#and you miss her so dreadfully. miss what you had and will never have again

[thedeafprophet]

My last thought for the night... thinking on Josie's fascination with the red honey changes. Thinking on Jamie experiencing some physical changes

Thinking of Josie gripping their chin and *looking* at them

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 MAKE YOU FEEL LIKE NEVER BEFORE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: your patience is thinning. despite having a conversation with dazai and being led to believe everything is okay, he's suddenly avoiding you again. luckily, or maybe unluckily, his hand is forced when he realizes that you're not waiting for him this time. whether he likes it or not, this confrontation is happening—except you slowly realize as it goes on that dazai's definition of intimacy is dreadfully different from yours.

{wordcount: 10.4k; ņsfw; fem!reader, pm!reader, i wouldn't say this is angst but it does deal with some references to heavy topics; jealous!dazai, depictions of dissociation (dazai), dazai's on the brink of a mental breakdown for a bit in the beginning, references to abuse (dazai. no actual depictions), references to dubcon (dazai. no actual depictions), dazai is wildly intelligent but not so much when it comes to sex & other forms of intimacy (he is quite uneducated in fact), slight oral (male rec), unprotected sex, sub!dazai, dazai and reader argue for a bit (he calls her a whore - doesn't mean it but still says it)}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: 😒i hope you guys know im sitting here glaring at my computer because i did not want to post this fic. it's been sitting in my google drive for like AGES and im literally having to physically force myself into formatting this post because i wanted to keep it hoarded forever. anyway, read the warnings for this one pretty pls, this fic is a bit loaded—not exactly angst, but it references some heavy topics. let me know if any warnings are missing as always!

“I’m so sick and tired of him.”

You listen as Chuuya lets out another heavy sigh next to you, pointedly taking a sip of his wine, but you don’t even bother to glance at him as you glare down at your phone. Left on read, again, Dazai ignores your message asking him to meet you and Chuuya at the bar. You slam your phone down on the dark wood of the bar top before reaching for your own glass, taking a large gulp of it before opening your mouth to continue complaining, much to Chuuya’s displeasure.

“I thought things would be different after we talked. He moved back into my apartment but he’s still avoiding me like the fucking plague. I mean Christ, I broke up with my boyfriend, came crawling back to him because I knew he was pissed even though he’d rather kill himself—literally—than admit he likes me. Why the fuck can’t he even given an inch? Meet me halfway?” 

“Because he’s Dazai,” Chuuya says dryly. “What did you expect from him, honestly? … And we all know you weren’t going to stick with that civilian.”

“Oh, shut up,” you tell him bitterly. “That’s not the point. The point is I did, and I went right to him, and we talked, and he acted like everything was fine, and now he’s pulling this shit. How is he going to live in my fucking apartment and avoid me at every corner? And whenever I do manage to catch him, he makes up some bullshit excuse about a mission I know he doesn’t have and disappears.”

You lean back in your chair, brows furrowed and fingers curled around your glass. By now, all of the people that had been sitting near the two of you at the bar have dispersed to the dancefloor—if your arrival with Chuuya hadn’t been enough to send them scattering, your foul mood was more than enough to make them give you a wide berth.

“I’m frustrated,” you finally hiss. “I’m just frustrated, am I allowed to be frustrated, Chuuya?”

Chuuya side-eyes you. “Stop fuckin’ complaining to me about it and do something about it, jeez,” he says, hand sliding into his pocket to pull out a cigarette, holding it between his lips as he fumbles for a lighter to light it.

“Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?” you ask, becoming increasingly more irritated as you pull out your own lighter to light it for him. “I tried talking to him, now he’s ignoring me.”

Chuuya has the audacity to roll his eyes, looking at you with an unimpressed expression that makes you want to pluck his cigarette out of his mouth and put it out on his skin. As if he can hear your thoughts, he leans back, giving you a suspicious look.

“I’m not talking about that shithead,” Chuuya drawls. “If you’re so frustrated, go find some sorry bastard to fuck it out of you. We both know that’s all it takes to get you to settle down.”

“Fuck you,” you say instantly, not appreciating how he acts like you’re a nympho. But already, your gaze is carding across the room, trying to see if someone catches your eye. When you find yourself disappointed, you look back at him and ask, “You offering yourself up?”

Chuuya barks out a laugh. “Fuck no,” he tells you instantly. “No way. Don’t even say that shit to me.”

You’re almost offended, squinting at him and leaning back in your seat. “Why not? Like old times. You know what I like, I know what you like, we can make a good night out of it,” you propose as you lean your elbow on the bartop and observe him.

“Because shitty Dazai will never let me hear the end of it if he finds out,” Chuuya says pointedly, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Bastard is annoying as is, if he finds out I’ve slept with you? It’d be the end of the world.”

“You have slept with me though, Chuuya,” you taunt. “Who’s to say I won’t tell him anyway?”

You won’t, but you like the way Chuuya’s lip curls up in irritation around his cigarette.

“Go ahead,” he tells you. “I’ll tell him all about that time in Osaka.”

You gasp, scandalized. “Chuuya,” you hiss. “You would not. You swore.”

“Try me,” Chuuya says, raising his eyebrows at you, looking all too smug as you flounder for a response.

Humbled, and a bit mortified, you return to looking around the club, lowering your standards this time. You spot a blonde standing in the corner of the club, eyes flitting around curiously as he observes the people on the dancefloor, and a redhead laughing wildly as she spins with a drink in hand, teetering off to the edge of the floor. You purse your lips.

“No one is catching my attention,” you complain, sinking back down in your seat.

You decidedly don’t like the smirk that edges onto his lips as he looks at you, and it’s for good reason, because the next words out of his mouth have your eye twitching: “You’re that down bad for him already? Jesus.”

“I am not,” you spit out, glaring at him before pointedly returning to your hunt, looking around more intensely this time. 

But even as you do that, you start to wonder if that’s why no one is standing out to you tonight. How the fuck is anyone supposed to compare to Dazai Osamu? The thought is ridiculous—you don’t want to tug at blonde hair to pull someone down into a kiss, you don’t want a head of tousled red locks buried between your thighs, there’s only one person you actually want in your bed and he’s been avoiding you since you talked things out with him.

You let out a heavy sigh, considering just admitting defeat, but then your eyes drift to a tall, dark haired man entering the club, making his way over to the bar; his hair is a bit too long and a bit too straight, and his eyes aren’t the right shade, but they’re sharp enough and you’re tipsy enough to willfully confuse them for the familiar brown you desire.

“Nevermind,” you breathe out. Chuuya doesn’t even spare you a goodbye as you slip from your seat to make your way over to the man, lifting his hand in a lazy wave. “I found someone.”

Chuuya was right.

You think maybe you should stop doubting him as much as you do. This is not the first time that you’ve fought him tooth and nail about something only for him to be proven right in the end. But you’re not going to tell him that because he has a big enough ego and you’re not going to feed into it.

Dealing with Dazai’s fickleness the past two weeks has been much easier now that you’re fucking out your frustrations with strangers as soon as he’s gone for the night on whatever mission Mori assigns him. You take his aloofness in stride, ignoring the way he blows you off and avoids you in your own home. You think it’s bothering him, actually, because now when you walk past him without a second glance, you can see the way he hesitates from the corner of your eye, an indecipherable expression crossing over his face.

Good, you think. You hope he feels like shit. 

You let out a soft breath as you tilt your head to the side, giving the man you’re with better access. From the corner of your eye, with the tousled brown hair, you can almost pretend it’s him, but you know it’s not. His hair isn’t as soft as Dazai’s, who all but hijacked your expensive shampoos and conditioners, and you can’t feel the bandages that should be tucked beneath the tufts of hair. Your mind starts to drift, comparing how you think Dazai’s touch would be to this man’s. When you first kissed him, he was unsure and hesitant, would he still be now? Or has he grown more confident? You think he must’ve, you’ve seen him with people during events, lips tilted up in a sensual smile, lashes fluttering as he leads them into one of the backrooms. 

Sick and unfair, you think to yourself bitterly.

You let out a heavy, disappointed sigh.

“You good?” the man asks—you don’t remember his name, you don’t even know if you cared to ask. His voice is distinctly different from Dazai’s low hum whenever he teases you, a total immersion-break from your desired reality.

You roll your eyes, irritated. “Don’t speak.”

The man lets out a noise of agreement, fingers biting a bit harder into your waist as he continues kissing down your neck. You don’t really mind, the sting is nice, just enough force to draw your mind away from Dazai. The sigh you let out is more pleased now, eyes slipping shut as his hands slide up your body, kisses trailing down your neck to your collarbone. His lips are too soft; Dazai’s are horribly chapped no matter how much chapstick you force on him.

Dazai is out on another “mission”. You don’t even know if it’s a real mission or if he’s just claiming it’s a mission so he doesn’t have to stick around the apartment while you’re there, lowering the chances of running into you. For all you know, he’s just going back to that shitty shipping container he spent a year in and hanging out there until you leave for one of your own missions or a meeting. He looked particularly sullen as he left earlier, casting looks back to where you’d disappeared into the kitchen, not realizing you could still see him before he finally left your apartment. 

He’s such a pain in the ass, you think, getting irate again as he drifts back into your thoughts. He makes everything so difficult, things would be so much easier he just admitted that he wanted to be with you. You really don’t know how much more of this back and forth, wishy-washy shit you can take from him. You care about Dazai. You do. Probably more than anyone else in your life and you’re sick of him taking it for granted. 

You hum in approval when the man lifts his hands to your button-up, hesitating as he waits for your consent, and your gaze flicks up to the ceiling as he continues kissing down the revealed skin; from the crook of your neck to your collarbone, between your breasts, he unbuttons all the way to your navel.

You find yourself a bit bored, counting the specks on the ceiling, taking note of the crack that you’re sure is somehow Dazai’s fault. You think there must only be two more buttons left for him to undo before you can slide the shirt off of your shoulders but you start to feel uncomfortable under his touch, you feel prickly and his lips trailing down your body makes your skin crawl.

“Off,” you finally say, voice sharp. You press your hand against his shoulder to push him off of you, sitting up straight to sit properly on the couch. You scowl as you fumble through your pants pockets to find a cigarette.

This is Dazai’s fault somehow.

“Did I do something wrong?” the man asks hesitantly, trying to shift closer to you again. “I-”

“No,” you say bluntly, lighting the cigarette and lifting it to your lips. “Get out of my apartment.”

The man hesitates, you can feel his eyes lingering on you and you’re becoming increasingly more irritated, shooting him a glare from the corner of your eye until he finally rises to his feet, buttoning his shirt as he makes his way over to the elevator. You slump back against the couch, sighing as you look up at the ceiling and take a long drag from your cigarette.

Dazai’s fault. As soon as he crossed your mind, your whole demeanor had changed and you try to convince yourself that it’s because you just don’t know what his issue is. You don’t know why he’s avoiding you, you don’t know what changed after you met with him at the bar; you thought things would be good between the two of you. You thought you’d be able to be with him now that nothing’s left in your way but evidently there still is something preventing the two of you from being together and it’s something that Dazai is not sharing with you.

Bastard, you think bitterly, about to pull out your phone to send Chuuya a very irritated and very foul message about Dazai but before you can, the elevator leading up to your floor bings and you look up to watch the man you’d invited over leave.

Except as the doors slide open, you realize that someone is already standing in there.

You sit up straight when you see Dazai standing in the elevator, black gaze trained right on the man leaving your apartment. His movements are almost robotic as he steps out of the elevator, his head twisting to follow the man as he steps in the elevator. He looks distinctly unnerved as Dazai’s soulless gaze tracking him until the elevator doors slide back shut.

It’s only then that Dazai only turns to look at you. His face is eerily void of emotion as he looks at you, gaze dipping down to your unbuttoned shirt and the light bruises blooming on your neck and collarbone. You tilt your head to the side as you observe him, wondering if he’s going to say something, but he only stands there staring at you.

“I thought you had a mission,” you finally say, leaning forward to put your cigarette out on the ashtray on the coffee table to button up your shirt half way so you’re not nearly undressed. When you finish, you pick up your glass of wine and take a sip. “You’re back early.” 

“I finished early,” Dazai replies, monotonic. 

He doesn’t budge from where he’s standing, limbs stiff and face blank. You glance down, noticing that he’s holding something in his right hand—a bag, takeout, maybe? Looks like it’s from that place in Hodogaya-ku that you like. 

“What’s that?” you ask, nodding toward the bag. Dazai follows your gaze down to it, staring at it as if he doesn’t even know what it is. You frown, becoming a bit concerned as you rise to your feet. “Dazai, you good?”

Dazai’s gaze doesn’t leave the bag for a second; after what feels like an eternity, he finally looks back up at you but he doesn’t even seem to be looking at you, rather it feels like he’s looking through you like you’re not even there.

“I got food,” he says blankly.

Your eyes widen a bit, wondering if this is meant to be his apology for being an asshole the past few weeks. Dazai never apologizes—he disappears until he can act like nothing happened or he does something to make up for what he did, but he doesn’t ever acknowledge what he did. It’s frustrating, but you’ve gotten used to his quirks over the years. You’d been wondering why he seemed so melancholic before he left.

You nod at the spot next to you on the couch, accepting the apology and sitting back down. “I’ll put on a movie.”

Dazai looks at the spot like it’s been poisoned, expression finally twisting from the emptiness into one of disgust.

“What?” you demand, offended.

Dazai doesn’t even respond to you; you can only stare in disbelief as he turns on his heel and walks in the direction of the kitchen. You don’t budge for a second, staring in shock to where he disappeared to, but after a few moments, you force yourself up to your feet and follow after him.

Your mind races as you make your way down the short hall into the kitchen, standing in the door frame as you watch him put the bag of takeout on the kitchen counter, pulling the different containers out of the bag and then opening the fridge. His movements are stiff and abrupt, almost robotic, and your irritation slips away when you see the expression on his face.

Closed-off. Withdrawn. Very reminiscent of the look on his face from that time he came back to your apartment after a mission that went wrong post-Dragon’s head Conflict, right before he had his first breakdown in front of you. He’d been trying to hold it all back, desperate to not lose control in front of you, but it was to no avail because it only made it worse.

“Dazai, what’s wrong?” you ask carefully as he stuffs another container into the fridge, so roughly that the plastic almost snaps. “Dazai-”

“Nothing,” Dazai responds sharply, voice cold and cutting but the way he takes in a sharp, shaky breath betrays him. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing.”

“Okay, that’s a lie,” you say flatly, sighing to yourself. “Can you just-”

“You’re the liar,” Dazai cuts you off, voice shrill and defensive in a way you’ve never heard from him before. Something crosses his face: a weird mixture of panic, anger and distress, like he knows he’s losing control of his emotions but he can’t stop himself. You don’t usually have such a hard time reading Dazai—it’s difficult, yes, but not as impossible as it currently is. It’s stressing you out because you don’t know what’s wrong and he’s clearly working himself up more over it. “You’re the liar. You’re the liar.”

Your eye twitches. Three breaths in and three breaths out. Now’s really not the time for you to lose your temper on him considering he’s on the brink of a mental breakdown for whatever reason. But you’re pissed, you don’t know why he’s calling you a liar and you don’t know what is going on, and you don’t want to deal with this especially after he just spent weeks ignoring and avoiding you.

“What did I lie about, Dazai?” you ask tightly, nails digging into your palms as you wait for a response. “Please, enlighten me.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, jaw tightening as he resumes tossing the food into the fridge.

“Dazai, stop,” you tell him, taking a step forward when he finally gets to the bottom of the takeout bag and slams the fridge shut so hard that it rattles. He grabs the empty bag and is about to storm over to the garbage can but before he can, you reach forward and grab his wrist, stopping him. “Will you fucking talk to me?”

“Let go,” Dazai hisses, trying to rip his arm from your hold but your fingers are too tight around his wrist, his bandages rough against the pads of your fingers—you don’t know why he’s still using those old scratchy ones when you stocked up with the softer ones but it only serves to irritate you more because why are you going out of your way to do nice things for him if he’s just going to toss it to the side? “Let go of me.”

“Tell me what your issue is,” you demand. “I’m done playing games with you, Dazai. Grow the fuck up and communicate.”

Dazai’s eye is wide and wild, looking far too much like a cornered animal as he bares his teeth at you and tries to yank out of your hold on him again. “My issue is that you’re a whore,” he spits out. “Let go of me. Now.”

You let go of him.

Instantly, the anger in Dazai’s face fizzles away. His eye is just as wide but his expression is lax, lips parted as if he’s only now just registering what he said. And you know he regrets it, you know that Dazai lashes out when he feels cornered; he becomes cruel and vicious, desperate in his attempts to protect himself when he feels vulnerable and since Dazai is Dazai, he knows how to hurt people. Knows exactly where the chinks in your armor are, drives the dagger in deep and twists it.

But even knowing this, it still hurts hearing that from him of all people.

“Okay.”

Your voice is quiet, you don’t even waste a second before turning on your heel and leaving the kitchen.

“Wait,” Dazai calls after you, voice wavering. “Wait, I didn’t…”

He can’t even finish the sentence because Dazai is Dazai and he doesn’t apologize and he doesn’t admit his wrongs. Doesn’t admit that he lost control and said something he didn’t mean to say. Would rather preserve his false visage of control than do anything like that.

“Where are you going?” Dazai asks and you can hear him trailing after you, words drawn long and shaky. “Hey, wait-”

You don’t know where you’re going. Leaving your apartment, you think, considering your feet are moving right to the elevator, but once you leave the building? You’re not sure. Maybe you’ll head over to Chuuya’s and crash at his apartment for the night, maybe you’ll go get shit-faced at a bar. You don’t really care, you just don’t want to be anywhere near Dazai right now. He’s put you through enough the past few weeks for you to stand here and take this shit from him. 

“I don’t know, Dazai,” you say, voice cold and sharp. “Maybe I’ll go find that guy I kicked out and finish the job if I’m such a whore.”

Dazai inhales sharply from behind you. “What?” he breathes out. “No. No. I didn’t-”

“You didn’t what?” you scoff, not even looking back at him. “Didn’t mean it? You can’t even bring yourself to say it, Dazai. Clearly you did.”

That’s not true, you know it’s only Dazai’s pride that prevents him from forcing those words out, but you know it makes him flinch and you know it makes him hesitate. You also know how to target chinks in armor.

“No,” Dazai tries again, more insistent this time. You can hear him speeding up behind you when he realizes you’re going for the elevator. “No, you don’t need to do that. I don’t-I don’t get you. I don’t get this. I don’t get any of this.”

He sounds confused, borderline distressed—you don’t even know what he’s talking about, what he’s so confused and distressed about. How could you? He never explains anything to you, never communicates.

“You don’t get what?” you demand, reaching out for the button of the elevator but Dazai lunges forward to grab your wrist before you can. You finally turn to look at him, catching the way his jaw is tight and the strange emotion swimming in his eye. “You don’t get what, Dazai? Spit it out.”

“Why are you still sleeping with other people?” he asks, voice hitching. “You have me. You don’t need anyone else.”

You can’t help yourself—you laugh in Dazai’s face.

“No way,” you say immediately.

You don’t mean it in the way it comes out. You know it comes out as if you’re saying you’d never sleep with him, but you’re more so saying no way because you can’t believe he has the audacity to say this to you after he just spent weeks avoiding and ignoring you. 

Is this what his issue is? He doesn’t know how to cope with emotions so he evades and lashes out and just expects you to stick around waiting until he grows up? Fuck him. You deserve better than that, you waited long enough, you thought you were done with these games with him.

You don’t miss the way Dazai’s expression crumbles at your words, the way he stares at you, lips parted in disbelief. You don’t correct yourself, a part of you is happy that you can get your own knife in even if you do know you’ll regret it later. 

“What do you mean no?” Dazai’s voice wobbles a bit before he takes half a step back. His fingers are weak around your wrist but he doesn’t let go, feels a lot like a child clinging to their parent’s shirt. “What-I-I’m here. You want it, you were just going to-”

Not that that’s even the issue anymore, but you’re definitely not in the mood now. Honestly, you just want to go to bed. Your head hurts and Dazai is stressing you out and pissing you off all at the same time, plus you have no interest in fucking him when he seems like he’s on the verge of a mental break anyway.

“No, I don’t. I changed my mind,” you say, frustrated. “I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”

“No,” Dazai replies, voice pitched and tinged with something too close to desperation. “No. You want me and I’m here, so you should-”

God, what the fuck is your life? You’re so frustrated that you want to pull your hair out and scream at him.

“Enough, Dazai.” You raise your voice at him. “Enough. I don’t want you. I want to go to bed.”

“No,” Dazai insists and your eyes widen when you feel his grip tighten on your wrist.

“Daz-” You start to say but you can’t even finish his name, cut off by his other hand finding its way to your hip, pressing you back against the closed doors of the elevator as he dips his head down to capture your lips with his own, swallowing your protest before you can even get it out. 

You think absently that you were right earlier when you were letting your thoughts wander to what kissing Dazai would be like. He’s no longer unsure and hesitant with his touches, his lips slide against yours with the expertise of someone who’s spent a lifetime kissing. The hand on your hip slides up your body so that he can hold your jaw, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss. And you shouldn’t be indulging this, you know that—Dazai pissed you off, he has some nerve calling you a whore and then whoring himself out to you—but his lips are intoxicating, you can hardly think straight with them pressed against yours. 

He has your right hand pinned to the metal behind you, fingers curled tight around your wrist as he holds you in place. The way he kisses you is familiar, almost, and your brows furrow as you try to figure out why until feel his fingers brush through your hair, slow and lingering, dizzying, right before his tongue darts out to swipe across your bottom lip—a pattern of actions that you usually take to make your partners more malleable. 

Did he teach himself this just by observing the way you act with people at events?

You don’t fall for your own tricks though, so instead, your free hand drops to his waist, fingers slipping through his belt loops as you press into him, pushing off the elevator to walk him backwards down the hall to his bedroom. He lets out a surprised noise in the back of his throat, letting you walk him back; his fingers fall from where they’d been around your wrist and you take the opportunity to hook yours around his other belt loop, keeping his body flush to yours until you have his back pressed against his bedroom door.

You notice, a bit absently, that Dazai is a lot more pliant now with you in control. His hands are loose at his sides as if he doesn’t know what to do with them—much like when you shared his first kiss with him—and he still kisses you back, lips moving slowly against yours, but it’s not with the intensity he had when you were pinned to the elevator door.

Strange.

You think kissing Dazai is a lot like a drug, one that you got your first hit of two years ago when you offered to be his first kiss but then never had another chance to get another taste of. You were bitter when he first started following in yours and Chuuya’s footsteps in taking people to bed to unwittingly ease information out of them—you’d find yourself watching him like a hawk as he drew people into secluded corners, as he pressed his lips against theirs and let their hands explore his body. You’d hardly be able to draw your eyes away once, not until he eventually led them out of the area to a bedroom.

You hated it. Truly. You like to tell yourself that you’re not jealous but you know it’s a blatant lie. As much as people would sell their souls to spend a night with you, they’d be just as desperate for one with Dazai because Dazai is Dazai. He’s untouchable. The Demon Prodigy. The Port Mafia’s Black Wraith. The youngest executive in history. He can be smooth and charming, yes, and he’s undoubtedly handsome. But more than that, he’s dark and unfathomable in a way that piques peoples’ interest in a sick and perverted fashion—they want to know what he’s like behind closed doors, they’re terrified of him but they want him, be it because of morbid curiosity or sheer lust.

And you hated that other people got to be with him in ways you couldn’t. Your only consolation seems to be that he had his eyes on you as much as you had yours on him, seeing how he’s pretty much perfectly mimicking the way you kiss and touch people, but you don’t know if that’s just because he was trying to learn through observing you—as he does with everyone—or if he hated watching you with other people just as much-

Oh.

Oh, you’re so stupid.

“You were jealous,” you realize, understanding what had triggered Dazai’s meltdown with the takeout food and insults toward you. Dazai stiffens against the door and you take the opportunity to trail your lips from his down to his jaw. “You were jealous over the guy I had over.”

“No-”

“You were.” You don’t even let him finish the protest, nipping at the spot beneath his ear gently and watching how he shudders. “How cute.”

“It’s not cute.” Dazai bristles. “You-you weren’t supposed-you’re not supposed to keep seeing people. I thought you were done with that. I thought we were-”

“We were what?” you ask coolly. “You avoided me for weeks after we talked, Dazai. Whatever we may or may not have been after we talked at the bar, it’s nothing when you start actively ignoring me for weeks after that.”

“But-”

You’re getting irritated again. “Dazai, you ignored me for weeks. I was pissed off and frustrated. And when I’m pissed off and frustrated, if I don’t have some way to relieve my stress, I do something stupid. Something stupid like putting a bullet in you the next time you stepped into my apartment after actively going out of your way to avoid me.”

“I was going out to get food,” Dazai says sullenly as if you were supposed to know that. “So we could watch a movie.”

“Last I recall, telepathy isn’t exactly part of my ability, Dazai,” you say dryly, calming yourself down by leaning in to brush your lips against his again.

A drug, you think again as the anger melts away when you feel his breath hitch against your lips. You reach behind him to open his bedroom door, guiding him in as you kiss him slowly. He’s fumbling again, unsure what to do with his fingers, clumsily moving his lips against yours until the back of his knees hits the bed, and he goes flopping down back on it. 

You snort at the surprised look on his face, joining him on the bed as you straddle his hips. You hover over him for a second before leaning down to give him another chaste kiss, enjoying the way he tries to chase your lips when you pull away.

“Tell me why you were avoiding me,” you say quietly as you lift a hand to cup his cheek. 

A foul move, you know. Dazai is always weak to gentle touches as much as he tries to pretend otherwise. You’ve noticed it when you watch movies with him and when he curls into bed with you on nights he can’t sleep. Just as you expect, he leans into your touch, lashes fluttering.

“Dazai,” you urge, “tell me why. What did I do?”

You didn’t do anything, you think bitterly, but you figure taking responsibility will be the easiest way to get him talking. You’ll fight about it later.

Dazai, to your surprise, turns his face away from you and your touch, a faraway look in his eye as he stares at the wall.

“You didn’t do anything,” he says. “I just didn’t-”

He cuts himself as if he can’t even bring himself to say it, and you know you have to do something because he seems to be withdrawing even more into his own head, eyes growing more distant with each passing second. You turn his head so that he’s facing you again and you lean down to press your lips briefly against his.

“You didn’t what?” you ask him.

Dazai still looks like he doesn’t want to answer, conflict spreading across his face as he stares up at you before he sighs and averts his gaze. “I don’t understand any of this. I didn’t want to disappoint,” he says so quietly that you barely hear him.

Your brows furrow. 

“Disappoint?” you question, a bit baffled. Dazai has a complex about failure. You know that too, have known it since you were sixteen. He can’t handle it, nothing makes him spiral quite like the idea of failure—you and he are quite similar in that regard—but you don’t understand what he means in this context. “Disappoint with what?”

Dazai doesn’t answer, doesn’t meet your eyes either, and your mind races to figure out what he might be referring to. You recall how he became hesitant and unsure when you finally took control, fingers twitching at his sides, body pliant as you moved him around, almost like a doll for you to maneuver as you pleased.

“Disappoint with this?” you finally realize, watching as he grimaces, confirming your suspicions. Your chest drops. “You avoided me because… you didn’t want to have sex?”

That makes you feel a bit sick to your stomach because what does he think of you if he went to this length to avoid you just because… Dazai’s entire body jolts at your words as if realizing how they came across.

“No,” he pushes out instantly. His hands dart out to cling to your shirt as if he’s worried you’re going to leave. “No, no. I want to. I do. Not just this… just in general. Everything. Me… This is just one part of it… the easiest to make mistakes with. I don’t like making mistakes.”

It’s only mildly reassuring.

“Dazai…” You start to say, pulling away, but his hands dart up to grab your waist so he can hold you in place on top of him. You think maybe the two of you need to talk. Again. “I just, I don’t understand.”

“I want this,” he repeats again, hands sliding down from your waist to curl his fingers around the hem of your shirt. He sees that you’re not convinced by his words so he pushes out a “Please” that nearly stops you in your tracks because you don’t think Dazai Osamu has ever begged for anything in his life.

You lean down to press your lips against his again. You set the pace this time, lifting your hand to cup his cheek—you pull the same move that he tried with you, nails gently scraping his scalp as you brush your fingers through his hair. Dazai melts into it in a way that you didn’t, lashes fluttering and lips parting instinctively, letting you deepen the kiss. Dazai’s breath catches as you push your tongue into his mouth, shivering when you trace the back of his teeth. 

Too pliant. All of the confidence he had earlier when he had you pinned to the elevator is gone. His breath wavers against your lips, and his fingers tremble as he grips at the hem of your button-up. Not a firm grip like you’d have anticipated, with his fingers digging into the plush skin of your hips as he grinds you down on his cock; instead, his fingers are clinging to the fabric as if he’s too overwhelmed to even think of grabbing your body.

“Tell me what you like,” you say quietly, fingers still absently carding through his dark locks as you kiss down his neck. Your other hand slips beneath his dress shirt, smoothing out over the bandages wrapped around his torso. “I want to know, wanna make you feel good.”

Dazai’s lips part to respond to you, but the only thing that escapes them is a pitched gasp—high and cracking in desperation, grip on your shirt so tight that you think he might rip it. He’s already hard, can feel his cock straining against his black pants, pressed against your thigh.

“I don’t-” Dazai’s voice is ragged; he sounds overwhelmed, almost confused. “I don’t know.”

“Hm?” you prod, nipping his neck and relishing in the way his whole body shudders at the feeling. “C’mon, Dazai, you’ve done this before. Tell me what you like.”

His gasp is choked when your hand tightens on his slim waist, lashes fluttering as his eyes roll back. More pliant and more sensitive, you note curiously, kissing back up his neck to tug at his earlobe with your teeth, a shiver running down your spine at the broken moan Dazai lets out into your ear. He jolts, eyes widening and face flushing—he looks as if he’s startled himself by the noise that escaped his lips, and you start to become a bit suspicious.

“I don’t know,” he tells you, sounding confused and frustrated. “I don’t know. It’s never felt like this before. How are you doing that?”

You pause.

You make a soft noise in the back of your throat, pulling your face back from his ear to look at him carefully because why is he acting like he’s never done this before? You know he’s slept around a lot. He picked it up over half a year ago when he got tired of hearing you and Chuuya brag about how easy it is to get things out of people like this. Made a point of making sure you knew about it when you had your boyfriend.

It’s never felt like this before.

Your chest swirls, and you feel a bit disconcerted as his words finally process. It’s never felt like what? Dazai doesn’t know why you’ve stopped, you can feel him tugging at your shirt, hazy eyes trying to focus on you. You wonder if the gears in his head are turning, realizing something might be wrong but unable to pinpoint what.

You kiss him to distract him, deeper this time. You press his head back against the soft pillow, one hand sliding to cradle the back of it as you try to break all of the quick-moving cogs in his brain so you can think in peace, cursing the fact that his mind has always been quicker and sharper than yours.

Dazai is Dazai. He’s smooth, charming—when he wants to, he could seduce anyone into his bed. You’ve watched him do it at events, sidling up close and leaning in to speak to people, dark eye lidded and voice low, a slow smirk curling at his lip as he brushes his finger lightly against the target’s lower back before guiding them out of the room. Christ, he’s nearly flustered you on more than one account. You want to say that he’s not the same kid who was nervous to kiss you two years ago, but he clearly is with how he’s reacting to your kisses and touches right now. But he shouldn’t be—maybe it’s because it’s you he’s with, maybe he’s just nervous because it’s you and not some random person he’s seducing for information.

But that doesn't explain the comment. Doesn’t explain it’s never felt like this before. 

“Never felt like what?” you ask as you kiss the corner of his lips and down his jaw again, all the way to the line of bandages peeking out from his dress shirt. You undo the first few buttons, watching the way his chest rapidly rises and falls under your touch as you smooth your hands over his chest. “Hm?” 

“I-I don’t know,” Dazai says, voice cracking and another breathy sound spilling from his lips as you kiss the underside of his jaw. “It’s just-it’s usually just-it’s not this.”

That doesn’t help you at all, you think. You’re about to press, but your lips on his skin have evidently made Dazai’s lips looser than they typically are because you don’t even have to voice a clarifying question to get him talking again.

“The way you’re touching me. Kissing me. It’s not like this, doesn’t feel so good,” he continues and you can hear the whine building in the back of his throat as he speaks. “It’s just sex.”

You slide his button-up off of his shoulders, revealing his bandaged body to you. You don’t make any move to remove them, but now you stare down at him, a bit perplexed. “This is sex,” you say, voice a bit stunted because you didn’t expect him to say that.

“No,” Dazai says, seemingly equally perplexed by your words, drawn out of the haze of pleasure into a more confused state. “Sex is sex. It’s penetrative.” 

“... Sex isn’t just penetrative, Dazai,” you say, baffled. “This is sex. It’s foreplay.”

Dazai stares at you like he doesn’t even know what that word means.

Oh, you realize, heart sinking as you realize why Dazai is so thrown off by all of this. How has he had sex without foreplay? Sex without foreplay is… it’s boring, not enjoyable at all. More animalistic than anything, borderline painful half of the time. Is that what he’s been doing with all of the people he seduces for information? The thought is a bit jarring, but the more you think about it, the more you think it might make sense. 

Dazai is prodigious when he’s given something that he can study and mimic; can execute flawless imitations of the behaviors he’s trying to learn. He learned the art of leadership from observing Mori. The art of war from observing the Colonel’s operations before his death. Adaptability from observing Kouyou during missions. Business from observing Ace’s meetings and transactions. Seduction from observing you interacting with people during events. Dazai is as terrifying as he is because he’s a perfect amalgamation of the entire upper echelon’s best skill sets. He’s adopted Mori’s mannerisms, the Colonel's strategic capability, Kouyou’s ability to adapt to any situation, Ace’s shrewdness with yen, and your charisma. 

If there’s something he can observe, he can mirror it to near perfection.

So, is it really that surprising to you that the front he puts up during events is just an imitation of how you act with people? That it doesn’t translate behind closed doors? That he had nothing to study and nothing to mimic once seduction progressed to the bedroom, so he let whoever he was with take the lead to try to learn from them in the moment? 

That maybe someone would use his ignorance on the subject against him?

Dazai is Dazai, you think, for the fifth time tonight. He doesn’t watch porn, he doesn’t ask people for help, and this isn’t something Mori would have ever taught him—you know that better than anyone. Mori sheltered Dazai from everything, even tried to keep you away from him; he didn’t want anything or anyone to taint the control he had over his precious Demon Prodigy. While you and Chuuya have had the chance to live, experiencing life and the outside world, Dazai’s been stuck under the watchful eye of the boss, hardly ever out of arm’s reach, caged like a circus animal to be put on display whenever Mori sees fit.  

Of course, Dazai would only see it as another way to get the job done, disregarding his own comfort and pleasure—because when does Dazai Osamu ever care for his own comfort and pleasure? He lived in a fucking shipping container until you dragged him out of it. It’s not a thought that casually crosses his mind, and he wouldn’t think twice once he thinks he has an idea of what’s going on. He doesn’t see things the way you do, was never given the opportunity to understand, taught by Mori to see things as tools and means to an end, even himself.

Dazai can see your mind racing. You know he’s going to put together that something is wrong soon if you don’t move on from this. But it’s hard—it’s a bit fucking jarring to realize that Dazai’s so overwhelmed by your touch because every other time he’s had sex, he’s probably been uncomfortable or even in pain. 

You lean down to kiss him again, halting his thoughts. You place two chaste kisses on his lips, sucking his bottom lip gently before kissing his cheek down to his jaw.

“What all have you done with people?” you ask him, sitting back on his thighs, lacing your fingers with his as you look down at him.

Instantly, his face is on fire. “What does it matter?” he demands, but you can feel his fingers tightening around yours.

You roll your eyes at his obstinateness. “Humor me,” you say dryly. “Are you usually the one leading, or is your partner? Are you the one penetrating or-”

Dazai’s grip on your hands becomes almost painful, so you quiet down, giving him an amused look. Maybe it's an awkward subject, but you want to have a vague idea of what he’s been doing before you do anything.

“... partner is,” he finally tells you, hardly looking you in the eye. It’s kind of cute. “... and only when it’s a woman, but she still takes the lead.”

“Do you want to take the lead tonight?” you ask him, running your thumb over his knuckles to try to get him to loosen his grip. 

He does, but only barely.

“Not tonight,” he says after a few moments.

“Not tonight,” you agree. “Did you prefer topping or bottoming?” 

Dazai thinks for a moment and then says, “Topping. Bottoming was…”

You force yourself not to wince, suspicions confirmed by the way he trails off.

You hum, sliding your hands up and down his bandaged sides soothingly, enjoying the way he slowly relaxes beneath your touch. “That can feel good, too,” you tell him. “I can show you that one day if you’d like.”

Dazai’s brows furrow, pointedly looking down at your clothed lower half as if trying to see through them. Your lips quirk up as he says, “But you don’t have a-”

“There are ways to work around that,” you snort, hands finally resting at his hips, drawing circles over his protruding hip bones. 

“… Not tonight,” he finally repeats.

“Not tonight,” you agree again.

You lift your hands back to his cheeks, holding his face between them as you kiss him again. You kiss him deeper this time, rolling your hips against his to make his breath hitch. You drag the tip of your tongue against the roof of his mouth—he tastes like cigarettes and faintly of whiskey. Tastes familiar. Like home.

You think you could kiss Dazai forever and never find yourself sick of it. Kissing him is like a drug, you think again. Kissing him gives you butterflies in a way that you’ve only ever experienced with him when you were sixteen, and giving him his first kiss. 

Kissing him is like coming home after being away for years. 

He kisses you back clumsily, all of the finesse he had earlier in the night long gone. His teeth nearly knock against yours, it’s a bit too wet and a bit too messy, but you think it’s the best kiss you’ve ever had. You smile against his lips before pulling away to kiss the corner of his lips, nipping his skin when he lets out a shaky breath against your ear.

Your hands slide down his body to the waistband of his pants, fingers slipping beneath before you look up at him questioningly. “Can I?” you ask him, tilting your head to the side.

“How else are we going to do this?” Dazai counters petulantly.

Brat, you think to yourself, a bit fondly. Thoughts race through your mind but you push them away—maybe another night. You don’t respond to him, raising your eyebrows and waiting for a verbal response.

His cheeks dust pink as he says, “Yes.”

You work quickly to unbutton his pants, patting his thigh so he lifts his hips. You trail kisses down his bandaged chest as you slide off his pants. He’s very responsive to your touch, each kiss makes his breath stutter, you can feel it in the way his chest rises and falls and it only makes you want to watch him fall apart more.

“Are the bandages okay?” Dazai asks after a few moments when you kiss down to his navel. You look up at him, brows furrowed, catching the hesitant expression on his face, dark eye trained on you. “Do you want them off?”

“Do you want them off?” you throw back at him, squinting up at him.

Dazai stares at you for a moment before he shakes his head, a strange expression on his face—you wonder if he was worried you’d ask him to take them off, wonder if his other partners made comments about it, pushed him to remove them. 

You wonder if it’s part of the reason why he avoided you for so long: he wasn’t ready for you to see him without them but thought you would ask him to take them off.

You leave it at that though, returning to kissing down to his hip bone, nipping the skin there and watching how his body jerks a bit in surprise. You let out a puff of laughter against his skin before you ease his briefs off, freeing his cock from where it was straining against the cloth—the soft ones you’d bought him when you’d found his rough, tattered ones in your washing machine a few months after he first moved into your apartment. 

You don’t usually find cocks pretty—they all mostly look the same—but Dazai’s is. Long, not too thick, his tip is flushed a pretty pink color and a vein runs along the underside. He’s leaky too, precum drips down from his tip, right along that vein and you want to taste him, so you do.

You lean in to press your lips against his length, sucking gently on the vein before kissing up to his tip. A bit too salty for your taste, probably because of his shitty diet, but you don’t mind because the pitched moan that tumbles from his lips makes up for the taste entirely. You peek up, breath catching at the sight of his head tossed back against the pillow, swollen lips parted in a pretty moan and long lashes fluttering. He looks stunning, you wish you could take a picture—maybe another night.

You think all of his previous partners have severely missed out.

“Ah,” he gasps. “Shit, shit-”

Even with just your lips wrapped around his tip, you can feel Dazai’s cock twitching in your mouth—you wonder if he’s already on the edge. You can see the way his abdomen is spasming beneath the bandages, how his fingers are curling around the soft sheets beneath him. You don’t want him to finish yet, you want him inside you when he cums, so you only spare a few chaste kisses trailing up and down his length before sitting up straight again. 

Immediately, he tosses you an accusing look. Bottom lip pushed out, cheeks flushed the same pretty pink as his tip. “Why-”

You silence him by pressing your lips against his. This kiss is lewder than your last, you push the bit of precum you’d gathered on your tongue into his mouth as you unbutton your own slacks. He makes a noise into your mouth but you don’t pull away until you feel him swallow. You smile against his lips before you pull back to slip off your own pants, watching his face twist.

“Yuck,” he says, wrinkling his nose and sticking out his tongue. “Tastes bad.”

“Have been telling you to start eating more fruits and vegetables,” you tell him, flicking his thigh as you shimmy out of your slacks and toss them to the side. “You don’t listen.”

The smile he tosses up at you is familiar, a welcome change from the distress and confusion that’s been plaguing him most of the night. “You’ve been thinking about what my cum tastes like for that long? Pervert.”

“More like I’ve been thinking about how high your cholesterol must be with how much canned crab and buttered bread you eat,” you say dryly, returning to where you’d been straddling his waist.

You lift your hands up, beckoning him to take them. He does, reaching up to lace his fingers with yours. A smile curves at your lips as you lean over him, pinning his hands to the mattress on either side of his head as you kiss him again. 

Your chest feels light in a way that it hardly ever does when you’re fucking someone, fluttering in the same way it was when you first kissed him two years ago. Usually when you’re sleeping with someone, it’s all about keeping up appearances. Flirty, sensual, seductive, you’re always more focused on the task at hand than you are enjoying yourself, this is… different. You mean, it always feels good—you know how to make sure it feels good for you while getting the job done—but this…

Feels like home, you think again. Being with Dazai feels like home and it scares you a bit because he’s so flighty and unpredictable but you push away the fear to kiss him harder. You have him now, that’s what matters.

“I like canned crab and buttered bread.” Dazai pouts as he mumbles against your lips.

“Shut up,” you tell him.

You feel him smile and you know you’re not going to like what he’s about to say so you cut him off by reaching down to position his cock at your entrance. Instantly, he chokes over a moan and your lashes flutter, feeling him slide between your folds. 

Shit, you hadn’t even realized how wet you were, too caught up in trying to make sure Dazai was feeling good, but now with the feeling of the tip of his cock pressed against your clit and his length firm against your core, your abdomen feels all hot and tight, head fuzzy.

You keep your forehead pressed to his, noses nudging, sharing the same sliver of air as you roll your hips, letting out a soft moan against his lips when his tip presses against your hole. Each breath he lets out hitches into a soft whine at the end, a glassy look to his eye. You don’t sink down on him yet, feeling how his grip on your hands tightens, how his breath becomes shuddered and his gaze becomes lidded.

You wonder maybe if he can cum just from the feeling of his tip pushing inside you—maybe another night.

“Please,” he breathes out for the second time tonight and who are you to deny him?

You don’t kiss him as you sink down on his cock, eyes fluttering shut when you feel how his cock stretches your walls—you want to hear him, hear the way he gasps, the way his breath catches, you want to hear his moans and whimpers. He tries to chase your lips but you keep them just out of reach until he gives up, fingers tightening around yours and hips jerking up.

“‘s so tight,” Dazai gasps as you rock your hips slowly against his. “Feels s’good.”

“Yeah?” you press, breathless. 

You distract yourself from the rapidly spreading heat by kissing his neck, letting go of one of his hands to bring it to his cheek, watching as he instinctively leans into your touch, hardly able to hold his eye open. He presses a sloppy kiss to your palm, hand coming up to hold yours to his face.

“Yeah,” he says shakily, lashes drooping and lips parting in another silent moan. “Feels…”

“Feels what?” you ask him, kissing the other side of his neck before trailing wet kisses up to his opposite cheek, feeling him shudder as you tug his earlobe.

“Right,” Dazai tells you, dark eye glazed over as he looks at you, lips wet and swollen and so entirely kissable that you can’t help yourself from leaning down to steal another from him. “Feels right.”

You wonder if Dazai feels just as at home with you as you do with him and that thought is enough to make you rock your hips. 

The noise that Dazai lets out is obscene and pornographic, pitched and breathy. You can hardly appreciate the lewd expression on his face—his hair matted to his forehead, eyes half-rolled back and lips parted in a pretty ‘o’—because the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls nearly has you tumbling over the edge.

Shit, you think to yourself, desperately trying to rein in the rapidly building pleasure. Shit, what the fuck?

You never cum this quickly—usually you have to slip your hand between the sweat slicked bodies of you and your partner to rub circles around your clit so you can bring yourself over the edge at the same time as him. You don’t think you’ve ever come from penetration alone—but the stretch of Dazai’s cock, the feeling of his tip bullying deep into your cunt, the sound of skin on skin and his pretty moans, it all goes right to your head and to your pussy, the telltale signs of your thighs tensing and your abdomen tightening warning you that you’re close already.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, voice shaky. “You’re so…”

You don’t even know what you're trying to say, mind becoming increasingly more empty of thought as you rock your hips again, setting a steady pace. Dazai chokes over air beneath you, the hand still intertwined with yours squeezing hard while the other one drops from the hand you have on his face to claw the bed sheets.

You feel his cock twitch inside you, the way his moans are becoming louder and lewder, the way his head falls to the side, face half pressed into the pillow, eyes knocked back, body arched. Dazai’s already so gone that you think any second he’ll cum deep inside of you and that thought alone makes your body shudder. 

You grab the hand clawing at the bed sheets, guiding it between your bodies as you bounce on his cock. You can feel his hazy gaze trying to figure out what you’re doing but you’re more focused on guiding his finger to rub circles around your clit.

As soon as the pressure is placed on the sensitive nub, your hips are stuttering and a gasp is tearing from your lips. Dazai’s choking when he feels your walls spasm around him, hips thrusting up erratically to meet each of your rocks, but he’s just barely coherent enough to keep his finger rubbing circles on your clit.

Your breath becomes heavy and shaky, the pace of your hips quickening, fire spreads through you so rapidly that it’s impossible to control.

“I’m gonna-” you gasp when you feel yourself tipping over the edge, eyes trying to focus on Dazai’s face and the sight you’re met with is enough to push you over the edge.

Dazai’s jaw is slack, drool pooling at the corner of his lips, the white of his eye just barely visible, cheeks flushed a deep red. He's babbling out incoherent words: you can just barely make out your name, s’good, too tight, too much, and I’m gonna-

And then you’re choking over your own moan when you feel Dazai finish inside of you, cum warm and heavy as he fucks it deep in your cunt. His lithe body trembles beneath you, tense and arched, holding your hand so tight that you think he might break it, and your vision goes white as you cum on his cock, mind blank when the taut cord snaps within you, nails digging into Dazai’s skin.

Dazai’s cock is still twitching inside of you when you slump onto his chest, tremors still spreading through his body. You tilt your head up to ghost your lips against his jaw before sliding off of him, laying on the bed next to him. You feel empty without him inside you but you distract yourself by lifting your hand to his cheek again, tilting it to the side and forcing him to look at you.

More emotion swims in Dazai’s eye than you’ve seen him express in the entire two years you’ve known him, he looks at you so reverently that you can almost imagine three words spilling from his lips, breathy and adoring. You know he won’t say them, but it’s a nice thought, you think. You lean in to ghost your lips against his briefly, the tips of your fingers carding through his dark curls. You want to say something but you don’t know what.

Well. You do know what but you can’t say it.

“You wanted me soooooo bad,” Dazai finally says, a bit more clarity returning to his eye as his lips curl up. “I knew it, you wanted me so bad.”

“You’re so annoying,” you tell him but your voice is fond and you can’t help yourself from shifting forward to press your lips against his. You feel him smile against your lips and that warm, fluttery feeling returns.

Home. 

“You love it,” Dazai sings, nipping your cheek. 

A bit longingly, you think, I do.

Instead, you roll on top of him to straddle his hips, pressing your lips against his again. 

“You wish.”

[i-made-a-bg3-blog]

Look, it’s not like Astarion intended on becoming a Harper, it’s just - well, burglary and pickpocketing are a little more difficult when you can’t enter homes without an invitation or go outside during the day, and he’s grown rather accustomed to a certain elevated lifestyle. There are other places he could turn to for money: the city owes him an estate and a title at the bare minimum. But, there’s something to be said for self-sufficiency, and, though he hates to admit it, he wouldn’t make it through three weeks as a noble without being bored out of his mind.

The Harpers need warm bodies (or cold ones, as it were) to rebuild their ranks after Orin’s doppelgangers, and Jaheira’s a savvy old crone who never learned to take no for an answer. She pinpoints Astarion’s two weak spots: a heavy coinpurse and kidnapped children, street kids, the kind no one would miss.

They’re decidedly amateurish criminals, and it doesn’t take him long to track them down and dispatch them, messily and painfully. Four children sit huddled in a cage, and Astarion knows he must look every bit the monster as he picks the lock with hands covered in gore, but they don’t shy away in fear when he opens the door. One of them slips his chubby little hand into Astarion’s and refuses to let go until they reach the safehouse. It’s…odd.

“Good work, Harper,” Jaheira tells him after, and Astarion makes it explicitly clear that he’s simply an independent contractor, an expensive one. 

Jaheira just smirks like the witch she is.

So he contracts. He infiltrates the Guild (and feels insulted when Nine Fingers doesn’t recognize him; he’d like to think he’s rather unforgettable), foils an assassination plot or three, even teams up with Minsc and a turncoat Thayan to stop a gaggle of Red Wizards from doing…whatever it is they do. It’s a good business, he supposes. A hero’s reputation is a small price to pay for a hero’s coffers.

Jaheira’s wise enough to know when to hang up her blades, and it makes her more of an insufferable busybody than ever, which - somehow - becomes Astarion’s problem. First, it’s his own cell, then suddenly he’s the field contact for four others. He’s dragged to the most dreadfully tedious logistical meetings imaginable. The only reason he agrees to any of it is that Jaheira can turn an offhand comment and a raised eyebrow into the kind of challenge that itches beneath Astarion’s skin. It should be all too familiar and just as unwelcome, that burning need to prove himself, but it’s not. It’s different, perhaps, when he isn’t being set up to fail.

Jaheira passes away peacefully in her sleep at the ripe old age of one hundred and ninety-two, and Astarion’s convinced he can hear her grumbling about that all the way from the Fugue Plane. She would have rather gone out fighting, but, privately, Astarion feels like she deserved something gentler than bleeding out on a battlefield. He never did tell her how much he admired her (though he doubts she would have appreciated such open sentiment: ‘I did not realize I looked so terrible that you’ve already started my eulogy.’), but she must have known. He thinks he’s really going to miss her.

Right up until the moment Rion is handing him a pin and leading him to a library full of dossiers and documents. Then, he’s ready to cross the Astral Sea just so that he can bring her back and kill her again. Independent. Contractor. What part of that did she not understand? 

He goes home and locks the door with the full intention of ignoring every Harper that comes knocking. But Harpers are nosy little shits, and after he nearly disembowels one who surprises him by breaking into his house just to tell him the most idiotic plan to dismantle a smuggling ring he’s ever had the misfortune of hearing, he realizes hiding isn’t going to be an option. Besides, Astarion cannot be privy to such levels of incompetence and sit idly by. 

So he helps. Provisionally. Just long enough to find a decent replacement, and then he can wash his hands of the whole thing.

Unfortunately, it’s not as easy a task as he had hoped. Every potential candidate lacks something: consistency, creativity, confidence, the common sense to understand Astarion’s eminently logical filing system. It takes him three decades to accept that not only is he excellent at the job, but that he enjoys it immensely. 

When they make him take a title, he chooses Spymaster. It suits him - dashing, mysterious, questionably moral, because he’s never been a hero, and it would be foolish to pretend that he is.

They all call him High Harper anyways.

[kentopedia]

it's been decades since you've last seen dazai; your lover & your maker. now that you're finally happy, he's haunting you again with a thousand buried memories.

overall contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, exes to lover, gothic romance, blood drinking, vampire!reader, vampire!dazai, smut, cheating reader, complicated relationships, blood, gore, jealousy, manipulation, religious symbolism, betrayal, reunions — 5.3k words

PART V ♰ MASTERLIST

Human blood, when it came straight from the source, a punctured vein made up of a scarlet river, held a divine power. There was a warmth that you could only receive from drinking it, not from the animals you captured in the woods, or those that you bled dry into a goblet. 

Only then, would your icy skin be transformed into something akin to heated marble, so smooth, made up of something that had outlasted any other creature roaming the earth. 

That sort of euphoria was a feeling that fifty years had served you well in forgetting. You’d learned not to miss it. 

Until you got it back. The taste of human blood, once it had stained your lips after decades, had become the only thing on your mind. 

For two days, the blood of the woman, whom Dazai had lured to his hotel room for you, kept your hunger down. Your body had grown warm once more, skin as normal as any mortal’s. It made you feel as if you had regained life itself, the ecstasy seeping back into you like the sunbeams you’d never reach again. 

You’d pranced around your home joyfully, dancing through the halls the night before. Although it was dangerous, it was freeing, to lose yourself to the bloodlust like that. Just a taste of what your life had been, was enough to twist your mind, have you reminiscing on the vampire you’d once been. 

“You seem different,” Atsushi had said, the previous day. There had been such pleasure in his irises and the lines creasing his face, at seeing you so cheerful. Those signs of happiness in him were ones that you’d vowed never to take away, for doing so would deem you the vilest creature of them all. “Has something happened that I’m not aware of?” 

You’d laughed, let him rest in the crook of your elbow as you leaned him over your forearm, dipping him gracefully with your otherworldly strength. “I’m just glad you’re home, Atsushi,” you’d said, before twirling him around, guiding him in a dance around the room. 

It was all you could say, really. You couldn’t admit that your true gaiety came from the blood of a young woman, and your health had been restored by drinking the sweet nectar from her heart. 

Something you should’ve been doing all along. 

Then, when those two days passed, and the desperation that came with hunger returned, your mood soured. Atsushi pretended he hadn’t noticed, skirting around you with sideways glances and softened smiles. Encouragement — even if he wasn’t sure what had turned your radiance into a shade of blue. 

Life settled back into a sense of normalcy. For your fiancee, at least, who had never had a clue that anything was amiss. You, on the other hand, grappled with the immense guilt, the truth of what you’d done slamming against you, every moment your thoughts strayed. 

Dazai. 

Dazai. 

Dazai. 

The only name on your mind. Ever. Dreadfully lurking at the lines of your subconscious, even as you smiled at the one who loved you purely. Dazai’s charming grin snuck behind your eyelids as you kissed the man you were to be wed to, his name souring your tongue when you tasted Atsushi’s own. 

His voice, a melody bestowed upon you by nothing else but the devil, for a merciful god could never have created something so tempting, so horribly unholy. Those dark eyes, darker still when you punctured his throat, letting the crimson liquid flow into your mouth, staining your lips. 

And his blood… 

You growled, digging your nails into the piano that you’d failed to play at all. A screeching sound erupted as your fingers slid down the cover, deep scratches marring the wood. 

This was all his fault. If he’d never come back, then things could’ve carried on as they always had. You wouldn’t crave the taste of human blood once again, of Dazai’s blood, of his mouth, of him. 

“Get out,” you shouted, throwing the piano bench away from the instrument, the wood splintering under your strength. “Get out.” The antique vase shattered against the wall, the priceless item suddenly a million, tiny pieces. “Get out of my head.” 

Frustrated crept its way up your chest, a less than welcome old friend. 

Yet, that blend of rage and anguish was not an antidote to the way that Dazai Osamu had poisoned your mind, and you fell to your knees, sobbing hot streaks of blood into your hands. 

He’d made a cheater out of you, once again. A cheater, a killer, and a monster. And even after all that, you yearned for him. Your chest ached for the trace of his fingertips along your jawline, for those eyes to soften, only upon you. For the smile that he’d always given you, even in your darkest moments, as you laid upon him, coated in the gore of another.

Dazai was a cruel man, but he’d loved you through it all. 

And if what he said was true, he’d never meant to leave you. 

You swallowed, willing your tears away as you stared at the ceiling, dragging those regrettable emotions deep, burying them under the years of turmoil he’d put you through. All the times he’d snuck away, never telling you where he’d gone, promising he’d change and still playing the same games. 

Even then, the taste of his blood was too fresh on your mind, the tenderness of his hands still burned into your skin. 

Dazai, for all his cruelty, was right. Atsushi would never understand you the way he did. He’d never love you like that either. 

It had been a blessing, at first, that Atsushi was so vastly different from your immortal companion. Now, it had become the thorn lodged deep in your side, puncturing you through the middle. 

When the day came that you turned Atsushi, with a ring upon your finger and the promise of an immortal life, would you still long for Dazai? 

It seemed unfair to judge your vampire lover now, for all his misgivings, all the evil deeds he had committed, all the adultery, all the silence. The murder. You were the same, you and Dazai. Burned straight from the same pit, crafted by the hands of a demon, placed upon this earth for no reason but evil. 

How foolish you had been, to ever think you could be anything good. 

Three days later, when the rats were not enough, and the threat of biting Atsushi became too much to resist, you sought Dazai out. 

The realization of your buried feelings, towards him and yourself, would remain just that—hidden. You’d told Dazai you needed time, and you still did. Time to decide if you’d rather live with Atsushi, or step out into the sunlight, letting your body fall into flames before ashes. Both seemed more pleasurable than admitting that your once lover had seen straight through you. 

Truly anything was better than admitting that what you felt for Dazai was something, still, close to love. 

You’d spent the evening steeling yourself, staring awake in the darkened room as you rehearsed what you’d say to Dazai, after the last conversation you’d had. It had begun to occur to you, perhaps, that your problematic dalliance could be traced back to the mixed signals that you continued to send his way.

Yet, when you finally mustered up the courage to visit him, Dazai was not at the hotel. The room service had already cleared out the lodgings, stripped the room bare and sterilized it after his departure. 

Dazai was gone. He’d left just like you’d wanted him to, for weeks. 

So, why did your heart drop like a weight from your chest to your stomach, the agonizing twist of abandonment tearing through your immortal soul?

Briefly, you stared at the empty room, blinking at the laundress who spread fresh linens across the mattress. She seemed to be startled by the fury and misery in your darkened irises, lips parting with words she wouldn’t speak. 

“The man,” you said, hating the sound of your choked voice, raspy as it made its way out of your chalky throat. “The man that was staying in this room. He left?” 

She stared at you for a moment longer, before nodding slowly. “He did.” 

“Do you know when?” 

When? Where? Why did you let him leave? How could he just walk away without even so much as a goodbye?

The woman shook her head once more, smoothing a wrinkle across the sheets before stepping away from the four-poster bed. The same one that you had tumbled onto with Dazai, twice in the past few days, your icy hands roaming across each other’s bodies.

“That is not my business,” she offered, as kindly as she could, frightened by the sharp coils of your features, as nasty as the glare that shone in your burning eyes. “I apologize that I cannot be of more help, miss.” 

You considered carrying on, objecting, perhaps tearing apart the room in a fit of anger. It could be upended by your monstrous speed before the skittish laundress even had time to protest. 

For less than a moment, you bared your fangs, the sheer white of your teeth glinting in the moonlight. A flash of fear sheared its way through the woman’s eyes, as she caught the menacing curl of your lip, before you recovered smoothly. Quickly enough for her to believe that it had been a trick of the light, a play of her imagination.

“No. I apologize,” you said, dropping your hands to your sides, ignoring the dissonance of your humanity and your eternal curse. So quickly, with the burst of anger thrumming under your skin, you’d resorted to thoughts of violence. Ugly ideas swarmed your mind, a vision of blood, beautifully ruby red, splattering across the creamy linens. 

Perhaps it was best that Dazai left. Hopefully, it was permanent.

Without another word, you left the laundress to her work, heading back to the front desk to see if you could weasel any answers out of the manager. He had been quite adamant in keeping it private, the whereabouts of guests, both past and present, under lock and key.

“I am merely curious when he left,” you said, growing frustrated after a minute of pursuing answers. Your sharp nails, stronger than that of a normal human’s, dug into the counter, small crescents indented in the dark wood. “Can you not supply me with that simple fact?” 

The man pushed his glasses up, shook his head once, before you huffed, nearly hissing under your breath. You would resolve to more drastic measures, if you needed to. 

“Tell me when he left.” You laid your sharp gaze into him, digging past the soil of his golden brown irises, until you had reached his mind, curling your own influence around it. “Dazai Osamu, he was staying in room 29.” 

The man straightened, looked at you with parted lips, like you were the only person, the only being, in the entire world. So captivated he was, both by your beauty and your confidence, the smile on your lips softened, yet not without its cruelty. But the touch you’d laid on his mind was one of comfort, a warm caress. A feeling of laying on your chest, your fingers curling through the few, thin strands left on his balding head. 

“Earlier this week,” he replied, nodding, recollecting the evening. “Yes, I remember him. Quite an outlandish fellow—very self assured. He’d checked out earlier than expected, but seemed in no hurry.” The fog lifted from the man’s irises for just a moment, as confusion hammered against you, and you lost your focus. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

You were quite out of practice, and dug deeper, controlling his consciousness. “Did he say where he was going? Or anything at all?” 

He shrugged, eyebrows knitting together in pain as your gentle touch laid way to a cold slap against his mortal intuition. “I can only assume he would be going home.” 

You scowled, face marring into an ugly expression, as your hands shook against the countertop. Then, you turned, scoffing, and released the man from your grasp. “Fine. Forget we had this conversation.” 

The clerk said nothing to you as you stalked away, leaving a trail burned into the carpet from your steps. You were nothing more than a stranger. 

Outside, you seemed to come to your senses, the moon, your oldest friend, your eternal companion, greeting you with a kiss. You stared up at it with distant longing, wishing, perhaps, that that silvery light could shroud you, wrap you up and take you away, just as the sunlight could. 

Three steps around the corner, out of the sight of any lingering travelers, you dropped to the ground, leaning against the brick exterior of the old hotel. It was a building on the brim of decay, the colors so much different than when it’d opened, wood paneling rotting away. 

Rotting just like anyone that had ever loved you had done. 

The hotel had been born after your family, after the friends you’d had when you were human, but the state of it was more grisly than any you’d ever been in. It would age, die, collapse into the earth, and you would walk in the rubble, still as divine as you were now. 

The realization of that alone had you doubling over, laughing into your hands, a sharp, terrible sound that echoed into the emptiness of night. 

So hard, you laughed, that it threatened to tumble into tears, ones that you kept at bay, even as you stared at the decaying hotel and the stars in the night that you’d probably outlive too. 

With Dazai gone, you felt closer to the brink of insanity than you ever had, in both your lives as a human and a vampire. It felt that some cord deep within you had snapped, and suddenly, you could not see a reason for your meaningless existence. 

Day in and day out you’d suffered, looking for a reason to continue on the path of moral righteousness, to ignore all the memories that continued to resurface, floating up out of the deep, black abyss. 

You had been unhappy as a human, unsatisfied with your existence, and you had been a loose cannon in your early years as a vampire; a risk to yourself and anything that dared to step in your path. And though you’d once believed yourself to court misery, you had only shared a gentle kiss with it, never taken it to bed and let it shroud you with itself. 

Misery, now, was the only word that could encompass the deep sense of hollowness that had been carved inside of you. Even Atsushi, with his kind eyes and a smile you loved so dearly, had not been able to ease you out of bed. 

Leave me for a few days, Atsushi, you’d told him, not sure if you were being selfish, or quite the opposite. I don’t want to hurt you. 

You didn’t. You didn’t want to hurt him. But there was, and perhaps there would always be, the version of you that longed for the violence. For when had you last been happy, free, without the restraints and the threat of murdering the one you loved most, if not when you were with Dazai?

When the third day passed without a drop of blood, and the hunger had gripped you so tightly that you were on the brink of delirium, you pulled yourself out of bed, and left the apartment. 

It was warmer, humid, the air stifling and pressing down on you as you roamed the streets, looking for something, anything. While the weather had very little effect on the dead, it was your hunger that dizzied you, a sensation that was so close to the suppressive heat felt as a human that you smiled, traipsed around as if you were in a dream.

Atsushi you’d spoken to only in brief increments, your fangs bared in a threat, warning him not to come any closer. And all he’d done was smile, tightly, and grabbed a fresh set of clothes, leaving for the rest of the week to retire elsewhere. 

Despite your treatment of him, you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel apologetic. If that was what it took for you to save his life, to keep him from seeing the ugliest parts of you, then so be it. 

Still, it only made you think of Dazai, who had seen all those sides of you. He had seen you, the very worst parts of you. He had seen you as a human, smiling softly at men on the streets as you slipped a hand into their pockets, stealing for the bread you couldn’t afford. He had seen you relish at the sight of fear, as the very same men began to see you as a threat, not a prize that could so easily be won. He had seen you happily drown yourself in murder, and he had loved you anyway. 

For as little as he’d shared about his own life, you’d understood him. It had been the reason he’d given you the gift of immortality, one you could never return.

Thinking of that — thinking of Dazai at all — felt like a betrayal. 

“Excuse me,” you heard a voice say beside you. A tall man approached, at least a foot above you, his eyes roaming across you with a lust you were all too familiar with. For a moment, you considered ignoring him, stepping away without turning to face him at all. 

He persisted, calling out for you again, when you finally gazed back at him with hard suspicion. 

“May I help you?” you replied, eyes narrowed.

He startled, taking a step back at your intensity. “Ah. I’m just passing through, and I’ve lost my way. I was wondering if you would direct me back to Crescent Street. I’m staying at the hotel there,” he said.

“Perhaps I am a traveler as well.” You glanced back at the river, the shimmering water winking at you with the reflection of the stars. “What makes you so certain I am familiar with the area?”

If you threw yourself into the water, tried to drown under the darkened depths, would you? Would the water flow through your lungs, killing you over and over until the sun rose, or would you simply breath it in and out as freshly as air, coughing it up when you emerged? 

Dazai had never told you these kinds of things. You’d never been bored enough to try and find out yourself. 

“Oh,” the man said. “Forgive me. I just assumed, based on how confidently you stroll the night. With all the murders that have been happening, I thought you must have either been comfortable, or just very stupid.” 

You smiled lazily at him, as the annoyance surged up in you, so fast and without warning. “I am certainly not stupid.” 

“Certainly not.” Then, the man, with his blonde locks and eyes the colors of sapphires, stuck a gloved hand out, leaning forward. “My name is Peter,” he said, curling his hand around your own, pointedly ignoring the ring on your finger. There was hunger in his expression, though it was different from your own, as he dipped his gaze towards the red corset that hugged your curves, revealing a hint of cold skin at your chest. 

You bowed your head gracefully, giving your name in response, before looking at him from under your eyelashes. From that action alone, the sultry burn you had spilled into your irises, his demeanor changed, lips falling open from your otherworldly beauty. 

Although your gift of slipping into the minds of humans, compelling their actions and twisting their memory had come in handy many times in the past, you’d never had to use it to lure a man to his dark fate. They came so easily, once they understood your intentions, saw even a hint of desire contrasting the gentle innocence you held onto. 

“I must be quite lucky, then, to have stumbled across you,” he said, leaning into you. You could smell the tobacco that stuck to his clothes, fine cigars that he smoked quite freely. There was a hint of another scent there too, sweeter, more feminine. It soaked deeply into his clothes, lining every thread as if it had been coated there. 

“Are you traveling alone?” you asked suspiciously, stepping away from him, to find a shaded area along the bank. There were enough trees to hide any hints of murder, and any lingering eyes had fled to the other side of the city, the busier side, where the port was. 

The storm in Peter’s oceanic eyes dissipated to serene waters. 

A lie came after, and so easily it slipped off his tongue, without an ounce of guilt, of the torment you had long since succumbed to. 

“Yes,” he confirmed. Even though his eyes said no, and the scent of the woman’s perfume agreed. 

“No wife?” you returned, smiling softly, as you reached the edge of the water, the waves curling up along the muddied rocks. “Kids?” 

He laughed. “I’m afraid I am still a lonely bachelor.” 

“Well,” you said, turning back around to trace his arm gently, your diamond clad finger on full display. “I’m not.” 

Although he said nothing, you could see the anger rise up in him, the frustration at being toyed with — and how quickly it rose. His fingers tightened at his side, jaw clenching, a cruel word launching to the tip of his tongue. 

“But,” you said, quelling your own rage. The threat of a violent man may have been nothing to you, but it would be enough to the other women that happened to be passing the streets. “Perhaps, we can ignore that small detail, for the time being.” 

You slipped the ring off your finger and dropped it onto the ground, letting it fall into the earth, soiled and dirtied by the splashes of water that rose up — where you belonged. Underground, buried without a ring that never should’ve been on your finger in the first place. 

You felt crazed, your spirit slipping from the shell of morality it had resided in, as it remembered what it truly meant to be free. And you were free, weren’t you? Your nature was never meant to succumb to laws set by mortals, for you were older than them, older than the society that claimed to be civilized, but was just as monstrous as your own. 

Peter parted his lips, formulating a response you cared little for, as you shoved him up against the nearest tree, his back hitting it with a grave thump.

Even though you expected his face to morph into one of pain, he stared back at you with intrigue, eyes alight with want. That alone made you sick, with him and yourself, for doing the same thing to your fiance that you would take his life for. 

You turned his jaw, caressing him softly as you exposed the vein, and dipped your head. 

It was unfortunate that it didn’t cause him any pain, an almost erotic feeling to humans when you sunk your teeth in, tongue lapping at the puncture. But you were far too hungry to care, and ignored the warning bells in your head as you drank and drank, until the blood and breath began to fizzle out, and he was but a corpse left in your arms. 

The taste grew rancid, sour in your mouth with death, and you released him, tearing the skin with a gruesome sound as you emerged from the vein. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in his expression, despite being gruesomely torn apart, and you threw him towards the river in disgust. 

“I would apologize to your wife,” you said, smiling, rejuvenated by fresh human blood. Although he had been an easy catch, the hunt was elating, nonetheless. “But she’s better off without you.” 

You leaned down, ripping a handkerchief from his pocket, before dabbing at your mouth, a few droplets of blood staining the tan cloth. 

A sigh escaped you, and you glanced back up at the moon, the stars, the endless universe that you hardly understood at all. If there was a god out there, or the devil as you’d once feared, would they grant this as a sin, or would you be a vengeful angel, cleaning the world of the scum that committed adulterous acts?

You placed the cloth across his neck before slashing your nails across it, tearing at the skin like you were an animal, just enough to cover your tracks. Then, you dumped him into the water, watched him turn over, onto his face, before sinking just under. 

For a moment, you stared, as the once living, breathing thing turned into something pale and ugly, floating along the current as if nothing more than a piece of litter, carelessly tossed aside. The mop of hair across the top of the waves, golden and shiny in the light, was the only evidence that he had ever been alive at all. 

Then, as quickly as his life had left him, he disappeared into the night, beyond your vision. 

You paused, feeling an eerie sense of nothingness creep up on you, as you realized what you had done. It had been so long since you’d held someone’s life in your hand like that, killed without a second thought, that the feelings of deliverance and regret battled so fiercely, they turned into impassivity. 

Licking your lips, you turned around, basking in the warm glow of the night, the short hours you had left until the sun rose once again. The days would grow longer again, as would your sleep, as the dreadful months of summer sequestered you inside. 

Picking up your ring, you left the bank, elevated. The ground seemed to fall below you as you meandered home, and the sound of the humans, those still awake at such an hour, though loud, was muddled. Nothing but a cacophony of nonsense as your own thoughts rattled even louder in your head. 

The closer you got to home, to Atsushi, the more you grew to question yourself, to feel sick with your own actions. It was weakness that had drawn you to such an act. You were nothing but a slave to your hunger, to the bloodlust, and the anger that rose up in you. 

Dazai had always been so controlled, so careful and cautious. You, on the other hand, had never been a master of your emotions — you went on killing without worry. A glutton when it came to the bodies you drained. 

“Everything alright?” your neighbor asked, smoking on the balcony as her husband slept inside, perhaps the only reprieve she ever got from the miserable man. 

You approached, waved her off, hoping that she was drunk enough to forgot she ever saw you. Maybe she wouldn’t even care that the woman living next door was a killer. 

That was a laughable idea. 

“Everything’s fine.” you spat out, sharply, not even bothering to look in her direction before you returned to your townhome, slamming the door behind you. It rattled on the hinges, the wood cracking, the frame beside the door shaking, before landing crooked.

A few angry tears emerged in your eyes, and you rubbed them away, your hand coated in watery, red blood, smearing into your skin. “Fuck,” you muttered, shaking your head as you looked to the bedroom, where you knew Atsushi wasn’t… Even though he should’ve been. 

You screamed, bending over to catch yourself, before you kicked at the wall, a large hole breaking the plaster from the strength you’d forgotten you had. Then you screamed again. And again. Your nails tore into your arms in a ghastly, inhuman way, the skin merely stitching itself back up almost as immediately as you ripped it. 

You could lay there, you thought, glancing over at the windows on the opposite side of the room, the beautiful, golden rock in the sky winking at you as she began to fade into the evening. How easy it would be, to open the glass panels, stand before them and let yourself burn into ashes. You could finally face the sun, let the last century and a half become a mere fraction of what your life could’ve been.

But you didn’t. 

You had some strength in you yet. 

Turning away from the window, you crept into one of the spare bedrooms, where the old coffin you’d slept in before rested on the ground. You’d gotten so used to sleeping in that bed, with Atsushi, that you’d almost forgotten you still had that sense of comfort. 

It was a safety net, one that you happily shrouded yourself in as you dusted off the black cover, settling into the silk red sheets you’d chosen yourself. The feeling of sleep there was so reminiscent of your old life, you half expected to open your eyes and see Dazai there, who had laid beside you, many years after death. 

For the first time in decades, you felt more like a vampire than a pathetic attempt of remaining human. You weren’t sure what to make of that.

Atsushi had crept in and out that morning without making a peep, leaving for the office before the crack of dawn, and returning just as you were emerging from your coffin. 

It was, you knew, something that he had never been able to reconcile with your lifestyle — sleeping in such a way, like the old monsters did, the stories that had always been told. That had partially been the reason he’d offered to take on the daunting task of sun-proofing your home. 

“Are you okay, honey?” Atsushi had asked in his soft voice, eyes narrowed in concern as you emerged from the coffin. “I was worried when I didn’t see you in the room.” 

You smiled, tersely, suddenly remembering yourself, the entirety of last night being chalked up to a poor mistake. It was regrettable, even if Peter was a lousy husband, that his wife would wake up, not knowing where he was. And if he had children, what would they think of their father’s disappearance?

“I’m fine,” you said, shaking off those thoughts. Atsushi certainly didn’t need to be worrying about you, and the murder of a cheating man hardly seemed a sin compared to your hypocrisy. “It just feels strange sleeping in our bed, knowing you won’t be coming home.” 

Atsushi’s eyes softened. His romantic ideals had always been something you could speak to. “I know we’ve had a bit of a rough go of things, but…” he shrugged, reaching out to you, before retracting his hand. “I don’t like staying with Ranpo. I would rather be here, you know.” 

You knew. Of course you knew. It hadn’t been Atsushi that had insisted upon his removal from the apartment. 

“I’m sorry,” you sighed.

“It’s okay.” For a moment, he looked away, then rubbed his face. “I know we said we would wait — that I would wait until we were married, but,” a brief pause, as he swallowed. “Maybe, you should turn me now. If I’m still a risk to you.” 

There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, even if his eyes were steadfast. Atsushi still had faith in his humanity, still held onto it tightly, though every moment spent with you left it quickly slipping through the cracks of his fingers. 

But it was never an issue of marriage that had kept you from turning Atsushi. It was the fact that he was so good, so unlike you and Dazai, that you wanted to put it off for as long as possible. 

You smiled, though it was pained, and shook your head. Imagining Atsushi as a vampire was beginning to make you ill, the vision so against the will of the universe that you weren’t sure it could ever come to pass. 

“I’m okay now, I think. I’ve taken care of it.” 

He didn’t ask what that meant. 

You didn’t bother to tell him, either. 

PART VI

sorry this one is kind of a filler >< i promise there will be more exciting stuff soon !!

tag list: @cerberels @thateldribitch @osameowdazai @osaemu @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @hinata7346 @scinclaitnoir @mimimimiminanana @yolkyuyi @xxoolii @zephoncocaine @angelsdemonsandhumans @kouyoumarryme @avocate-assia-dazai dazai @iluv-ace @pe4rl-diver @wilbur-the-hottie @zbriia @yasu-masashige @umarureid @seikouryuu @dazaiswife1 @kxmilia @lacunaanonymousd @angelof-darkness @acacia-koi @foxydaydreamer @astrial @adoreddior @jayborderline @fandomhoestuff @destinyisastar @kierabear-1 @rosepig @aikatoru @tetsuskei @erebus-et-eigengrau @moemoekunn @amanoava @blank03sthings @himikoslove @aenishas @mncxbe @acacia-koi @stromy-weather @sugaredpersimmon @waiting-for-cas-to-save-me @iheartpieck @little-miss-chaoss

[f1-stuff]

You mentioned omegaverse in the surreal DC reblog where he’s commenting far too much on Charles’s smell lol and it made me wonder if you’ve ever considered writing omegaverse Charlos? Do you have any interest or not so much your thing?

Love your work <33333

Hello! ❤️ I didn't used to be into omegaverse very much tbh, but something clicked in the last couple years and I started to vibe with it a lot more. I actually did start to write an abo charlos fic, that's also a Victorian-era royalty arranged marriage situation (woo that's a mouthful 😂), but I haven't added much to it in a while...

The funny thing is that I find myself forgetting it's abo while writing bc there's so much else going on, and then I have to throw in a line about someone's scent asghfjlslsdk. But anyway, I'm gonna share a little more of it now just because I feel like it's been a while since I posted a fic or a snippet...

“Charles.”

Impatience has crept into his mother’s voice by the second utterance of his name, and yet Charles still takes the time to finish the page he’s reading before clapping the (dreadfully boring) book shut and looking up at her expectantly. As usual, she doesn’t look particularly amused by his stubbornness.

“Charles, I was thinking that perhaps you and I should stay away from the palace for an additional month or so.”

“What?” he frowns. “Why?”

“To rest,” she suggests. “It’s been a very tough week, and you still don’t look well-”

“Maman,” he sighs, rubbing his temple where a headache is starting to form. Of course, he won’t tell her that. “I feel fine. And I’m ready to go home. We already missed Uncle’s birthday. We are not missing Papa’s.”

His mother doesn’t reply. It’s not the first time she’s brought it up, and it won’t be the last, but Charles isn’t losing this particular argument. Not even if he has to escape back to the palace himself. A week away from his father in his poor condition is already too much to bear, let alone the prospect of more time apart.

Charles and his mother’s retreat to their country residence had been unavoidable. The ‘very tough week’ in question is Charles’ heat, which had been brought on early due to the stress he's been under, caused by his numerous advisors' renewed efforts as of late to convince him to sign the regency order. No doubt they’ll be hoping that now, weakened by five days of fever and delirium, he’ll feel further compelled to relinquish his power to a regent in the event of his father’s death before he’s come of age.

It’s never going to happen, and his mother doesn’t need to try to protect him by hiding him away for a month either. She, along with everyone in that damned palace, treats him delicately enough as it is. Ever since he’d presented around eleven years old, he’s been wrapped in cotton wool. But just because he’s an omega doesn’t mean he isn’t perfectly capable of standing up for himself. In fact, he can’t wait to be free of the silly protective measures that were put in place almost seven years ago. The moment he’s crowned, he’s doing away with all of it.

“Really, Charles. I hope you’re not upset we had to come here. You know that it’s for your own safety-”

“Yes, maman, I know,” he interrupts, then sighs and aims a small smile her way to soften his exasperated tone. “I’m not arguing that. But I don’t need any more time to recover. It isn’t as though I do much more than this in the palace, anyway.”

Reading books, painting, playing piano and chess - there isn’t much more that he’s allowed to do. The other activities that his brothers partake in, like horse riding and archery, aren’t permitted for him, nevermind that he performed them just fine before he’d presented. That argument has never worked to convince anyone to grant him allowances because it’s not really about whether he’s capable.

“Well...if you’re certain.”

“I am,” he says, firmly. His mother nods.

Good. That’s settled, then. She speaks again before he has a chance to reopen his book.

“The other thing I’ve been meaning to discuss with you - your uncle has invited the Sainz siblings to come and stay at the palace. You met their two eldest when you were very young, but I’m sure you don’t remember.”

“No,” Charles confirms, intrigued. “Who are they?”

“Their father is a Spanish duke, and his son, Prince Carlos, is just a few years older than you. Unlikely that he will ever inherit the throne, but it is a distant possibility.”

Ah. So a marriage prospect, then. Charles bites back a sigh. From one prison to another.

“You should get to know him better,” his mother says, reading his expression.

“Why?” he asks, just to be difficult. He knows very well why.

“Because. Your Uncle Thierry thinks it’s a good idea.”

Well, if his uncle thinks it, then so it shall be.

Charles sinks further into his chair, grabbing the book he’d set aside and reopening it pointedly. His mother takes the hint. (The book may be a dull one, but at least it serves its purpose as a conversation ender superbly.)

****

“Monaco could be a very important chess piece in future conflicts,” Caco explains, leaning against the table to address his young cousin. “It is under the military protection of France, and having the force of France at our disposal could be instrumental in quelling potential unrest.”

Carlos Junior looks up at him from his seat at the desk, notes of skepticism in his expression. He doesn’t make an objection just yet - his cousin would not be telling him this unless it had come from his father directly.

Caco sets down a piece of paper in front of him. It’s a drawing of a young man who can’t be more than eighteen, his boyish features evident even in sketch form. The other thing that is undeniable is his beauty, a sense of mischief and innocence dancing in his eyes that has Carlos wondering if it’s a faithful representation.

“Is he this pretty in person?”

Caco simply gives him a look, not dignifying that with a response. “That is Prince Charles, heir apparent to the Monegasco throne, seventeen years old. In the next few weeks, you will study everything there is to know about him - his favorite novels, plays, composers. You will brush up on your French-”

“Wait, wait, cousin,” Carlos interjects, blinking in confusion. “What does a prince have to do with me?”

“That omega...” Carlos’ gaze shoots up to his cousin, brows raising. “...has everything to do with you.”

Ah. That changes things, indeed.

“As I was saying,” Caco continues, sighing. “In order to keep the prince safe, he’s been kept sheltered from his father’s court for years, ever since he was a boy. Thus, when he does make a rare public appearance, such as at the opera or ballet, his mere presence causes quite a stir.”

Carlos’ eyes return to the paper in front of him, his gaze tracing a path over the prince’s nose and settling at the elegant curve of his lips.

“You must win his favor before anyone else has the chance,” his cousin says. “The first visit in a few weeks’ time will be vital. We can afford no mistakes. But always remember, you are first and foremost a Sainz. Do not forget the reason behind all of this, no matter how ‘pretty’ his face.”

Carlos tries to bite back his smirk, but likely fails from the look his cousin sends him.

“Charm him, Carlos. Make him smile. God knows you are good at that. The rest will be up to fate.”

[paisholotus]

Meant To Be

Shuri x black reader

Summary: "I'll never leave you again, my love"

Warning Strong Language, Death, Smut.

Translations: Sthandwa(My Love) Ndiyakuthanda ( I Love You) "Ndiyakuthanda, nawe" ( I Love You Too) Ndithathe ukumkanikazi wam ( Take Me My Queen) Umhle kakhulu, Kumkanikazi wam ( You're So Beautiful, My Queen) Shuri ukumkanikazi wam ( Shuri, my Queen) Yintoni eyenzekayo (what's going on) Kukho into ekufuneka uyibone ( there's something you need to see) Kwenzeke ntoni (what's happened) Umntu uhlambe elunxwemeni, uKumkanikazi wam ( someone washed up on the beach , my Queen) Ngaba siyazi ukuba ngubani? ( Do we know who?) Ngu ..... umfazi wakho uKumkanikazi wam ( it is your wife) Umfazi wam ( My Queen) Ukumkanikazi wam omhle ( My beautiful Queen) Uyaphila ( he lives ) Bendikukhumbula, kumkanikazi wam (I missed you, my Queen) Usana lwam ihobe ( My baby dove)

Requested by: @purplecandyocean

A/N: This is inspired by the song Stay Ready & Love Scene by Jhene & Joe. This MF IS LONG! So I'm sorry in advance, but I hope y'all enjoy. 🩵

Narrative

Riri was helping Shuri with a new project, which apparently was to benefit the border tribe. The lab was deafeningly quiet. Riri has been in Wakanda on spring break for a month and will return home in two weeks.

 

She realizes Shuri is acting a little down today; she hasn't spoken anything to her all day. She hasn't pressed Shuri to say anything, but she is becoming concerned.

 

"You ok, bro?" Riri asked Shuri.

Shuri nodded and returned her gaze to the tools on the table. 

Riri nodded hesitantly and gazed down at Shuri's necklace. It was a necklace made of crystal. Riri noted that Shuri always wore it and had never seen her take it off. 

"What's that necklace? It's almost as if it's shining. Is it made of vibranium?" Riri asked Shuri.

Shuri smiled affectionately as she gazed down at the necklace. She squeezed it in her hand, observing the various hues reflecting off her hand. 

 

"Yeah, something like that." Shuri's voice drifted off. 

Riri interpreted this as Shuri's refusal to talk. Riri took the tools and went back to work. 

 

Shuri returned her attention to Riri, saying, "My wife made it for me." She said quietly.

 

Riri looked at Shuri with a surprised expression on her face.

 

"YOU WERE MARRIED!?" Riri screamed.

Shuri laughed at Riri's shocked face and nodded.

"How come you've never told me?" Riri asked Shuri.

 

Shuri frowned again, rubbing the crystal between her fingers. 

 

"It's difficult for me to talk about her. I could go on and on about my family, but Y/N....it just aches." She said, while holding tears in her eyes and looking at Riri.

 

Riri nodded and expressed regret for bringing it up. Shuri shook her head and stated that she was not bothered. 

 

"I apologize for being so distant today. Because it is my anniversary, I've been missing her even more." Shuri informed Riri.

Riri assured her they didn't have to discuss it any more if she didn't want to. 

 

"No, it's fine. "I'd like to tell you about her." She stated. 

 

"She made this necklace for me. I can communicate with her, and the glowing means she's safe. It will change colors based on her mood. When the blip occurred and everyone else came back, she didn't, including my brother and cousin. The necklace is now basically every color. But the glowing gives me hope that she's still alive." 

Riri's eyes welled up as she listened to Shuri. Shuri basically lost everyone she loved.

"Can you tell me some more stuff about her?" Riri asked. 

Shuri offered her a tearful smile as she glanced at her. 

"Of course." 

"She sounds amazing," Riri said, as Shuri finished telling her about Y/N. "I know, that's why I married her" Shuri proudly said, but her smile quickly faded. "I miss her," She said. Shuri didn't want to burden her problems and worries onto Riri, even though they were friends, talking about Y/N was dreadfully painful.

"Well, even though you can't communicate with her anymore, your necklace still glows. So maybe she'll come back one day. My grandmother used to say, life ain't nothing without faith. So you gotta continue to have faith that she'll come back, good things that are made for us always comes back." Riri told shuri softly grabbing on her hand.

Shuri gave Riri a small smile and quietly thanked her squeezing her hand back. Shuri dropped their hands and told Riri she'll finish the project tomorrow. She told Riri to shut down the lab for her, she was going to call it a night.

As shuri walks down the palace halls, heading to her room, it gets quieter, she thought of the happy days. The day Shuri and Y/N got married. It was in secret, Shuri proposed to Y/N on the beach, it was absolutely beautiful. Shuri was the oldest 16 and Y/N 15. Their marriage was in secret because both of their parents would not of approve of them marrying so young, but their love was strong and Shuri knew she would never want to be with anyone else.

Shuri walked into her room, walking straight into the bathroom to do her nightly hygiene routine. After she was done, she lotioned up and put on her pajamas. She honestly felt mentally tired. She was sick of coming to an empty room night after night. She looked towards her closet and walked in, walking all the way to the back, were Y/N's clothes in boxes.

She opened the box and pulled out one Y/N's shirts, bringing it out of the closet, and walked towards her dresser which held all of Y/N's favorite perfumes. She sprayed the perfume on the shirt and held it up to her nose. She smiled softly at the smelled, the thought of getting rid of your belongings has never and will never cross her mind, this is all she has left of Y/N.

Shuri turns off the lights and gets into bed. She places the shirt over one of the pillows, and hugs it, taking in the scent. Oh, how she wishes Y/N would come back to her. She wishes her whole family back. Of course she has Nakia, her nephew, Okoye, and now Riri.

But, it wasn't the same. She lost everyone. Shuri clutched the pillow tighter as she silently cried herself to sleep.

 

-Time Skip-

Okoye dashed through the corridors of the palace, heading toward Shuri's room.

"Shuri! ukumkanikazi wam!" With tears in her eyes, she let out a cry and pushed open her doors.

 

Startled out of sleep, Shuri gazed at Okoye with a worried expression on her face.

"Yintoni eyenzekayo?" She asked Okoye.

"Kukho into ekufuneka uyibone." She says. 

With the Dora Milaje after them, Okoye and Shuri dashed through the palace's halls and out the palace.

Shuri turned on her suit and dashed over to the scene. The shore. 

Though that was not the case, Shuri mistook it for Namor returning.

 

"Kwenzeke ntoni?" Shuri asked, as Okoye stopped her from walking on the beach.

"Umntu othile wahlamba elunxwemeni." Okoye said, lowly.

Shuri nodded and moved aside only for Okoye to move back in front of her.

Shuri showed her face deactivating her suit, looking at the General suspiciously. "Ngaba siyazi ukuba ngubani?" Shuri asked her.

Okoye opened her mouth but nothing came out, she continued to take uneven breaths looking at Shuri who was losing patience.

Shuri took a good look at the General. Her cheeks was wet and her eyes were red. 'Has she been crying?' Shuri thought. Shuri tried to move around the General but Okoye moved in front of her once again.

"Okoye, you tell me what's going on, right now!" Shuri demanded staring the General in the eyes.

"We know who it is. Ngu ..... umfazi wakho uKumkanikazi wam." Okoye said, slowly her eye's tearing up.

Shuri ran past Okoye instinctively. She was running down the beach like a crazy person when she noticed Ayo and Aneka trying to revive Y/N, who was unconscious on the damp sand. 

 

Shuri slid into the sand close to Y/N's body, placing Y/N's head on her lap. 

 

"LOVE, PLEASE GET UP! DON'T DO THIS!" Shuri begged Y/N. She gazed at the bright red kimoyo beads on your breast, which indicated that it couldn't detect Y/N's pulse. 

 

Shuri removed her necklace and noticed that it had stopped glowing. 

 

 "HAYI! NCEDA UNGAYENZI LE NTO, MNTWANA! BUYELA KUM! ANDINAKUPHULUKANA NAWE!" Shuri screamed. Her hot tears fell on Y/N's face. 

 

The kimoyo beads then became green, prompting Y/N to cough up the water.  

 

Shuri quickly turned Y/N over to her side as she violently coughed up the water. When Y/N finally coughed up the water, Shuri turned her on her back again, pulled her up to her chest, and clutched onto her. 

 

Shuri cried into the side of Y/N's neck, thanking Bast for giving you back to her. Shuri moved her head from Y/N's neck and leaned down, pressing a small kiss to her lips. 

 

"My Queen, maybe we should take her back to the palace so she can get looked at." Okoye said. 

 

Shuri nodded and picked up Y/N, carrying her bridal style back to the palace.

-Time Skip-

Shuri observed Y/N, who was still unconscious, breathing steadily. She leaned over and kissed her forehead, brushing back the dark curls in her eyes. 

 

Shuri couldn't believe she was looking at her wife like this. She was still alive and well. Shuri hadn't seen Y/N in two years, and she was experiencing overwhelming emotions right now.

 

Shuri turned to gaze at Okoye, who was walking over from talking with Ayo. 

 

"How did this happen?" Shuri asked.

 

"A couple said that they saw Y/N wash up on the beach but didn't know who exactly she was until they got people to inform the Dora." She said quietly.

 

"When I got there and I got a good look at her, I knew then that was Y/N." She said, while looking down at Y/N and smiling. 

 

When Shuri turned her head and saw Riri stroll into the room in her pajamas, the moment came to a halt. 

 

"What in the hell is going on? I heard yelling and a lot of running. Did something happen?" She asked, concernedly approaching Shuri.

 

Shuri returned her gaze to her wife with a sweet smile. 

 

"Who's That?" Riri asked. 

 

Shuri returned Riri's gaze with tears in her eyes.

 

"This...is Y/N. Umfazi wam." She remarked, happily beaming. 

 

Riri raised her head at Shuri before returning her gaze to Y/N.

 

'This is her?' Riri pondered. 

"She's beautiful." Riri said.

 

Shuri glanced triumphantly at Y/N and Riri, stating, "Yes, she is. Ukumkanikazi wam omhle." 

 

"AYE!" Everyone turned their heads, and what they saw made their hearts drop. 

 

"Does someone want to fucking tell me why T and I just came out of the fucking ocean?!" 

 

Shuri audibly gasped as she placed her hands over her mouth. 

"N'Jadaka......brother." 

 

Okoye smiled as she stared at T'challa through tears. "Uyaphila." She stated proudly. 

 

Shuri dashed over to Erik and T'challa, wrapping her arms around them both and sobbing.

 

T'challa and Erik clung to Shuri as they sank to the ground. She wailed, clutching them even tighter, as if they might vanish again. 

 

They held onto Shuri while she cried till she couldn't anymore, and the only thing that came out were her hiccups. 

 

T'challa and Erik stepped back to get a better look at Shuri. T'challa had expressed her desire to cut her hair while smiling at her with tears in his eyes. While Erik stated that it suited her.

 

T'challa gazed around, noticing the Dora, Okoye, Y/N on the medical bed, and Riri, whom he didn't know. But who he didn't see was his mother.

 

T'challa returned his gaze to Shuri and asked where their mother was.

 

Shuri's lips quivered as more tears streamed down her cheeks. She started telling them everything. Everything down to the smallest detail. When she returned from the blip, the three of them didn't. 

 

She told them about Namor and what transpired in America, as well as her attempt to bring Riri to Wakanda and her capture by the Talokan. She told them of their mother's death and that M'baku is now King of Wakanda, and she is Queen and Black Panther. 

 

She told them everything that had transpired up until tonight. 

 

T'challa and Erik couldn't find the words to say when she finished. They were experiencing too many emotions at the same time. 

Erik had lost his aunt, and T'challa had lost his mother. M'baku reigns as King on the Thrown. And Shuri T'Challa's younger sister, Queen and Black Panther, has grown up. 

In the last two years, their country has experienced both triumph and tragedy. Erik and T'challa couldn't help but cry as they clutched Shuri. 

T'challa and Erik did express their admiration for Shuri's ability to handle things so well. Shuri thanked her brother and cousin with a warm grin. 

That is everything she has ever desired to hear. 

  -Time Skip-

"Oh my god, Shuri!" Y/N squealed, caught off guard, as Shuri effortlessly lifts her off the ground and twirls her around, cradling Y/N's body in her embrace as she walks down the palace halls. With a playful gesture, she plants several kisses on Y/N's cheek, eliciting another burst of laughter from her. “Shuri, put me down!,” she manage to utter amidst Shuri's genuine laughter, even though her pleads for her to let her go.

“Not a chance, nkoszana. Do you know how long I've waited for this moment?” she tells her sincerely placing her gently back on the ground. Y/N looked shuri in her eye's with love and admiration. After Shuri told Y/N what had happened, she was heartbroken that Shuri had to go through all that. And she felt even more guilty about what happened to Queen Mother. Because maybe if she was there Ramonda would be alive, but Shuri assured her that it wasn't her fault, what happened was out of their control.

Shuri kissed Y/N, trapping her between their bedroom door as her mouth traveled back to that sweet spot on Y/N's neck. Y/N's hand made its way to the back of Shuri's head, gently grasping her soft curls as her passionate kisses, making a moan come from her lips. Shuri's hands creep down Y/N's body, caressing her curves before her fingers slowly find their way between her legs again, causing Y/N's knees to buckle for a split second, from not being touched in so long.

Shuri was delicate in removing Y/N's clothes from her body, allowing her clothes to fall down to her ankles. Her slender fingers graced the sides of her panties, she was not so gentle with, hooking her fingers underneath the lace that hugged Y/N's hips and ripping them, causing a shiver to go down her spine.

"All I want to do right now is love her down (Ooh)

I don't give a damn about who hears the sound (Ooh...)

We'll be in the groove until the sun comes up (Yeah)

Together we'll get lost inside the love"

“Mmm... I smell how wet you are, Sthandwa.” Shuri pressed into Y/N's clit once more, pushing loving circles into her before she made her way down to her clenching hole. Y/N felt drenched, desperate for her wife's touch but Shuri desired to savor this moment as if it were a rare occurrence, shuri was going to please her wife tonight. She's going to make up for the two years she's lost with her love.

"Let's make a love scene, steamy and blue

Erotic memories for an audience of two

And we'll make a love scene, let the foreplay begin

And replay each moment again and again and again"

She traced her fingers over your Y/N's entrance, feeling the way her pussy chased after her in desperation of release. The relentless teasing Shuri subjected Y/N to was unbearable, driving her to the edge of exhaustion as Y/N's impatience mounted, begging Shuri to put an end to it.

"Take it off, take it off, take it off till you get enough

(Whoa... whoa... whoa... whoa...)

Anyway that you like, it's okay, come and get my love

(Whoa... oh... ho... ho... yea...)"

Y/N yearned, craving Shuri's touch with a deep hunger, and Shuri desired her wife just as much as she did. For a moment, Shuri got off the bed, allowing herself to become entranced with the way Y/N's slick glistened her inner thighs, doing all this as Shuri unbuttoned her dress shirt and rolled up her sleeves, her Necklace glowing, and her Panther Grillz glistening against her ebony skin. Shuri was so beautiful and the sight of her only heightened Y/N's arousal, her core pulsing beneath Shuri's gaze.

"All I want to do right now is love her down (Love her down)

I don't give a damn about who hears the sound (Hears a sound)

We'll be in the groove until the sun comes up

(Ooh... ooh...)

Together we'll get lost inside the love (Oh, yeah)"

Shuri got on the bed, resting herself on her knees before motioning Y/N to lay on her back and she obliges, spreading her legs, her arms cuffing under her legs. Shuri's fingers lingered above Y/N's clit, grazing them along her folds.

"Let's make a love scene (Make a love scene), steamy and

Blue (Ooh)

Erotic memories for an audience of two

And we'll make a love scene (We'll make a love scene)

Let the foreplay begin (Oh... ho...)

And replay each moment (Mmm) again and again and again

Ooh, I'm gonna keep lovin', I'm gonna keep lovin' you baby

(When the curtain drops) Oh

We won't stop (We won't stop), we won't stop"

Shuri wasted no time sinking her eager fingers through Y/N's folds, Shuri's digits getting lost in her thick, swollen pussy as Y/N feels the coolness of Shuri's rings up against her. She occasionally brushes over Y/N's clit causing her flinch every time, still sensitive from Shuri's lingering touch.

"Baby lyin' on the bed

Exotic fantasies goin' through her head

She's staring at me with those bedroom eyes

(Take four) Honey sippin' on some Chardonnay

The sex is even better when she's feeling that way"

"Are you going to be a good wife, and let me pleasure you?" Shuri asked, in a sultry tone.

Shuri's words make pounding of Y/N's core intensify, aching to be taken care of. Shuri licked a long stripe up her entrance, eliciting a sharp inhale from Y/N as she licked her lips at the taste.

"Tell me what you want, Ukumkanikazi wam?" She asked, kissing her clit.

"Ndithabathe ukumkanikazi wam." Y/N moaned out, pressing Shuri's head closer to her entrance.

That’s all Shuri needed to hear. She lowered her head to the heaven between Y/N's thighs. She swirls her tongue around her clit, moaning as she sucks gently.

"Umhle kakhulu, kumkanikazi wam." Shuri whispered, lapping Y/N's juices as she clenched around Shuri's tongue, feeling her climax approaching.

“Bast!” Y/N cried out, throwing her head back with eyes glued shut.

Any attempt at hiding Y/N's need for Shuri was long gone now. Shuri flicked her tongue rapidly over the sensitive bundle of nerves, admiring the way your legs clamped over her ears as she did.

“Shuri-yam,” Y/N whined, Shuri's name dragging over her lips.

“Yes, my darling?” Shuri mutters, kitten-kissing Y/N's clit. “P-Please, k-keep going.” Y/N begged.

“Fuck! Right there, mama. Don't stop....A-almost there!” Y/N utter, releasing her grip on the sheets and replacing her grasp onto Shuri’s dark curls.

Shuri's name continued to vibrate off the walls when Y/N's release erupted through her vessel, her body shaking as she rode it out.

The queen lapped up Y/N's essence, sucking every drop that threatened to fall from her center as she moaned at the taste. "You did such a good job, my Queen." Shuri praised, leaning up to kiss Y/N's lips, so she could taste herself.

Y/N reaches her hand out to her Queen, "your turn. Let me taste you, Panther-yam."

Shuri straddles Y/N's stomach, moving her wet core back and forth.

Y/N's hand grazes through Shuri's slick folds as Y/ N's mouth waters at the thought of tasting her mama, "My face. Sit on your throne, my Queen." Y/ N insisted.

"Bendikukhumbula, kumkanikazi wam." Shuri moaned, out softly.

Y/N doesn't respond, instead gripping Shuri's hips and bringing her pussy down to within her mouth's reach before going to town. Y/N start by licking a flat stripe up her folds, collecting as much of her essence on her tongue as she possibly can, moaning at Shuri's taste, "You taste so good, Mama." Y/N raised her other hand up and parting Shuri's folds to wrap her lips around her clit and suck.

"Girl, I'm down to take a sip from your cup

If you drink from my fountain of love (Oh, ho)

Girl I'm down to take a sip from your cup (From your cup)

If you drink from my fountain of love

'69 was a very good year (Do you remember, girl)

If you know what I mean, my dear (Ooh, baby)

'69 was a very good year (I could remember)

If you know what I mean, my dear (Let's do it over and

Over again)"

Shuri throws her head back, a loud moan falling from her lips as she begins rocking her lower lips against your face "Bast! Yes, don't stop! Ndiyakuthanda." Moaned loudly, looking down at Y/N

"Let's make a love scene (Let's make a love scene)

Steamy and blue (Let's do it on the floor)

Erotic memories for an audience of two

And we'll make a love scene (Alright)"

"Ndiyakuthanda, nawe" Y/N responded, spitting onto Shuri’s clit. Making Shuri scream Y/N's name.

 -Time Skip-

 "We do not exist in

Any other instant"

“What’s on your mind, sthandwa sam?” Shuri's voice held Sincerity.

Shuri laid on Y/N's chest looking up in her eyes.

"Nothing, I just can't believe everything that has happened in the last two years." Y/N said, looking up at the ceiling.

Shuri turns over, sitting up on her elbows, looking down into Y/N's eyes.

"Sthandwa-Sam. I know you blame yourself, and I'm telling you not too. What happened, what I've been through was not something you could have fixed." Shuri said, pressing her forehead against Y/N's.

"Here in this dimension

You and I are meant to be"

Y/N's eyes watered as she began to cry a little. "Yeah, but you had to do it all alone. I mean yeah you had Nakia and Okoye. But you've waited two whole for me. If didn't come back I would've wanted you to move on. Find someone other than me to make you happy."

"If you just give me 24

Man, all I need is 24 hours

I promise you'll want plenty more

You'll probably be with it forever

So how does it sound, us on the ground

Giving you my love?"

“Ssshhh, Usana lwam ihobe. I was never alone I carried you with me everywhere I went. Prayed to Bast every day that you would come back to me, never giving up hope or faith. And look what happened, you came back to me. On our anniversary at that." She said, smiling down at Y/N. Making her cry even harder.

"Come to me

Come, come to me

what you've done to me

You put a gun to me

Then you brought the sun to me"

"And as for moving on. That's something I could never in my days do. I love your sense of humor, how you’re always laughing and it makes me laugh. Puts a smile to my face when I have no smile to offer. I love your strength and your capability to love even though the world has not been so kind to you."

"Shine like blood diamonds

Learning to have patience only 'cause you are timeless

The universe energy doesn't lie

And this chemistry is infinity at a million times

I wrote a million rhymes describing your star power

And after 24 bars, you get 24 hours"

“You reminded me everyday of what it is to be happy. And I want nothing more than to spend the end my days, waking up to your perfect face every morning. I loved you every second of my life, and that's never going to change." Shuri finished tears sliding down her cheeks.

"There's no place quite like here

There's no better time than now

You gotta stay ready

There's no place quite like here

There's no better time than now

That's why I stay ready"

"I love you Shuri." Y/N said, kissing Shuri's lips.

"We do not exist in

Any other instant

Here in this dimension

You and I are meant to be"

"I love you more, Sthandwa."

[claymoresword]

The Same Hunger

Rhaenyra Targaryen x Alicent Hightower

Summary: After a long day all Alicent longs for is some alone time with her dear wife.

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Alicent Hightower

Wordcount: 1.5k

Warnings: smut, porn with no plot, top!rhaenyra, bottom!alicent

Note: i watched that scene of olivia in vanity fair for the first time last week and it has been haunting me ever since.

alicent is definitely a bottom bordering on pillow princess sorry that's my reality!

anyway, i had so much fun with this i hope u enjoy it the same let me know what u think :)

not my gifs !

"The Sea Snake is requesting assistance from the crown, he has been fighting fiercely alongside Prince Daemon for many moons now." Lord Lannister says.

"I believe it would be wise to heed his request." The master of coin, chimes in.

Alicent sighs, the damn stepstones again. How she wishes Rhaenyra were here.

"Can we afford it?"

"I believe so, your Grace."

"Very well, come to his aide."

The council is silent for many moments and Alicent let's out a long awaited breath of relief. This meeting has gone on far later than intended.

"If there is nothing else of importance then let us be finished." Alicent announces and stands, taking her leave.

The men bow before making their own way out.

Alicent is speedwalking through Maegor's Holdfast, greeting anybody along the way with a gracious smile. From handmaidens to kitchen workers, they all stopped in their tracks to curtsey before their beloved Queen consort.

She soon walks past Rhaenyra's personal guard, Ser Arryk? She guesses.

"Ah, Ser Arryk, is the Queen in her chambers?"

"It's Erryk, your Grace." The Knight shuffles uncomfortably at the prospect of correcting a Queen.

"My apologies, Erryk." Alicent quickly says. She was admittedly not surprised at her mistake, she can never tell them apart.

"Aye, her Grace is in her chambers. My post has ended for the night, Ser Criston will be taking over for me."

"Very well, thank you Ser."

--

Alicent finds herself humming as she walks down the hallway to Rhaenyra's apartments. A welcomed flutter in her belly, she was excited to see her wife after a terribly long day.

Ser Criston greets her with a smile.

"Your Grace."

"Is she in there?"

Criston merely nods and steps aside to let Alicent through.

Alicent is met with the sight of her wife at her desk ruffling through a mountain of unanswered scrolls.

She looks distressed and Alicent's own face contorts sympathetically.

Rhaenyra finally spots her wife and the expression on her face is nothing short of relief, Alicent's heart constricts longingly at the sight.

"Your Grace." She smirks, curtseying at her wife before making her way over to her.

Alicent situates herself on her wife's lap, Rhaenyra's hands rest on her waist before leaning in. Her tongue entering her wife's mouth almost immediately, a kiss that lacked propriety.

Rhaenyra undoubtedly missed Alicent just as much today.

"You stink."

Alicent whispers as their lips disconnected, earning a genuine laugh. She recognises the familiar stench of dragon, over the years she has learnt to tolerate but has never gotten used to it.

"I know. I did not get the chance to bathe after riding, today has been dreadfully busy."

Alicent looks over at the several pieces of parchment sitting on her wife's desk.

"Truthfully, half of these are proposals of marriage to our Helaena, from Lords all over the realm."

Rhaenyra answers before Alicent even says anything.

"Hm"

Alicent stands and makes her way to her bedside, taking off her earrings.

"We must make her choose soon, Alicent."

"Mhm" Alicent only hums in response and she steps out of her dress and into her night clothes.

"Off to bed already, dear wife?"

Alicent looks up at the other woman, amused.

"Its nearly past the hour of the owl, Rhaenyra."

The queen glances out the window. She hadn't realised it was that late already.

"Oh."

Rhaenyra quickly looks down, resuming her work.

"Though, I have no plans to sleep." Alicent says under her breath but as expected, her wife remains oblivious.

Alicent bites her lip hiding a grin, she makes her way over to Rhaenyra again.

Snatching the Old King's crown from Rhaenyra's head, she cheekily places it on top of her own.

The targaryen beams before looking up, she watches as Alicent climbs onto the edge of the bed, situating herself on her knees peering at her wife.

"It definitely suits you." Rhaenyra says as she fights the urge to gawk.

Alicent was utterly breathtaking even like that.

Especially like that.

"I need to finish going over these endless correspondents." 

Rhaenyra says but she is mostly pleading.

She watches as Alicent runs her hands along her own legs, deliberately pulling up her nightgown exposing more of her thighs.

"Alicent.." Rhaenyra begs again.

Alicent moves to widen her legs, a gesture she knew Rhaenyra could never resist.

Rhaenyra shoots up from her seat and Alicent bites her lip.

Her wife now standing before her, Alicent juts out her bottom lip innocently and looks up at Rhaenyra through her eyelashes.

"I've missed you terribly, Your Grace."

Alicent says, her hands now pulling up her gown further, settling them right over her center.

Rhaenyra's eyes flit down to her hand placement and Alicent feels her body hum in anticipation.

Alicent bravely tugs at the hem of Rhaenyra's breeches and the targaryen snaps, crashing their lips into a heated kiss.

Guiding Alicent further back, the crown now falls off her head and rolls off the bed. Finally crashing onto the ground with a loud clank.

Alicent's hand finds the back of Rhaenyra's neck, her legs wrapping around the other woman's waist. She suppresses the urge to grind her core against Rhaenyra's.

"You dare taunt me, dear wife?"

Rhaenyra growls and Alicent throws her head back, pursing her lips an attempt to hold in a moan.

Rhaenyra tilts her head to place a sloppy kiss against her wife's neck, her teeth grazing the skin, she bites down and Alicent chokes out a moan in both pain and pleasure.

The targaryen slips her hand underneath Alicent's nightgown reveling at the feeling of her wife arching her back as soon as her palm came into contact with her bare stomach.

Rhaenyra's hand finds Alicent's breast and she kneads before roughly pinching one of her nipples.

A louder, desperate moan escapes Alicent's lips.

"Rhaenyra.. I want it off please." Alicent whimpers as she begins to pull her own gown over her head, Rhaenyra lets her.

She quickly takes Alicent's nipples into her mouth, licking and sucking in the way she knows her wife enjoys best.

"Yes.."

Alicent does not attempt to suppress it, she moans loudly again.

"Quiet." Rhaenyra scolds, enjoying the whine of protest that escapes her wife's lips.

Rhaenyra licks her way down to Alicent's navel, kissing and nipping at the surrounding area. Alicent's chest is heaving as she squirms at the feeling of her wife's hot mouth on her.

The targaryen wastes no time in moving further down, her mouth coming into contact with Alicent's center. Her tongue moves expertly, pleasuring her wife as if her entire livelihood depended on it.

Alicent's hand moves to her hair gripping a fistful of it as she grinds against Rhaenyra's tongue wantonly.

She is now panting and moaning with every movement of Rhaenyra's tongue. She can feel her climax rapidly approaching.

Her legs begin to shake and her grip on Rhaenyra tightens and she nearly screams when her wife stops her movements pulling her mouth away.

"What are you doing? Rhaenyra don't stop." Alicent pleads, desperately seeking the friction to achieve her release. She finds Rhaenyra's thigh and starts grinding, her weeping pussy causing the fabric of her wife's slacks to soak through.

"Gods Alicent hold on, don't come yet. Get on top."

Rhaenyra tries to flip their positions but Alicent is not listening. She feels her wife tremble beneath her as she moved her hips against her thigh. She groans at the feeling, the mere sight of Alicent chasing her orgasm drove her insane. Rhaenyra's hand moves to her wife's abdomen at an attempt to still her movements but it was too late.

Alicent comes undone, she moans loudly as her mouth falls open. The intense orgasm ripping through her.

Rhaenyra watches her wife in awe, she is just so fucking beautiful.

Alicent opens her eyes, finally meeting Rhaenyra's darkened gaze.

She feels the heat creep up to her face and Rhaenyra notices, leaning down she kisses Alicent tenderly, a wordless reassurance.

Rhaenyra swiftly flips them over, Alicent was now straddling her lap. She soothingly runs her hands up Alicent's side.

"Can you go again?"

Alicent nods eagerly as she peers down at her, already moving against her wife's clothed center.

Rhaenyra takes the opportunity to lift her own night shirt over her head.

She sits up, placing a kiss on her wife's collarbone.

Her hand finding Alicent's core she slips two fingers into her entrance until she was knuckle deep.

Alicent whimpers at the feeling of her wife's fingers stretching her out. Her hand gripping the back of Rhaenyra's neck for support.

Rhaenyra begins pumping her fingers in and out and Alicent moves against her fingers matching her rhythm.

"You are so beautiful, Alicent."

She says against her wife's ear and she can feel her grip tighten, moving harder against Rhaenyra's fingers.

Alicent's reaches her climax for the second time that night. Panting, she slumps against Rhaenyra and her wife holds her close placing tender kisses against her shoulder.

Rhaenyra allows Alicent to catch her breath for another moment before speaking.

"We're not done. Get on your knees."

Rhaenyra leans to the side grabbing her crown off the floor, she places it on top of her own head.

Alicent shudders, her wife is tenacious and she realises it's partly her fault for provoking her in the first place.

[smallandsneezy]

Too Much of a Good Thing

 the estate gardener who is wildly allergic to flowers fucking the governess. this is a sicktember post, but I'm dreadfully late. so happy day two on day 14!

Evangeline had always taken great pleasure in the way her heeled boots sounded as they clicked down the hallway. The combination of the tapping shoes and the way that her long woolen skirt swished against her legs made her feel powerful and prepared, had her stand a little straighter. It was with that straight bearing that she came around the corner and nearly ran straight into Joseph, the manor’s gardener.

“Oh!” she startled, teetering precariously back on the boots she had just been so pleased with.

He reached out for her, his big callused hands grasping her shoulders and steadying her. 

She rebalanced and he released her, stepping back sheepishly. Getting a better look at him, she realized he was covered in dirt, from the patches on his knees to the beds of his finger nails. 

“Done with lessons for the day, miss?” he asked brightly. The two talked relatively regularly, often passing each other in the garden when Evangeline went out for her daily constitutional. 

“What have you been working on that’s got you so filthy?” she teased, beaming at him to show she was kidding. 

He brightened at the chance to talk about his flowers. “Oh, the most lovely chrysanthemums miss! This variety really shines this time of year.”

“I hadn’t known anything bloomed in October,” she mused. 

“The late fall bloomers do, miss. I could…show you sometime.” Joseph offered shyly. He looked almost shocked at his own gall and seemed to be already bracing for her indignant response.

Evangeline smiled almost ear to ear. Why not? It was 1910 now, after all, and she was trying to devote herself to living more adventurously. 

“I think now would suffice if you’re amenable.”

A similar grin to hers spread across the man’s face, making him all the more handsome. 

“Let us go then.”

--

She should have seen it coming. His nose had been growing steadily redder with every moment that they spent in the garden. He hadn’t commented on it though, even as it twitched steadily more with every flower he showed her. 

“And these, of course, are the chrysanthe-” he broke off quite suddenly, his eyes glazing over. 

“Are you quite alright, sir?”

The man’s mouth was agape, his nose positively rosy by now. “I…I…” He stuttered, look humiliated.

Was he going to…

“HURUSHOO! Huh…huh…AHISHAH!” He practically bellowed them, too distracted by the itch to cover, and Evangeline felt a heat between her legs start up. Her glasses were soaked in his spray, and he looked horrified. 

“Goodness! Bless you!”

“I’m…HRUSHOOO! huh…HUH…HRASHAH! I’m so so sorry ma’am.” Joseph said shyly, a flush floating high over his cheeks. 

She could only blink and remove her glasses to clean them. She had never understood when people said they were ‘speechless’ before, but now she did. 

“Oh…Again…huh! Hahh!!—HATSCHIEWW!!!” That one had doubled him over, and Evangeline felt her breath start to quicken. 

“It’s all the flowers…Too much of a good thing, I suppose. They’re always doing me in. HUHRESHOO!!”

Evangeline couldn’t bear it. She leaned in and kissed him, wet nose and all. 

He stiffened slightly, clearly surprised, but relaxed almost instantly, kissing her back, sniffling frantically every time they stopped for breath. He pulled her into a flowered alcove, thick with bushes and chamomile. She pressed up against him, breathing hard. He placed his leg in between hers, and she pressed herself into it, it taking every ounce of her gentle upbringing not to whine with pleasure. Abruptly he pulled out of their kiss, nostrils flaring. “HAHRESHOOO!! HAH…HAH…HARASHOOO!” He, having no choice otherwise, had pressed himself into her bosom, which was now drenched in spray. These were wet sneezes, and he seemed to have no handkerchief on him. She offered hers to him now, but when he reached for it desperately she pulled it back. Now he was the one whining, his red itchy eyes begging her for it. 

She wrapped the dainty handkerchief, with her around his swollen nose. “Blow.”

“Miss, I can’t. It’ll get all wet, I can’t do that to a lady. I don’t need to, I’m perfectly well.”

She pulled it back from his anguished grasp and plucked a chamomile flower from beside them. 

“Miss?” Joseph asked. 

“If you don’t need to, surely this won’t be a problem.”

She danced the chamomile across his nostrils, which pulsed with irritation.

“I’m…ahh….AHH…AHH AHHCHOO! HAHSHOOOO!! I’m so allergic miss.”

She raised her eyebrows, brandishing the handkerchief. “And?”

“Please! Please let me have the handkerchief.”

“Okay. Since you asked so nicely.”

She extended her handkerchief and gently covered his nose with it. “Now, blow.”

He did so, with gentle soft blows. He did indeed drench the handkerchief, and she could feel the dampness against her hand. It made her shudder. 

“Thank you miss,” he whispered. 

She kissed him on the nose. 

[caffeinatedmunchkin]

The Cost Of Devotion

Rating: M Characters/Pairings: Astarion/Tav(Sabine) Genre: Romance, Angst Word Count: 9k Summary: Astarion had never experienced possessiveness before. He never had anything to be possessive of. When Gale becomes a potential threat to his simple plan, he corrects the situation the only way he knows how. Act 1.

~

Oh Gods, she's being selfless again.

Astarion's eyes flicked upward before he could stop himself. Finger-tips finding the space where his forehead met the bridge of his nose, he pinched, releasing a tired groan.

He had no great love for the Grymforge. The heat was suffocating. The crackling and bubbling of lava, and the grinding and clanking of metal meeting hard was grating to his sensitive ears. Sweat wept profusely from his pores, a sensation he had an even lesser love for.

Through the clatter and smog, he was able to pick out bits and pieces of Sabine's conversation. He stood only a little ways off from where the tiny half-elf prattled with the now freed gnomes.

He heard something about their abducted leader, and something of her agreement to look into the matter.

Hells. She just can't seem to help herself, can she?

And of course there was Gale, dutifully by her side as she spoke, close enough that he could reach forward and touch her. Arms crossed over his chest, he stared at her with a fond smile, hanging on her every word. He seemed to fall deeper in love with her each day, despite his unconvincing arguments to the contrary. Whenever Astarion got him alone, and had the opportunity to needle him over it.

Astarion shook his head at the wizards obvious display.

He didn't know what was worse; how poor Gale was at hiding it, or how oblivious Sabine was to it in the first place. Another repugnant groan seethed through his teeth.

How dreadfully predictable.

Karlach was knelt by his side, busied with working her blade through a very expired Nere's neck. Severing his head from his shoulders, the meat and sinews gave way to the sharpened edge without a hint of resistance. The bone and cartilage of his spine, however, offered no such cooperation.

"What's the matter, Astarion? Heat gettin' to ya?"

He crossed his arms, shifting to rest his weight on his cocked hip. The heat off of the magmas surface was as visible as it was visceral. The black leather of his armor felt as though it was melted and dripping off of him like tar. His thin cotton shirt, now more than a little damp, clung to the grooves of his lean torso like a second skin. "Something like that." He grumbled, his eyes trained on Sabine.

Her sculpted backside to him, the gnomes still held her ear. One of them praised her kindness with sincerity. Astarions eyes nearly rolled out of his head.

Nauseatingly kind indeed.

The journey back to Ebonlake Grotto wasn't exactly a trivial one, and he was anxious for them all to be on their way. The Underdark was hardly cozy, but it was magnitudes more hospitable than their present location. He wished to be rid of the blistering heat, and the sulfuric assault on his nostrils.

To his relief, he wasn't left to stand there waiting for much longer. The gnomes at last dispersed, and not a moment later he and Sabine were face to face. She must have felt him burning holes into her back. Otherwise the displeasure on his face was plain the moment she turned to see it, not that he attempted to hide it.

Their eyes met, and he could see the gears turning in her head already. Those mismatched eyes of hers, so subtle you could almost miss it, ever wide and shimmering with innocence.

He remembered when he first remarked on them.

"What striking eyes you have, my dear."

The corner of her pout pulled upward in a smile. Measured, but genuine. When she next addressed him, she spoke so politely he almost missed the meaning of her words. "I could say the same about you."

Shortly thereafter he found himself being confronted by her - albeit, very gently - about his vampirism.

Innocent, a touch naive. But not dumb. I'd do well to remember that.

A product of her youth, he supposed. She was always so trusting, and so eager to be. An exploit to make her all the more easy a target, so naturally he set his sights on her.

Once he wormed his way in, his place would be secure. He would be secure. Comfortable, and safe. Niceties he hadn't been afforded in quite some time. The scars carved into his back aching in grim reminder.

Yes, she would do nicely. The young were always easy to seduce, the naive easy to manipulate. In order to do any of that, though, he needed to keep her alive. A challenge she seemed intent on posing.

As their modest troupe began to take shape, the others fast became protective of the little sorceress, of her gentle heart and exhausting optimism. A dangerous combination that often saw her thrusting herself headlong into trouble.

There was no true leader among them - an admittedly desirable change of pace, considering the former hierarchy he was all too recently enslaved by - yet that didn't prevent them from trailing after Sabine. She never looked before she leapt, much to his chagrin.

Astarion found he had to keep her safe from herself, as much as from others.

Sabine sauntered the short distance to him, hands clasped behind her back. Once Gale realized who it was that she approached, he decided not to follow. Finding Astarion as smug as ever, he responded with a look of weariness before regrouping with Shadowheart and Wyll.

Turning his attention back to the petite, wood half-elf that stood before him, her lips quivered with the threat of a playful smirk. The thick veil of her lashes fluttered up at him, as if to soften him. "The Ironhand Clan is a useful connection to have in the city, no?"

Astarion scoffed through a smarmy grin of his own. "Oh, are we pretending our altruistic endeavors are actually done out of our own self interest now? Spare me, little miss bleeding heart."

She grinned up at him. Damn her. "Does that make it any less true?" She countered, appealing to his inner magistrate. "I should think it's better to build bridges, rather than burn them."

"I don't... disagree with you." To her perpetuated smile, he sneered in disgust. More so at himself than at her. "You're a terrible influence on me, darling, you and your boundless generosity."

There was a thin sheen of perspiration coating her sweet face and chest as well. The ivory of her blouse and long gloves stained with ash. Just like the rest of their party, she hadn't made it out of their battle with Nere clean. The black of her simple eye make-up smeared down over her freckled cheekbones. From underneath all that grime, she beamed.

"Do you find me so detestable?" She teased.

"How soon you seem to forget our little talk about asking questions you already know the answers to." He sighed down at her, the ghost of his smirk lingering, before then catching sight of a tiny spot of blood gathered by the split of her lower lip.

His eyes darkened, pupils dilated. Perhaps the most pressing of all his desires to make it back to camp; his hunger.

He was in need before the start of that battle, and now that he was on the other end, he was drained. Reaching forward to cup her jaw, he swiped at the droplet with his thumb in a way that, to an outsider, might look affectionate. Loving even.

Fortunate for him, the only potential witness to the display was Karlach, whose full attention was still on the dead Drow's beheading.

The gash in her lip was accompanied by a large, nasty bruise that blossomed down from her cheek bone. Growing darker by the minute, it swallowed the faint dusting of her freckles there.

Earned from the butt of a crossbow wielded by a then invisible duergar, he nearly winced when he watched it happen.

The little half-elf was knocked clean on her rear, the wind ripped out of her with a sharp gasp.

He never strayed too far from her when things got intense, if he could help it. He needed her alive, after all.

Before he was able to return to her side, she had grabbed ahold of the duergars ankle, followed by a sickening screech and a fantastic explosion of white lightning. By the time Astarion blinked, the creature lay beside her in a smoking, acrid heap of furled limbs. Charred beyond recognition. Still on the ground, she huffed an errant lock of toffee hair out of her eye.

He outstretched his hand to her. "Not the face, darling, never the face."

She accepted his hand with a smirk, before he lifted her back up to her feet, as if she weighed nothing at all.

"And since we're on the subject of your boundless generosity," he studied the tiny speck of blood gathered on the tip of his thumb, and swallowed hard his desperation. "Are you feeling well enough to extend it to me this evening?"

His fangs ached before he even popped the digit into his mouth. Beginning to salivate like a starved hound in response to her spiced aroma, now more pronounced than ever with it right before his nose. He inhaled, almost shaking, before at last bringing it to his lips.

He could always smell her. No matter how many flanked them, no matter how high the pile of corpses around them grew. Through all that blood and gore, the fetor of death, the scent of her could cut through it all. The little sorceress. He knew the instant her skin was pierced, almost tasting her on the air. Thick with familiarity, metallic and saccharine, luring him to her like a Harpy's song.

It had been three days since he last fed from her, which was really all that he could stand, and his strength suffered greatly for it. His reflexes were lethargic, his accuracy waning. It would do none of them any good if he lost his edge.

Guilt bowed her brows, as if she had any reason at all to feel guilty, and widened her doe like eyes. She cast them up at him like he was a thing to pity. "Of course. I did make a promise to you, after all."

He had half a mind to chastise her for that horrible look on her face then and there. Even as his words slithered from between his lips, cold and venomous, his silken voice made even his insults pleasurable to the ear. "Ah yes, you did, didn't you? Aren't you are a sweet one."

She recognized his condescension, but she ignored it. "Why haven't you been feeding? Surely you've needed it?"

She was right. He had needed it, needed her, fiercely. Each day he went on starving saw him ever closer to becoming feral. Yet something inexplicable happened the last time he fed on her, something that made him cease all together for the evenings that followed.

He got lost in her.

His resolve broken down by the dizzying intoxication of a full belly, in conjunction with the delightful little moans she let slip when she was at her weakest.

Noises she had never made for him before.

He heard her murmur his name somewhere in his fervor, the first warning that she was fading, but he was too far gone. His whole body burned. A stifling heat funneling into his each and every pore. Sweat dampened the curls at his collar, the curls her fingers had long since untangled from. The feeling of satiation warmed him from the inside, but his hunger demanded more. It had him nipping and tugging at her neck like a needy, unruly pup. Frantic, greedy, impatient. Gluttonous.

He gasped for air in between his suckling, the inside of his mouth slick and coppery with her taste. Cursing the Gods above when still, he went in for more. Chasing a satiation that evidently extended beyond the physical. Not even during their first time, his first time mind, did he find himself so voracious.

By the time he got a hold of himself, she was alarmingly close to unconsciousness. Her lips parted with a slackened jaw, her sun-kissed complexion as desaturated as parchment. Her vivid eyes turned foggy, and disconnected.

He said a great many things he didn't mean, namely the flattery he wielded. But his panic in that moment was as genuine as it came. By sheer luck had he reigned himself in in time.

He couldn't imagine what the problem had been that night. It plagued his mind unceasingly ever since.

He could have whined like a spoiled, bratty child for how badly he craved the taste of her, but he did not dare. Deep down, he feared his loss of control was symptomatic of a much larger issue.

One with which he was woefully unacquainted. One he was adamant in his refusal to even acknowledge.

"You needed time to recover, love." He cooed, using her as the excuse. "I've quite the appetite, as you know. If we're to continue this delicious little arrangement of ours, I need you at your best if you're to keep up."

She peered up at him, features wrought with suspicion, honey golden eyes alight as they searched him for some concealed truth. She looked at him like that a lot. After a moment, she seemingly abandoned her doubts, and gave in with an acquiescent purse of her lips.

"If I didn't know better I'd almost think you were worried about my well-being." Her small smile of self-satisfaction nearly ripped a growl from him. Only he couldn't discern if it was out of vexation, or admiration.

"My dear little nymph, of course I worry for your well being," the scarlet of his eyes were alight once more. Their gemlike vibrance pulled to the surface at the behest of the surrounding magmas glow. "I take precious care of all that is mine."

He was relentless when it came to the seduction of the little sorceress. Her naivety proved more a challenge than an advantage at times. That would only shield her from his charms for so long. He was a master of his craft, after all.

Even in the oppressive swelter that was the forge, even with her cheeks already flushed from battle, his suave declaration was triumphant. A roseate hue burned her cheeks. Even the pointed tips of her pierced ears blotched bright pink.

She swallowed hard, and recovered with a speed that almost impressed him. When she next addressed him, she did her best to do so with grace.

"Feeding on me makes me yours, does it?"

He couldn't stop the biting laughter that ripped from deep in his chest, a sound he knew that flustered her even at the best of times. "How adorable you are." He purred, before arching a strong, manicured brow down at her. "Doesn't it?"

He could still smell her blood on the air, and if it wasn't for the potential of prying eyes from their companions, he would have done a more thorough investigation for the source. Flitting his eyes over her body, and relishing how she fidgeted a little under his scrutiny, he was then drawn to the spot of dried sanguine that cuffed her dainty wrist like another one of her bracelets.

He gathered her hand into both of his, before turning it over to study her palm. When he saw the slash, angry and congealed, he clicked his tongue at her. "What's this now?"

"That same duergar," she dismissed, watching as he lifted her hand to his mouth. "Before I realized he had been standing beside me, I had my hand raised in the middle of a spell. I gave him an opportunity, and he took it."

Taking care to be mindful of her wound, Astarion brought her palm to press it against his lips. She didn't go to pull away, but he held tight to her wrist regardless, cradling her open hand to his face. Her fingertips just barely grazing the ridge of his cheekbone, his touch was soft and his pressure gentle. But the way his scarlet orbs ensnared hers was nothing short of ruthless.

He placed a kiss to the gash, firm enough that it stung in response, but only a hint. Once he lowered her hand back down, there was a faint, vertical smear over his cupids bow. One he made a show of lapping away with a low, pleased hum.

"Do be sure to have Shadowheart see to you." Astarion was particular when he decided to exercise his suspected dominance, and that was deliberate. For when he instructed her, no part of it was a suggestion. He wanted to gauge how well she'd follow his lead. His grasp on her hand remained. "It just about breaks my heart to see an ugly bruise on such a pretty face."

-

Almost to a fault was she devoted to his hunger, to his severe appetites.

Sabine would never forget the appreciation glinting in his piercing eyes the night she discovered him. He put on a show almost tirelessly, for so many other things, except for that night.

She offered herself to him, selfless, and without stipulation. His relief for not being shunned over his affliction, and his gratitude for her generosity - her kindness - had been as raw and real as the razor points of fangs that sunk into the meat of her neck mere moments after.

All the previous times, he would come to her late into the evening, after everyone else had long since been received by slumber. And she was ready for him. In her thin night shirt and cradled amongst her pillows, kept occupied by one of her books. Laid down on her side, her wild brunette waves swept off of her neck, baring it in unspoken, reaffirmed invitation. Fighting to stay awake. For him.

Yet that night was different.

Not even the sound of his foot-falls just outside her tent were audible. She never heard him coming, and that was by design.

She could still hear the shared laughter of Gale, Wyll and Karlach posted up around the campfire, however faint. She had taken to setting up her tent just a little further and further away from her companions, so as to ensure her and her nightly visitor as much privacy as could reasonably be afforded.

She hadn't even finished undressing. Her jeweled fingers busy with the series of buckles at her leggings, her skirts bunched at the crook of her hip and swept over her thigh, out of the way. Strands of hair loosened from her pony-tail fell over her face, nearly obscuring him from view. No more than a black shadow creeping out of the corner of her eye, and the heady aroma of spiced bergamot, as he let himself in.

He must have been hungry, arriving to her tent that early in the evening with so many potential witnesses to his entry. Not that she minded who might know, yet she suspected he preferred the discretion.

However there he stood, in all his dark and ethereal reverence. An intimidating height, and broad shoulders that tapered down with the length of his lean torso. He radiated earned arrogance, a trait that from anyone else would turn her off completely.

With Astarion, it only served to further entice her.

The Underdark was greedy for light, and seemed to steal it the moment it appeared, necessitating more than just her usual handful of candles to be lit. Their flames danced across his pale face, illuminating his sharp, prominent features in a warm gleam that complimented the crimson of his eyes. Eyes that flicked over her being in excruciating anticipation.

Eyes, she then noticed, that had dulled a little in their faceted luster, and rimmed raw. The dark circles around his sockets served to heighten his fatigue. Given the nature of what he was, age did not dare touch him, ever blessed with perpetual youth. And though his beauty was undisputed, his face was now just a touch gaunt, making him look a little older.

Sabine would never prod the sensitivity that was his obsessive vanity by remarking on it to him, of course, but she felt the maturity to his features suited him well.

Ravenous hunger was quite becoming on him, it seemed.

He was already stripped of his heavier equipment, the loose black cotton of his shirt hanging open at the chest. His sleeves were folded neatly at the elbow, displaying long forearms, ropey with musculature.

Astarion was not one to look disheveled, but this was certainly the closest she had ever seen him to fitting that description.

She had just finished with the last clasp, and the leather that wrapped her leg from foot to thigh fell to the ground. That aside, she halted.

It was unclear to Sabine whether or not he anticipated finding her in a state of undress, but he stilled all the same.

"You'll have to pardon my eagerness, darling, I see I've caught you at an inopportune moment." He made no move to leave, however, the corner of his mouth twitching in a haughty smirk. Perhaps a test to see if she would have him leave, he found he was very pleased when she instead invited him to stay.

"Ever a perfect gentleman," she simpered as she strode with now bare legs to her blankets. "You've been more than patient, no need to keep you waiting even longer." She announced with the nonchalance as if what they were about to engage in was purely transactional.

Settling down to her knees, she arranged her skirts to lay more modestly about her thighs, before tilting her chin and giving him an expectant look. Her dark waves were still gathered up in a ponytail, her neck conveniently bare for it.

He approached her without hesitation, joining her on his knees. Bracing herself as she always did, he surprised her by first pinching her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Tilting her head, he examined the side of her face that up until recently was stained purple and yellow.

"Quite the accomplished healer, our Shadowheart." He mused aloud, satisfied with her unsullied appearance. "You can hardly tell where our duergar friend struck you. I'm impressed."

Sabine hummed in agreement, allowing him to continue his inspection. "It served me right, I was being careless."

"Mm, distracted by something, were you? Or perhaps, someone?" He goaded with a waggle of his brow. Her chin still caught delicately in his grasp, she laughed. A melodic sound. Natural, and unguarded.

"Yes, Astarion, even when contending with the threat of bodily harm, all I can think about is you." She sighed with the perfect amount of melodrama, and he smiled. But she wasn't finished. "I'm utterly obsessed with you."

"My dear, I'd be wounded if you weren't."

Astarion regarded her thoughtfully, looking at her now cleaned face in the dim flickering of candle light. The steady rise and fall of her chest, as she knelt before him and waited, with bated breath, to sustain him. She looked lovely, the little sorceress with too big a heart, and impossible purity. Her eyes, crystalline honey that were always so wide and full of him. The curved pout of her lips, like a porcelain dolls, now free of the bloody gash that he had used to whet his appetite. The longer he gazed at them, the more he wanted to nick them himself.

Then, as if to sour his mood, he heard the commotion of raucous laughter from their companions just outside, most notably picking up on Gales. More akin to the cackle of a Hyena, than a laugh.

And that's when it occurred to him.

He now understood why he faltered the other evening. It hardly made sense to him, but it was the only explanation that seemed suitable.

Best not to even entertain the possibility.

"Careless or not, you certainly made short work of him." He then gave a dramatic pout. "I only wish you had left him for me to dispose of." He was all theatrics as he carried on. "You've no idea how gutted I was to see my little treat brutalized in such a manner. That wretched duergar was a kill I would have infinitely relished."

"You don't have to worry about that. It wasn't the first time I've been attacked, and it won't be the last." Her eyes then sparkled. "Though I wouldn't recommend such a chivalrous display in public, the others may get the wrong idea about us."

My dear girl, that's precisely the idea.

"And how's your hand, then?" He kept charge of the conversation, guiding the pace and subjects, reinforcing his authority. "Did you remember to get that taken care of as well?"

"Astarion," she tread carefully, "I... appreciate your concern, but I know you didn't come here to fuss over me." She was quick to remind him of how direct she could be. He was quicker to forget. "Why are you stalling? Aren't you hungry?"

Because I can't afford to make another mistake. By the by, I'm terribly sorry about that, darling. It's just that ever since I've begun to feed from you, I've grown quite possessive of you. When I thought you were getting a little too cozy with Gale it made me ferociously territorial. Because if I'm not careful, everything I've been working very hard for is ruined-

He cringed at the thought. Though a confession like that might have greatly endeared her to him, he found his tongue fat and cottony in his mouth at the mere thought of voicing it. It could backfire. It could put him in a position of weakness, of disadvantage.

Instead of deigning to answer her, even with a lie, he deflected. With a blustering huff, as if affronted, "And here I thought you delighted in my conversation. We're in no mood for pleasantries this evening, I see. Very well." He inched closer, relying on his sudden and overwhelming proximity to still her tongue. "But you're right, darling, I'm famished."

It seemed she had more to say in rebuttal, but at hearing his need stated plainly, she opted for silence. With a deep breath, she held her eyes locked with his, and offered her neck. Never a hint of hesitation or unease, not even now. Not even after what had happened.

So trusting, this little half-breed, sorceress. So eager.

With a gracious smile, he leaned in closer, and placed his hands on her.

If he focused his hearing, he could make out the rapid thumping of her heart in the quiet stillness of her tent. The fluttering of her pulse, ready and willing to be claimed by him.

As was their routine, he found her hand and guided it to the soft curls at his nape. Some of it was selfishly driven, he liked the feeling of his hair pulled. Of her long, manicured nails scratching at the back of his neck, and the base of his skull. Yet ultimately, the moment he felt her grip loosen, and her fingers begin to slip, that was his sign to stop.

Sabine was a petite woman, diminutive even by common human woman standards. He stood a full head and shoulders above her, and she was thin. Boasting the amount of muscle you'd expect a young sorceress to possess. She just couldn't offer him as much, and sometimes required a days rest in between feedings.

They all needed regular rounds of restoration from Shadowheart, which thankfully aided in her replenishment, as did it heal his bite marks. He always chose the same spot on the right side of her neck. When they were still fresh and raised, the velvet ribbon she wore did well to conceal them.

She had expressed once or twice that she wished she could do more for him, but he insisted that what she gave was more than enough. "There's no need for me to make a glutton of myself, sweetness. Not when I have you on tap." He assured her with a wink.

But he was insatiable by nature, and once he got a taste for her blood, he was finding it harder to stop himself. Even when she began to grow limp in his arms.

Holding her at the back of the neck with one hand, and her hip with the other, they were in position to begin.

He breathed her in deep, appreciating the notes of violet and lily-of-the-valley from the oils she used when she bathed. She always smelled heavenly, and for that he was grateful.

Saliva gathered at the points of his teeth like venom before his lips even made it to her skin. It was worth noting that it did seem to grant her some relief, licking her wounds when they were more sore than usual.

Unable to bear the anticipation any longer, he drew his lips back in a snarl, and bit down.

Her pain tolerance was nothing to scoff at, but she always winced at the feeling of his initial piercing. He suspected it had everything to do with just how sensitive her neck was, a little quirk that made that moment all the more savory.

His penetration was sharp, and no matter how gentle he tried to be, there wasn't much else that could be done.

He felt her seize in his arms. Her strangled cry sounding out in the night, though she did her best to stifle it. Her claws flexing in his hair. Usually he took the time to soothe her through the brunt of the initiation, but once her blood bubbled up around his fangs and soaked his gums, he was beyond formalities. He dug in.

She felt his large palm as it swept along the curve of her spine to her shoulders, then back down again to cradle the small of her back. Easing her into him, into the stinging pain that spidered throughout her neck from the source.

The discomfort was short lived. The burning at her throat melted into a dull, almost sensual ache. The holes he'd gnawed into her neck throbbing and swollen around his fangs, as if holding him in place. She lulled her head back with a sigh, as her body went lax in his grasp.

Astarion's lips curved into a smile against her hot flesh, sweet and salty with her blood. Wrapping his arm around her waist, his other hand cupping the back of her head by the base of her ponytail, he swept her up off her knees. Swiftly lowering her to her back, he climbed on top of her, all without breaking his suction.

As much as this act was all for his benefit, he did genuinely enjoy this part most of all. When she gave herself over to him, fully and completely. None of her ceaseless questions, or childlike curiosity. Nor any lip, when she found it within herself to be cheeky. No walls, or barriers. Just trust, and openness for him to feast upon.

Trusting him with her very life, allowing him unfettered access to something as intimate as this. All when she had absolutely no reason to. Just out of the goodness of her own kind, and charitable heart.

That pesky heart of hers. For all my griping, it has served me well.

He focused on his pulling. Rhythmic, deep, slow. Suckling with steady pressure. Hallowing out of his cheeks to draw in as much as he could comfortably hold in his mouth. Savoring how the thickness of her coated his tongue, before ushering it down his throat.

Eyes having rolled back, he grunted into her wet neck as the puckered skin pulsed around the intrusion of his fangs. Not unlike how another opening would feel wrapped snugly around him. Utter ecstasy. The way her body gave way to his whims, and nourished him.

"As-Astarion," she mewled his name so sweetly, but also weak. He swallowed hard and retracted from her neck despite himself, but only a hair.

"Yes, love?" His usual velvet tongue was now hoarse, struggling to speak.

Her nimble fingers curled tighter in the crisp white of his mane. She arched her lithe little body up against the rigidity of his, rolling her pelvis against him as she did so.

"Don't stop." She moaned, and his whole mouth went dry.

He had received that plea many times, with many different lovers. And he was always more than happy to oblige. But hearing that during a feed? And from the little sorceress no less? To say it was a precipitous request was an understatement.

"What was that?" He couldn't help but gasp, incredulous at what he was hearing.

She whined, as her face burned with embarrassment. Now all ten of her fingers knotted in his hair, she tried to guide his head back down to her neglected neck. Her body trembled beneath him in impatience.

The last thing she expected was for her blurted demand for more to stop him completely.

"D-don't stop, please." Music to his hears. She squirmed. "I-I know you're hesitant because of last time, but please - I can handle it."

"Oh, my little darling," he crooned, "you know I can deny you nothing."

He was rewarded with more lovely sounds of her encouragement, as he sunk his teeth back in with an excited growl of his own. But her newly ignited desire didn't stop there.

He felt her knee graze the inside of his thigh as she slowly lifted her leg, fishing it out from beneath him. With a desperate, audible gulp as he continued to drink, he then felt her other leg follow suit. Opening herself to him, making room for him to fit himself between her thighs.

Following her lead, he lowered himself against her, slotting his knee against the crook of hers, and pushing up just so. Leading her to open her hips wider, so as to properly slot himself against her.

This newly achieved closeness made her see stars, her stomach knotting at the soft groan that seeped from him against her neck.

It was a bold maneuver from her, he was shocked. Asking for him to take it a step further, without asking, of course. A move in the right direction to be certain, but he wanted more from the little sorceress.

He then thought briefly back to Gale, and the girlish grins he so easily won from her. It complicated the situation. If there was even a hint of deviation from the long con he had so carefully crafted, all would be for naught. A precarious situation, indeed.

Astarion was as selfish as he was vain. If he was at last victorious in the temptation of Sabine, he wanted to hear it from her own lips. He wanted her to beg for him.

Resting a little more of his full weight against her petite frame, almost swallowing her whole, he dialed up his theatrics. He became louder with his sucks and swallows. He allowed a guttural moan to tumble out of him, like a common whore in heat.

"You're delectable," he whimpered, his voice cracking beneath the weight of his lust, and the tightness in his chest. "If you only knew the hold your taste has over me."

It was her turn to moan, writhing under him, her hips bucked up against his crotch. Hungry for friction.

"You naughty little vixen." His chuckle was a low rumble that vibrated against her tender neck, her punctures throbbing angrily, and now cold against the air with the absence of his hot mouth. "You do enjoy this, don't you?"

He already knew the answer, but she was too much fun to tease. He was no stranger to the sensuality of this act, no matter how much she worked to ignore it. A simple kindness among friends. Yet he could taste on her blood when her budding arousal began to flourish into full-fledged hunger.

She bit her lip, eyes squeezed shut. A pity. He was the one who was curious now, about how those large, innocent eyes might look at him, as she divulged the wants of her fragile heart.

Her blood smeared his lips, staining his cocky smile.

"Y-yes."

His smile widened, not that she could see. He wanted her eyes open, and on him.

Dropping his head back down to the crook of her neck, he flattened his tongue against his bite, lapping at her sensitivity and cleaning her up some. While at the same time, rubbing himself against her clothed heat.

Her skirts had slid up her bent legs to pool around her hips. Not much was left standing in his way of her aching sex, should he decide to take it. She cried out as if he had slid himself inside her.

A wicked idea then occurred to him. He could hold out on her. Dangling his pleasure, his touch, his continued intrusion, before taking it all away.

He could wind her up until she all but snapped, and then withdrew, until next time. Forcing her patience, her loyalty.

It was cold, he realized, but perhaps just what he needed to ensure she was wrapped around his finger. Far be it from him to pass up the opportunity for the upper hand.

Absence does makes the heart grow fonder, as they say.

One of her hands left his hair to claw at his back, gathering his shirt in her fist. Her thighs squeezed around his waist, huffing at how still between her legs he became again.

"Astarion!" She gave a frustrated yelp, and he snickered.

"Hmm, let's see now," musing aloud, he cocked his hips against her once more. "I wonder what sort of cute little noises I can pull from you if I do this." Tightening his movements, he rocked slow and deliberate against her. His pressure steady, he all but humped himself against her with sturdy snaps of his hips. The bulge of his groin nudging at her slick heat coaxed a squeak, before it shifted into a loud, salacious cry for him.

"How precious you are, crying out for me." He purred, stilling his hips, savoring her torment. "And I've barely touched you. What a sensitive little slip of a thing we are."

Though his body remained still against hers, he could feel the strength of her cunt contracting against his stiffness. And her liquid heat that soaked through her garment.

Her curiosity must have been contagious. Bringing his hand to her heaving chest, he slipped his palm beneath her left breast, and gave a firm squeeze. Teacup sized, it filled his grasp nicely, able to get the whole of it in one, dexterous hand.

He discovered Sabine quite liked that attention from him. Brows furrowing adorably above eyes that seemed locked shut, she threw her head back as a loud whimper rippled through her.

"I caution you to mind your volume," he teased, his tone husky and his words rich with mirth as they slithered through his lips to her ears. "the others may get the wrong idea about us."

He wanted them to hear her undoing at his expert hands.

He wanted her praying to him like he was the God she worshipped. And he wanted Gale to hear her.

"Astarion, p-please." She groaned into the humid air, the candle wicks steadily burning down around them.

"Please what?" He pressed, before bending his neck to once more get at hers. His hand still fondling her breast, his other slid upward to gather the base of her ponytail. Using it like a leash, he tightened his hold and pulled her head back. With the tip of his tongue, he traced a path from bottom to top, before taking her chin between his teeth and nipping playfully. "You beg so prettily, it'd be such a disappointment for you to stop now."

Her head was swimming. Every one of her senses invaded by him; his lavish musk, his weight, the sinful allure of his silver tongue. She didn't know which way was up. All she could do was cling to him, paw at him like a needy kitten. Let her body ask of him what she couldn't find within herself to speak.

Sabine tried once more to rock her hips up into his, to incite his grinding once more. But he would have none of it.

"Ah ah ah, use your words, darling." He drawled, almost drunk on her.

His gleeful condescending both infuriated and thrilled her. The rumbling of his silken voice, both his words and her flesh wet with her blood, yanked at her quivering center with insistence.

She swallowed hard against her sheepishness. At last allowing her eyes to open, she stared up at the ceiling of her tent, watching the shadows whip and swirl from the candles flames. "I want you," she breathed, "I-I want you to take me."

His hand left her breast, cold and aching. She felt his long, sinewy fingers snatch her by the jaw, forcing her head back down. Forcing her to face him.

"Look at me," he chided, authoritative, "and say that again."

His scarlet leer was molten, trapping her attention and pinning her still. Her neck throbbed almost as insistently as her womanhood, but both wept for him in equal measure.

When she at last pushed her request from her chest, tight and strained from the suffocation of all the heat, she surprised them both with how clear she spoke. How direct.

"I want you to take me, Astarion."

He dropped his hips, and playfully ground down against her in reward. She tossed her head as far back as his hold would allow, releasing a low, keeling whine into the stifling air.

She presented before him a single loose thread, foolishly expecting, hoping, he'd resist. Instead, he yanked at it, eager to watch her unravel beneath him. Once she got going, she couldn't stop.

What Astarion needed her to understand, was that he was not a thing that could be broken. But she could be.

He didn't just want her devotion, he wanted her submission.

Astarion dipped his head to nuzzle her beneath the jaw, rubbing against her, not unlike how an alleycat schmoozes someone for scraps. "Good," he praised, "very good."

Her jaw beginning to ache in his grip, he drank in the sight of her, flushed and excited and utterly at his disposal, before he leaned in and stole a kiss.

Astarion was quick to swallow her gasp, working his lips against hers. He sighed into her mouth, the sound deep and heavy with relief. Fingertips still affixed to her jaw, he eased his pressure, stroking his tongue along hers. Inviting her to explore his, coaxing her in to swipe along his teeth, and over his gums, just as he had done to her.

A searing heat ignited between her thighs from his kiss. It felt the way she often fantasized it might. Strong, and thorough. Yet even through the haze of lust, she felt something was off. Wrong. She could feel that he was still very controlled, even with his passions. Restraint was the very last thing she expected from him at a time like this.

Sabine wasn't left with her thoughts for much longer. Stinging pain erupted from her lower lip; a new, fresh split where the previous one had been. She whimpered, more startled than anything, and he hushed her affectionately.

"How do you want me to take you, my sweet?" The tip of his thumb stretched forward, brushing over the fresh mark he made. Dragging the bright, fresh droplet to paint her lips.

If for no other reason than to stroke his ego, he wanted to draw out every last one of her sinful confessions, all of which he was deservedly at the center.

Her nimble fingers wove themselves back into his hair, tightening against his scalp in a way that made his cock twitch. "I want to be full of you," she whispered, "while you drink from me. I want to satisfy all of your appetites."

Still so tender and romantic, even with her depravity. He smiled, pleased with her divulgence.

"You want me inside of you while I feed?" He reiterated with a purr. "Tell me darling, did you think about that during our previous engagements?"

He didn't think she could turn a deeper shade of pink than she already was, but she had been adept at proving him wrong. His eyes followed as the tip of her tongue darted past to lick her lips, blood and all, before sucking her lower lip between her teeth. She sounded shaky when she then answered; "y-yes."

He angled a wolffish grin down at her. "Of course you have."

She had been too distracted to notice his hand detangling from her ponytail, only to disappear between where their bodies were still joined flush, despite the layers of clothing still between them.

When she felt the tips of his fingers brush over her clothed cunt, her heart nearly burst through her chest. The beating forceful and erratic, she sucked in a sharp breath when he hooked a finger to push the material out of his way.

The air around them was anything but cold, but the moment she was exposed by him, her slick folds were rushed by a chill, making her twist and shiver under him.

First with his his pointer finger, and then joined by his index, he pet up and down her slit, exploring her heat. Clicking his tongue at her, his tone gleeful as he remarked. "Gods you're soaked," laughing a little, unable to contain it. "Oh I'm going to have fun with you."

She parted for him without the barest hint of resistance. Her lips, swollen and tender, gave way beneath his fingertips, like pulling apart the petals of a rose. Her toes curled as he played with her. Hips squirming and thrashing, he was of the mind to pin her still.

Her channel, however, fought him. Her walls twitching and maddeningly tight, he knew that even if he abandoned his plan altogether and fucked her in earnest, it would take some effort on his part in helping her adjust. Astarion groaned to himself at the dawning realization, gently kneading with one finger at a time, working his way in.

"Little love, has no other man had you before?" He cooed, watching her face twist in pain, then reprieve, and then back to pain. She arched into him, her cheek now cupped in his palm, instead of being clutched in place.

"No." She pushed from her lungs. "N-never."

Astarion's chest tightened, the bulge at his loins beginning to strain with more insistence. This changed things entirely. A virgin. His specialty. "Then I am to be your first?"

She sucked his index finger in to the knuckle, spasming around his intrusion. Guiding it back out, nice and easy, he then hilted it again. In and out. Over and over again with a steady, driving rhythm. She was stretching nicely for him, he'd be able to add a second finger soon.

She gasped at the sensation as it dissolved into bliss. Those fingers. His fingers. Long and gentle and slender. Drawing noises from her she didn't even recognize to be her own. "Yes."

The whole of her being was unexplored territory. Untouched by anyone before. Until now. Until him.

"You promised yourself to me once already. We know your generosity is boundless, but what of your dedication?" Beginning to work his second finger alongside his first made her cry out, elongated and shrill. But when his thumb found her quivering nub, and he began to work it with slow, tickling circles, she nearly lifted a foot off the ground, if not for his body caging her in. "Will you promise yourself to me once more, darling?"

"Yes!" Almost taken aback by her fervor, he applied more pressure to his circling thumb. Fingers pumping at her entrance and curling inward whenever they were fully nestled inside her, she continued to sing for him. Worshipping him with her moans and howls, she promised herself to him again and again. "Gods, yes! I'm yours- all yours!" She couldn't get the words out fast enough, competing against the threat of her release that coiled white hot and blistering in the pit of her stomach, ever closer to exploding.

She promised herself to him without question, or hesitation. A testament to sincerity that was reserved for the most devout.

"Yes you are," he hushed, gazing down at her in approval, "aren't you?"

Speech was beyond her, opting to instead nod furiously in agreement. Forcing her eyes open, she looked up at him with such yearning he pitied her. She no longer belonged to herself, in that moment. She was all his. To manipulate, to pleasure, to dominate, to destroy. Whatever his whims, she would obey.

He had toyed, briefly, with the idea of stopping just sort of her climax. To bring her right up to the edge, before he abandoned her there.

But those eyes of hers. Those damn docile, trusting eyes. In that moment he could think of nothing more befitting of her alleged devotion than to reward her with an orgasm.

He could deny her nothing. Perhaps he was earnest when he said that.

It hit her like a storm. A fire that erupted from her center, and raged throughout the rest of her body, from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. Tears pricked the corner of her eyes while she shuddered through it, seized by the full-body sensation of burning from the inside. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, vision bleary.

Astarion coached her through it, reminding her to breathe. Brushing a strand of her hair off her perspiring forehead. He felt her nails break the skin at his nape, but he didn't care.

Sabine was his first taste of blood from a thinking creature, a privilege not to be taken lightly. He was her first taste of carnal pleasure. And she looked radiant.

He still held her face in his hand, stroking her freckles with his thumb absentmindedly as she came back to him.

Her eyes opened, slowly, as if she were awakening. To say she looked disoriented was to put it mildly. After allowing a moment of shared silence, he then broke it.

"Open." His command was firm, and simple.

And she opened.

He lead, and she followed.

The inside of his mouth was soaked with her. Clinging to the inside of his cheeks, and coating his teeth. He swiped the flat of his tongue over his top row, fangs and all. Bending his neck as his face hovered above her own, Astarion allowed the blood to drip from his mouth and into hers. Her walls pulled so violently at his fingers they were nearly popped from their sockets.

"So obedient," he remarked, slowly dragging his fingers from her tight cunt, grinning as she choked out a sob from the loss, "doing as you're told so well."

He brought his hand before his face, the fingers that had been buried inside of her slick and glistening. He admired how the strands of her webbed between his fingers, and drizzled down his knuckles like cream.

"My my, I've made quite the mess of you, havent I?" Her eyes were glossy as she watched him suck his fingers into his mouth, licking the thick pearlescence from his digits with a satisfied hum. When finished, he cocked his head down at her. Dazed and a bit bloody, her chest heaving. "You poor thing, you look positively spent. I think that's enough for one evening."

He watched, able to see the gears turning once more. Confusion - and even a little pain - evident by the way her brows knit together. He had struck hard and fast. Before she even had the time to come back down, she was reeling again. Unable to understand why he was stopping.

He readied himself for a barrage of questions. When her lips parted, however, she let slip only one, simple utterance. Her voice small.

"Astarion...," she pleaded, "I want you."

That statement alone confronted him with his very cruelty, making him take pause. A part of him then weighed that decision. To deviate from the plan. To take her, now that she was meek and malleable.

But he abstained.

"Of course you do, darling." He cooed, his grin sickeningly sweet. "And if you're very good, and ask again very, very nicely, you shall have me. All in good time."

Her eyes widened in girlish confusion, as was her signature. "Why are you doing this?" She searched his face frantically, but he was impenetrable. His expression ever unreadable. "Have I disappointed you?"

"No not at all, quite the opposite in fact. You performed exceptionally." As he shifted back to his knees, he elaborated. "If you want me now, truly, not even time will be able to change that."

For the first time, not only was she at a loss of words, but also questions. Continuing to stare at him in longing, her breath hitched when he reached for her face one last time.

Cupping her chin in his palm, his thumb traced over the new split in her lip, as if reminiscent.

"I'm sure I won't have to worry about you being led astray. You have made a promise to me, after all." With his gentle reminder, his grin turned sinful. "And I promise you, little sorceress, I am well worth the wait."

Sabine stared up at him, looking as lost as he had ever seen her. Mere moments ago she felt like she was too hot for her own skin. Now she felt cold, and shirked.

"Oh, don't look so bruised, little love." The allure of his eyes, blood red and scintillating, drew her attention back to him with dizzying influence. "Scoundrel is part of the job description."

The word job washed over Sabine. She blinked, slowly, and remained silent. She was beginning to see now, the rules of the game revealing themselves bit by bit.

Kind, innocent - but not dumb.

As suddenly as he appeared that evening, he was gone again, even faster.

He had decided it would be a fine test of how well his plan was progressing, if not a little petty. His practiced ease of seduction was equalled only by that of his cruelty. If he had truly been successful in enticing the little sorceress, he'd know for certain soon enough.

The protection he sought. The place - cemented - among his allies, that he craved.

Astarion would finally know some peace.

An escape from the impending dread that lingered in every shadow. That laid in wait whenever he spent even a moment alone, with the burden of his thoughts. His memories.

And in turn, she would remain safe, and sated. This is what he knew, what he did best.

It provided for him without fail, time and time again. Why should this be any different?

All Sabine needed to do now, was remain loyal. To prove her devotion to him.

To wait.

[senseandaccountability]

I'm sorry, I had to take a break from the game to write this little act 1 ficlet because I'm obsessed and wanted to try out this POV for a bit. Sorry/not sorry.

Build this ship to wreck pg-13, 900-ish words

*** It’s so simple, seducing her. Almost boring in all its pettiness. A little flattery here, a carefully worded promise there - their lives are dark and dreary and full of worms and Elnys Tavren is not even half as immune to vain delights as she’d like to pretend she is.  “You don’t have me yet,” she reminds him and all the freckles and scars of her skin seem visible in the moonlight at that moment. The darkness rising from the earth nearly disguises her but not to him. Never to him, he doesn’t miss a beat and that’s why he’ll win in the end.

There’s something wild about the way she moves. Something raw and unrefined that makes him think not of the endless line of perfect, willing bodies he’s lured and baited over the centuries, but of a before that he no longer knows ever truly existed outside of his imagination. Hundreds of years of make-believe take their toll, he assumes. Perhaps that’s why he - apart from the fact that she’s the least powerful fighter of the group - had chosen to bite her, not so long ago. Glaringly obvious reasons aside, she’s also someone the living man he used to be might have desired, once, before he made a deal with the devil and lost all traces of himself to cruelty and death. Cazador, at least, wouldn’t enjoy her, of this he’s absolutely certain. Look what the pets dragged in. He’d feed, soften the worst of his bottomless hunger and throw away her corpse; the notion rattles dangerously in Astarion’s chest for a fraction of a second. No.

The chasm of his pasts thunders and rages, but he can’t give in to it, can’t twist up this chance at turning the tables. Nothing matters but that freedom, the sheer might of it. Does it?  Mere hours ago Elnys had allowed him to deal with the filthy Gur monster hunter the way he saw fit and Astarion had cut the man down - sloppily, without much glee, but instead a sinking sensation at the pit of his stomach. Disappointment, surely, at the lack of grandeur. Surprise that the dreadfully dull woman holding the reins had loosened them like that when, normally, she’ll jump in between an arrow and a bystander for no good reason. On the way back to camp he had meant to ask her why, meant to prod further into the shades of what his power over her could be wielded from - lust, loyalty, naivety - but the words had got caught up in between their companions, then in a camp full of celebration and revolting wine. There’s so much to consider, wound tight around others like this. Obstacles, idiocies, downright doubts, but Astarion is nothing if not resourceful so here they are now. He tells her he’s been wanting to have her since he first saw it. It’s cheap, hells is it ever, but what is seduction other than a mutually signed pact to play certain parts? An animal and its prey. The consummate lover and their chosen one. There’s a glint in her eyes as he steps closer, a flicker of hesitation perhaps. He changes his tone, tilts his head, adjusts to her unspoken demands and just like that, it’s gone again. It’s so simple, seducing her.  And hells, it would be boring if it wasn’t for her rough edges, the unpolished lust and the memory of nights in camp, listening to her spin tales from the sordid places she grew up in, her glee after a successful battle, her sharp insights and filthy mouth. All those details of her, they fill up every empty space between them, flatten out the hollows. 

She tastes of cheap wine and smoky fish and her hands get lost in his hair, twisting themselves around his curls as he kisses her; he gets lost in his own well-rehearsed theatrics, then in her blood as she rolls her neck and allows him. No fear, no sense of obligation and he’ll remember this for at least a century, he thinks, the way her fingers trace the wretched scars along his back as he drinks her, the way her breath catches and her lips are on his, licking her own life from them. Afterwards, she’s flat on her back beside him on the ground like they’re some lost wood elves frolicking about; he plays along, thinking this woman's surely predictable enough to appreciate that sort of romantic delusion. She’s glancing at him with that particular gaze she has sometimes, letting it graze over his face. It makes her seem puzzled and determined at the same time, as though she’s measuring them quietly, holding them up against a scale of her own making. 

There’s that rattle again, the sound of bones in him as he realises he doesn’t want to know what she makes of this, let alone of him. Nothing to see in here, he thinks, pushing himself up on one elbow to meet her gaze. Nothing, nothing, nothing. “Are you alright?” “Am I… what?” Elnys shrugs; the corners of her mouth twitch. “Forget it,” she says, but he won’t. After Cazador, he doesn’t forget a single thing. “Darling, of course I am, as you so eloquently put it, alright,” he retorts instead, stifling a scoff with a smile and her possible further questions with a thumb rubbing over her nipple.  She growls, low in her throat, and pulls him down over her.

“’s not a strange question, you know, just common courtesy,” she mumbles later still, arms curled around herself, a few fingers vaguely brushing his arm. He doesn’t care for it, or wouldn’t under any other circumstances, but the sun will be up soon and he can’t find it in himself to spoil the wonder of seeing it by moving anywhere. Elnys’s crimson-dyed hair is spread out over the grass, over the place where his heart once could beat and Astarion lies there watching the stars fade into a bright sky as she begins to snore, her breaths tickling his shoulder. It’s so simple, seducing her. 

[scarletwritesshit]

🍰 Blade x Kafka 🍰 Companionship's Immortality

Upon hearing the strangest of gentle sounds behind him, Blade turned around to face Kafka, who he could’ve sworn meowed at him seemingly out of the blue. He looked at her, blinked a few times, yet could not discern anything out of the ordinary, relatively speaking. He turned his back again, but once he did, he heard another faint mew seemingly coming from Kafka. It could just be nothing more than her playing a most unusual prank on him, as Kafka did make a habit of toying with Blade. Eventually, he decided to pay no mind to the strange meowing, though he was still somewhat in disbelief over what he was precisely hearing. They sounded a bit too high pitched, even for Kafka to make.

What purpose did toying with Blade in such a manner even hold? Usually, if he stopped paying her mind, she would eventually get bored of attempting to get his attention. However, the mewing continued to persist, with each noise varying in tone from the last.

"Kafka," Blade said with a slight growl, "why do you insist on meowing at me?"

"Oh, I think you are quite mistaken, Bladie." Kafka said.

Blade turned around, confused, to see that Kafka was now holding a most unusual creature. The outer shell of the creature appeared to be shaped like a cake that he had seen on the Luofu, with the inner part of its body resembling a rather round feline. It had huge golden eyes, and its tail and one of its legs were wrapped in worn bandages.

"It looks just like you," she said with a smile.

He studied at the strange pastry-cat that Kafka was holding up to him. It stretched itself upwards, then bounced back to its normal shape. It seemed to have some sort of rubbery, gelatinous consistency to it, and Blade was almost tempted to poke it just to find out. However, he resisted the urge to satisfy his curiosity, and instead merely looked at it with displeased eyes.

"It looks absolutely nothing like me," he said.

"Someone’s in denial," Silver Wolf commented, still paying more attention to what was on her phone screen.

The strange cat stretched and bounced back once again, making an odd squeaky meow sound.

"And it sounds absolutely nothing like me, too." Blade emphasized.

"But you’re both absolutely adorable. Don’t you agree, Silver Wolf?"

She held up the weird cat so that she could see it and Blade side by side. Kafka was enthralled by their similarities. The outer shell of the creature was black fading into red, colored just like Blade’s hair. They were both wrapped in bandages and adored with the same gold leaf, and even their eyes shared that same ominous shine.

"I see it," Silver Wolf said, looking up briefly from her phone, though not too keen on agreeing with the “adorable” part.

"See? Even Silver Wolf agrees!"

"…Never mind that. Where did you get that thing, anyways?"

"Oh, I might’ve been just a tad bit unable to help myself when I saw them during a little visit to the Herta Space Station."

"So you just up and took one?  It’s bad enough that we have the Xianzhou Luofu and the Astral Express Crew keeping their eyes on us; we don’t need to make even more enemies with whatever these things are!"

"Oh, I don’t think you have to worry yourself, Bladie. These poor creatures act as if they haven’t seen another soul in such a dreadfully long time. I don’t think anyone is going to be missing just one of these pitiful creatures any time soon."

Blade sighed deeply as the unusual creature jiggled once more in Kafka’s hands, mewing softly.

"It serves us no purpose. Why did you even feel the need to take one?"

"Well, if you saw a whole group of them, you’d understand why. You wouldn’t be able to say no."

"I can’t say no to you in the first place."

"Precisely, Bladie. You don’t have much of a choice, darling."

He really didn’t. Blade couldn’t turn down Kafka’s orders no matter the importance, whether it be a matter of life or death or the acquisition of a small critter.

Taking Kafka’s few but convincing words into account, he poked it with a finger and watched it bob like a gelatinous substance. The odd cat simply blinked at him with its large eyes, showing no signs of protest nor discomfort. He poked it again and again, watching it bounce back every time.

"See, Bladie? It’s absolutely adorable, just like you!" she said, taking the cat in one hand and pinching Blade’s cheeks with the other.

He could not resist, though truthfully, he did not want to. Kafka was enjoying the little cat too much, and though he didn’t want to admit it, Blade found his feline lookalike to, indeed, be rather adorable.

Once Kafka freed him from her pinch, he stuck out his finger to the cat to gauge just how friendly it really was. He meant no harm to the creature, even if its reaction was hostile. The cat’s tiny paws grabbed his finger, with a sort of sorrow and yearning that felt all too familiar.

In the moment, Blade could feel what was left of his heart melt with genuine empathy for the poor thing. For the little paws it had, the creature’s grip was rather strong, as if it had just found its reason for carrying on, all while fearing the loss of purpose yet again. He genuinely couldn’t decline Kafka now. Not with how the poor creature longed to find something to hold onto in its unfortunate life. Not with the way its adorableness made Kafka so happy.

The creature was admittedly cute, yes, but he could not help but feel a form of sorrow for it. If this individual felt such a way, then the others might as well, and Blade felt a tinge of desire to lend a hand to…just one more.

He couldn’t take Kafka’s partner all for himself. She seemed all too happy to take responsibility for it. Perhaps, maybe he could sneak back to the Herta Space Station and grab one for himself? If she loved this one so dearly, arguably more than him right now, then he could hardly see a reason for her to say no to a second.

“Where did you even find those things anyways?” he asked.

“Oh, I found the poor little critters thrown away in the space station laboratory,” she said. “A pity that I couldn’t take them all with me, so I simply adopted one that reminded me of you, darling.”

He had a feeling that if she scouted for a creature that resembled Blade, then there could be one that looked like Kafka as well. No guarantees, but Blade was going to attempt to seek one out behind Kafka’s back anyways.

Once he had a break from her watchful eye, Blade made a solo trip to the Herta Space Station’s Special Purpose Lab to investigate the disposal area and locate the creatures. He was greeted by quite a large variety of them, all sharing the same cat like appearance, yet varying greatly in color and adornment. Some had green outer shells, others were a vibrant orange, The “fillings” had immense range as well, and even the characteristics of their eyes were quite diverse. After some looking (and petting a few sad critters to hopefully cheer them up), Blade eventually scouted out a creature that resembled Kafka; a violet and white individual adored with a spider web and sunglasses on top. He crouched down and gently held out his bandaged hand. The little creature seemed rather hesitant at first, but it eventually grabbed one of his fingers with its paw, showing Blade that it was at least accepting of his affection.

Blade picked it up the critter and gave it a gentle squish.

Kafka was right, these creatures are squishy, he thought, gently squishing and stretching its outer shell.

He watched the creature carefully as he played with it, making sure that he was not causing it any discomfort. No one was around to see him, so he spared the creature an ever-so-little smile to return some of the joy that he was feeling. It was an adorable cat-like creature resembling his beloved Kafka, how could he resist allowing himself a little smile in the secrecy of the lab?

He realized that perhaps, he should be making his way back to regroup, lest Kafka becomes concerned with his absence or he finds himself bringing even more critters along for the ride. Hiding the creature wasn’t going to be his problem; the main issue was dealing with Kafka’s teasing once she finds out he gave in and adopted one of his own. She was as sharp as a dagger too, and he physically had no way he could lie his way out of telling the truth.

He was indeed unfortunately correct about it being a short-lived surprise, for she did not hesitate one bit once she heard the slightest mew being uttered from under Blade’s robes.

Hidden away, or at least what he attempted to hide, was one of these critters whose appearance was reminiscent of Kafka.

[wheels-of-despair]

Live A Little | A Worth It AU | Ralph Penbury x You | Masterlist

In This Edition: You join the gals on a mission below decks, officially meet Ralph, and have a crisis of conscience! Words: 3.3k

"Are you going to sleep all day?"

"Yes," you grumble into your fluffy pillow, wishing your aunt would move along and let you finish a wonderful dream about dancing.

"You can sleep when you get home, come on!"

You keep your eyes shut, clinging to the last wisps of your dream. You want to see his face. To know whose arms were wrapped around you, floating with you across the dance floor like you were weightless.

A smack to your rear plucks you from the dream world and drops you back into your cabin. The lights are on, and your aunt stands above you impatiently.

"Good morning, sunshine. Ready for breakfast?"

You groan and haul yourself out of bed. The next hour is spent making yourselves presentable. The hour after that? Eating a breakfast that, you have to admit, was worth getting out of bed for.

After a walk around the promenade, your aunt drags you to the swimming pool. You find the concept a bit odd, but how often does one get to swim aboard a ship sailing on the ocean?

You didn't really know what to expect, given that it was the first of its kind, but the swimming pool was fabulous. It was much larger than you'd imagined it would be, and over five feet deep. You happily swapped your dress for a rented swimming costume and spent over an hour splashing around with other curious ladies.

Titanic was scheduled to stop near Ireland to pick up a few new passengers just before midday, and it would be the last land anyone saw for days. You didn't want to miss it. You and Aunt Molly went to the deck and sat in the sun as you watched the ship approach the coast. You stayed there until time for lunch, then went below deck to have another wonderful meal. The time seemed to fly by.

Molly decided to stay and chat with the ladies after lunch, so you went back to watch the departure from Queenstown by yourself. It had grown windier, but you didn't mind the fresh air. You wrapped your arms around yourself and stared at the land in the distance, wondering if you'd ever see it again.

This may be your last grand adventure. It had been a wonderful trip, and you'd been lucky enough to experience a great many things that most people would never get to. But were you really ready to go back home and resume your normal life? To plan a traditional wedding and be an obedient wife and an attentive mother in the little town you'd grown up in? Forever?

"What are you doing up here all alone?"

You whip your head around to see Victoria, Georgina, and the girls from your table last night. Your face breaks into a smile.

"I'm just taking one last look at Ireland. It's the last land we'll see until we reach New York."

"How dreadfully boring!" Victoria laughs. "Come with us, we're going below to pick out a peasant for Nora!"

A girl in the back of the group blushes, and you recognize her as last night's loser; the final dance partner of Victoria's brother.

"Alright," you smile, falling into step as the group proceeds inside to the elevators. Victoria secures directions to the third class accommodations from the lift attendant - who warns her away from the unpolished people below - but she reminds him that she paid for the privileges of a first class passenger, and can go wherever she damn well pleases. You aren't sure if that's truly the case or not, but it seemed to convince the nervous operator. You split into two groups and ride the lifts down into the belly of the ship.

Victoria leads the way to the third class lounge with determination. When you enter, the room falls silent.

"Alright, Jane," Victoria orders, "Pick one!"

Jane scans the faces beginning to whisper, and points at a man you'd imagine to be Italian and in his 60s, sitting at a table playing cards. "That one!"

The girls giggle. You feel like you're in a zoo. Only, you're one of the animals. Every pair of eyes in the room is on the group of first class girls who'd come down to gawk.

"Go on!" Victoria grabs Nora's shoulders and pushes her forward. The girl stumbles at first, but finds her footing and marches right up to the elderly stranger, bends at the waist, and kisses him. She stands and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smudging her lipstick slightly, and returns to the group triumphantly.

They howl and cackle and congratulate her.

You wish you'd slept in.

The man sits there in a daze. You wonder what might be going through his head. A strange rich woman, just walking up and kissing you on the mouth? That surely doesn't happen every day.

A little boy, walking like he'd just learned how, wobbles toward the group and distracts you from your discomfort. You watch curiously, wondering what he's after. He reaches for Victoria's dress, which is covered with shiny metallic beads.

She sees him coming and leaps back with a squeal, snatching her dress out of his grasp. He giggles and wobbles faster, thinking she's playing a game with him.

Victoria keeps backing away, elbowing her way through the gaggle of other girls. When they spot him, they scramble and take off in the opposite direction, like the child is diseased. He pouts when they disappear from sight without playing with him. You wish you had something to give him; a trinket, a flower, anything to show the poor child that at least one of you is a human with a beating heart.

His mother rushes over to snatch him up, giving you a frightful glare, and you rush down the hall in search of the girls you'd arrived with.

"It's so disgusting down here, I need fresh air and a clean dress," is the first thing you hear from Victoria, who hasn't even noticed you were missing.

Everyone follows her back to the lifts. You bring up the rear. Nora the Loser is dismissed, and sent back to wherever the other girls competing for Ralph's affection - and a "heart-wrenchingly expensive" necklace, you'd recently learned - were spending their time.

You want to retreat and find a book, or go exploring on your own, but the devil on your shoulder tells you to stay. How often does an opportunity to observe the idle rich present itself, after all? Even if they are "heart-wrenchingly" horrible? Perhaps you'll write a book about them someday.

You step onto the promenade deck and breathe in the ocean air, feeling better already. The group walks in a slow circle around the ship, and you listen to the girls gossip about fashion and other passengers and the like. You didn't have a lot to contribute, but they didn't seem to mind.

Eventually, they stop for refreshments in the Café Parisien, a lovely room full of comfortable wicker chairs and ivy-covered trellises. When the gossip turns to white noise, and you take in the details of the decor. You've been to so many breathtaking places on your vacation, but somehow, this brand new ship seems just as wonderful as architectural wonders that have been standing for thousands of years. You could wander this ship for a lifetime and still not notice all the fine details.

"Hello!"

An enthusiastic voice breaks you out of your reverie, and you turn to face the smiling young man at Victoria's side. Right. Her brother, Ralph. The object of many young ladies' affections.

"Hello!" You can't quite match his tone, but you return his smile as best you can. He beams, like no one has ever said hello to him before. His big brown eyes twinkle with excitement, and you wonder if his dimpled cheeks are starting to hurt. It's absolutely adorable.

"Down, Ralph!" Victoria snaps. "She's not for you!"

His face falls, your heart pangs. The poor boy shifts bashfully and stares at the ground.

"It's nearly time to dress for dinner," he says quietly. "You said you wanted to pick out my outfit."

Victoria smirks. "Go to your room and wait for me."

He retreats without a word. You watch his slumped shoulders exit the café doors and wonder what happened to the happy boy who was dancing with different dames all night. He seems like a different person now. Why does he let her boss him around like this? Victoria turns to make sure he's gone, and then leans in conspiratorially. All the girls at the table mirror her.

"Do you want to know what tonight's task is?"

The girls hold their breath and wait.

"They'll have to kiss him! The last person to do so will have to go down below and invite a steerage rat to dinner in the lounge!"

The girls gasp and cover their gaping mouths.

"In public?"

"Where they'll be seen?"

"Oh, Victoria, that's simply wretched!"

"I know!" she says smugly, leaning back in her chair and popping a pastry in her mouth.

The girls giggle, but your excitement about being included is definitely beginning to wane. Is this fair to the man who will be chosen to be part of their spectacle? Could he refuse a first class lady? Would it be fair to Victoria's brother, who was being used for their amusement?

"Alright, let's go dress for dinner," Victoria orders, draining her glass and standing. Everyone else follows suit. "Wait until you see the awful thing I'm going to put Ralph in, you're all going to die laughing!"

You broke from the group to go back to your cabin and dress for dinner with Aunt Molly. You helped each other into fresh outfits and returned to the saloon for another exceptional meal that helped take your mind off the girls you'd escaped. They'd all gone to the À la Carte Restaurant, but you told them that you'd promised your aunt that you would join her for dinner. It wasn't a lie; you just didn't tell them that she would've happily sent you off with people your own age. But you didn't want to. You needed a break from them.

By the time the dessert plates were removed, you thought you might give socializing one last try. This was a rare opportunity for you, after all. And if nothing else, it would make you appreciate being ignored by the other girls like them when you returned home.

You excuse yourself from the dining saloon and return to the lounge, arriving just in time to see Nora pull Ralph to the dance floor. Last night's loss has clearly not disqualified her from continuing the game.

"There she is! You missed all the fun," Georgina pouts, pulling you into the chair next to her. "I stalled Ralph so Victoria could tell the girls about the new incentive she thought of during dinner: Take Ralph to bed and keep him out of Victoria's hair for a full twenty-four hours, and you'll get to spend the rest of the trip with us! Look how she's hanging all over him!"

Your eyes drift back to Ralph and Nora. He's telling her something, and she's laughing frequently and loudly. Touching him as much as she can get away with in public. It's all fake. He can see that, right?

"Does Ralph know that he's playing a game?" you ask.

"No!" Georgina laughs. "It's just a bit of fun. He's hopeless and pathetic. They're bored and loose. Victoria's a genius, don't you think?" You open your mouth as if to answer, and then think better of it. Georgina notices your change in mood. "Don't you realize how lucky you are? Other girls are willing to be defiled by him for a chance to walk the promenade with us. You got in free of charge!"

This is why you never fit in with the girls at home; because they're exactly like Victoria and her gang. Scheming wretches who only care about social status, or money, or the latest fashion, or today's gossip, or having fun at someone else's expense. They don't care about people, or feelings, or things that actually matter. They're just like your mother. You'd rather be alone than be part of this.

You get up without another word and exit through the nearest door. It's chilly out, but it's better than being in there. You walk until you reach an open section of deck and find a bench. You sit for a moment, staring at the bright stars. It's so peaceful out here.

You lie down, stretching out across half of the double-sided bench, and stare upward so that all you see is the night sky. The stars look so much clearer than they do at home. Is it because there are no city lights to interfere with them? Or has your world really changed so much, that even the stars look different now?

You lie there and ponder until you hear footsteps and giggling. Pick another bench, you beg silently. Just keep walking.

"Here we are," a man announces before two bodies come to rest on the other side of your bench. Do you get up and leave? Pretend you're not here? What if they notice you? Should you pretend to be asleep?

You hear them kiss, and wish you could roll off of this bench and land two decks below.

"Dearest," the girl purrs. "Do you think you could show me your stateroom?"

"My stateroom?" the man asks.

You know that voice.

"Yes," she breathes, probably in his ear. "I bet it's fabulous."

"But… but…" he protests.

"I'd like to show you something," she whispers suggestively.

"Wh-what would you like to show me?" he stutters.

"Shhhh. It's a secret."

His breath hitches. You wonder where her hands are, and wish you were literally anywhere else.

"D-don't you think we ought to get to know each other first?" he asks nervously.

"I know all I need to know, lovey," she purrs.

You sense a shift on the other side of the bench, like he's trying to slide away. He yelps. She laughs her stupid fake laugh again.

You scoff.

And then you freeze.

You didn't mean to.

If discovered, you planned on pretending to be asleep.

But two heads peek over the top of the bench at you. You're caught. Do you apologize, or go on the offensive?

"What is it that you know about him?" you ask. Offensive it is.

"Pardon me?" she asks.

You sit up. "This person you've shared a whole two dances with. What do you know about him?"

"Plenty of things!"

"Such as?"

The question seems to stun her. And of course it does; he's only a pawn in a silly little game, isn't he?

"The reason he's on board? His favorite course during tonight's dinner?" She stares blankly. "Here's an easy one: What color are his eyes?"

She glances at him before answering: "Blue, obviously."

You might laugh if the brown-eyed boy sitting next to her on the dark bench beneath the stars didn't look so crushed.

"Do you even like him?"

"Of course I do!" she insists, hand over her heart as if you've offended her to the very core.

"Then why don't you tell him what you're really after? Or would you rather wait twenty-four hours and let him find out on his own? Would that be more fun for you?"

You run out of steam when you glance toward Ralph and see the recognition dawning on his face.

"Nora?" he asks pitifully. "Is this a game?"

She scoffs and gets off the bench, stomping back toward the lounge. You and Ralph are left alone.

"I'm sorry, Ralph," you tell him gently.

His head hangs, and your "sorry" doesn't seem like enough.

"I'm sorry that they treat you this way, and I'm sorry that I didn't speak up sooner. It's not fair, what they were doing to you."

He shakes his head. "I should know better by now. No one will ever really want me."

"I'm sure that's not true," you argue.

"It is," he sniffles. "Everyone knows it. I'm annoying and pathetic and no one will ever want me. Even my own twin says so."

Twin? Victoria is his twin, and still treating him this way? Your heart breaks for the poor boy.

"I know that I haven't known you for very long, but would you like to know what I think?"

He peeks up at you curiously through his wet lashes, so you continue.

"I think you're a handsome young man with a big heart and a nice smile," you begin slowly. "One day, you will find someone who deserves you. And she won't give a damn what your sister, or anyone else, has to say about you. Because her love will be real, and that will be all that matters."

He ducks his head and wipes away a tear.

"And you're a terrific dancer, too," you add to lighten the mood.

"Thank you," he chuckles, as another tear streaks down his cheek.

"You've ruined everything!" The shrill voice of Victoria cuts through the night like a knife aimed directly at your eardrums.

A crowd has gathered to see who's ruined everyone's fun. Victoria and Georgina are leading the pack. They stand square-shouldered and glare like you've ruined their lives rather than a stupid game. You wonder if you should get up and curtsy.

"We trusted you!" "We treated you like one of us!" "This is what we get for associating with people who clearly do not belong in first class!" Their voices overlap, but you get the gist. They stand there expectantly, as if waiting for an apology.

You give them a shrug.

"Ugh!" Victoria spins and stomps back toward the lounge. Georgina follows, and then the rest of their herd.

You let out a slow breath when they disappear from view. Where do you go from here? You and Ralph sit in silence until you can't stand it anymore.

"Well…" you chuckle. "I supposed I should get to bed, before they decide to come back and toss me into the sea."

"May I walk you?" Ralph asks, trying to dry his eyes subtly as he rises from his side of the bench.

"You don't have to do that," you smile.

"A lady ought not be wandering alone at nighttime, even on a ship as grand as this," he says, puffing his chest out in an attempt to appear broader than he is.

"If you insist?"

He nods and holds his arm out. You take it gently.

"I'm sharing a cabin with my aunt on A-Deck."

Ralph nods in acknowledgement and leads you the long way around instead of to the door you'd both recently come out of.

The walk passes in silence.

"This is it," you say quietly, turning to face him when you reach your door. "Thank you for the escort, Mr… I'm afraid I don't know your surname."

"Penbury," he supplies with a sad smile. "But please call me Ralph."

"Ralph it is, then." You introduce yourself, thank him once more, and he leans down to kiss the back of your hand like a gentleman who hasn't just had his heart broken.

"Good night, kind sir," you whisper when he stands.

"Good night, lovely lady," he whispers back.

You step inside your room, close the door, and listen to him walk away before getting dressed for bed.

[stormyemeralds]

[ Mini Drabble, plot is that Morro possesses Harumi’s body post-death ]

—

The night is eerily quiet, a quiet that Lloyd cannot particularly say he’s fond of. He’s gotten used to the dead quiet in the streets on the nights he patrols, but tonight feels different— In a bad way. It’s as if someone, or something, is waiting to get him, and he nearly wants to turn around and run away with his tail between his legs.

But he can’t. A ninja never quits, and also, he knows that the others would never let it go if he just ran away because he was scared of the voices in his head.

So he keeps walking. The quiet only gets worse, and he feels as if it’s so dreadfully silent even the voices in his head are deafened— Not a good thing. He feels awfully alone, and he hates just how much he’s afraid of all of this, and he wants to run home and ask Kai for some comfort and—

The moment of paranoia barely has mere seconds to manifest before he sees someone, no, something in front of him. He takes a step back, blinking multiple times in an attempt to make out who it might be. The silver hair, the clothes, the makeup… he knows this person. All too well, unfortunately well, even.

“…Harumi?” His voice comes out, silently, but with just the briefest ounce of hope in it. She *survived?* He hadn’t thought that’s possible, the way the building fell had been awful, no one could’ve made it out alive. But if she did, if she was fine, then that might have meant that he could still have a chance, he could still save her.

“Think again.”

His hopes are crushed the moment the voice comes out of ‘Harumi’, and he takes a step back, heart racing. This isn’t Harumi. This isn’t her. I know that voice. I know who this is. I know—

‘Harumi’ lifts up her head, her skin looking as pale as a ghosts’ and her eyes a deeply uncomfortable green. The grin on her face is big, uncharacteristic, and she damn near moves as if she hadn’t walked humanly in decades. It makes sense. This isn’t her. It’s him. He’s back. Why is he back? How is he back? What do I do?

The wind creeps up from behind him and trips him up before he can do anything, and as soon as he falls onto the ground, the steps get closer. The figure is right in front of him the moment he’s able to lift up his head, and he dreads the voice that comes out.

“Hello, Green Ninja. Did you miss me?”

[oubliette-odette]

The Reluctance of Love Pt. 26

Do you ever write a chapter and just...hate it?

That was this chapter and I've been working and reworking it over and over again and this morning it finally clicked what I was missing and so I hope you enjoy this chapter more than I do, because I have beef with this chapter.

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23 Content Warnings: unhealthy parent dynamics All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil.

Altan POV

“So,” I began, trying my best not to fidget, “How do you find Berdusk?” 

The Lady Allara seemed to be a timid creature, we had been walking along the grounds for at least an hour and conversation was dreadfully, painfully slow. Some might be surprised to know that her conversation skills were inferior to that of orcs. 

“Oh, it’s quite nice.” She replied, blinking her wide eyes at me. She had an uncanny gaze that never strayed from my face. I could never tell if she was pleased when she looked at me, or simply frightened out of her mind, either way her wide, globulous eyes and her open mouth smile never was not on me.

There truly was no time to be amused by anything, but I couldn’t help but think that Drun would find her just as unsettling as I, and there was some warm comfort in that. Despite the distance and not knowing his condition, I still felt him near me. He was in my every waking thought and motivated every breath I took. He would return to me, that I was determined, and in the meantime I forced myself to believe that all was well and that what I was doing was enough.

I looked behind me and bit back the sigh I wanted to release when I locked eyes with the guards who followed us close behind. 

Earlier that day, Commander Gideon had only just left before those same guards  had returned with the servants to prepare me for the day. Since then, they had not left my sight, even within the privacy of my own room. It took much wailing and gnashing of teeth to convince them to let me bathe without one of them watching me. The absolute perverts.

“Do you miss Triel?” I asked Allara. “You’ve been gone almost a fortnight, is that correct?”

She shrugged, “I’m content to go where father takes me.”

Odd answer. I looked over at her again. Her expression was vacant of most any emotion. She didn’t look anywhere but me, in fact I don’t think she had looked out at the gardens once.

“My mother started this garden, you know.” I changed the subject. “She brought seeds from her homeland, isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yes, quite.” She neither blinked nor looked away from me, not even once. 

I swallowed thickly. “My lady, is everything alright?”

“Perfectly.” She said, “And you?”

I narrowed my eyes while I looked back at the guards, “The same, I suppose.” I said vacantly. They wouldn’t give away anything. Even if they knew, they’re helmets concealed too much of their face to even help.

“How about some tea?” I asked. I needed to distract myself from her and a drink and something sweet to eat from the kitchen seemed like a good idea.

“Whatever you wish, my lord.” She said, “That sounds perfectly splendid.”

“Do you like tea?”

“Oh yes.” She bowed her head.

“Hmmm.” I nodded softly. I clasped my hands behind my back as I led her and the two guards behind us back into the interior of the Great Hall. I glanced back one last time to the gardens, appreciating the work that had been done to keep my mother’s plants alive. Someday, Drun would see it, I vowed.

The kitchens were pleasantly warm and quite busy when we entered. The head cook glanced up and nodded sagely when I walked in. They were used to my brothers and I coming in after our studies to enjoy a sweet treat with some tea. It was a safe space amongst so few of them and the cook was always kind even though I had never seen them speak a word in all my time knowing them.

They moved quickly to set two seats for myself and Allara to rest and then placed a setting for each of us to receive tea. A kettle was already beginning to boil.

“My lord, what a surprise!” I turned and gasped when I saw in the corner the large shadowy shape of a Dragonborn. How had I not seen them there? Doxxah was carrying a tray of baked goods, steam still rising from them.

“Doxxah! Wonderful to see you.” I said. I gestured for Lady Allara to take a seat, which she obliged with no objection. I stepped away, closer to my old friend.

“Likewise my lord, though a bit unexpected.” Doxxah gave a knowing stare. “Would you care to help me?”

I glanced at my fiance, who sat contentedly on her chair, her feet swinging slightly back and forth. From my distance it even seemed she had more of a natural smile on her face as she held her cup of tea. I turned back to Doxxah and nodded, “I would be honoured to help.”

 “How is the Lady Allara?” Doxxah’s voice was soft, not carrying above the sounds of the kitchen in use. We both glanced over at her, but the girl did not seem to notice the conversation being about her.

“Odd.” I said. “But not unkind.”

They nodded in acknowledgement. “And how is your paramour?”

“I do not know.” I answered. I glanced at the guards standing at the door. “I am…a bit stuck.”

They nodded. “Take heart, my lord, things will work out.” They placed a clawed hand upon my shoulder and winked. “You have many who are eager to see you happy.”

I bowed my head, “I know that, I am grateful.”

“There’s a but in there.” They said.

“But what if even after everything, my happiness can never be mine?”

“Hmmm, an honest question.” They reached for the last tray they had that had rows of steaming cinnamon rolls. I reached and pulled them from the tray and onto the serving plates on the table next to us. “Truly I am not the right person for this question, for I am ever the optimist. If you are not happy, my lord, then that is not your ending. Do not settle until then.”

“But what if he’s gone?” I breathed. I wasn’t certain if they could even hear me. To utter my greatest fear aloud, that Drunrag might be dead without my knowing, haunted me. I was suddenly shivering where I stood.

“Oh my young lord.” Doxxah lifted a plate with a roll on it and placed it into my hand. “Do not dwell on what we do not know. Take heart and in the meantime, warm your stomach with what is good. I have to be going, but I am always nearby.” They bared their teeth in a friendly, but also quite ferocious grin directed at the guards. They lifted their stack of trays and waved to the cook who was already working on a different dish before they made their way out of the kitchen.

I sighed. I supposed Doxxah was right. I had no way of knowing and thinking about it so obsessively made no difference. I needed to follow through on my plan. 

If I’m not happy, then it’s not the end. Not yet.

Lady Allara didn’t react as if I had even stepped away when I sidled into the seat next to her and placed a plate with her own cinnamon roll in front of her. “For you.” I said. 

Her eyes locked onto me, a sudden passing expression of fear on her gaze. “You are very kind.” She said, her voice was lower than normal, more mellow and somber. “I’m sorry.” she whispered.

“Sorry?” I asked. “Whatever for?”

She looked down into the bottom of her cup. “Our parents aren’t very honest people, are they?”

I drew my hands back from the table and onto my lap. “Allara, is there something you know that I don’t?”

Her hands were shaking and she couldn’t meet my eyes. 

“Whatever you can do, don’t play their game.” She finally met my gaze. There was hate and rage in those eyes, her demure appearance shed away to reveal a creature filled with spite and revenge.  “My father and your father…they each hold each other in a chokehold of secrets. There would be no reason for a wedding if those secrets were conveniently revealed.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How might one go about that?” 

The doors suddenly burst open and I jumped, I spun in my seat and looked down at my uneaten pastry.

“There you are!” The Duke of Triel exclaimed, my father just at his heels. “We thought you two would be in the garden. We had to search all over to find you.” His voice was jovial, but when I spared a stare I caught a sharpness in his stare as he closed the distance between himself and his daughter.

“I should have known you’d show her your favourite haunts, son.” My father smirked, but it was not a kind one. “But at this hour? It is only an hour before suppertime.”

“My daughter tends to have an upset stomach if she’s consumed too many sweets before a meal. She’s probably got some shaking in her. Ah yes, there it is. Come my love.” The Duke of Triel spoke quickly as he ushered towards the young woman and pulled her away from her seat. I watched as her eyes met mine. There was nothing vacant or uncanny in them. They were alert and locked onto me and then, the duke’s hands were on her and she was dragged away and soon out of my sight.

Did they truly think I was an idiot to not see what was happening here? I looked over to my father, glaring.

“Any particular reason you’re so displeased with me today, son?” He asked dryly, “Or is it the same as usual?”

“What are you doing to her?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” My father asked. All innocence in his tone. 

I rose to my feet. “You’re both up to something, and we’re being used as your pawns. I won’t accept such dishonesty, especially from you. It’s time we stop following in the steps of our forefathers. Look where it got you. Where it got our whole family. If I am to take your place as Duke, I will set the precedent now that this will not continue.”

“Hmm. I’m not sure what you’re seeing that’s making you so upset, son. I expect a bit more congenial attitude at supper. And you better be dressed.” Was my father’s only response before he turned and walked out.

I slumped back into my chair and looked down at my tea and cinnamon roll, both still warm. I took a bite and felt the hot buttery bread soften and melt in my mouth, cinnamon pervading any other flavor. I suddenly felt hot tears on my face. 

“Drun.” I said under my breath, burying my face into my hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing without you.”

I should have hurried back to my quarters to dress for supper, but I held back for as long as I could. I savored each bite of the pastry, and then slowly sucking the icing and cinnamon off of my fingers. I imagined another world where Drunrag was sitting next to me, sitting on his hands as he expectantly watched me try something Doxxah taught him how to bake. I showered him with praises and let him lick the sugar on my lips before kissing me deeply. 

My stomach twisted at the sight of it all. If only it could be so blissful. More tears spilled over.

“Brother.” 

I raised my head and Selhar had taken Allara’s empty seat. His eyes were wide with concern. 

“I’m fine.” I said, “Just thinking too much.” I sat up straight and wiped my hands clean. “Will you be at supper?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s just for you and Allara and the Duke. Father insisted on privacy.” He dropped his bottom lip. “Whose pastry is this?” He suddenly asked, a touch of his young childhood whine snuck into his voice as he looked down at the roll before him.

“Yours, if you want it.” I sniffed and wiped my nose. “Lady Allara was meant to eat it, but she had somewhere else to be.”

“But I think this might be yours.” He said, sliding out a small slip of paper from beneath the plate. In small, loopy script was written, “Altan.”

Selhar kept an eye on me as I unfolded the slip, but his mouth was already full of the warm roll. 

Altan,

I don’t know if I will ever have the presence of mind to give this to you, but you must know the truth from my side. You and I are victims of dishonorable men who happen to be our fathers. Neither of us want this marriage, I’m aware. So let us help one another. 

My father, the Duke of Triel, is the father of at least five illegitimate children. There may be more. I have in here included the names of those I was able to track down. Since my father discovered my knowledge of them, he has kept me drugged so that I will not reveal his secret. But you may be able to do something with this information.

Lastly, even when I am under the influence of the herbs my father forces on me, I am still aware of many things. I’ve heard our fathers speak about the underground guild known as the Red Hunters. I have always understood them to be a neutral force that is swayed by whatever is the stronger power. At this time, the Red Hunters and your father’s partnership is built upon a common enemy: the orcs that reside in the Fields of the Dead. The Red Hunters are promised a share of those lands after the orcs have been cleansed and your father intends to use the rest to expand the Trade routes that exist beyond Triel and Berdusk. Perhaps a bargain can be struck if you can offer something greater.

Should we both remain in the chains our fathers built for us, please know that I will not hold any ill will towards you.

Yours, 

Allara

I passed the note to Selhar and rose to my feet. “See if you can get this to who it needs to. I have to go.” I reached for his head and tussled it lightly. I didn’t dare say anything else with the present company, but I met his stare and we each shared a nervous smile. “And take a sweet to Robin. He’d like that.”

Things would be alright, I thought to myself, I still had my brothers to look after. Drunrag haunted my every thought, but I had to be realistic. My brothers were just as important and I would not abandon them.

The dining hall was vacant of any guests except for myself, Allara, The Duke of Triel and my own father, the Duke of Berdusk. It was a small, intimate dinner arrangement that only took up one end of a very elongated table. I wished that Selhar and Robin could be there, if only to distract me from the uncomfortable stare I would get from the three other guests.

Allara’s expression had returned to its vacant, empty stare and she answered everything with the same politeness and poise that I was familiar with. I searched for some sign of that trembling, human girl beneath, but whatever the Duke had done to her had suppressed her completely. I eyed the Duke cautiously as he sat across and to the right of me.

In a rare act of humbleness, my father had left the head of the table vacant to sit next to me on my right and across from the Duke of Triel. It certainly gave the appearance of two happy families preparing for a joyous wedding amongst friends.

It was just so far from that when we all knew that Allara and I were being used as toys in a game that we never were explained the rules to. And one of us wasn’t even given the presence of mind to fight back.

The food in front of me was decadent and elaborate, I envisioned the cook when I had seen them earlier that day, bustling from one end of the kitchen to the other. It was a wonder they managed to make it all on their own. But the passing thought that I kept coming to was fear that maybe if I took a bite, I too, would end up just like Allara, caught in a web that put me exactly where my father wanted me to be. Compliant, pleasant, obedient to his every desire.

“Something the matter?” My father asked under his breath. 

I looked over to him, blinking.

“You haven’t taken a single bite.”

Certainly words like that ease one’s worries when they believe they’re about to be poisoned. I felt my stomach as it twisted and I took a spoonful up to my lips and prayed silently to the gods that I would somehow be spared. Oh gods, spare me.

I waited for the inevitable to happen as I slowly chewed and swallowed the warm food. My father didn’t glance over in my direction as I held my breath and waited.

Nothing happened, thank gods.

“So, Altan.” The Duke Triel asked. “Your father and I took some time to discuss wedding dates. We believe sooner is better than later. What with kidnappings and other dangers about, we believe it’s best to heighten security and quicken the pace.”

“Is this something that can be negotiated?” I asked.

I felt a harsh boot jam into my foot below the table. I didn’t flinch or look away from the Duke of Triel.

“Well…is there a reason you would like to wait?” He asked.

“Oh yes, you see. I don’t think marrying so quickly is a competent choice on either of your parts. If such dangers are causing risk to myself and my betrothed, then such dangers also exist for our people. Until we can assure competent security and my kidnapper is brought before me, the wedding will not happen.”

“Son.” My father’s voice was tightlipped and forced. “This is not the time nor place.”

“Is it not?” I asked. “I was under the impression that you expected me to become the next Duke, what with all of those council meetings I was forced to attend. Should I not be thinking about the greater good for our people, and yours?” I nodded to the Triels. “I doubt a single council member would disagree that safety is our upmost priority, not secrecy. The people will want to celebrate this wedding, and I will have that for them, especially after so many years they’ve spent grieving the loss of our Duchess. But if you had wished me to be submissive as before, perhaps you should have expressed your intentions differently.”

Neither Duke spoke, which let me continue, “And seeing how between myself and Alarra, I seem to be the only cognizant one present in a conversation, I suppose the decision is left up to me, isn’t it my betrothed?” I asked sweetly. 

“Whatever you wish, my lord.” She responded with her saccharine tongue. “I am happy to be by your side.”

I grinned. “See?”

“She has not been well, my lord.” Her father replied.

“That’s apparent.” I sniffed with contempt. “I promise the both of you, that whatever secrets you have hidden so deep beneath your fine coats and thick necks, I will expose the both of you, unless you promise me my kidnapper returned to me alive.”

“An empty threat son.” My father said, “End the theatrics now.”

I turned sharply to face him. “Is it? You don’t know what I know. Two can play this game father, and you were such a good teacher.” I said, my grin widening. I rose to my feet. “But the game will end and when it does, I hope your names are sent straight to the nine hells.”

I didn’t wait to be excused, nor did I look back to see their faces.  Half of the battle was convincing them that I was worth being feared, intimidated by and carrying the confidence to not care what they thought. 

I stepped out into the hall and let out a deep breath. I predicted that things would likely get worse before they got better, but I was determined to see this through.

I was followed back to my chambers with an extra guard in tow. I glanced back at them and winked before stepping into my room and hearing one of them following in behind me. 

I was surprised to find Robin asleep on my bed. His face had sticky bits of frosting on his cheek. He looked peaceful. I let out a sigh. There would be no rest for me, not yet.

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[unicyclehippo]

Bedazzled

Standing outside Laudna's office was a cluster of students, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, in neat blue-and-white uniforms and texting away on their bedazzled phones or whatever they had these days. Stickers? Holograms? Probably not holograms. One of the children was younger than the others--advanced placement, maybe?--and wore a pair of red cat ears, which poked up above her tousled black hair. She clutched a big red folder to her chest and seemed to be buzzing with excitement, looking eagerly down the hallway to Laudna's closed door.

When Imogen approached, the girl spoke.

'Hello! Are you here for Doctor Bradbury?'

Imogen froze mid-step. For a second, a single thought filled her mind--was it possible that Laudna had a kid? It wasn't that she looked so much like Laudna; there was a faint likeness, both being pale and dark-haired and tall, but it was the voice that struck her. Beyond the accent they both shared, the crisp and proper tones of northern Tal'Dorei, there was a musicality that Imogen had never heard before, not until Laudna, and it plucked at something in her mind and heart and she found herself smiling down at the girl. Who was honestly irritatingly tall for a, like, ten year old kid.

The girl's smile wavered. 'Miss?' she prompted.

'Sorry - sorry. Uh, yes. I'm here for Laud--Doctor Bradbury, I mean.' She glanced over the group again. 'Are you here for her as well?'

The girl beamed, rocking forward onto the balls of her feet. 'Yes! Doctor Bradbury is taking us on a tour!'

'Oh, she is?'

'Yes!'

One of the older kids laid a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder, which paused her excited bouncing for a few seconds. To Imogen, they said, 'We're here on a school trip, miss. Doctor Bradbury runs tours for us every few months on different topics. Today, we're learning about the SaOrdian Era--'

'Did you know they had aqueducts that carried water all throughout the Rumedam Desert?' the girl cut in, eyes bright, tone breathlessly excited. 'And their monarchs all had the same name for six hundred years? And that Emon is older but Ank'Harel is bigger? And that they invented brume way before anyone else?'

Imogen grinned. 'What the heck d'you need a tour for? Sounds like you know everything already.'

Despite being shorter, the girl managed to look down her nose at Imogen. 'There's always more to learn,' she said in an arch tone.

'Quite right, Gwendolyn, quite right. Couldn't have said it better myself,' Laudna agreed absently as she stepped out of her office, tapping one-fingered at the buttons on her mobile phone. 'Won't be a moment, children--just have to send off a quick message--'

'What is that, doc? You need to get a new phone.'

'We'll pitch in if it's the government salary stopping you.'

'It's embarrassing, it's a relic, miss!'

Laudna ignored their comments, only pausing to say primly, 'It's vintage!' of her ancient pager-like phone. 'It sends and receives messages. What more could I want?'

'Social media,' one of the kids muttered, to everyone's boos.

'The whole collection of human knowledge at your fingertips,' another suggested. 'Whatever's not locked behind a paywall, anyway.'

Laudna dismissed that with a scoff. 'I do have a computer, thank you, JB.'

'Bet it takes up the whole wall of your office like one of those spacecraft computers.' That made them all laugh, Laudna included.

Through the noise, Gwendolyn piped up. 'You have a guest, Doctor Bradbury.'

'Oh?' Laudna glanced up from her phone, finally, to see Imogen, who waved. 'Oh! Imogen! How fortuitous--it was you I was trying to message, I'm dreadfully sorry, I double booked our lunch.' She looked cornered all of a sudden, striken. 'I can fix this,' she insisted, sinkingly soft like a bruised plum, all give.

Imogen shrugged. 'Nothin' to fix. We'll just reschedule.'

'You could come with us,' Gwendolyn said. 'And learn something.'

Everything soft in Laudna became sharp all at once, bright and dangerous and brilliant, and she looked at Imogen over the top of Gwendolyn's head and said, eyes glittering, 'What a marvellous idea. Perhaps you could learn something about the SaOrdian Era.'

Imogen's eyes narrowed. Through gritted teeth, she said, 'That would be fun.'

'If you don't mind.'

'Not at all.'

'Then it's settled,' Laudna said, very pleased. 'My friend Imogen shall join us for the tour.'

'Oh, is she your good friend, Doctor?' one of the kids teased, sharing a sly smile with their friend.

Laudna mustn't hear the innuendo in their words because she only smiled and nodded. 'Indeed! Oh, introductions! Everyone, this is my dear friend Doctor Temult! Doctor Temult, this is a selection of bright and curious minds from the Whitestone School of Excellence--my old school! Gwendolyn, Trisha, Simon, JB, Byron, and Melanie. Where is Jarrett?'

'Car trouble,' Byron said. 'He's gonna be late.'

'Well it's quite illegal for me to take you anywhere without a teacher or supervisor. But it's not illegal for me to answer any questions you might have. Perhaps about our last tour? I know some people,' Laudna tilted her head unsubtly toward JB, 'were very curious about the Library of Molaesmyr.'

[sakascal]

With Her as Our Witness, chapter 6

So, here is chapter six. Only two more remain. I hope you're enjoying this little story of mine.

This time, there are a few references to my previous story Summoning Salvation. You can go check it out, if you haven't read it and would like to. You really don't need to know that much, though. And I explain what you might be missing in the notes of this chapter.

This chapter was an absolute blast to write. So much fun. So much drunken silliness. I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)

As always, kudos, comments and shares are very welcome and appreciated.

Summary

It's 2021. Crowley lost his flat and despite his best attempts to just do absolutely f*ck all about it and pretend like nothing has changed, Aziraphale notices (because he's not an idiot).

Excerpt:

“You do.”

Aziraphale opened his eyes again and threw a puzzled expression Crowley’s way.

“Do what?”

“Eat, drink,” the demon said, pointing at him. “Dancsse.”

He was swaying with the music. “This isn’t dancing. Now the Gavotte–”

“‘s long dead, angel,” Crowley interrupted. He finished the last of the wine in his glass and put it away, before looking through the records Aziraphale had taken out.

Aziraphale sighed once more. “Shame. Took a dreadfully long time to learn. ‘n I w’s good!”

“Ssshame I never got to sssee,” Crowley said with a wink.

And there he went, blushing again. Dreadful demon, he always delighted in making him blush. Aziraphale didn’t like blushing - what an utterly useless reaction for the human body to have. But he did like seeing Crowley enjoy himself. A daunting dilemma, that.