor, judging by the pure shock that painted his face the moment he turned to meet your gaze. "You seem surprised to see me."

"I am." his mask of indifference and self-confidence quickly fell back into place. "But perhaps I shouldn't be. I should have known you'd prove to be an apt pupil. Not many can learn that trick." he placed the papers on the desk and leaned against it. "But after our last meeting, I had the impression that you didn't want to see me again. What changed your mind to seek me out?"

"I hate to say this, but I realized you were right."

"How so?" he began to watch you with interest, too curious to know what you were going to say to repay you for stabbing him last time. The fact that he didn't pounce on you with his shadows the moment he saw you gave you an odd sense of confidence. Maybe you could have made it.

"I was meant for more. And you were the first person to see me as I truly am. First to help me realize what I'm meant for. First to tech me how to use my power and how to see it as something more incredible than terrifying. First to see, I was more than a scared little girl. That I was powerful Grisha and I can do anything I want." with every word you said and every step you took towards him, you could see his mask crack open, revealing his true emotions. However, there was still a shadow of uncertainty and suspicion in his eyes. You had to remove it if you wanted to win this battle.

"Was I? And what about Alina? Or your helpful friends that take you away from Little Palace?" you hoped you didn't show that his words affected you. You were afraid that somehow he might have discovered a little help from Kaz and his crows.

"They… they don't understand the power growing within me. I thought that Alina might share my feelings, but … it seems to me that we understand our possibilities completely differently when it comes to our powers. And my friends… I think they're more afraid of what I can do than admire it as… as you did."

"That's not their fault. I did try to warn you. Tried to explain that with so much power that flows in our veins, usually comes fear from the side of our loved ones."

"I know. I think I'm starting to finally understand that now." you took one slow step towards him, feeling his watchful gaze on you. "There are no others like us, and they never will be. We are connected by our powers. Alina can live without us, but you and me… you and me are destined to work together and to stand by our sides. There is no darkness without light, but it's the moon that brings it into the night and that lives among the shadows, working with them… Like calls to like, right, Aleksander?"

In his eyes, you could see how much he wanted to believe you, how much he wanted the words you said to be true... but you knew that Aleksander lived too long to believe only empty words. He needed conclusive proof that you were on his side and that you were only his moon. And you had to convince him somehow.

"As I delighted as I am that you found your way to me, what do you want?"

"That thing that binds us. I think you fear it more than you actually care to admit."

"I fear everything there is to fear; it makes me strong. I understand things about power that you've had years yet to learn, moonlight."

"Well, as you said, with a good teacher, I'm a very apt pupil. But I think we both know… that it's not all about power, though, is it?" you walked the distance between you two and stood chest-to-chest with him. "What about the other bond we share? That one I was avoiding for too long." you slowly cup his cheek, making him close his eyes at the touch of your soft skin. You tenderly stroked one of his black scars on his cheek, which made the Black Heretic sighe in relief. "I want you, Aleksander." he opened his eyes, looking at you in disbelief when he tried to seek any sight of lies on your face. "And being in your presence terrifies me as much as making me feel… like I finally belonged somewhere. Like I was made by saints to be next to you. It felt... right in some crazy way."

"Love is for madmen, Y/N. And I've already told you…" you shivered as his cold fingertips touched the hot skin of your neck. His fingers went to the silver necklace—your only sin against your friends. He took the pendant in his hands and kissed it, not taking his eyes off yours. "You're my moonlight. Nothing has changed, and I doubt it ever will... for both of us."

You pulled him by the hair to connect your lips in a long-awaited kiss, too annoyed with how long you had to work him out. (Or too scared that his words are true.) You moaned as he bit your lips, and in one sweeping motion, he scooped you up off the floor and sat you on his desk.

He pulled away from you, dropping his kefta on the floor, and went back to kissing you as if you were the only one that mattered in this world. But the next amplifier's whereabouts map you laid on as he kissed your soul out of you was a glaring reminder that you could never have truly had him.

You would never be his first choice.

"Forgive me for stabbing you, then." you whispered into his mouth as you broke apart for a moment to catch your breath. He pressed into you more fervently than before, caressing your waist tenderly.

"I will have kissed these tempting, sweet lips, even if it means I'll get stabbed by you, every time I do it."

That was good to know, you thought, throwing your arms around his shoulders and slowly pulling out the dagger from your sleeve as he continued to kiss you greedily, like he wanted to sate himself with you while he still had you in his arms.

"Your words, not mine." you murmured, catching his mouth with yours while driving the dagger into his hand. He snarled, breaking away from you and trying in vain to yank the metal out of your hand. You tried to pry the last stag's bone out of him.

But suddenly, just as you were about to do it, you find yourself back in the basement of the Crows Club.

You were breathing fast, frantically looking around the room. Kaz was kneeling a step away from you and watching you worriedly as you tried to calm down.

From the cane that was on your leg and his firm grip on your arm, you figured out pretty quickly why you suddenly came back. You yanked your arm from his hand in your anger, forgetting his phobia of touch and how much of an achievement it was for him to hold your arm.

"What the hell, Brekker?! I had him! I could end this right there! UGH! Why did you let him break our connection?!" you screamed in frustration, looking resentfully at Alina and Baghra.

"You nearly blew yourself out with your power, and they couldn't bring you back."

"I had it under control, Kaz!"

"Oh, really?" he asked mockingly, struggling to his feet with the help of his cane and walking over to you with equal anger painted in his eyes. "Because it didn't look good from my point of view. You could have blown up the whole club..."

"Of course you would only care about your stupid, fucking club! Forgive me, Dirtyhands. Next time I'm going to save the damn world from the Darkling, I'll pick up a place other than one of your fucking bases!" you yelled at him, pushing past a shocked Alina and Baghra.

"Y/N, come back here!" he shouted after you. The distinctive sound of his cane told you he was following you.

"I'm not your fucking property, Brekker! I can go anywhere I want!" you screamed, running as fast and far for him as you could, thanking everyone above that Brekker wasn't able to catch up with you. You needed a moment to yourself. And you only knew one place in all of Ketterdam where you could be truly alone.

~•♤♤♤•~

For a long time, you hated harbour. It was a reminder of your weakness—a reminder of a girl who got kidnapped by slave hunters. Then you met Aleksander and became one of the strongest Grisha. From then harbour was for you to remind you of the birth of Saint Y/N. Moon summoner. It was funny for you to see how easy it is to get on the ship and go anywhere you want. Be anyone you want. But you don't have this choice anymore. Not until your past stops chasing you whenever you close your eyes.

"I knew you'd be here." Kaz's voice below you made you shiver, but you didn't grace him with your gaze. "You'd be too merciful to me by choosing an easily accessible spot, wouldn't you?" he grumbled as he clambered next to you on the crates of goods. He sighed as he managed to climb up. He tossed his cane, catching it spectacularly and resting it against the crate beneath you. He leaned forward, staring out at the harbour with you, when the wind blew his hair, messing up his always perfectly styled hairdo.

"Nobody made you follow me around, Kazzle." you murmured, casting a fleeting glance at him, grinning mischievously at how tired he was of climbing crates. Someone here was in bad shape. Brekker must sit with these plans and papers for too long.

"I did." you turned your head to meet his piercing gaze. "I already told you. I take care of my investments."

"Maybe you're making a mistake."

"I'm never mistaken. I know when and how much to invest in something valuable."

"But what if I'm a lost cause? What if you're wrong this time? Why do you think I'm done with the Darkling? Me and him have so much in common... what if I become like him? Are you not afraid? That one day, in my naiveté, I'd decide Kirigan was worth a second chance and betray you? That one day I'll stop controlling my power and that I'll hurt you? How can you sit here so calmly and..."

"Because I know you better than myself. I may not believe in saints, but I believe in you, Y/N. I will always believe in you."

You swallowed, looking down in embarrassment. You didn't deserve this.

"I get caught up in it sometimes. That I return with memories to the Little Palace. I wonder what I could have done differently to prevent all this. How could I reason with him, what could I do to dissuade him from his plans. How to behave, what to say out loud, and what to keep to yourself. And I'm furious with Baghra that, being his mother, she didn't fight for him to the end; she gave up before we could do ANYTHING for him together. And I curse myself every time I feel guilty, knowing that I left him utterly alone. So tell me, Kaz, knowing now all these doubts growing within me, do you still believe in me?"

The killing silence told you everything you wanted to know.

"Come on. Go right ahead, Kazzie. Call me a fool, an idiot who wants to believe that everyone deserves someone close, someone they can trust. Who stupidly believes in giving people a second chance." you said, afraid to look up to see the revulsion in the eyes of the only person you could always count on.

Kaz said your name, but you ignored him completely, feeling tears slowly welling up in your eyes. Suddenly you felt the cold steel crow's head of his cane under your chin. Brekker forced you to look into his eyes. And you thanked all the saints for the tenderness that was still present in them.

"You know, I don't think that about you. You are a Grisha. The moon summoner. The only beacon of hope in the darkness. I think that in your job description lies faith even in the most deprived, lost, and broken souls."

"I didn't know that poetic side of you, Brekker."

"I've changed since the last time you saw me."

"Really?" you asked, nodding at his gloves and cane. He caught your eye, gripping the crow's head tighter. "Hey. You have every right to do that, Kaz, okay? I was kidding, and I didn't know it was still a sensitive subject. I'm sorry. Apart from that, I can name more. For example, you still have a stick in your ass when it comes to pranks. It was too easy to get on your nerves with Jes." you said, trying to make a joke to lighten the atmosphere.

"Looking now at you, it's better for humanity that you haven't become a saint. Saints, protect some wretch who would have asked you for help." you smiled at him, glad he understood your intentions.

"Now, I feel hurt, Kazzie. Wouldn't you pray to me if they hung my holy image up here somewhere?" you asked, offended, putting your hand over your heart.

He knew he would spend hours, days, and weeks praying to her, only to see her face again and hear the voice of the Saint of his heart...

"No. No saint has ever watched over me. It wouldn't make sense to pray to you either. Especially since I knew you personally before you became a mighty Grisha."

"Well, I'm no saint yet, but since I'm your newest investment, I guess that means I'm supposed to serve you in some way. And since I'm not going to be your errand dog or spy crow, I guess a good compromise would be if I became your bodyguard. Then you can't say that there's no saint watching over you."

"I don't need a guardian angel."

"It's good then that I'm far from being an angel." you stared at each other, the wind blowing your hair, as you enjoyed the understanding between you and the unspoken acknowledgment of your closeness.

Kaz Brekker could not have a weakness. This city would use it against him very quickly. But he felt that perhaps his weakness could be powerful enough to be his greatest asset instead of his darkest burden. Maybe he didn't have to worry about her that much.

"Ketterdam was boring without you. It was also harder to work without your… skills." he said uncertainly, averting his gaze from your piercing, mesmerizing eyes.

"Is that your way to tell me you missed me?" you were teasing him and pushing his cane. He almost fell over when you broke his only support. You almost couldn't prevent yourself from laughing.

"We could have gained much more kruge if you had been here."

"I didn't want to leave." you whispered, involuntarily remembering the day they kidnapped you.

"I know." he leaned towards you, forcing you to look into his eyes. "You don't have to worry about them. I made sure they were six feet deep underground before you even set foot in Ketterdam." your heart warmed at the thought that he was chasing them for you.

He made sure you were 100% safe and comfortable before he brought you back home. Home. You didn't think you'd find him among the crows, thieves, and the Dreg Club. You didn't think you'd feel this way about him—one of the men whose lifestyle was far from normal and safe.

"You're getting soft in your old age, Brekker." you replied with a half smile, holding back unwanted tears. You weren't that weak girl anymore. You were Grisha. And thanks to the man sitting next to you, you were (almost) free. You grabbed his cane, right next to the crow's head, where Kaz's hands were. His gaze flicked to where your hands were so close together. He turned his head to meet your watery eyes. "Thank you, Kaz. For everything. It means a lot to me. Even if it was foolish to break into the Darkling's palace and kidnap us like sacks of potatoes."

"It was the perfect plan! Nobody noticed us." he was indignant, immediately defending his action.

"Yeah, but what I and Alina get hit with every time Jesper and you steer that wooden cart over rocks is ours. You could really choose a path that wasn't made of stones."

"Next time, it's up to you to make a plan to escape the 500-year-old shadow summoner. We'll see how you do." he snorted, offended, but didn't move an inch. Contrary. His hand moved closer to yours, wrapping precariously around yours on his cane.

"Less than a week back in Ketterdam, and you're already letting me into your plans? Aww, I love you too, Kazzie."

He would give all the kruge of this world to hear those words from you for the rest of his life... and it surprised him that he wasn't afraid to admit it to himself at all.

"And I almost forgot how annoying you can be."

"Don't worry. I have all the time in the world to shrink your inflated ego and remind you of that, boss." Kaz held his breath. He stared at you searchingly, trying to find in your face the answer to whatever question he was asking in his head. You unknowingly scooted closer to each other so that your shoulders rested against each other.

You were much closer to each other before. Kaz (on his good days) even felt comfortable hugging you for a while. After years apart, you thought it would take ages for him to get used to your presence again and the brief touch without going underwater with Jordi.

But you were here. Holding hands, leaning against each other, and staring into each other's eyes.

You shivered as you felt his breath against your cheek when he leaned a little closer to you, testing his border.

"You're shining." he whispered softly, hypnotized, afraid to break the silence between you.

"What?"

"Your eyes are shining." his trembling hand took your cheek as you were watching him speechless. Even in your wildest dreams, you wouldn't suppose he would hold you like that. He truly changed. He beat Pekka, and now the King of Ketterdam was fighting with his demons. You were so proud of him and also sad that you weren't with him at the beginning of his road to healing. "And the light is coming out of your skin. You're shining like a star for lost souls."

"You're not lost... not anymore." you whispered, your voice trembling, fully understanding what he had left unsaid.

"I was. But now the moonlight is lighting up Ketterdam's darkness again."

"Kaz... I..." you held your breath, staring at him in anticipation. You didn't know what for. All you knew was that taking your eyes off him for even a second was an unforgivable crime.

Your noses were almost touching, your lips were the closest you've known each other. And Kaz was as calm as if he'd never had a haphephobia. As if the situation with Jordi never happened. You were afraid his waters would finally rise, interrupting your moment, but as soon as your foreheads touched, all the logical thoughts in your head went to hell. It was just you and him.

And you would still enjoy that closeness if the sound of breaking glass and Jesper's curses hadn't driven you apart.

"Here you are! How the hell did you get in there?! Get down! We're leaving in half an hour!" Jesper shouted to you from below and disappeared as quickly as he appeared. You cleared your throat, realized what Jes said after a long moment.

"We are leaving?" you asked, surprised. Bastard didn't say a word about going anywhere.

"Yes. I'll explain everything to you on the ship." he gave you a brush-off as he began his downward journey.

"On the ship? Kaz, what have you planned?!" you shouted angry as you followed him.

~•♤♤♤•~

"This is the dumbest plan ever made, and believe me, I've been to more than one of his idiotic ideas." you said, pointing at the offended Kaz.

Your great friends (and Baghra) have decided to sneak into the Darkling's palace, steal his maps and war plans, and set the Little Palace on fire.

You started to doubt their good sanity... or sobriety.

"Sooner or later, we have to sneak in there. Aleksander has stolen from me all the books and records of our ancestors; he is in possession of immense power, and we can not allow him to make use of it." you clenched your fists, almost ready to pounce on the woman for revealing the Darkling's true name.

"Who is Aleksander?" you ignored Kaz's question, nervously twirling the ring he gave you on your finger.

"Was he able to steal something from YOU? And you let him do it? How surprised I am."

"What are you implying?"

"I implying that we are in some huge coach driven by your men, leaving Ketterdam on your initiative and entering the lion's mouth because you said so. In my place, you'd be suspicious too."

"The odds of me betraying you are as high as the odds that you will."

"And why is that?" you hissed, furious at how easily she got on your nerves.

"Aleksander has a knack for manipulating people. A few sweet words, and even your boyfriend won't be able to count on your devotion anymore."

"Watch your mouth. I'm not her boyfriend." Kaz growled, tensing up next to you, thereby stopping your quarrel. Baghra shrugged, continuing her quiet conversation with Alina. In your mind, you were planning the old lady's slow death until someone's hand grabbed yours in a strong grip.

You turned your head towards Kaz. He stared blankly out the window, completely ignoring your gaze. Instead, he started drawing circles on your palm, trying to calm you down somehow. You turned your head in the opposite direction, smiling to yourself at the tender gesture. Unbeknownst to you, Kaz had the same smirk as yours on his face.

The rest of the trip to the city was uneventful. As planned, Alina and you stayed in Baghra's secret stash while the rest went off to play heroes. Your job was to distract the Darkling, and Alina was supposed to watch over you.

You'd agree to their plan if your role wasn't just to stand by while others risked their lives trying to get the information you all needed.

But you decided not to argue with the others about it this time. After all, they couldn't control you once you got into the palace. You might as well have snooped around, looked for what you needed, and done most of the work for them. Closing your eyes and getting ready to connect with the Darkling, you only hoped that your little disobedience would go unnoticed.

~•♤♤♤•~

You just finished searching Kirigan's study, war room, and bedroom. You were on your way to the last room - the library, when you bumped into the one person you wanted to avoid.

You were paralysed as soon as you saw him walking down the hall. You hoped he wouldn't look in your direction, but the general (alert as always) glanced at you briefly before disappearing from your view. You had the faintest hope that he would think you were a vision, but all of it vanished when you felt a hand gently wrap around your neck and pin you against the wall.

"You either have too much free time or you enjoy haunting me at random times, little moon." you didn't answer, too scared that the moment he touched you, all your power took on a life of its own, merging with his shadows, as it usually does when your skins meet for the first time after a long separation. You were defenceless. Kirigan frowned, watching you with growing interest. "Speechless? Not any irritating responses? Do you fear me, Y/N?" his taunts brought you to your senses, forcing you to calm down immediately. You couldn't wait for Alina to be rescued. You had to fight him yourself.

"That's what you want, isn't it? To have everyone and everything under control, too scared to say or do anything against you."

"Fear is a powerful ally and also loyal."

"Not as loyal and lasting as love, trust, respect." you tried to break free from his grip, but all attempts to remove his hand from your neck proved futile. You were lucky that instead of tightening the grip and cutting off your air, he just wrapped his other arm around your waist, pulling you closer so that your faces were mere millimetres apart. "We could have had it, Aleksander. All of it. All you had to do was set me free and make me your equal."

"You'll come to feel it towards me someday. For now… even though I truly want to, I have no time for you, moonlight. Your friends are waiting for me. But don't get the wrong impression…" he leaned towards you, stroking your cheek tenderly as he whispered in your ear. "I will be back for you, my Y/N. Wherever you are hiding from me."

You shivered as he kissed your temple, making this terrifying promise to you. At some point, his shadows enveloped you completely and sent you back to the room where you and Alina were hiding.

And after one look at the sun summoner, you both knew what you had to do.

~•♤♤♤•~

You couldn't remember the last time you ran so fast in your entire life. It must have been back in your Ketterdam days, doing some little errands for the Dregs.

But this time, you weren't running to save your life. You ran to save Kaz Brekker's ass, who was the only one (not counting Inej, who was already hidden somewhere with Alina, waiting for you in harbour) who didn't return from his mission. As you expected, everything went to hell without you, and if you and Alina hadn't arrived, half of the crows (including Baghra) would have been captured by Aleksander's grishas. You wouldn't feel sorry for the old woman, but Alina insisted on saving her.

Jes, Wylan, Nina and Baghra searched other parts of the Little Palace, trying to burn everything in their path. You could still make it. If only Brekker hadn't gotten lost in the meantime. You knew you should go with him. You've always been a team player, and pairing you with Alina for this mission and leaving you behind was their worst idea.

You promised yourself that the next time you'd strap that risky idiot to your hip.

That's why you breathed a sigh of relief when you saw him at the end of the corridor. But instead of running up to him and yelling at him for his thoughtlessness, you hid in the shadows as he backed away slowly. Someone had to catch him. You caught his eye for a moment, glad he noticed you and started to head your way. Thanks to this, you could assassinate his attacker and try to escape from the palace.

Piece of cake. If he wasn't talking to a fucking Darkling.

"I know you kidnapped my moon summoner. Now you're going to tell me where you stashed her." you cursed internally, feeling yourself start to panic. You guys were officially screwed.

"We didn't take her. She fled on her own." you marvelled at how Kaz could still keep his composure with an angry Darkling a few feet in front of him. Sometimes you forget how mentally strong he was.

"I don't doubt in it… where is she? I won't ask you again."

"I don't know. I don't own her… but it's pretty clear she wasn't interested in being a captive anymore."

Aleksander got even angrier at the little insinuation that Kaz took better care of you, that he didn't treat you like an asset, unlike the general. You cursed Dirtyhands for wanting to mock and taunt the Darkling, even though you could see that he wasn't so confident around him.

"I heard about you. And your crows. It would be a shame if something happened to such a talented group." the Darkling summoned some of his shadows, causing Kaz to back away and reach for the light grenade that you and Wylan had prepared. "It's good for you that you have the decency to show signs of fear."

"I'm afraid of what I must."

"And yet you are not so defenceless." Kaz raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Don't make a fool of yourself, Mr. Brekker. I can feel my moon's power everywhere. Especially when it's imbedded so much into one small object."

You tensed, remembering that you had given Kaz the necklace before he left for the Little Palace. A necklace whose pendant you poured so much moonlight into that no shadows could surround him while wearing it or only holding it.

Defence against the Darkling. Specially prepared for situations like this. However, handing it to him, you hoped the two would never meet, growling at each other like two rabid dogs.

"Y/N must have strong feelings for you to give you some of her power. And you for her. Putting your people and yourself at risk, your profit, your club. In the name of what, Mr. Brekker?"

"If you did thorough research on me, you'd know that all of Ketterdam knows I don't need a reason to do things."

"You'll never fully appreciate what she really is. But that's alright. Because I do." Aleksander let Dirtyhands' insult pass over his ears, trying to annoy him that much, so he let his guard down. You knew very well that method, just like you knew that Kaz wasn't foolish to fall for it.

"You've right. I'll never use her as a weapon or treat her like a saint. That's not what she wants. You may understand her powers, but you have no idea who she really is. What's in her mind. What are her dreams and desires. All you care about is her power, which I don't give a damn if she has or not. You see her only as a moon summoner. Not Y/N. You don't know the woman she was before Grisha's thing. You will never know how amazing and indescribable she was before Ravka. This is part of her that only I was allowed to see. You can't change the fact that I know her better than you."

"You're forgetting one important fact. You are a child, and she is Grisha. Y/N may take years to forgive me… but I can wait. Take away my shadows, and I still have something you don't. Time. Meanwhile, you will grow old. Your hair will grey, but she will remain ageless. Like me. Not mention your little inconvenience. Do you think you'll be able to touch her for more than a few minutes before your body grows old? That you'll be able to give her the life she deserves? We both know that one day, maybe a year from now, maybe fifty, she will realise that she has only one equal. There are no others like us, and there never will be. Even you can't change that, Mr. Brekker." he gave him a hostile look, laughing mockingly as he noticed that Kaz continued to back up with each step the Darkling took towards him until he did not stand in front of your hiding place. "Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you. Time will do it for me." he summoned more of his shadows, wanting to scare him with his power. You three knew very well that with your necklace around his neck, no cut would kill him."You should have stayed in Ketterdam, Mr. Brekker."

At this point, you both decided to step in. Kaz threw his grenade, and you summoned your power, blinding the two of them. You grabbed Kaz's arm, and you both ran (as fast as his leg would allow). You stopped only a few corridors and stairs further, at the crossroads where you were all supposed to meet. Along the way, you avoided several fires that the tidemakers were busy with.

"What are you doing here?!" he growled furiously at you as you finally stopped, only making you more angry at his recklessness and attitude. He attacked and insulted the most powerful grisha. An 18-year-old with a cane and no powers.

"What am I doing here?! You tell me, what are you doing! You made him mad for no reason! You think now that he knows your identities, he'll let you go so easily? He will hunt you as long as he lives, just like me and Alina! Congratulations, Brekker!"

"I knew the risk." he replied angrily, looking around all four corridors.

"No, you didn't. You'd know a flimsy toy like that one, fucking grenade wouldn't be enough for him with all the amplifiers he's got."

"Well, I guess your little gift was strong enough to protect me. Which brings me to the question… why am I the only one blessed with this power from you?" he asked as he walked over to you, standing a few inches in front of you. You were both panting with quick anger, rage, and adrenaline, which was slowly draining from your systems.

"It's not your business, Brekker." you growled into his face and took a step, trying to avoid him, but his firm grip on your elbow stopped you.

You turned to face him, ready to yank your arm out of his grip and scream at him to fuck off, but all thoughts flew out of your head as soon as you looked into his mesmerising eyes, which were looking at you with concern and… love.

"It is my business." he leaned closer to you, just enough for you to feel his warmth and his scent, and far enough away not to touch you any more than he already did. "You... you're my most important business. And if something happens to you, if he catches you again..." he sighed, shaking his head, trying to find the right words as he licked his annoyed lips, unconsciously drawing your gaze to them and making you hold your breath for a moment, wanting something as forbidden and holy as kissing them. "I don't know how to... express my feelings. I don't know if I even understand them well enough. All I know is that I would rather die than see you enslaved and sorrowful... and it pains me to know that I'm too weak to protect you. That I'll always be too weak FOR YOU."

"You are literally everything but weak. In my eyes, you're the strongest person I know, Kaz. One of the very few to whom I would entrust my life in the blink of an eye."

"And yet I'm not enough for Grisha's love."

"How could you not be enough for something you already have?" Kaz's head snapped up as he watched you, befuddled in complete silence. You hesitantly reached for his hand, giving him enough time to pull away. He did not do. "And because I love you, I cannot be selfish with you. I cannot risk your life just because I have loved you since we were stupid teenagers." he squeezed your hand, too overwhelmed by his emotions to say anything. Fortunately, you understood him without any words.

Slowly, as if time had slowed down just for you two, he leaned towards you, resting his forehead against yours. You stood like that for a moment, enjoying the other's presence, forgetting that the palace was burning around you and probably 100 Grishas were chasing you.

"I will have you, Kaz Brekker. But only when it's safe for both of us." you promised him, whispering with your eyes still closed. "And for that to happen, I have to stay here. I have to make sure he doesn't go after you, that he will be distracted by me instead of planning your death.." you were about to extricate yourself from his grip, but the man only pulled you closer to him, not wanting to let you go.

"Please, don't. Stay with me. You're not a saint or a hero. You said it yourself. More than I could count."

"Kaz…" you took the ring off and put it on his little finger. "Keep it for me until I'm back. As a promise that whatever is going to happen next… I will be back for you." testing your luck, you placed a quick, tender kiss on his finger, feeling him tremble under your lips.

Before you got a chance to change your mind, you ran in the opposite direction, following the voice of the fighting Grishas.

You didn't turn around. You didn't steal a second glance at him, even though you knew he was watching you until you were out of sight. You knew the moment you looked into his eyes again, you'd change your mind.

You had to be strong.

For both of you. For your common future.

~•♤♤♤•~

When you regained consciousness, you weren't surprised that your hands had been handcuffed, so you couldn't use your powers. You were surprised to be greeted by the familiar sheets of Aleksander's comfortable bed.

And the Darkling himself was lying right next to you with his face towards you.

His eyes were closed, giving you a good look at the darker shadows under his eyes than before. Without knowing why, they disturbed you more than those lazily hovering around the bed. For a moment, you listened to his measured, calm breathing, which would probably confuse anyone else and give the illusory belief that the man next to you is sleeping. But you knew him much better than to fall for such a simple trick.

"I know how you breathe when you're sleeping, Aleksander."

"Maybe I was trying to fall asleep."

"Wearing a kefta? Doubtful." he opened one eye, staring at you silently. You felt your heart start beating faster from the nerves. You had no idea why you were here. Or at least you didn't want to admit it to yourself, so you decided to play the fool. "Are the dungeons undergoing some kind of refurbishment, or are they so full that you haven't found another place for me?"

He stared at you silently, deep in thought. He took his time to answer, playing with the strands of your hair that had escaped your bun from an earlier fight.

"It didn't seem like the right place for you" he finally whispered, making you even more suspicious.

"And where is my right place? After I stabbed you in the back so many times? In your bed? In your arms? As a weapon for your use? Where do you see me, Aleksander?"

"By my side. I've always seen you by my side." he answered at once, without a trace of hesitation in his voice. His shadow circled the room, caressing you from time to time. You didn't know if he was planning to let your guard down or if he had completely lost his mind.

"I don't understand. You should be mad at me. Why don't you hate me? Why are you still looking at me like... like you really have feelings for me? This is another one of your games, right? You want me to go completely crazy this time, don't you?"

"No, my little saint moon." he whispered, undaunted by your anger, gently cupping your chin so you had to look him in the eye. "All I ever wanted was someone equal to me. Why should I get mad at you when all you're doing is trying to find your way to me?"

"I don't…"

"Then why did you let them catch you? Don't try to lie to me, Y/N. I was there. I saw with my own eyes how you backed away from running away at the last moment. Why?"

"You know why." you whispered in a shaky voice. You closed your eyes, trying to protect yourself from the Black Heretic's penetrating gaze and show him the tears beginning to form in your eyes. "I have a million reasons why I should give you up, why I should hate you more than anyone else, but the truth is… my heart wants what it wants. And I don't think I can resist this anymore." you couldn't control your tears, but from the tender touch of his hand as he wiped them from your cheek and the clank of the handcuffs opening, you figured they were necessary for him to believe you.

"You have no idea how long…"

"No." you cut him off before he could say anything more." I have one question for you. Answer it right, and I'll forget about the last few months. Answer it right, and I promise you that you will never have to be alone again, that I'll always be by your side, along with your shadows and everything else that you truly are. That I will accept my destiny as being your moon. I won't let anyone scare me away from you ever again. I just… I need you to be completely honest with me. This one time." you cursed yourself at how weak your voice sounded when he grabbed your hand, kissing tenderly the places where the handcuffs were marked. "You don't have to tell me your whole plan; I just want to know… are all of these lies, battles, wars, deaths… just to keep the Grishas safe? You have no other intention behind this than to give our people home, where they don't have to be afraid of people who hate us and our powers?"

"I swear to you, my little moonstone, there is no other reason. I'm not a maniac drunk on power, as everybody tells you. I just want our people to be safe; I want to give them a world where we can explore the abilities of our power without fear of getting killed for being extraordinary. I can only do this with you by my side. As my equal. As a person who thinks like me and can keep up with my plans. As my partner. As the only one I can trust."

"Good." you nodded, cupping his cheek as you pulled him closer to you, so your lips caught each other again.

And maybe it was naive to think he bought your story about being completely devoted to him; maybe it was just another one of his games; maybe this time he really believed your words. Or maybe he was tired of pretending you didn't feel that strange attraction every time you were together.

You did not know. And you didn't want to know.

You gave into that burning desire every time you were near him, explaining to yourself that you had to earn his trust.

But there was much more to this one kiss than just lust.

It was a promise to you.

You will break his heart and make him hate you. You will drive him mad, drive him away, and then he will cast you out. Aleksander will come to think of you not as his lover but as his greatest enemy. Alina, Baghra and you gonna end the circle of unnecessary deaths.

And then you will finally be free...

Or at least... you will kill you both while trying to hate him as you should from the beginning.

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a-ikuoliver · 7 months ago

Note

congratulations on your two year anniversary!! Your writing is so amazing and I look forward to more great posts in the future :) if I may, I’d like to request a cosmo w/bakugou! Thank you!!

hihihi thank u!!! i hope u enjoy this, i got a little carried away with it birthday bash intro + rules + menu | event masterlist

“can i get a… um, cosmo?” your eyes are bleary, half-lidded, the menu nearly rubbing the tip of your nose with how close you held it, squinting to read the drink descriptions for five minutes (4 minutes and 47 seconds, he timed you) before giving up on figuring out what was in the cocktail. besides, the vodka was all that mattered.

closing the menu, you attempted twice to return it neatly to the box at the middle of the counter, quickly giving up and sitting it beside the container. bakugou hasn’t moved a muscle since you sat across the bar from him, instead, watching you closely; the way you’d nearly tripped over the chair before sitting in it, and now struggling with the menu. when your eyes finally meet his, yours are damn near crossed, a moment of you staring at him before you focus on his steely red eyes, a single blond eyebrow raised as he studies you.

“you want a cosmo?”

your head looks like it weighs a tonne when you nod, falling back and forth like your neck can’t handle the weight of it, your eyes struggling to refocus on his still frame. he moves too fast for you to watch him, pulling a clean glass from beneath the bar, scooping ice into the bottom,holding the gun over it to fill to the brim with water and adding a lime to the rim.

“how many have you had?” he’s gruff when he slides the drink across the counter to you, watching you hold the glass with both hands and struggle to catch the straw between your lips.

“how many altogether or at this bar?” you take a sip of the ice cold water, making no comment on the lack of alcohol as he leaned on his forearms on the counter, still watching the way you gulped down the water, holding in a smile at the way you giggle avoiding his question.

“where are your friends?” the bar is quiet for a friday night, with only one other person at the bar, busy flirting for free drinks with kirishima. every other patron was either seated in a booth or dancing to usher on the dance floor; he doesn’t remember seeing you walk in, although with the dim lighting, he hadn’t noticed you at all until you were sitting right in front of him.

you gesture generally toward the group crowding at the front of the dj booth, everyone requesting a different song before the first song had even started, too busy to do more than a lazy wave of your hand in their direction. slurping the last few dregs of the cold water at the bottom of your glass, you place the glass back on the counter, smiling widely at him when he refills your cup again (and with a new lime), still oblivious to the lack of alcohol in the drinks.

shuffling closer on the stool, you take a sip of the “new” drink, “you like me or something?”

you’re blunter than you’d normally be with a bartender as gorgeous as he is, somehow seeing two of him makes you more confident. with a soft chuckle, he mirrors you, leaning closer over the bar to you, “what makes you say that?”

his eyes are twinkling when he looks at you, the red flashing blue and green under the strobe lights, suddenly glad for the quiet night if it meant sitting here listening to your drunken rambling. picking up your glass, you speak again, your words still slightly slurred, “two free drinks, and you’re talking to me… a lot.”

bakugou grins and laughs again, standing straight when he reaches behind the counter for his black coat, throwing it over the bend of his elbow, “what’s your name, sweetheart?”

coyly, you answer him, your eyes a touch delayed tracking him walking from behind the bar, toying with the straw between your teeth, squinting again to read the nametag on his chest, “you wanna get out of here, bakugou?”

his eyes go wide before he laughs again, holding his hand out for you to stumble off the chair into his hold, keeping a steady grip on your wrist when he walks towards the exit, “what ever happened to ‘come here often’?”

his smile makes you giggle behind your hand, the giggle morphing into a hiccup by the time you were into the cool air of the night, the lack of humidity making goosebumps erupt under your skin, his thick jacket around your shoulders before you register the temperature difference.

“you work there.” you seem a little more sober now, your eyes staring straight into his, the water and cold air enough to get you aware of how warm his hand is around your wrist, how his hand feels at the small of your back guiding you outside toward the line of taxis in front of the bar.

“fine, what about you?”

“what about me?”

“do you come here often?”

“first time, actually.”

“you should.” he waves down one of the empty taxis, his skin still against yours as it pulls into the gutter in front of you.

“i should..?”

“come here more often, i’ll need that jacket back,” he opens the door for you, helping you down into the low seat despite your now slightly more sober state, “you gonna be alright? i'll let your friends know you got a taxi.”

almost forgetting you’d just invited him home with you, you’re giddy when you smile up at him again, your cheeks warming when he makes one last promise to get your number when you’re sober, next time.

the promise of seeing him again has you smiling the whole way home, even more so when your friends text you all about how the hot bartender said he’d gotten you a lift home, how the tips of his ears were red when the other bartender asked where he’d been, how he answered the bar phone with a smile when you rang it far too late in the night, next time too long to wait to hear from him again.

#no one pay attention if its bad thank u #mercurys birthday bash #「katslutki-bakugou」#「mercury answers」#「kat <3」#「mercury writes」#bakugou drabble #bakugo drabble #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #tw: alcohol

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okolnir · 2 years ago

Photo

finally did a full painting of my boy from ffxiv after playing him for years! I started this sketch back in 5.1 after the big azem reveal but never finished it, so the pattern from the top was supposed to be the main thing for the piece.

veloce is a calm, quiet, simple cat, but in battle he is savage, ruthless, and forceful. he was a paladin and he prefers physical and close ranged combat, and after he learned both white and black magic, he became a red mage instead.

his rapier is his old paladin sword fused with some essence of nidhogg that he ripped out of nidhogg out of rage during heavensward, when he lost his first true friend who he felt connected to and was overtaken by anger for the dragonsong war. his focus is his crystal of light; after his meeting with fray taught him that the dark dregs of his mind exist because they are there to protect something/someone, the colour of darkness now embraces his crystal of light and aids him in battle.

despite nidhogg’s rage and influence, veloce’s savagery was always his own, and he had always been heavy handed in battle no matter who/what he fought, unexpected by those who knew him in normal everyday life as a reserved individual. he uses his sword a lot more than he casts, his melee attacks are less precise/elegant than standard red mage attacks and more forceful like a paladin’s, and his aggressive fighting habits sometimes gets him in trouble as a red mage when he forgets that he’s not as durable as he was before with a shield and heavier armour.

thanks for reading and come fight me in game in crystalline conflict or in the duel arena!!

_________________

Amongst Us | Carciphona | Instagram | Twitter

#art #ffxiv #red mage #rdm #azem #velocexiv #veloce #shilin #okolnir #2023 #illustration #miqote #fr though i love dueling pls fight me #i miss the read more option so i can spam without taking up someone else's timeline space

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eowynstwin · 2 years ago

Text

gravity / neighbors

On a cold winter's day in the early morning hours, you knock on your neighbor Captain John Price's door to make a noise complaint. - “Where did you learn to drink like that?” he asks, and there is a new tone in his voice that you’ve never heard before. - ao3

It’s a cold and windy morning that, as you hover just a little closer to his warmth, you ask him about decent places to eat nearby.

“Fancy pub food?” he asks in response, and it takes you a moment to process what he’s said. Today he’s in a thick, soft-looking knit sweater, which makes it infinitely difficult not to imagine huddling up against him.

You think he’d let you. You’re not sure how you know this. Maybe it’s the way he positions himself next to you, standing at an angle toward you just slight enough to be casual, but open enough to be purposeful. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, like he’s trying to warm you up with his eyes alone—he asked you once why you always bundled up to be outside, and you told him you were just sensitive to the cold.

Since then, you’ve often caught him checking on you, surreptitiously. Simple once-overs that you think are searching for evidence of discomfort.

What would he do, you wonder, if he found any? Would he send you inside, as he had the first morning?

Part of you thinks that would be better. It would give you an out, open up a path diverting away from whatever this thing is that hangs in the air between you and John Price, this thing that you pass back and forth between the pages of borrowed books.

It’s a thing that breathes with the both of you into the early morning, and you don’t know how to look at it. You don’t understand its shape. It’s a thing you wish you wanted to walk away from.

“Who doesn’t?” you reply, sipping at the cold dregs in your cup.

“How ‘bout tonight, then?” John says, and you swallow a little too quickly.

“W-what about tonight?”

He smiles at you, as if he’s thrown you off on purpose. “Dinner, on me.”

You blink several times. “You—I—I mean—really?”

He shrugs, easy and casual as you wish you could be. “Could show you what’s best on the menu. And I wouldn’t mind having dinner with someone besides m’self.”

You hesitate, because your gut reaction is to say yes, John, I’d like nothing more, and that is not a reaction you want to satisfy. These past several mornings have been nice—nicer than you could have expected. You’ve stopped interrogating yourself as to why you keep bothering, because each time his smile greets you as you step outside is answer enough. The routine has been easy to settle into, even comforting.

You need to protect that comfort, you know, even from the allure of something more.

John does not press for an answer, seeming content to savor the last few inhales of his cigar. You wonder if he’s guessed at your inner conflict, wonder if the quiet he’s giving you is an intentional moment to sort yourself out.

He never presses for anything, ever.

“I suppose I could meet you after work,” you finally say.

The smile that breaks across his face nearly knocks you off your feet. You’re relieved when he says, “Sounds good to me,” because if he’d said it’s a date you think you might have dissolved on the spot.

John texts you the pub’s address, and it’s close enough to walk to. You arrive that evening, in your usual two coats plus a knitted hat, to find that the place exceeds a set of expectations you didn’t know you had. The patio seating is closed in with a white picket fence and hung with strings of fairy lights, and it flanks a red brick building with a large, friendly lantern hanging over the door.

You might have expected something a little grubbier, if you’d given the place any more thought beyond this is John’s pub and he’s having me for dinner here.

Warm air envelops you as you step inside, and your gaze is drawn as if by a magnet to a table further in—John has already seen you, and beckons you over with a wave.

He’s still in the knit sweater, and his fleece jacket is hanging on the back of the seat across from him. He stands as you approach, rounds the table, and pulls that chair out for you when you join him.

You don’t know why the chivalry makes you falter, makes you want to turn and sprint all the way back home. All you know, as you sit down, is that you can practically feel the aura of his presence behind you as he helps push your chair in, can feel it move as he leaves your side to return to his seat. You feel yourself gravitate into it, leaning a little over the table as if trying to keep it close.

“This place is tidy,” you say earnestly, trying for that morning normalcy, as you begin to shuck your layers.

“It’s alright,” he agrees. He’s smiling gently, the cool blue of his eyes vivid in the contrast of warm lamplight.

“Do you—” and then you can’t help but giggle, because it’s such a cliche question “—do you come here often?”

He grins, huffs that little laugh. “Too often,” he says as he sits back in his chair, putting a hand on his stomach. “It’ll start showing soon, probably.”

You look at the flat of his stomach, the broad paw of his hand. Remember the trim waist of that very first morning. “You know, somehow I doubt that.”

He meets you eyes, laughs again, and it warms you to the bone.

Seeing him like this, at night, is an unknown quantity. The John you know how to interact with exists on his front doorstep, painted in the cool palette of sunrise, cold air, cigar smoke. This tableau, composed upon the table between you, might as well turn him into another man entirely. Who is this John, awash in warm light, nearly twelve hours older than the man you spoke to this morning? Who are you, now, seeing him after work and before the end of the night?

You feel a little untethered. Your feet still itch for the door, for the measured, predictable floorboards of your own home.

Maybe John notices, because he takes a menu from the stack of two at the end of the table and offers it to you with a reassuring lift of his brows. “Hungry?”

That question, at least, has an easy answer. You smile a little. “Starving.”

His advice turns out to be necessary—everything looks good, and you both end up ordering too much food. Over a spread of fresh, hot chips, halloumi kebabs, and katsu chicken served liberally with curry sauce, John also has a bottle of scotch brought to the table.

“No, that’s too much!” you protest as the waitress sets the decanter down with two clean glasses. “John, really.”

He sets to pouring, his expression pleased, though you’re not sure what about. “Humor me, love. I don’t get to share very often.”

He hands you a glass, and lifts his own above the food. You acquiesce, and clink the rims.

“Do I take a shot or a sip?” you ask, bringing the glass up to your mouth.

“A sip,” says John, and his expression is genuinely distressed. “Please, don’t ever suggest shooting scotch again. That hurt to hear.”

You smirk, and take a slow drink. It hits your tongue with the prologue to a burn, rolling across your taste buds as the twinge fades and you close your eyes. The flavor opens like smoke exhaled into still air; you purse your lips a little and swirl it in your mouth; nutmeg, vanilla, and even a little apple expand across your palate. When it hits the back of your tongue, a short floral burst surprises you, and you swallow it down eagerly.

You find John watching you when you open your eyes.

“Where did you learn to drink like that?” he asks, and there is a new tone in his voice that you’ve never heard before.

It’s low. Resonant. Almost—purring. The look in his eyes, too, is different, the pale blue sharper somehow. Focused keenly, and with some unknown, honed intent, on you.

It pins you where you sit. John is looking at you. John is seeing you.

“Doesn’t everyone learn to drink at uni?” you reply, trying for airy and light. It doesn’t work. Your voice trembles, just a bit.

He’s still watching you, and you think he sees that. Recognizes, perhaps, a change in your expression, some telltale sign that he has shaken you. He looks away from you, takes a drink of his own scotch, and when his gaze returns the keen edge of it has softened. You breathe, and realize you hadn’t been.

You seek something comfortable, something you can measure and control. “How is Actium treating you, then?”

He smiles, and it’s a little rueful. “Octavian’s being a cunt.”

As talk of the most recent book he’s borrowed carries you into more comfortable territory, the two of you make your way through dinner, which is every bit as delicious as John had promised. The food is hearty, greasy in a way that isn’t too heavy, and pairs perfectly with John’s scotch, which you indulge in liberally.

When the alcohol has outpaced the food that is meant to offset it, you think back to what he’d said earlier, about not often getting to share.

“So am I the first person you’ve brought here?” you ask. “Or do you take every neighbor out to dinner?”

John lifts one dark brow, leans in with a tilt of his head. “Only the pretty ones.”

You give an unladylike snort and swirl a cut of chicken around in curry sauce. “You’re incorrigible, John, really.”

The smile he gives crinkles the laugh lines around his eyes, and you feel yourself want to melt at the sight. It is unfair how handsome he is, in that warm sweater, in that golden light, haloed softly in the haze of your verging intoxication.

“When will you believe me when I compliment you, hmm?” he asks, low and resonant in the depths of his chest.

You shoot the rest of your scotch in answer, stuff the chicken into your mouth, and proffer the empty glass.

John squints at your heresy, but obediently pours.

“I suppose your line of work isn’t really great for your social life, then,” you comment. “Always coming and going.”

“My calendar’s certainly empty,” John agrees. “Honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve sat down with someone like this. I suppose I’m out of practice.”

“You’re eating with a fork and knife and not your hands.” You grin. “I’d say that’s pretty good already.”

He smiles back. “Would that chase you off?”

You sip your scotch. “Not if you keep pouring.”

“And she complained when the bottle came out. What about you, then?”

“What ‘bout me?”

“How many blokes have you been to dinner with, lately?”

You scoff at that and wash your food down with a sip. “None. As if they’re throwin’ ‘emselves at me.”

John’s expression changes, and it’s slow grin that spreads across his face, a smile you have never seen on him before. It isn’t the sad smile he’s given you at times, melancholy and resigned; nor is it the one he gives when he sees you in the morning, warm and soft and friendly.

No, this one is—energized. Invigorated. As if someone has given him good news he hadn’t been expecting.

“They’ve got to be,” he says, and his tone is humorous. “You must have your pick of the lot. And none of them have struck your fancy?”

You press your hands to your too-warm face. “John, don’t tease me.”

“Seems I’ve got to count myself lucky tonight, then,” he continues, leaning his elbows on the table. “If you’re as choosy as all that.”

You give him a droll look, and swirl your drink around in your glass. “If you must know, I got out of a relationship not long ago.”

John’s brows lift, and you want to smack yourself for letting that little detail escape you. “Is that so?”

You drink. “That is so.”

“What kind of idiot would let you get away?”

“My head is already spinning, and you’re abusing that,” you protest.

“Sorry, love,” he says, clearly not sorry. “But now you’ve got me curious.”

You sit back in your chair, staring at your plate to avoid his gaze. “I’m afraid it’s not all that dramatic. It just…didn’t feel right. I guess he liked me more than I liked him. We would go out, and I would think, ‘I want to leave him and go home.’”

And you still felt guilty about it. You hadn’t liked him that much in the first place, when he’d asked you out—you’d just said yes, because it seemed like the right moment in your life for something like that to happen. When you’d ended it, your extended social network had scratched its collective head, because there truly hadn’t been any good reason.

You just weren’t happy.

“Suppose I didn’t give it enough of a chance,” you say, downing the last of your glass.

“Hey,” John says, soft and gentle. You look up to meet his eyes—the expression on his face is a mixture of sympathy and resolution. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Sure, John.”

“Love.” His brow creases, insistent. “You deserve something you want.”

You press your lips together tightly, and suddenly you’re struck again with that sensation from earlier, that feeling that John’s presence is a tangible aura, something that rolls and settles across your awareness like a physical touch. You realize you’ve been leaning into it again, drawn toward him like a comet into the snag of a planet’s gravity.

“I’m definitely drunk now,” you say, because the only other words that want to come out are an emphatic I want you.

John smiles. He doesn’t press the issue. “Will I be carrying you home, then?”

“Oh, John, really!” You give a scoff, surprised at the sudden humor. “You couldn’t carry me all that way.”

One dark brow lifts.

“No,” you say. “You’ll have to put me down. I’m not light.”

The smile remains.

You hold his gaze, suspicious, and finish the last of your glass. It does not take long to polish off the last of dinner, and when the two of you agree that the last chips have finally gotten too cold to eat, John pushes his seat back and stands.

“Done, then? I’ll settle the tab. Love, put that away.”

You sheepishly lower your half-lifted wallet back into your purse.

Accounts settled, you make it outside the pub, and then you have to lean against a wall as John watches you, amused. The world is swaying, its pendulum arcing near-horizontal at the amplitude of each swing.

“I just need a minute,” you whisper.

John does the worst thing he could possibly do—he gives you his back and kneels down, arms a little open. “Come on.”

“Come on? Come off it, John, really, you’ll drop me!” you exclaim.

He looks over his shoulder at you. “I won’t.”

You don’t know what convinces you to do it. Tomorrow, you’ll blame the many glasses of expensive scotch, but in the moment you know it’s the way the hanging lights limn his silhouette in gold. You know it’s the soft expression on his face that you are already too fond of. You know it’s the quiet confidence in his reassurance, and above all those things it’s the familiar comfort of his kind blue eyes.

“All right, John,” you say.

As you wrap your arms around his shoulders, John scoops your knees up into the bend of his arms, and you can add now the feeling of his strength to your mental registry of his body. He is broad against you, the width of him obliging your thighs to part farther than they have in a long, long time.

It brings a heat to your face that dwarfs the low simmer of your inebriation. When he lifts you, straightens up and hoists you a little on his back, like you weigh almost nothing, you are unable now to shove back and contain what he has inspired since that first morning.

“This feels nice,” you murmur, tucking your chin on his shoulder. The scotch has the reins of your tongue now. There is no stopping the words that come out. “I wondered if it would. This morning.”

John’s reply is low, humming in his throat as he begins the trek home. “This morning?”

You breathe. “You always look warm and soft. You’re so handsome every morning. Even the first. I wanted to touch you back then. I wanted you to hold me.”

He doesn’t say anything. Maybe he’s trying to focus on the walk back and not dropping you in the middle of it. He hoists you a little, cupping his hands beneath your knees, squeezing.

His silence prompts more of your honesty. “I don’t want to go to dinner with anyone else, John. Even if someone did ask. You’re the only one.”

“You’re drunk, love,” John says. You don’t recognize the tone of his voice, why it sounds…pleading.

Your face is very close to his, your chin pillowed in the fleece lining of his collar. You resolve fully to blame what you do next on the scotch, and touch the tips of your fingers to the coarse umber on his cheek.

His thumbs press into the divots beneath your kneecaps. John says your name, low and breathy. It must be the strain of carrying you that shows in his voice.

You lean in. You press your cheek against the bristles of his beard, inhale, take in the ever-present Maduro that saturates his skin. The friction is a million little pinpricks of sensation, and you think in that moment that if his beard doesn’t leave hot, welted scratches on your face, you might fall asleep crying.

“Oh,” you murmur, not recognizing the languorous, almost wanton sound of your own voice. “Feels good, John.”

“That’s,” he huffs, and audibly swallows. “That’s good. We’re—ah—we’re almost there.”

“Okay,” you say, sighing against him, settling fully into the expanse of his back.

You doze, unburdened now by what you’ve admitted. He does not waver once on the walk, makes no complaint of your weight as street lights pass and the night moves slowly by. He is as steady, when he makes it to your front door, as he was when he first picked you up.

“Where’s your key, love?” he asks.

“Oh,” you murmur blearily, “um. Let me down.”

Even after your feet are back on the ground, his steadying hand does not leave you, ballasting your elbow as you dig around in your purse. It seems like an embarrassingly long time before you find your keychain, and when you try to unlock your door you miss the slot twice.

John’s big hand wraps around yours then, engulfing it with long fingers and broad palm, and guides the key steadily into the lock. The slide of the deadbolt is loud in the quiet night. You have to lean against the door, suddenly devoid of the strength to turn the knob as you look up at John’s concerned face.

“Let me help you in, love,” he says, brow creased. “Please. I’m worried you’ll fall and hit your head.”

Your entire body feels like it’s sinking into a glass of champagne, his words caressing you like rising bubbles, little pearls of air tickling your face as they touch you. You openly stare at him, watch his throat work as he swallows again, rest your eyes along the broad tendon that flexes as he tilts his head.

“Sure,” you whisper, too out of breath to speak aloud. “If that’s what you want.”

So John turns the knob, loops your arm around his shoulders, and walks you inside.

It is very hard to focus now, as John sits you down on your couch. There isn’t much you can hold in your mind besides the moment his hands leave you, and you inexplicably want to cry at their loss. You don’t see where he goes, vision going dark and blurry around the edges—you think he might have left until he comes back with one of your glasses, filled with clear, cool water.

He kneels in front of you and proffers it, doesn’t let go of the glass until both your hands are wrapped around it. He watches you as you take a sip.

“Drink all of that, alright?” he says. “You had a lot.”

You hold the glass back out to him. “You did too.”

His brows lift, lips parting. Have you surprised him? He pulls the glass closer with a little tug, puts his lips to the rim and tilts it from the bottom as you hold it. His eyes do not leave yours as he drinks, as he takes only a little, and then he pulls away and gently pushes the glass back toward you. Your gaze falls from his eyes, down to the little droplets of water clinging to his mustache, down again to the steady line of his mouth.

You bring the glass back up and take a deep gulp.

“Good girl,” he says, low and rumbling, and heat floods your body.

You realize then that his other hand is on your knee, the weight of his palm heavy and broad, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle into the edge of the cap. You are washed in the blend of his warm comfort and the sudden, almost violent sear of your own desire.

When the glass is empty, he eases it from your hands and sets it aside on your coffee table. When he turns back to you, your hand comes up, unbidden, to curve itself along the angle of his jaw. Umber bristles are coarse beneath the sweep of your thumb.

“Not soft, is it?” John murmurs, and there is something stormy and intense in his gaze.

You take a deep breath. “Maybe I’m okay with that.”

His hand grips your knee suddenly, vicelike, and you know this is pushing too far. He does not lean in to you, makes no move toward you, but his entire body is a bank of energy that he is holding, holding, holding back. His chest rises and falls rapidly. His eyes pin you to the couch as he works the muscles in his jaw.

“You’re drunk, love,” he says. It is not the pleading assertion he’d given earlier. It is a conclusion—fond, but resigned.

The room has begun to gently spin, with John at its axis. “I’m drunk,” you agree, whispering and fragile.

It breaks whatever has been building since you’d left the pub. John draws back. Nods. Gives you a smile—that smile. The one that had taken hold of you the first time you saw it. Trying, with every scrap of willpower it had, to be happy, to be alright with what little it had. Failing to do so.

Unable to hide how much it wanted.

“You got a spare key?” he asks. “I can lock you in.”

“Key hook,” you say.

His hand drags down from your knee to stroke along your shin, and then he’s rocking back on his heels, standing to his full height. He looks at you for a moment longer.

“Get some sleep,” he says.

When you blink, he’s gone, and the deadbolt is sliding home.

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months ago

Note

In honor of pajama Jamil, Fellow should drop his nighttime routine too.

So tell me, do you wanna go?

“My nighttime routine?” Fellow repeated your words slowly. They made sense apart, but not together.

He was squashed on a thin, dusty mattress, shoved away into a corner of an attic. Fellow had shed his suit and top had for a sleeveless shirt, boxers (red and white vertical striped, like a classic carnival tent), and ratty socks, a big toe poking out from a hole. Next to him, Gidel laid on his side in an oversized shirt and pants, yawning.

Night had descended, leaving only the golden circle provided by a waning candle as a light source. You leaned closer, out of the darkness and into the illuminated safety of their corner, nodding.

“Hah. I was shocked when first saw those fancy schmancy ‘routines’. Thousands of thaumarks on skincare products, entire yoga sessions before bed, preparing a set of clothes for sleeping in, feasting and then passing out from a food coma… Who has the time or energy to commit to those?!

“Giddie and I, we do the basics. If we can find a source of water—a river or something—we’ll wash in there. Ah, and we’ve gotta have dinner beforehand, in case any of it spills on our clothes. Then we’d have to wash those off too. We tend to eat fast. Can’t let food sit around uneaten for too long, or it’ll go bad.

“I keep some things for our travels, but it’s not much. We’ve whittled down our last bar of soap to a few scraps, and I think we’ve just about squeezed all we can out of our last tube of toothpaste. Our toothbrushes are getting pretty ratty too, we’ll need new ones soon…”

The candlelight seemed to make Fellow appear older, especially when he spoke of his hardships. The darkness of his pupils more intense, almost pulsating, his weariness put on show.

“We’re lucky to even have a place to sleep tonight. Worst comes to worst, we sleep under the stars in the clothes we wore during the day. That’s all we have to really call ours: the clothes on our back and the freedom that comes with it.”

A weak thread of joy sounded in the mention of freedom. Lighter, breathier, like a bird in flight, unbound by the land.

“Some nights,” Fellow admitted with a bitter laugh, “it’s hard to sleep at all. If it rains or snows, if we haven’t had a decent fill of food from the day’s work… The cold, the hunger, the dread of an uncertain tomorrow, keeps us up.”

“That sounds rough,” you frowned. “How do you manage to fall asleep like that?”

“I have my ways. When reality is too hard to deal with, you’ve got your imagination to fall back on for a distraction. We’ll look at the stars, try to find shapes and meanings in them, talk until we’re tired.” Fellow prodded Gidel with a finger. “Right, Giddie? Remember that story I told you about a girl with the matchsticks? And the big bear in the sky?”

Gidel nodded sleepily. Another yawn—his lids were heavy.

Fellow’s own eyes fluttered. He, too, yawned, catching the dregs of sleep that had fallen over his companion.

“Haha, looks like you’ve talked yourself tired already,” you said, careful to keep your volume down. “I’ll let you guys catch up on your Zs then.”

“I’m not tired,” he insisted, but there was little fight in his voice.

“Shhhhh, shhhh. It’s okay. Go to sleep. Tomorrow will be a better day,” you gently coaxed.

His lids lowered, flickering in a futile effort to stay awake.

The dying candlelight compelled him. The steady and soft cadence of your words, a lullaby.

Fellow fell asleep, Gidel hugging him as though the fox were a massive stuffed animal. He slumped, nestled the boy protectively.

“… Good night,” you murmured.

You blew out the candle, sentencing the room to the realm of darkness and dreams.

#twisted wonderland #twst #Fellow Honest #Gidel #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #Reader #self insert #a fellow in need is a friend indeed #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #Ernesto Foulworth #Gino

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asoiaf-bambii · 28 days ago

Text

𝔖poilt

summary: Aemond finds himself chasing after his reckless sibling, who has taken to the streets of King’s Landing in search of excitement and trouble.

paring: aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader

Aemond stood outside the gambling den, the stench of cigars, cheap ale, and sin thick in the air, clinging to the back of his throat. The two-floor inn was a far cry from the grandeur of the Red Keep, its faded, splintering wood and smoke-stained walls a glaring reminder of the depths to which you had sunk. He scowled, his silver-blonde hair catching the faint light of a lantern flickering above the door.

You were a spoilt brat, Aemond thought to himself bitterly. It was bad enough having to chase after Aegon during his late-night benders, dragging his drunken, debauched brother out of whatever filthy corner of King’s Landing he’d found himself in. But now you—his little sibling—were following in those same disgraceful footsteps. Running off in the middle of the night to do gods-know-what, leaving Aemond to hunt you down in places like this.

He adjusted the black patch over his missing eye, the faint pressure of the sapphire beneath a reminder of the battles he had faced—of the pain and loss that had forged him into the fierce and unforgiving man he was today. Yet despite all that strength, despite his unyielding will, it was you who tested him more than any opponent ever could.

Aemond pushed open the door, his tall, imposing figure drawing the attention of the patrons within. The den was dimly lit, the haze of smoke swirling in the low light. It was filled with the raucous noise of drunkards, gamblers, and women selling their company for the night. The clatter of dice, the clink of coins, the murmur of hushed deals—it all grated on Aemond’s nerves. This was a place of vice and indulgence, a place where nobility had no business being.

And yet, here you were.

His sharp violet eye scanned the room, ignoring the startled glances of the men as they noticed him. He moved with purpose, every step a threat. His nightblack armour, chased with gold, caught the flickering light of the hearth, a silent warning that he was not to be trifled with. Aemond had no patience for the filth of the city and even less for the scum that dwelled here.

Then he saw you, lounging in the far corner, surrounded by the dregs of the city. You were draped in your usual finery, rich velvets and golden lace, utterly out of place in this den of sin, yet commanding the room’s attention with your mere presence. Your silver-gold hair fell in soft waves down your back, your deep purple eyes glinting with amusement as you flirted with the men around you. Your bodice glittered with pearls and diamonds, your fingers heavy with rings. A vision of nobility amidst the filth.

Aemond’s jaw clenched as he strode towards you, his anger simmering beneath the surface. You were completely unaware of the trouble you courted, basking in the attention of those beneath you. It made his blood boil.

You noticed him when he was only a few feet away, your eyes locking onto his with a spark of defiance. You didn’t flinch, didn’t cower, even as the men around you grew silent, shrinking away from the danger that radiated from your brother. You merely smiled, a coy, flirtatious smile that only fuelled his anger.

“Aemond,” you drawled, your voice dripping with amusement. “Come to join the fun?”

Aemond’s gaze hardened, his lips curling into a sneer. “Enough of this,” he said, his tone low and dangerous. “Get up. We are leaving.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider his words as you took a slow sip from your goblet. “Leaving? So soon? But I’ve only just begun enjoying myself.”

The casual arrogance in your voice grated on his nerves. You were always like this—flirtatious, bold, pushing every boundary just to see how far you could go before Aemond’s patience snapped. And tonight, you were pushing him to the edge.

“I will not repeat myself,” Aemond said, his voice a growl now. “Get up.”

You leaned back in your chair, a smirk playing on your lips. “You always take things so seriously, brother. Can’t you relax for once? Enjoy yourself?”

“I’ll relax when you’re safely back at the Keep,” Aemond snapped, stepping closer until he was towering over you. “You don’t belong here. These men—” he gestured sharply to the gamblers and drunkards who had now fallen silent, “—are not your equals. They are vermin, and you’re playing a dangerous game by being here.”

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with an unsettling calm. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“No,” Aemond said, his voice cold, “you don’t. You think you are untouchable, that your name will protect you. But one wrong move, one misstep, and even you won’t be able to talk your way out of it.”

You laughed softly, the sound both mocking and indulgent. “You underestimate me, Aemond. I’m not some helpless child.”

“You’re behaving like one,” he spat, his temper flaring. “You are coming with me. Now.”

For a moment, your eyes flickered with something unreadable, a tension in your gaze that belied your calm facade. But then you sighed, setting your goblet down on the table with a soft clink. “Fine,” you muttered, rising from your chair with a slow, deliberate grace. “If you insist.”

As you stood, Aemond caught the slight shift in your posture—the faintest trace of reluctance in the way you moved. Despite your bravado, you knew the game you played was a dangerous one, and deep down, you understood the risks. Yet you would never admit it, not to him.

You brushed past him, your fingers grazing his arm briefly as you did. “You always think you know best,” you murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. “But one day, Aemond, you’ll have to let me go.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened as he followed you out of the den, his eye never leaving your form. Let you go? The thought alone stirred something uneasy in his chest. No matter how wild or reckless you became, no matter how many times you defied him, he would always be there. Always pulling you back from the edge.

As the two of you walked back towards the Red Keep, a charged silence lingered between you, neither willing to break it. You cast glances his way now and then, the barest smirk on your lips, clearly finding amusement in his tense stride, in the fire that still simmered just below his controlled surface.

After a few minutes, you couldn’t help yourself. “Tell me, brother,” you began, feigning an innocent tone. “Are you truly this overbearing, or do you just enjoy shadowing my every move?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, his eye fixed straight ahead, unyielding. “If you gave me no reason to, I wouldn’t have to.”

You chuckled, the sound light and almost teasing. “You act as if I’ve committed treason, Aemond. I was enjoying an evening out—nothing more.”

He finally turned his gaze on you, violet eye burning with frustration. “An evening out,” he repeated, the words dripping with incredulity. “In a den of debauchery, risking your safety among men who would see you as nothing more than a game to be won.”

The glimmer of mischief in your eyes softened briefly. You glanced away, almost uncomfortable under his intensity. “I can take care of myself,” you said quietly, though even you seemed unconvinced of that now. The recklessness that fuelled your late-night escapades suddenly felt less like strength and more like fragile defiance.

Aemond sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “You think me cruel for following you,” he murmured, his voice losing some of its edge. “But it isn’t cruelty. It’s the only way I know to keep you safe.”

For a long moment, you walked in silence, the bustle of King’s Landing gradually fading as you approached the quieter paths leading towards the Keep. His words echoed in your mind, and an unfamiliar sense of warmth crept into your chest. You and Aemond had always seemed like polar opposites—your fire to his icy resolve. Yet, somehow, his words stirred a new understanding between you, a delicate balance between your defiance and his fierce protectiveness.

“Perhaps,” you murmured, almost to yourself, “I don’t give you enough credit.”

He shot you a sidelong glance, his eye sharp with surprise. “Is that an admission?”

“An observation,” you replied, lips curving into a small smile.

Aemond’s brow lifted, and for the first time that night, his expression softened, just a fraction. “You are as incorrigible as Aegon sometimes, you know that?”

A feigned gasp escaped you. “Aegon? You wound me, brother.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, though he quickly suppressed it, masking any trace of humour with his usual cold composure. But you had seen it, that faint crack in his severity, and it lingered in the space between you, making the tension from before feel lighter, less burdensome.

As you crossed through the gates of the Red Keep, a newfound quiet fell over the two of you, one that felt neither tense nor dismissive. There was an understanding now, even if unspoken—a sense that while you may push the limits, Aemond would always be there, steadfast.

“Thank you, Aemond,” you said suddenly, and he turned to you, surprised.

He nodded once, the barest hint of a smile in his eye. "For now,” he murmured, his tone gentle but firm, “try not to test my patience quite so often.”

“I make no promises,” you teased, though your gaze softened. As you slipped back into the familiar corridors of the Red Keep, you felt something shift—some silent accord reached, some fragile connection you hadn’t realised was there.

For perhaps the first time, you sensed a closeness with Aemond, a recognition that beneath his severity lay something unspoken: a fierce, loyal love that would always bring him back to you, no matter how often you strayed from the path he set.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #asoiaf #house of the dragon #a song of ice and fire #hotd #asoiaf fanfic

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sentientgolfball · 2 months ago

Text

Devotion: Part 2

Part 1 here

oh boy nearly took me a month, but it's finally here !!

Read here or on Ao3

Pairing: Raindrop

WC: 15k

Summary: Before Dew could become fire he had to make sure the new water ghoul would fit the needs of the Ghost Project.

Dew looks around. It is dark. There is no landscape. The only sound is that of the breeze whistling around him. He looks down only to be met with the inky black depths of the lake. The water is rippling around his feet as he stands atop it. When he looks back up the silhouette with piercing red eyes is standing only a few feet away from him. Dew narrows his eyes.

Why are you following me? He questions it.

Like always, it just remains silent. He growls in frustration, taking a step towards it.

Answer me!

It stares at him. Dew walks across the water until he is standing right in front of it. He snaps his fangs.

Tell me what you are!

Nothing.

He hisses, rearing back to strike when all of a sudden he feels something frigid at his feet. His head snaps down and he stares in horror as he begins to sink. He steps back from the thing but it only makes it worse. His leg plunges into the water. He struggles trying to keep himself above, but to no avail. He looks back at the thing as more of him goes under.

Don’t just stand there! Do something!

It watches him.

It watches him as he falls into the water. It watches him as he begins to go under. Dew takes one more breath before he is pulled all the way in. He looks up at the surface as the depths of the lake drag him down, down, down. The thing cocks its head as he disappears.

Dew wakes with a gasp, body tensing as he is suddenly thrown into consciousness. He blinks slowly, shifting around to get his bearings. He pauses when he hears a grumble. Right. He looks down at Rain, still fast asleep and pressed close in Dew’s little spoon. He looks peaceful. Regal. How he manages to look like a figure pulled straight from a painting even in sleep Dew will never know. But he is grateful for it. He is grateful for being such a light sleeper. It gives him something new to look forward to in his morning routine. Instead of wandering into the kitchen to scrounge for snacks while he waits for everyone to wake up, he gets to look at Rain without having to hide the way his eyes soften and the little blue blush that dusts his cheeks.

Rain.

The last dregs of his dream fade away as he thinks about everything that has happened in the last month and a half. He never would have guessed that violent water ghoul who popped out of the Pits with his fangs bared would let Dew hold him every night. He supposes it has something to do with the fact that they have spent pretty much every day together since his summoning. There is no more apprehension, at least for Dew, the others are still a work in progress.

He knows when it all changed. When Rain stopped throwing his walls up around him. Dew was up late one night plucking away at a guitar Ifrit let him borrow. He figured a bit of practice before his elemental transition could not hurt, so when he was not busy teaching Rain bass he was teaching himself guitar. He had not been able to sleep, another one of those dreams had shaken him awake. Dew had just finished another scale when there was a soft knock at his door. He was a little surprised to see Rain standing there, but it made sense. He did share a wall with him after all. He had apologized, assuming he had been too loud. Rain just shook his head and asked if he could come in. Dew had suddenly felt nervous. It was the first time Rain had ever been in his room. He remembers feeling like the floor opened up under his feet when he asked Rain what was up and he cried. That was the night Dew learned about the nightmares. That was the night Dew learned why Rain was alone when he was summoned. That was the night Rain slept in his bed and never left. That was the night he swore to himself he would never see Rain cry again.

He smiles to himself, tucking a piece of hair behind Rain’s finned ear while he sleeps. He also knows when something settled in his chest. They were supposed to be heading to the practice rooms to work more on bass basics, but first they had to stop at the library. Ifrit had asked Dew to take Zephyr their lunch. He would have done it himself, but he had gotten caught up helping the Siblings with one of the cows escaping. Dew chatted with Zephyr for a bit, asking them how things were going with Cumulus and Cirrus, but by the time he had turned around Rain was gone. Zephyr said they saw him wander off towards the bookshelves while they were talking. Dew went looking for him so they could leave. He had found him sitting on one of the couches near the stained glass window of the Morning Star offering Eve the apple. The sight had left him frozen in place. The midafternoon sun was streaming in, casting a rainbow of colors over the floor. Over Rain’s face. He did not even realize Dew was there. He had picked up a book and started reading while Dew was busy. He looked ethereal. Dew had felt his heart stop. He had never seen someone look so beautiful. They did not go to practice that day. Dew sat with him while he read, happy just to be close.

That same feeling sits in his chest now. It never really went away once it made itself known. Dew is afraid to acknowledge it. He is not a kit, he knows what infatuation is. He knows that whatever it is is just that. Infatuation. He has been spending all his time with Rain of course that is what it is. He knows what love feels like. He loves Aether and Mountain. He knows he loves them because he has known them for so long. He cannot love Rain. Rain has barely existed Topside. He has not had the chance to find himself. Dew cannot just shove himself into Rain’s heart because he is infatuated. He sees the way Rain looks at Mountain on those rare occasions he sits with the pack. He will not stop him from finding something good just because he thinks about diving into the deepest part of the lake to find the most beautiful stone he can to leave on Rain’s night stand. He will not take away Rain’s chance to become his own person.

But that will not stop him from stealing glances. From stealing moments like these. He can give in just a little, just enough to keep him sated. Just until Rain gets comfortable with the pack. Then Rain won’t need him anymore and he will be able to get over this stupid infatuation. Until then he is going to take every opportunity he has to admire the gift from Lucifer Himself. The proud jut of his nose, his sharp jawline, the way his lips slightly part when he is deep asleep. Dew cannot help but wonder what he tastes like. Wonder what those long, elegant fingers would look like wrapped around his—

He pauses. Blinks. Shakes his head.

“Now is not the time to think with your dick Dewdrop,” he mutters to himself.

His heart stops when he hears Rain hum and shift against him. He turns over, eyes slowly blinking open to look up at Dew.

“You say something?” Rain yawns and rubs his eyes.

Good job dumbass!

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Rain shakes his head, “how long have you been up?”

“Dunno. Probably like ten, fifteen minutes?”

“Sorry to keep you waiting then.”

“Don’t be. You need your beauty sleep. Something has to fix that face.” Dew grins at him.

Rain laughs a little, returning his smile, “is that why you look like that?”

Dew huffs, staring down at him. He is suddenly painfully aware of how close they are. How he can feel Rain breathing. It would not take very much to lean forward and close the last bit of distance between them. He does not even realize he is leaning forward until he feels Rain’s hand on his hip. His eyes are still half lidded and hazy from sleep and Dew would be lying if he said did not feel his stomach twist. Fuck why is he so pretty?

“Dew…” Rain whispers, voice raspy.

Hearing his name snaps him out of it. No. No he cannot do this. If anything is ever to happen between them he has to let Rain choose to do it. He cannot just pounce on him the moment he wakes up. He cannot and will not put Rain in a situation where Dew is all he has. He deserves more than him.

“We should go get breakfast before Multi eats it all.” Dew says as he slowly moves back.

Rain stares at him for a moment before letting his hand fall from his hip, “Right.”

Dew untangles himself from the bed, stretching with an obnoxious yawn and a sickening crack of his back. He is doing the right thing. He has to be right? That is why it makes his chest feel tight. Because the right thing is always the hard thing. He flexes his jaw and tries not to dwell on it while he checks his reflection in the mirror. His braid is not too messed up from sleep so he decides to just leave it. The skin around his gills and fins looks a little dry so he roots around in the top drawer of his dresser for his bottle of lotion. He makes a satisfied chirp when he finds it. It is something Biggs started making for all the water ghouls. His own blend of herbs that hydrate the skin without irritating it. Dew does not know the quiet earth ghoul very well, but he has never been more thankful for him.

He applies a thin sheen over the driest spots before turning around, “You need some—“

He stops when he sees Rain dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants instead of the silk tank top and shorts he slept in. If Rain changed clothes that can only mean one thing. He wants to go with Dew to the kitchen instead of having him bring food back. It is rare that he does this, and even more so that he does it without Dew asking him to. This is probably like the second time he has willingly wanted to.

“You ready?” Rain asks, shoving his hands into the pocket of the hoodie.

Dew can still hear the undertone of nervousness even if he wears a cool expression. He is still so proud of him. Nothing makes him happier than the little moments Rain has where he shows he is starting to warm up to the rest of the pack. In all honesty he was worried it would never happen, especially after Rain told him how he ended up alone in the Pits. The story is pretty similar to his own actually. Though the reasons are different. Rain was chased out of his family’s territory and nearly lost his life in the process. Dew was chased out of his lake because he was a runt. He could not provide anything of use to his school and they got rid of him. Rain was chased out because he was tired of his parents trying to control him after years of leaving him to his own devices. He was the youngest of seven siblings from a noble water ghoul family. His parents paid him no mind until he was old enough to inherit his own territory to control and suddenly they would not leave him alone. He wanted nothing to do with them and they did not take kindly to that. Dew could not blame him if he never got comfortable with the pack after that. It took Mist months to get him to stop hiding in his room when he was new. But here Rain is, willingly trying to open himself up to the others. Dew hopes he knows how strong he is. How proud he is. But most of all he hopes one day Rain is comfortable with everyone. Dew wants to bask in the glow of everyone he cares about.

He grins and closes the lotion, placing it back in the drawer, “Let’s go.”

Dew twines his tail with Rain’s as they walk, hoping to soothe some of the fear rolling off him thick enough to taste. Thankfully when they turn to the corner the kitchen is relatively empty. Mountain, Aether, and Cumulus are the only ones that seem to be out and about. Seeing her makes his fins twitch. If she was around that meant Cirrus probably is not far behind. He would rather she not show up. He cannot focus on making sure Rain is not freaking out if he is scared shitless.

Cumulus is the first to notice them enter, turning on her bar stool to look at them. She smiles and gives them a little wave. Dew returns the gesture, tail flicking back and forth. He does not know much about Cumulus, just like Rain she seems to prefer to stay in the safety of her room. Well not her room, but rather Cirrus’. He knows those two are mates, for how long he has no idea. But he knows that if Cirrus was the leader of their flock that means Cumulus more than likely helped run it as well, that is if air ghouls work anything like water ghouls.

Even if she is a bit more reserved like Rain, she is much more willing to get to know her new pack than he is. Dew has noticed that when he visits Mountain in the greenhouse during the day she is hanging around. How he manages to get the attention of all four of the new summons Dew will never know, but he would like to steal some of that power. Big greedy bastard.

As if on cue, Mountain looks up from where is cutting some fruit. His ears perk up when he realizes Rain is with Dew. Rain tries not to acknowledge anyone, sitting down at one of the empty spots at the table. He sits in the chair farthest from the one Aether is in, keeping his gaze locked on the floor. Aether pays him no mind and continues to stare at his crossword, though Dew notices the way his tail begins to slowly wag back and forth. Big guy never was good at hiding how he is feeling.

“And what’s on the menu today dear chef?” Dew asks, taking a seat next to Rain.

“Fruit bowls and oatmeal.” Mountain says, packing some apple slices into a nearby bowl.

“Did you get my—“

“Yes I got your blueberries. Freshly picked this morning.”

“Mountain ghoul I’d suck your dick if we weren’t at the breakfast table.”

“Dew.” Mountain warns, cleaning off the knife in the sink.

“What? She thought it was funny.” He gestures to Cumulus fighting back a smile.

“Good to know breakfast is the one place you won’t suck someone’s dick.” Aether replies in an even tone, still staring at his crossword.

Dew hisses and tosses a sugar packet at him. He grins though when he hears the faintest laugh coming from Rain. It is a sound he holds so close to his heart. One he does not get to hear often. Every laugh, every smile, every snarky comment is another sign Rain is getting comfortable here. Even if that were not the case, Dew still thinks that sound would still make his chest tight. Nothing makes him happier than knowing someone he cares about is happy. He catches Rain’s eye and grins at him, nudging him with his foot under the table.

“Alright everything’s ready.” Mountain sets two bowls in front of Cumulus before doing the same for the rest of them. Dew smacks his ass when he turns around to grab his own bowls.

Dew notices Rain staring at the oatmeal, nose twitching. He stirs it before lifting the spoon and letting some of the slimy chunks fall with a splat back down into the bowl.

“Try the fruit.” Dew pops a blueberry into his mouth before pushing the container closer to him.

Rain follows suit, choosing a blueberry out of the mix of apples, strawberries and banana slices. He rolls it between his fingers for a moment before placing it in his mouth. Dew does not miss the way his finned ears perk up when he chews it. He tries each of the other fruits, completely abandoning the oatmeal. Dew tries not to stare while he eats his own breakfast, but he does make a mental note of which he has the strongest reaction to. He will have to ask Mountain to keep a stock of strawberries in the fridge from now on.

His attention is stolen though when Aether lets out a frustrated huff, tossing his pen down, “I give up.”

“What’s the matter?” Dew asks around a mouthful of fruit.

“I can’t figure out this word for the life of me.” Aether stabs a fork into his own fruit bowl.

Dew reaches across the table to pick up the discarded crossword. He scans the paper, looking at the little boxes already filled with Aether’s neat handwriting.

“What the fuck is lupus?” Dew furrows his brow at the different words he does not recognize. He can feel Rain looking at it with him over his shoulder.

“An autoimmune disease that makes the body attack itself,” Aether supplies.

Dew wrinkles his nose and tosses the paper back down.

“Prevaricate,” Rain murmurs, “An eleven letter word for avoiding the subject or acting evasive.”

The room falls into silence at the sound of his deep voice. Aether and Dew blink at him before the former picks the crossword back up. Aether stares at it before scribbling the word down. Dew grabs his hand under the table and gives it a squeeze.

“It fits. How did you know that?” Aether looks back up at him.

He squeezes Dew’s hand back. He flushes, keeping his eyes locked on the table, “I read a lot.” He shrugs.

Aether smiles at him but it is nothing in comparison to the way Dew beams. He has to resist the urge to just wrap his arms around him and crush him to his chest. The moment they are alone together though all bets are off.

They fall back into a comfortable routine, Aether and Dew carrying a conversation while Rain listens. Mountain is sitting with Cumulus on the bar stools, occasionally interjecting when he overhears something interesting. It is nice. It is one of those moments that makes Dew feel at home. Makes him realize this is everything he has ever wanted. The only thing that could take his new life is death itself.

A knock at the door interrupts the easy morning. Mountain hops up and walks over to answer it, hooves clipping on the hardwood floor. He opens the door to see Cardinal Copia wringing his hands.

“Sorry if I am interrupting. May I eh come in?”

Mountain steps aside to let him in, gesturing with his hand, “No need to apologize Cardinal.”

“Is Dewdrop around?”

His finned ear twitches at the sound of his name. He pats Rain’s leg before standing from the kitchen table and heading to the common room. He has no idea what Copia could possibly want. He is only ever summoned by Clergy members when he gets into trouble, but he has been so busy teaching Rain bass and trying to learn guitar that he has not had time to screw around with Pebble. He swears to the Lords Below that if that little fucker pinned something on him he will drown his weed crop.

“Cardinal.” Dew crosses his arms over his chest.

“Dewdrop!”

“What do you want?”

“Sister Imperator wishes to see you. She has news about your proced—“

“That’s great! Awesome, let's go right now!” He says louder than necessary, cutting off his words. He walks past him, bumping his shoulder into him as he leaves the den. He can feel Mountain staring at the back of his head.

He does not want to talk about the elemental transition in front of Mountain or Aether, let alone two new summons. Especially Rain. He knows the former are not thrilled about his decision. The fight from weeks ago when he first told Mountain still pierces his thoughts late at night. He knows they are not going to stop him even if they wish they could, but that does not mean he needs to bring it up. He is not stupid, he sees the way they look at him like he has a timer above his head. He knows they are convinced he is going to die, but he is too stubborn to admit their fear is probable.

But maybe not entirely. There is a reason he has not said a word to any of the new summons, even Rain. He is confident he will be fine, but he would rather be safe than sorry. He would rather know his new pack with smiles if he is to know them for only a short time. He does not want to see the hurt and betrayal he saw in Mountain and Aether’s eyes. But he won’t die. He will be fine and he can rub it in their faces. He will be fine.

Copia eventually catches up to him, boots clicking against the floor. He falls into step with Dew, walking by his side. Dew ignores him. He knows the way to Imperator’s office well enough. He can feel him looking at him though, eyes flicking over every so often. Dew speeds up every so slightly. He really does not want to hang around with Copia. At least this time he seems smart enough to keep his mouth shut. The walk is not long and soon enough the two are outside the ornate doors of Imperator’s office. Dew nods at the two ghoulettes standing on each side before pushing it open and stepping inside. It always catches him off guard how fancy it is. Black furniture with gold inlays, statues and paintings depicting the Morning Star, Lady Lilith, and Baphomet, and a gorgeous stained glass window of the Serpent behind her chair. He would actually like spending time in here if not for the feeling of unease he gets from her.

Sister Imperator’s head snaps up, “Ah Dewdrop. So glad you could come.”

“Well not like I had a choice since you sent the rat for me.” He stands a few feet in front of her desk.

She hums, “So does that mean you’re not interested in hearing what I have to tell you? I’m sure the Cardinal told you why I called you here.”

He huffs and sits at one of the chairs across from her desk, “Of course I do.”

“Excellent,” she smiles, “First off, I am very impressed with how far our new water ghoul has come in such a short time. You’ve done very well.”

Dew shrugs, running a hand up his forearm to soothe the twitch he feels in his fins.

“Omega has informed me that there will be a solar storm some time next week. After discussing it with him and Special we believe this will be the perfect time for your ritual.”

He can feel his heart fall to his stomach, “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack. While we’re…reluctant. To try to change a ghoul’s element again we will not deny you the opportunity to become closer to the Old One.”

“In a week?”

She nods, “In a week. I can’t tell you when exactly, but Omega said he would come to collect you.”

This is it. It is finally happening. He made deals and did his work and now he is finally getting what he wants. So why does he feel sick to his stomach? Imperator keeps talking but he does not hear a word she says. One week. He has one more week of being water before fire will run through his veins.

He has one week left to live.

No. No he cannot think like that not now. But now it is real. Now it is not just a hypothetical, a hope the Clergy would listen to him. Now it is happening. Fuck what if everyone was right? What if he does not walk away from this? There is a reason why elemental transitions are just ghoul mythology. Because nobody is dumb enough to try it. In order for it to work a ghoul has to be wholly consumed by the element they desire, right down to their core. Then they have to hope their body is willing to adapt to house the new element. To survive. Delta is the only ghoul Dew knows who has actually gone through with one and look what happened to him. Dew may not have known him when he was a water ghoul, but he could guarantee he did not have those void like eyes. All he does is hang around the morgue and the cemetery, talking to himself while bolts of raw quintessence make his body twitch. Is that what is going to happen to him? Is he going to be lost if he survives?

He could back out. He could back out right now and continue living as a water ghoul. Who is he kidding? No he cannot. Just the thought makes me feel strange. He knows he wants this, knows he is willing to take the risk to become fire. That and he has no idea what they would do with Rain. Rain is only here because Dew wants to change. If he backs out now…he does not want to think about that. Rain is already amazing on bass, he will be better than Dew in no time. And he deserves this chance. He deserves this chance to become something Topside. He is talented and Dew could not bare the thought of letting him get thrown to the side because he chickened out of his own idea.

“Dewdrop are you listening to me?” Imperator’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah yeah I got it. Next week.” He stands from the chair and begins walking to the door.

He stares at the floor as he walks, too lost in his mind to notice the body in front of him. That is until he slams into them. He looks up right as the doors to Imperator’s office swing shut behind him. His snarl quickly melts away when he sees who it is.

“Multi? Fuck are you doing here?”

There is a strange look in his eye as he scans Dew, almost like he is looking for something. In a split second his face falls into the usual laid back expression he normally wears, “I was just around and saw you. Figured I’d come bug you.”

There is a beat of silence where they just stare at each other. Multi clears his throat.

“So what were you doing in Imperator’s office? I never see you this far from our little fishy.”

He could tell him. He could tell him right now what is going to happen to him. He will not though. Multi does not have many memories with Dew and he will not taint what is there with a deadline.

Wait.

Memories.

Dew can almost feel the lightbulb glow above his head. He needs to go find River and Lake.

“Multi do me a favor.”

“Yeah what’s up?”

“If anyone asks you where I am, you don’t know.” Dew turns down the hallway and quickly begins walking.

“What? Where are you—“

“You don’t know!” Dew calls back.

“But I don’t know!” He watches as Dew turns a corner and disappears. He blinks dumbfounded at the empty space where Dew was moments ago.

Dew has a feeling he knows where River and Lake may be and he is not going to waste a second in executing his idea. Not when his seconds might be limited. It takes everything in him not just to sprint all the way to the bathing pools. Really the only thing stopping him is how far they are from Imperator’s office. He walks the halls as quickly as he can though, breezing past Siblings without even offering a nod in acknowledgment. Art and architecture blend together as he lets muscle memory take over, guiding his feet while he thinks about what to say to them.

Before he knows it, he is outside of the smoky glass doors that lead to the bathing pools. He pulls them open and walks inside, sighing when the humidity hits him. He has always loved this place. His old soaking tub and the lake have nothing on the frosted glass ceiling and walls, the deep pools carved into the stone floors, the racks of homemade soaps and fluffy towels, and the scent from the various plants hanging around. Sure as a Papal ghoul he gets his own dorm and his own bathroom, but the bathing pools feel like the home he should have had in the Pits. Ghouls lounging around, relaxing and grooming each other. Caring for each other.

The comfort of this place stops the fast pace flow of his thoughts, but he still has his mission. He scans the large room until he spots the two ghouls he is looking for. In the farthest corner he sees Lake working soap into River’s long hair while they both soak in the water. He grins, figuring he can indulge just a bit he quickly shucks his clothes off and dives into the pool. His fins were a little dry when he woke up, he needs to soak anyways.

He can feel the tension leave his body the moment his is submerged, a line of bubbles leaving his mouth as he sighs underwater. He ignores the handful of other ghouls, kicking his legs to get closer and closer to his targets. When they are within reach he pokes his head out of the water, half his face still submerged.

“Hello Dewdrop.” River greets without opening his eyes.

He stands up, water rippling around him, “How’d you know?”

“Who else is going to make that loud of an entrance?” Lake cocks an eyebrow at him.

“I dunno,” he shrugs, “it could’ve been Ifrit. Or maybe Chain?”

“You know as well as I do that Ifrit only comes down here to have sex with Zephyr.” Lake cups some water to rinse River’s hair.

“And Chain doesn’t bathe.” River tilts his head back.

“Fair point,” Dew brushes some of his wet hair off his face, “I have a favor to ask.”

River sighs, “Can’t Aether suck your dick? Or what about that new water ghoul, oh what’s his name…Rain!”

Dew blushes blue from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, “What? I don’t? I’m not even…that’s not what I’m here for.”

Lake and River glance at each other. The former has to hold back a smile, “Relax. I was just messing with you.”

Dew huffs.

“What do you want?” Lake leans back against the edge of the pool.

“Would you. Perhaps. Clean out the gazebo by the lake for me?”

Dew can see the sudden intrigue on both of their faces. He hopes and prays to the Lords Below they do not ask any questions, even though he knows they will. Nosy, gossipy bitches.

“The gazebo huh? Any particular reason we should take time out of our day to do that?” Lake narrows his eyes.

“Trying to shirk off chores?” River tilts his head.

“No. It’s not…the reason isn’t important just, will you do it?” Dew’s tail flicks, causing droplets of water to go flying.

“So you want us to do this and you won’t even tell us why? I don’t know Dewdrop. I think our schedule might be full,” Lake lilts.

Dew groans, “Seriously?”

They both stare at him.

“Fine. But breathe a word of this and I’ll kill you,” he sinks a little lower in the water, “I’m…I want to take Rain out there.”

“A date!” River’s eyes light up.

“No! This is not a date or courting or any shit like that. I just…want to do something nice. Show him I’m proud of how far he’s come in a month.”

That is all this. Showing Rain that he cares about him, but also to give him good memories of Dew. If his time with Rain may end in a week he has to make sure Rain only has good memories. Aether and Mountain have a year's worth of things to look back on, good and bad, but Rain? Rain does not have much and Dew needs to change that incase he does not rise from the flames. He will have his time with Aether and Mountain, but he needs to make sure Rain is taken care of first. He needs to.

“Alright Dew,” the corner of Lake’s mouth twitches up, “we’ll do it. But you owe us a favor we can cash in at any time.”

“Deal.” Dew nods. How bad can their favor be?

“When do you need it done by?” River asks.

“Well we have practice and that takes a while usually,” Dew pauses and glances at the clock hung by the doors, “oh fuck practice!”

He swims to the edge of the pool and practically launches himself out of the water. He is so very late. With a flick of his wrist he pulls all the wetness off his body, dry in an instant. He runs across the stone floor, gathering his discarded clothes.

“Dew what about the time?” Lake calls.

“I don’t know! Just text me when you’re done!” He yanks his shirt over his head, stumbling over his half put on pants.

He bolts out of the bathing pools, running down the halls of the Ministry to the practice room. He hopes Rain is there. He hopes he does not think he forgot. The last thing he needs right now is for Rain to be upset with him. He does not have time for a fight. He does not have time to fix things.

He throws open the doors to the practice room when he arrives, not caring how loud the sound of metal hitting metal is. He pauses in the doorway to catch his breath as he pants heavily. He can feel the sweat on his hairline, down his back, and soaking his shirt. When he finally raises his head, he spots Rain near the racks of instruments with his back turned towards Dew. Dew straightens before bounding over to him.

“I am so sorry I’m late. There was a thing with Imperator and—“

“It’s fine.” Rain grabs his bass and turns away from Dew.

He snaps his mouth shut and blinks, eyes tracking as Rain moves to the spot they usually practice in. He sighs and grabs one of the back up basses and joins him.

“I really am sorry.” Dew twines their tails together when he’s close enough.

“I said it’s fine. I understand you have other things to do.” Rain looks at him with a blank expression.

Scents never lie.

Dew swallows, “Let’s get started then.”

He is not going to push it. He does not want to make Rain more upset by pointing out the fact he’s lying. He hopes that maybe once they fall into the routine of practice it will help lift the mood. He knows Rain has every right to be unhappy with him, but that does not stop the itch in his fins. The need to make things right, explain himself over and over again until it begins to sound like excuses.

There is no conversation as they both tune. The only sound that fills the practice room are random, scattered notes. The tension is so thick Dew feels like he is choking on it. He wants to do something, but words are not exactly his strong suit. He has to break down the wall somehow though. The tip of his tail flicks back and forth as he thinks while his hands work on autopilot.

He zones out when Rain begins to warm up, the scales they have done over and over as background noise to his thoughts. He watches him as he goes, watches his lithe fingers pluck at the strings, though he is not really paying attention. That is, until an idea forms in his head. He quickly discards his own bass, stepping closer to Rain.

“Ready for today's lesson?” He crosses his arms.

Rain just nods.

Dew grins, “You’re gonna learn Year Zero.”

This piques Rain’s interest, eyebrows raising, “You said I shouldn’t learn any actual songs yet and to focus on basics.”

“Aw come on, that was like a month ago. Besides, you’re not doing it alone. I’ll teach you. It’s not that hard.”

Rain looks at Dew, looks over at his bass, and then back at Dew.

“Just trust me.” Dew opens the laptop that is hooked up to the sound system and scrolls through the files until he finds what he is looking for.

“Ready?” Dew flashes his fangs.

Rain tenses but does not protest. Dew takes it as his sign to continue. He clicks the mouse and the track begins to play. He bounds back over to him, coming up behind him. He grabs Rain’s hands, pressing close.

“Dew what are you—“

“Trust me.”

He places Rain’s hand where they need to start. He stands on his toes to hook his chin over his shoulder to watch. He keeps time with his tail, letting it flick back and forth as he counts in his head. He can feel Rain’s breathing pick up ever so slightly. When the bass comes in Dew moves Rain’s hands, pressing down just enough to make sure he gets the hint.

“See not so bad,” Dew says directly in his ear so that he hears him over the music. He can feel Rain swallow before he nods his head.

It really is not a difficult song. That or Rain really is a prodigy. As he gets comfortable, Dew is in control less and less. At this point he is more of a weight on Rain’s hands than anything. Until they get to the bridge. Dew squeezes his hands, taking over once more as the pattern changes. Rain easily lets him guide him.

“Good job,” Dew says in his ear again, “very good job.”

Rain leans back, practically sagging against him. Now it is Dew’s turn to tense as he feels something stir deep in his stomach. In hindsight maybe pressing this close to the person he is actively trying to not have feelings for was not the smartest idea. Thankfully though the song ends before Dew’s problem can poke Rain in the back. A little longer and he is sure there would have been a bulge he could not hide.

He drops Rain’s hands and steps back from him as the static from the end echoes around them. Dew knocks their horns together before going over to the laptop and stopping the track.

“I think maybe we should start working on some actual songs,” Dew looks over the top of the screen and smiles at him, “you really got into it.”

“Thank,” Rain clears his throat, “thank you.”

He cannot see his face from the way he ducks his head, dark curls obscuring his expression. However, the slightly higher pitch of his voice tells Dew everything. There is definitely a stupid little grin on his face. That is all Dew wanted. Knowing he was able to make Rain smile instead of making his mood worse makes him giddy. After everything that has happened in just a few hours, this is exactly what Dew needed.

“What do you wanna do today?” Dew asks as he walks closer.

Rain blinks at him, “We’ve been here for maybe 20 minutes.”

“Okay? I’ll teach you how to play by yourself tomorrow. Come on, we can do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” Rain raises an eyebrow.

“Anything. I wasted plenty of your time by being late so…yeah anything you want.” Dew shrugs.

Rain hums, the corner of his mouth twitching up, “How about the lake then?”

Son of a bitch.

“Okay anything except for the lake.”

“Oh come on Dew.”

“No really! River is in heat and you do not wanna see what he and Lake get up to out there trust me.” He hopes his grimace is convincing enough.

Rain hums, “Fine. Since the lake is off limits I want you to model for me.”

How is it that Rain picks the things Dew really does not want to do? This is not the first time Rain has asked Dew to be his model, but this time Dew has no reason to refuse. It is not that he does not want to, it is more so he feels odd knowing Rain would be looking at every detail of his face and body. Dew does not even like having his picture taken outside of uniform, let alone letting someone sit and sketch him for who knows how long. But he cannot deny Rain. Not after promising they would do whatever he wants.

“Alright,” Dew sighs, “I’ll be your model.”

Rain smiles, nudging him gently when he passes him to put his bass back on the rack. Dew follows suit, picking up his bass where he left it and putting it away.

“So what’s the plan? We head back to your room?” Dew stuffs his hands into his pockets.

Rain shakes his head, “I have a spot in mind. Trust me.” He mimics Dew.

Dew rolls his eyes with a grin. He can be such a snarky little thing when he wants to be. But that is what is fun about spending time with him. He gets to see parts of his personality that have been locked behind basic survival instincts for who knows how long. It always makes him wonder what else there is to learn about Rain. Who is Rain?

This particular activity is one Dew does not know very well and he is happy to learn more, even if he does not like the thought of being his muse. Rain is an artist, always has been from the handful of stories he has been told. In the Pits before everything went to shit, he would spend his free time creating. Though water ghoul art is very different from what would be considered traditional. Everything is on the more physical side; sculptures, mosaics made of the finest gems, and impressive architecture carved into stone. It is complex and truly something to behold.

As they leave the practice room, heading to wherever Rain is leading them, Dew pulls out his phone. He needs to prepare part two of his plan. He opens his thread with Mountain, hoping he actually has his phone on him.

I need a favor

About a minute goes by before Mountain starts typing.

I’m trying to teach Multi how to cook. I'm sure Aether or Ifrit would love to sext.

Can’t a guy ask for favors without everyone thinking it’s about sex????

I’m serious oh whatever I wanted to ask whenever you’re done with dinner if you could pack up mine and Rain’s

Not a problem. I hope pumpkin gnocchi and Italian sausage sounds good.

It sounds great just don’t let Multi burn the Ministry down

Dew closes his phone and shoves it back into his pants pocket. Everything he needs is in motion. Now all he has to do is wait for sunset. In the meantime, he picks his pace up just enough to walk beside Rain instead of tailing a little behind him. They walk the halls in comfortable silence to an area Dew is not that familiar with. Though, he does have an idea where Rain is going now. When they come face to face with a wooden door at the end, Dew knows he is correct.

Rain opens the door and they enter. It is a small room, not really used for anything except for storage. However, there are a lot of old art supplies that are kept here alongside extra furniture. Dew really has no idea what this place used to be used for, an old classroom maybe? Before the dedicated section for new Sibling studies was built. He glances over at Rain and his heart flutters at the pure joy on his face. The tips of his fangs are poking out from his lips and there is a twinkle in his eye Dew has only ever seen once before. The first time they discovered this room.

Dew had been showing Rain around, a grand tour of the Ministry as he called it. They had come across this place when Dew took a wrong turn to get to the library. Rain asked what was behind the door and Dew had shrugged and said why not find out. The sketch pads, pencils, and colored pencils immediately had caught Rain’s eye. When Dew explained what he knew of human art that was probably the happiest he had seen Rain at the time. It had made Dew so happy that he skipped the library and took him straight to the actual art room.

“So why are we here instead of the art room?” Dew drags the tip of his finger through some dust.

“This is why.” Rain walks over to the farthest window and opens the blind all the way. Afternoon sunlight streams into the room. He does not stop there though. Next Rain pulls the cover off of one of the furniture lumps, the one directly in the path of the beams of light. Dew sneezes from the dust flying through the air. Under the tarp is a gorgeous looking lounging couch. The velvet is a deep royal blue that is perfectly accented by the polished wooden frame. It is intricately carved with a floral motif. Dew blinks at it.

“I’ve been wanting to use this in a piece since I discovered it,” Rain brushes his hand over the back cushion, “and now I finally can.”

The sparkle in Rain’s eye steals Dew’s breath away. Suddenly his reservation about being his model disappears, “How…how do you want me?”

Rain smiles at him before extending his hand. Helpless to his call, Dew takes it, letting Rain guide him to sit down on the lounging couch. Dew blinks up at him.

“All I want you to do is look out the window. Otherwise just sit naturally,” Rain says in a quiet voice.

He squeezes Dew’s hand before dropping it, walking around the other side of the couch to grab a sketch pad and pencil. While his back is turned Dew does what he says. He brings his legs up to extend beside him. He rests his elbow on the arm of the couch, propping his chin on his palm as he turns to look out the window. He gets a clear view of the gardens from here. The flowers are in full bloom, the early spring sun helping them open. A light breeze rustles the hedges and trees. He can make out the shape of some ghouls and Siblings, tending to the flower beds. He thinks it is…

“Beautiful,” Rain breathes.

Dew’s ear twitches at the sudden sound of his voice, “what?”

“You’re beautiful Dewdrop.” His eyes trace every line of Dew’s face.

Dew blushes blue and turns to look back outside. It is better than looking at the way Rain is looking at him right now. Like he is something precious. Something valuable.

“Just…don’t take forever.”

Rain is right though. Dew is beautiful. The sunlight glints off his soft blue scales, making them shine like angelite. It catches in the webbing of his ears, almost making them appear translucent. It makes his white hair practically glow, like snow banks on a sunny day. But most beautiful of all is the way the warmth of the rays makes him relax. He looks calm, peaceful in a way not many get to see. He will never believe he is as beautiful as Rain says, but it still makes his heart flutter.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Rain take a seat on a stool. The sound of pencil scratching on paper begins to fill the room. He can practically feel everytime Rain looks up at him. It feels like how he looked at him the day he was summoned. Intense. It makes him wonder what was going through his head that day. It makes him wonder what is going through his head now. He wishes he was not so hard to read.

Dew tries to stay focused on the scene outside, but the comfortable warmth from the sun coupled with the even sound of Rain drawing makes his eyes droop. He jumps a little as he begins to nod off.

“Stay still,” Rain murmurs.

Dew just hums, blinking hard a few times to fight off the drowsy feeling prickling in his brain. It is a losing battle though. After a while Rain begins to hum as he works. It is a tune Dew recognizes. One from the Pits. One he has not heard since he was small. He never would have guessed oceanic water ghouls have the same songs as freshwater ghouls. That is his last coherent thought before he closes his eyes and sleep takes over.

He does not dream. It is light and peaceful. He really had not even noticed he fell asleep until Rain shook his shoulder, calling his name. He groans, swatting his hand away before cracking his eyes open. He sits up slowly, hissing at the sore feeling in his neck. He looks out the window to see the sun has shifted, closer to the Western horizon as She prepares to set. He turns back to Rain with a furrow in his brow.

He yawns and smacks his lips, “how long was I out?”

“Long enough for me to finish.”

“Well don’t just stand there, let me see it.”

“No.” Rain smiles, turning from Dew to pack up the sketch pad.

“No? Fuck you mean no, I posed here for like hours.” He stands from the lounging couch and cracks his back.

“You’ll see it when I’m done.”

“You literally just said—“

“Yeah I’m finished with the sketch. I’m going to paint it. I’ve been wanting to figure out what water colors are.”

“And how long is that going to take?”

“I don’t know. First I have to get my hands on some and then I have to experiment with them. I am not going into this without at least testing them out. I want it to look good.”

What Rain does not know is Dew does not have time. He is not going to be this pretty blue for much longer. He cannot even begin to imagine what he may look like if he survives the ritual. Will Rain have to do another sketch? Will Rain even want to paint him?

Will Rain still think he is beautiful?

He has been so concerned on hiding it from the new summons, so concerned with whether he will live or not, that he did not even think about what he will look like. How he will physically change. What will happen to his fins? His gills? His hair? His skin? Will he look like Alpha or Ifrit or will it be obvious that there is something wrong. Like Delta.

He crosses his arms over his chest, subtly trying to soothe his fins so they do not flare. He hopes by the time they walk back to the den Mountain will have dinner finished. He is more than ready to take Rain out to the lake.

“I’m sure whatever you make is gonna look great.” Dew walks over to him.

“Oh yeah?” The corner of Rain’s mouth twitches up.

Dew nods, “Well yeah. You’re an artist aren’t you?”

“You never know I could be a really shitty artist.” He holds the door open for him.

“Well I could know if you just. Show me that sketch.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Worth a shot.”

Rain laughs quietly and twines his tail with Dew’s as they walk. About halfway back to the den Dew feels his phone vibrate. He pulls it out of his pocket to see River has texted him. He glances at Rain before turning the brightness down. Rain may not necessarily have a grasp on human technology yet, but that does not mean he cannot read. He would hate to have his surprise ruined because he looked over his shoulder. He taps on the message after adjusting the way he is holding his phone.

Youre all set for tonight Dewy~

Thanks hope it wasn’t too fucked up

Oh dont worry about that. We had fun fixing it up for you. Rain is going to love it <3

He hopes he does. He would really hate to have sold his soul to those two sirens for Rain to laugh at him. That begs the question though, what took them so long? There is no way they would have had fun if it was so messed up it took them all day to clean it. He shoves his phone back into his pocket without replaying. What did those two get up to?

Guess he will find out soon because the next thing he knows they are standing outside of the heavy wooden doors of the ghoul den. He pushes them up and walks inside ahead of Rain. The smell of pumpkin and spiced meat hits him the moment he enters. He sniffs the air, sighing as he takes it in. Suddenly he is very aware of how hungry he is. Oh he hopes Multi did not fuck up dinner because he needs to eat. Though considering the first thing he sees when stepping into the common room is Multi and Mountain lounging on the loveseat, he can only assume he did a good job. Mountain would not have let him live otherwise. There is a reason Dew will not learn how the oven works.

“Oh there you are,” Multi greets from where he is sitting, “I see you finally found our little fishy after running off to do whatever it is you were doing.”

Dew shoots him a warning glare. He only flashes his fangs at him with that grin that seems to never leave his face. Thankfully Rain does not acknowledge the jab. Probably too concerned with the two other ghouls in the room to even care. This is the only time Dew will ever be grateful for his anxieties.

“So how’d cooking lessons go? I see the place is still standing.” Dew walks over and leans over the back of the loveseat. Rain follows, but hangs back.

Mountain chuckles, reaching up to run his hand through Dew’s hair, “Dinner went fine. Multi is a quick learner.”

“What can I say? I had an excellent teacher.” He shrugs with his signature smile.

Dew scoffs softly, “I’ll be the judge of that. If this tastes like shit I’m using your allowance to get something.”

He pushes off the back of the loveseat, turning around towards Rain. It is only then he truly realizes that Rain is actually dressed while Dew is still in the shirt and black sweatpants he slept in. Curse Copia for deciding breakfast was the perfect time to come collect him. He looked like this all day while Rain is dressed in a nice pair of black pants and a white lantern sleeve button down. Though to be fair, even if Dew had had the time to change clothes he still would have felt inadequate for where he is taking Rain. That and the new ghoul somehow has developed a better sense of fashion in about two months than Dew has in a year. He only has one outfit that will match Rain’s. Well he hopes it does anyway.

“I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go change.” Dew pats him on the shoulder and heads off to his room.

“Change? We just got back.” Rain tails after him.

“Yeah but we’re not staying here.”

Rain gives him a questioning chirp.

“Shh don’t worry about it. It’s a surprise.” With that he opens his door and slips inside, closing it before Rain can follow him in. He waits just a moment to see if he will walk away, but the shadow under the crack never leaves. He smiles and rests his hand on the door before turning around and throwing open his closet. He pushes past each item on his hangers until he finds what he is looking for. A simple black dress shirt. He pulls it out, tossing it onto his bed as he walks over to his dresser. He digs around until he finds the matching dress pants.

He shucks his loungewear off, quickly pulling the shirt and pants on. He has no time to waste. He does not want to keep Rain waiting. He gives himself a once over in the mirror, popping the top few buttons on the dress shirt and running a brush through his hair. He hums in satisfaction at his reflection. It is the best he is going to get. He hopes Rain will like it.

He takes a deep breath, locking eyes with himself, “You got this Dewdrop. This isn’t a date. There is no pressure. You’re just showing your friend a good time.”

He nods before striding over to the door and throwing it open. Rain jumps a little from where he was leaning against the wall. His eyes scan over Dew, the corner of his mouth ever so slightly twitching up. Dew ignores the feeling in his gut that bubbles up.

“Alright let’s go.” Dew heads back towards the kitchen.

“You look nice,” Rain falls in line beside him, “is the surprise you not wearing a band shirt?”

Dew narrows his eyes at him, “Funny. No this isn’t the surprise.”

He thinks he looks nice. Dew untucks his hair from behind his finned ears so that it covers his face, hiding the little blue blush.

“Alright then what is it?”

“Do I need to define surprise for you?”

Rain rolls his eyes with a small smile as they step into the kitchen. Just as Mountain promised, on the table sits two steaming Tupperware containers. Dew picks them up, pleasantly surprised that they are still warm. Mountain and Multi must have finished not too long ago. At least he will not have to give Rain cold dinner. He picks them up, tucking them under his arm. That would have been just his luck.

“Follow me.” He smiles at Rain, hoping he conveys the perfect picture of confidence. He feels like a kit talking to their crush alone for the first time.

He bids farewell to Mountain and Multi as they pass through the common room once more. The latter winks at him while the former smiles. Dew has to fight the urge to roll his eyes. There is no implication from them. He is reading too much into it. He is just nervous. But why is he nervous? Well he knows why but he refuses to let his stupid obsessive feelings ruin the little time he has left with Rain.

Dew leads them to the doors that connect the abbey to the main greenhouse, twisting the knob with his tail. He shoulders it open, holding it so Rain can walk through. He gives Dew a look but goes nonetheless. Once outside, Dew takes a deep breath, the scent of wet earth filling his nose. The air feels pleasantly cool, no longer warmed by the early spring sun. It helps to clear his head just a bit. At the very least he can feel some of the tension leave his shoulders.

He continues walking through the massive greenhouse, passing by rows of plants he never learned the names to. Though considering how often he would help Mountain water them, he probably should have. But he guesses it will not matter soon. Fire does not belong in a place like this.

He furrows his brow and minutely shakes his head. Focus. He needs to focus. This is about Rain, not him or Mountain or anyone else. Just Rain. He approaches the door at the very end of the building that leads to the outside. He has every intention of grabbing it again, but Rain beats him to it. Dew huffs and flicks him with his tail as he passes by.

“I could’ve gotten it.” Dew pauses once outside.

“I know, but I wanted to,” Rain joins him, “so you going to tell me what’s up now?”

“Be patient, we're almost there.” Dew starts down the dirt path that leads to the lake.

It is not a far walk, relatively speaking. It is about a mile away from the abbey. Every step closer makes Dew more anxious. He is an act first think later type of ghoul, and unfortunately for him it is later. His little idea seemed so good at the time, but now he worries that he might be stepping over a line. He had no idea how Rain reacts to big gestures. This very well could have the exact opposite effect Dew wanted. It could turn into a thing. Dew does not have time for a thing. Fixing his fuck up with being late to practice is one thing, but this could be something else entirely. He prays to the Lords Below that Rain will at least humor him.

About halfway through the walk Rain pauses, “This is the way to the lake.”

“I know.” Dew stops a few paces ahead, turning to look at him.

“You said we couldn’t go down there because River—“

“Shh shush that’s not important. Come on, we're almost there.” He grins and turns on his heel before Rain can respond.

He can feel occasionally glancing at him the rest of the way. He briefly wonders if perhaps he put everything together. Missing for the first part of the day, dressing up, and grabbing dinner. Rain is an exceptionally observant person, it would not surprise him if he did. Though he hopes he has not, even if he ends up hating it he would still like to surprise him. Maybe it is selfish, but isn’t this whole thing? Stealing Rain away to give him a good memory of Dew when he does not even know the danger his life is in. It cannot be selfish if he is doing it for Rain, can it?

Either way it does not matter. The lake has come into view and…oh he is going to kill Lake and River. The darkness that began to creep in from the setting sun is kept away by the strings of fairy lights that adorn the dock and the gazebo. There is a table set up on the inside, one of the nice ones that only gets taken out of storage for Ministry wide events. On the table is a small candle and a vase with roses in it. What part of not a date did those two fucking fish brains not understand?

He turns toward Rain fully intending to explain, but he stops. All the irritation melts away when he sees the look on his face. He is staring at the scene in awe, a smile beginning to form on his face.

“You did this…for me?” He steps up to the gazebo before turning to look at Dew. His voice is tender and what can only be described as hopeful.

His mind goes blank. He has never seen Rain look so soft before. The subtle orange glow of the fairy lights makes his leathery, hazy, blue-gray skin shine. There is a dusky purple blush on his face and his tail twitches behind him. He twists one of the rings on his fingers, looking at Dew with disbelief.

“Yeah I,” he clears his throat, “I wanted to do something nice for you. So…surprise.”

Without saying another word, Rain suddenly rushes at him. He flinches, not sure what to expect. Rain collides so hard with Dew that he makes a small oof sound. When he does not feel the sting of claws and fangs, he slowly opens his eyes. Of all the things that went through his mind that fraction of a second, a hug was not one of them. A particular tight one at that, Dew swears he heard his shoulder pop. It does not bother him though. He just hugs Rain back as best he can without dropping the food. He way the tip of his finned tail wags back and forth or his hand coming up to thread through Rain’s hair to hold him closer. He lets Rain hug him for as long as he wants.

After what feels like an eternity, but not nearly long enough for Dew, he pulls back, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dew says softly, a smile pulling at his lips.

They stare at each other for a moment before Dew speaks again, “Come on. Before this gets cold.”

They walk into the gazebo, Rain taking a seat while Dew sets one container down in front of him. It is only when he sits down that he realizes he did not bring any sort of utensils. He briefly panics before Rain takes the top off of his container and pulls a fork seemingly out of thin air. It takes all of his power to keep the look of surprise off his face. He opens his own to see a fork and spoon in the compartment on the lid. Mountain must have somehow known Dew would forget something even if he did know why Dew wanted him to pack their dinner up. He could kiss the big green bastard.

The food itself looks delicious. He cannot believe he is saying that considering this is probably the first time Multi has even touched the stove, but it would be wrong to say otherwise. Though looks can be deceiving. He stirs the gnocchi and sausage before taking a spoonful and bringing it up to his mouth. It's still warm, but cool enough that he does not have to worry about it burning the roof of his mouth. The moment the flavor of the pumpkin and the spiced meat hits his tongue he nearly groans. It is unfair how good it tastes. It is creamy and herbaceous and reminds him of when he saw the leaves change color while on tour.

Rain watches him take his first bite before deciding to eat it. While his reaction is not as strong as Dew’s, he can tell he likes it by the way his eyebrows raise and pull together. Well at least he will not have to steal Multi’s allowance.

“Dew. Is there…a reason you did all this?” Rain eventually asks.

Many. But he cannot say any of them.

I am going to die.

I am not going to die but I will not be the same.

I need you to remember me as a good person.

I adore you.

I want you.

I love you.

“Uh no not really. I just wanted to do something nice for you.” He shrugs and takes another bite of his food.

Rain regards him silently for a moment, dark blue eyes scanning his face. He hums and goes back to his own food. Conversation flows from that point on, Rain and Dew talking back and forth about nothing and everything. Even once their plates are empty neither of them make a move to end what they have started. Dew likes it that way. He likes it when Rain talks. Of course he does not mind the fact he usually prefers to listen, nodding along and humming to the stream of words that typically is flowing out of Dew’s mouth. But Dew loves to hear his voice. Deep and rich and melodic. Maybe he is blessed with the gift of the siren’s song? Even if he is, Dew would not care. Not as long as it is Rain who is leading him into the dark depths.

Eventually they come to a lull in their conversation. Rain breaks it though, eyes lighting up, “So. Since you lied to me earlier—“

“For good reason,” Dew adds.

“Right. Well since you lied to me earlier, why don’t we go swimming now?” Rain sits up a little in his chair.

“I don’t know. River might still be in heat.” Dew looks anywhere but Rain with a grin on his face.

Rain tosses one of the roses at his head. Dew swats it away with a laugh, “Okay okay! We can go swim, no need to get violent.”

They extinguish the little candle on the table before standing and leaving the gazebo. They walk to the dock, hands and tails intertwined. They practically stumble over each other with how close they are, but neither of them are willing to separate. They just giggle each time a foot gets stepped on or a tail gets a little tug. Dew does not think he has seen Rain this carefree since he has been Topside. It is nice.

Once to the dock, the two waste no time and getting out of their clothes. Rain takes his off and neatly folds them, setting them off to the side. Dew just drops his in a heap on the ground. He takes a deep breath, savoring the smell of the cool night and lake air before turning back towards Rain.

“You ready?”

Dew’s fins immediately flare at the way Rain is looking at him. Well, not at him. When he realizes Dew has caught him staring unabashedly at his cock, he flushes and meets his eyes.

“Sorry I just…it’s really all just out there.”

Dew is not surprised at the reaction. This is the first time Rain has ever seen him totally naked. He still remembers how confused he was when he was met with Mist’s tentacle for the first time. Instead of getting fucked that night he got a biology lesson instead. Oceanic water ghouls have tentacles designed to help them with the constant churning of the sea. Freshwater ghouls on the other hand just have sex on the banks of the rivers and lakes they call home.

Even if the reaction is warranted, Dew cannot help the color in his cheeks. How could he when it is Rain who is staring at him? Any other ghoul and Dew would not have given a single fuck, but Rain? Oh is he helpless.

“Yeah,” Dew clears his throat, “Yeah it’s weird but you’ll get used to it.”

He turns back towards the lake, walking down to the edge of the dock before Rain can get more curious. He does not think he would survive if that happened. And he is not sure he is strong enough to listen to his head instead of his heart. And his dick. Definitely his dick.

He contemplates just jumping in without waiting for Rain, but that thought quickly disappears when he hears footsteps rapidly pounding against the old wood. He whips around in time to see Rain running towards him. He flinches, fully expecting a collision. Instead, there is a millisecond of silence before a loud splash rings out. Dew gets hit with some of the stray water droplets as Rain dives into the lake. He opens his eyes and stares at the surface, waiting for him to come up so he can yell at him for being impatient.

When he does resurface though, every word dies on his tongue. His inky black hair clings to his face before he pushes it back and out of the way. His eyes shine now that he is in his element. He has a bright smile on his face, every fang visible. The bioluminescent markings on his shoulders are glowing a soft blue. His gills flutter rhythmically with each breath he pants out. The moonlight catches just right on his face making the water clinging to his lashes stand out. Only one word comes to mind.

“Beautiful.” Dew breathes in awe.

“What was that?” Rain calls to him, swimming closer.

His heart hammers in his chest. He shakes his head a little, “Nothing. Now move out of the way so I don’t land on you.”

Dew barely gives Rain time to process his words before diving into the lake in a perfect streamline. Bubbles spill out of his mouth and gills once he is under the water, a deep sigh leaving him as he relaxes. He nearly screams though when he opens his eyes to see Rain so close their noses are almost touching. He pushes away from him, kicking towards the surface. Rain just grins at him before following after him.

Despite Dew getting a head start, they both breach at the same time. Rain laughs while Dew scowls at him.

“Ass.” Dew flicks water at him with his tail.

Rain grins, serrated teeth on display before diving back under. Dew curses and begins to swim in the direction he thinks Rain will not be. He has done the same thing to the rest of his pack enough times to know what Rain is doing. His finned tail beats behind him, propelling him through the water, but it is no use. Rain gets a hand around his ankle and pulls him under so fast Dew does not even have time to scream.

He tries to kick away from him, but he tightens his hold and drags Dew closer. He playfully snaps his fangs near Rain’s face, pushing against his chest. Rain laughs, bubbles spilling from his mouth and floating up. He lets go of Dew’s ankle in favor of grabbing his wrists. Dew uses the split second of freedom to flare his long, colorful fins. The ones on his arms whack Rain in the face, causing him to completely let go of him. Dew immediately darts off, not waiting to see if Rain is chasing after him.

He cannot help but smile as he swims. He never gets to play like this with River, Lake, or Mist. The former are usually too busy sucking face to even entertain the idea. Mist just does not have the time anymore. She used to before she had to take over Delta’s job of assisting new water ghouls adjust to life Topside. Even so, Dew did not really like playing with her. She would always win. Always.

But now he has Rain. And Rain is still new. Rain does not know all of Dew’s tricks and he certainly is not as familiar with the lake as Dew is. He swims as fast as he can to the reed beds, hiding within the tall grass. He hopes and prays Rain did not see him as he scans the dark depths for a flash of smoky blue. Luckily, his bioluminescence puts a spotlight on him. Dew can see him approaching. He sinks further into the reeds, eyes locked on Rain.

He stops only a few feet away from the plants. He narrows his eyes, scanning the beds slowly before looking left and right. Quick as a flash he swims off to the left. Away from Dew. He waits, making sure Rain is truly gone before paddling out of the tall grass. He grins in satisfaction as he follows the direction Rain went. Oh he cannot wait to see the look on his face.

When those shining blue lights come into view once more, Dew slows his pace. He spreads his fins, letting the current of the water carry him closer to his target. Rain does not notice him. He is too busy peeking his head into some old tree debris. Dew gets closer. Closer. Close enough that Rain can feel the water shift behind him. He whips around, but he is too late. Dew pounces onto his back, wrapping his arms around his neck. Not tight enough to choke, just enough to stay latched on. Rain struggles, tugging at him to pull him off. When Dew only holds on tighter, instinct kicks in and he rams the back of his head into Dew’s face.

He lets go immediately, kicking towards the surface. Rain follows suit. When they breach Dew is holding the right side of his face and cackling.

“I fucking got you! I win! Oh you should see the…”

The look on Rain’s face is one of fear.

“Oh shit what’s wrong? Did I go too far?” Dew swims closer to him.

“Dew your face. Did I…?”

“Huh? Oh yeah you got me good.”

Rain looks like he is going to throw up.

“But it’s fine! It doesn’t even hurt. I’m fine, look.”

Dew drops his hand from his face. Rain hit him right above his eye. While there is no blood or bruise, there is a mark blooming. Nothing deep, it will probably be gone in a few hours. Still hurts a little, but Rain does not need to know that.

Rain scans his face with concern.

Dew sighs, “Really I’m fine. Trust me I’ve been hurt way worse.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Rain says flatly.

Dew chews his lip. This is not how things are supposed to be going. This is supposed to be a good memory for Rain, not one ruined by the idea that he hurt Dew. He has to distract him. Think Dewdrop. There’s gotta be something…

Ahah!

“Wanna see something cool?” Dew smiles.

“What is it?” Rain asks quietly.

“Follow me.” Dew dives back under without waiting for a response.

He swims for just a moment before glancing over his shoulder. The little ball of anxiety that was forming in his chest dissipates when he sees Rain is actually behind him. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he dives deeper and deeper. He leads Rain to the farthest part of the lake. If they were to surface now, they would almost be in the forest. They are so deep now that all they can see when they look up is the tiniest sliver of moonlight. They are at the bottom of the lake.

Dew finally stops swimming when he sees it. The familiar sight of rotting wood makes him relax. Dew has lead Rain to the trunk of a massive tree, fallen long before either of them were living Topside. It is covered in algae and other little aquatic plants that have made it their home. At the center of it is a decently sized hole lined with moss. Dew knows it very well. This was his nest when he was first summoned. When he was too scared to stay inside the ghoul den. This is a spot only he and Mist know about.

And now Rain.

If he was going to show this to anyone, it would be him. This spot means so much to Dew. It is the one space he has where he knows without a doubt he can be safe and alone. Soon he will never see it again. Even if he survives the transition, he will not be able to swim down here. Rain will get more use out of it then he ever will. And if he does not return from the flames then Rain has a spot just for him. One perfected carved to fit Dew’s body.

Dew swims closer to it, beckoning Rain to follow. He gestures to the hole in the tree with a proud smile. Rain runs his hands over the bark before turning and looking at Dew. The markings on his shoulder and tail begin to pulse and flash and Dew frowns. He has no idea what Rain is trying to tell him. Freshwater ghouls do not use bioluminescence to communicate. He grumbles and points towards the surface, signaling for them to rise.

They breach at the same time and Rain immediately looks to him, “What was that?”

“Some old tree that’s been down there probably longer than either of us has been alive. But it’s also my nest.” Dew says the last part quieter than the rest.

“Dewdrop,” Rain breathes.

He spares at glance at him and the way he is looking at him with nothing but soft fondness makes his heart ache. It scares him how easily Rain can make him feel things. One ghoul should be able to have this much of an effect. But Rain does. Rain does and he hates it. He wants it to stop but he thinks if it does he might die.

Dew ducks his head and pulls himself over to the shallows. He settles where the water meets land, resting against the sand while the waves gently wash over him. As always, Rain follows him. He never takes his eyes off of Dew. He sits with his knees pulled up to his chest, tail curling around his feet to twine with the tip of Dew’s. He waits.

Dew sighs and tips his head back to look at the night sky, “Don’t go telling people I showed that to you. Even Mountain and Aether don’t know about it.”

“You know I wouldn’t.”

“I know.”

There is a beat of silence.

“You didn’t have to take me down there Dewdrop,” Rain says carefully.

“I wanted to. It…was the place I would go when I was still new. When things got really bad and I needed to be alone. Mist was the only one who knew where I’d run off to and she would come and get me. Help me without whatever little thing made me run and hide.”

He smiles softly, thinking about the words she said to him the first time she found him.

“And I want you to have a place like that. Cause I know how hard this shit is. Hell, I’ve been here for a year and I still feel like I popped out of the ground yesterday. But that doesn’t mean you need to be totally alone. You can stay down there for as long as you want knowing I’m the only one who will come for you.”

He looks at Rain.

“And I will. Come for you I mean. I won’t let you deal with anything alone.”

Before he even has the chance to dwell on his impending fate, Rain practically tackles him. Just like before at the gazebo, he hugs Dew so tight something definitely cracks. He buries his face in the crook of his neck. Dew follows suit, burying his nose in Rain’s wet hair. He closes his eyes, a single tear slipping out of the corner.

They sit there holding each other for what feels like an eternity. Dew wishes it actually was. All too soon they slowly break apart. They stay close though, Dew looking down at Rain and him staring back up. He wants nothing more than to kiss him and tell him how much he means to him. Rain must be able read his mind because he shifts, every so slightly leaning closer. Dew wants to give in to him. He wants to with every fiber of his being.

He cannot. Not with the elemental transition a week away. Not when he has only been here for two months. He knows if he does not come back it is going to hurt, but if he kisses him now it will only be worse. He will not do that to Rain. It aches, but he turns away from him and looks towards the sky again.

He gasps and points, “Look.”

“I don’t see anything,” Rain says flatly.

“It’s a shooting star.”

It is a satellite. Dew knows it is a satellite. Rain does not know it is a satellite. He needs some excuse for what he did.

“I still don’t see anything.” Rain detangles himself more from Dew.

“They’re quick. Keep looking and you’ll see one.”

They stare at the sky together. The silence is heavy. The only sound is the frogs and crickets enjoying the night just like them. Well they were enjoying the night. Now though Dew is not so sure. Why does this have to be so complicated? It was not supposed to be complicated. He was just supposed to teach the new ghoul bass and get made into a fire ghoul. He was never supposed to feel something.

The silence finally gets to Dew. He points up at the stars, tracing the shapes of the constellations. He tells their stories to Rain the same way Aether told them to him. Anything to ease the tension sitting heavy in his gut. Luckily Rain humors him, following his hand each time he points to a new part of the sky. Maybe if he overloads his brain with all this information he will forget about what just happened.

He is not that lucky.

“I don’t understand you Dewdrop,” Rain sighs.

“Did I lose you at the spoons or the bears?” Dew raises an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not talking about the stars.”

“Oh…”

Silence.

“I don’t get you,” Rain repeats.

Dew does not know what to say, so he says nothing.

“You do these things for me. You let me into your bed and show me your nest but then you push me away. I don’t understand.”

Dew feels like he is standing at the edge of a cliff and Rain is his only hope of not falling to the jagged rocks. But little by little he is loosening his grip.

“It’s…complicated.” Dew looks away from him.

“Then make it not complicated.”

“Oh like it’s that easy!” Dew snaps. He flinches though when he realizes.

“Isn’t it? I see you give yourself over to everyone else so easily. So what makes me different?” Rain keeps his tone even.

How can he just spill his guts? He cannot tell Rain about the ritual. He cannot tell him how much he wants to hold him close and never let him go. He would sound insane.

“You’re different alright,” Dew mumbles.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” Rain narrows his eyes.

Dew scoffs, “Why do you wanna know anyways?”

“Because I thought you actually liked me. But every single time we get close you pull away. I think I deserve to know why.”

Of course Dew has managed to fuck this up. Every single plan he had created has been a fuck up. Well he is done with plans. He is done with the heavy feeling in his chest. If Rain wants to know so bad then he cannot be blamed for what happens when he dies.

“Fine. You wanna know,” Dew’s claws curl in the sand, “I can’t stand to be around you.”

“What?” Rain breathes.

“I can’t stand to be around you because I’m not good enough for you. You’re only here because of me. Because I got myself into a mess because I’m an idiot. I thought everything would be so simple but then you came out of the ground and ruined everything.”

Rain stares at him with a blank expression.

“You made me fucking feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling. I can’t feel things not when…”

When he is going to die.

“…when I’m me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Rain’s voice sounds hard.

“It means I’m supposed to be the one who helps you adjust to the stupid fucking world. It was a job.”

“So that’s it then. I’m just your job.”

“Yes.”

It is silent for a moment before Rain fully turns to face him.

“Stop fucking lying to me.”

Dew blinks in surprise.

“Do you honestly think I’m stupid?”

“Of course not,” Dew huffs.

“Then tell me the truth, Dewdrop. Now.”

Dew scoffs.

Rain waits.

And he waits.

He sighs and begins to stand up, “Fine. Maybe I was wrong to think so highly of you.”

Rain drops him off the cliff.

Dew feels like he cannot breathe. He ruined it. How could he have ruined it? He did everything right. He kept his feelings away. He focused on what he had to do. Now Rain is walking away and he does not feel like he fits inside of his body. How could he have messed up this badly if he did everything right?

“Rain wait.” He whips his head to look at him.

He stops. He is only a few steps away from Dew. He does not turn around to look at him.

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have thought highly of me. I’m a liar and a fuck up.”

Rain does not turn around.

“But that’s why I can’t stand being around you. Because I really am awful for you.”

Dew takes a deep breath. Time to claw his way back up the cliff side.

“I like you. So fucking much. Probably more than I should. I can’t stand to be around you because I know you’ll find better once you’re up here longer and don’t even try to deny it. I see how you look at Mountain. But you made it too fucking hard to think rationally and now we’re here. I never should have been your mentor. I never should have inserted myself into your life because of my own stupid feelings. I never should have—“

Rain does not let him finish. Quick as a flash, he is back on the ground, knees colliding with sand. He crushes his lips against Dew’s. He will not hear anymore. Rain kisses his excuses away.

Rain is kissing him.

He needs to pull away. He needs to push back. He needs to…he needs to kiss him back. He needs his sea salt and petrichor taste burned into his memory.

Dew cannot stop himself anymore. He kisses Rain back.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghouls #the band ghost fic #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul #rain x dewdrop #golfball writes #raindrop ghost

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mintmatcha · 5 months ago

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cw: cisfem reader, reader is part gnome, reader wears glasses, sacrilege,

One, two, three. You swirl the last bits of tea counterclockwise and let the bits settle into shapes, order forming from the chaos.

"Are you trying to read the tea leaves?"

You peek up over your glasses. Holm is watching you, head resting against one hand. His cheek is smooshed forward so far that his eye is forced closed in an exhausted wink, and you can't help but smile back at him.

"Maybe."

"Using my blessed tea? My holy herbs?" He frowns, mouth comically down turned, a upside-down U. "That's sacrilege."

You tilt the mug his way. "So you don't want to know what they say?"

That earns you a soft smile, warm and fleeting. It ends with a sigh. "Only if it's good."

It isn't. The leaves tell you of bad decisions, of regrets and heartbreak. You spin your cup once more and watch it all turn to flurries.

"Things are always good with you."

"Hm." He reminds you of a cat, emotions reserved and measured, lips lifted in the middle by his short philtrum. "Hm, hm."

You hadn't intended to end up here, but a couple glasses of wine and a couple bad decisions led you right to his door, a moth to flame. When he answered the door, you told him the inn was full, that other friend's places were too far. It was an obvious lie, but he let you in anyway, made you tea and threw wood on the fire.

He stirs his spoon until his tea swirls, spoon never touching the mug's edge. It's silent, methodical, perhaps a bit soothing.

"The neighbors are going to talk, though." Holm stays placid, voice soft. The silken fabric of his sleep clothes are wrinkled only on one side-- he side he sleeps on, you imagine. "I'm not supposed to be alone with a woman after dark."

He's more devout than most in this part of the country. Prayer at sun rise and sun down, a diet free of meats and alcohol, perfect celibacy; he's the paradigm. Common doesn't have the correct word for the position; monk, priest, shaykh: none of them are quite correct, but close enough that most get the idea.

A holy man.

Certainly someone that shouldn't be having you stay the night.

"They won't." You tilt your mug side to side and the dregs of tea leaves, still wet, catch the light. The shapes change and shift. They still aren't good. "The neighbors know you wouldn't do anything."

"They don't know that." Holm hums. "I// don't know that."

There's a dwindling silence between you, a tension you can't cut through. The unspeakable thing between you grows.

"If something was going to happen between us, it would have already happened."

The fire catches in his eyes as he looks your way, bouncing from one eye to the other, then down to your mouth. He lingers there for a long moment, lids so heavy that you finally understand how thought can be sin-

"Let me get your bed set up."

You take his mug to the sink as he goes down the hall, rustling in closets. The house's quiet is heavy and hearty, so thick you can't swallow it down.

"You can take my bed tonight." He calls down the hall. "Mickbell and Kuro didn't clean the futon last time they stayed over and it's covered in hair."

A headache is already starting to thrum at your temples. Tomorrow, you'll regret all of this, but tonight, you can blame the alcohol.

"I'm not going to ask you to do that."

Holm comes from his bedroom and just shakes his head. You don't fight it; the fire is low and the sun is only a couple hours away.

Even if it wasn't, you'd still stay.

"The sheets are fresh." He musses his hair and its delightfully fluffed, red touched brown has reminds you of your family's old hunting dog. "I'll sleep out here, so I don't wake you in the morning."

Neither of you move. The last bits of fire are dying in the hearth, painting shadows long. Darkness is threatening to engulf you both, swallow you whole, and you use the last bits of light to admire him and his casual, understated beauty-

"Don't." Holm's voice is brittle.

"Don't what?"

"Don't do it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do." Neither of you move. "It's why you came here."

Your eyes are better than his in the dark. You can see how he seeks you on in the darkness, eyes slightly narrowed.

"My Gods are important to me." His brow is knitted firmly, but his mouth is soft, open. "My spirit is important to me."

"I know."

"If you start, I don't know if I'm strong enough to stop."

He steps closer. "So, don't." Another step forward, until you can feel the glimmer of mana around him. "We can't."

"Okay," you say. "I won't."

"Don't tempt me."

"I'm not."

"Good."

There's only a singular moment before he breaks. He draws you in like a breath, hands clumsily finding your cheeks and cupping them forcefully. The kiss itself is messy, with his nose bumping into your cheek and his lips missing yours, but he takes corrections well. You tilt your head slightly and he meets you there, mouth slotting into yours. You busy yourself with the front of his shirt, undoing just enough buttons to slide your hands against the warm, soft skin of his chest.

The kiss remains chaste, just the friction of skin against skin, until you part your lips more and more, him chasing the contact with wanton want--

Your tongue slides against his and he moans, unabashedly and unembarrassed, into your mouth. Holm pulls back, panting so hard that his chest bumps into yours.

"You-" He swallows, glancing down. His hands slide down your shoulders and to your chest, cupping them clumsily, meekly, hopefully- "You taste like wine."

And he dives in again to suck on your tongue.

The rest is a flurry. Your head spins, your chest aches like it might burst, and Holm keeps kissing you with that earnest, amateur passion that makes your heart sing. Your glasses are knocked halfway off of your face, drooping off your nose. Holm walks your down the hall step by step, in between gasps of breath and nips of teeth, until the cool down of his bed presses against your back.

His bed is fluffy pillows, white sheets, and down. They smell like musk and like they were dried in the sun,

Holm breaks away for a moment, jagged breath against your cheek. His tired eyes are barely open, but they still watch you with a gentle admiration.

"You look like an angel."

Your heart drops. No, this isn't holy. Not at all.

"Oh, Holm." You place a hand on his shoulder and push him away right before his lips find yours again. "We can't do this."

He doesn't move, but you can feel the resistance drain from his muscles.

"I'm choosing you," he whispers. "I know what doing this means and I'm choosing you."

He reaches for your cheek, pleading.

"Let me choose you." Holm's touch is heartbreakingly fleeting. "Let me worship you."

You almost break. You want to break.

"I can't let you do that."

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inoreuct · 11 months ago

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oh oh oh oh sanji with red lipstick and her long ponytail curling over her collarbones, slightly messy after a long shift as she drops her purse on the floor. her keys clink into the dish on top of the foyer table and she kicks her heels off to collapse on the couch and light a cig because the world is so cruel to pretty girls. her bangs catch on her mascara she exhales and she rolls her head, pulling at her neck, tsking half-heartedly at a run in her stockings and yanking at her tie with one hand. cue zoro; sleepy, bleary, shuffling out of their bedroom in boxers and a crumpled, unbuttoned dress shirt that's too tight around the shoulders.

sanji sighs the smoke away as her girlfriend folds down next to her in an ungainly pile of muscle and limbs. "evening, chou."

"think you mean morning," zoro grumbles, putting whatever she’d been holding down on the table. "s'fuckin' three a.m., blondie."

"i know." she feels callused hands gently pulling the tie out of her hair, and she sinks back into the cushions as relief prickles across her scalp. "thought you'd be asleep."

her girlfriend scoffs. "oh, i was."

sanji doesn't even have time to ask then why're you awake? before something wet is being pressed to her eye, and she sputters. "mari—

"it's your micellar shit." zoro shifts closer as she wraps the soaked cotton pad around the edge of her thumb and works it into sanji's lashline. "you're dead on your damn feet. don't wanna hear you bitching about not taking your makeup off tomorrow."

sanji opens her mouth and closes it again because yeah, zoro's right; she wouldn't have bothered. she's too fucking tired. but the clogged pores and missing lashes and crusty lips the next morning would have put her in a horrid mood for the rest of the day— so she shuts up and blows out a mouthful of smoke as zoro wipes at her face.

"tough day?"

she sighs again, shoulders drooping with it. "nowhere near the toughest. but we had a guy who was an absolute bitch in charge of that event. what's the point of outsourcing a caterer if you're gonna tell their chefs how to cook?"

zoro huffs a laugh. "did you kick his ass?"

"duh. asshole made himself scarce after i nearly took his eye out with my heel."

"that's my girl."

the shudder that ripples down her spine when zoro's free hand comes up to steady her head feels like warm water, and she smiles a little at the look of concentration she knows is on her girlfriend's face. she also knows what her makeup looks like after long days, and it's hard work to get off; her eyeliner's probably gone or nearly there, lipstick smudged around the edges until it looks more like a rash (ew), eyebags showing through her concealer and mascara smeared. she doesn't bother opening her eyes when zoro grabs a fresh cotton pad to work on her other eye, strong fingertips digging into the side of her skull, and the pressure makes something tense along her nape release.

zoro's hands are rough, as always, nails filed down rudimentarily and calluses built up thick at the bases of her fingers. but when she presses the heel of her palm into sanji's jaw, it's careful— the cotton pad that drags over the corner of her mouth is precise, rubbing across her lower lip to scrub away the patchy remnants of colour. zoro's breath ghosts warm across her cheek, turning cool in the wake of gentle swathes of makeup remover, and sanji knows she's done when zoro massages the last dregs of tension from her scalp.

she brings her knees to her chest and listens to zoro's slippers shuffling away as her girlfriend throws the trash, and back again. her's cig's burned down to a stub; she smokes it until embers glow against her polished nails and then pulls herself up to grind it out in the coffee table ashtray. the couch's headrest is scratchy against her cheek as she blows the last lungful of smoke away and curls up on her side, watching zoro turn off the lights and shut the window in their kitchen before going over to pick her heels up and set them neatly by the door, hanging her purse up with their jackets on the rack.

sanji's ragdoll-limp as she's lifted, arms beneath her back and knees, head lolling onto zoro's shoulder— it's that liminal space between sleep and wakefulness, and she's slipping quickly over to one side. she doesn't fight it. why would she? even as she's set down over the cool covers, even as her slacks are peeled off and chucked over the vanity chair, she's far too comfortable. zoro undoes a few buttons, pops the clasps on her bra and pulls it off without much difficulty; sanji giggles weakly as a fleeting joke about experience flashes across her mind before it flits away.

it's dark. the blanket's pulled up over her shoulders, and she inches closer when zoro wraps an arm over her back. "i'm running out of shirts, y'know," she mumbles, thumbing at the sharp point of the pinstriped collar against her girlfriend's warm skin.

zoro fights a yawn. "sunday tomorrow. s'laundry day."

she takes a breath to reply and forgets what she had been about to say. a kiss is pressed to her forehead, and she falls asleep between one blink and the next.

(sanji wakes just past two in the afternoon, sleep crusted in her eyes and throat, hair all over the place, and hearing the dryer going. her shirt is falling off one shoulder when zoro comes in and tackles her back onto the mattress, and she settles under the covers as strong legs tangle with hers and zoro squeezes her waist with a yawn.

maybe she'll just sleep till dinner, she decides, burying her nose into soft green hair that smells of her own shampoo. instant ramen every once in a while can't hurt, anyway.)

#fem zosan #ohhhh they've taken over my brain #this was supposed to be a tired scraggly fem sanji appreciation but i got sappy as usual it's a DISEASE #zosan #one piece zosan #zoro x sanji #one piece sanji #one piece zoro #sanji #zoro #black leg sanji #roronoa zoro #one piece

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tadpolesonalgae · 9 months ago

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The Dregs of Tragedy - Part 5

Mer!Azriel x reader

a/n: took a minute, thanks to the ungodly amount of italicising I had to do, but enjoy mer!az 🧡💛

Word count: 5,969

-Part 4-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Seaweed flutters gently against your skin, feather-light as it pulls you back to consciousness.

Small, shimmering creatures dart about in between the barnacle-covered rocks and pleasantly-coloured coral, sparkling light reflecting off their tiny scales with easy, hastened movement. Out from a crevice unfurls a purple tentacle, spotted with blue and red dots that glow faintly as it emerges from its cozy home, and you watch as it politely ambles along the cave floor.

The drift of a current eases your hair out from under you, and you push up from the sandy patch you’d chosen for sleeping, set in the top of a particularly large rock, hollowed out to create a dip you can comfortably settle in. Seaweed brushes your upper arms as you peer about the luminescent cave, cast in mellow blue-green light as unknown flora sprouts from the cavern’s walls, lighting it up. Up on the other side of the cave, you spot his long, powerful tail lolling over the ledge, the rest seemingly tucked away into an alcove that he’s chosen to be his sleeping quarters.

With some effort, you manage to leverage yourself into open water, pulling yourself along until you reach the wall, where you attempt to shift your tail to propel forward. It’s a little tricky, but not an unpleasant journey—getting to haul yourself clumsily up the sides, passing other nooks in the stone that house all sorts of fauna.

You reach his ledge, folding your arms over the smooth rock, tail swishing idly beneath you.

Dark, charcoal eyes flit over, and he pauses, before lethargically rolling onto his front, copying your position in folding his arms, cheek propped upon his forearm as he gazes at you intently.

You’re awake, he thinks, and your stomach flutters with surprise, still not entirely accustomed to the way his voice resonates so deeply within your mind. Do you usually sleep up here, or was this a ploy to have me swim some more? You ask quietly, watching as amusement glows in his eyes. Swimming more certainly won’t hurt you, he replies, tail shifting slightly. But no. This is where I like to sleep.

The stone is so smooth, you wonder, glancing down to where the rock looks to have been lathed flat. Centuries of being worn down, he replies, shifting again, and you can see this time how well the slight hollows and curves fit to the shape of his body. Almost making the rock appear soft.

I forget you’re old, you think, a hint of amusement in your tone, the edges of your mouth curving, gaze twinkling. He rolls his eyes, before his features settle into something more serious, watching you quietly. You peer back at him, wondering what’s passing through his mind.

You mentioned a connection to the moon… You hedge slowly, tail swishing a little. That a new moon is when you’re closer to humans, and a full moon is when you…get stronger?

He doesn’t reply, just continues regarding you neutrally, unable to tell what he’s thinking. Your brows twitch. Is that not right? You push, peering at him. I remember you saying we were nearing a new moon. What does that mean?

Azriel’s quiet for a bit, before readjusting himself, pulling his long tail up into the alcove. You understand we are creatures of magic, don’t you? He asks, and you nod in clarification. Quite simply, upon a new moon is when we can become more humanlike. Becoming more distanced from how we are now.

How so? You push, something about the way he’s speaking sounding…slower than usual. Slightly reluctant. Wary.

Again he pauses, and you wait, tension coiling in your arms with apprehension. But then he pushes up from the rock, easily swimming past with effortless grace, so close you feel the sea move with his motion. We can rise from the water, he answers, swimming down toward the seafloor, glancing over his shoulder as he pauses, waiting for you to follow. We can walk among humans.

What do you mean? You ask sharply, scrambling away from the rock as you try to swim downward, using your hands to almost pull the water apart. I can become human again? You push, a spark of something in your chest. You don’t have to remain a mer forever. You aren’t shackled to eternity below the sea.

His brow narrows slightly, and then he’s cutting through the water, smoothly swimming upward. You blink when he moves around you, too unfamiliar with their motion to keep up as he settles in the water above you, hands gently but firmly pulling your arms back, keeping them from pulling you forward. You aren’t going to learn if you keep relying on your hands like that, he reminds, and you reluctantly ease beneath his touch, a look of disgruntlement on your mouth. Just try using your tail more, or you’ll ingrain bad habits into your body during your developing.

There’s more? You ask, aghast, trying to turn to look at him over your shoulder. Aren’t I fully mer already?

You are. But your muscles are still growing, and becoming familiar with your new form. Not to mention your mind will also need time to catch up. He answers succinctly, with surprising coherency. Just try swimming to the floor, he suggests, easing his grip on your forearms, putting a little distance between your bodies, though you can still feel his hands poised to guide your palms away from motion.

But, tell me more about it, you push, trying to figure how to turn yourself over, to see him better. You’re able to catch the way his chest expands in what you think is probably a sigh. Frustration simmers in your chest, brows narrowing as you swiftly pull your arms away, using them to turn, much to his obvious disapproval. I still have people—…I still have someone up there, you think, gazing into his glittering, coal black eyes. Azriel blinks, features flattening to careful neutrality. Who?

I don’t— …I’m not telling you. You answer, head dipped but managing to hold his intense gaze. Tension simmers in your chest, so close to this new information.

You barely know how to swim from one place to another. You aren’t undergoing a shift.

So you’re just going to keep me here? You think sharply, brows narrowing. No, he replies, voice a little softer, you’re free to go where you like. But I’ll keep an eye on you.

I want to go back to being human, you snap, anger forming as your hands tighten into fists. I didn’t even get a choice in becoming like you in the first place, and now I don’t get a choice in returning?

A new moon will come again. We have one each month. Missing this one won’t mean you’ll never have the chance again.

I’m not wasting my time, Azriel, you think, a hint of panic rising to your tone. You may be accustomed to immortality—having enough time for everything—but we…humans don’t live forever! I have no guarantee that he…that my person will be there at the next new moon.

Azriel pauses, something passing behind his eyes.

Tell me who it is, he says, slightly tighter than usual. Maybe you’re waring at his temper.

Someone important, you yield, lips pressing together, someone dear to me.

Who?

Why does it matter? You grit out. He might not be alive by next month. Isn’t that a good enough reason to let me go? Or is the life of a human simply not worth it to you?

You’re putting words in my mouth, he thinks back, tail swishing as he calmly floats down toward the floor, and you’re forced to follow after him. Besides, becoming human and returning to that village… Someone will recognise you.

The transformation would happen overnight, wouldn’t it? Surely I could get back by morning? You push, slowly managing to shift to where he’s come to a halt, coincidentally by the rock you chose to sleep in.

You’re not going. He thinks quietly, though his attention is on the hollow of the stone, able to mark the indentation of the sand—how it dips down and curls in line with how you’d slept.

You stare at him silently, something a little too similar to hurt twinging across your chest. You’d apparently been hoping he was different. But it’s the same story.

Maybe it’ll take the same solutions.

Carefully steering a conversation, gently turning it to the right direction, without a soul knowing.

So you swim forward a little, coming to the lip of the hollow that he’s hovering above. Moving to be at his side, keeping your attention ahead. Would you not be able to change him into a mer, too? You think, careful to keep on topic without a sharp turn. Smoothly bending the flow.

Azriel shakes his head. There are…requirements, that need to be met in order for a transition to occur. We can’t just take humans here and there.

And you need humans because…?

We’re a dwindling species, he thinks quietly. Almost sadly. When an opportunity presents itself, we take it.

I was an opportunity?

Dark, glittering eyes flit to yours, taking in the tension of your jaw, the resentment tucked between your brows. I didn’t mean it like that, he tries, a glimmer of guilt working its way to his surface. It’s fine, you think back with obvious bitterness, we’re treated as objects above water, too. You move to pull yourself away, hands pressing down on barnacle-covered rock, when his palm settles around your wrist. Firm enough to be noticeable, but light enough for you to pull away.

You’re precious, he thinks quietly, features mostly neutral save for the softness at the edge of his irises. Because of what I stand for, right? Not because of who I am? You return, though you don’t pull away—allowing him to feel that control. It’s always about control.

His lips press into a thin line, and you nod slightly. That’s fine, you think quietly, holding his gaze, I’ll try not to let it go to my head.

I’m treating you as I would another mer who had never undergone a shift, he returns, his grip loosening further as you drift a little closer, enough to appear subconscious or accidental. It’s all about having power over people. Let him think he can draw you in.

As I said before, you can hardly swim in a straight line, and you will be recognised if you’re spotted above sea. You can imagine what might happen, he reasons gently.

And it would be a waste if I died, too, you return, resentment becoming more apparent. After all the work you put in to finding someone suitable. Wouldn’t that be a shame.

It’s for your safety. Don’t pretend like you can’t understand that.

No, I don’t understand it, you hiss, moving forward, brows narrowing, because above there is the only person left in this world that I care about, and you are coming between us. All because your fucked up species is too selfish to care for anything else. You drift closer, pulling your hand away to grip his wrist instead, tightly. And just maybe, if your kind weren’t snatching, stealing, and murdering sailors, there’d be more of you left.

His pupils contract, tension shifting beneath his pale blue skin, before he’s firmly withdrawing his wrist, putting a clear distance between you.

I understand you’re upset, he begins.

No, you don’t, you hiss, moving after him, you say you do, but—

I understand you’re distraught, and confused, he states again, sterner than before, though this time he doesn’t retreat at your approach. But that does not mean you can speak so disgracefully. To me, or about our kind. Something inside you flinches at the tone, tension coiling as you wait for the impact, bracing for pain.

You have only seen the end result of their process. You do not understand the pain they will subject us to, nor the degradation of being strung up along the shore for the rest of us to watch as our folk slowly bleed out, so close to their home.

You could swear you hear his voice lilt with emotion before it’s swiftly shut down, as if blocking out the building pressure of what having to witness that slow death does to a creature.

You are not undergoing a shift, he repeats firmly; finally. Not this time around.

He makes to turn, likely to leave, to give time for both of you to cool off, but your hand darts forward, gripping him until your nails are squeezing his skin, and he whirls back to you.

You’re just like him, you think lowly, close enough that—had you been human—you would be sharing breath. Close enough to count his eyelashes, to see the flecks of glittering black and storm cloud grey in his eyes. To number every tiny, shredding tooth that’s concealed by a deceptively soft-looking mouth.

At least Alaric wasn’t aware of how awful he was, you hiss lowly, moving closer still, free palm settling over his other hand, like you’re able to hold him to the ground. But you think you’re so much better. You condemn him, and pretend like you’re anything better and it’s despicable. I’ve just been taken from one cage to another, except in this one, the only beast I have to fear is you.

His eyes shutter, then he’s forcefully ripping his hands away from your hold, and there isn’t a single muscle in your body that amplifies the shockwave of fear that strikes through your body. As you recoil into yourself, eyes squeezing shut as you duck your head, bracing for the staging slap of his palm or the piercing bite of teeth.

Instead, all you feel is the slightly cooler swish of water against your front, the gentle brush of a shift in current.

You open your eyes in time to see his tail disappearing into one of the tunnels.

A shimmer of iridescent blue, and pearly white, vanished in a blink.

———

You find yourself slowly trailing after an octopus, pulling yourself along the sea bed at a similar speed to its friendly amble, tentacles stretching ahead as it swims idly through the coral.

Maybe it’s because you have no one else, but you feel a connection with the creature. One that arises from being granted the wonder to freely follow something through its life, to observe as it goes about satisfying its more common interests: how it peers beneath a rock (maybe looking to move house?), bringing a fragment from the floor (as if to appreciate it!), shifting its movements so it looks as though it’s skipping between the stones after having eaten something.

It’s been still for a while now, though, as if resting, and you’ve found a comfortable section of flattened rock to settle on, shimmering fishes occasionally swimming closer, as if to admire your own scales.

As much as you’d like to return to being human, you can appreciate the difference. Animals and other sea creatures almost seem to like you, no longer flitting away as soon as the water’s disturbed, but rather swishing to float along the currents. They seem to recognise you as one of them, rather than something that will hunt them. Playing nearer, until you’re worried some might get tangled in your hair. But they seem to have fun, darting between and through the floating strands.

You’ve no idea how long he’s gone for, and frankly, you’ve been trying not to think about it. When you think about it, you find a temper beginning to bubble, simmering in your cold blood. You don’t know enough about him to guess at why he refused so adamantly. Can’t understand the deep-rooted desire to keep his species alive, when humanity seems to be existing in every corner, like an infestation of some kind.

Still, it hurts a little to remind yourself his only interest was in changing you to become like him. It’s hard to admit, but you’d felt appreciated. Comforted. But you suppose, by nature, nothing will be that simple. You’ll never be able to truly become something animate in their minds. They seem to have more compassion for fish that for women.

At least a fish’s effort to escape is acknowledged. A woman’s is just beaten out of her until she’s fixed.

Are you enjoying following him?

You startle from your rock, peering about to try and locate him. It’s one drawback to being able to speak mind-to-mind: you have no way of telling direction.

He’s swimming down from another tunnel opening—separate from the one he disappeared into—coming to a pause a more than healthy distance away from you. Really more than heathy.

There’s not much else to do down here, save for looking at things, you reply, not quite able to bring yourself to remove your attention from him. Too wary to do so after your last conversation.

He’ll sleep for another hour or so, Azriel thinks to you, nodding back to the quiet octopus who’s tucked himself up. You might want to find something else to look at.

I think I already have, you reply warily, keeping your gaze on him as you shift atop the smooth rock, not taking your eyes away from where he’s floating.

Why are you here? You ask, tail stretching out to hang off the ledge. Am I not allowed to be here? He replies, glancing throughout the cave. You don’t feel his attention leave you, though.

You left rather abruptly. I’m assuming you had a reason to come back. You counter, regarding him neutrally. Cautiously.

He waits for a few moments, before tentatively swimming forward, delicate swishes of his tail having him drift through the sea, and you shift yourself up and away a bit when he makes to settle on your rock.

Do you still want to go above? He asks quietly. Eyes on you.

Your brows furrow, narrowing as you pin him with a resentful look. I suppose you weren’t listening, earlier? You remark, subtly moving closer to the edge of the rock.

I suppose you have no manners, either? He replies, though it’s without any bite. I have nothing to say to you.

Do you still want to go above?

You remain pointedly quiet. He’s already said he won’t allow you to go, so there’s no point in answering. It’ll likely only boost his ego, knowing you want to leave, but that he’s keeping you here.

Do you still want to leave? He repeats, I won’t know unless you tell me.

Your brow narrows, hands curling as nails press into your palms, trying to find something else to observe. To direct your attention to.

Something brushes against your tail, firm but smooth as it drags lightly over the scales. Deliberately, and you swiftly glance over your shoulder, to see what it is.

The large fins at the base of his tail are gliding over your own, stroking up the spine of the long limb, brushing against it in gentle motions. Your throat rolls, but you don’t make the effort to move away. Instead you meet his gaze, remembering how his eyes had gleamed with an array of hidden colours, suitable for under sea.

I do, you reply tersely. Quietly.

He nods, holding your gaze. Then we’ll go.

We? You ask, slightly skeptical.

We. He repeats, his tail coming to a rest from its soothing motions, settling over your own.

Your lips press together, briefly glancing away, thinking, before you turn back to him, nodding. Okay.

————

So…how does it actually work? You think, awkwardly holding him as you attempt to move in time with his instructions.

We don’t know exactly why these points exist, or what caused them to, but there are certain places that seem to exist with more magic than others, he explains quietly, holding you steady. Some folk think it’s best not to wonder, while others theorise it’s to do with ley lines overlapping, creating an energy strong enough to fuel a transformation.

Azriel had told you he would take you to one of their moon pools, supposedly the only pool near Blackwater you’d be able to reach in time—and also the only pool that would allow you to return to something resembling human. With no other method of transportation, and Azriel deeming your strange half-crawl, half-swim method of movement to be too slow, you’d ended up in this position: your palms settled at the tops of his forearms, while he holds your elbows, theoretically helping to keep you streamlined while making sure you won’t resort to using your arms for swimming. He’s able to hasten your speed, while also helping you become more familiar with the muscles and tendons in your tail.

Though the pace is still slow, both by human and mer standards.

Ley lines? You ask, peering up at him, but his eyes flick down to where you’ve stopped moving, and you restart into motion. It would be easier to show you, but essentially lines drawn to connect significant structures from our history. Throughout the centuries—even millennia—different civilisations have risen and faded, each leaving their marks on the sea bed. There are still mysteries surrounding their collapse, but from some fragments that remain, questions have cropped up relating to certain consistencies. Architecture that should be impossible, long-lost tunnel systems that seem designed to confuse and trap, cave engravings that line up suspiciously with our own history—history that would have been their future.

Moon pools seem to exist where these lines overlap, which some consider to be signs. Others think the world is founded in patterns, and detail—were it not, none of us would exist. We are all fleetingly complex systems of chance and evolution.

That sounds…fascinating, you concede, watching him with interest. To think the mer had the awareness to document their existence, as if understanding it’s not a guarantee they will live on… Acknowledging their gradual disintegration, while remaining free of its fear. It’s admirable.

Moon pools bring out an ancient magic from the surrounding earth, though they can be dangerous. As creatures of the sea, the moon is at the centre of our world, the foundation of many prayers and fables passed down through mind. A new moon is the absence of that stability, hence it turns us into something not. Bringing us up from the waters and onto land, splitting our tails into legs. That sort of change can damage our anatomy, and has in the past, when used incorrectly.

You know how to use it right, right? You ask, peering up at him as you try to remember your motion, attempting to keep up with him as he holds you steady. He nods in answer, nothing bad will happen to you.

So what happens after I…after we go back…I mean, when we change into humans?

Clothes are left for use by the pool, so you have no need for worry. But once we’re above ground, the task will be returning to your village. You will have to guide the way to your… He trails off, watching you silently, waiting for an answer.

You miss the signal, and nod. Okay, you think, gills fluttering with a deeper breath, I can do that. Will you wait on the outskirts?

His hold temporarily tightens on you, the roughened pads of his fingers pressing against your skin before loosening again. I will be coming with you.

But you’re so noticeable, you think back. You’ll draw attention. It’ll be better and quicker if I go by myself.

I will either be there with you, or we will not go at all. It would be irresponsible to let you return on your own, he reasons firmly.

I can manage myself, you return, I understand your point, but I know my village. Having you there might scare someone away.

I can keep to the shadows, he replies.

You peer at him doubtfully. He seems quite big compared to you…Will that be reflected in a human form? You have no idea what the scale would be like.

Okay. But I want privacy, when we get there, you push, following his motions as he guides you through another tunnel, the pale blue lights beginning to fade, replaced by an iridescent shimmer along the walls, like powdered stars. I don’t want to have you looming in a corner the entire time. Please allow me to speak with him alone.

Azriel is about to reply, to think that he won’t be leaving you for a single moment while in such dangerous territory, but you continue, pupils shuttering a little.

…Especially if I might have to be saying goodbye.

His jaw tightens at the obvious sadness in your thoughts. The deep-soaked pain, and loss. He doesn’t want to be listening to this.

You can go into a separate room, he relents, but you will have to be able to leave quickly if something happens. In other words, he doesn’t want you to use this last chance to physically take this man into your body. His teeth grind at the thought alone. Don’t do anything stupid.

I won’t, you reply, unaware of those un-communicated thoughts, just trying to figure out what you’ll tell him. How to ever explain your situation. You hope he won’t be scared.

Your eyes seem to wander of their own accord, moving from the iridescent walls, powdered with shimmer light, to plants perking from the rock, their ends glowing faintly as if to guide the way. The thought starts with a question, curious if he curated these tunnels too, perfectly placing these lovely fascinations at well-timed intervals to keep the caves light and in-oppressive, to transforming itself into a visual wonder of, perhaps, slightly morbid appreciation.

The tales you’d been raised on still have a place in your mind—they’d been true about the shredding teeth, their affinity for dexterity and agility beneath the deceptively calm surface of water. And yet they’d spoken nothing about the unearthly beauty.

Perhaps it’s just him though.

After all, he’s the only one you’ve encountered. Are there many others? He’d mentioned they were a dwindling species, but…

Something on your mind? He thinks, eyes glittering, and you realise you’ve been staring. How long had you been zoned out for?

Why have you been looking after me? You ask, holding his steady gaze, taking in the softness to the edge of his mouth. How his ears flutter slightly as something brushes by, but his attention remains on you.

As opposed to…? He returns, shifting your course once again, directing you toward a tunnel that has a slight upward tilt to it. There are more of you aren’t there? You push cautiously. You said that cave was fashioned after a Rainbow, so there must be more of you somewhere. And earlier you spoke like groups of mer existed to examine past events, and remnants of their buildings. Why not bring me to wherever the rest of your kind are?

Azriel is quiet for a pause, and you wait curiously, watching him steadily. It almost feels like hesitance.

You need time to become accustomed to your surroundings, he replies at last. Your mind needs to adjust to this new life, so it would be unwise to bring you to the centre of our civilisation, where you would likely be overwhelmed.

Your brows narrow as you watch him. It feels like the truth but…not all of it. Like he’s leaving something out. But maybe that’s just you reading into the infection of his thoughts too much. You don’t even know if they have a different method of intonation beneath the sea, or if thought suffices for intention.

No other reason? You push, regarding him cautiously.

He raises a brow, what other reason would I have?

Well that’s why I’m asking, you think, because I don’t know.

A noise enters your mind that sounds similar to a hum, and your spine prickles, making you shudder, ears fluttering. His pupils mark the reaction with a strange intensity, before increasing the pace a little, tail brushing lightly against your own, as if encouraging you to put in more effort. I suppose I might have wanted to see what sort of person you were, he thinks, and you wonder if you’ve subconsciously drifted closer to him.

What’s that supposed to mean? You ask skeptically, peering at him. Is there something I could have done to make you leave me?

Perhaps.

Like what?

Now why would you need to know that? He asks, amusement clear, eyes twinkling as his mouth curves at the edges, thumbs lightly grazing the bone of your elbow as his tail again flicks against you own.

Your expression shifts into one of displeasure, brows pulling together in distaste. Please just answer.

He seems to be thinking in his own mind for a bit, and you watch carefully, wondering if you’ll catch any hints to what’s passing through his head.

Perhaps if you hated us so viscerally… he answers slowly, quietly. That would have complicated things…would have muddied the choices, a little.

Choices?

With what to do with you. How to progress.

You couldn’t have just turned me back into a human using the moon pool?

We only look like humans, he thinks quietly, watching you. You can never return to one.

You blink, lips parting a little before remembering to keep them closed, keeping your mouth filled with air to prevent water rushing in. You said… but you trail off, letting it dawn on you all over again. Then why are there clothes ready? You ask. What happens if you don’t return to the moon pool in time?

The you’re simply stranded until the next new moon. The clothes are there for when folk might wish to be above ground for…longer.

But not as something entirely human.

That’s right, he replies softly, thumbs brushing your skin.

A quiet settles between you, but you try not to let it lower your spirits. You’ll be on two legs again regardless, and you’ll get to say goodbye to him. Though you hate that he’ll be the one to see you go first.

It should never have to be that way.

So what were the choices you mentioned? You ask a touch quietly, easing in a calming breath.

Those don’t matter anymore, he thinks gently, you’re adjusting well.

I want to know. You push, wanting something to focus on. There’s still so much you don’t know about his kind. About mer folk.

Azriel goes silent, his eyes taking on that strange intensity again that at one point had made your insides squirm with discomfort. Now you just hold it, levelling him with your own gaze. Eventually though, he blinks, glancing elsewhere, chest deflating in what you can guess is a sigh.

A strange tension seems to shift beneath his features, carving his expression into one of seriousness.

When you made the choice to cut me free… he begins slowly. Softly.

Do you remember what you had been thinking, when you did it?

Your throat rolls, casting your mind back to that day. Those hours where everything changed. Those few minutes, where a choice had been made. One that had arguably altered the course of your life.

I was thinking what they’d do to you, if your were found, you manage quietly. About how I’d thought it was an unnecessary act of violence, one routed in hatred and revenge, and that a conflict that continuously took lives would never be resolved.

Something flits past behind his gaze, but it’s gone too quickly for you to even catch its trail.

I thought it would be hypercritical of me to leave you. That not helping would be as good as condemning you myself. You manage, grip loosening as you’re called back to the thundering shudder of wooden boards, groaning and creaking as Alaric had approached.

I thought it would be better to save you.

Despite all the stories you’d been fed, Azriel thinks quietly, pace slowing a little, drifting unnoticeably closer. You decided to save a monster.

I don’t think you’re a monster.

But that’s what I was in that moment. Wasn’t I? You didn’t know any different.

You didn’t feel like a monster, you return.

The lowest part of your tail makes a small movement, brushing against him.

Exteriors can be deceiving, he warns softly.

Sometimes they can, you reply, quieter. Not always. But what does that have to do with it all?

Your intention, he almost whispers, so close now. Close enough to again catch a glimpse of the spectrum contained within his irises, glowing with a smattering of stars from the powdery cave light. Close enough to fully see the soft sections of his features, hidden beneath the unforgiving exteriors that you’d almost been fooled by. Close enough to pick out the hint of emotion he’s unable to conceal, raw, and blinding, and—

You recoil in a blink, jerking away as your hands frantically cross over your chest, your breasts having grazed the bare skin of his torso.

You blink with shock, having become so accustomed to your own nakedness, but now overwhelmingly aware of how bare you are. Your skin hasn’t become any less sensitive from shifting to a mer—everything is just as responsive—and your heart pounds with a drive so intense you can feel it in your stomach.

The breath puffs from your gills heavily, caught off guard by the force of your own reaction, arms still covering your breasts as you shift backward. Something brushes just shy of the nape of your neck, a mere finger’s-width from the height of your spine, and something tingling and exhilarating bursts through your blood, flinching away from the wall, hand now slapping over the spot.

Gods above, you think, heart still pounding wildly in your chest, using your hands and tail to shift to see what it was that had brushed so tantalisingly against your skin.

A small plant stares back at you, and you sigh again, returning your attention to him.

Sorry about that, you think, I was startled. You force your arms to remain at your sides as you make to shift closer, hands gliding up to settle at the tops of his powerful forearms.

It’s fine, he replies, though his movements seem a little stiff, his tail less flexible than before. You might find your spine and sternum to be more acute to touch, than before.

My sternum? You ask, peering up at him. Where’s that?

Muscle flexes beneath your fingertips, before calming, and he gestures to the bone down his chest, joining his ribs. Careful not to touch.

You blink, before nodding, looking down at yourself, raising your hand to your chest.

Azriel visibly stiffens, but remains silent as your fingers brush against the bone—between your breasts. Sure enough, that tingling feeling returns, pulse spiking, tiny muscles fluttering beneath your touch, and you hum, the edges of your mouth curving faintly.

I didn’t know you had such obvious weak spots, you think, at last returning your palms to his forearms. Good to know.

He doesn’t reply. Just holds you lightly as he begins moving again, tail shifting with less fluidity than before.

Your brows furrow, wondering at his silence. Did you say something wrong?

Anyway… you think, attention flitting about before settling on him. What were you going to say?

But he shakes his head, eyes flicking to a light at the end of the tunnel. Moonlight spilling into the water.

We’re here.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fic #mermaid au #mer!azriel #tdot #the dregs of tragedy

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