#SORRY BUT I NEED TO REREAD THIS AGAIN SOON

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[supnerds]

Yu Ijin: I've only had my sister for a day and a half but if anything happened to her I will destroy everyone in this school and then myself. Fantastic in just the first few chapters, thanks for the recommendation!

oh it’s so good!!! I’m glad you’re enjoying it!!

I need to reread that one again, I binged the whole thing over a few days ago month or so ago and I wanna see ijin and his sister again I love them

[roseworth]

what the fuck was with the new52 giving rose girlfriends. what do you mean i have to suffer through the n52 to see the most divorced love story she has with caitlin fairchild. then later when she has her girlbestie that she lives with (?) and has a picture of the two of them together on her mantel

[flovverworks]

after a billion yrs i added a lil line about my gbf verse.....<3 one day i might flesh it out to something in-universe, but since gbf is so "oh ure from another world? ya that happens..." i....am gonna keep w that..........(also cuz i do think discussing the different ways of magic, moon-enemy & this n that is more fun like this

[ichorblossoms]

(ur replies r also off tho that might be by choice idk) i picked so many so feel free to pick and choose which ones u wanna do but: grimm and yarrow with 3-9, 22-26, 30, 31, 36, 40, 43 + A-C for you about them!

THANK you for pointing that out, they're on now! and also THANK you for these i am >>>:D some of these questions have activated my infodumping bc i have a lot of Thoughts and Words ehehe

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

yarrow: he'll usually wind down beforehand with a book and a cigarette (only allows himself three a day), but the exhaustion of being the only doctor in town and not really having days off puts him to sleep pretty quickly

grimm: i don't think it actually has much of a routine, but it does have to check that wrench (robot coyote companion) is alert to watch it's back while it sleeps

How easy is it to earn their trust?/How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

both answered here!

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

yarrow: flexible, has seen firsthand how people in power can bend laws around them and get away with horrible shit other people can't

grimm: doesn't give a shit about them either way

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

yarrow: tbh i need to think more abt yarrow's past bc they don't have any Tragic Backstory like grimm does. while they don't actually miss living in the large city like they did in the very beginning of the story, occasionally they'll get lucky and find one of their old favorite snacks from when they were in school, and how it reminds them of days spent cramming for exams. the memories are fond, but they don't miss it

grimm: seeing traveling caravans of performers come through town makes them ache for the family they used to have. until the age of ~13 or so they performed in a traveling band playing the violin/fiddle, but an accident left them and a few kids as the only survivors so it's all very bittersweet. yarrow found them a violin they'll occasionally pick up

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child?

i haven't thought enough abt the specifics of grimm and yarrow's childhoods to have a clear answer but i can tell you they often have to tell their adopted child lucy to stop eating the bugs she finds (she's an eight-year-old ringtail humod so she has a typical child impulse control alongside an instinctual drive to eat bugs hdgklhf. she'll be fine)

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

they absolutely both swear, yarrow more than grimm just by sheer volume of Talking More. i don't think either would remember their first one

Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom?  

yarrow: being a doctor and all that, yarrow's definitely comfortable talking abt sex in the clinical sense to their patients. when it comes to personal matters it's. he has some issues. not trauma or anything so much as the mortifying ordeal of asking someone to do something for his own sake (he's got a sort of complex about doing enough to be "worthy" of things like asking) in addition to just like, having mediocre sexual experiences with other people (not fully bc of the prior point bu that doesn't help). he'd much rather just do the fucking, make his partner feel good, and call it a day without worrying about his own wants

grimm: yes and no. it's much easier to talk about things as a faceless one night stand who won't take all their clothes off than it is to talk to the only person who actually knows you, and they're very interested in you and that terrifies you because you want that too but oh my god what if you destroy things because you're nothing but an animal but oh god you also want this so bad

they both do in fact get over their respective issues with the help of the other (grimm's persistent devotion making yarrow realize "oh it wants this too" and yarrow's near-infinite tenderness and fascination making grimm realize it's not repulsive) and have fucknasty gay sex with one another but it's An Ordeal for both of them to get there bc sex involves vulnerability and they're both people who have had to close off parts of themselves for their own protection! makes me insane to think about tbh

What are their thoughts on marriage?  

yarrow: wants to get married! thought about it more in their late teens~ early 20s but by the time grimm comes back around when they're ~27 it's more of a "eh, it'll maybe happen" sort of thing. after everything he and grimm have been through in the story he's defs going to marry her there's no questions there

grimm: didn't have any thoughts really, after escaping the shitshow that was most of their teenage years (still working out the details of that) it was like "i'm never getting married, never attaching myself to any person i am wandering the world By Myself." yarrow changes the game a little bit but it's still not on their mind until years later when yarrow slugs someone bent on attacking them and shouts "don't fucking touch my WIFE" and suddenly grimm's like wife????? wife??????? 🥺👀💖😳💖👀💖💖

What is their preferred mode of transportation? 

yarrow: generally walks everywhere, will and does ride a horse for longer distances

grimm: their beloved carnivorous horse. the beast doesn't have a name yet but here's a drawing from a comic that's in the works (she's actually sweet but has an occasional attitude)

Who do they most regret meeting?  

yarrow: actually dunno for them, but i imagine of all the of the ceo scum type people they meet in the last part of the story, a few of them are particularly nasty

grimm: again, ironing out details of their past but tbh i'm not as concerned with the details of backstory so much as how this affects who they currently are, but they basically grew up as this one girl's guard dog for several years after they lost their family. treated enough like a person to fall in love with her, treated enough like an animal to feel like a tool instead of a human being. not exactly someone they had much control over meeting, but fucked them up irreversibly nonetheless

Who are they the most glad to have met? 

yarrow: grimm ofc. they were a handsome stranger who all but rescued him from a soul-sucking job in the city and whisked him away to the middle of the desert. did grimm piss them off after leaving them for five years? absolutely. but grimm also came back, which threw yarrow through a loop bc he had all but accepted he wasn't really important in anyone's life as anything but a doctor

grimm: yarrow, naturally. he showed them kindness when they didn't think it existed and saved their life on more than a few occasions. if grimm gets hurt, yarrow will be there to patch it up

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap? 

yarrow: doesn't quite seek it out but is inclined to pursue it if there's a mutual thing going on. actually did date a guy in the five years that grimm had fucked off

grimm: it actively avoids romance lol, but before it and yarrow were actually a thing it'd seek out the occasional one night stand

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so? 

this question is deceptively tricky bc to me they're both nonbinary bisexuals, but honeybee's world is like, various pockets of civilization (mostly what are essentially company towns) in the desert, so i think use and knowledge of labels is prominent in more metropolitan areas and ppl in more rural/isolated settings have either their separate terms or just don't describe themselves in the same way? idk how much i'll actually like, think this out and construct in-universe description bc it's not as interesting as the characters. also any attempts to explain this further have just end up in me typing out three sentences of sociopolitical worldbuidling mush that's decreasingly relevant to the characters hdklgfhdf none of this is also to mention any complexities that come with human-animal hybrid shit ANYWAYS

yarrow: bisexual, also transmasculine nonbinary IF they're talking to someone who is familiar with those words (he grew up in one of the metropolitan areas). if talking to someone who's not he'll call himself a guy, use he/him pronouns, and say he "swings both ways". they'll maybe elaborate on being "mostly a man but not quite" and that they also use they/them pronouns if they think that person will Get It. also considers himself stone* and is some flavor of ace but never feels the need to mention it to anyone but romantic/sexual partners

*ace trans guy who's never been on the receiving end of anything other than mediocre sex with cis ppl: y'know i think this only does anything for me if i'm doing the fucking

grimm: will shrug or say "none of your business" if asked, but will say it uses they/it pronouns if pronouns specifically are asked about (otherwise will just let themself be called whatever). describes themself to yarrow as "kind of a woman but not really" and only yarrow gets to use the bonus she/her pronouns for grimm. (functionally bisexual and transfem(ish) nonbinary, but labels don't hold the same meaning to them bc social differences, so they don't rly use em yadda yadda)

OKAY now it's time for me hehehe

Why are you excited about this character?

i answered this but i want to talk about them more hehe

a basically am always a sucker for human-animal/monster hybrids, or characters who are otherwise not entirely human. it is my SO my shit and has always been my shit. i think i get some of the best of both worlds with these two: grimm gets the angst of "i'm not human" and yarrow gets the fun of "of fuck yes i'm not fully human". also with these guys (and other humods in this universe) they aren't inhuman in any supernatural sense, so i'm not considering how things like powers factor into things (which can be fun ofc), but rather like, in what ways are these characters human, in what ways do they have animal insticts/mannerisms and it's all somewhat grounded in reality and Real Animals so i get to look up animal stuff about desert animals so i'm :)

yarrow's also my first time of having any sort of bugmonster shit going on so it's been a fun divergence from my usual dragony monster tendencies. grimm's part coyote and you know me and my love for Coyote And Dog Imagery and whatnot so it's mostly an excuse to play with that more and i'm having a LOT of fun

What inspired you to create them?

okay there's actually two solid inspirations here but with what honeybee's become i feel like it's so far from either of them in my brain that it's like. those were the catalyst but honeybee's its own thing now, yknow?

anyways my public library has the first few volumes of the no. 6 manga and i picked it up on a whim in...march? bc i heard good things about it back in like, high school. anyways i was actually very pleasantly surprised by the depth of the characters? definitely like "i would have hyperfixated on this media if i had found it in high school but i'm 23 now and stories with teenage protags aren't my jam" anyways the dynamic between nezumi and shion, especially in regards to this idea of someone from a very cruel world meeting someone who is openly kind and not knowing how to deal with that was super intriguing. then the thought "what if shion got transformed into a bee monster lol" crossed my mind and within an hour i had the initial quick sketches for grimm and yarrow AND several plot ideas. legit the fastest my brain has ever connected the dots to make a semi-coherent story. insane really

the cowboy/western setting was frankly overdue for me, but i had also just finished trigun at the time so i was like "fuck it, we'll make it sci-fi ish too, that explains the human hybrids" trigun's semi-western sci-fi deal continues to be something my brain returns to for aesthetics in the story but also like, i live in the desert, i can do this myself

if you combined how much i cared about no. 6 and trigun it would be like, a fraction of the brainrot honeybee as its own thing has given me. truly magical

Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

not really, surprisingly (or not yet, i should say lol). i think bc no. 6 was such a prominent inspiration for this story in its early stages, i approached honeybee like "how would i change this story (no. 6) and the characters to be more interesting to me specifically" early on so i always had an idea for the General Arc of the plot (or plots, it's three main parts in my brain) and how grimm and yarrow responded to them? now that i've figured out where i want to take the story (for the most part) i don't have to fall back on the scaffolding of another story to decide what my characters are doing or how they fit. now it's a matter of actually writing shit and conveying the proper Vibes

[kariachi]

Brain: Wing AUs! Gryphons!

Me: Okay but are you going to actually give me things for this shit or just run around in circles throwing the barest images of people at me?

Brain: ....Wing AUs! Gryphons!

Me: Yeah, thought so

[miyukisu]

Breakfast in Bed .ᐟ

❤︎ | Trouble in paradise? Well, Sae has an early morning treat for you to fix that (2.5k wc) ╰ feat. itoshi sae (bllk) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 8 | kinktober masterlist

tags - somnophilia, rare sweet sae, sweet and sensual smex, p in v, unprotected smex, p*rn with plot, pussay eating, pronebone, profanity

minors do not interact

"Don't bother coming home. Jerk."

Sae wasn't one to reread texts, but he was beyond restless with the way you two left things an hour ago. It wasn't his fault that he was being kept at work for longer than he would like. He knew you wouldn't believe him when he said that he was trying his best to get home to you.

He wanted to prove a point; he really did. That's why he found himself booking a flight last minute on a trip that takes place at ungodly hours of the night.

That meant his usual ride wouldn't be there to pick him up at the airport and drive him straight to your shared condo unit. The Sae Itoshi had to flag down a taxi and make his way home like an ordinary person.

Sae leaned back on to the worn out faux leather seat of the taxi. His brows were scrunched, already feeling the impending headache caused by the unplanned trip home.

But again, he had to prove a point.

A deep sigh fell from his chapped lips as he opened the door to your place. He quickly checked his watch which read 4:48 AM. He should've been asleep hours ago, but he was generous enough to lose sleep just so he could come home to you as soon as possible.

He pushed his luggage haphazardly to the side before slipping off his shoes. His jacket was next to come off and he simply threw it on the couch.

Sae had to rub the sleep from his face. He'd been yawning multiple times throughout his trip home and he let out one big yawn before opening the door to the bedroom.

As expected, you were fast asleep. You couldn't be bothered to stay on your side of the bed, seeing as how you took up the center all sprawled out and lying on your stomach. Sae watched your sleeping figure for a moment before gently closing the door behind him. He quietly made his way over to the foot of the bed, still observing you.

"Well, here I am. Brat," he muttered to himself. As much as he wanted to tell you that—it was better if he let you sleep. Not that he thought you looked adorable that way, but he wasn't about to wake you up to say something so... asshole-y.

Although, his mind wandered. He was unsure if it was because he always thought this way or because his mind was exhausted from all the traveling he did—but God, did you look ethereal in that silk night dress.

His eyes traced every curve hugged by the fabric. The tiny dress bunched up a bit by your waist, showing off the sorry excuse for panties that you wore to sleep.

He calls them that because it barely covered anything.

Finally, he understood why you were so frantic about him coming home as soon as he could. You missed him and he missed you. Though, "missed" felt like an understatement.

Sae needed you and it took him an awful ride back home to realize just that.

────────────

He had to be careful. Slowly, he let his knee dig into the mattress, the cushions dipping due to his weight. Sae plants both hands on either side of you as he attempts to hover above you. It was like a hungry lion about to pounce on its unsuspecting prey.

He let his eyes roam your body, noting how he'll touch you without waking you up. Up close, he can see how your body rises up and down as you breathe. You looked so peaceful—a stark contrast of what you probably looked like earlier when quarreling with him over text.

A soft sigh escapes his lips. Sae was incredibly tired; he wanted nothing more than to plop down right beside you and snooze until morning. But, then again, he also had this urge.

A burgeoning urge to feel you—to touch you.

He took a single finger and traced the column of your back. Sae watched intently as your face scrunched up, annoyed by the unexpected stimulus.

But, much to his pleasure, that one touch made you shift from lying on your stomach and on to your back. He had to move away a bit to make sure you didn't hit him as you moved.

You were now facing him—mouth slightly agape—telling Sae that you were having a good night's rest. Hi gaze lingered on your face for a moment before it trailed down to where your clothes had bunched up even further.

That only made it harder for him to go to sleep.

Sae could be cheeky sometimes. He pulled the thin strap of your panties with two fingers before letting it go and hearing the 'snap' it made against your skin.

You softly grunted, annoyed that whatever it was that was bothering you hasn't gone away yet.

Truthfully, he found it quite amusing. His mind raced about what he was to do moving forward. But the longer he admired your body, the more sure he became of his choice.

Carefully, he pushed the fabric of your dress a little higher—just enough to show your belly button. He hooked his finger on the strap of your panties before pulling it down, slowly and steadily so as to not wake you up.

Once the flimsy fabric was out of sight, he stared at your lower half again—debating whether or not to continue. But he was already there, wasn't he?

As gently as he could, Sae pushed your leg away, opening you up for him. He had seen you countless of times before, but the sight of your glistening folds always seem to knock the air out of his lungs each time. You were a sight for sore eyes.

Cautiously, he traced your pussy with the pad of his thumb. That alone had him sucking through his teeth. He pressed your clit firmly causing you to squirm, but not enough to snap you out of your slumber.

"Fuck," he whispered into the chilly air of your shared bedroom. He liked foreplay as much as the next guy, but he was sure his dick was going to burst with how hard it was. He needed you now.

But he remembered how irritated you were earlier over the phone... perhaps, he could still be nice enough and prepare you even if just by a bit.

He dug in like a starved animal, lapping at your folds with a newfound enthusiasm you had never seen from him before when he ate you out. He was sure you'd laugh at him if you saw how famished he was for you. The stoic Sae Itoshi would never look so desperate like this.

But you were none the wiser about it, so he didn't care.

He suckled your clit relentlessly and you tried snapping your thighs close, but he made sure you kept them nicely opened up for him. Sae was growing impatient by the second, tongue darting in your hole at a quick pace.

You were already a mess for him. Surely, you should be ready for him at this point.

Sae gave your weeping pussy one last lick before hovering above you again. He could barely make out the expression you were making, but you were probably having the wildest dream right now. He softly patted your head—as if to soothe you—and ran his fingers through your hair.

In a rare show of gentle affection, the man leaned down and gave you a quick peck on your forehead. Somehow, that tiny action eased your expression—as though you knew who it was that gave you such a kiss.

With one hand supporting his weight, Sae used the other to free his aching cock from his sweats. He hissed upon feeling the air wrap around his sensitive skin.

He needed something warm, he thought. It just so happens that the perfect little pussy was right in front of him, waiting to be devoured.

Sae stroked himself a few times, easing himself up first before you'd suck him in without mercy.

He felt like a teenager all over again—biting his lip at such a mundane moment. Mundane—considering the other things you two have done in the past.

Soon as he lined up the tip against your entrance, he didn't wait another second. A guttural groan left him once his tip penetrated you. One swift push and he was halfway in.

It had him throwing his head back. This was new—this was definitely new.

"Sae?"

The faint sound of you calling out his name snapped him out of the immense pleasure he was feeling. Part of him felt a tad bit embarrassed that you caught him at his most vulnerable.

"Happy now? I'm home," he whispers. Although, he gives you no chance to respond—stuffing the rest of his length into you.

It felt like the stars aligned for him. The sun rose high enough at this hour that the light poured into the room. He could see more clearly the way your face contorted in bliss.

He pulled out again, only to sheath himself back to the hilt. He was used to fucking you stupid—purging the brattiness that he had to deal with on the daily. But, for some odd reason, he wanted to go slow today.

Sae leaned down again to give you another kiss on the forehead. He didn't feel all too embarrassed now. Besides, you were half-awake anyway.

"Slept well? You better 'cuz I may have missed you."

His words caused you to choke out a moan. "That's rich."

Usually, with a response like that, he'd start snapping his hips faster. But he controlled himself. You were always cranky in the morning after all.

"I know you missed me. Look at how well you take me." His eyes dart down to where you two were connected. A white ring had formed at the base of his cock and there was already a faint squelching sound every time he bucked his hips into you.

You clicked your tongue, annoyed that there was no way of denying the truth. It was hard to lie with his face close to yours and with his dick dragging along your walls so sweetly.

"You can lie all you want, but your pussy always tells me the truth," he whispers in your ear. Again, he cut you off—biting your earlobe gently.

The unusually slow and sensual pace threw you off, but you weren't complaining. He still hit that spot perfectly like he always did. And you kind of liked this—how he'd whisper sweet things to you, kiss your neck so desperately, and make love to you so tenderly.

Slow as he was, it still brought you closer and closer to the edge. He was quick to catch on it as you wrapped your arms around his neck, keeping him close to you.

The rapid breathing that filled his ears made him impossibly harder. Neither did it help that you kept getting tighter and tighter around him. He wanted to last longer, but the quivering of your pussy caused by your first orgasm pushed him to climax with you. Sticky seed painted your walls.

It was romantic—kind of. He was only realizing that now.

After his climax died down slightly, it was then he felt the sting of your nails scratching his back earlier. Though it didn't bother him at all.

If anything—it only heightened the sensations he was feeling.

"Fuck... I didn't mean to—"

You coo at him. "It's okay. Don't be embarrassed."

Just like he did earlier, you patted his head—hair rather damp from the sweat that built up due to your activities.

But you were too quick to comfort him because he was still painfully hard even after coming once.

"Ah... Guess I won't be going back to sleep soon huh?"

Sae sighs deeply. "I can deal with it myself. You can go back to sleep if you want."

You knew he had a habit of dealing things by himself even with things in the bedroom. It killed him inside to say that; he wanted to do so much more to your compliant body.

As he was about to pull out, you hastily wrapped your legs around his torso to stop him.

"Goddamn."

Sae couldn't help but bury his face into your neck. Thank fuck you were just as insatiable as he was.

"Sleep can wait," you whisper back.

"Turn around then."

'What?" you asked.

"On your tummy. I wanna do something," he explained.

Reluctantly, you unclasped your legs, letting him pull out. Sae helped you turn to lie flat on your belly. Now, you understood what he wanted to do.

Instead of slapping your ass like he would usually do, he caressed it—admiring his favorite body part of yours. With two large hands, he spread you out for him.

The new position made more blood rush into his dick. He had to fuck you one more time or else it would get too painful again.

He sheathed himself back in. His dick stretched you out deliciously and you tried stifling your moans, planting your face into the mattress.

Sae began fucking you with the same pace as earlier. Every drag along your walls elicited a moan from you that went wasted—being muffled by the thick covers.

He kept you all spread out for him. The grip on your ass was almost bruising even though he had promised to be gentle today. It was simply impossible to not get ahead of himself.

No words were exchanged as he pounded you from behind. The exhaustion you both felt and the need to moan your heart out took precedence.

A groan rumbled from his chest. He was close again. He was coming again way too fast for his liking. Sae was starting to think his dick was having problems, but maybe it was just your tight and warm cunt making him go haywire.

"Fuck... what did you do to me?" he wondered before a deep groan rumbled from his chest.

In response, you came abruptly—coating his length with your juices. You let out your most vulgar moan that morning. Your neighbors would have definitely heard if it weren't for the bed suppressing most of the volume.

You've had too many complaints in the past.

"Hahhh... waking up the neighbors? What a dirty fucking girl you are. Take it—take it all."

His hips began to go at a staccato pace, going out of beat once in a while in anticipation of his incoming high.

With one final thrust of his hips into you—he came so much like he hadn't just emptied himself in your cunt earlier. A warm sensation flooded your pussy again.

Sae swore that if he had time to rest after the match and before getting on that plane, he wouldn't be pathetically lying on top of you like this. He swore that he wouldn't collapse after coming a measly 2 times.

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note The ending is so ass. I don't know how to end these things wtf

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 OFFER ME MY DEATHLESS DEATH

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: one drunken encounter with dazai sends everything spiraling. suddenly, all of your problems are catching up to you at once and you're lost as to how you should proceed... or that's not entirely true—you know how you're going to proceed but it's impossible for you to come to terms with how far you've let this go.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: sorry that i haven't really been active this week </3 i've been so busy. ill try to get to asks and everything soon. forgive me</3 i hope you guys enjoy part 5, i rlly had fun writing this chapter. as always, comments and reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited - i've been busy. reader and dazai argue, reader is a bit intoxicated, dazai heavily implied suicide attempt (not outright said/described bc he can't remember, but he assumes that's what happened) & he dissociates, dazai is in a pretty bad mental state the first half of the chapter, i don't think i'm missing anything but pls lmk if i am, i didn't have time to reread

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

You stopped seeking him out after that night.

Dazai sits in his apartment, knees curled to his chest and back pressed against the wall. He has to forcibly keep his breath steady—his homework for his engineering class is discarded somewhere to his left, he’d been working on it for class tomorrow before he made the mistake of checking his phone and seeing that you’d once again stopped reading his messages. 

Two days straight now of silence on your end. He could go to your apartment like he’s been doing for the past two weeks but every time he tries to push himself to his feet with the intention of going to you, he finds himself rooted to the ground. Your words ring damningly and persistently through his head—how you told Nakahara Chuuya that you’re only doing this because he found the proof of your occupation, how you told him that you tried to cut him off.

Dazai knew what he was doing by using the video as leverage over you. He knew he was forcing you into indulging him, that he was backing you into a corner, but he’d allowed himself to be blinded by your treatment of him. 

Even if it was coerced, no one has ever treated him the way you do—you remember the things he tells you off-handedly like he matters and you buy him the things he wants without him having to say anything like you care. You’re gentle with him—Dazai has only ever experienced bruising touches; Oda and Ango weren’t physical people and he can hardly remember his mother. He remembers the way his aunt dragged him out of the car kicking and screaming, tossing him to the ground in Suribachi before driving away. He remembers all of the nights he would get drunk at bars, ending up in strangers’ beds and waking up with a body that ached painfully and dark marks littered across his bandaged skin.

It’s hard to remember that you don’t actually want him when you treat him the same way he’s dreamed someone would treat him one day. It’s hard to remember that you turn your head away when he leans in to kiss you, that you ignore his lingering touches and change the subject whenever he almost gathers the nerve to bring the topic up to you.

You don’t want him. 

He’s forcing you to do this by using the video as leverage. 

You don’t want him. 

He rests his forehead on his knees. That gaping hole in his chest that had started to return that night after Nakahara Chuuya showed up at your apartment is all consuming now. His entire body feels numb and prickly, he feels uncomfortable in his own skin.

He needs to put a stop to this.

His gaze draws from his knees to the floorboard he’s hiding the flash drive under. He could just… get rid of it. Get rid of it and disappear—you probably wouldn’t even notice. Maybe you would, he remembers how you came to his apartment when you hadn’t heard from him after sending the couch. Then again, you might’ve only shown up because you wanted to lie about why you were cutting him off. Dazai just doesn’t know with you.

Maybe he should just go to talk to you. 

But if he talks to you… and the thought of leaving his apartment right now…

Dazai sighs, leaning back against the wall, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling, weighing both options carefully before coming to a heavy decision.

You’re not in your apartment when he gets there.

Dazai would usually wander around and find something to make himself busy with while he waits for you. You have a piano on the opposite side of the room that he sometimes likes to fiddle with—he’s taught himself a few basic songs while waiting for you to get back from work the past few weeks. He ordered a gaming console and a few games to go along with it when you made the mistake of leaving your laptop open last week, but he doesn’t even have the energy to go look for one; not that any are even particularly standing out to him. Sometimes, he just snoops around, but his legs feel like lead, like they’re bolted to the ground, so he just sits on your couch and stares at the black television screen as the minutes tick by.

He doesn’t even know how long he’s been sitting there—too long, it was still light out when he walked his way over to your building in Naka-ku and the sun had set a long time ago. He’s never felt lonely in your apartment before; in fact, he usually seeks out your apartment because he feels lonely and whether you’re here or not, it eases the void that grows in his chest.

But now? Each passing second, he feels colder and colder. A part of him thinks that he should take this as a sign and just leave, but his body is uncooperative, keeping him rooted to your couch as he awaits your return.

He’s planned out what he’s going to say to you; he’s rehearsed it in his head so many times that he thinks he could say the dreadful words while sleeping. Now, he just-

Dazai’s head snaps to the side when he hears the fateful ding of the elevator arriving at your floor. His eyes widen and his tongue swells with anxiety as he stares at the doors, his breath slows and his fingers bite into his pants as he waits to see you step into the room but when the doors finally start to slide open, he freezes when he hears laughter.

“I can’t stand you,” an unfamiliar male voice snorts and Dazai’s mouth dries as his gaze darts around, trying to figure out what to do. The last thing he wants is for a repeat of the other night—if this is another one of your mafia friends, Dazai has to move, but he doesn’t know where to go.

His gaze settles on a nearby hall leading to the bathroom and an unused room—it’s closer to him than the kitchen, he’d never make it to the kitchen because he’d have to go right past the elevator. His legs feel so heavy that it’s an effort for him to push himself to his feet. He almost stumbles right over them as he rushes into the spare room, keeping the door cracked open so he can hear and see what’s going on.

He peeks carefully through the crack, watching as two men enter your apartment—you’re with them and Dazai’s chest tightens painfully at the sight of you. You’re smiling as you lean against one of the men—Dazai recognizes him as the man who had come with you to his apartment complex the first time, he’d been waiting by the car for you—and you’re dressed prettily in a short black dress. You’re so dazzling to him that Dazai nearly tumbles right out of the room he’s hiding in, but luckily, he’s drawn out of his dazed state by another unfortunately familiar face: Nakahara Chuuya, the executive who had been at your apartment the other night.

Dazai quickly leans back into the room when the ginger’s eyes snap down the hall as if he could sense someone watching him. He lets out a puff of air as he looks around the empty room—he’d looked in here before when he first started coming to your apartment, but had been sorely disappointed by the fact that there was nothing in the room for him to snoop around in.

Now, he blinks because while the room is still mostly empty, there are some tools in here as if you’d had someone come in to take measurements to start building something in there. His gaze slides from the far wall to the one nearest to him, dragging his feet against the wood floors to slide his fingers against the lines drawn on the wall in pencil, realizing that it’s about the same size as the piano in the other room.

His throat tightens as he remembers your offer from the other day, wondering if you’d gone ahead and started having it done even after the argument with Chuuya and Dazai not showing up for two days. 

God, he doesn’t understand you—he doesn’t understand you at all. He starts to doubt every conclusion he’s come to the past two days because why would you go to these lengths for someone you don’t care about? For someone who’s forcing you into indulging him through blackmail? It doesn’t make sense, Dazai has never had so much trouble reading someone before you.

He leans against the wall, lashes lowering as he looks down at the floor. He doesn’t know what to think and now his well-rehearsed speech starts crumbling in his head. Distantly, he can hear the conversation between you and the other two mafiosos—you’re talking about something happening in Tokyo and Dazai wonders if it has anything to do with that argument from the other night.

But regardless of the topic of discussion, what matters more is that you sound happy. Your voice is light and airy, and you seem entirely unbothered by the fact that you hadn’t seen Dazai in days. Dazai doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded so happy with him before and why would you when he’s blackmailing you? Your laughter rings bright and pretty like a chime and Dazai feels sick to his stomach at the thought of you laughing like that for someone else; he imagines the way your laughter will fizzle when you see him, all of the liveliness in your face dying at his unanticipated appearance.

It feels like an eternity and all too soon at the same time when Dazai finally hears the two leave. He takes one deep breath, preparing to force himself out from where he’s hiding but then freezes at the sound of you raising your voice.

“Dazai, you can come out now.”

He blanches, staring at the partially closed door in front of him, half-debating on not even coming out because how did you know he was here? He thought he’d been careful, there’s-

“I know you’re somewhere in here, the cushion was warm where you were sitting.”

Dazai has half a mind to throw himself out of the window.

He takes in a deep breath as he pushes the door open, stepping out into the hallway that’s suddenly too cold and all too short. He swears it was twice as long when he was stumbling from the couch to hide in the spare room. His feet scuffle against the ground as he walks forward, not coming any closer than where the hallway meets your living room.

You’re laying on the couch he’d been sitting on, head resting back against the pillows and a curious expression on your face as you watch him. He can’t read it—if he didn’t know any better, he’d almost say it was fond, but he refuses to let that hope bubble up into his chest only for it to be crushed again. He thinks he should say something, tossing around a few options in his head, but he doesn’t get the chance to.

You hold out your hand to him. “Come here,” you say.

Dazai hesitates, eyes lingering on your extended hand before flitting back up to your face. He shouldn’t—he knows he shouldn’t—but he finds his feet moving forward before he can stop himself. He stands in front of you awkwardly for a moment, not sure what you want from him, but then his eyes shoot open when you reach out and grab his wrist, tugging him forward onto the couch with you. 

He pretends he doesn’t yelp when he lands on top of you, face flaming up when he shifts himself into a sitting position so that he’s straddling your waist, trying not to drop all of his weight onto you. He also pretends that he’s not entirely thrown off by the way your hands rest on his thighs, absently running them up and down the sides of them. 

“Where have you been the past few days?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai’s blood pressure spikes at the curious look you give him, as if he hadn’t been texting you for days with no response. He can smell the alcohol on you now that he’s closer and he wonders how much you drank—he thinks that’s probably why you looked so fond before and that’s probably why you’re suddenly being so touchy with him, it has nothing to do with him. That empty feeling in his chest starts to return.

He should have just left, should have just destroyed the flash drive and disappeared. 

“I texted you,” he replies tightly, feeling wildly uncomfortable as he’s unable to get a hold on the way he’s spiraling internally. “I can see you’ve been busy though.”

You tilt your head to the side as if you’re unsure of what he means and Dazai almost wants to get up and leave but the feeling of your hands on him, his lower body pressed to yours, it leaves him dizzy and slow. His breath catches as your hands slip beneath his sweatshirt, smoothing out against his bandaged sides, thumb drawing slow circles over the covered skin as if trying to calm him down.

Dazai thinks he might hate you.

He thinks he might hate himself more because it works. His heartbeat slows and relaxes into you a bit more. He wants to take you by the shoulders and shake you, wants to demand answers, wants to know if you actually care about him or if this is all just some big show for the flash drive. 

“I haven’t looked at my phone,” you finally say. “I’ve been the one dealing with the issues in Tokyo. It’s just been meeting after meeting the past few days. I thought you’d be here when I got back but you weren’t.”

Were you waiting for him? He wants to ask. Expecting him? Or are you just saying that because you can tell he’s unhappy and don’t want to deal with his attitude? Dazai just doesn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate with your hands on his body.

“Can we talk?” Dazai asks quietly after a few moments.

“What about?”

About the flash drive. About you. About him. Dazai doesn’t know—about everything. So, instead he just says: “About this.”

Instantly, you turn your head away from him and Dazai’s frustration rises at your attempt at blatantly ignoring him. He reaches out to grab your cheeks, forcing you to look up at him and Dazai’s breath catches when your lidded stare lands on him.

“I’m drunk,” you tell him flatly. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Bullshit,” Dazai immediately snaps, the pads of his fingers digging a bit too hard into your cheeks but you’re unfazed by it, staring up at him with an unreadable expression. “I think-”

Dazai doesn’t even have the chance to finish his sentence because you’re pushing yourself up from your laying position, one hand slipping out from his sweatshirt to cup the back of his head, the other still firm on his hip as you drag him down against you. Dazai’s breath catches when you press your lips against his, lashes fluttering shut. The hand on his hip slides around to his back, holding his body flush to yours—he lets out a low moan into your mouth when you nip at his bottom lip.

No, he thinks hazily, trying to push himself off of you but instead, his hands cup your cheeks and he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. Your tongues dance in a way that leaves him dazed, it feels almost intimately familiar to him, somehow so in tune with one another that it’s like you’ve kissed hundreds of times before. 

He shouldn’t be doing this, he knows this. You said it yourself that you’re drunk, he knows you only kissed him to get him to stop talking but…Dazai sighs into your mouth when he feels the tips of your finger card through his hair, feeling you shift beneath him to let his hips slot between your legs.

But isn’t this what he’s wanted this whole time? 

Aren’t you finally giving him what you’ve denied him for weeks?

Your lips are intoxicating against his, and not because of the gin staining your tongue, he can hardly focus on anything with the way your tongue traces the back of his teeth, dragging against the roof of his mouth. He groans when you shift beneath him, one leg hooking around his waist. He separates his lips from yours to gasp for breath.

Shit, he thinks, lips parting when you kiss his jaw, trailing your lips to his ear to suck gently on the skin there before kissing slowly down his neck. He swears his entire body is on fire, breaths quick and shuddered; his mind feels so muddled and hazy that he has to actively tell himself to put a stop to this and even that is almost not enough.

It takes all of his willpower to push himself off of you, still breathing heavy, lips wet and swollen, his whole body tingling everywhere your lips and hands had touched. You stare up at him and Dazai’s body aches with need when he sees you’re nearly as breathless as he is, your own lips wet from his, eyes a bit glazed over. Heat burns in his lower abdomen but he can’t, not when he knows you’re drunk and not when he knows you’re only doing this to get him to stop talking.

Before Dazai can say anything, you look away from him again and he knows that it’s over.

“I’m tired,” you say. “Help me get to bed. We can talk in the morning.”

Dazai’s lashes lower as he nods, leaning down to help you to your feet. Even with your heels kicked off, you wobble on your feet, so he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. The silence is almost foreboding as Dazai guides you up the stairs to your bedroom; you don’t make any move to break it, so Dazai does.

“We’re not going to talk about it in the morning, are we?” he asks quietly, looking down at you. You don’t look up at him and Dazai just wants you to at least look at him so when he gets you to the door of your bedroom, he stops and looks at you. You still don’t look at him. “Can you at least look at me?”

Dazai thinks he might be sick from the way you have to seemingly force yourself to look at him. Even drunk, he can see the displeasure plain on your face and it makes him want to curl in on himself again.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Dazai,” you finally say, your voice is tight. “I want to go to bed.”

“I want to talk about it,” Dazai stresses. “I-”

Frustration flies across your face, emotions loosened in your intoxicated state. You turn away from him and slam open your bedroom door and Dazai winces, taking half a step back.

“It’s always what you want, Dazai,” you hiss. 

Dazai’s heart sinks, shaking his head because he doesn’t want to hear where you’re going with this. “Stop.”

“For weeks, I have been catering to what you want and now I don’t want one thing and you throw a fucking tantrum over it. I don’t want to talk about this—I don’t want to talk about it now, I don’t want to talk about it in the morning, I don’t want to talk about it. Can you just leave it be?”

Dazai takes another step back, staring at you silently. His ears ring as your words echo through them and though he can watch your face shift from frustration to guilt, it doesn’t process in his head—not really, not when all he can hear are your words on repeat over and over again. 

You reach out for him, fingers curling around his wrist but Dazai pulls his hand back, taking a step away from you, closer to the stairs. All of his fight or flight instincts are triggered, his body itches to run, to flee downstairs and get out of your apartment, but his legs are uncooperative, feet rooted to the ground as he stares at you blankly.

“I didn’t mean that,” you say after a few moments. “I didn’t-I just-”

“It’s okay,” Dazai replies, voice a bit distant even to his own ears. “I’ll drop it.”

“Dazai-”

“Let me help you get into bed,” Dazai interrupts, forcing a smile onto his face as he pushes himself forward. His movements feel weird and clunky, unnatural almost, but he successfully leads you into your room, pulling back the sheets to help you into bed. “C’mon.”

He helps you slip into the bed and pulls the sheets over you, there’s still that hazy look in your eyes as you look up at him and Dazai tries his best to make sure that the smile on his face doesn’t look strained. He’s pretty sure you can see through it even while drunk. You reach out to grab his wrist again and this time, Dazai doesn’t pull away. 

“Stay here tonight,” you say quietly. “Lay down with me.”

“I have class in the morning.” Dazai shakes his head, as much as he might ache to stay in your presence, he thinks if he stays in it a moment longer, he might actually break down—he can’t get your words to stop echoing. Only a steadily crumbling dam is holding back the torrent of emotions ripping apart his chest. “I can’t.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“I have to get all of my books, and finish my homework,” he tells you. “I can’t.”

“We’ll leave early,” you press, leaning up on your elbows. “C-”

“I can’t,” Dazai stresses, taking a step back and shaking his head. “I can’t. I have to go.”

You look conflicted, but to his relief and distress, you finally let go of his wrist. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. After your classes. You finish at three, right? There’s a restaurant in Minami-ku I’ve been meaning to take you to.”

Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, shaking his head again. “I’m busy after class tomorrow. I have meetings for group projects.”

“When are they over? I’ll pick you up after.”

He feels a bit sick to his stomach as he looks up at your ceiling, in turmoil and unsure as to what to do. He knows you’re not doing this because you feel bad—not really—he knows it has to do with the flashdrive. He knows it. He thought it would be easier having someone to talk to, someone to hang out with, even if it was only because of blackmail because at least he would have someone, but he was wrong because this is a type of torture that Dazai just can’t endure any longer.

“I’m not going to want to do anything after, I’ll be drained.”

“Then we don’t have to do anything.” God, you won’t stop trying. You won’t stop trying and Dazai knows that if it wasn’t for that stupid flash drive, you’d have laughed in his face and told him to get out. He thinks he might actually throw up. “I’ll pick up the food before going to get you. We’ll stay in. Watch a movie.”

“No,” Dazai says, raising his voice now. “No. I’m just going to go back to my place. I have to go.”

Though his legs feel like lead and his body still yearns to be near yours, he forces himself to leave your room. Doesn’t look back when you call his name. Doesn’t hesitate at the top of the stairs when you tell him to wait. He nearly stumbles as he makes his way down the stairs and when he gets to the bottom instead of rushing toward the elevator, he sits on the arm of your couch, resting his head in his hands as he tries to gather his thoughts.

You’re so frustrating. So impossible to read that it’s beginning to take a toll on Dazai. He doesn’t understand why you’re so adamant on not having a conversation about all of this. He thought you would’ve wanted to have a conversation about it for the chance of getting the flash drive away from him. 

You’ve done everything in your power to avoid any physical contact with him until now; only finally giving it to him when there’s an issue you really don’t want to talk about to try to distract him. Hell, you’d prefer to even talk to him about mafia business—you vented all about the issues with the Shimazaki-kai to him, and Dazai would think that’s the last thing you’d want to talk to him about. 

It doesn’t make any sense.

He’s drawn from his thoughts at the sound of something buzzing against the ground a few feet away, frowning as he looks around and spots your phone on the ground, probably lost in your drunken attempts to get to the couch. He hesitates before pushing himself off the arm of the couch, taking a few steps toward it before kneeling down to pick it up. 

He chews at the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the home screen of your phone, staring at Nakahara Chuuya’s name in the text notification. He knows that he shouldn’t go snooping. He knows it.

He does it anyway.

He spares one last glance up the stairs before unlocking your phone with the code he’s seen you put in hundreds of times by now, clicks on your message app and lets out a puff of air when he realizes that no, you hadn’t been lying. You have at least twenty unread message threads—Dazai’s is pinned at the top with Chuuya’s and someone called Mori, who you’ve never mentioned to him. There’s only one message thread you’ve evidently been reading the past few days considering there’s no dot next to it: Tolstoy, the last message being from a few hours ago.

He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t look.

He clicks on it anyway.

He bites down hard on his bottom lip as he scrolls to the top of the conversation—only a few message exchanges between the two of you, but they’re decently long.

Tolstoy: Do you still want Ilya? I can have him there by the end of next week, I just need him to finish up some business in Moscow first. You: Haven’t decided. You haven’t even given me the rundown on the side effects of his ability. I’m not going to use it if it’s going to fuck up his head—stop playing salesman and tell me what’s actually up with him. No ability comes without consequences. You know that. I know that. So stop fucking around. 

Dazai suddenly has a sick feeling in his stomach, vision tunneling on the ‘him’ you’re speaking of in the messages. A foreboding air settles over him, dark and oppressive, he has to physically force himself to keep reading.

Tolstoy: We don’t know of any side effects. Haven’t used it enough to figure it out.  You: So, you want me to use him as a lab rat? Be real, Tolstoy. Thought you had more respect for me than that. Tolstoy: I’m trying to help you. You want that kid’s memory wiped, I can have it done for you, it’s just a matter of how badly you want it done.

Dazai doesn’t read anymore than that. He drops your phone onto the couch, takes a step back, a step away. His mind spins, ears ringing as he stares down at—he doesn’t even know what he’s staring at. His vision is swimming and blurring—with tears, maybe? Or just from exhaustion? From panic? He can’t tell but he knows he���s not breathing properly and he knows he needs to leave, everything suddenly feels too suffocating, too enclosed. 

He stumbles over to the elevator, slapping the button and leaning against the wall as he waits for it to come up to your floor. It takes long—too long, each second that passes feels like an eternity and he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

There’s only one “him” that your texts could be referring to. And it makes sense—it makes sense, doesn’t it? It makes sense why you’re so willing to divulge confidential information if you don’t intend for him to keep the knowledge of it. Makes sense why you’ve been notably careless with leaving files around your apartment. Makes sense why you told him about your ability. He’d thought you were finally letting him in, letting him know you, but-but of course, you weren’t. 

Of course, you weren’t. 

You were just…you were just trying to keep him placated, feed him bits of information to keep him happy because you knew you weren’t going to let him keep the knowledge of it. That you were gonna wipe his memory of it, of you, and send him back into that cold, dark void that’s been following him around his entire life and-

The bing of the elevator startles him, he flinches and still, he can’t breathe. His skin feels numb and prickly, his bandages are scratching uncomfortably at the scars hidden beneath them and he can hardly see straight.

Dazai needs to go.

He needs to go.

You wake up with a dry mouth, a pounding headache and an oddly foreboding feeling hanging about you. You push yourself into a sitting position, grimacing at the sun blinding you through the window—you don’t remember much of the night. You vaguely recall leaving the club last night with Albatross and Chuuya, the two of them incessantly bitching about dealing with you while you were drunk but in your defense, you think you deserved it after three days straight of meetings with the Shimazaki-kai on behalf of the Sun and Steel. 

Everything after leaving the club is a blur. You grimace as you push yourself out of bed, glancing around to see if you’d dropped your phone anywhere near the bed only to come up empty-handed. You don’t even bother to go to the bathroom and brush your teeth, anxious to find your phone and figure out what happened once you left the club.

You pray to god that it’s downstairs and you hadn’t left it at the club, making your way out of the bedroom with a sigh. You doubt Chuuya or Albatross would’ve been dumb enough to leave it there, but you’re pretty sure they were both drunk too and neither of them are functioning drunks.

You’re not even halfway through the door frame when pain shoots through your head, sharp and uncomfortable and then-

“It’s always what you want, Dazai.”

Suddenly, that foreboding feeling you awoke with makes sense. You stare ahead blankly as you remember who exactly was waiting for you at your apartment after you got back from the club. You remember the argument, you remember the crushed expression that crossed his face when you snapped at him, you remember pleading with him to stay or to at least let you take him out today and you remember him refusing, his voice pitched and cracking, wobbly, on the verge of collapse because-

Because of you. 

Fuck.

It’s with increasingly more urgency now that you rush yourself down the stairs, a small lingering hope remaining that maybe Dazai had stayed in one of the guest rooms or on the couch, that you could do something to fix this before it escalates even more. 

You don’t even know why you said that—it’s not like you mind giving Dazai what he wants, in fact, you enjoy it. You enjoy it a lot. You like seeing his face light up when you do nice things for him, you like when he tries to hide the way he gets all flustered, you like that he’s allowed himself to have hope with you—something he’s clearly denied himself for too long—and you what? 

You ruined it because you got scared? 

You ruined it because you didn’t want to talk about… whatever you have going on with him? 

You ruined it because you were terrified he was going to force you to come to terms with the fact that you’re using his stupid flash drive as an excuse to indulge yourself in him. That it would take minimal effort to have it destroyed but you’re putting it off because you want to be able to rationalize what you’re doing.

You feel sick to your stomach when you realize that your apartment is empty, eyes darting around to try to find your phone. You need to call him—he told you that he wanted to be alone today, or maybe he didn’t say exactly that but he implied it, but you need to at least talk to him now that you’re sober and can think straight. 

A distant part of you, a cold and logical part of you, tells you to just use this as the excuse to cut him off—you don’t need to get Ilya to fuck with his mind if he just hates you, you don’t want Ilya to fuck with Dazai’s mind. The thought of it makes your chest feel tight with guilt, so maybe you should take this opportunity for what it is, no matter how shitty it might make you feel, but-

But you won’t.

Finally spotting your phone on the couch, you snatch it up and unlock it, grimacing at the low battery percentage and then grimacing even more when there’s not a single message from Dazai lighting up your home screen. There’s seven from Chuuya, three from Albatross, and two from Mori, but you’re more concerned by the missed call from an unknown number and the unread voice message.

The foreboding feeling that has been looming only grows more intense when you click on the message for it to play out loud.

“This is Doctor Okamoto of Keiyu Hospital calling on behalf of a recently admitted patient… listed you as his emergency contact when he was brought in last night… unable to disclose any information regarding his injuries over the phone… suggest that you get here soon…”

At once, your vision tunnels and everything around you becomes white noise, your gaze is pinned on the ground, a smudge on the tiled floors as you try to keep yourself grounded because what? Dazai is in the-he’s in the hospital?

Because of you? 

You hadn’t been subtle approaching him that day in the library, it’s been a lingering thought since then, wondering if unsavory eyes had caught sight of you talking to him. The bar and the cafe were different, he had approached you—if any of your enemies had happened to see it, they wouldn’t think twice about it. But you approaching him had been dangerous. 

It had been a mistake.

Had it been a mistake to cost him his life?

And it’s not just that—you’ve taken him out to dinners. Picked him up at his apartment building. Places that you or your trusted affiliates own but there’s always the chance… and if he left the Port Mafia building last night in a rush, upset and not thinking straight…

Oh, you might throw up.

You’re not dressed properly. You’re still wearing your dress from last night and you fumble to put on the heels you must’ve kicked off in your drunken state. You don’t even care to get dressed, more intent on getting to the hospital and figuring out if—nausea builds in the back of your throat—if Dazai is alive, if he’s okay. You need to re-listen to the voicemail because your hearing had been unfocused and you’d only been able to catch bits and pieces of the doctor’s message.

And-

And you don’t even get into the elevator because your phone is ringing again as soon as you click the button. You don’t even look at the number before picking up, fearing that it’s the hospital again—it’s not, it’s Chuuya, and you immediately regret your decision because you aren’t even able to bark out a ‘what’ before he’s speaking.

“Where the hell have you been?” Chuuya snaps on the other side of the line. “We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for hours, we-”

“I’m busy,” you hiss right back, interrupting him. “I can’t talk-”

“You can talk,” Chuuya says harshly. “Get to headquarters. The Guild is in Yokohama now. We don’t have time to fuck around anymore.”

You don’t respond to Chuuya, heart sinking to your feet at his words, distress clawing at your chest so painfully that you think it might be easier if you just carve out your heart and toss it out the window. You hang up the phone without another word just as the elevator makes it to your floor, but instead of going inside, you make your way back up to your room, numbly changing into one of your suits so you could at least look somewhat presentable. 

You hardly even recognize yourself in the mirror as you wipe off your smudged makeup from your night out. Your eyes are vacant and your expression so empty that you think you could almost be looking at a statue. 

War with the Guild. Dazai in the hospital.

Everything is catching up to you at the same time and your mind is fraying at its seams, collapsing in on itself as the weight of everything bears down on you. You do your best to compartmentalize, focus on one thing at a time but you can’t even concentrate on one issue. 

You try to figure out what to do about the upcoming conflict, try to determine what exactly Fitzgerald might be planning so you can figure out what the Port Mafia will retaliate with, and your mind drifts to Dazai, you wonder if he’s okay, if he’s in critical condition, if it was one of your enemies that got to him or if it was something else.

You think about Dazai, all of the fear and guilt and anxiety tearing you apart, and your mind shoots straight to the Guild. Because if Fitzgerald knows about Dazai—if he knows about Dazai—then it’s over. It’s all over. If the Guild gets their hands on him, they’ll kill him when you don’t give them what they want because you can’t give them what they want. They want Yokohama and you can’t give them that. 

You can’t, not even for Dazai.

You don’t even register that you’re standing in front of the elevator again until it bings, startling you right out of your thoughts. You can’t leave the building while you’re spiraling like this—you need to get a grip on yourself, you don’t even know where you’re going yet. You need to figure out if you’re going to go meet with Mori and the other executives or if you’re going to go find Dazai. 

As you step into the elevator, it takes all but five seconds for you to make a decision.

Dazai wakes up to the familiar scent of antiseptic and a citrus-scented floor cleaning solution, the air is too stale and the air-conditioning is cranked up too high. He forces his eyes open, lids heavy and uncooperative, but he immediately lets them fall shut again briefly when he’s met with too white walls and the steady beeping of the heart monitor next to him.

His throat feels swollen as he stares up at the ceiling—the last time he was here in the hospital he was seventeen and had nearly bled out in the bathtub in Odasaku’s house. The only reason he hadn’t was because Ango happened to stop by the house to pick up papers that Odasaku had left for him, finding Dazai unconscious and face half-submerged in the water. He woke up here to find both of them hovering over him, Ango concerned and Odasaku visibly upset for the first time since Dazai met him.

He wakes up alone now because Odasaku is dead and he hasn’t spoken to Ango in four years—doesn’t even know where the man is anymore, doesn’t even know if he’s alive, doesn’t want to know either.

“Dazai-sama.” He hears a nurse say from the door to his room. “You’re awake, how are you…”

The nurse’s voice becomes white noise with the beeping of the heart monitor and the vents blowing above. Dazai retreats back into his own mind—a dangerous place, but right now it’s safer than the white walls that surround him, knowing he’s going to be badgered with questions that he doesn’t want to have to answer. 

How are you feeling, Dazai-sama? 

What happened, Dazai-sama? 

We need to ask you a few questions, Dazai-sama.

Dazai feels defeated.

His head falls to the side as he stares out the nearby window, watching as a bird swoops down in view before taking off into the sky.

He doesn’t even remember what happened. He remembers leaving your apartment, he remembers… he remembers seeing your texts, your plans to wipe his memory. And… that’s about it? He vaguely remembers the familiar feeling of his lungs burning, remembers being tossed around by the rough currents of Tsurumi River. He doesn’t remember how he got there but it’s not exactly hard for him to piece together—even now, Dazai thinks he would rather be dead than have his memories forcibly erased.

“… to know what exactly hap…”

A dark and familiar cloud settles over him. His eyes feel heavy and his chest hurts. Dazai—he doesn’t even know what to think anymore. He’s so tired that his bones ache and his muscles feel so weak that he just sinks into the stiff mattress of the hospital bed.

He doesn’t know what he expected—he thinks that to some extent he expected you to leave him. Everyone has left him. His mother, his aunt, all of the brief friends he’d made over the years before they see him for what he is, Odasaku and Ango—everyone has left him, so he knew that you would too but… in this manner? Using an ability to wipe his memory of you?

Dazai has considered it before. He’s wondered if maybe his life would be easier if he could just… forget. If he could live without the memory of everyone who has left him hanging over him. Some days, on really bad days, he thinks it might be easier. To try to make himself feel better, he thinks that maybe he isn’t the issue, maybe it’s all just a self-fulfilling prophecy, that it’s his past experiences cursing him to make the same mistakes over and over again; that without them, he might stand a chance.

But then when he thinks about it—when he really thinks about it—he knows in his heart that it’s not true, and he knows that without the memory of them all, Dazai will only feel more empty. And to think that you were trying to take his memories of you from him… without even asking, without giving him a choice in the matter… it almost makes Dazai-

“Dazai.”

His gaze snaps to the side when he hears your familiar voice come from the door leading into his room. Instantly, he’s shaking his head and looking away again, he can’t even bear to look at you but you’re walking over to him, you’re coming to his bedside, you’re sitting next to him on the hospital bed and you’re reaching out to cup his cheek, forcibly turning his face to make him look at you. You look worried, something sharp and concerned in your eyes that makes his throat swell and he wants to spit at you and call you a liar but he can only sink into your touch.

“Why are you here?” he asks. His voice is hoarse, almost painful for him to use. 

“What happened?” you ask him quietly instead of answering his question—you never answer his questions, you always deflect, always maneuver around them. The ones you do answer, it’s only because you plan to- “Dazai, what happened? Are you okay?”

Dazai doesn’t know how you can look at him like this all the while planning the most diabolical betrayal that he could ever imagine. You’re either an actress deserving of international recognition or… or Dazai doesn’t even know.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice clipped. “Why are you here?”

“The hospital called me-”

“But why are you here?” Dazai cuts you off, grateful that his voice is firmer than the turmoil wreaking havoc through him. He must’ve given them your number while he was half-delirious when he was brought in—he figured that out already—but that doesn’t explain why you actually came. “Why did you come?”

“Because you’re hurt,” you say as if Dazai should believe you. 

And he wants to believe you. Wants to believe that you’d come running just at the mere idea of him being hurt, wants to believe that you would care enough to come for him. He wants to believe you so bad, but he knows what he saw. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Dazai tells you, finally gathering the willpower to pull his face away from where it’s resting in the palm of your hand. You don’t even let him shift away, hand slipping behind him to cradle the back of his head, fingers entwined with his hair. “Stop.”

“I’m not lying to you,” you say like a liar. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

You sigh heavily and Dazai hates the way you’re absently drawing circles against the nape of his neck with your thumb, hates how it makes him feel at ease and especially hates the way his lashes instinctually flutter shut.

“I didn’t mean what I said last night, Dazai,” you say so quietly that Dazai almost believes you. Almost. “I was drunk, I didn’t… I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean-”

“I don’t care about that,” Dazai says, proud of the way his voice stays sharp and cold. “I saw the messages between you and Tolstoy. I know what you’re planning. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t even want to look at you, just leave me alone.”

You draw back at his words, concerned expression melting into a blank slate as you pull your hand away to sit back straight. Dazai misses your touch instantly, longs for the warmth to return but he forces himself to ignore it all, keeping his gaze pinned on you, watching the way your mind races behind your eyes. He wonders if you’re trying to figure out if you can salvage this, wonders if you’re going to lie.

Instead, a heavy look settles over your face as you frown, glancing back at the way you came and for a moment, Dazai thinks you’re just going to leave. You rise to your feet and words lodge in the back of his throat, preparing to spit insults at you: he wants to call you a coward, a liar, wants to tell you that you’re cruel and vile and he can hardly even stand to look at you.

But then you look back at him and hold out your hand to him. “Come on,” you tell him. “Let’s sneak you out of here… I’ll explain everything when we get out of the hospital.”

Dazai wants to be spiteful, wants to turn his head away and ignore you, wants to slap your hand and tell you that there’s no explaining what he saw.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he places his hand in yours and lets that treacherous, treacherous spec of hope bloom in his chest again.

Dazai hasn’t spoken a word since leaving the hospital. You’ve tried to make small talk with him, but every time, he just turns his head away to look out the window. You gave up twenty minutes ago and Dazai is already regretting not indulging conversation with you because the silence is agonizing. He knows he should break it, but he doesn't know how to now. 

He glances at you from the corner of your eye. You’re leaning back against your seat, one hand on the steering wheel—he can’t see your eyes because they’re masked by sunglasses, but he can see the way your free hand rests on the gear stick, knuckles tense.

“What is this place?” Dazai clears his throat as he leans forward in his seat, peering out the windshield of your car to try to figure out where you’re taking him. He forces his tone to lighten, the smile on his lips strained. “Are you kidnapping me? Oh! Or are you taking me to some remote cabin to kill me? Bella, you truly know the way to a man’s heart.”

You let out a heavy sigh, one that makes Dazai toss a sweet smile in your direction. 

Some type of beach house, he recognizes as you pull up a windy road to the top of a cliff looking over the water. He can see to his left a path leading down to the water and to his right a nice view of a distant pier. It’s not a large house, but it’s nice—well-kept and refurbished with a view over Sagami Bay. It’s not too far out from Yokohama, probably only a little over an hour, but considering Dazai’s never left the city in his entire life, this might be the furthest he’s ever been. He can almost feel a bit of excitement bubbling in his chest. 

“I wanted to take you here, away from the city for a bit,” you finally say, fingers thrumming against the wheel of the car as you slowly guide the car up the gravel path. “So we can talk in peace.”

Your bland words whittle away his excitement and Dazai’s smile falters. He tries to distract himself with counting the strands hanging off the sleeve of his sweater but keeps losing count.

“Something you couldn’t have talked to me about in Yokohama?” Dazai asks airly as you pull to a stop in front of the beach house. 

He doesn’t turn to look at you, doesn’t move until you finally get out of the car, reaching into the back seat to grab two duffle bags, nodding for him to follow you.

Wow, he thinks dryly, you came prepared.

Dazai feels distinctly like he’s walking to his execution as he follows you to the steps leading up to the house, but instead of walking up them, you toss the bags on the porch and then continue up the path.

You’re going to push him off a cliff, Dazai thinks, feet dragging against the gravel as he follows you. This is it, all of the years that he’s longed for death and it’s finally about to find him at your hands. 

“I might not die from the fall,” Dazai says, words drawn long as he pouts. “You wouldn’t really leave me to suffer in freezing water, would you?”

“No,” you say, glancing back at him. He lets out a quiet breath of relief that’s quickly snuffed out when you add, “I’m not that sloppy with my kills. I’d kill you before dumping your body over the side of the cliff.”

Dazai blanches, but your lips curl up into an amused smile so he settles down, sighing as he purposely knocks his shoulder with yours.

“My bella is so cruel,” he sighs dramatically. “She hates me.”

You sigh as you reach the edge of the cliff, not turning to look at him. The wind whips around the two of you—it’s a cool, early spring night, the temperature just enough to be uncomfortable but you don’t seem bothered by it as you stare out across the water as the sun starts to set.

You’re beautiful, Dazai thinks, breath catching at the sight of you beneath the setting sun. The golden rays cast an ethereal glow over you, the wind ruffles your clothes and hair, and your expression is solemn in a way that’s become terribly familiar the past few weeks.

“I’m not going to do anything with the video,” Dazai finally says, voice quiet—finally taking the chance to say what he wanted to say last night. “You don’t have to keep… pandering to me because you’re trying to protect yourself. I was never going to do anything with it, I just… wanted you to give me a chance.”

When you look over your shoulder, you give Dazai a small, genuine smile that makes all of the air whoosh from his lungs. 

“Dazai, I’ve known you weren’t going to do anything with that video since day one,” you say, amused. “If I thought you were, I would’ve had someone confiscate it from your apartment.”

Dazai’s lips part, mind racing. “But then why-”

Your smile softens at the edges and you sigh as you lower yourself down to the ground, feet dangling off the edge of the cliff. Dazai joins you, thigh brushing yours and shoulders absently knocking together. Your hands rest in your lap and Dazai’s fingers twitch to reach for yours. He only hardly refrains himself.

“I don’t remember a life before this,” you say after a few moments, a distant look in your eyes as you stare ahead. “When I was seven… eight, maybe, I was pulled out of a warzone by the current leader of the Mafia. I don’t even remember my parents—anything about them. Their names. Faces. What they sounded like, what their job was. Mori… he found me in my town sitting in the middle of a whole pile of bodies and I couldn’t even point out which pair of corpses were my parents. I don’t remember anything before him… It’s all just black. Blurred.”

Dazai stares at you, eyes a bit wide as he listens to you speak. His lips part to say something but he decides against it, instead he seals his lips back shut and presses his shoulder against yours. Mori—that was the other name pinned up with Dazai’s message thread and Nakahara Chuuya’s—he must be the Port Mafia boss. His gaze traces your face as you stare ahead, catching the melancholic expression on your face. He itches to reach for your hand.

“I could hardly remember anything about myself. My first name… that’s just about it. My new birthday became the day Mori found me, my new surname—when needed—was his, he… he became my reason to live when I had none. Gave me a purpose,” you tell him faintly. “I spent two years on a warfront trying to figure out what my ability was so I could be the finishing touches of the immortal regiment that he was trying to create. As far as I remember, all I’ve known is… this. Him.”

Dazai wants to say something but every word he tries to push out dies on his tongue. Instead, he finally does reach out to grab your hand, fingers curling around yours tightly. You look down briefly, an unreadable expression on your face before it softens and… and for a split second, Dazai can see you, he can see you: not a hardened executive of a mafia, but an eight-year-old girl, lost and confused and landing in the arms of the wrong man, and it makes him sick.

The traitorous part of him wonders if you’re only telling him this because you still plan on following through with the memory wipe, so Dazai does what he always does when someone threatens to take one of the few things he wants—he digs his claws in and doesn’t let go. 

“The war ended before I could figure out how to use my ability and I followed… him to the underground. We ended up with the Port Mafia while the previous boss and his family were still leading. He was…” You trail off, frowning. “Dangerous. Yokohama was a terrible place under his leadership. He slaughtered civilians who spoke poorly about him and the Mafia, killed his own men for looking at him wrong… Mori became his doctor and for the good of the city, he decided to kill him.”

“I remember the old boss—what he did to the city,” Dazai says quietly—how could he not? His aunt was terrified of being in Yokohama because of him, was constantly talking about leaving the city… she finally did after dumping Dazai off in Suribachi and leaving him to fend for himself against the wolves. “It was bad.”

“It was,” you agree absently. “Mori—he wanted it to be as bloodless as possible. He tried every route, but the only way for it to be bloodless was if he had someone to corroborate that the previous boss died in his sleep and left the Port Mafia to him.”

Dazai almost scoffs.

“No one would believe that.”

“We’d hoped maybe one of his grandchildren would step up. Even if it was clearly a lie, people would have to listen because they were his blood,” you say with a wry smile. “They didn’t.”

“So, what happened then?” he presses when you don’t immediately continue. He frowns when he catches the sudden change in your demeanor, like you’re sick to your stomach, unable to push out the next words. He feels a bit dreadful, squeezing your hand gently. 

“We had to wipe out the whole family,” you whisper, looking down at your lap, “and any loyalists. I was fourteen when I killed someone for the first time. She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arm and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Oh.

Dazai’s throat spasm as he swallows, the picture forming in his head cold and chilling, but instead he forces out:

“You were a kid too.”

“No, I wasn’t. Hadn’t been for a long time,” you say, voice flat, leaving no room for argument. “We hunted down the whole bloodline, immediate to extended family. Mori was insistent on it, said we couldn’t risk one of them ever returning and upending everything we’ve built. He’s still searching for some to this day just to make sure.”

That’s… foreboding to say the least. Dazai watches you carefully, the grim expression on your face and the frown on your lips. He pulls your hand into his lap, tracing your fingers gently to try to ease you and he watches from the corner of his eye as your expression softens again when you look at him. It makes his chest feel tight and fluttery.

“I was sixteen when I met Itou.” The cold expression on your face warms at the unfamiliar name. Dazai watches as the corner of your lips curve up into a fond smile, as if you’re reminiscing. “He was seventeen. We were partnered up for years. This was his beach house—or, well, I don’t know whose it was but Itou took it. He was awful, honestly. A terrible fucking person, had more blood on his hands than any other member of the Mafia, found way too much joy in tormenting people. He was awful, but he was the closest thing I had to family. He tried to show me a world beyond just… bloodshed and violence. Took me to amusement parks on days off, snuck me onto school trips with random groups of kids and told me to ‘blend in’ as training for infiltration missions, showed me how to live, not just… survive. He died on a mission a few weeks after I turned eighteen, made me promise him that I wouldn’t go back to how I used to be without him, that I’d at least try to be happy.”

Double oh.

Dazai almost does throw up now, mind drawing back to a face that has been haunting Dazai for four years now, Odasaku’s last words ring through his head painfully—a reminder of his own inadequacy, of his failure to fulfill his friend’s dying wish.

He remembers the way your face shifted when he told you about Odasaku at Kido’s Boutique and he wonders if he’d reminded you of Itou back then when he spoke of the man and his promise, just like how he was reminded now. His grip on your hand tightens unintentionally—as if you can sense his thoughts, you squeeze his fingers gently. 

“I didn’t,” you say with a tight smile. “Threw myself into work, accepted that my fate was to live, breathe and die for the Port Mafia. I didn’t see the point of anything—well, not until I met you, at least.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker up to you, breath catching when you meet his gaze this time. And god, you look beautiful—so beautiful that Dazai thinks that if he dies now, he could die happy. He almost wishes that he could die now, fall off the side of the cliff with the image of you burned behind his eyelids. It would be a better death than he deserved.

“You made me happy. Make me happy,,” you tell him quietly and Dazai’s heart leaps into his throat. “So effortlessly that I can’t even understand how you do it, but it’s impossible for me to justify dragging you into this world just because I’m selfish.” Dazai parts his lips to disagree but you don’t even give him a chance to speak. “So when you came to me with your stupid blackmail, it was so… easy to just use it as an excuse for me to indulge in you.”

Dazai doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t get it. You’re sitting here talking to him, explaining everything, and Dazai still doesn’t understand. He makes you happy—he makes you happy and you make him happy, there doesn’t need to be any more complications than that. You don’t have to push him away, you don’t have to cut him off, you don’t have to use that memory wiping ability on him.

“I don’t understand,” Dazai says, voice hoarse. “You make me happy too, so why is…”

“Because Chuuya is right,” you say with a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “The risks… Dazai, you can’t ask me to put you in danger like this. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair to cut me off because you’re scared,” Dazai counters, voice a bit pitched. “It’s not fair that you want to wipe my memory without my consent. I don’t care about danger, I don’t-”

You look at him sharply, an intense expression on your face that makes Dazai hesitate.

“I never would have done it without talking to you first,” you say tightly. “Do you really think that little of me?”

Dazai looks away, not answering the question. “I never would have agreed to it,” he replies, voice equally tight as yours. “Never. It’d be a waste of your time.”

You sigh and Dazai feels you shift next to him but he pointedly keeps his gaze trained ahead, refusing to look at you. He feels your fingers brush his cheek before the pressure becomes a bit firmer as you turn his face so that he’s looking at you. You’re so close that his nose brushes yours, the pads of your fingers are warm against his skin; if he leans in just a bit, he’d be able to kiss you.

He wants to kiss you.

“You don’t know what’s at stake,” you say softly, breath fanning across his lips as you speak. He can almost taste the mixture of mint and nicotine on your lips—you smoke when you’re nervous, he’s noticed it over the past few weeks with you. The more nervous you are, the more cigarettes you run through; he wonders how many cigarettes you’ve gone through since you’ve gotten the call from the hospital. “The danger-”

“You want me,” Dazai whispers, squeezing your hand, leaning in a bit more. “No one has ever wanted me before. Not like this. Not for me. You want me.”

The last sentence—it doesn’t come out as a statement, it comes out as a plea. He wants you to say it. You didn’t the last time, but he needs to hear it now. Desperately. His nails dig into your hands, he doesn’t even dare to breathe as he waits for you to speak.

“I want you,” you agree, voice so quiet like you don’t even dare to speak the words out loud in fear of the consequences of them. “I want you. I want you so bad that it scares me, Dazai Osamu.”

And Dazai breathes. The breath he lets out is long and shaky, the relief that sweeps over him is almost debilitating. He searches your eyes to make sure you mean it and when he only finds honesty and a type of fear that he’s never seen in you before, Dazai knows.

“You think it doesn’t scare me?” Dazai asks you, voice cracking. “Everything I ever come to want is always lost. Ever since that first day we met, I-I knew that I wanted you more than anything I’ve ever wanted before and I’ve been terrified that one day you’ll leave me. Promise me that you won’t. Promise me.”

You stare at him and for a terrible moment, Dazai thinks that you’re about to shake your head and say you can’t, but then you swallow, nod and say, “I promise.”

Dazai kisses you. And then he kisses you again. And again. And again. Until his lungs burn and he can feel your lips curve up against his and even then, he kisses you still. Kisses you as the sun sets over the bay and the moon rises above the mountains. Kisses you until the wind becomes too bitter for the two of you to stay outside and still, he smiles as he peppers kisses across your face, walking back down the path to the beach house.

He ignores how your phone has been buzzing incessantly all night, praying for at least one day of peace before reality slaps the two of you in the face again.

[lilacs-stars]

aiming for your heart

this is part 1, read part 2 here! pairing: james hook x fem!reader (requested) (note: reader is glinda the good witch's daughter) SUMMARY: you agree to a tutoring session with your pirate classmate, but things end up taking an...unexpected twist. GENRE: pure fluff, a bit of banter CW: nothing much, just mentions of societal pressures WC: 7.9k (they just keep getting longer...)

A/N: I decided to finally do something cute and fluffy after days of working on dark angsty stuff and this felt like a much-needed breath of fresh air. it was so fun to write, so thanks to the anon who requested this for the fun idea! <3 please give me feedback and suggestions, I'd love to know your thoughts!

Up, swish, circle, flick. Up, swish, circle, flick. Up, swish, cir—

“Ahh, oww!” you cry out as a very solid metal object collides with the side of your skull. Your hand instinctively goes up to the spot on your head—which you can already feel starting to swell—as you wince in pain. 

You’re supposed to throw the ring in the basket, not at my head, idiot, you think to yourself as you grimace. 

“Oh my gosh, Y/N, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you, I swear!” you glance around the room, locking eyes with your classmate just a few tables away, whose wand is still poised in their hand and a bewildered expression planted on their face. “I just can’t seem to control…this gosh darn wand…”

You let out a little sigh, trying your best to not be impatient. After all, you couldn’t expect everyone to be as experienced in this field as you are. 

You glance back at the student, who’s rereading their textbook pages for what’s probably the tenth time. As you watch them struggle, a pang of guilt hits you for being so mean and irritable. It’s not like they were trying to hit you, and even though it was just a thought passing through in the privacy of your mind, you still feel as though thinking something mean like that is wrong. 

You push your chair back and rise from your seat, wand tightly gripped in one hand. Walking over to your classmate’s desk, you give a small smile as you ask them, “Need any help?”

They look up at you with wide eyes. “Oh, yes, please! Enchantment of Magical Objects is literally the hardest class ever!”

You grin again, keeping your demeanor light and friendly, like always. “Okay, so first, you go up, then swish, then circle your wand back around, and finally flick, and then…”

You copy the movements with your own wand as you speak, small magical sparks flickering off it at your gestures. After you complete your little demonstration, you both watch as a hand-sized sleek metal ring, somewhat resembling a circular horseshoe, levitates off the desk and neatly lands in a bucket in the center of the room. 

Today’s assignment in your Enchantment class is to use the Aiming Spell to throw the rings into a bucket. Safe to say, it wasn’t really going well for most of the class. 

“Wow, that was amazing! You’re so good at this Y/N!” your now starry-eyed classmate exclaims. “And I can barely get my rings off my desk…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get there,” you smile reassuringly. “After all, I’ve had a lot of experience around wands and enchantments.”

“Yeah, I suppose that is right. I guess not everyone can be as talented with magic as the Good Witch’s very own daughter.”

A small laugh escapes your lips, and you bid farewell to your classmate as you make your way back to your seat. They aren’t wrong, after all. Your mother, Glinda, taught you how to use a wand as soon as you could walk. You’ve been watching her use magic for ages, so it’s not a surprise to anyone that you’re top of your class. 

You sit back down, getting back to work. Even though you know you’ve already mastered the spell, you still have some class time left, which you decide to use wisely and continue practicing the spell. 

Staring at the pile of metal rings in front of you, you take a deep breath and begin the task of making each one levitate off your desk and make a perfect arch towards the basket. 

Up, swish, circle, flick. Up—swoosh!

A flying ring shoots straight past your face, barely missing you by only a few inches. You stumble backwards in your chair, quite startled. Still, it isn’t unusual to see objects flying around the classroom, or rather, objects flying where they’re not supposed to.

A moment later, another one whizzes past you again. Then a third, which gets so close to your face that you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Annoyed, your head snaps to your right, trying to figure out who keeps nearly decapitating you. 

You glance around, finally locking eyes with what seems to be the culprit. Chair leaning against the wall, tipped back on its hind two legs, sits a figure with deep brown eyes and smokey eyeshadow look to match. A smirk is planted on his face, a mischievous glint in his gaze. He wears a dark red jacket on top of a black dress shirt, the collar disheveled and his tie loose around his neck. Contrary to his tousled outfit, his medium-length brown hair is neatly slicked back. One of his hands leisurely holds a wand while the other rests behind his head, and combined with the way he has a leg crossed over the other, one would think he’s enjoying a nice day at the beach instead of sitting in class at one of the most prestigious academies in the land.

You fix him with a look, your gaze subconsciously morphing into a glare as he jerks the wand up, causing one of the metal rings in front of him to levitate a few inches off his desk. With a flick of the wrist, he sends it flying across the room once again. Having learned your lesson, this time you duck down, eyes following the disk as it soars across the room. You watch as it shoots straight towards its target, who expertly crouches as the metal ring hits the wall behind him with a thud, falling to the ground and joining the previous disks.

The target of these attacks is a boy you recognize to be a good friend of the ring-throwing troublemaker, with light brown hair brushed away from his forehead and dressed in a dark green shirt with a black choker around his neck. Morgie le Fay shoots a glare across the room to his perpetrator, making a face that could only mean “You’ll pay for this later.”

Another disk comes shooting at his head, and he ducks down yet again. This time, the metal hits the wall so hard, you worry it left a dent. Unable to take their child-like behavior any longer, you get up from your seat for the second time and stomp your way over to the disk-thrower.

“Hook!” you say as you reach his table. The man in question tilts his head towards you, looking up with an amused grin.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, lassie?” he replies, his accent crisp and unmistakable. 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at him, knowing it would be terribly rude, even if he was getting on your nerves like no other. You settle for fixing him with another look. “Could you please stop hurling those disks around? It’s not the assignment, and you practically hit me!”

“My apologies, love,” Hook replies, still peering up at you, unbothered. You honestly doubt he means it, so you frown and try again. “I’m being serious, Hook.”

“As am I,” he replies, making you want to smack that stupid smirk off his face. Deep breaths, deep breaths, you remind yourself. Violence is never the answer. You find it funny how you can almost hear your mother’s voice as you repeat those words in your head, the ones she always tells you.

“So you’ll stop?” you ask, raising a brow and putting your hands on your hips to show him you’re not messing around.

“Ah, well, you see,” Hook starts, and it takes every ounce of benevolence in you to not internally combust at whatever excuse he’s planning to come up with. “I’m having a tad bit of trouble with this spell, love. No matter what I do, I simply can’t seem to lock on to the right target.”

At this, you raise your eyebrows again, disbelief laced through your every cell. “Why don’t you give it a go,” you say, jerking your chin towards the basket in the middle of the room. “You never know until you don’t try.”

Hook leans forward in his chair, righting it again so it stands on all four legs. He raises his wand, and if you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s actually concentrating on the task at hand. One of the metal disks rises into the air, levitating a meter above the floor.

Hook flicks his wand forward and the disk sails away, missing the basket in an almost laughable attempt at execution. Instead of the proper target, it lands on the edge of a file cabinet in the far corner of the room. You pray for the poor soul that will inevitably open one of its drawers, only to be smacked in the head by a piece of solid steel.

Eyebrows raised, Hook unabashedly turns back around to face you with that grin of his. “So how was that, love? Satisfied?”

“Not quite,” you huff, shaking your head at him. “Honestly, I haven’t seen anyone make such a…uh, interesting attempt at this assignment.” Deep down, a little part of you really wants to say much meaner things, but you bite back your words, knowing that showing contempt never did anyone any good.

“Interesting, eh?” Hook’s smirk grows, and you can see him already scheming inside that villainous little mind of his. “Say, Y/N”—he uncrosses his legs, leaning in your direction—“you’re the top student of this class, are you not?”

You narrow your eyes at him, but refrain from saying anything you know you’ll later regret. “Yes, and?”

“Well, as you can clearly see here, I require a bit of assistance with this assignment. After all, not everyone grew up waving wands like you,” he quips, flourishing the wand in his hand as if it were an ordinary stick. Abruptly, he stills his movements and drops the wand on his desk, before turning to face you directly, locking eyes. “Would you be so kind as to teach me a few things?”

You quirk your brows, albeit attempting to keep a straight face. “Are you asking me to…tutor you?”

Hook grins yet again. “This evening, 7 o’clock, the common area in the East Wing.” He puts his hand on his knees as he gets up, now leering a few inches above you. Still holding your gaze—although he has to tilt his head down to do so—he asks, “I’ll see you then?”

You blink twice, mind replaying the events that led to you getting yourself stuck in this situation. On the one hand, you definitely don't want to have a one-on-one study session with a villain—and an annoyingly smug one at that. Honestly, the few interactions you are forced to have with him in class are far enough for you. 

But on the other hand, he is asking for help to improve his grades…after all, it’s not every day someone the likes of him shows interest in learning. Plus, you know that it’s not right to turn away a person in need of your help, no matter how insufferable they are. Especially if they’re always flashing you a smile filled with shining white teeth and full, plump pink lips.

A sigh escapes your mouth before you can stop it as you resign yourself to your fate. “Alright, I guess. But come prepared to learn. That means you need your wand, your textbooks, notebo—”

He cuts you off with a passive sweep of his hook, much to your annoyance. Leaning in just a little closer to you, enough to make your palms slightly sweaty, his face tilts down even nearer to yours. “It’s a date, then,” Hook says, his voice soft but still with that teasing tone it always seems to carry.

“It’s not a date!” you call out as the bell rings, but he’s already making his way out of the classroom, sauntering off to do who-knows-what.

Heavens, what have I gotten myself into, you think, placing a hand on your forehead as you breathe out a long, heavy sigh.

The evening rolls around far too quickly for your liking, and before you know it you’re making your way out of your doom room and up a set of stairs.

You keep on thinking about how you had ample time to back out of this arrangement; plus, you would be lying if you said you didn't consider it a number of times. But each time, you remind yourself that you are doing a good deed for someone obviously in need of a good influence. That you have to be selfless and put aside your personal feelings to serve a good cause, as all heroes do. That your opinions don't really matter—after all, the best heroes are the ones who make the deepest sacrifices, right?

So that’s how you find yourself dragging heavy feet across a corridor, a tiny voice in your head begging you to turn around, as you finally reach the common area set as your meetup spot. You glance at your wristwatch, which reads 6:55. You had decided to leave a bit early so you could arrive with a few minutes to spare. As your mother always reminds you, “It’s better to be an hour early than a minute late.”

Pulling out a chair at a nearby two-person table, you sit down, plopping your bookbag next to you. You had stuffed it full of your personal notes, your wand, and several textbooks you thought could help Hook. 

Tapping a pencil on the wooden desk, you sigh, glancing at your clock again. 6:57. Thinking back on your previous decision, you wonder why you left so early. After all, you have Hook down in your mind as the type to be extremely unpunctual. Leaning back in your chair out of sheer boredom, you start to clearly picture Hook showing up a good hour late. Heck, you’d be surprised if he even shows up at all. 

The clock hits 6:59, and you begin to debate how long you’re willing to stay here before giving up and returning to your dorm. Would ten minutes be enough? Fifteen? Thirty? The more you think about it, the more you can imagine this being some sort of elaborate prank to trick you. After all, why would a delinquent villain like Hook ever be interested in planning a tutoring session?

You sigh once again, angry at yourself for being so naive as to fall for his little trick. Drumming your fingers on the table as you put your head down, you mentally punch yourself for your gullibility. 

Which is why you nearly jump out of your own skin at the sound of a loud thud sound from in front of you. You jerk back into your chair, arms flailing as it tips, causing you to nearly topple backwards. With your reflexes kicking in, your hand latches onto the edge of the table—thankfully—and you manage to pull yourself back to a more stable position.

Hand clutching your pounding heart, you roll your head back to be greeted with that stupid little smirk that haunts your thoughts. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright, love. After all, we were planning to meet up, were we not?” Hook says, tone extremely smug and a tiny bit pitiful at your frightened state. 

You raise your arm and flick your wrist, reading the time displayed on your clock. 7:00. He…he showed up exactly on time, you think, praying that your shock isn’t displayed on your face.

As if he can read your mind—and in all honesty, maybe he can—Hook says, “You didn’t doubt me, now, did you, darling? How could I skimp out on our little date?”

“It’s not a date,” you tell him once again, not even trying to hide the annoyance in your voice this time.

“Whatever you say.” Hook gives a little grin as he raises his eyebrows for a second. Before you can continue to argue, he pulls out the chair across from you and sits down. You eye a small black leather satchel that dangles from his hook as he drops it down on the floor. Huh, he even came prepared.

He leans in, arms resting on the table, as he fixes you with a sly grin. “So, Miss Teacher, what are you going to teach me today?”

You hate to pass on the opportunity to make a snarky remark, but you know that rubbing Hook the wrong way is not going to make these next few hours any less sufferable. Instead, you simply go for a “How about you start by getting out your materials?”

“As you wish, m’lady.” An irritated sigh escapes your lips, and you realize you’ve been sighing a lot more than usual ever since you got in this…predicament. You watch, somewhat impatiently, as Hook reaches down and draws a single notebook and his practice wand out of the leather satchel. Glancing at his materials, then back at yours, you realize that you came a lot more prepared than he did, even though you’re not the one trying to learn here. Well, I guess him putting in some effort still better than nothing.

You pull out one of the thick textbooks from your bag, the used animal skin cover peeling at the edges and the pages yellowed from the wear of time. 

“First, we’re going to get started with the theory of enchantments and spells.” You flip through the pages until you land on the first of many detailing the basics of spellcasting. “Even though we’re going to be focusing on the Aiming Spell, the underlying principles are pretty much the same for all spells you use. Now, you see here, highlighted in the chart are the five main…”

You chance a glance over at Hook, voice trailing off when you realize he isn’t listening. In fact, he's not even looking at the textbook placed in the middle of the desk. Instead, his gaze is fixed on…

…you?

“Hey! Why are you staring at me like that, you weirdo!” you exclaim, pulling back from the table. Hook remains unflinching, his chin in his good hand as he stares up at you with a sparkle in his eye. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it, love. You’re just so…so entrancing.”

You blink hard, recoiling at his words. He’s not flirting with you…is he? No, there’s no way. Don’t be overly arrogant, you convince yourself. This is just his personality, how he usually acts. The same way he calls everyone “love” and “darling.” There’s absolutely nothing more to it than him saying anything he can think of to fluster you and throw you off track.

…Right?

You ignore the stupid little flutter your heart does at not just being called pretty, or beautiful, or any of the normal compliments. No, you aren’t normal, you’re entrancing…

Snap out of it! you internally scold yourself. This is just another one of his little antics. You’re just letting him win by getting in your head. 

“Look, I didn’t come here and set aside this chunk of my valuable time to tutor you, only for you to not listen. If you came here to mess around—” you rant, but you’re cut off before you can get everything off your chest.

“I apologize, lassie. I promise, I’ll focus from here on out,” Hook vows. You eye him with a glare, feeling very distrustful, but you’re only met with his rather sincere gaze.

You let out another breath, once again regretting agreeing to this. “Fine. Get out your notebook. You’re going to want to take notes on this.”

Hook nods and reaches into his satchel, which is still lying on the floor. “If I’m being completely honest—which I assume you must hold in high regard, being a hero and whatnot—I really didn’t expect you to be so…irritable.”

You shoot Hook another glare, before realizing that you’re just proving his point. You give a brief roll of your eyes as you attempt a smile. “I’m not usually like this,” you say, fighting to keep a decently pleasant expression on your face. “You just really find a way to, how should I put this, you really—”

“Push your buttons?” Hook finishes for you, raising his eyebrows.

“I was going to say you really find a way to get on my nerves, but that too,” you respond, with obviously forced cheerfulness. “Whatever, we need to get back to studying. For real this time.”

Hook replies with an “Of course, m’lady,” before you begin your lecture again on the foundation of enchantments. This time, he makes sure to periodically glance down at the textbook pages and occasionally nod or ask a question, all to ensure that you don’t catch him staring at you again. Unbeknownst to you, adoration shines bright in his eyes as he studies your features, committing them to memory every time you’re not looking his way.

You spend some time going over theory with Hook, until you can feel him growing restless, causing you to start wondering if people like him have a capacity for how much information they can absorb at one time. Deciding that theory is no good if it’s not put to practice, you slam the textbook shut once you reach the end of a page, standing up.

Hook looks up at you, a slightly startled expression on his face. “Come on,” you say. “Now we’re going to see how much you paid attention by putting your lesson to good use.”

You hope to see a look of fear flash across his face, but his demeanor stays completely even. Feeling a bit let down, you remind yourself that he still has to actually cast the spell. Watch him mess it up, you think. Let’s see how smug he is then, huh?

Reaching down into your bookbag, you pull out a small bundle wrapped in a piece of cloth. You open it to reveal a handful of metal disks, similar to the ones you had used earlier in class. You empty them out on the table before walking over to the middle of the room and placing the cloth down on the floor, a good number of meters away from your table. “This is your target area,” you explain. “Stand by the table and get those rings to land within the borders of the cloth.”

Let’s see how well you fare now, pretty boy.

“Aye, that’s not fair,” Hook says, scrunching his brow as he gestures towards your setup with his hook. “That cloth’s much smaller than the basket we used in class. And the distance is far greater.”

“Well, if you learn how to get the spell right with tougher constraints than the requirement, you’ll be sure to do great for the real thing.” You flash him a wink as you watch his jaw part slightly, an incredulous expression painted on his face. “That’s how I always ace my exams.”

Hook draws in a breath, putting his ever-famous smirk back on his face, although you can feel his unease this time. He picks up his wand, turning around to point it at disks on the table. 

Up. He rolls his hand upwards, and one of the disks starts to levitate a foot in the air.

Swish. Hook jerks his wrist to the side, causing the disk to start gently vibrating with potential energy. 

Circle. He rotates his hand counterclockwise, drawing a circle with the tip of the wand.

Flick. You watch with bated breath as Hook flicks the wand towards the cloth in the middle of the room. 

Both of you follow the disc’s arc through the air with tense anticipation, as it soars, soars…

…and ends up missing the cloth by a good three feet.

Hook gives a small, halfhearted laugh, trying to keep up the suave facade. Yet you notice the way his shoulders slump forward, the way his body stiffens in an embarrassing shock. 

Part of you feels a wickedly twisted satisfaction at his failure—but as soon as you recognize it for what it is, you shove it away, repulsed at the thought of you even coming close experiencing such an emotion. Plus, the majority of you feels rather disappointed at the undesirable outcome. Whether it’s Hook’s chagrin rubbing off on you, or the voice in your head whispering that you, as his teacher, failed at your job, you can’t help but feel a bit let down at his messing up.

“Hey, it’s fine. Let’s try again,” you say softly, your usual eager-to-help manner coming back at the sight of someone needing comforting.

And so, Hook tries again. And again. And again.

Finally, after the seventh or eighth try, he puts the wand back down on the table. “I don’t know what to tell you, love. No matter how hard I try, it’s simply not working.” You sigh, looking at the floor before you, which was now littered with disks. “Hey, at least you got closer each time! That’s still progress.” You attempt to raise his spirits a bit, but he just fixes you with a look that tells you he’s not one to fall for your false positivity.

“Uhm…” You hesitate, not quite sure what to do next or how to fix this. “How about you see how I do it, and try to copy that?”

Hook gives a small nod and you fish out your wand, pulling up your sleeves and taking a deep breath to prepare. Focusing on one of the disks on the table, you start the particular movements. Up. Swish. Circle. Flick!

Both of you watch in somewhat astonishment as the ring curves perfectly through the air, flying with grace, as it lands directly in the center of the cloth.

Hook looks at you with raised eyebrows. Although that little part of you wants to rub it in his face, the fact that a hero, out of all people, bested him, you decide that torturing him with your teasing is only going to make him less likely to get the spell right.

“You see that? Now, try to copy it yourself,” you instruct.

And so, Hook makes a few more attempts, landing closer to the cloth each time, now only a couple inches away—yet never actually making contact with it.

You study his movements carefully as he casts the spell, trying to figure out what he’s doing wrong. After a few more of his failed attempts, you decide to try a different approach.

“Okay, watch me do it again, but this time come hold my wand from behind so you can get a feel for how I cast it,” you say, glancing up at Hook. “After all, it’s all in the wrist.” You recite a line your mother always says, one that often replays in your mind as you cast a spell. In your opinion, her guidance is the main reason that you’re so good at spells.

You’re still sitting down in your chair, pushing it in a little to provide room for him to come up behind you and reach your wand. 

You were expecting Hook to get rather close; after all, there aren’t many ways for two people to hold the same wand in the position you were in without a tight proximity. What you weren’t expecting was the way he comes up from behind you leisurely, deliberately. The way his chest presses into your back as he leans in, arm brushing against yours as he extends it towards the wand. The way you can feel his exhales on your skin, breathing down your neck—literally—causes goosebumps to rise up and down your arms. The way his natural aroma engulfs you completely, overwhelming your senses all at once. How his large hand feels on yours as he places it on top, curling his fingers around the wand—and yours, as well. The way you can feel the smirk dancing on his face, looking down at you with what you expect to be half-lidded eyes. 

And the way your heart races, good heavens. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought you just ran a marathon. Your body simultaneously heats up and freezes at his touches, no matter how small, your mind becoming overly aware of every point of contact you have with him. You fight against the overstimulation flooding your senses, resisting the urge to wipe your sweaty palms on your legs, while hoping that the wand doesn’t slip out of your hand as perform the incantation. 

Truth be told, although you definitely won’t admit this to anyone: you really haven’t had much experience with romance, or anything of the sorts. All your life, you’ve focused on doing good deeds and keeping up with your studies, aiming to be the best of the best in the hero world. Which is probably why no boy has ever taken interest in you; instead of going to dances or out on dates, you've always spent your Friday nights locked away in your room, studying hard to make sure you ace your exams. Plus, with your goody-two-shoes streak, you aren't exactly the most sought-out person in your class.

Which is why with the way Hook flirts with you, and now, the way you can feel his inhales and exhales against your skin—subconsciously trying to match the rhythm of his breathing—your brain is short-circuiting. The lack of romantic attention you’ve received your whole life is behind why you don't know how to react to Hook's antics, while still internally freaking out at his movements and words.

You inhale a shaky breath, trying to steady your quivering hand and hope that Hook doesn’t notice your reaction. But after the amused little hum he gives, your embarrassment grows by the second. Trying your best to focus on the task at hand, you say, “Okay, here goes.”

Up. You feel Hook’s grip tighten around your hand, just a little bit but still enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Swish. The disk vibrates with extreme intensity, to the point where you’re afraid it’ll break apart, despite the metal structure.

Circle. As you circle your wrist around, you feel Hook’s arm rub against yours even more, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. Gods, the things this man is doing to you.

Flick. You flick the wand towards the cloth yet again, jerking your head sideways to follow it as it flies across the room. Agonizing in how it ignites every nerve in your body, you feel Hook’s head brush against the top of yours as he follows your movements, watching the disk soar.

It seems, for a minute, as if it’s going to land right on top of the previous one. But to both your shocks, it falls just outside the borders of the cloth, barely touching the edge.

Your face absolutely burns in embarrassment, palms dripping with sweat now. Hook tilts his head towards yours—which you feel all too well—as he says, far closer to your ear than you would’ve liked, “Well, it seems like even the master makes mistakes, love.”

Fuming, you finally give into the urge and drop the wand to wipe your hands on your clothes. Screw him, you mentally curse. It’s all his fault. I’ve never messed up this spell before.

And as much as you want to blame him, you know that it’ll do you absolutely no good to tell him the fact that he was so close to you made your brain short-circuit to such an extent that you messed up a spell you could do since you were five.

You shake your head, refusing to accept your failure. “No, I…I don’t know what happened. It must have been a faulty disk. Just…I’m going to try again.”

Hook raises his eyebrows at you—or at least, you’re pretty sure he does, as you can’t see him from behind. You grab your wand again, and without even telling him to do so, Hook leans in and places his hand back over yours, your fingers trapped between his and the wand.

Internally, you find yourself growing impossibly more annoyed at him. Honestly, did he really have to go back to that position, the one that made you mess up the spell in the first place? You take a deep, steadying breath, forcing away all thoughts of Hook and how his dark brown eyes, beautiful and rich like the bark of the trees back in Oz, are boring into your skull right now. You simply can’t afford to get distracted again. Messing up the spell once is one thing—sure, everyone makes mistakes, don’t they? But twice? It would be absolutely inexcusable.

Twice would mean that you are not as adept as you thought you were, not talented enough in the one thing that you've been sure of for your whole life.

Remember the words.

Up, swish, circle, flick!

Fueled by your self-directed rage, you ensure that every movement you make is precise, sharp, and without a single tremor going through your hand. This time, the disk slices through the air with a clean, aerodynamic curve, and lands…

…right on top of your first one.

You beam, regaining your former confidence in your spellcasting abilities.

“The master may sometimes make mistakes, but they’re still the master,” you gloat. “Now come on, you need to practice till you get as good as that.”

You and Hook spend quite some time on practicing the spell, with you giving him pointers and him—surprisingly—improving. It seems as though your hands-on demonstration really helped him, as his skills greatly improved. 

Soon, in every set of ten rings he practiced on, he was consistently getting six or seven of them within the boundaries of the cloth, with one or two more landing on the edge, half-in. 

After one round where he managed to get nine of the disks touching the cloth—his personal best so far—you decide he needs something even more challenging.

“Woah, that was a really good round,” you praise. Hook turns to face you, and if you didn’t know any better, you would say that his normal smirk seems a little less snarky and a little more…genuine. 

“Still not as good as you, though, love,” Hook replies. You can tell he’s trying hard to maintain his nonchalant front, especially when it comes to academics, but the pride in his eyes and the earnest grip on his wand tell a different story. Honestly, you like him better this way. Less of him pretending to be a bad boy villain, and more of his real personality.

And in this moment, as you subtly study his features and think about his change in behavior over the past few hours, a thought that’s never even come close to crossing your mind suddenly pops up. What if villains, just like heroes, feel pressured to uphold a certain facade? The same way that you’ve always felt like you just have to be good, no matter the cost, no matter how hard it is for you, maybe villains feel the same way. Maybe they believe they always have to be bad, troublesome, and cruel. Even if that’s not who they truly are.

And through the lens of your new insight, you start seeing Hook in a different light. Just like how you feel as if being good and helpful and cheery all the time is a burden, how sometimes you wish you could just let loose and be selfish, maybe villains feel like being evil is a burden. Maybe Hook feels compelled to act smug and suave, even though that isn’t who he truly feels like being all the time. 

You begin to feel a deep sense of guilt for judging him based on his demeanor and criticizing his performance in class. Reflecting back, you realize that you had been unnecessarily harsh on him for something that is likely beyond his control. Gosh, I'm such an idiot, you think, shame burning your cheeks.

Shaking off your remorse, you put on another bright smile and try to respond as cheerfully as possible. “Hey, it’s still a huge improvement from sending the rings flying on top of a filing cabinet in the corner of the room. Or at innocent bystanders’ heads!” This time, you don’t encourage him because you feel pressured to do so, or because that’s who you know you’re supposed to be. You do it because deep down, in your heart, it’s what you feel like saying.

“Hmm, true,” Hook replies, angling his head to the side as he considers your point, the smallest of smiles still dancing on his lips.

“Now, for your final test.” At your statement, Hook raises a brow. “You need something different, something truly challenging. Something to prove your mastery of the Aiming Spell…”

You rack your brain for ideas, but nothing comes to mind. After a moment in silence, Hook speaks up. “I may have an idea.”

Glancing over at him, rather surprised—you were the teacher, after all—you gesture for him to go on. 

“Go stand over there by that wall,” he instructs, motioning with his hook to the wall opposite you two. “And put your hands up.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, fixing him with a look of wariness and doubt. You don’t move for a second, still too distrusting of him as you try to imagine what standing in that position has to do with casting a spell. Noticing your hesitation, Hook nods towards the wall again. “Well, go on, love.”

Still suspicious of him, you cave in and walk over to the far side of the room. Pressing your back against the wall as you raise your hands up, the position makes you feel as if you've just been caught red-handed in the midst of a crime. Hook still stands by the table, waiting patiently. You try to think back to the textbook pages you went over with him, wondering if you had accidentally taught him some sort of attack charm that he was planning to use on you.

Feeling your anxiety build, you wriggle your left fingers, wrapping your thumb and middle finger around the base of your pointer. You always wear a special, very pretty ring on that hand, a gift your mother gave to you a few years ago. Fiddling with it while twisting it around and around helps to soothe you, especially when you feel nervous.

But this time, when you go to repeat the same movement you always do, you feel the absence of the familiar metal surface and engravings etched into it. Glancing up at your hand, you confirm that your ring is indeed missing. The only trace of its former presence is the two parallel, circular indents in your skin from wearing it for so long.

Your panic skyrockets now at the loss of one of your favorite possessions, practically forgetting about Hook and the unease that accompanied his bizarre request. That ring had come with a special message; the night you got it, your mother had told you, “Remember when you were younger, and I told you that people are either good or bad? Well, that’s not quite true. No one is really black or white. We’re all just shades of gray. Some people are lighter gray, and some people are darker gray. And although we might be different shades, we all fall under the same color. Remember that, Y/N.”

And you have remembered it. Every time you go to toy with your ring, those words echo in your mind. Your mom had embedded the ring with a marble featuring a swirl of many different shades of gray, a reminder of the message that came along with it. You were too young to truly understand her words back then, but now, especially in these recent moments, you think you’re starting to fully grasp what she meant.

Snapping back to the present, you realize the serious problem you have at hand. “My ring!” you cry. “I could have sworn I had it when I came here…”

“Looking for this?” Hook’s smirk is back in full force. His left arm is raised, and on the crest of his polished metal hook, your precious ring glimmers under the golden lights projected from the ceiling.

“You…! When did you even…” your voice trails off as your mind catches up to your mouth. It must have been when he leaned in, while you were demonstrating the spell. That was the only time he had gotten close enough to you, although you don’t know how in the world he nicked it off your finger without you having the slightest hint.

Then you remember, quite painfully, how flustered you had been in that moment. If you were so distracted that you couldn't even cast a simple spell right, then you certainly wouldn’t have had enough brainpower to notice a skilled thief steal from you.

“Hey! Give that back!” you exclaim, huffing angrily, a frown etched deep into your face.

“I will, darling,” Hook replies smugly. “Now, raise your hands up again. And don’t wiggle your fingers around this time.”

“Give me my ring back first!” you demand, your previous annoyance towards him coming right back.

“Let me do this first, and then you’ll get your ring. Hands up.” At your glare, Hook tilts his head to the side and gives you a look. “Don’t you trust me?”

Well, of course not, is the first thought that pops into your mind. You’re a liar and a thief, and above all, a villain.

But then you remember your mother’s words, your earlier revelation and how, just for a moment, you glimpsed Hook through a different light. So, although you definitely won't go as far as saying that you trust him, you still empathize with him enough to give in to his request.

Wordlessly, you raise your hands back up to your sides, palms facing in front of you, while fighting the urge to fidget again. You debate whether or not it’d be best to close your eyes for this, but you ultimately decide that if Hook does try to pull any more of his little tricks, all your senses should be sharp and aware.

And so you stand, frozen, as Hook raises the wand. For a second, you think he’s going to cast the spell on you. But instead, he uses his good hand to remove the ring from where it’s stuck in his hook, instead placing it dangling from the tip. He points his wand at the ring, repeating the maneuvers you two practiced so many times.

Up. The ring lifts off his hook and levitates just in front of him.

Swish. It starts vibrating like the disks, but due to its small size, your cherished ring begins to rotate on its axis.

Circle. With Hook’s circular movement of the wand, the ring’s spinning accelerates, locking on to its target—whatever that is.

Flick. For one final time, Hook flicks his wrist, this time towards you.

You watch, your heart pounding as fast as ever, as the ring—your ring—curves through the sky as it falls, getting closer and closer to you. You slam your eyes shut for just a beat, unable to bear the anticipation, before remembering your earlier rationale again.

Eyes flying open instantly, you regain your vision just as the ring falls, falls, falls, landing…

…directly on your finger.

But not the finger that you previously wore it on. Your eyes widen again in disbelief as it slips perfectly around your ring finger.

“Uh…I…uhm…” you stammer, confused and shocked and overwhelmed with far too many things at once to form a coherent sentence. How in the world did he cast such a precise Aiming Spell, in a situation where it wouldn’t have succeeded had he been even a centimeter off? And if he was so precise with his location pinpointing, then why in the world did he put it on your left ring finger??

“Come on, spit it out, love,” Hook replies teasingly. “You can say it, don’t be afraid.”

Your mind is working far too hard for you to shoot him a glare, but you mentally do it anyway. “That was…impressive,” you finally admit, although you wish you didn’t when Hook’s smug grin grows twice as wide. Ugh, his ego is already big enough. I did not need to inflate it like that.

“Could you always cast the spell that well?” you ask, still stunned at his precision. You honestly couldn’t see how anyone who had been sending disks flying all across the room a mere few hours ago was now casting spells with the accuracy of someone who had been doing this for years.

“Why, of course not. You saw how I was earlier.” Hook’s grin grows even wider as he adds, “It’s all because I had a wonderful teacher.”

You still frown at him skeptically, walking back towards the table where he stands. “I highly doubt it’s because of that. I mean, I don’t know if even I could pull something like that off with such little practice.”

At this, Hook gives a little laugh. “What do they say, the student exceeds the teacher?”

You roll your eyes at him. “No, they call it ‘beginner’s luck.’ You should be happy you got it right this time, because you might not get so lucky on your exams.”

Hook grins again, and as much as you detest the pleasure he gets from teasing you—and though you’d never admit it—a small, dark gray part of you enjoys the playful banter between you two.

“That’s why I have you, darling. If I ever need more help, I’ll know who to run to.” He leans in close to you, so close, until his mouth is right next to your ear. You start having flashbacks to your previous experiences with Hook being in a close proximity, and the combined feelings from both your memories and his current actions causes your body to heat up in a way you didn’t even know was possible. 

He tilts his head down ever so slightly towards you, his lips feathering across your ear. “And you won’t be able to get out of helping me, my little goody-goody.”

Your mind is absolutely spinning at his words, his touch, his presence, his everything. You desperately struggle to formulate some sort of response, but just as you open your mouth, ready to question his choice of ring placement, a deep, low horn sounds, reverberating off the walls.

Curfew.

Hook breaks away from you as you glance down at your wristwatch. The clock shows exactly 10:00. Gods, how did the time pass by so quickly?

You glance back up at Hook, deciding to ignore the way he so alluringly whispered in your ear just seconds ago. “Well, uh, we have to get going, then,” you awkwardly say, scratching at your neck.

Hook stands there for a moment, staring at you whilst completely motionless, making you wonder what he’s thinking and what he’s planning to do. Just as you’re about to bid him a goodnight and turn away, he reaches his good hand out, grabbing your left one. He holds it delicately in his hand, his palm cupped upwards with your fingers resting gently on top.

Slowly, and while keeping his head up just enough to maintain eye contact with you the entire way down, he bends into a bow in front of you. Only does he avert his gaze when he finally reaches your hand, looking down at your ring, which still sits on your ring finger, as he places a kiss on the bright stone.

He peers back up at you, deep brown eyes wide and expressive.

“Until we meet again, m’lady.”

on to part 2! ->

taglist: @4ng3l-ch1ld @astrynyx @0strawberrysorbet0

just leave a comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

a/n: the demons I had to fight to not name this "if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it" haha. anyways thanks for reading!

do not plagiarize, translate, remake, or copy my works, including my writing and images, in any way.

[haystarlight]

What if mlp characters had Tumblr

🌟 smartypants Follow

I have a princess conference in the morning but that won't stop me from staying up till 3 am on AO3. Mama needs her bedtime stories

🐉 ogres&oubliettesenthusiast Follow

OP go to sleep or I will eat your crown

2,008 notes

🎈 smilesmilesmile Follow

All of you are like "would you fuck your clone?" hypothetically but, in practice, clones are too dumb to give consent and that's the real reason why I didn't sleep with any of my clones when I had the chance

🎈 totally-not-a-clone Follow

OP you still have a chance

10,000 notes

✨ great&powerful Follow

It's always "take off the evil amulet! it's corrupting your mind!" and never "oh! you look so pretty in your new amulet!"

✨ great&powerful Follow

Celestia forbid ladies do anything

102 notes

😏 sexiestvillaintournament Follow

🦋 Id-like-to-be-a-tree Follow

Um, would you guys please stop voting for my boyfriend?

🌪️ whatfunisthereinmakingsense Follow

I take it as a compliment

🌘 I-have-loved-you-for-a-thousand-years Follow

I am offended

500,467 notes

🍎 cmc-omc Follow

Y'all know how some families got a gay cousin and all 'em other cousins are straight? Well mah family's the opposite. Ah don't even think we got a straight cousin!

🍎 cmc-omc Follow

Mah sister says we have to assimilate other ponies into our family so the family name don't die out. She would do numbers here

5,667 notes

🌈 20%cooler Follow

GUYS I'M SO SORRY FOR THE DELAYS

I've just been on the hospital (again) cause I got zapped by lightning (again)

But I promise I'll update my Daring Do/Reader fic as soon as I can! Thanks for the patience, love you guys!

🌟 smartypants Follow

It's okay, take your time! I'll just reread the old chapters in the meantime

🐉 ogre&oubliettesenthusiast Follow

NO!!! YOU WILL GO TO SLEEP!!!

120 notes

💎 chicunique&maginifique Follow

"how are you so good at fashion" well you'd be an expert in fashion too if you'd spent 20 years in the closet

🔔 professional-theatre-filly Follow

My sister in Celestia that closet was made of glass

20,354 notes

🌘 I-have-loved-you-for-a-thousand-years Follow

Nothing like coming back from exhile just to find your bedroom was replaced by a whole ass forest

Some people have no respect for others belongings

☀️ cake.by.the.ocean Follow

I don't control the growing of the magical forest, bitch

🌘 I-have-loved-you-for-a-thousand-years Follow

Rude

☀️ cake.by.the.ocean Follow

Don't think I forgot about that time in 500 B.E. that you stole my ice cream

200 notes

🛴 the-agender-acrobat Follow

You can't hurt me I have mommy AND daddy issues I'm unstoppable

🌈 20%cooler Follow

OP do you need me to adopt you

🛴 the-agender-acrobat Follow

I would love that actually

1,554 notes

💎 chicunique&magnifique Follow

*levitates my cat out of the way so I can use the sewing machine, which I need for my job*

my cat: YOU LIFT OPALESCENCE?!?!???! YOU LIFT HER WITH YOUR WICKED SORCERY?!??!!!! YOU ASSERT CONTROL OVER HER WITH YOUR MAGIC?!?!??! OHHHHH!!! MOTHER IS EVIL!!!!!

🔔 professional-theatre-filly Follow

I agree with the cat

1,827,654 notes

🥕 Carrot-TOPING Follow

Girlfriend is out of town all week so I'm gonna dye my mane and tail green

💎 chicunique&magnifique Follow

WHY WOULD YOU DO SUCH A THING

🥕 Carrot-TOPING Follow

She's all my self control

364, 245 notes

🌘 I-have-loved-you-for-a-thousand-years Follow

Back in my day we tagged our fanfiction properly. There's a difference between / and & you rufians

☀️ cake.by.the.ocean Follow

Shut up old lady

🌘 I-have-loved-you-for-a-thousand-years Follow

YOU'RE OLDER THAN ME

30,150 notes

🩵 girlboss Follow

Sure, sex is great but does *your* husband help you check all your shipping fanfiction for grammar errors? Didn't think so

💎 chicunique&magnifique Follow

She's everything, he's just Ken

🛡️ malewife Follow

Happy to be of service 🫡

2,035 notes

[the-bitter-ocean]

(ACT 3 SPOILERS) Hi everyone! I Wanted to post writing I did for @tealgoat In tales of time au!! For context it’s set around act 3, where Odile reached the end for the first time with a family run. The art I used in this post is made by teal and you can find the links to those drawings individually over here and here! Writing is under the cut:

< You’re here again. >

< But something feels different. >

< You managed to beat the king like always… but this time..>

< This time you had the courage to call your companions your family. >

< You got to understand all of them a little better and in turn that made you all grow closer. >

< Is that what you needed? Is that the solution to the problem? >

< You didn’t think that helping them would amount to anything much, but the story’s outcome changed a little didn’t it? >

< Even if it was small.. you know how important it is. >

< Your father used to tell you that rereading a story allows you to see details you may have not noticed on a first pass. >

< That it can your change your entire perception of the story itself, even. >

< Is this what you needed all along? >

<Your heart feels warm. >

< He used to read you stories like that all the time. >

< Fairytales about love and friendship saving the world. >

< It gave you comfort then.. and it seems it’s giving you comfort now. >

< You’ve talked to everyone.. they all said different lines then the ones you’re used to.>

< With that logic in mind.. then it should be obvious that the Head Housemaiden should say something different. >

=> < Talk to her. >

=> < Don’t talk to her yet.>

=> < Talk to her.>

< You’ve said everything you needed to say to your companions. >

< It’s time for the moment of truth. >

< You approach the Head Housemaiden and greet her. >

< “Hello!” >

< The head Housemaiden smiles at you and waves. >

((“Hello traveling one! Are you done talking to your companions? Yes, wonderful wonderful-“))

< ….?>

((“ I’d like to thank you for accompanying young Mirabelle on the journey. You have my gratitude.”))

((“ Odile, yes? If there’s anything I can do to thank you, please don’t hesitate to let me know!”))

<….?!>

((“I know you will go back on your travels soon but I do hope-”))

<…>

<…… Ah. >

< Of course. >

((“ Just know that no matter what that Dormont will always be open to you! Please come back any…time….”))

((“…!!!! Oh… oh no no no.. oh nonono-“))

< Ahahaha…!>

< You should’ve expected this. >

< Why would whatever happened before change the story’s ending now? >

< Just because you felt loved and safe? Stupid stupid stupid- you should’ve known better! Why did you decide to rely on how you felt instead of looking at the reality of the situation you’re in? >

< You try to breathe. >

((“ Oh Odile! I’m so sorry..!”))

< It’s fine. It’s just the end again. It’s the same. >

((“ I’m so sorry..there’s no way we can stop it now!” ))

< You’ll just be..>

((“- going back! Back when everything started!”))

< You know her lines by heart, now. >

< If you know what happens next…then you can always know how to react and never be disappointed.>

< You’re fine. >

< You’re…>

<| “…? Odile?” |>

<| “Is everything okay?”|>

< You turn your head and look in Siffrin’s direction. >

< He’s staring right at you. >

< You can’t shift your expression fast enough. >

<| “ Odile what’s wrong- “|>

{“ Head Housemaiden, is something the matter?” }

((“ I cant fix it on my own, not before it all ends… if only I noticed it all sooner!”))

[“Huh? What’s happening? ]

(“ Dile?”)

< You can’t move. >

< You’re frozen. >

{ “Madame, what’s-Urgh!”}

[“ Is something happening? The air around us.. it feels like.. AGH!” ]

(“ My head hurts!!!”)

((“ It’s my fault you have to suffer like this…”))

<| “ODILE!!!”|>

[“ M’DAME!!!”]

< They’re all running, reaching towards you..>

(“ Dile come back! Somethings wrong!!!”)

< You have to move. >

{“ MADAME ODILE!!!!”}

< Maybe you can catch Isabeau’s hand if you reach out to him. >

((“I just hope that one day..”))

< You slowly hold your hand out for him to hold. >

< You take a step forward. >

((“ You could learn to forgive-“))

< And you- >

__________________________________________________________

<You open your eyes, your hand reaching out to nothing. >

< You’re back in the store once more. >

< You grip unto the shelf and take a deep breath. >

< Foolish. >

< You press your fingers against the bridge of your nose and adjust your glasses. >

< You laugh quietly as you can. >

< You truly believed this could work, didn’t you?>

< You really thought helping them all would be the key to your escape! >

< That if you helped them, if you were loved, then surely it had to free you, right? >

< Hahahahaha! >

< That was awfully childish of you! >

< They loved you but it’s not enough to save you! >

< And why would it? When has anything ever been that simple for you? >

< You should know better. >

< Everything was reset back to the beginning. >

< Any character development reversed and undone. As if it never happened at all. >

< Mirabelle is back to feeling out of place because of her identity. >

< Isabeau is still hiding everything about himself, pretending to be something he’s not. >

< Boniface is back to feeling like they’re useless and that they don’t contribute enough to the rest of you. >

< Siffrin won't remember the times you spent together.. back to being scared of you..! >

< And you're back here.. again.. and again .. and again! >

< That's what you get for hoping! That's what you deserve, for being so blinding incompetent and - >

< You slowly look up and glance at the clock. >

< Siffrin will enter the shop soon, won't he? >

<…>

< You need to cut this spiral of yours short then. That’s fine, it’s not like crying ever did you any favors.>

< Focus on the present. >

<The power of friendship didn't work. That’s fine. >

< All you can do is try something else now.>

< You owe it to everyone to keep going. >

< The story isn’t over for you yet. >

| You got a MEMORY OF FAMILY! |

< You'll always remember this. >

| When equipped, Memory of Family doubles everyone's EXP gained in battle, except for yours. |

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Four

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Nothing of note this chapter, except a moment of sickeningly awkward cuteness (I'm so sorry). All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.8k

A/N : The aftermath of last chapter. Tumblr is still only letting me tag five people at a time, so tags will be in comments again.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE

Chapter Four

You woke to find yourself on the sofa, covered with a blanket, alone and with only a vague recollection of what had happened the night before. Your hand had been bandaged and you felt worse than ever. The room was spinning, your head pounding, and finally you understood why; blood loss. You’d drawn blood and, then, you’d let him drink from you; it had been too much and you’d lost consciousness.

It took a moment more for you to remember everything else that had happened; how he’d pressed his body to yours, how he’d kissed you, and how you’d - oh god, your boss had made you come. 

Panic washed over you for a second, your hand reaching between your thighs, terrified that something had happened after you passed out. No. You breathed a sigh of relief and found yourself feeling silly for even thinking that Billy would do something like that. From what little you knew of him, you didn’t think he was capable of that.

Despite being completely alone, you pulled the blanket up, hiding your face and your embarrassment. You closed your eyes and all you could see was his face, blood covered lips and dark eyes filled with hunger - and not just hunger for blood.

You remembered his lips on your neck, the scrape of teeth - fangs - as you came. Gingerly, you ran your fingers over your skin, searching for puncture marks but, thankfully, found none. 

As much as you wanted to move, to go back to your bedroom, you were too exhausted and, soon enough, you ended up falling asleep again. 

Hours must have passed and you certainly felt better for it when you finally opened your eyes again.

At some point a bottle of water and a note had been left on the floor next to the sofa, though you couldn’t say if they’d been there the whole time or if he’d placed them there after you’d fallen asleep again.

You decided to start with the water, taking a slow drink to steady your nerves before reading the note. It was impossible to stop your mind from going into overdrive, from thinking of all the things that the note might contain; was he going to fire you for your unprofessional behaviour, was he angry that you broke the rule about being in the penthouse after 9pm?

Your fingers shook as you unfolded the note and started to read.

I want to apologise for my behaviour last night, it was unacceptable and I understand if you want to terminate your contract because of it. If you want to leave, please let Lissa know and she will retrieve your things from storage. If you choose to stay, you will have the next couple of days to yourself to recover. I’ll be gone until Friday and won’t need blood before then. 

Whatever you decide, I’ve arranged for my friend Karen to visit you tomorrow and, if you still want to, you have permission to go out with her for the day. If you want to leave, she will help you with whatever you need to do so. Please take care of yourself.

Billy.

You read and reread the note, trying to figure out what he wanted from you. The note felt so detached, almost like he was assuming you’d want to leave. 

(Did you? Was that really what you wanted?)

You read it again before sitting up, noticing the dried blood on your pyjamas. Common sense told you to leave, to get your things and get out of there as quickly as possible. Last night had been stupid and reckless, you’d done the one thing you’d promised yourself you’d never do; you’d let a vampire drink directly from you.

Okay, so he hadn’t bitten you, but what was to say that next time he wouldn’t? But, by the same logic, what was to say that he would? He could have done anything he wanted to you, but he hadn’t. And what he had done you’d allowed. No, you’d been an active participant. You’d enjoyed it. (Who were you trying to kid? You’d wanted it.) He’d told you to stay away and you’d ignored him. It had been your choice to feed him, your choice to let him kiss you, even though you knew he wasn’t in his right mind.

Embarrassed as you were, some part of you had wanted what had happened last night and, now, you had to live with the consequences. 

You read the note one last time. Please take care of yourself, you weren’t sure if those five little words made it better or worse. He always seemed so concerned with how fragile you were, and you still weren’t sure if it came from a place of caring or of liability, but it felt like he was staying away from his own home because of you.

No, you quickly decided, you didn’t want to leave. You couldn’t. You needed the money and last night was as much your fault as Billy’s. 

Staying was still far better than the alternative.

Eventually you managed to get up and move to your rooms, grabbing yourself a bowl of cereal on the way to bed. You put the TV on, but more for background noise than anything and spent the rest of the day dozing, only getting up to get more cereal.

Instead of thinking about what had happened, you started thinking about tomorrow, about finally being able to go outside and see some of New York City. What would his friend Karen be like? Would she be able to tell you anything about Billy? Finally, you had something to look forward to, even though you were worried that Billy had only arranged it out of guilt.

You felt much better the next day when you woke up, in part because you were excited to finally go outside and see some of the city but, also, because you were looking forward to meeting Billy’s friend and having someone new to talk to. The weather outside looked cold and wet, so you dressed accordingly, pulling a lovely blue jacket and pair of boots from your wardrobe to put on over your jeans and blouse.

Just before midday, you heard someone calling your name, and you quickly went out to greet them. She had stunning red hair and skin so pale you might have thought she was a vampire if you weren’t about to go out in daylight with her. It was enough to make you pause, to make you wonder how she knew Billy, an odd twinge of jealousy filling you for a second.

“Hi, I’m Karen,” she smiled and held out her hand. You took it and introduced yourself properly, even though she already knew your name. “Oh, what happened to your hand?”

Your cheeks warmed a fraction, looking down at your bandaged hand for a second. “I caught it taking some cookies out of the oven.”

“Ouch,” Karen winced sympathetically, seeming to buy the lie. “Billy said you wanted to go for coffee?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” you answered, feeling overcome with relief the moment you stepped into the elevator.

“You got any place in mind?” Karen asked, subtly looking you up and down like she was trying to get a measure of you.

“I - I don’t know. This is my first time in New York, I don’t really know where anything is.” 

“And this is the first time he’s let you outside,” she stated.

For a second you looked at her, confused, wondering how much she knew, how much she was supposed to know. Lissa had told you that Billy valued his privacy and you weren’t sure what you were supposed to say in this situation. The uncomfortable look on your face must have been enough to tip Karen off that you didn’t know how to answer.

“He has his reasons,” she started again as the elevator arrived on the ground floor and you stepped out, “I know it probably doesn’t seem like it right now, but he is trying to look out for you.”

“How do you know him?” You asked.

“I met him through his best friend when we started dating.”

“Oh. And is he...?” You left the question unfinished, not sure if it was polite to ask.

“A vampire?” She smiled the sort of carefree smile that you couldn’t help feel envious of, like she didn’t care what anyone thought of her. “Yes, he is.”

Stepping out onto the street, you couldn’t help but stop for a moment, turning your eyes skyward and taking a deep breath. It took a second for your eyes to get used to natural light and, all the while, Karen stood watching you.

“How long has it been?” Her question pulled you back to the moment.

“A couple of weeks, I think?” You tried to remember, but you’d lost track of how long exactly it had been after the first week. However long it had been, it wasn’t really long enough to warrant that sort of reaction from you. Your cheeks warmed a fraction as you looked at Karen. “I’m not really used to being cooped up indoors all the time.”

Karen just nodded, waiting a beat before starting to walk. You fell into step beside her, your eyes taking in the sights of New York. You had no idea where she was leading you but you didn’t care. You were finally seeing the city and you couldn’t be happier.

Less than five minutes later, you found yourself in a little coffee shop, looking at the pastries and cakes on offer before you realised something.

“I don’t have any money,” you told Karen, your cheeks turning red, an uncomfortable sense of shame filling you.

It hadn’t even crossed your mind; you always had a purse with you or your phone, but Lissa had taken them and you weren’t going to be paid until you’d completed a year in Mr Russo’s service. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Karen replied, starting to fumble around with her purse before pulling out a black credit card and handing it to you. “Billy asked me to give you this for anything you need.”

The card had your name embossed on it but there was nothing else to indicate - well, anything at all. You didn’t know if it was a prepaid card or if it had a limit, and there was no way of telling where the money would be coming from.

“The PIN is your birth year,” Karen continued, though she seemed more interested in eyeing the food selection than she was in you.

After a moment more, you decided that you’d ask Billy about it when you next saw him (assuming you ever saw him again, after the other night). You choose modestly, not wanting to spend too much on a card that wasn’t yours and that you couldn’t control. For all you knew, you were spending Billy’s money and the last thing you wanted to do was take advantage of this gesture of kindness.

And that was something Karen did notice, watching you from the corner of her eye with a somewhat bemused expression on her face as you calculated just how much money you’d be spending getting a drink, a panini, and a muffin. Then, you held your breath as you used the card for the first time, preparing yourself for the embarrassment of it being declined.  It wasn’t. You breathed a sigh of relief before following Karen to a little table by the window.

Your eyes were fixed on the street outside, watching as it started to rain, but you could feel her eyes on you.

“You’re not like the others,” she finally broke the silence. 

“What were they like?” You asked with a healthy degree of caution, still not knowing what the rules were and what you were allowed to talk to her about. “Lissa said that they disappointed Mr Russo?”

She sat back, biting her lip and trying to suppress a smile. You couldn’t tell what part of it she found amusing and you didn’t want to ask.

“Disappointed is one word for it, I guess?” she took a breath, obviously composing her thoughts before continuing. “Did you know that you’re the first one he didn’t interview himself?”

You shook your head; you’d applied for the job by email and had spoken to someone (you now assumed to be Lissa) very briefly over the phone. In retrospect, it seemed strange given the amount of money that was at stake.

Unless he didn’t bother because he assumed you’d disappoint him like the others…

“The problem with Billy - with the whole job, really - is that it usually attracts a... certain sort of person. Most of them have only been interested in the money and spending a year living in the lap of luxury. The others are...” she fell silent, smiling as the barista brought your toasted paninis over and, when you were alone again, she looked like she really didn’t want to finish her thought.

“The others are...?” You prompted cautiously.

“They’re the sort of people who want more from the arrangement than Billy is prepared to give,” she answered and, when you obviously didn’t catch her meaning, she continued. “Billy is a very rich man and he’s going to live forever. A lot of people find both of those prospects very attractive.”

“They want him to...” you couldn’t bring yourself to say the words, a lump stuck in your throat at the thought. Karen nodded. “And you’ve done this before? Gone for coffee with... someone like me?”

“Not quite like this, but I did spend time with some of them.”

“What do you mean not quite like this?” 

She paused half way through lifting her cup to her lips and, for a second you could have sworn she winced. Still, she took a drink and didn’t try to answer until her mug was back on the table again.

“His rules weren’t always so strict.” Her head shook. “Look, it’s not my place to tell you any of this. Billy has his reasons for why things are the way they are; it’s to protect you as much as it’s to protect him.”

You opened your mouth to ask more questions but no words came out. Ultimately, it didn’t matter how or why the rules had changed because you’d agreed to them. You’d agreed to the job and you needed the money, so the last thing you wanted to do was get Karen in trouble and maybe jeopardise future outings like this.

“Thank you,” you told her, then quickly clarified; “for telling me.”

Karen smiled, considering her words for a moment. “Billy is a friend, but trust me when I tell you that if I didn’t believe what he was doing was necessary, I would have told him so.”

“It’s okay,” you conceded quietly, shrugging, “I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to do this.”

You turned your attention to your food, cautiously picking up your panini, trying not to burn yourself on the molten cheese that was leaking out the side as you took a bite. It was heavenly; toasted just the right amount, the cheese was sharp, and the tuna -

You dropped the panini back to your plate, horrified with yourself.

No. No-no-no. How could you have been so stupid? You felt your chest tighten a fraction, your stomach tying itself in knots. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Karen asked, obviously concerned.

“Tuna,” you stated, your voice breaking. “I’m not supposed to eat tuna. It’s on the list. He’s going to -”

“Whoa-whoa, back up. What list?”

“The list of things I’m not supposed to eat,” you tried to explain, unable to conceal the panic from your voice. 

This wasn’t you - you didn’t break rules, you always tried to stay in line - and, now, you’d messed up. All you could think was that you were going to lose the job, that Billy would kick you out and you’d have no choice but to go home. You were going to end up back where you started all because of a stupid toasted sandwich.

“Hey-hey, calm down, it’s okay,” Karen tried to settle you.

“You don’t understand I can’t lose this job.”

“You won’t,” she reached across the table, taking your hand in hers, “if Billy finds out, we’ll tell him it was my fault, okay?”

“But -”

“No, buts. Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise.”

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to explain the panic that was clawing beneath your ribs. You’d been raised to be good, to be decent, to follow the rules and not cause problems. You’d been raised to fear consequences and, even though you were far from home, that mindset was difficult to escape.

“Here,” she offered, sliding her plate towards you, “we can swap, I got ham and cheese. You only had one bite, Billy will never know.”

It was like she understood, like she could tell just by looking at you how desperately you needed to keep the job - not just because of the money on offer but because you had nothing and nowhere else to go without it. 

Taking the offered plate, you ate slowly, quietly. From time to time, you’d catch her looking at you, concern on her face. Conversation that followed was stilted and awkward as you picked apart your muffin until it was gone. And, once your mug was empty, the outing was over.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay longer,” she apologised as you started back towards the penthouse. “I’ll make more time next week; we can spend a whole afternoon doing whatever you want. We’ll make it a regular thing, every Thursday.”

Agreeing, you thanked her as she rode the elevator back up to the penthouse with you, making sure you were okay before leaving you with the promise of seeing you again next week.

It was strange to know that you were completely alone in the penthouse for another day but, after the incident with the panini, you were very deliberate when it came to the rules. You sat on the sofa until just before 9pm, watching the cloudy sky slowly darken and give way to night before returning to your rooms, even though no one would have known if you’d stayed in the penthouse longer.

That night you laid in bed thinking about Billy - or, rather, you thought about what it was going to be like to see him again after what had happened. Was he as embarrassed by it all as you were? Did Billy Russo even get embarrassed? Maybe it would be better for the both of you if you just pretended that it never happened.

Friday passed in a blur. Every time you heard a noise in the penthouse, you would creep to the door to your quarters and press your ear against it, trying to hear if he was back. Of course, some part of you understood how ridiculous you were being; Billy was so light on his feet that you’d never be able to hear him. But, still, time and time again you found yourself pressed against the door.

After drawing blood, you moved across the penthouse as quietly as you could, looking for signs that he was home and finding none. Once you reached the kitchen and placed the blood in the fridge, you allowed yourself a sigh of relief before turning and -

There he was.

Standing between you and your rooms, a look on his face that you couldn’t decipher.

For a second your lips parted, wanting to say something, but the words just wouldn’t come. Your cheeks started to warm and the silence dragged on for at least ten seconds. Billy looked uncertain, so uncomfortable in your presence. His normally calm and collected demeanour was gone, replaced with a look that made you feel unsettled, guilty even. More than that, you couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked - you hadn’t even realised that vampires could look tired before now.

“You decided to stay,” part-statement, part-question. All you could do was nod, letting your feet carry you a couple of steps closer to him. “I’m glad. I didn’t think you would.”

“I want to stay,” you offered quietly, breathing slowly, trying to keep your heart from racing.

“I’m sorry for the other night. I never wanted you to see me like that,” he said, standing a little taller and seeming to regain some of his usual composure. “It won’t happen again. I never wanted to make you feel unsafe here.”

“You didn’t,” your voice still small as you struggled to find a way to describe any of the things you were feeling right now. “You told me to stay away and I didn’t listen, and I didn’t ask you to stop when I should have. But I just...” you trailed off, not sure how to say the next part.

“What?” He prompted softly, his attention entirely fixed on you.

“I need to make it clear; just because you’re paying me, it doesn’t mean you’re entitled to -”

“I would never think that I’m entitled to fuck you just because I’m paying you,” he interrupted, just as offended by the notion as you were. “Anything that happens here only happens with your consent.”

Did that mean it could happen again if you wanted it to? You didn’t dare voice the question, instead you just nodded.

His gaze dropped awkwardly and yours followed it, noticing something tightly gripped in his hands. A stuffed toy. Before you could ask, Billy had cleared the distance between you, holding out the toy to you. After a moment of confused hesitation, you took it, frowning first at the toy then him.

“When you said you were lonely, you mentioned a dog and I -” he let out an uncomfortable huff of laughter, “- well, obviously I can’t let you have a real dog here but I thought - I hoped - maybe this would help.”

Your gaze dropped to the stuffed toy in your hand, shaped like a beagle with floppy ears and a little pink tongue lolling out of its mouth. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had bought you such a thoughtful gift and that sad thought caused your heart to give an uncomfortable squeeze. When you looked back to Billy, you started to realise that there was far more to the man than you’d originally believed.

“I didn’t know what kind of dog you had, so I just...” he continued, trailing off when he saw your smile.

“Thank you. It’s perfect.” 

It was Billy’s turn to simply nod, seeming just as lost for words as you were for a few seconds before deciding to let you go about your evening. “Anyway, I won’t keep you.”

The conversation was over giving you the perfect opportunity to walk away and recover from whatever this had been, only -

“I broke one of the rules,” you blurted out without thinking, not wanting to carry the weight of it after Billy’s gesture.

A flicker of discomfort crossed his face but was quickly reined in. “Which one?” 

“I ate tuna in a panini when I went out with Karen,” you stated, sounding so ashamed anyone would have thought you were confessing to murder. “It was just one bite. I forgot tuna was on the list. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again, Mr Russo. I promise.”

You didn’t expect the laugh that followed, or the way the tension seemed to leave his body. His hand found your shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t matter.”

“But the list -”

“Tuna is on the list because I don’t like it. If I’d been here and had your blood, it would have been unpleasant for me, but I wasn’t here so I’m willing to forgive it.”

(Well, that explained why certain foods were on the list. They were things he didn’t like - did that mean he could tell what you’d been eating from your blood?)

“I spent twenty dollars,” you admitted a moment later, like you were confessing all of your sins to him. (Or maybe you just wanted to keep the conversation going a little while longer, keep his hand on you a little longer.)

His hand moved to your neck, his cold touch on your skin causing your heart to beat a little faster. And you knew he could tell, you knew he could hear the effect he was having on you. 

“You spent eighteen dollars fifty-five,” he told you, amused by whatever this was. “I don’t think you’re going to bankrupt me.” When his little joke didn’t manage to draw a smile from you, Billy sighed. “I’m the one that should be sorry. I haven’t really explained things to you, I guess because I didn’t think you’d even make it past the second week.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m asking a lot of you. Maybe too much,” he told you as his thumb began to softly brush against your jaw. “The truth is, I need things to be like this. I need to have control. I need to stay in control because when I don’t...”

He didn’t have to say it, you could fill in the blanks. The other night was what happened when Billy lost control, it was what happened when the monster overwhelmed the man.

“But,” he continued, “I know it’s not easy to be the person who’s being controlled. I know you don’t really want this.”

“No, I -” the words started to slip out before you could stop them. Billy looked at you expectantly, silently demanding you finish the thought. Your cheeks felt like they were burning, but he was giving you honesty and you needed to do the same in return. “I’m used to rules. I like knowing what’s expected of me. It doesn’t make things easier for me, but I like knowing where I stand. So, I guess I don’t mind following your rules.”

It was clear he had questions but clearer still that he didn’t want to ask them. You were grateful for that.

“You always have a choice here, little hummingbird, even if I sometimes make it seem like you don’t,” he told you, leaving his hand to linger on your neck a moment more before it dropped to his side. Somehow, you felt colder for the loss of his icy touch. He was quiet a moment before; “do you like Thai food?”

You nodded despite the very sudden change in conversation. “I love it.”

“I’ve got nothing planned this weekend, perhaps we could spend some time getting to know each other a little better? Maybe that would make things a little easier,” he offered, a small smile on his lips. “We could order from a great Thai place I know and I could try to answer some of your questions about things.”

Your fingers tightened on the stuffed toy as you smiled. Finally, you felt like you were getting somewhere, like this could become something bearable, something good.

“I’d like that,” you answered.

“Okay then, tomorrow evening at sunset,” he nodded and looked ready to leave.

Nodding in return, you finally stated to move back towards your rooms. Your hand was on the handle when he spoke again.

“Why did you help me?” You could tell from his tone that he didn’t want to ask the question, but the curiosity had gotten the better of him. “You didn’t have to help, you could’ve stayed in your rooms. Instead you put yourself in danger to help me. Why?”

You turned back, despite not knowing how to answer him. And, for a few seconds you found yourself looking at him. There was something there, something about his expression, something that made you wonder if anyone else had ever helped him before. It seemed like such an alien concept to him that anyone might go out of their way to do anything for him.

“You looked like you were in pain,” you shrugged, “and, even though I haven’t always felt completely comfortable here, I think you’ve always tried to be kind... in your own way. So, I couldn’t just stand by when I thought there was a chance I could help you.”

Billy swallowed, like he was trying to rid himself of a lump in his throat. Then he nodded, clearly lost for words. That look you’d noticed only seconds before seemed to intensify and Billy didn’t seem to know what to do with it.

“Thank you,” he finally managed, before giving you one last look and turning away. 

For a second you allowed yourself to watch him as he made his way towards the kitchen but you knew you couldn’t linger, not when the pounding of your heart gave you away. Slipping through the door, you quickly shut it behind you, pressing your back against it for a moment. Looking down, you realised that you had the stuffed dog clutched to your chest. It was silly, such a ridiculous gift, but the fact that he’d listened to you, the fact that he’d thought about what you’d told him, it meant so much.

End Note : Billy was having a Mr Darcy (Matthew Macfadyen version) moment when he handed over the stuffed toy. Place your bets on what she’s going to to call it. I know this one was slow and a little cutesy but I wanted to build some more tension before things start to ramp up next chapter.

As always thank you so much for reading! And thank you so much to all my new followers (I did not expect 200+ followers when I started posting on tumblr). I hope you all have awesome weekends!!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt. (Note: Tumblr is currently being stupid and only letting me tag five people at a time, so I'll be tagging people in the comments. Sorry if you get tagged twice!!)

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad @vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @glamourbabe17 @sweetserendipity65 @damagelove @strangerfromketterdam @a-starrynightwith-u @readingabouthim @countryday @weepingwitchofthewest

[bloatedandalone04]

Bets & Bargains - Part 13

Series Masterlist

➪in which you go to bradley’s party and instantly regret it, but he manages to get you to talk to him long enough to tell you what really happened between him and briana.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 4.9k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Fratley ❤️❤️: Hey, I know you don’t want to talk to me right now, and that’s fine, I get it. I just wanted to let you know that I’m having a party tomorrow night and I’d love for you to come. I promise I won’t annoy you or try to get you to talk to me. I just wanted to invite you. Maybe it will be even better than the last one, but not likely since that’s when I met you. Anyway, I hope you can come. I’m sorry.

You were debating on whether or not to go to the party at Bradley’s place.

You really had no reason to, but for some reason you kind of wanted to. It had been a few hours since you stopped crying, and instead of feeling sad, you were now feeling rather pissed off. You wanted to go to the stupid party and yell at Bradley for making you feel so good about yourself, then hurting you so fucking bad. 

Maybe that’s exactly what you’ll do. 

You were laying on your bed on Tuesday evening, rereading Bradley’s text over and over again, but you have yet to respond. You decided that you weren’t going to, because he didn’t deserve a reply.

Swiping off his contact (after looking at his stupidly cute picture for a few more seconds), you were about to switch to another app when your thumb hovered over a different contact. One you never planned on reaching out to ever again.

You clicked it and read the last text she sent, and you pressed your lips together as a feeling of embarrassment washed over you.

Sammy: You’re so immature, walking away like that yesterday. I really thought that you would’ve realized by now how wrong you were for what happened with Luke and now with this Bradley guy. You ruined any chance with Luke, Y/n. And for what? A hookup with a hot guy? Fucking crazy. 

Instead of feeling more and more worked up, you just leaned back on your bed, your thumb hovering over the red button that would ensure that Sam would only get to talk to you face to face. You’d already blocked Luke, with the help of Bradley’s encouragement, and you felt better after you did that. You’d probably feel great if you were to add his sister to your blocked list too. 

You didn’t know how long you had been sprawled out on your bed for, but it was nearing nine when you finally pulled yourself together and threw on a simple outfit; jeans and your floral crop top. 

Since you weren’t planning on staying long, you didn’t bother with putting on anymore makeup, instead leaving on the natural look you wore to your class earlier. 

As you stepped out of your room, you passed by Sam’s door and felt a wave of anger wash over at how fake of a friend she’s been this whole time. Was she ever really your friend? Or was she just pretending for her brother’s sake? Whatever it was, it left you in a bad mood, and you decided to focus that energy onto what you were going to say to Bradley. 

Technically, he was still your boyfriend. You never broke up with him, you just asked for space, but as soon as you see him tonight, you’d break it off. You knew your worth now, and sadly it was mainly because of Bradley since he was so sweet to you about your confidence issues you got from being with Luke, but still. It was kind of all his fault. 

Since Bradley’s frat house was right across the campus from your dorm, you made it to the bricked structure in less than ten minutes. You were sure if you looked hard enough, you could see the walls literally shaking from how loud the music was inside, and you were now a bit hesitant, because you had just gotten rid of your headache from all the crying, and you did not need another. 

But, you wouldn’t be here for long, so you just took a breath and walked into the house you had a stupid amount of fondness for, even now. 

Inside looked as packed, maybe even more so, as it did the first time you ever stepped foot in the house. Almost instantly, you felt uncomfortable and overwhelmed, and you crossed your arms in a form of self-protection as you maneuvered your way through the crowd. 

Instinctively, you were already looking for Bradley, for comfort or confrontation, you weren’t entirely sure at this point.

The smell of booze and smoke filled your nose as you found yourself in the dining room that was slightly less crowded than the rest of the house, and you pressed yourself against the wall as you sighed. 

What were you doing here? This was dumb and you were out of your comfort zone right now, but you just wanted…what, closure? Is that what you wanted? Is that why you were standing in your soon to be ex boyfriend’s dining room? 

No. No, you were here to tell him how fucking stupid he was for throwing what you and he were building away, and how pissed you were at him for making you believe he was different from every single fuckboy to ever exist. 

But, the second you turned your head to the right and saw his pretty brown eyes staring back at you, everything you had planned to say to him left your mind, and your body heated up in the way it always did whenever you saw him. 

Suddenly you had no fucking clue what to say to him, so you just kept your mouth shut and turned to face him as he began walking towards you.

-

Bradley hoped you would come tonight. 

After fucking it up with you, he was desperate to make things right. How? He had no idea. You were under the impression that he slept with Briana, but you ran out before he could explain, or even come up with a way to explain that it wasn’t what it looked like at all. 

You never actually answered his text that invited you to this party, but he knew that you read it, and he hoped that he would be able to find you eventually, because you were the only good thing in his life right now. He missed you, even though it had only been a day. 

Bradley wandered around his packed house completely sober, a red cup full of beer held loosely in his hand as he subtly looked for you, hoping to anyone listening that you did come, and that he could hopefully get you to talk to him. 

When he walked into the dining room, he spotted you almost instantly, tucked away in the very corner he met you in. His heart leaped a bit as your eyes met his, and you looked so small and vulnerable, Bradley felt terrible for putting you through this, but he couldn’t deny how fucking and relieved he was that you showed up. 

He could tell that you had already put walls up around you as he made his way through the crowd, and he hated it. “Hey,” he said softly, and he wasn’t sure you even heard him over the loud music, but it didn’t matter. You were here. “I’m so sorry, babes.” 

He knew he told you that he wouldn’t try to get you to talk to him, but how could he not? He knew he was losing you, and he had to at least try to stop it. 

“Can we…can we go somewhere private? Or quiet at least?” He nearly begged as you crossed your arms and huffed. “Please? I’ll let you yell at me for as long as you want, but only after I explain things to you. Properly.”

“Why? So I can watch you cheat on me again?” You muttered, looking up at him with guarded eyes, and Bradley fucking hated it, because you had never looked at him like that since he met you. “I thought you said you wouldn’t bother me, Bradley.”

He furrowed his brows, knowing that he needed to be extra careful with his words right now because you clearly didn’t trust him at the moment, and he needed to change that. “No, baby, that’s not what I meant at all. I promise you, I would never cheat on you, let alone with Briana. What you saw is just a big misunderstanding, I swear,” he murmured, his voice genuine and sincere. “I want to talk, just the two of us, please? I don’t want to lose you, Y/n. I don’t want to lose us.” 

You looked away when he placed one hand on the wall next to your head, your voice barely heard over the loud music. “A misunderstanding? She was in your bed, Bradley, I-” you cut yourself off with another huff. “I don’t see how that can be a misunderstanding.”

Because you’re not letting me explain, he wanted to say but was afraid it’d just make things worse. 

Bradley closed his eyes, collecting himself for a few seconds before opening them again, and he was starting to sound a bit desperate. “I get that it looks bad, but I swear, I promise you that nothing happened. Briana passed out in my bed and I slept on the couch. That’s it,” he said, feeling a headache forming from both the loud thumping and from how terribly this was going. “I know I messed up by not explaining it to you better or sooner, but I’m telling you right here and right now that I did not cheat on you.”

You looked at him with a conflicted expression on your pretty face, and he had a flicker of hope that maybe, maybe, he could convince you to let him explain it better than that. 

“Please, Y/n,” he mumbled as he leaned in closer. “Let’s go somewhere and talk properly. I need you to understand.”

“Bradley,” you trailed off, and he felt his heart fall. But then you sighed and nodded. “Okay. Fine.”

He perked up at that and it only took him a few seconds to process your words before he was giving you a grateful smile and gesturing for you to follow him. “Let’s go to my room where it’s quiet, and if you still want to leave after I explain everything…then at least you’ll know the truth,” 

When he started walking after handing his untouched cup off to a random person, you thankfully went with him and followed him up to his room. His door didn’t block out all the sound, but it did muffle quite a bit of the loud music, leaving only a faint thumping. 

Bradley closed the door behind you and moved to sit on the edge of his bed, but you stayed by his desk instead of sitting next to him, which he understood. Still, you had never been this closed off with him before, and he hated it. “I’m sorry for making you doubt me. That’s the last thing I wanted to do, okay?” He started, but you were barely looking at him, and he didn’t know how to fix this. “Babes…come here, please?”

When he called you by your nickname, you quickly looked over at him and crossed your arms, a conflicted look on your face before you gave in. You sighed and moved to sit next to him, but not nearly as close as you usually do. 

He ran his hands over his face, because the distance between you and him wasn’t even just physical at this point, but emotional too. “Briana called me Sunday night a few hours after you left, and she was going on and on about all this random shit, and I was two seconds away from hanging up on her and blocking her number, then she started talking about a guy that wouldn’t leave her alone, and I didn’t know what to do,” he said, putting it out there right at the start that he had no intention of ever letting Briana back in his bed. “She sounded drunk and like she was on something, so I picked her up from this party across town and brought her back here so she could crash on the couch and leave in the morning, but she went up to my room and passed out on my bed before I could get her back downstairs.” 

Your gaze softened just a bit as you processed his words, your brows coming together as you looked away, and he had a small feeling of hope that maybe he was getting somewhere, so he continued before you could say anything. 

“I slept on the couch and went to wake her up to get her to leave, and I thought she did when I was getting ready for class in my bathroom, and that’s when you came in and saw her in my bed,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck that still kind of hurt from sleeping on the couch with no pillow. “You should’ve never seen that, and it should’ve never happened, but I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her at that party.”

You looked back at him and slumped your shoulders. “Why did she call you?”

Bradley let out a humorless laugh, shrugging. “Because she misses fucking me and thinks that I’d throw away what you and I have for a forgettable night with her, which didn’t happen and will never happen,” he answered. “I know I should’ve pushed harder to get her out of here sooner, but I was exhausted and annoyed, and I didn’t even want to be near her, let alone talk to her. You have to believe me, Y/n. Nothing happened between Briana and I.”

He watched your eyes soften even more before tears gathered along your waterline, and you looked down at his bed. “Bradley, I feel so embarrassed about everything…walking in here and seeing her in your bed, in this bed, it just brought everything back. I feel like I’m not good enough or that I don’t give you enough,” you whispered and Bradley narrowed his eyes, but you continued, “Nothing happened? Nothing at all?” 

“Nothing at all,” he confirmed quickly, moving a bit closer to you. “And you’re more than enough for me. Everything about you is more than enough. You make me a better person just by being in my life.”

The look you gave him was one he’d seen many times before, your eyes no longer guarded and distant. “Really?” You mumbled, reaching up to gently caress his jaw, and he nearly groaned in relief. 

“Really, baby,” Bradley whispered, leaning into your touch. “There’s nobody else I want, only you. Tell me what I can do to prove it to you.” 

You shake your head and give him a small, shy smile. “There’s nothing to prove, Bradley,” you murmured, waiting a few seconds before letting out a sigh. “So…you don’t want to get back with Briana? And you and I…you don’t think we’re rushing this? We’re okay?” 

The thought of ever going back to Briana made Bradley’s whole body cringe, and he shook his head. “With Briana and I…there’s nothing left between her and I but bad memories and regret. No, I don’t want to get back with her. Why would I? I have you right here,” he reached up and stroked your bottom lip with his thumb. “And no, I don’t think we’re rushing anything. I feel like I’ve known you for years, that’s how much you’ve impacted my life already.”

You nodded slowly, then gave him a guilty look. “I’m sorry that I said I wasn’t over Luke,” you whispered, moving towards him and settling down on his lap. “I swear, I’m over him. He doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. He was just my first boyfriend, that’s all.” 

Bradley smiled, because he didn’t believe for a second that you weren’t over that asshole, you were just saying that in the moment. “It’s okay,” he mumbled, pressing his lips to the side of your head as his hands gripped your waist, holding you firmly against his chest. “I know you’re over him, and I’m over Briana. I’m all in with you, alright? Just because you had some doubts for a bit doesn’t change anything between us.”

Thinking about it, Bradley probably would’ve lost his mind if he walked in and saw Luke in your bed, and there’s no telling what he would’ve done once the initial shock wore off, so he didn’t blame you for a single second for reacting the way you did. He trusted you, and he wanted you to keep trusting him. 

“Okay,” you said quietly, “I didn’t want to doubt you, Bradley. And I’m sorry I did, I should’ve listened a lot better.” 

Bradley grabbed your hand and laced your fingers together, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “It’s okay, baby,” he rasped, “Let’s forget about Luke and Briana, alright? They don’t matter anymore. Only we do, right here and right now. Can we move past this and just start fresh?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips, and Bradley couldn’t believe how much he had missed this feeling in so little time. “Let’s take it slow tonight? Just…stay in here with me.”

Bradley grinned and nodded, resting his forehead against yours. “Sounds perfect,” he mumbled, leaning in to kiss you again as he cradled your face. “Just you and me.” 

There was no way he’d go back to the party, not when he had you back in his room and on his lap after being convinced that he’d fucked things up with you beyond repair. 

“You and me. We’ll keep it PG tonight, okay? But tomorrow…” you trailed off with a teasing smile before you looked down at your jeans and your pretty crop top he’s seen you wear a few times now. You always managed to look so stunning every time he saw you. “Got anything more comfortable for me to wear?”

Bradley hummed and nodded, giving your hips a firm squeeze before setting you beside him on his bed. “Actually, yeah,” he answered, walking over to his school bag and pulling out the UVA hoodie he had bought this morning after class. “How’s this?” He asked with a grin as he held it out to you.

“You have one?” You asked in shock, taking the brand new hoodie from him with wide eyes. 

“I do now,” he answered, crossing his arms as he leaned back against his desk. “Though, I’ll probably never get that back now, huh?”

You shook your head as you tugged off your shirt and pulled the hoodie on, and Bradley bit his lip. It was big on you and it fell to your mid thigh, and you looked really fucking hot in it. 

He couldn’t believe he had managed to save his relationship with you. 

“You’re never getting this back,” you confirmed, standing up and shrugging off your jeans before stepping towards him. You reached out and unzipped his jeans, pushing them down his legs until he kicked them off, leaving him in just his t-shirt and boxers. “Comfy?” 

“Very,” he replied, smirking down at you as he tried to respect your request of keeping it PG tonight. “Suddenly I can’t wait for it to be tomorrow.”

You grinned, leaning up to press your lips to his before taking his hands in yours and pulling him with you as you crawled onto his bed. “Me either,” you laughed, kneeling next to him while he leaned back against the headboard and grabbed his laptop, the party downstairs now completely forgotten about by both of you. “Thank you for explaining things…I missed you.”

Bradley smiled, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you down against his side as he placed the laptop between your bodies. “Thank you for letting me. Thanks for giving me a chance tonight,” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your coconut shampoo he had a large amount of fondness for. “I missed you too, babes.”

You hummed quietly, cuddling close to him as if he hadn’t accidentally made you cry yesterday because of a total misunderstanding. “Wait,” you mumbled, looking up at him before down at his sheets. “You…washed these, right?”

Bradley snorted and nodded, “Of course I did,” he answered. “Briana made them smell like beer and her nasty fucking perfume. I’m still mad about that, because they used to smell like you.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his jaw as you tangled your fingers with his. “Well then…guess I’ll just have to stay with you tonight,” you whispered, then you were kissing him deeply, and Bradley kissed you right back. 

Just when he was about to forget about the movie that was playing on his laptop, you pulled away and pressed your cheek against his bicep. “PG, remember?” You teased, and Bradley let out a laugh, because he would gladly let you get away with things like that if it meant he got to hold you in his arms like this. 

The next morning, Bradley woke up to the feeling of your lips on his neck, your nose brushing against his scars as you slipped your hand under his shirt. “Baby,” he mumbled, blinking slowly when he opened his eyes. “What time is it?”

The sun hadn’t slipped in through the curtains yet, so Bradley knew it was still a little early.  “It’s seven,” you answered, pressing soft kisses along his jaw as you hiked your thigh over his waist under the sheets. 

Fuck, he didn’t need to be in class for another three hours, but he couldn’t go back to sleep now, because your knee had brushed against his cock, and he felt it spring to life at just that brief touch. 

He was so gone for you already, it was almost pathetic. 

Bradley had no idea what the state of his downstairs was, but he didn’t even care, because you had fallen asleep in his hoodie and on his chest, and now you were slowly grinding yourself against his thigh. 

“What do you want, babes?” He groaned, his hands grabbing your hips when you crawled onto him and straddled his lap. 

“I want you,” you answered, gripping the sides of his face as you ground your body against his. 

Bradley hummed, his hands sliding down to your thighs as he leaned up to press his lips to the side of your neck. “Tell me what you need, baby,” he murmured, “I’ll give it to you.”

“I just need you,” came your whimpered response as you reached down to pull off his shirt. “I need to feel close to you.”

Even though you and Bradley had only gone a full day without talking or touching, it was clear that it felt like way longer to both of you, because Bradley needed to feel close to you right now too. 

“I’m right here,” he mumbled, tugging at the bottom of his hoodie and pulling it off your body. His hands instantly went to your chest, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as he guided your lips to his in a deep kiss. “You’re so beautiful. Every inch of you is perfect.” He muttered against your lips and earned a soft moan from you. 

“Bradley, I want you to fuck me,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair as you pressed your bare chest against his. 

He pressed another kiss to your lips before nodding and sitting up, his hands reaching for your hips to guide you off him. “Okay, I’ll go get a-”

But then you shook your head and stayed on his lap, your eyes hooded and filled with lust and a hint of nervousness. “I want you to fuck me without a condom,” you added, and Bradley’s hands tightened on your hips. 

Fucking you without a condom was a serious step for the both of you, and he had never personally had sex without one before, so of course the thought of doing it with you had him harder than the wall behind him. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, his thumbs running along the edge of your panties. He wanted to make sure that this was something you wanted, and not a heat of the moment kind of thing, because the last thing he wanted was for you to regret anything with him. This would be only the second time you and he had sex, so he wanted to ensure that you really wanted this. 

With that being said, his cock was aching in his boxers at the thought of taking you completely bare. 

“I want to feel you. I’m on the pill, so it’s still protected,” you said, reaching down to palm him through the tight material that covered him. “If you don’t want to, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay if I don’t want to, because I want to so fucking bad,” he said quickly, lifting his hips when you began to tug down his boxers. “I just need you to tell me again that you want to.”

“I do,” you mumbled, pulling down and kicking off your panties before settling back down on his lap with nothing covering your sinful body from his eyes. When your core brushed against his cock, his hips jolted and an embarrassingly loud groan left his throat, but you just grinned at him as you slowly guided yourself down onto him. “Have you done this without one before?” You asked, bracing your hands on his shoulders while he had to hold off on coming right then and there, because holy fuck this felt unreal.

You felt unreal, and Bradley tightly gripped your waist as he shook his head. “Nope,” he answered through his teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Never. Only with you now.”

The look you gave him was so sweet and sexy, he had to bite down on his lip as you slowly began to ride him. “I haven’t either,” you confessed, tangling your fingers in his hair. “But I’m happy you’re my first.”

Fuck, he wanted to be your only. You felt so fucking good, Bradley guided you to go a bit quicker as he pressed kisses along your neck. “Me too, baby,” he grunted, “Faster, babes.”

You moaned quietly, gripping the back of his neck as you lifted your hips and then dropped them, making Bradley groan rather loudly. “Fuck, it feels so good,” you gasped, burying your face against his neck. 

“Do you like it like this? Just you and me with nothing in between us?” He rasped, his fingers digging into your skin as you rode him so good and nodded your head in response. “You feel fucking perfect.”

“Bradley,” you whined, pulling back to kiss him deeply as he started to thrust up into your soaked pussy, the lack of a condom making you feel like nothing he had ever felt before. How he went from not knowing where he stood with you last night to fucking you bare this morning, he didn’t know, but he also wasn’t about to keep questioning it.

He was already impossibly close, and he was actually surprised he lasted this long since he nearly came when you just rubbed against him. “Fuck, you’re going to make me cum embarrassingly fast. You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, sucking a mark onto your neck. “Do you want me to pull out?”

You bit your lip and nodded, bouncing on him a bit faster. “Maybe for this first time,” you answered, and Bradley groaned again. 

First time? So this was maybe going to happen again? And if it did, you were going to let him cum inside you? Fuck, he was in heaven. 

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, rocking your hips against his, and Bradley had to force himself to hold back so you could get there first before he had to pull out of your addictive body. 

Your eyes rolled back as you pulled hard on his hair, and he felt you become even warmer around his cock as you came, loud cries leaving your lips as you lazily rode him. “Goddamn, babes,” he grunted, waiting until the very last second before he lifted you off him and came all over your stomach and thighs with a deep groan. “Fuck…”

You moaned softly, watching as he painted your skin white, a sheepish grin on your face as you ran your fingers through his hair. “That was a lot,” you murmured and Bradley let out a hoarse laugh, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. 

“Yeah, well, if you could feel what I just did…” he muttered, not caring at all that both you and he were now covered in his mess. He was just so fucking happy that you were still with him. “I’m sorry for what happened on Monday. I promise, I’ll never do anything to break your trust again.”

You hummed, draping your arms around his shoulders. “And I’m sorry for overreacting,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his scarred cheek. “From now on, no more running away instead of listening to the full story, and no more having your ex in your bed.”

Bradley laughed again and nodded, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “Deal,” he agreed, then rolled you onto your back and kissed you again.

[cottonlemonade]

That Time I Made My Brother Hide In The Bathroom To Talk To A Girl

word count: 876 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: post-time skip Atsumu x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: spoilers

a/n: this is a continuation of How You Met but can be read as a standalone

Atsumu was pouting.

Not only had he played one of the best games of his life when he spotted that cute chubby girl from the bus stop in the ranks but during a timeout he had snuck over to your stand and called over the cheering crowd if you‘d wanna grab dinner with him. And you got all bushy again and told him you‘d love to! (Actually, you had only nodded and mouthed “Okay“ but that was a technicality.)

And now this! During the fifth set Bokuto had stumbled when he landed after a spike and crashed into him. Long story short, Atsumu‘s arm was now in a sling and he was stuck in a stupid hospital on this stupid Saturday when he was supposed to wow you with his infinite charm tonight.

Wallowing in self-pity, he threw his head back on the pillow and groaned loudly.

A nurse opened the door, professional concern in her tone.

“Are you in pain, sir?“

“Physically or mentally?“, he asked, eyes still closed.

“Uhm… I see. Well, call if you need anything.“

And she left again.

He wanted to grab his phone to reread your (rather short) chat for the 6th time that day but was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Well, ya look like crap.“

“Samu! What‘re ya doin‘ here?“

“I saw yer incredibly subtle Instagram story. How yer feelin‘?“

“Fine.“, Atsumu mumbled but pointed at his right arm, “Just sucks, ya know.“

Then he sniffed the air and his face brightened a little.

“Did ya bring me food?“

Osamu grinned and took off his backpack to produce mountains of Atsumu‘s favorites.

“Yer the best, thanks.“

But just as Osamu was setting up the little food tray next to his bed, Atsumu perked up.

Through the window of the door he spotted a cute chubby figure currently talking with the head nurse at the reception desk, a bundle in her hands that looked suspiciously like food.

“Ya gotta hide.“

Osamu frowned.

“What?“

“Quick, quick! Come on, hide!“

“Why, what‘s goin’ on?“

“Come on, I‘ll explain later. Hide in the bathroom or somethin’.“, Atsumu urged.

Osamu was way too used to his twin‘s antics to question it much further and so headed towards the ensuite but Atsumu hissed, “Take the food with ya, quickly!“

“Ya gotta be kiddin‘…“

But he picked up the tray and as instructed made his way to the bathroom. Not a second too soon.

Atsumu had just put on his best “beaten hero“ face, filled with sorrow and pain, when the door opened a third time and you stepped in. In the reflection of the window he saw how flushed your cheeks were and how awkwardly you held the bundle. You were just too cute. But he closed his eyes and took a deep theatrical breath before turning to face you.

“Oh, y/n. What are ya doing here?“

“I thought you must be disappointed that you couldn‘t finish the game yesterday and… yeah. Plus, we were supposed to see each other today. I‘m sorry if this is too forward, but I brought some food to help you recover.“

Beaten heroes didn‘t squeak. They didn‘t giggle, nor kick their feet.

Atsumu took a deep breath to compose himself. “No no, yer cute. - I mean, this is very sweet of ya, thanks. Have a seat.“

He nodded to the side of his bed.

“Do you have a tray somewhere?“, you asked, looking around.

“Uhm, no, I think the nurses took it after breakfast. A-and“, he added quickly because it looked like you were about to get up to ask for a new one, “I‘m sure I‘ll be fine without one.“

“Alright then.“, you opened the bundle to produce a large square lunch box. When you opened it, steam rose from the fluffy rice, packed neatly next to the eggroll with sausage, grilled meats, pickled vegetables and fruit.

“Looks delicious.“, he said excitedly and tried to pick up the chopsticks with his left hand. When that didn‘t quite work out he swapped to the spoon but even that he could tell must have looked very awkward.

“Could… ya help me out?“, he asked with a small smile and you nodded, taking the spoon from him and scooping up some rice, then adding some meat on top.

When you lifted it to his lips, your hand was shaking so much that it was difficult for him to catch, so he brought up his left and closed it around yours, to keep it steady. Making eye contact for absolutely no reason but his own personal entertainment of seeing you blush, he held your gaze as he closed his mouth around the bite.

“Oh wow.“, he said while chewing, cheeks puffed and eyes widened in surprise, “This is really good!“

You smiled brightly and relaxed, loading up the next spoon.

____________

Meanwhile

Osamu sat on the bathroom floor, working his way through the lavish meal he had prepared for his brother, trying not to gag when he heard Atsumu flirting up a storm in the next room.

At some point he got so bored that he swapped the contents of his brother‘s shampoo and shower gel, making a mental list of all the ways Atsumu owed him for this.

✨ @coffeesncats ✨

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Can we please get a yandere alucard part 4 🥹🥹 Prettyyy Pleassee 🥹🥹🙏🙏

& Anonymous D asked: Is there a chance you will continue the yandere Alucard x reader storyline part 4? I’m sorry. I’m just so invested in the story. Your writing is good. - D

A/N: It’s been a while so I had to go back and reread/refresh myself. Here they are Part One, Part Two, and Part Three for you to read if you also need to catch up. Or you can use the tag: ‘yandere alucard’ on my blog to see all of the Yandere! Alucard-themed writings I’ve done. 

And a HUGE THANK YOU to @allthegoodbobdylanlyricsaretaken, my lovely beta-reader for this installment. Not only were they kind enough to offer to read this over for any grammar/writing mistakes, but they were so patient with me! I had writer's block pretty bad in the middle of this, and they were sweet enough to give me encouraging reminders. To them- I am so incredibly grateful! Normally, I finish something and just throw it up, so I want you all to know they are why this piece comes off as much more polished. 

I also wanted to thank @rl800 for commenting on Part 3, about how they hope Y/N’s father eventually gives Alucard some sort of blessing for a relationship with his daughter. I was initially planning on killing him off early, but because I like rl800’s suggestion better, I’ve changed my idea for this part to include Y/N’s father as a contributing character. Oh, and as always...

TW!: This is a fictional work about a fictional character. Manipulation and abuse in real relationships are never okay, and it’s never your fault. If you need help, please click on any of these: [x] [x].

Word Count: 3.2k 

If you’d like ambiance for this part, check out this link: [x]. 

*    *    *    *    *    * 

You were rather disheartened to learn that what your Father had was phthisis. 

The white plague. 

Of course, in the back of your mind, you supposed you had considered such reality a possibility, but you could not bring yourself to admit as much. You suppressed those sobering thoughts with various dissensions. 

If it was the plague, how come it wasn’t sweeping through the entire town? Why hadn’t you yet fallen ill? If it were truly a plague, then perhaps it was a milder strain?  

You had warded off accepting the unspeakable for so long that, even now that it was true, a good degree of your mind still refused to believe it. Surely, Alucard was mistaken in some way, despite his seemingly infinite wisdom. It simply could not be true. Then again, your heartache alone could not change the circumstances. 

You were grateful to be shown to your room quite soon after learning the true nature of your Father’s condition. The devastating revelation was the straw that broke the camel’s back— its brutality kicked you in the teeth— unveiling the weeks of fatigue that had been slowly gnawing at your battered bones. Besides the reprieve for yourself, you were extremely thankful to now have aid in caring for your Father, your cordial hosts’ compassion for your father’s condition released the short leash you had once ensnared yourself with, the one keeping you tethered to his bedside. Now you were free to sleep in your private bedroom, hell, on your private floor.

Seated on silky luxurious sheets, feeling the soft night shift’s fabric against your skin, you were forced to reconcile with the present reality: you were only a guest in this opulent room because your Father was ill, and at this point, there was nothing left you could do for him. In all honesty, it sounded as if there was little Alucard could do either. So much of the situation felt hopeless, despite your newfound companion’s assurances to the contrary. 

Alucard announced, quite casually, that should you need anything else, or if he could be of any more assistance to you, his bed chambers were just a few paces down the hall from your own. 

This sense of freedom was foreign to you, and it felt rather suffocating to be seated upon such a luxurious throw, all by your lonesome. Yes, you knew your Father was sick, and quite possibly contagious, but you had yet to catch anything at this point. What would be the harm if you spend an hour or two with him? For all you knew, you could have become immune to this illness. 

Earlier in the evening, you had asked Alucard if he truly expected you not to visit your Father. He firmly, but sympathetically shot the question down. 

‘It is still too great a risk to take,’ he had told you. ‘Your body needs time to be free from stress if you are to hopefully remain without illness yourself.’ 

The frailty of your muscles and the bags under your eyes made it obvious to you and Alucard that you were teetering on the edge of complete burnout. Should you continue to push through at the rate you were going, you’d no doubt join the ranks of your late family members. 

Nevertheless, the silken sheets and large feather-stuffed mattress atop a tester canopied bed did not stop the faint chill of loneliness from ghosting across your skin. You wondered briefly if your Father’s room looked like yours. Or perhaps, it was designed to be more medicinal than comfortable. Was he up thinking of you, just as you were thinking of him? 

It was late by the time your mind had ceased its seemingly endless racing, well into the early hours of the morning. Laid out flat on the bed, robed in a plain night shift with your hair uncovered, you felt an odd equilibrium of settled and aroused. 

You felt small in the extensive room. For example, there was a tiled area intended for bathing off the left of where you lay, separated from the wooden floor by an exquisitely hand-crafted partition. It was stocked with fresh towels, a matching wash-stand set, and pitchers of clean, warned water. Next to the washstand’s porcelain basin was a variety of bar soaps, each one a more exciting shade and scent than the next, and on the lower shelf was a series of glass bottles— shampoos, cleansing oils, and perfumes. Everything was in perfect order, arranged in such an inviting manner. 

The thought that Alucard took the effort to prepare such a collection just for you was almost disquieting. You had hoped he hadn’t gone to too much trouble securing such lovely items before your arrival, especially since it was rather short notice. Then again, perhaps these were just some things he happened to already own within the castle. The place was huge, after all. 

Honestly, you didn't know what would be more daunting, the thought of Alucard giving up his items for your sake, or the idea that Aluard hurriedly procured these new items with your freshly negotiated stay in mind. Both options felt significantly intimate; either act felt like a kindness you were unworthy of. 

As you formed a loose plan to kindly reject Alucard's lavish gifts and attentions, the man of the hour himself came to knock upon your door. 

*    *    *    *    *    * 

Alucard was beaming. No, he was more than beaming, he was practically flying. Well, not literally. Although, that would be no extraordinary feat for The Alucard, son of Dracula and Lisa Tepes. In his years as sole inhibitor and keeper of both Castlevania and the Belmont Hold, his wisdom and abilities flourished greatly, free from the looming threat of time that burdened the rest of humanity. His prowess had come to be unmatched, his dual heritage leaving little he could not accomplish. Alucard possessed the ability to conquer all things if he so wished; all things, except for one.

At the time this bold young woman had trespassed his home, it had been nearly a hundred or so years since the deaths of his last human companions. And while Alucard was not predisposed to loneliness, he was prone to fits of melancholy. 

Even though the castle was alive, it was quiet. It did not provide comfort or companionship the way a human would. Hell— at times Alucard found himself imagining what a close allyship with another vampire would look like among these vast hallowed halls. He certainly had no shortage of vampires and other supernaturally inclined beings desperately vying for the Great Lord Alucard’s attention. 

It was always futile, Alucard had come to learn. Vampires were paranoid and power-hungry by nature and rarely lived long enough to outgrow their newfound bloodlust. Young, power-hungry vampires who sought to usurp Alucard always came to meet the same swift, almost boringly inevitable demise. They did not present any real challenge to him, not anymore. 

It did pain a part of him. His human side, he supposed. Perhaps, it was the influence of his Mother’s memory, the way a sudden ache for companionship— a friend, a lover, an acquaintance, anything— would seize his heart at times. Mother wouldn’t have wanted him to be alone. She wished for him to be kind to humans, even if they could never understand him. She had always emphasized kindness when encouraging Alucard’s journey of self-discovery. Lisa Tepes knew her son would never become the kind of man her husband was, but she wanted Alucard to understand that it was okay. She did not wish for him to be defined by his relation to Dracula but by his relationship with humanity. 

It wasn’t that Alucard hadn’t tried— he had. For years, he had kept himself surrounded by humans, even after Trevor and Sypha, Greta, and the original descendants of Danesti had passed. But as humanity grew more evolved, and began to long for traditions and independence beyond all that his gothic castle could offer, he found himself alone for years in which there was little else to do other than take to his underground coffin and sleep to pass the time. 

His solitude had been weighing on him especially hard for the past several decades or so. But with his isolated routine so ingrained, Alucard could not see a viable way to invite a human into his life. He was aware that out there, perhaps even beyond what was once known as the independent region of Wallachia, several branches of the Belmont line continued to thrive. Of course, Alucard was certain he would be all but a myth to them at this point, something one of their descendants would speak of as they shared ancient stories around the campfire. 

In truth, he did not wish to seek them out. He did not wish to have to seek anyone out. 

Alucard wished that someone— someone worthy— would come to him. He had only found himself desiring such a circumstance for a little under a month when this strange woman, this (Y/N) made her way past his front door. 

‘Perhaps,’ Alucard mused, as he strode down the hallway between his and (Y/N)'s room, ‘There is a God after all.’ 

Balancing the tea tray in one hand, Alucard lifted his other to knock softly upon (Y/N)’s door. If she was already sleeping, he did not wish to wake her. 

Alucard felt a wave of relief wash over him as her melodious voice answered from the other side of the door. 

“Alucard? Is that you?” 

Amused with her question, Alucard opened the door with a carefree smile. “Yes. I’ve brought you some herbal tea. I assumed you would have difficulty adjusting to sleep in such a new environment.” 

His words were perfect: just the right mix of compassion and concern, yet not overbearing or anxious. If he just kept this up, if she could just see how well her life could be here, with him, how simple things would be, everything would work out beautifully. And speaking of beautiful…

Dressed in a simple white night shift, Alucard was taken aback at how elegant and feminine (Y/N) looked while robed in such a plain garment. Her hair, finally uncovered before him, had been unbraided, and let down to naturally frame her face. Her locks were full and lush, no doubt a sign of good fertility in addition to her overall health. This indication of her reproductive health ignited visions in the back of Alucard’s mind of all the different children they would have running around the castle halls. 

Swallowing down the fantasy for now, Alucard retained his external composure. ‘Remember,’ he chided himself, ‘For humans, it must be their idea for it to work.’ 

(Y/N) took the tray from his hands and set it down on the small table, opposite the washing room. It was centered between two wooden chairs, made to accommodate intimate meals between two people. 

“You needn’t do so much for me, you know? You’ve done plenty already.” 

“It is no trouble. I’ve found myself enjoying having someone more than just myself to feed.” Before his bravado could falter, Alucard took a seat at the table, gesturing for (Y/N) to join him. 

“Is it lonely?” (Y/N) asked. The sincere curiosity in her tone caught Alucard off-guard. “I’ve never lived anywhere on my own. I can’t begin to imagine being all by myself, especially in a place of this size.” 

Aiming to keep the conversation light, Alucard opted for a more humorous response. 

“Nonsense. The ghosts and ghouls in the dungeons keep me plenty occupied.” 

“In that case,” (Y/N) smiled, eagerly reciprocating Alucard’s playful parley. “Remind me to stay far away from the dungeon.” 

“Certainly,” Alucard answered, retrieving a cup of steaming tea. “I would hate for you to become the latest poltergeist haunting these grounds. Just imagine what your Father would say.” 

At the mention of her Father, (Y/N)’s smile faltered. Silently, she seated herself before picking up her cup. Taking a tentative sip, her brow furrowed at the odd taste. 

“It’s mandrake tea,” Alucard explained, continuing to swallow his down nonchalantly. 

“And do you normally drink, uh mandrake tea?” (Y/N) asked, politely feigning another sip. 

“It will keep you healthy. Ward off any infection or cold,” Alucard misled. 

Misled, not lied— mandrake root did have healing properties. Truthfully speaking, its main uses were as an anesthetic and a fertility aid. But until (Y/N) was as committed as he to their collective future, it was best she did not know such things. 

“Oh,” (Y/N) blinked in surprise. “I thought it was just used in witchcraft. And that it was dangerous to harvest.” 

Alucard chuckled, shaking his head. “The myth of the mandrake screaming is nothing more than an old wives’ tale, which the Church has exploited in their favor. They claimed Joan of Arc was carrying a mandrake root when she was seized by the Burgundians in the city of Compiègne.” 

(Y/N) shook her head, not quite understanding. “I’ll admit, I’ve never heard of this ‘Joan of Arc’. Nor the city of Compiegne, it must be quite far from here.” 

Alucard smiled, knowingly. “Very far, yes.” 

“Oh.” (Y/N) nodded, this conversation clearly out of her depth. “Well, those people, ah the Church,” (Y/N) corrected herself, “Why would they say that? What did they have to gain?” 

“They sought to cast a shadow over her reputation, and to besmirch any scholars proclaiming the mandrake’s healing properties.” 

“How—” (Y/N) started, “How do you know all this?” 

Alucard shrugged. “The original keeper of this castle collected centuries of suppositories of knowledge, many of which contained science previously vilified by the church. I’ve been fortunate enough to read nearly all which is stored here.” 

(Y/N) forced herself to swallow down another mouthful. “‘Original keeper’?’” she repeated. “I thought that was you.” 

“No,” Alucard said, somewhat decisively. His sharp tone indicated the matter was not up for discussion. “I was not the one who brought this castle into existence. I merely inherited it.” 

(Y/N) nodded again, her posture more notably hunched than before. She forced herself to take a good long sip before swallowing harshly. 

Thrown by all this newly shared information, (Y/N) licked her lips before pressing them together in a tight line. “I know earlier you said that it would be unwise for me to go see him, in the event I’d catch something…” 

“Yes.” 

“And while I certainly don’t like this being this situation, you are the expert here, as well as our host so I’ll respect it…” 

“But?” 

“I need you to promise me one thing. Just one thing, and I swear I will stop pestering you about visiting him.” 

Alucard nodded, encouragingly. 

“You will tell me when he’s dying.” 

Alucard felt the air in the room grow cold. 

(Y/N) said ‘when’ he was dying, as if she had come to that hopeless conclusion already. Did she truly have so little faith in him, that she couldn’t envision her Father recovering? Had he not been firm enough in assuring her of his medical knowledge? Was he doing too little to comfort her? Too little to distract her? Or… perhaps too much? 

Had Alucard’s honeyed words and kind intentions accomplished the opposite of what he intended? Had his constant reassurance acted as a warning for grief that had yet to come? 

This was not good— not good at all. 

Internally, Alucard’s mind was racing through potential future scenarios. 

If her Father died now, she’d have no reason to stay. She’d pack up and leave, and forevermore associate his name, his memory, Alucard’s very existence with heartache. No. 

No, she had to stay! Which meant her Father had to live! But, how?

Alucard was powerful; still, he had no dominion over Death. 

In every outcome, (Y/N)’s Father remained a crucial aspect of his plan. She revered him, she loved him— and most importantly—  she trusted him explicitly. 

‘Perhaps,’ Alucard’s mind supplied, ‘Therein lies the answer to our question. Instead of working so hard to gain (Y/N)’s approval, I could gain a blessing from her Father. If he were to see us as someone worthy of his daughter’s hand, he would no doubt share that final sentiment with her, before his passing.’ 

It was genius, foolproof really. 

If it was made clear to (Y/N)’s Father, that Alucard was the best option for her, and the one most capable of ensuring her safety and happiness… 

If the last thing her Father ever did was command them to be together, no daughter, especially not one as respectful and obedient as (Y/N) could refuse. 

Alucard needn't be so alarmed after all. 

Nodding solemnly, Alucard’s golden eyes bore unflinchingly into hers. 

“I promise.” 

Once the tea had been finished, Alucard bid (Y/N) goodnight, encouraging her to at least try and get a few hours of sleep before the coming sunrise. 

Quietly, he gathered all the teacups back onto the serving tray and exited the room, softly shutting the door behind him. 

For a moment, Alucard stood still. He waited until he heard the unmistakable ruffle of sheets, and the slowed heartbeat of a human finally at rest. 

Shortly after (Y/N) had agreed to bring her Father here, Alucard considered placing a sponge soaked in somnifera under her pillow. Now, Alucard was glad to have decided against it. Her body was beyond tired enough to fall asleep on its own, and it wouldn’t do him any good to set off any suspicions with unusual scents in the room. 

Besides, his plan had a new direction now— a superior direction. She was not the one he needed to charm, oh no. From where he stood, Alucard could also hear the person he needed to charm, coughing fitfully upstairs. 

And it was time, Alucard decided, to pay him an honest visit. 

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Notes: 

Mandrake, which gave Rachel children in the bible- used to be believed to treat infertility, but also loads of other stuff, but the fertile thing is what Alucard is utilizing it for here. It was also possibly in the wine given to Jesus on the cross. It had a strong sedative effect. The myth that could not harvest the roots without being killed up until 1597 (so this would be news prob to the reader, old news to Alu) It was also thought to be a love charm- medieval church cast it out as a demonic talisman, punished Joan of arc for ‘carrying’ one.

The mix called The Spongia Somnifera is From Arabian scientist Ibn Sina (c. 980 to 1037 CE), or Avicenna. In his authoritative Canon of Medicine, he identified certain plants with pharmacological action, such as mandrake, opium, and henbane. He described the Spongia Somnifera: “Opium, juice of hyoscyamine, unripened berry of the blackberry, hog beans, lettuce seed, juice of hemlock, poppy, mandragora. Put these all together in a vessel and plunge therein a new sea sponge, and put that in the sun during the dog days until all the liquid is consumed. And when there is need, dip it a little in water and apply it to the nostrils of the patient, and he will quickly go to sleep.”

TB was also called phthisis, or “wasting,” by Hippocrates. 

Some other interesting sources: Old-Timey Medicine; TB Throughout History; Mandragora: Anesthesia of the Ancients; Mandrake: The Scream of Death; and Gerad’s Herbal Chapter 65: Mandrake

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A/N 2.0: AGAIN PLEASE GIVE A HUGE SHOUT-OUT TO MY WONDERFUL BETA @allthegoodbobdylanlyricsaretaken , WHO VOLUNTEERED TO HELP ME WITH THIS INSTALLMENT. 

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Tag List: @peterpankat ;

Let me know, if you’d like to be added to the tag list by either commenting on this post, mentioning so in a reblog, or sending me an ask requesting to be added. 

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And as always… Please Like and REBLOG! 

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[chxrryhxrt]

To Mordor and back, part 2 - Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Read part 1 here!

Synopsis: You and Eddie’s anniversary is approaching, and you call upon Steve Harrington to assist you in planning it. However, when you’re seen spending too much time with him, how will Eddie deal with it?

Warnings: angst, swearing, emotionally constipated Eddie (but he gets over it) and fluff

Part two is finally done!!!!! Talk about a long wait (2 whole years 😭😭) I really hope you enjoy!

Eddie’s eyes flickered over the letter, his fingers still tightly grasping onto it. With each reread, understanding washed over him and he felt as if he was experiencing the five stages of goddamn idiocy in real time.

In this moment, thousands of thoughts were flying through his mind: ‘Have I ruined it? Is she okay? Will she ever forgive me?’ What stood out to him however, more than anything, was the faintly familiar feeling of paralysis. Feet melded with the ground and his eyebrows furrowed as he gripped onto the roots of his hair and tugged, willing his body to do something – anything.

He had not felt this way in a long time, not since he was seven, young and small, not yet wise to the give and take of the world. Now, as he stood there beside the mailbox, Eddie remembered. He remembered his father standing tall above him, with not so much as a frown on his face; he remembered wanting nothing more than to see his mum again.

He supposed it was strange, the way that new heartbreak can reignite old heartbreak, because in this moment all he wanted was to see his mum again, and he wanted her to be waiting by her side.  

Finally, a coherent thought surfaced – he was going to fix this.

Legs broke free from their confines, and he found himself racing inside, paying no heed to the mess he had made last night in the depths of his misery. There was a metallic jingling as he scooped his keys off the kitchen counter, and a scratching as he wrote Wayne a note on the back of a receipt.

It read: ‘Be back soon. Super sorry about the mess, will clean later!’

His van pulled up outside your house, screeching loudly as it parked. Despite this, it still managed to be a less obnoxious arrival than usual, as no metal music erupted from the radio, the only sound being his laboured breaths as he clambered out of the driver’s seat and headed to your door.

In his frenzied state, he had forgone shoes and was yet to change out of the clothes he haphazardly threw on earlier this morning. Hence, rather than hurrying down the cobbled pathway, he found himself hobbling, his socked feet carrying him as fast as they could given the insistent jabbing sensation on his soles.

Eventually, having reached the front of your house with his feet still intact, he rang the doorbell.

He waited, admittedly rather impatiently, for a couple of minutes before deciding to ring again.

Having concluded that there was no movement within the house, Eddie wondered if perhaps the bell was broken, so he knocked, the hard sound of knuckles against wood echoing throughout the door.

This time, when no lights flicked on and no silhouettes moved behind the curtained windowpanes, he decided to scout around the sides of your house.

Had he not been so desperate to speak with you, he might have cared more about how creepy he looked, pushing the gate to your garden open and peering into every window he came across.

At one point, he contemplated pushing his head in through the cat flap, but quickly decided against it as visions of getting himself stuck flooded his imagination.

After the long night yesterday and the subsequent late wake up, Eddie found that it was already beginning to pass into evening. Having ascertained that nobody was at home, he thought it best to leave. Although he needed frantically to see you, he was in an enough improved headspace to know that if you came home to find him lurking in your backyard it would not help his case.

 

The drive back to the trailer park was even than the quieter than the ride to your house had been - just Eddie and his thoughts.

He was almost done with the journey, the tarmac laid out in front of him and the turning for his road on the right. He intended on trying his luck again tomorrow, his hopes of ever reconciling this stupid stupid miscommunication with you plummeting.

His palms sweated, loosening his grip on the steering wheel as he swerved indecisively, half a mind set on turning right to go home, the other half wanting to drive aimlessly for a little while longer.

Having now missed his opportunity to head back to the trailer, he set his sight firmly on street, watching as smaller roads peeled off and the tyres span on cars ahead of him. He saw a flock of birds dip down from the skyline, a backdrop of orange silhouetting them. Then, he noticed a sign ahead for Lover’s Lake.

He pulled onto the dirt path; bated breath exhaled, glad to have something to do – other than sitting and letting his worries brew into a storm.

Stones and pebbles crunched beneath the van as he parked up, pulled the keys out of ignition and hopped out of his seat. He began to round the vehicle, grimacing at the many scuffs littering the bodywork, hurriedly looking away and pretending he had not noticed them. This was his philosophy for most things – if he never acknowledged the damage, it did not need to be repaired. He simply lacked the cash to spend on these sorts of things.

He passed through the wall of trees lining the lake, taking in the view. It helped, being out in nature. At least until he noticed someone sitting by the shore.

Eddie had not really considered this. Lover’s Lake had been a frequent date spot for the two of you in the early days of your relationship, but he truly did not expect to see you there, toes dipped in the water.

Not quite sure what to do with himself, he shuffled over to you and clunkily sat himself down, in true, awkward Eddie style, frightening you in the process.

As your eyes looked up at him now, their normal colour was muddied by a sheen of tears, which in turn, made his own well up.

Today he had spent much time thinking, and there was one thing he could not help but realise. His behaviour last night had been undeniably reminiscent of his father - the man he swore to never become. Now, as he perched beside you, he realised something else. In this moment he had the chance to change that, to do something his father never had. Feel.

With that, Eddie tugged you into his arms and before you could tell him off, attempt to remind him that you were not currently on good terms, you felt tears soaking into your collarbone where he had nestled his head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, body shaking with each sob, “I’m so so sorry, you don’t understand.”

You brought your palm up to the back of his head and reciprocated the embrace.

“You didn’t do anything wrong Eddie, I shouldn’t have been sneaking around,” you reassured, voice matching his, soft in cadence.

“No-“ he pulled away from you now, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt- “you were just trying to do something nice, I should’ve trusted you.” He looked you in the eyes, before correcting himself. “I do trust you.”

Your mouth curved up as you smiled, “Do you think we could just call this whole thing over? Maybe?” Your pupils raked over him, overjoyed to see him again. “Like, just go back to how things were before this whole Steve thing?”

Eddie nodded, wild hair bouncing around. He sidled up to you, resting his head on your shoulder again, watching the lake glimmer under the sunset.

You let your own head drop down now, balanced atop of his own.

Your fingers interlaced and a sound broke the silence as you giggled, “Might I ask why you aren’t wearing shoes?”

Tags:

@ali-r3n @ziggeddie @halfburntout @wypascalis @wildaces @lokiscure @justforeddiemunson @korelily

some of you asked to be tagged in part two wayyyyy back when i posted part one in 2022, i wasn’t sure whether to tag you now or not but i just thought why not! i hope you all enjoyed it and thank you so much for supporting me!! 🩷🩷