#if I wake up tomorrow and find that this is not true don’t say anything it’s 02:37

[legendaryjarcollection]

Cross-dressing fic where the lady “has to” cut her hair short even though it takes place in a time period where it is not only acceptable but even fashionable for men to have longer hair🤡🤡🤡

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 OFFER ME MY DEATHLESS DEATH

FEATURING: dazai osamu

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

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

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

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

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

You stopped seeking him out after that night.

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t want him. 

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

You don’t want him. 

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

He needs to put a stop to this.

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

Maybe he should just go to talk to you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dazai, you can come out now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai thinks he might hate you.

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

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

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

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

“What about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dazai-”

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

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

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

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

“I’ll drive you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t make any sense.

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

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

He does it anyway.

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

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

He clicks on it anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course, you weren’t. 

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

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

Dazai needs to go.

He needs to go.

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

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

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

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

“It’s always what you want, Dazai.”

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

Because of you. 

Fuck.

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

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

You ruined it because you got scared? 

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

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

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

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

But you won’t.

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

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

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

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

Because of you? 

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

It had been a mistake.

Had it been a mistake to cost him his life?

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

Oh, you might throw up.

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

And-

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

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

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

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

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

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

War with the Guild. Dazai in the hospital.

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

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

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

You can’t, not even for Dazai.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How are you feeling, Dazai-sama? 

What happened, Dazai-sama? 

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

Dazai feels defeated.

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

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

“… to know what exactly hap…”

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

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

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

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

“Dazai.”

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

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

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

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

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

“The hospital called me-”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wow, he thinks dryly, you came prepared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai almost scoffs.

“No one would believe that.”

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

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

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

Oh.

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

“You were a kid too.”

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

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

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

Double oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants to kiss you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Co-Stars pt.3

Callum Turner X Actress! Reader

Summary: The moment Callum and Y/n got together, and the interviews that followed...

Warning: Kissing/ allusion to sex/ use of Y/n/

Word count: 1.1k

Before they admitted their feelings, they flirted a lot. Especially on set, but today, they were filming a sad scene. It was Bucky finding Y/n character letters letter after she got captured. She didn’t tell anyone except the makeup artist, but she wrote real love letters, only changing the name. She confessed her feeling for Callum and decided to make him read these love letters as his character. But the letter that Bucky was reading was already recorded by Y/n. Tom Hanks asked her to write a love letter so he could react to one. But today, Callum was getting make up on, by the only person on set that knew… ‘’Callum, you should know that the love letter that your about to read, Y/n wrote it for you, confessing her real feelings for you’’ she whispered. The makeup artist wanted to help the two of them getting together, so that’s why she broke her silence vow. ‘’How do you know that?’’ he asked. ‘’She told me’’ she winked. Callum didn’t know how to act, but he sure was going to read every line of this letter.

‘’Action!’’ the director yelled. Callum came in the room, showing the emotion that needed to be shown. He grabbed the letter and opened it. He was nervous to read it, but he had to act.

Dear Bucky,

When we met, I couldn’t have predicted the place that you were going to have in my heart. You’ve been there for me since the beginning. I am truly thankful for you. You’re my best friend, my partner, my other half. I never told you how much I love you, more than a friend. I don’t really believe in the soulmate stuff, but you and I, I think we’re soulmate in every universe. I love you so much, it pains me to just be your friend. The sleepless night I’ve spent, thinking about you and I. You have the special ability to make me feel like the most important person on earth when I’m with you. My body aches when you’re not in a room with me, my heart hopes that you feel the same way. Because I’ve suffered enough, I want to be with you. I want you to be my tomorrow. I want to wake up next to you, and smile because my dreams are finally reality. When we’re in the same room, I feel like a 12-year-old again, waiting for my crush to look at me. You belong with me Callum Bucky. I loved you yesterday, I love you today, and I will love you tomorrow.

Forever yours

Rose

He couldn’t believe what he just read. When the director said cut, he stayed seated, that letter was filled with true emotions. He had to find her, to tell her that he was feeling the same way. He got up and walked towards her trailer. Y/n heard a knock at her door, when it opened, it was Callum, with her letter in his hand. She looked at the piece of paper, then her gaze went to his eyes. ‘’Callum I, uh, someone told you? Right?’’ she whispered. He nodded. ‘’Listen I – ‘’ Callum cut her off by walking up to her. Their face was so close, Y/n tried to hold eye contact, but she was panicking. She took deep breaths, waiting for him to say anything. ‘’Y/n, you have no idea how long I’ve waited for you. I was afraid to ruin our friendship. I love you too, I love you so much’’ he said, smiling. Y/n blushed and put her hand of Callum’s cheek, caressing his skin with her thumb. ‘’Please, can I kiss you?’’ she asked. Callum nodded and they pressed their lips together. It was gentle, but filled with passion, a tear of joy rolled down Y/n cheek. She was finally with the men of her dreams. ‘’I wanna be yours, Callum’’ she whispered. ‘’You’re already mine, Y/n, and I’m yours’’ Callum replied, between kisses.

-

‘’It’s time to address the rumors about you two!’’ Jimmy Fallon said, taking out pictures. The first pictures were one of Y/n and Callum passionately kissing/ making out against a telephone pole. The crowd screamed, and the couple wasn’t official yet, so it was awkward. ‘’You two are clearly kissing.’’ Jimmy said, laughing. ‘’Uh, we wanted to give the paparazzi something. I mean, they followed us all night, so we wanted to give them good content’’ Y/n blurted out. It was the first thing that came to her mind. ‘’Okay, I’m not convinced, what about this one?’’ he said, switching this picture. It was Callum carrying Y/n that was in a koala position on him. ‘’She twisted her ankle, and I offered to carry her’’ Callum said. They both looked at each other, blushing and trying their best not to giggle because they knew what happened after these photos. They went back home and had sex. ‘’But your hand is on her butt’’ Jimmy argued. Callum giggled and Y/n, too. ‘’You don’t but your hand on your friend’s butt?’’ Y/n laughed. ‘’I, no I-I-I don’t’’ Jimmy stuttered. Even if the internet wasn’t convinced, at least they tried to avoid more damage.

-

They with Drew Barrymore, after the date thing, they tried to act normal. ‘’What’s your favorite Rom-Com?’’ Drew asked. ‘’The Weeding Singer’’ Callum said. ‘’10 things I hate about you’’ Y/n replied. ‘’Wait, you love The Wedding Singer’’ Drew said, with tears in her eyes. ‘’Yes, the gestures are amazing and yeah, it’s really great’’ Callum says. ‘’Yes, chasing her on the plane. Y/n what’s your favorite love gesture a man as ever done to you’’ she asked. She thought about it. ‘’Uh, I think it was when I was 17, I was feeling really sad, and this guy drove 2 hours to come and give me a hug. Or when I was 24, I really wanted a ring, it was so pretty, not as an engagement ring, just to have jewelry, and the guy bought me the ring. I still wear it today.’’ She was talking about Callum. She showed the ring to Austin and Callum, to not be suspicious and when Drew saw it, she gasped. ‘’That’s so sweet! If a man gives me a ring one day, I think I’ll cry’’ she said. ‘’I did cry’’ Y/n laughed. Callum remembered that day like it was yesterday. She drunkenly said to him that she wanted to have a ring to fidget with, when the passed in front of a jewelry store, she pointed at a ring. The next day, he went to buy the ring and gave it to her when he got home. Saying it was a promise ring of friendship. Y/n bawled her eyes out and fell more in love with Callum that day.

[cheolhub]

THE MORNING — KIM MINGYU ࿐

summary. mingyu knows you have a lot to do the day before the wedding, but he won’t let you leave without giving him his favorite meal for breakfast

wc. 2.2k

warnings. marriage kink (ik…), oral (f. receiving), gyu is a needy baby, a bit of teasing, praise — MINORS DNI 18+

note. ok hello, i know i said i was on hiatus, but i’ve decided im not anymore bc i need to be able escape from reality so enjoy ANOTHER fic w my newfound marriage kink. will likely write a pt. 2 (post-wedding) if u guys like this :D

p.s. reblogs and feedback are extremely appreciated— i also love to hear ur thoughts &lt;3

mingyu hates waking up alone. he has since he met you all those years ago, so today, when he wakes up cold just to see your spot empty, he’s grumpy to say the least. 

he leaves the bed to look for you, eyes tired as he’s muttering to himself about how you do this even though you know he hates it. when he finds your sleepy figure in the kitchen buttering a slice of toast in nothing but his oversized shirt and your socks, he immediately pouts.

“g’morning baby,” you smile at his eyes that are barely open and his disheveled head of hair, setting down the butter knife. “why’re you pouting?” 

he huffs, arms crossing at his chest, mumbling out, “you know why. i hate waking up cold.” 

you coo at how cute he was being. “‘m sorry, gyu— but we’re getting married tomorrow, i had to get up early to meet with the caterers and i’m gonna be late if i don’t start getting ready soon.” 

he sighs, moving to wrap his arms around your waist from the back. his face digs into the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses to the skin. “make it up to me.”

you hum, relaxing into his touch. “baby, don’t start… i’m gonna be late— you were the one who wanted a perfect wedding.”

“don’t care about the wedding…” he says in between kisses— ones that were starting to escalate as his teeth scraped against your sensitive spot. “just want you.”

you smile at his words because you know they’re not true. mingyu has been gushing about giving you the most extravagant wedding since you said yes to his even more extravagant proposal. 

“‘n you’ll have me tomorrow night. forever.” you emphasize and he groans, pushing his growing bulge into you. “but right now, i need to start getting ready, i have to meet them in 45 minutes.”

he whines, needily rutting into you, sucking at your skin harsher with every passing second. “baby, you can’t just say shit like that and then leave.”

you tease with a giggle, “what? saying things like i’ll be yours forever?” 

“yes! don’t say things like that if you don’t want me to bend you over and fuck you while you choke on toast!” he whines out and you can’t help but laugh loudly, turning in his grip to face him. 

he’s giving you the biggest doe eyes and, usually, they’d work on you because there is something so irresistible about your soon-to-be husband, but right now, you’re adamant on making sure tomorrow's wedding runs smoothly. so he’s just going to have to wait. 

“okay, baby,” you start, a cheeky smile on your lips “i’m sorry. i won’t say anything like that ever again.”

“noooo!” he cries, shaking your body with his big hands. “i like when you say stuff like that, just don’t say stuff like that right now. you’re practically edging me.”

your fiance is so easy.

you coo, pecking his pouty lips, “okay, i’ll keep that in mind.” you say. “‘m gonna go get ready, you can have a slice of toast if you want.” you offer, wiggling out of his tight grip.

he scoffs at the proposal, deterring you from leaving and lifting you by the waist, sitting you on the empty space on the kitchen island. your surprised gasp makes him groan and he’s praying you’ll let him hear your other pretty noises before you leave him for the day. 

his lips ghost over yours, “would rather have something else for breakfast.” he mumbles against them before getting on his knees in front of you. “pretty baby, at least lemme taste you, please?”

he’s so pretty with his shaggy hair and his tired eyes and you never realized how much he resembles an actual puppy dog before now. you can’t help but admire the beauty that is your forever lover. 

you bite your lip at his plea, the offer being almost too good to deny. you weigh your decisions, eyes shooting to the clock across the kitchen. 8:17 a.m. if you wanted to be out and on time, you’d need to leave within the next 30 minutes– that isn’t nearly enough time, but the way he’s peering up at you and looking so fucking fine while he’s on his knees all for you… it’s too tempting. 

“gyu…” you trail off as his arms take a hold of your legs and his face nuzzles into the insides of your plush thighs. he presses soft, gentle kisses to the skin. 

“mmm, baby, please,” he mumbles, moaning as his face is almost directly in front of your clothed cunt. “i’ll be so quick, gonna make you cum ‘n you can go. you’ll let me, won’t you?” his breath fans against your core where arousal is now gathering and soaking through the cotton fabric. 

temptation is a bitch, you rule.

he’s rendered you breathless and he’s barely touched you. you’re experiencing another moment that proves no matter how much of a bitch mingyu is for you, you’re just as desperate for him. two people that are a mess at the hands of one another– a match made in heaven. 

“fuck, gyu,” you pant, eyes shooting up at the clock. 8:18 a.m. your eyes fall back to him and you decide, fuck it. “5 minutes or else i’ll finish myself off in the shower.” you offer the empty threat as if he couldn’t make you cum in a mere 30 seconds if he really wanted to.

he smiles, “whatever my pretty wife wants…” he whispers, noticing the way you twitch at the words. a soft chuckle slips past his lips and he looks up to you again. “oh, so you like when i say that just as much as i do, don’t you?”

of course you do. who wouldn’t get turned on by the idea of being kim mingyu’s pretty wife? 

you roll your eyes in an attempt to hide the fact that his words don’t have a great affect you, gruffly saying, “not your wife yet and you’ve got 4 minutes and 30 seconds, baby.” you lace your fingers through his long, raven hair and push him into your heat. “get to work.”

he moans, taking in your scent, nose pressing into your covered clit as his tongue darts out to taste you, further soaking the cotton fabric with his saliva. you’re almost certain he’s going to eat you out through your panties, but he proves you wrong by taking them off in the blink of an eye.

he untangles his arms from your legs before rolling them down your legs and leaving them bunched up on the ground next to him. before you know it, he’s diving back in like a starved man, arms coming back to their original position and pulling you even closer to his mouth. 

he starts by letting his tongue lap you up from your drooling hole to your hardened clit and he whines. you look down, breathless with your teeth digging into your bottom lip, and you completely take him in– how his tongue eagerly laps at your pussy with the most pleasured look on his face. 

no matter how many times he eats you out, it proves to never be enough. every time he gets a taste, it’s like the first time and he falls in love with you all over again. truth be told, mingyu is addicted to you and would happily die with his head in between your thighs. 

your eyes flicker up to the clock while mingyu opens his eyes to look at you. 8:20 a.m. 

he grunts unhappily, “look at me.” he mumbles into you, sending shivers up your spine. when your eyes meet his, he wraps his mouth around your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue at the bud. he relishes in the way you moan out his name, arching your back and gripping the end of the kitchen counter. 

“you’re so good, baby– fuck, you always eat me out so fucking well,” you moan the praise breathily, eyes fluttering closed. your head falls back in pleasure and mingyu’s ego inflates, cock twitching at the praise. 

he alternates between digging his tongue in your pussy, sucking up your honeyed arousal while his nose toys with your clit and having his mouth and tongue play with your clit. he’s moaning and whining, mumbling about how good you taste and how much he loves your pussy all the while devouring you whole. 

you’re a mess, not even bothered to check the clock anymore as you feel all the vibrations and action provided by his tongue nearly hurtle you over the edge. tears gather up at your lashline as you whine and whine, his name and his tongue being the only things you can think about right now. 

you’re almost embarrassed to be this close this quick, but then you remember it’s mingyu. mingyu who could make you cum by playing with your tits for too long. mingyu who could get you soaking his thigh in a matter of minutes. mingyu who knows just how to please you in any way possible.

“gyu! baby, oh, my god.” you sob, one of your hands moving back to tug at his silky hair. “‘m so fucking close.”

he lets out a guttural moan as he feels his own body heat up with pure desire. he wishes you had nowhere to go after this so he could sink you onto his cock and fuck you all day– make you cry for him, cum for him, beg for more of him till you’re both a mess and at a loss for words. he plans on doing so as soon as the wedding is over, though. he’s not going to let you do anything other than take his dick like a good wife as soon as you say ‘i do.’ 

he’s lost in your cunt, moaning with his eyes closed and brows furrowed as if he’s eating the best meal of his life. your joint moans and whines are bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, surely filling your entire home with lewd sounds. 

“cum all over me, baby, fuckin’ cum for me. you can do it.” he coaxes through moans, though it comes muffled with his tongue shoved in your pussy. he sounds like a broken record, begging you to let go over and over. “my pretty fuckin’ wife, do it for me, baby.”

the title and vibration of his words send you right over the edge. the rubber band in the fiery pit of your stomach finally snapping as you cry out his name prettily, body shaking uncontrollably. your hand tug on his locks, holding him in place while you grind against his face to ride out your orgasm. 

he’s a mess at the sight unfolding in front of him. you look so fucking desprate and it’s getting him close to cumming untouched, but he holds it in hopes you’ll change your mind– be an inconvenience so he can fill you up, fuck you full, and do it all again. he so badly wants you to call the caterers and push back the time so he can have you all to himself. 

you finally come down from your high, eyes glazed over, pussy still aching with need. said eyes find the clock and read the time. 8:24 a.m.

he parts from you after licking you clean, standing up to his full height and towers over you. his eyes are full of lust. hunger and desire. there’s a thin layer of sheen covering his mouth and chin left over from the arousal that still seems to be seeping from your hole.

“six minutes.” you pant cheekily, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eyes. “you promised five.” 

he smirks and, god damn, does he look fucking sexy with his disheveled hair and swollen pink lips. “i didn’t promise anything, baby.” he murmurs, hands finding your hips and standing in between your legs. “i can promise to fuck you so so good if you push back your appointment… just by an hour.”

you huff, pussy clenching around nothing because you know his words are very much true. “gyu… need i remind you, we get married tomorrow.”

“i know, and everything is gonna be perfect, baby. stop worrying so much.” he tells you softly. “as long as you’re there… as long as you say ‘i do’ before the end of the night… i don’t give a damn. don’t even need to wear a dress. just you… i could marry you like this.”

this fucking sweet talker. 

you blush, hiding your smile by chewing on the bottom of your lip, but you fail in doing so as your cheekbones shoot high up and your eyes crinkle. “you’re just saying that so you can fuck me.” 

“yeah, but it’s true.” he leans in, lips ghosting over yours again. 

“you’re gonna wanna fuck me in that dress tomorrow,” you tell him breathily, heart melting at the man he is. 

“i didn’t doubt that, pretty girl.” he whispers. “so, do you wanna fuck now?”

you smile, “i do.”

© cheolhub — all rights reserved, please refrain from copying, reposting, modifying or translating my work on any platform.

[casualhedonists]

into the mist, into the clouds

pairing: lucy gray x fem!reader

words: 3.5k

warnings: very few; fluff, angst, mystery and intrigue etc, post tbosas lucy gray

playlist for this fic • main masterlist

a/n: my first non-smut fic on here! title from carolina by taylor swift, which this fic is very much based on. this is one of my favorite things i've written in a very long time. enjoy 🤍

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

“You didn’t see me here.”

Whispered words fill the space between you. Your head rests in her lap, dress crisp and clean and smelling like you, like your home. She looks at you with a sense of urgency, one you’ve seen all too many times before.

“What? Lucy Gray, you’re not…”

She can’t be leaving again. She only just arrived. The morning had brought dew and her muddied boots on your porch for the first time in months. Your mother was gone for the day, it was almost like Lucy Gray had known. Her dress was covered in dirt and grass stains. You piled it into a hamper, washed it in the fresh water of the creek down the hill from your house, scrubbing away while she collected firewood.

“I am. Tomorrow. Dawn.”

“Let me come with you.”

“It’s not safe, my love. I can keep myself protected if I’m alone. I’m startin’ to get real good at it.”

You don’t ask if she’d come back. Neither of you ever know the answer to that.

“Will you do something for me, Lucy Gray?”

Your voice drops. The fire crackles, the pine cones you’d collected together popping as they burn. She likes the sound, she told you. It was safe, comforting. Homely. You’d wondered if she was really talking about the fire, or you, the girl who sat with her in its warmth.

“Anything. You know I will.”

“Would you leave before I wake up? I’m not sure I can say goodbye to you again.”

She smiles, soft and sad, and gazes at you like you’re a song, or something she wants to memorise.

“Of course I will. It’ll be like I never came back here at all.”

The glow of the flames dance across her face.

“I don’t want that.” You whisper. “I hate feeling like you’re slipping away from me.”

She lowers her head to yours, your foreheads touch. You hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

You’ve learned not to waste your time in tears, when she’s going to leave. There are better ways to spend those last moments, eyes dry and focused on tracing the lines of her face, committing it to memory for the last time in who knows how long. You sit up, curling into her, pressing your lips to hers, her hair still damp and smelling like the bar of soap you’d lent her when you fixed her a bath, your pruned fingertips massaging her scalp as the water began to cool. You make it to bed, sleeping soundly with her arms around you.

True to her word, she leaves in the morning. Leaving no trace, no proof she was ever there in the first place. But you feel the warmth of the sheets next to you, and you know.

She finds you the next summer.

“Don’t move.”

You freeze, long grass up to your knees, long skirt swishing as you wade through the field, sun blaring down on you.

A pair of warm hands press softly over your eyes.

“You’re back.” You beam, spinning around, taking her head in your hands, eyes shut, just listening to her breathing. You press your lips to hers.

“I sure am.” When you break away to take her in, look at her sunkissed face, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen her smile wider. If you didn’t know better, you’d say she got more beautiful every time you saw her.

You lie sun-drunk in the shade of the tall grass, lazing against each other as you go over your birthday, the village gossip, and she listens. Always listening, drinking up your words like she’s parched.

You’ve learned not to ask Lucy Gray where she’s been hiding, you both know it’s safer the less gets said. But she presses on, ever gentle, asking you for details when you fill her in on your life.

You jump at a movement in the grass beside you, but she just laughs. Picks up the snake, humming as it wraps and twists itself around her hand.

“These ones won’t hurt you, darlin’. They’re docile, see? Wouldn’t harm a fly.”

She lifts the snake to you slowly.

“You’re sure?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Always.” You reply instantly, like you’ve waited your whole life to hear the question.

“Then hold out your hand.”

You reach out.

“Close your eyes.”

You do. After a second, you feel hers, pressing into your palm, and an oddly warm sensation, smooth.

“It feels… dry.”

You open your eyes. The snake twists and drapes between the two of you, loosely binding your hand with Lucy Gray’s, holding you together.

She laughs, bright and sweet, like music.

“Well, what were you expecting?”

“I don’t know.” You confess. “Maybe for it to be wet? Slippery?”

Her laughter chimes through the field, a low gust of winding carrying it away. You stay like that for a few more hours, until night begins to fall, and the summer wind carries her away, too.

A year passes. Then another half.

Your mother gets older; she gets sick. You venture outside the bounds in twelve, slipping under the rusted wire fence with a basket, collecting herbs you’d started to read about but couldn’t afford. You make tinctures, teas, you light incense and fill the house with sprigs of rosemary and thyme. It slows down the sickness that tore through her like wildfire. When she passes, it’s beautifully peaceful, like a candle being blown out. You carry her ashes to the lake and you spread them, lingering by the Covey’s cabin. Hoping.

She doesn’t come. You walk home, humming something you think you remember her singing years ago. You start to wonder if she was just something you dreamt up, an old folk song you sing to yourself each night before you fell asleep.

Spring rolls around, and your empty house gathers dust. Your way with herbs and remedies gets around, starting with a few bottles gifted to a neighbour with influenza. Her granddaughter comes to your doorstep with the empty vial and a bag of potatoes. You smile and thank her.

“Are you a witch?” She asks, barely ten years old and looking up at you with dark, mistrusting eyes. You laugh.

“I’m not too sure about that, hon. Did the herbs help?”

She nods, a frown etched along her features.

“Then perhaps I’m a good one.”

Before you know it, word gets around that you cured the old woman. You make a living collecting herbs, crushing them down, and people line up outside your door most days. You find a slice of peace in it, in the routine.

But winter is cruel, and the house turns cold. The house that was once the perfect size for you and your mother now feels like too much money and work to heat, and things start breaking, and leaking. You hear from your cousin in Seven, you’ve inherited a log cabin and a slice of land on the edge of some woods from a great-aunt you never met.

You weigh your options. You go to the lake and skim stones in the icy water, mulling it over.

To leave Twelve is everyone’s dream. But Lucy Gray. The gentle ghost who lingers over your shoulder. How will she find you, if she ever comes back? You can’t stay here waiting forever. One bad frost kills your crops, the chill sets into your bones, and you make up your mind. You pack up your herbs and bottles, your books and your clothes, the pinecone you keep beneath your pillow, the silver snake bracelet she gave you many years ago, and you leave. A simple, smudged note sits under the plant pot on the porch, your old hiding place for the spare house key where she’ll know to look:

I’m in the trees. Come find me.

District Seven has more trees than you’ve ever seen. Twelve is known for it’s forests and fields, but these woods are expansive, spanning over miles, trees lined up perfectly, the smell of freshly chopped wood filling your senses.

Every step you took made you wonder if Lucy Gray been here, if the birds in these trees had heard her saccharine voice.

Your herbs sell a lot better in Seven. It’s enough to buy new clothes, and the village is better kept. The people are kind, warm and friendly. You can finally afford to eat your fill. Your cabin at the edge of the woods stays warm and comfortable, the wood is plentiful, you chop your own from the land that’s now yours.

Sometimes when your head spins from the weight of the axe you see movement in the woods, and you wonder. Sometimes you peer inside, certain that it’s her. But she feels so far away from you now, that you can’t help but feel you’ve abandoned her.

You take walks through the forests; you whistle to the birds and listen for the ones who might sing back. You hear nothing. One day, in the town, you walk by a window display with an old, beat-up guitar. It looks well-loved, and something draws you to it. Faded gold paint around the sound hole, strings messy but you go inside and barter, and take it home with you.

You hum some of the old songs she used to sing, try to piece together chords on the strings that aren’t snapped. It sounds like a mess but you play anyway. It feels like a piece of her that you want to keep close to you. You’ve learned to become a collector of sorts.

You’re kept warm through winter, and spring fades into summer. You take the little fishing boat that came with the cabin out on the river, and hike through the forest. You take your guitar with you, and one day, finally, you hear it.

A mockingjay.

It sings your broken tune back to you, bouncing through the pines. A smooth voice cuts through the birdsong.

“Did you miss me?”

Lucy Gray.

Your head spins around. And there she is, smiling, and you fall into her arms.

“I was so scared. I thought you weren’t coming back.”

“I know. I’ll be honest, I didn’t think I would either.”

“But you’re here, you found me! My note, I didn’t know if…”

“The trees.” She grins. “District Seven. It made perfect sense, my love.”

“I can’t believe you’re here. Lucy Gray, you don’t know how happy I am to see you.”

“Oh, I think I do. If you think for a second you’re alone in that, you couldn’t be more wrong. Now,” she adds, nodding at the guitar, “what do we have here?”

You take her onto the river, safer in Seven than you’d ever been in Twelve. She watches as you grind up lavender, the smell filling up the cabin, fascinated as you explain the hobby that you’d turned into work. She fixes your guitar strings, teaches you some simple chords. You sit on the porch, playing while she sings.

“It suits you here, you know.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” She pauses. “I was so sorry to hear about your ma. She was a good woman. She was always kind to me. To everyone.”

“Thank you. I’m okay now, really. I like it here. It’s quiet, peaceful. I think that’s what she’d want for me.”

When she stares up at the sky, birds soaring up above, the rush of the wind through the trees, you can’t help but ask. This is all so perfect, and after so long you can’t bear the thought of her leaving again.

“Do you know how long…”

She smiles.

“Maybe a day or two? If that’s okay.”

You can’t hide your grin. You nod, and she glances up at you.

“Of course that’s okay. More than okay.”

Her fingers press over yours as she demonstrates a final chord. She sits behind you as you strum, grinning at her, head spinning around and she’s so close, it’s almost surreal.

“You did it!” She’s beautiful. Vivid like a daydream, all technicolor.

“That’s all of it?”

“That’s all of it. Just play those four over again and you’ve got yourself a song.”

Your fingers intertwine, hand slipping from the guitar.

“Thank you for teaching me.” You whisper with a smile.

“You’ll remember it, won’t you?” There’s a solemness to it.

You frown.

“Of course I will. I’ll practice all the time.”

“You promise?” Her voice is desperate.

You slide the guitar to the floor and take her hand in yours, clasping it to your chest. Eyes making a silent oath.

“I won’t forget, Lucy Gray. I promise you.”

She nods, corners of her mouth turning up into a smile. You sigh.  

“You know I’ve kept everything, don’t you? All of it. Everything I have that reminds me of you.”

“I saw the pinecone on the mantelpiece. Was that from-”

“The time we made the fire in 12? Yeah.”

She lights up.

“You’re such a romantic. I love it. You-”

Your lips press to hers, suddenly overcome with emotion. When you pull away, she sees the tears on your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” You cry. “I really didn’t, and… I don’t want you to leave, I-”

Her wide eyes fill with apology.

“I know. I wish I didn’t have to leave, sugar. I’m sorry it took me so long this time. I wish I could tell you how much it hurts to be away. It feels like I never really rest, until I’m back with you. Does that make sense?”

You nod, blinking away your tears.

“Will you do something for me, my love?” She presses, soft hands brushing away your tears.

“Anything.”

“Until tomorrow, can we pretend I’m not leaving? Pretend like this is our normal. Like we’ve got all the time in the world.”

You close your eyes, then look at her again, just as quickly, not wanting to waste a precious second.

“All the time in the world.” You whisper back.

True to your word, you make the most of it. She leaves you the next morning. You say a proper goodbye this time, holding her like you’ll never let go. But you do.

Weeks stretch on and you can feel her slipping away again. The birds ease the pain, singing her pretty melodies back to you, like a worn-out record you’ve played on repeat. You throw the windows and doors open, filling the house with summer’s balmy air and the sound of her voice bouncing through the rooms as if she was still there. But soon enough, they forget her dulcet notes, and you’re alone with yourself again.

You track the time through seasons, like you always have. The summer draws to a bittersweet close, and you miss it before it’s fully gone.

You slip back into your routine. You take the boat out alone. The schoolchildren sneak up to your door at times, you hear them whispering. The witch rumours are back in full swing but you don’t mind them. You think it rather suits you. You open the door, much to their horror, and offer them some cookies. They come dutifully back for more on Saturdays, and you appreciate the bit of company.

You keep your promise, and it keeps her alive. You practice the chords she taught you, rough calluses starting to form on your fingers. You trace them at night when the world gets too quiet, and as winter closes in again it gets quieter still. The birds fly away to escape the cold, and you wonder if out there somewhere, she might see them. You find yourself praying the winter isn’t being too cruel to her, wherever she is.

One day, at the market, you’re sat at your stall selling chamomile and sage tea, and you hear her name, like a question in someone’s voice. They remember. They remember her. Your heart swells. You want to scream at the top of your lungs, it’s her. She is the girl you love.

She appears more and more in your dreams, some nights you’re restless, dreaming of her scared, running from something in a dark forest, sometimes you’re there by her side. Other times you wake with a start thinking she’s knocking at your door. You sprint outside into the darkness, barefoot on the damp grass, turning in circles before you catch your breath.

You could make yourself some valerian root tea as a remedy, but you don’t. You don’t mind her living on through your dreams. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

You’re comforted by this haunting.

She finds you again. She always does.

“I saw the Covey a few months ago.” You tell her, the first night you spend together, lay in your bed, arms and legs a tangled mess, her hand in your hair.

Her eyes light up.

“Did you really? Close to here?”

You nod.

“They weren’t here for long. I’m not sure they recognised me, I was at the back of the room. It was pretty dark.”

Her eyes are wistful, filled with something you think you understand now.

“It all feels like so long ago, doesn’t it? I forget sometimes, just how long it’s been.” She looks to the floor. “And Maude Ivory – was she there? How’d she look?”

“She was.” You grin. “She looked happy. Healthy. She was smiling and dancing the whole night, like she always used to.”

You pause for a second, wondering if you should go back, mention that she, much like you, must still have an emptiness, a gap in her life even after all these years, but it’s like Lucy Gray reads your mind. Always one step ahead.

“That’s good.” She says decidedly. “It’s all I ever wanted for her. To be happy. Free. Thank you for telling me. I… I think about them a lot. About all of it. But I always hoped they’d move on without me.”

You’re quiet when you speak again.

“Lucy Gray, I don’t think anyone could ever move on from you.”

It lingers in the air. You speak up again.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course you can.”

“When I saw them that night, I stayed for the whole set, because… well, it’s silly,” you confess, “I couldn’t stop watching. I kept thinking that you’d show up. Like they’d just announce your name and they’d all cheer like they did in Twelve. Like you would get up there and sing, and see me in the crowd, and just… smile. Like you’d asked me to be there that night.”

It’s back again, that wistful look of hers.

“I sure wish I had been, sugar. But I think I’d rather be here with you than up on that stage, these days.”

Warmth fills your chest. “Yeah?”

She takes a breath.

“It’s important that people forget me. It’s safer this way. I don’t know what they’d do if they found me, but I know for certain I don’t plan to find out. Maybe one day… well, we’ll have to see. But for now, I could stay a little longer. Would that be okay? If I stayed until the week ends?”

Stay forever, you want to say. But you nod, holding her like she’s already gone.

When she leaves, it’s too soon. Always too soon. You stand in front of the cabin, wishing you could mold your hand around hers and never let go. You kiss her goodbye.

“You didn’t see me here.” She whispers against your lips.

“Not sure I know what you’re talking about.” You respond, and her lips turn into a half-smile.

“Now. Close your eyes.”

You press them shut, feeling her hands slip from yours. When you open them, she’s gone again.

As the years go by, you stop hearing the name Lucy Gray altogether. She starts to feel more like a folk tale; a messy, ink splashed cursive on old parchment. You yearn to speak of her, to keep her legacy alive, but you can’t. You don’t. You remember, though. The world could forget about Lucy Gray Baird, but your memory of her lived on like a still-beating heart, and in turn it kept her alive. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t keep you alive, too.

You make quite the name for yourself, your apothecary bringing in customers from across Seven, sometimes further. So much so, that sometimes you wonder if when she passes through Twelve or Seven, she hears about you and remembers, counting down the days until she gets to come home.

She still haunts your dreams, slipping away as soon as you wake up. But she’ll come back. No matter how many times she leaves. Wherever you go, she’ll find you. She could go anywhere in the world, but she’ll always come back home to you. And you’ll be waiting for her, even if the world curses her name, even if the Covey forgets her too. You understand now. She’s as much yours as you are hers. And when she comes home, it’ll always feel like she never left. And that’s enough for you. It was always enough.

You leave your porch light on.

taglist: (i'm just gonna tag people who showed interest in the excerpt/might like this!) @etfrin @darby-rowe @ohstardew @ohmeadows @sabrinasbd @ctrlovertheworld

[prentissluvr]

feverish — joel miller

gn!reader, platonic!reader, fatherfigure!joel , sickfic , cw : mentions of fever & coughing, sickness in general, mostly unedited , wc : 1K , anon i hope you enjoy it !! <333

joel notices immediately when you begin lagging behind him and ellie. but you don’t say anything, so neither does he, just pausing occasionally to let you catch up.

in the end, it’s ellie who says something.

“hey, are you okay?” she asks you once you’re all settled by the fire. joel, whose attention seems to be solely on the meat he’s cooking, is peering at you subtly, listening intently for your reaction.

“i’m fine,” you wave off her concern, “just a little tired today, is all.” your answer’s not a complete lie, it’s true that you’re tired, but what you don’t tell them is the way you can feel the sickness starting to settle in your bones. really, it was yesterday you first started feeling it, but it hadn’t begun to slow you down until a few hours into hiking today.

“well then, we’d better get to sleep right after eating,” joel advises. “best get as much sleep as you can for tomorrow.”

you heed his advice, curling into your sleeping bag the moment you can in hopes that good enough rest will prevent you from truly falling ill. ellie talks for a few minutes the way she normally does before sleeping, but joel cuts her off earlier than normal tonight for your sake. with that reasoning, she actually listens to him and settles down to sleep herself.

—

your hopes of escaping sickness are unfairly stolen from you in the morning when you wake up with the sun, groggy and completely out of it. your nose is stuffy, throat sore, and limbs heavy when you rustle about in your covers. you just turn to your side and do your best to drift back into what turns out to be a quite restless sleep.

the next time you wake, it’s to ellie gently nudging your shoulder for you to get up as joel finishes cleaning up camp. you groan in protest, halfheartedly pushing her away.

“it’s almost time to go,” she says, “joel let you sleep in.”

you let out a huff of breath, wishing you could lay in bed all day before struggling to sit up. rubbing at your eyes, you take in the state of your tired, compromised body and decide it’s certainly best if you say nothing about it. no reason to make anyone worry or slow down your journey.

so you push past your discomfort, standing up and quickly packing up your bag. but your plans to cover up your sickness do not go as well as planned when you begin coughing and sniffling uncontrollably.

about the fourth time you lean against a tree to support yourself during a coughing bout, joel stops completely, handing you water and waiting until you’re done to speak.

“you’re gettin’ sick, kid,” he states, very aware that you’ve been quiet in order to prevent causing an inconvenience to him and ellie. you shake your head, so he continues. “you can let us know if you’re not feeling well, you know? that’s not something you can control. what d’ you say we make camp early and rest for the day?”

“no!” you exclaim, “no, that’s alright, i’m fine. i swear. i don’t even feel that sick, it just sounds like it,” you try to explain away the actual extent of your sickness.

he says your name, gentle and firm like the hand he places on your shoulder. “you look like you could fall over any second. i ain’t buying any of that, alright? you need to rest so that you don’t get more sick, you understand me?

you want to keep trying, to convince him and a watching ellie that you’re fine, but it seems you can never argue with that tone of voice he uses when he’s truly serious about something.

“fine,” you relent with a sigh, feeling half grateful, half guilty, and one hundred percent sick as you trek along until you find an appropriate campground.

joel orders you to lay down when you try and help set up, only asking you to move once a fire is going so that you can soak up it’s warmth. as you lay there, it seems as if all of your stubbornness is catching up to you, and you can’t resist it when your eyes drift closed despite the sun still being clear in the sky.

with a mind too groggy with sickness and sleep, you don’t process much even when you’re awake. ellie stays close by to your laying form, silently worried by the sickness that’s visible in your face and the coughs that wrack your body. she jumps up each time joel asks her to do anything, eager to help you rather than just sit by and do nothing. joel too is dedicated to caring for you, his soft palm feeling your forehead for signs of fever as you slip in and out of sleep. he does his best to create a broth from bones and freshly hunted meat throughout the hours that you sleep for you to eat when you wake.

when you squirm uncomfortably in your sleep with your brows furrowed, he does his best to calm your distress with gentle touches. past memories of caring for a sick child are clear in his head, both hurting his heart but helping him to help you the best he can.

you try to resist his help again once you wake, but the weakness in your limbs doesn’t let you get far, so your resolve crumbles far faster this time. he helps you drink and eat all while ellie does her best to cheer you up with corny jokes and over exaggerated retellings of things that have happened throughout your journey all together. it works well, her words resulting in your laughing so hard that you begin to cough and a non-threatening glare from joel in her direction.

but soon, you tire again, so joel insists you go back to sleep, just as twilight fades into total darkness. you don’t argue this time, nor at all the next day as he and ellie patiently nurse you back to health until you’re spry and well again.

[lesbewriting]

can i be yours?

[Hazel Callahan x Fem!Reader] [1083 words]

SUMMARY: Who knew all it'd take was getting drunk for you to confess your feelings for her.

WARNINGS: idk, tbh? None?

A-N: I've had the sudden urge to write something for Hazel Callahan, and so here you go.

[masterlist]

“Can I be yours?” You asked, words slurring as you slid onto the couch beside Hazel Callahan. You were too drunk off of the alcohol being served, that you weren’t fully processing anything you were saying right now. 

“I don’t know, but I think you’ve had too much to drink.” 

Hazel turned to you, and she could feel her heart beating quicker than usual because of the closeness between the two of you. 

Reaching over and grabbing the red solo cup from your hands. The liquid that was still in there, sloshing about, as she pulled it out of your reach

As much as she wanted those words you’d spoken before to be true, she knew that by morning, you’d be too hungover to even remember them. 

“Nuh, uh.” You shook your head, leaning forwards to grab at your unfinished drink now. Allowing Hazel to get a strong whiff of the perfume you wore. Fruity? Whatever it was, it was one of her favourite scents. “I’ve only had like…” 

Hazel pulled the cup further away from you as you tried to remember how much you’ve drunk.

She knew that if you drank anymore you’d be regretting it when you woke up tomorrow. So, she tried to soften the effects of tomorrow’s hangover by stopping you. 

You groaned and leaned back against the couch. Your eyes, drooping, closed the slightest bit as you fought the tiredness that was now taking over you. The same tiredness, which was coming as a result of all the alcohol you’d drank that night. 

You could feel an awkward silence overcoming you both for the next few moments. 

Although, it was over as soon as it had begun, when you finally spoke up again. The silence, that is. 

“You know, it’s funny how much I like you caring for me. Like, I love you, but I know you’d never see me as more than a friend.” 

Hazel froze. Her hand, which was holding the red cup, soon dropped it. Her mind is trying to wrap itself around the thought of you liking her. No, liking her back. Something she always thought could never be real. 

There’s no way. No way. This is a dream. She felt the bitter words, entering her thoughts now. Were you serious? Were you just saying this because you were drunk? She didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to find out and risk it all being her imagining things. 

But then again, what was that saying again…? Something about drunken words being sober thoughts. Maybe you were being serious, and you really did mean all those words.

“I-I think, I should take you home…now.” She hesitated, after finding herself coming back to reality from her once-rapid-going thoughts. 

Waking up, groaning, you felt your eyes adjusting to the lights above you. Your left hand reaches up to your forehead in an attempt to rub away at the pounding headache that wouldn’t stop. 

You groan some more and sit up against the decorative pillows that still adorn your bed. Feet kicking against the covers to remove them from your body. 

How much did you drink? You weren’t sure, but you could feel the regret seeping into your features at how like shit you felt right now. 

Unaware, to the door to your bedroom suddenly opening from the outside. And a figure stepped into the room, with a tray that held iced water, a small plate of fruit and a box of ibuprofen, atop it. “Are you okay? Sorry, stupid question, you look like shit.” 

You spun your gaze to face who had just spoken, and you felt the familiar butterflies erupt in your stomach as you recognised it to be Hazel. Hazel Callahan, your long-time crush, stood there.

“I feel like shit…did you bring me home?” You asked, squinting slightly as you watched her step closer to where you sat. 

Hazel nodded in response to your question and set down the tray upon your bed. As you shifted your weight, you didn’t knock it off accidentally. 

You could feel your stomach growl carefully, as you realised you hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. Since before you left for that party, you’d both been invited too. 

Which now that you thought about it, you couldn’t really remember much about what happened there. Did you say anything stupid? Act stupid? Or did you…no you shook your head.

Deciding to voice the first question aloud to Hazel, you waited patiently for a response. Curiosity gnawed at you from the inside.  

Hazel, on the other hand, panicked. Shifting her weight, from foot to foot. Attempting to come up with something. She hoped that you didn’t sense her panic at all.

What should she say? Does she bring up how you practically confessed your feelings to her? And as she looked into your curious gaze, staring almost-eagerly back at her. She caved. 

Her words spilled from her lips as she recounted what you’d said to her. Then she watched.

She watched as you sat there, eyes widening at every little bit, and for a moment, she swore she saw a little bit of panic flicker in your features. 

“I know, you didn’t mean it. It’s okay. We can go back to being friends now, or at least try to.” She rambled, diverting her gaze from where you sat atop your covers. 

Her ears completely missed the call of her name, which exited from your lips.

“Can I be yours?” You tried, hoping she’d turn back to you.

Huh? She did, in fact, turn back to you, confused expression on her features. 

“What did you just say?” She asked slowly, in an attempt to see if she had heard right. Did she really hear that? Or was she just imagining things? 

“I said, can I be yours?” You tried once more. Silently praying, Hazel would figure out that you were, in fact, serious. That you were not joking, not even the slightest bit.

Hazel looked up, attempting to find anything in your features that signified that you were kidding. That you were not actually serious and that you were playing with her. But when she couldn’t find anything as such, she sighed in relief.

Her words exited from her lips after she hesitated for a moment. “Yes. Yes, you can be mine…If I can also be yours?”

And you nodded, smiles coming onto both of your faces. A wide smile, knowing that you both returned each other’s feelings. 

[twinklelilstarkey]

Tutor: Control

Words: 5.6k+ Type: Angst & Smut Summary: It's the day after the fight, and you've been avoiding Rafe, so, he decides to take matters into his hands. Warnings: Fem!Reader. Arguing/fighting. A lot of crying. Overthinking. SMUT [risk of getting caught, as always, and kind of teasing each other for it; piv; no protection (she takes the pill); on the softer side; fluffy at the end].

Tutor Masterlist

I do NOT give you permission to repost my work. If you’d like to read my stories on other platforms, you can find them on my Wattpad and AO3.

“So, you think we should talk to her now?” One of the girls asks.

The girls all sit around in the living room comfortably. Some are on the couch, others on the floor to make a perfect circle. Kristy holds her mug close, warming her hands while listening to their words and questions.

“Not now.” She says.

“Why not now?” Another one of them asks.

“Well, for starters,” Kristy checks her phone mid-sentence, “It is past 10 PM, and I am not about to wake up her parents to go over and talk about this.”

The girls contemplate her words in silence. They stop sitting upright, acting like Kristy destroyed their whole mission of saving you instead of simply delaying it. They look around each other as the TV stays in a soft murmur that fills the room in times like this.

All of the girls are dressed in their pajamas, as tonight had been a plan to sleep over at Kristy’s home since her parents are off the island. It used to be something that all of them always did as a group, including you.

They could’ve gone to a party instead, and some wished to. Yet, after much talking to the avid partygoers of the island, the girls didn’t exactly like their options for this weekend, especially after hearing what happened yesterday.

“I’m worried for her.” One of the girls breaks the silence.

“We all are.” Kristy tells her.

They contemplate their hypothetical reality, making horrible images pass through them. Those same images always prove every warning they gave you regarding him, and they all end with you hurt in some way - physical or emotional.

“Do you guys know the details of yesterday?” Kristy asks out of nowhere.

They all look around each other in silence until one of them speaks.

“I only heard that it was near the end of the party.” She says, getting the attention of everyone.

Everyone on the island knows how yesterday's party ended and who got taken to the hospital. But truly only a handful of people know what actually happened. Or, better, no one is actually giving out any details about what happened, only the outcome.

“Has anyone talked about how long Aiden needs to stay in the hospital?”

“I don’t think his parents have said anything.”

A little more silence.

“Do you think they’ll press charges?”

“Not if Ward Cameron hears of it. You know how it is…”

Kristy looks at the girls in silence as they speak.

“Nothing happens to people like them.”

“And to think she probably watched the whole thing…” One of them whispers in realization.

“She could’ve been home when it happened.” One of the girls tries to ease the tension. “She never liked parties.”

Kristy doesn’t believe that, but she doesn’t say anything.

On another note, one of the girls does seem to be the most worried of everyone else. She looks around at the gloomy faces, all of them imagining what happened at a kook party, and she can't but feel the same.

“He wouldn’t do anything to hurt…” Another one of the girls whispers but fails to say it out loud, “Right?”

They all look at each other in silence, fearing to answer. Not wanting to seem too negative or too positive. As they all just want to be wrong.

“We’ll talk to her tomorrow,” Kristy says. “As soon as we see her coming into school.”

“But she has been getting in late.”

“Then at lunch.” 

“If she wants to have lunch with us.” Another one of them adds bitterly.

Kristy bites her tongue to not say anything, as she seems to be the only one in the group who sees the true reason why you have grown quieter and more distant.

This whole plan was supposed to lead you to them and to talk to them, not the opposite. Not this. The plan wasn't for you to be mistreated by your own friends when you could be in such a sensitive situation.

“We’ll talk to her tomorrow.” Kristy ends the conversation.

(...)

You sigh while turning off the lights in your bathroom and stepping into your room. The room has grown colder than you remember when you stepped out, but you do have your wet hair to blame for the chills.

You go over to your bed, throw your phone onto the covers and turn on the light on your bedside table, illuminating your room ever so slightly. Your phone lights up with a notification, and you stare at it in the distance, not daring to reach for it and simply letting the call go to voicemail.

Letting out a long breath as you walk, you look over at your bookstand, scanning through the options of your night read. Your finger traces the spine of a book as your eyes stay on the next.

A few seconds go by and all you can hear in your bedroom is the whistling of the wind outside, as tonight has to be one of the coldest nights in the past few days.

You cannot choose between two books after much looking around, and as you're about to give up something grabs your attention. It was a sound, a soft one. You look away from your books to look around your empty room. It could’ve been the wood of the furniture cracking, but it sounded like something else.

It could’ve been your parents if only they were awake. They have been asleep for the past hour after telling you about how exhausted they felt. All of it was due to running around about something you did not care to ask about. They were so tired, they didn’t even annoy you too much about spending your Sunday in bed. They just let you do it.

You look back at your books and finally choose a random one. You eye the cover while walking over to your bed, and suddenly freeze when hearing that sound again.

It was a light sound, nothing too loud. And it was something you’ve heard before but can’t exactly understand from where.

As you’re about to take a seat on your bed and ignore it once more, your window opens, startling you.

Your curtains fly with the strong wind, and a figure gets inside your dark room with absolutely no struggle.

He doesn’t say anything when he gets in, he simply turns around to close the window without making much of a sound. You watch your curtains hide him from you as they fly gracefully, and your heart drops.

You do not want to see him, let alone talk to him. But you cannot bring yourself to even open your mouth.

You should’ve expected this. You had been ignoring his calls and his texts all day, especially last night after the party. How had you not seen this coming?

The curtains fall back to the sides of your window as it closes, and he is completely visible to you now. You look at him up and down, watching as his body could move towards you at any second.

His hair is messy and falling into his eyes, and he's wearing a simple striped t-shirt and gray pants. His eyes take a bit to find you, but when they eventually do, he doesn’t move.

You snap awake from whatever trance you were in and shake your head at him.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You tell him in a whisper, so soft he almost didn’t hear you.

Rafe looks at you entirely, not missing an inch of you. He turns, and you can tell that he is upset. He isn’t smiling like he usually is when he sees you. His face is not serious either. It is something different.

“Just give me-”

“No.” You interrupt him. “Leave.”

You two stand quietly, staring at one another in complete silence. Rafe attempts to reach for you, but that only leads you to move further away from him.

“You have to listen to me-” He whispers with you.

“Rafe, I am serious.” You tell him, already feeling your eyes pathetically begin to sting.

“So am I, please,” He pleads, his voice becoming breathier than before. “Just let me talk to you.”

You shake your head at him, and he takes a step towards you.

“You can’t be here.” You tell him. Your voice, in a whisper, sounds shakier, and you hate every bit of it.

He comes closer, and you step back. 

“You aren’t picking up my calls-” He starts.

“Because I do not want to talk to you.” You interrupt him, backing away yet again.

Rafe moves closer to you, and you refuse to be near him by taking another step. His face is hidden from your only light, and he continues to move, closing the distance between the two of you.

“Do not do this.” You whisper shakingly at him. “I do not want to see you. And I do not want to talk to you.”

Rafe pauses, faceless due to the lack of light, and you simply stare at him, waiting for him to give up and just abandon your room, leaving you to be in your silence and peace. But he does none of that. He just stands there, watching you with the advantage of the light still lighting your face.

He can see your saddened eyes, and how you are holding yourself back to not cry. He does not wish to leave, nor does he wish to let the silence between the two of you go longer than a day. This is fixable, he knows it is.

“I just want to explain-”

“There is nothing to explain.” You tell him with the most heartbreaking tone on the planet. You stare at him in complete distress, “Nothing could explain yesterday.”

“I’m sorry.” Rafe says quickly.

“I do not want you to apologize, Rafe.” You whisper at him, letting your eyes fill with tears. “He’s in the hospital… Everyone knows about it. Everyone knows how horrible you hurt him.”

“I-”

“Do not say anything.” You plead to him, voice shaking, “I am begging you, don’t.” 

He does what you ask him to but he does stay near you. Your tears begin to fall down your cheeks while images of the prior night hit your mind from every direction. Your heart is beginning to race, and you struggle to calm it down.

“God, you can go to jail for this.”

“I won’t.” He tells you, awaiting you to silence him, but you don’t.

You sniffle and bring your hands to your cheeks, cleaning your face of the tears that have been repeatedly wetting your face for the past day. He notices the way you are shaking but stays quiet.

“Just... Why did you have to do it?” You whisper to him, as your eyes come back to his faceless figure.

Rafe hesitates to answer you.

“I get that he is a bad person and that he shouldn’t have said what he did, but you went beyond every… every limit,” You tell him.

Rafe tries to reach for you, but you simply move aside and walk away from him before he can corner you.

“I know,” He tells you while turning around. His face is illuminated now, and it just makes everything so much harder for you. “I’m sorry.”

“I am not the one that you should be apologizing to, Rafe,” You practically sob out your words.

His face twists as if you struck him. He tries to reach for you again, and, this time, you do not move.

“I am not apologizing to him,” He whispers to you.

You stare up at him in disbelief and try to pull away from him, but he is too close to let you escape his space. You breathe out a long breath, and another tear slides down your cheek.

“I lost control. You shouldn’t have seen it-”

“It shouldn’t have happened, Rafe,” You tell him with impatience thick in your tone. Your frown worsens, and you know that you are seconds away from crying your eyes out as you look at him. “You went too far.”

Rafe isn't sure why, but he grows defensive at your words as he says softly, “What he said-”

You send him a glare of pure betrayal, making him tense up and shut up.

“Do not try to justify what you did.” You say, even when lost in tears, with a harsh tone.

“I was trying to protect you… I only fought him because of what he said to you,” He lays his hands on his chest, sounding and looking sincere with his words.

“Aiden’s in the hospital,” Your breath hits his face as you are so close to one another.

He tells you, “I know. But what he did-”

“Do you hear yourself?” You whisper out a yell at him while mentally cursing at the tears that keep on falling. “Rafe, you could’ve killed him! This isn't normal.”

Rafe stares at you in silence, his face beginning to twist with sadness. His eyes stay on you and bites his tongue or tenses his jaw to try and get a hold of himself.

“Was there nothing else you could’ve done?” You ask.

He lets some seconds go by in silence and decides to not answer you. Your eyes disconnect from his and look around the room, trying to find something to ground yourself with. Rafe continues to look down at you, watching you get more and more hurt by the conversation.

“You could’ve ignored him.” You say with a shrug, faking a smile to emphasize your point of how easy the other options were. “You could have simply walked away with me.”

He doesn't answer you, so you continue, “You only proved him right by fighting him. He wanted to piss you off, and you did exactly what he wanted.”

Rafe's eyes fall to the ground, feeling as if he was back to being a small child. And he almost felt like one as he spoke, “He insulted you.”

“You think I don't know that?” You sigh the words. “I just didn’t take much offense to what he said because he was drunk and practically failing to stand straight.”

Rafe looks up and answers you. “I didn't know he was that drunk.”

“You...” You let out a breath, “You shouldn't have fought him...” You await his answer, but he clenches his jaw.

You shake your head at him and try to move away, but he does not let you. He follows your movements, never reaching for you, but stepping to the side and not letting you move. You take a step back again and sigh. He stares down at you.

“You are uncontrollable, Rafe.” You tell him, “You do not fight like a-”

“A normal person?”

“Yes,” You nod. “You fight as if you want to kill a person. And that is not normal. That is… terrifying.”

He watches you closely as your eyes tear up again at the last word. He knows you do not like to be mad at him, but he cannot bring himself to lie to you and say that he understands, because he still does not.

You let out a breath, and it’s so shaky, Rafe could hear it clearly, making him question it to himself. He does not wish to make you afraid of him, of course not. What happened on the night before had been reckless, yes, but he did not... he did not think it had been this bad.

Your cheerless eyes stay on him, and it hurts him to see it. You, someone who is always so sweet and caring towards him, have seen him in a completely different way than what he had always tried to be. He hurt you, of course, he did. Rafe had always promised you that whatever he showed you or wherever he brought you to, you would be safe. Because he would keep you safe. And, after all this time, he was the first person that made you feel unsafe. Not Aiden. Rafe.

All because he could not handle seconds of arguing with a drunk. And in those seconds, he went from being loving towards you to pushing you to the side to fight someone you know. And the only justification he could think of was how Aiden had offended you. He beat him up, and from the flashes of last night, he can't blame you from feeling this way.

Rafe hurt you, and now you are standing before him with shaking hands and a face covered with tears. It is his fault. His own fault. No one else's.

“I'm sorry.” He tells you, even when he knows that you do not wish to hear it. You simply look at him, and your hands come back to wipe away your tears. “You're afraid of me,” He concludes, making you pause.

You scan his face and notice how he tenses up as you stay silent.

“You-” He goes to repeat himself, but you stop him.

“No. I am afraid of what you will do,” You say. “To whoever else crosses you…”

Rafe looks at you, watching as yet another tear falls. 

“I can't do it, Rafe.”

His eyes study you as if the words didn't make any sense to him. Your hands wipe the tears away again angrily, and you sniffle before speaking again.

“We can't-” You whisper to him, so, so softly, and with a voice so broken.

“Don't,” He whispers back to you.

You shake your head, feeling the tears come up again. Rafe moves his hand to come closer to you, and you practically jump when it lays over your waist, holding you like he usually does.

“I can't.” You tell him.

“No.” He whispers back at you once more.

“I need to, Rafe.” You tell him, watching as his face changes expression. “I can’t be with you.”

His eyes scan you in a panic, and his mouth opens to say something, failing repeatedly. Only after a few seconds is he able to say something.

“I’ll try-”

You look him in the eyes, pausing him.

“I don’t believe you.” You say to him, voice above a whisper, hurting him further.

Rafe stays silent, and you try to calm down with a very shaky deep breath. He comes closer to you, and you watch him as his face twists in further sadness. “Let me try.” You shake your head, and you see the growing glistening of his eyes, “Please.”

“You will hurt someone else.”

He shakes his head to emphasize his words, “Please, let me try.”

Rafe pulls you close to him as you watch him, and your heart squeezes tightly. You hate this.

“Please.” He whispers breathily. “Please. Just one more chance.” His thumbs caress you over your shirt as he awaits your answer.

“I don’t know.”

“I promise,” He tears up further, and you watch him. “I promise I will do my best, just… Please don’t leave, okay? Please.”

Your hand comes up and lays over his cheek. His skin is familiar, and his warmth is more than inviting. You stare into his eyes and think, even when you know which one would be the right answer for you.

His arms wrap around you, and he pulls you close to him. And for a few seconds, everything pauses, and you aren’t sure what to do.

Your heart is still rapidly beating in your chest, knocking against your rib cage in some sort of panicked song, afraid of what could come next. Not that you don’t trust him. You trust Rafe. But everything in you feels uncertain after yesterday. After what he did. How much he seemed out of his own body, and seeming as someone completely different from who you know as him.

Your fingers caress his cheek as he holds you, and your mind never stops. You have no clue if what you'll do the right thing. Everything tends to feel better with him. But your gut is beginning to tell you otherwise.

How strong can his words of promise be if he gets drunk or high? It isn’t that you even condone him of being any of those things, and you can't help but feel uncertain.

Rafe looks at you, quickly noticing the hesitation and the slight agitation. He knows you aren’t comfortable, and he isn’t sure how to feel about it.

“Tell me.” he whispers softly.

You don’t speak at first, but Rafe doesn’t back away, he simply scans your face for answers.

“I’m scared that you don’t mean it.” Your voice comes in such a faint whisper, you’re scared you might have to repeat the words because he couldn’t hear you.

“I mean it.” He whispers close to your face.

There are some seconds of silence.

“I mean it.” He repeats.

“Swear it.” You whisper, and he nods before saying it.

“I swear it.”

“You promise.”

“I promise.” He repeats after you, leaning close to your touch.

“I’m serious, Rafe,” you pause, and he nods, his eyes still filled with tears.

“I know.”

Your heart squeezes at his tone, and you scan his face for anything that could mean something else. You won’t find it.

“You’ll have to talk to him.” You whisper faintly, eyes half closed. “You’ll make sure everything is fixed with him. You’ll apologize.”

Rafe hesitates, but you hold the back of his head softly.

“You will apologize. Even if he doesn’t accept it…” You whisper to his lips, “Which is fair if he doesn’t.”

“Apologizing won’t do anything.” Rafe whispers back to you, holding you tightly and closer to him.

“It might not.” You shrug, “But it will matter to me.”

Rafe does not say or do anything for a bit, and you know he is fighting it in his head due to how much he does not want to do it. You watch him closely as he stays quiet, practically already knowing the answer that you’ll get just by the way he is looking at you. 

Your hand moves over his cheek, which now you notice has a small bruise at the top, and Rafe then finally nods.

“I’ll do it.”

You slowly reach up and kiss him. The kiss is so soft and so loving that Rafe swears that it pulled all the air from his lungs. His arms tighten around you, and you melt against him, missing his touch and his kiss as if you had been separated for longer than a day.

You are led by Rafe to bed, and he takes a seat, bringing you to his lap. His arms let go of you, but his hands grab onto you. He grabs at your exposed thighs, at your waist or hips. And only after some moments, do his hands travel into the inside of your shirt, holding onto your skin and touching it as if it is the first time.

You separate from the kiss, and Rafe pulls his shirt over his head, throwing it to the ground. He then helps you take off yours, which also ends up on the floor. Your lips reconnect, and you’re pulled to lean in closer to him.

The bedroom is so silent, yet, with the new buzzing in your ears, you can’t hear the wind whistling anymore.

The kiss is slowly becoming rougher, and with a simple movement made from your hips, controlled by Rafe’s hands, a small moan comes out of your mouth. Rafe, with it, kisses you harder, and you’re left to try and tell your own body to shut up, due to how risky all of it is.

You two separate again, and Rafe’s lips lift from yours to lay on your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that leads to your shoulders and eventually to your chest. Your long breaths and breathy moans make Rafe’s body react instantly, from his hands grasping onto you tightly to the growing tightness in his pants. All from sounds.

Your hands move from Rafe’s hair to his wide shoulders, grabbing onto him as his warm kisses continue to be displayed all throughout your skin. 

With your fingers back through his hair, you pull his head back up and bring your lips back together. The gesture alone made Rafe take hold of your hips again and move you on his lap, causing yet another sound leave your lips.

In the midst of the kiss, you feel Rafe touch the fabric of your underwear on your hips, and you bring your hands down to his lap. He grabs onto you tightly again, and you undo the button and zipper of his pants. With a swift move and with one of his hands away from your hips, Rafe pulls your underwear to the side and touches you.

A sound begins to leave your lips as his finger touches you, and Rafe brings his other hand to the back of your head to make sure you won’t pull away from the kiss, muffling your noises. His wet digits begin to move and reach your clit, worsening the fire beginning to burn at the bottom of your stomach.

Your hands, now laying over his chest, remain agitated, and your hips begin to involuntarily move against Rafe’s fingers. You forcefully pull away from the kiss, and your hands move over to Rafe’s pants again.

He doesn’t stop you, if anything he helps you push down his pants and boxers just enough.

“Come here.” He whispers at you while bringing his hand back to your hip and pulling you upwards on his lap.

You don’t answer verbally, but do it by doing as told. Rafe moves his hand away from your pussy, and helps you align perfectly before you begin to sink into his lap again. Both of you seem to stop breathing, and his cock slides inside you. Your eyes stay on his, as your mouth stays slightly open and his lenched shut.

You sit down, and Rafe can’t help but let out a small groan. Your breathing is heavy and is the only thing you can actually hear now. You peck Rafe’s lips softly, and his arms wrap around you as you do it. The next kiss is the same but longer and impossibly more loving than the one before.

When pulling away, Rafe kisses your neck once and then your shoulder, and his arms relax around you. With your knees on the bed as you straddle him, you begin to move upwards and downwards slowly and, as you do it, Rafe swears he will go insane with the speed you’re choosing to go at. But he remains quiet.

You begin to gain speed after a few movements, and Rafe lets go of you, bringing his arms behind himself to lean back and hold his torso upright. His eyes stay on you, watching as his cock disappears inside of you, and he can see, even in the dim lighting of the room, how wet you are.

Your hands move to his torso, and you feel like you cannot keep looking at Rafe, as his stare is way too intense for a moment where you need to be so quiet. Your nails on his skin bring chills to Rafe, yet all he could do was tense his jaw and stay silent.

As you keep on going, Rafe watches you without ever reaching for you and observes as you grow wetter and wetter with each movement. And the burning at the bottom of your stomachs seems even more intense at the sight of each other.

You can now see how your nails are leaving reddened trails on his skin. Nothing that would leave much of a mark, but, still, something that is getting a reaction from him - much to your amusement.

Rafe lifts one arm as he holds himself with the other, and his hand reaches for your hand on his stomach. He pulls you towards him and that pauses your movements for just a bit. Your lips touch again, and you let out a small sigh. Rafe’s hand moves in between your bodies, and, while in the midst of the kiss, his fingers find your clit.

Caught off guard, you moan against his lips due to how sensitive your body feels, and Rafe smiles at you, ending the kiss. Your hips begin to lift from his lap again, and his hand does not stop, only making it harder for you to keep quiet.

Your eyes are closed, and your faces are still so close to each other, you could practically feel each other's breathing.

The fire of pleasure is beginning to spread all throughout your body, making it harder and harder for you. And all Rafe does as a response is to shush you with his mouth against your own lips. 

With it, you try to pull his hand away from you to make this position more doable without a risk of you moaning, but he doesn’t let you. In fact, he puts down more pressure into your clit while he circles it, making you pull away from his face and sit back down.

“You want to switch?” Rafe whispers at you as you do so, and you can only shake your head as a response, knowing that if you dare to whisper, the risk of sound doubles.

Your hips continue moving up and down, seeming to take his dick deeper and deeper with absolute no sense. You bite your own lips whenever the pleasure increases due to him hitting a certain spot, and Rafe is left to watch without doing close to nothing.

His finger keeps circling your clit watching as it affects the way you move on top of him. You never seem to leave your rhythm, even when he speeds up as a test. He is sick.

Your thighs begin to burn at the movements, but you refuse to ask to switch positions, even when it sounds like an amazing idea. So, you speed up. Rafe’s fingers stop for just a bit as you do so, and you watch as that seems to affect him now. He can feel the way your pussy clenches around his dick, and he's the one that struggles to not make a sound this time.

He reopens his eyes, and the look he gives you just tells you everything. You just started an entire game.

You know this isn’t ideal given your circumstances and fear of making a sound, but you have to admit, it feels good to do it.

Rafe responds by speeding up his fingers, and that sure does make you pause for a second. Again, you try to pull his hand off, and the fucker thrusts upwards, causing you to let out a quick high pitched squeak. And that does make Rafe stop, probably remembering how much he should not make you moan.

After some seconds to breathe, you lean towards him and push down his chest, making him lay down on the bed. You hover over him, and his other hand is now free to roam your body.

He kisses you as his hand pulls away from your pussy, and both of his hands go over to your ass, squeezing it hard and causing you to whimper against his mouth. 

“You need to be quiet, baby. Come on.” He whispers against your lips, holding back his laughter.

And as he says it, he holds you in place and thrusts up into you once. Whatever words you were about to say to him were lost in your mouth, and, for your safety, your hands come up to his chest to you pull yourself upwards.

Whatever teasing smile Rafe had quickly fell due the view he gained from his joking around. As you begin to ride him all over again, Rafe feels the absolute need concentrate.

Your movements are quick right as you start, and Rafe’s hands stay on your thighs as you move. You do your best at not making any sounds, even with possible smacking of skin. Gosh, but it does feel good, even when your thighs are already burning.

Up and down, you continue, and you slide your hands over to your legs, holding onto Rafe’s hands and making sure he does not do anything.

The burning of your body worsens by the seconds, and Rafe’s hands squeezing your flesh is just an indicator that he too is close. You look down as your hands smooth over his muscled arms, starting with his forearms, and you continue to do your best at not moaning.

Your movements get slightly quicker, and Rafe hears you whisper out some sort of curse word as you do it. He wishes he could tease you for it, but he knows damn well that he is no place to do it. With your soft hands over his, gripping onto each other as his dick slides inside of you with ease due to how wet you are, yet so tight at the same time. Rafe swears that he has never focused so hard on a task as this one.

When getting so close to finally coming, you let go of one of Rafe’s hands, and he automatically knows what you want from him. His hand moves over to your clit and does the last needed movements. And your orgasm feels stronger than you would ever expect it to.

Rafe helps you ride it out. Your movements are sloppier as you continue to move, and you finally let yourself breathe. Your breathing is shaky and Rafe could hear the very small whimper after that breath.

When it ends, you slowly lay back down onto Rafe’s chest for a break. He brings the hand he had on your hip to your face, moving your hair back as your hands stay on his arms.

After seconds of silence, you look up at Rafe, lifting a bit off his body and still with him inside you. You know he hasn’t come yet, therefore, your night is nowhere near complete.

You pull at his other hand, the one that had played with your clit all this time, and he watches you as you bring it up to your face to lick a finger at a time. Your eyes stay on his as you do it, and the look he gives you only makes you smile as one of his wet fingers slides over your tongue.

“Fuck you.” He whispers at you before pulling his hand away from you and kissing your smiling mouth, muffling your giggles as he does so.

As you holds you tightly and flips you around, your smile disappears as you know he won't gloss over what you just did.

IT IS FINALLY POSTEEED!!! I PROMISE THAT I AM BACK NOW, I DO. I FINALLY WILL FINISH THIS GOD DAMN STORYYYY.

Hope you liked it <3

[ell-alexanderarnold]

Okay ı have one,trent going f1 with u and he jealous of u for some driver maybe carlos or lewis

Like fluff 💘💘 hope u like it ( i love ur works btw 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼)

I’m yours

Summary: When on the grid, Trent isn’t the only one who’s keeping an eye out for you.

Fluff

Note: Loved this request! And I hope you love this one too, enjoy 🫂 Also I thought about this song :) ⤹

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

As a little girl you always sat watching Formula 1 on the tv. It was all so exciting watching the qualifying and of course the race the day after. You were always so blown away by how fast the cars were going and all the things that were going on and off the grid.

And your childhood dream is soon coming true. Trent knows your passion and love for Formula 1, it’s always something you talk about with him. You’ve watched so many races with him and every time you tell him how much you would love to go to one. Little did you know that he planned a big surprise for you in the meantime.

You woke up feeling kisses all over your cheeks and you groaned, annoyed at Trent for waking you up but it was the best thing in the morning.

“Trent I could’ve slept longer!” You complained and put the duvet over your head as Trent chuckled.

“It’s a big day today babe” Trent said as you got up from the bed, half asleep.

“No it isn’t, I have to clean the entire house and then I’ll watch the qualifying until I fall asleep” You chatted and sighed whilst you picked up clothes from the floor to put in the laundry.

“It’s only Saturday Y/n, we can clean when we get home” Trent consoled and you stopped in your tracks, turning around slowly looking at him in confusion.

“Get home from what Trent?” You asked him and he got out of the bed and walked towards you, smiling.

“You know Silverstone is this weekend?” He began.

“Of course I know that..why?” You wondered.

“I have this girl who really likes to watch F1, and I would love to take her to the grand prix with me” Trent revealed and you jumped right into his arms, squealing in excitement.

“Are you taking me to Silverstone!?” You gasped and he nodded watching you being the happiest girl ever, he’d never seen you smile this much.

“We’re leaving tomorrow morning, so you have all day to pack your stuff. Don’t worry about the cleaning, I’ll fix it” Trent assured and you went to find your suitcase, too excited about everything.

You spent the entire day packing and you were in your own little bubble while doing it, making sure you don’t forget anything. The last thing you put in your suitcase is your Mercedes cap, which you know will piss Trent off because he supports Redbull.

He sneeks up behind you and says “Sure you don’t want a Redbull cap?” And you stand up after closing your suitcase, staring at him.

“Yes I’m pretty sure” You answered and he helped you get your suitcase up from the floor.

Later at night you prepared to go to sleep, but it was hard. You were sure that the nerves would keep you awake, and you will only wait until you get to the circuit.

As you were lost in your thoughts while brushing your teeth, you felt his hands around your waist from behind.

“Are you excited for tomorrow, love?” Trent inquired and you laid your hand on his as you nodded, mouth filled with toothpaste.

He carried you to the bed, making you blush with all of his princess treatments. He placed you down and kissed you forehead with his soft pillow lips. Then he slipped into the bed beside you, ran his hands through your hair as you started to feel more tired.

“I love you T, thank you for surprising me. I can’t wait to experience this with you” You said and yawned.

“Anything for my girl, goodnight Y/n” Trent replied and you dozed off, your dream about to come true when you wake in the morning.

-

You slept surprisingly well although you were full of nerves and excitement the night before. You got up from the bed smiling knowing what’s going to happen today. Your first F1 race, it felt surreal to you and you couldn’t believe that in a few hours you’re standing on the grid with your lover.

Trent was already up, preparing the last things before you two leave.

“Hey babe, did you sleep well?” Trent asked and hugged you once you walked down the stairs.

“Yeah” You simply responded and walked past him to get breakfast for yourself but Trent quickly led you away from the kitchen to the table where he had cooked breakfast for you.

You looked at him in awe and kissed his cheek, “You’re the sweetest person ever!” You exclaimed and then sat down at the table, not wanting to waste any time because you were leaving soon.

—

A few hours later you entered the paddock, there were people everywhere wearing their team’s shirts and of course a lot of media staff taking pictures of your well known boyfriend. You walked beside Trent holding his hand tightly as you were walking down the paddock to get to the Redbull garage.

You were proud to be wearing your Mercedes cap in the Redbull garage even though you felt like everyone was watching you. Trent and you were guided around and a few mechanics told you about the car and Trent met up with Max Verstappen to switch shirts. You stood in the corner watching, trying not to freak out because theres a world champion in front of you. But that wasn’t really the world champion you wanted to meet. Your friends and family is aware of your support for Lewis Hamilton and you couldn’t help but try to find him today.

Max wished Trent good luck for the season he has ahead of him and you two went back to the grid.

“Trent… can we please go into the Mercedes garage?” You asked and hold your hand behind your back, hoping he would do it for you.

“Y/n I really want to go with you but I promised Marcell to follow him to the Ferrari’s. I’ll join you later okay?” He answered and you pouted. He gave you one quick peck on your cheek before running off to his brother.

And there you were on the grid, living your actual childhood dream.

You saw the garage, continuing walking towards it as you started to feel more and more nervous. The race didn’t start until one hour so you had some time to spend in the garage of your favourite team.

You got smiles from the mechanics and looked around your surroundings, it was exactly how you imagined it to be. Until you saw him.

You could see Lewis standing not far from you and you thought that you had not come this far just to look at him so you made your way towards him, trying to get the courage to ask for a photo.

You thought about how Trent would react when he sees the photo, you always dreamt about meeting a driver.

Slowly you tap his shoulder and he turns around with a smile on his face.

“Hi Lewis, can I ask for a photo?” You finally say and took a deep breath, trying not to mess anything up.

“Yes of course, what’s your name?” Lewis responds and you search for your phone in your purse, your hands almost shaking.

“Y/n” You said and smiled as you found your phone and took the picture.

“Y/n, lovely to meet you. Enjoy the race!” He expressed and shot a look at your cap.

“Thank you I will! Good luck” You smiled and noticed how he observed your cap, making you smile even more walking out from the garage to join Trent again.

You met up with Trent and you got to your seats to watch the race. You couldn’t wait for the race to start, and you thought it was more exciting watching it because Max didn’t get pole position as usual.

Trent held your hand as everyone on the track were fixing everything in the last minute, and it was only about time until they started the formation lap.

“You’re ready?” Trent whispered in your ear and it sent shivers down your spine. You looked at him and nodded as he leant in for a quick kiss before your attention was focused on the race.

-

The checkered flag was waving and the race was over. You can’t believe that you just saw an Formula 1 race. The crowd was cheering, two British boys on the podium, one of them was Lewis which you were the most happy for. Trent was happy with Max winning again and you could do nothing but to roll your eyes at him mocking you as he always does when Redbull wins.

As you and Trent stood by the exit and were preparing to leave, your eyes catches someone else’s eye. You could see Lewis glancing at you and you glanced back, your heart skipped a beat when your eyes made contact. You know you shouldn’t be doing that when you have a boyfriend, but you saw it as just a fun thing not knowing it will come with consequences. You could never forget how kind Lewis was to you and the way he noticed your cap, your inner child was jumping up and down with excitement for sure.

“Hey bro, is it just me or does your bird seem to have something going on with Mr. Hamilton” Marcell noted and Trent looked over at you, seeing that you’re completely lost in your own world with some other guy.

He felt the side of him come through that he knew you didn’t like, jealousy. You’re his, not some kind of driver’s girlfriend.

“Enjoying the view are we?” Trent spoke up and you jumped out of your little bubble turning your face to him as he placed his hand on your hip, marking you as his visibly infront of Lewis.

“What?” You replied, studying the look on his face.

“Oh nothing, we should get going Y/n” He simply said and you two started to walk and you took one last glance of Lewis Hamilton.

You didn’t know exactly what he meant by that comment but you knew that it couldn’t be good. It was something your mind had to think about but you already knew in fact it was painted all over his face, his jealousy.

-

Because of how far away from home you and Trent were, you decided to stay in a hotel in London for a few days. It was a nice cozy hotel room and a good way to finish your day was to take a shower and then go off to bed.

But as you stood in the bathroom applying your serum you could only think about what Trent said earlier. “Enjoying the view are we?”

Of course you enjoyed the view but what exactly did he meant?

Trent stood beside you and he had just finished brushing his teeth. You watched him in the mirror almost draining himself in his body lotion and you giggled for yourself, but you had to ask him about earlier.

“Hey T” You began as he looked up at you in the mirror.

“Yeah”

“You know when we were about to leave and you said that I was enjoying the view” You mentioned and he hummed in response.

“What did you mean by that?” You continued and met his eyes through the mirror.

“Someone couldn’t take their eyes off of Sir Lewis” He shrugged and you held yourself back from laughing, you found it so funny.

“Trent you’re joking right?” You chuckled and smiled as he rolled his eyes.

“I just didn’t like the way he looked at you” He told you and then walked up behind you, kissing your neck.

“You’re mine and mine only.” He whispered against your neck and it made you forget all about Lewis in one second. You leaned your head back, allowing him to kiss you all over your neck.

“So you were jealous?” You asked and he chuckled because he know you could read him well in those moments.

“I was” He admitted and you two walked out of the bathroom, both tired and just wanted to sleep.

As you laid down with him you thought whatever happens, if you see a cute man on a night out or if a guy comes up to you in the club, or in this case if a Formula 1 driver likes to have some sort of staring contest with you, no matter what you know who you belong to. You know that no one can love you like Trent do and in that way, you’re gonna forget about the little tension you and Lewis had.

“Trent, you know I’m yours right?” You soothed and cupped his face.

“I know you are Y/n” He murmured.

“And you’re mine” You added.

“Is that so?” Trent teased and you started laughing and he flipped you over so that you were lying on top of his chest and you eventually fell asleep, with a head full of dreams and a loving boyfriend who you know is going to stick around for a long time.

[familyvideostevie]

october first

day one: steve harrington after the events of august, steve and bee girl (you) wake up in your new house | no good at waiting one-shot, fluff | 1.1k

You wake up with a shiver. The morning sun bathes one wall of your bedroom in pink light. Your sheer curtains flutter in the wind and you snuggle deeper into your bed, tugging on the covers.

“Hey!” someone next to you grumbles. “S’cold in here, give it back.”

Steve tugs on the duvet but you don’t relinquish your hold, instead rolling with it until you’re pressed against his back.

“I know,” you mumble, eyes fluttering. Your bedroom isn’t really decorated yet but you’ve got the basics. Mattress, bed frame, dresser. Mismatched bedside tables you found at an antique sale two towns over and a rug Joyce gave you from the Byers garage. The rest of the house is coming together slowly. You have yet to get a dining table but you do have a couch and lots of kitchen utensils. Bob gave you an old bookshelf and the kids pooled money together to buy you a welcome mat. The good people of Hawkins have treated you and Steve moving into the little farmhouse as an invitation to get rid of all of their junk.

You love it.

Steve groans and shifts, releasing the duvet and turning so that he’s facing you, nose to nose. You can barely see the eyes you love so much through his lashes. “Morning,” he says. “We’re going to have to buy more blankets if you’re going to steal them every morning.”

“You’re the one who left the window open last night,” you remind him. He scoots even closer to you and shoves his face into your neck.

“Because you like fall air,” he says. His lips are warm on your skin. “Never say I don’t do anything for you.”

Living with Steve is pretty much a dream. Even when he leaves his shoes in the way, even when he doesn’t clean his toothpaste from the sink. Even when you forget to do the dishes or don’t put your laundry away. It’s fun. It’s like every day is a dream come true.

“No one says that,” you laugh. You twine your fingers in his hair. “Especially not me.”

Steve makes a pleased sound. “What are we doing today?” he asks. The last two months have been nonstop. Finishing the house, finding furniture, moving out of Bob’s for you and the farm loft for him. You haven’t had time for a proper housewarming yet.

“Nothing,” you say. He pulls back to look at you, eyebrows raised.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Hell yeah,” he says, running the pad of his finger over your top lip. “Finally a day off we don’t have to spend running around town.”

“We have to go see about that table tomorrow, though. After work.”

Steve flops back on his pillow. “It never ends,” he says.

“Nope,” you say, popping the p. “But it’ll be worth it.”

“Well, duh.” He raises his arms above his head and stretches. “We need a table so we can play beer pong at our housewarming.”

“And so we can eat at it, Steve.”

He smirks. “Oh, yeah. That too. And so we can do all sorts of nasty things on it—”

You place your hand over his mouth. “That’s enough from you, Harrington.” He licks your palm but you don’t pull it away. “Behave.”

His expression morphs into what you think he thinks are puppy dog eyes but really he just looks like he ate something sour unexpectedly. He mumbles against your hand and you remove it. “Christ, honey,” he says. “I was gonna suffocate.”

“What a way to go,” you deadpan. He laughs and turns away from you, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and stretching again. You admire the freckled expanse of his bare back.

“You hungry?” he asks. “We could do pancakes.” He stands and wanders to the closet where he pulls out two sweatshirts. One he throws to you and the other he drags over his head.

“When we get a dog are you going to make it breakfast, too?”

Steve’s head pops out of the hoodie — one of yours, you’re pretty sure — and scoffs. “You think you’re funny with this dog-dad shit,” he says. “You watch. I’m going to be so normal. Nothing like Dustin’s mom and their cat. Nothing.”

“Sure, Steve,” you coo. You sit up in bed and pull on your own sweatshirt, borderline giddy with the sheer serenity of the morning.

Here you are, in your home with the person you love most in the world, talking about getting a dog.

This time last year you weren’t even friends yet. You remind him.

Steve snorts and crosses his arms, leaning on the dresser. “I was half in love with you already.”

“Was not,” you gasp. “We’d only been mean to each other!” You hadn’t really liked Steve until you both sat soaking wet in your car. You’d been curious about him before that. Interested. A little obsessed. But it warms you from head to toe to know you’d had him captivated from moment one.

He grins his most boyish grin, the one he usually sends you before he’s about to do something that will make your face hot. “Exactly. I had a dream about you the first day we met.”

“Really?”

He nods and rubs the back of his neck like he’s suddenly embarrassed. “Yeah,” he says. “I don’t think I told anyone, though.”

“What was it about?”

Yeah, he’s totally blushing. “Uh.” he says. “It wasn’t anything big. Just you buying apples from me, I think.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. You laugh so hard your stomach aches. “Oh my god, Steve,” you gasp. “I told you to fuck off and you had a dream about me.” You’ve almost been together a whole year and he still surprises you. You hope it’s going to be like this for the rest of your lives.

He’s scowling. “Yeah, whatever.” Even as he grumbles he makes his way back to the bed and sits on the edge of it. He puts his hand on your leg through the duvet and squeezes gently. “Okay, funny girl, do you want apples or chocolate chips?”

“I’ll help,” you say. “Both, obviously.”

“But first…” Steve says, leaning in. Your eyes flutter shut and he pauses a breath away from your lips. “Your breath stinks,” he whispers.

“Speak for yourself,” you whisper back. He snickers and then leans in, hand framing your face. His lips are a little chapped but his kiss is as sweet as always, tender and loving. He kisses you once, twice, then trails his lips along your cheek.

“Morning,” he says, as if you’d just woken up. “Love you, bee girl.”

You sigh with happiness. “Love you back.”

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 5/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

                “I don’t like wine.”

                “I don’t care. You need to learn the flavors. What it can add to food. Which ones might go better with certain dishes.”

                “Oh.”

                So he sits, and is made to try a variety of reds and whites and then have them with certain dishes and okay, there are some he doesn’t hate, but it still wouldn’t be his first choice. He can tell that some of the food tastes better when drunk with different wines, and vice versa. Then he’s dragged along to the family vineyard, taught about the pruning and pressing, the inclusion of the skins of the grapes and the fungus that can make them sweet and he’s equal parts fascinated and horrified.

…            …            …

                He’s lying in the bed, coming down from the high and Bradley can’t wipe the grin from his face. Orgasms always put him in a good mood, doubly-so when they involve someone else. It’s why those he works with are so often telling him he needs to go out and get fucked. God, the endorphin high is something else. Jake seems equally pleased with their time together so far, in no rush to leave, his lips and fingers tracing paths over Bradley’s cooling skin which has been half-heartedly wiped clean of both their come using Bradley’s shirt. He’s warm and drowsy but also contemplating suggesting a shower, both to get clean but also to wake himself up. He can sleep when he doesn’t have an attractive man in his bed.

                “Did you know you were my first kiss with a guy?”

                Bradley startles a little, opens his eyes to find Jake peering at him with mischievous eyes and he’s so fucking unfairly gorgeous, even in the waning evening light.

                “What?”

                “Yeah. First kiss. Was great but it freaked me out. Kind of why I ran.”

                “Okay…” Bradley says, and he really doesn’t know what to do with this information. Huh. He knows DADT was repealed in 2011, and now thinking back to 2008 then he supposes there was more than one reason for Jake to run. He’s not running now though.

                “Yeah. I mean, it was almost ten years ago. I wasn’t hanging around waiting for you or anything. But, uh, it was… formative.”

                “Formative huh?” Bradley asks, shifting a little and grinning, is enjoying the fact that Jake can’t seem to stop touching him.

                “Well, I did think European guys were much hotter than American guys, but it turns out you’re American after all…”

                “Disappointed?” Bradley asks, a little worried what the answer might be. He’s had it happen before, guys think he’s one thing and then found out the almost opposite is true. Not always with regards to his nationality, but his personality and how he’s sometimes portrayed on screen. Sure, he has a temper and he lets it get the best of him in the kitchen sometimes, but it’s never translated to the bedroom. Ever. If anything the opposite is true. Not that he needs to get into that with Jake.

                “Do I seem disappointed?”

                “Don’t answer a question with a question.”

                “Baby, I am definitely not disappointed in any way…” Jake says, and his kiss is slow and purposeful, his body bracketing Bradley against the bed, pushing him down and it’s exactly where he likes to be and he lets out a moan of approval or appreciation. Regardless Jake takes it for the encouragement it is and rolls his hips, creating friction between them despite the fact that their bodies are almost flush with one another from thigh to chest.

                “You have anywhere you need to be tomorrow?”

                “Nope. On leave remember. Only my sisters and they know where I am…” Jake says, giving Bradley a slow up-and-down look and slow smirk which has him laughing.

                “Yeah? You want to stay the night?”

                “We trying for round two?”

                “Seven course degustation menu…” Bradley jokes, flexing his own hips to add to the building friction.

                “What’s that?”

                “Seven rounds…” Bradley says, which he knows is impossible, however –

                “Well, I always did like a challenge.”

                Bradley throws his head back and laughs.

…            …            …

                Jake sends a quick message to his sisters to let them know not to expect him home, even though it’s late he knows one of them will be waiting up for him. God he’s glad they have no idea the type of shit he gets up to at work. They’d never fucking sleep with worry. He knows they don’t particularly like that he’s in the service, but they’ve always been nothing but supportive of his life choices, even when they’ve had to give up on some of their own he’s always been allowed to follow his dreams. He’s the baby of their family and he totally leans into it, taking advantage of the fact that all his sisters have soft spots for him. Letting them know he’s safe right now is the least he can do.

                Safe physically at least. A little part of him worries that maybe staying isn’t the wisest course of action, that the fantasy he’d created in his mind around Leo is never going to stand up to close inspection. The sex so far has been superb, and he’s already shifted him from being Italian in his head to American, but sleeping has always felt like an even more intimate act to him. Sharing the little before-bed routines a person might have.

                At least Leo wants to have some type of mystery, has closed the door to the ensuite very firmly, the lock sliding home and Jake bites back a grin, remembering hook-ups taking a piss in front of him. He doesn’t have a problem with bodily functions, but he also doesn’t mind the build-up to that level of familiarity. He sobers then, realizes that he and Leo aren’t likely to build up to anything given Jake’s profession and Leo’s job, which he has to admit he doesn’t really understand why he’s travelling for work when his work is making food for people. Ah well, he can ask more about it later.

…            …            …

                He wakes up to the smell of bacon and eggs, along with coffee and he stretches, disappointed to find the bed empty even if it maybe explains the reason for the smells. He wonders if he should brave going out to the kitchen, given that he doesn’t exactly have clean clothes. Plus there’s the risk of running into the other people who are staying here. And if Bradley is planning on bringing him breakfast in bed then who is Jake to stop him? He settles back and scrolls through his phone and answers a few messages and sends a couple of photos from his last week into various group chats.

                “Hey, morning…You’re awake.”

                “Morning. I’m an early riser.”

                “Not as early as me…” Leo says, and he’s sliding a tray onto the bedside table and Jake goggles at it. There’s the bacon and eggs he could smell, but there are also sausages and grilled tomatoes, then some golden and crunchy-looking thing which he’s hoping is some form of potato. There’s four slices of bread and little pats of butter slowly melting on them, then another dish of what look like mushrooms which he can tell were cooked in garlic judging from the smell.

                “Holy shit, how much do you think I eat?”

                “Well, it’s my first chance to cook for you, so I had to pull out a few stops. Plus you need to keep up your energy…” Leo says, sitting on the bed and leaning forward to give him a kiss.

                “Do I now?” Jake asks, and he hadn’t planned on spending the day in bed but it’s not like he has anywhere else he has to be.

                “Uh huh. I did make that for both of us though…”

                “Thank fuck… Do you have any sauce?”

                Leo blinks at him, frowns and then shakes his head.

                “No. Here, let me make a perfect mouthful…”

                Jake raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk.

                “Just a mouthful huh?” Jake asks, and Leo looks at him with a slightly confused look before he’s flushing bright red and ducking, his head shaking.

                “Jesus you’re incorrigible.”

                “Well, if you’re going to sit there looking like that and offering to feed me I’m definitely going to get ideas.”

                He barely catches the roll of eyes but Leo busies himself making a little forkful of food that includes some of the golden-crunchy potato, along with some of the tomato and a sausage piece and Jake really does prefer things with sauce, but he opens his mouth obligingly, meeting Leo’s eyes and doesn’t miss the way his eyes drop to Jake’s lips which are wrapped around the tines of the fork.

                “Mmm…” Jake says, and he chews thoughtfully. It does taste good, and he’s looking forward to having more. “It’s delicious.”

                “Good…”

                “Could use a little sauce though.”

PART SIX

[brainddeadd]

Three: The Café Confrontation

The sight of Luke Hughes standing in front of you felt like the earth had shifted under your feet. He wasn’t just here for his usual black coffee—he was looking at you. His gaze held recognition, like he knew the truth you’d tried to hide behind a mask.

“Large black coffee?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Luke smiled, but there was something different in it this time—something warmer, softer. He leaned on the counter, eyes never leaving yours.

“You left this,” he said, holding up the sunflower charm bracelet.

Your heart sank. There was no denying it now. You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, reaching for the bracelet. But Luke pulled it back slightly, just out of your reach.

“So… it was you.” His voice was low, curious, and almost teasing.

You froze, heat crawling up your neck. “I—what do you mean?”

Luke tilted his head, studying you like he was putting the final pieces of a puzzle together. “Sunflower,” he said quietly, a small grin tugging at his lips.

Your heart slammed against your ribcage. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He leaned a little closer across the counter. “You can’t lie to me. I know it’s you.”

Panic fluttered in your chest. “Look, it was just a stupid chat app thing. It didn’t mean anything—”

Luke’s expression softened. “It meant something to me.”

The weight of his words hit you like a tidal wave. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, stunned that the hockey star standing in front of you—the same one you’d admired from a distance—cared enough to chase after someone like you.

A Chance at the Truth

The café was quiet, with only a few scattered customers engrossed in their laptops. It felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you.

Luke rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little nervous for the first time. “I’ve been looking for you since the gala. I knew I’d find you, but…” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I didn’t expect it to be you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly Cinderella,” you muttered.

“Maybe not.” He grinned. “But you’re something better.”

You blinked, stunned into silence. Luke Hughes—the Luke Hughes—was standing here, telling you that you were more than enough. It felt like you were caught in a dream, and any moment, you’d wake up back in your dorm, alone.

“You thought I wouldn’t like the real you?” he asked softly, his blue eyes filled with something that made your chest ache—understanding.

You shrugged, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “I just… I figured you’d want someone else. Someone perfect.”

Luke shook his head, leaning closer until your hands brushed across the counter. “I don’t need perfect. I just need you.”

A First Date Proposal

Your breath caught in your throat as the words settled between you like a fragile promise.

“So,” Luke said, straightening up but still holding your gaze, “what do you say, Sunflower? Want to get coffee with me sometime? Like, not while you’re working?”

You felt a laugh bubble up despite yourself. “You mean… not for free?”

Luke grinned. “I can pay, I swear.”

You bit your lip, heart fluttering. Part of you was still scared—scared that this was too good to be true, that someone like Luke would never stay. But another part of you, the part that had dared to attend the gala, told you to take the leap.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll go.”

His grin widened, and for the first time in a long time, you felt something warm and hopeful settle in your chest.

“Cool,” Luke said, looking almost boyishly happy. “Tomorrow? After practice?”

“Tomorrow,” you agreed, your smile matching his.

The Promise of Something New

As Luke left the café—his black coffee forgotten on the counter—you realized something important.

For the first time in a long time, you felt seen. Not just by LostinBlue, but by Luke.

And maybe—just maybe—this was the beginning of something real.

[jdeclerc]

to dream of you

pairing: rhysand x reader

summary: Rhys has come home. It is not the return of the mate you once knew but his homecoming brings a second chance nonetheless.

author's note: this idea has lived in my head for longer than I'd like to admit so I finally put fingers to keys and wrote it, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

warnings: some PTSD and slight allusions to SA

word count: 3,003

The sky outside of my room shows no sign of turning to morning, telling me that my fruitless attempts at sleep lasted much less time than it seemed. Sleep had evaded me from the moment I made my way to bed earlier in the night, as it had for the past half century. Falling into bed no longer held the same prospect of rest and retreat from the outside world, no sanctuary was to be found behind a closed bedroom door. And after the events of the last few weeks, I was beginning to believe it never would again.

 I rise from the bed and pull the robe I had discarded earlier tightly around myself. I give the bed a wistful look before making my way to the door and stepping into the hallway, closing it behind me as silently as possible. My feet begin following a familiar path through the hallways of the House of Wind, my steps seemingly having a mind of their own. It was only when I turn a corner, look up, and meet the eyes of the Night Court’s war general that I truly knew where my path has taken me.

Cassian gives me the smallest of smiles as I approach. Without a word he opens his arms for me to step into. As he wraps them around me and leans his head onto mine, I know that he could tell it is exactly what I need.

His voice is barely above a whisper when he says, “I thought I was meant to be the only one awake at this time of night. We agreed you would get some sleep, now didn’t we dear sister?”

“I tried Cas, I promise I did. Tomorrow…I’ll try again tomorrow, like we agreed.”

I step back from his arms, look to Cassian’s left forearm and then to my own, our matching marks staring back at me.

“I don’t destroy the training ring every day and you try to find rest by getting into bed every night…quite the pair we make.”

I can’t help but let out a small laugh at his words, “That we do Cas…you know I wouldn’t have made it through the last 50 years without you.”

“And you know both Azriel and I wouldn’t have made it 5 minutes without you Y/N, you saved us.”

“We saved each other, don’t ever forget that.” I can tell by the look in his eyes he knows this to be true, that our family could get through anything if it could survive what we had. “Has he gotten any sleep tonight, do you know?”

At my words we both turn toward the open door behind Cassian. Through it we have an unobstructed view of the bedroom, or rather the empty room that used to be a bedroom. No longer did the Illyrian sized bed or matching nightstands rest against the far wall. The ancient bookcase and large armchairs that surrounded the fireplace on the opposite wall were also missing. Instead, they had been moved to the balcony, protected by a ward from the elements. No entrance is granted unless expressly given by the balcony’s occupant. It is a room fit for someone who needs an uninterrupted view of the stars in the sky, to feel the breeze against his skin, and to smell the air coming off the mountain.

From our vantage point we can just make out a head of raven hair laying on the left side of the bed, turned away from the door.

“He has been asleep for almost an hour now, I’m not sure if it will last but I’m hopeful. It’s the fourth night he’s refused Madja’s sleeping tonic, each night has brought longer bouts of sleep…but the nightmares –”

“They wake him, every night. I feel it when it happens, he sends wave upon wave of distress and fear down the bond.” I can feel the tears in my eyes when I look up at Cassian.

“He doesn’t know you feel it does he?”

I shake my head, “I know he attempts to close the feelings off from me, but I feel it all the same. I have since the first night he returned. The bond has been dormant for so long that everything is heightened. It’s why I have yourself and Azriel stand watch, I need someone to be here for him.”

“It should be you Y/N, you’re who he needs. I know he hasn’t been the same around any of us, but we need to –”

“He flinched Cas,” the look I receive at my interruption is one of confusion, “He flinched when I embraced him the day he returned, and he has kept his distance from me since. He may never need…may never want me again…so I give him everything I can from afar.”

I had not told any of them about what occurred on the day of Rhys’ return, of how he reacted to my touch as though it was engulfed in flame. Our interactions since had consisted of looks across the dining table and passing glances in the halls. The closest we came to touching again was when I handed him the book I knew he would be looking for in the library, the one I had kept beside my bed everyday he was gone because he had been in the middle of reading it.

I don’t realize my tears have begun to fall until I feet Cassian brush them away.

“He will come back to you Y/N, he may not be the same as when he left but he will return all the same. His love for you may just be the most impressive thing I have ever witnessed. Well, that and Azriel’s wingspan...which I will deny ever having said but it’s true all the same.”

I match his grin with one of my own, “Oh, he’ll be hearing about this. Of that you should have no doubt.”

“Do what you must you cruel female, I will take any retribution brought to me if it means that smile stays on your face for a moment longer…it has been sorely missed these last fifty years.”

“Thank you, Cas, for everything. Come find me before you head to bed in the morning, I wish to know how the night ends so we can adjust things if needed. I’ll be in the office, or the dining room should Azriel wish for our meal together tomorrow to be breakfast.”

“You will have every detail Y/N. Promise me only mundane court affairs this evening, if you must work let it be menial paperwork.”

“Only mundane court affairs, I promise.” I give Cassian a short hug before departing down the hallway, I can feel his worry upon my back with every step.

The office door is ajar when I reach it but is empty upon my entrance. As I round the desk I find a steaming cup of tea, my favourite biscuits, and a note that reads:

Y/N,

The house promised to keep the tea warm until you arrived.

I expect to find an empty cup and plate when I come to collect you for breakfast in the morning. If you insist on working through the night, I insist on giving you simple comforts while you do so.

I love you sister.

Your favourite brother,

- A

I smile down at the note, knowing words don’t come as easily to Azriel as they do to Cassian. Prythian will never know the heart of the shadowsinger and how deeply his love runs for his family. But I cherish every moment he trusts me with it.

---------

I’m not sure how much time has passed when the heavy silence of the House of Wind is broken, broken by a voice I had begged the Mother countless times to hear just one more time. One I would never again take for granted.

“You look much better behind that desk than I ever did.”

It takes me a moment to gather the courage to look up. I am not met with a sly grin or cheeky look but one of deep longing.

“It is the view of you behind this desk I wish to have restored. Sitting behind it was never a burden I wished to carry.” I regretted my choice of words the moment they left my mouth. His face betrays no feelings of hurt though. “Rhys, I…I’m sorry, that was unfair of me to say.”

“Say it again.”

“Wha –”

“My name, say it again.”

“Rhys…Rhysand.”

I realize it is the first time I have said his full name since he returned, I have resisted using it because it brings emotions to the surface I don’t wish to face. But I feel his relaxation through the bond, as though his name on my tongue is a salve to a wound I can’t see.

We fall into a few moments of silence, both of us never looking away from the other. It is Rhys who speaks first. “Walk with me?”

I manage only a nod in response. Wanting nothing more than to be with him in any way he would allow and not wanting to end the closest we had come to normalcy since his return.

He waits until I meet him in the doorway to begin our journey. I am unsure of his path, so I follow him in silence, allowing him to take control. He leads me to the giant balcony off the main foyer of the house and comes to a stop at its edge. I do the same, leaving an arm’s length of space between us.

I can’t say how much time we pass looking at the stars over Velaris, standing in utter silence. It is he who breaks the silence once more.

“It was your voice.”

Four words that raise countless questions in my head, but I remain silent, letting Rhys speak freely. I simply watch his profile, relishing in the ability to do so.

“That is what I missed most. Not the stars in the sky, nor the wind upon my wings. Not your scent, not even the memory of your skin upon mine but your voice. I longed to hear it’s rasp when we rose early in the morning, how it skipped when I brought you to the edge of euphoria, your laugh in response to one of Cassian’s terrible jokes. Even recalling arguments in which you, deservedly so, yelled at me brought me comfort.”

His quickly glances over at me as his voice begins to catch in his throat, he does his best to compose himself before he continues.

“I can’t imagine how these weeks have felt for you, I have spent every moment trying to find the right words but all of them have felt wrong. But I know I want to apologize; I haven’t been who you hoped I would be upon my return.”

It is hard for him, I realize, to give words to the fae he had become under the mountain. How it changed and molded him into someone entirely different than the one who left. How he thought he was no longer the mate I knew and loved.

“Who I hoped you would be? You silly, foolish male.” I shake my head in disbelief. “Look at me Rhys.” He meets my eyes. I hold his gaze, wanting him to hear every word I am about to say. “My only hope was that you would come home. For fifty years that is all I have wanted. Even if you came home and felt differently about all of us…about me, it didn’t matter. You would be home.”

He gives me the smallest of smiles and closes his eyes as he lets out a breath.

“You must know, I could never not need you – and I’ve certainly never stopped wanting you.”

“You heard me talking to Cas.” It isn’t a question; we both know it to be the truth.

“After fifty years of being closed off it would seem as though the bond responds to you at every turn. I awoke the moment you stopped outside the door, just having you near was enough. I didn’t want you to leave on account of my being awake.”

I have no rebuttal; we both know that the distance between us has not been completely one-way. I have never found the courage to speak with him either.

“I…after you first got back, I didn’t want you to feel as though I was pushing myself on you. I knew I needed to give you space.”

“Y/N…” I can hear the catch in Rhys’ throat once more, can see him swallow and force himself to continue. “Over the last half century touch has been used against me. It never held true affection, it was used as a tool of manipulation and control. Yours was the opposite. I felt your utter relief and unending love at the sight of me – it was overwhelming, and I reacted without thought. I’m so sorry to have caused you to think I didn’t want you near.” I can tell he is struggling to form his words, to relive the nightmare he had only recently escaped. And I can’t bear it as tears began to form in his eyes.

“You need not explain yourself or apologize to me. I hope to one day be let into that mind of yours – to know all that you have survived so that I can give you support however I can, but it need not be today. Nor even a decade from now, I will take what you give when you feel ready to give it.”

“You will know, as you have known every corner of my mind since we were younglings. It may take time, but you will know.” It is then that he reaches for my hand, tentatively, as though he has never done it before. He grasps it in both of his own, never taking his eyes off of them. “The cauldron surely made a mistake in bestowing a mate like you upon the likes of me. I will never deserve all that you have given me or this court. It is a debt that can never be repaid.”

“Rhys…what do you mean?”

“I had Cassian and Azriel show me what occurred in my absence, what they allowed me to see that is. There were gaps in what they showed me…because of their love for you, I think. Some things, they said, are for only you to tell me. I hope to learn them one day, every single detail.” His brow furrows with his next set of words. He grips my hand tighter and locks eyes with me. “I saw you give away every piece of yourself, you faded away as you refused to let those around you slip.”

“I did what any of them would have done, it was what they needed – it didn’t matter what happened to me, it only mattered that you had something to come home to.” I don’t stop the tears as they come this time, they are matched by those in Rhys’ eyes.

“You are my home. You are what I desperately hoped to return to. You are more than anyone in Prythian deserves. I hope to, one day, be deserving of the sacrifices you made, the mate you deserve once again.”

“You have always been deserving of me, who you are at any given time is deserving. For the first time in half a century I feel like I can breathe, I feel complete with you here…no matter what that looks like.”

“And I am on my way there, racing as fast as I can to match you. My steps may be those of a babe for a time; short and unsure. But I want to move forward, closer to you, all the same. I love you more than you could know Y/N, give me time and I will show you this in every way imaginable.”

“The pace of your steps is irrelevant, I’m just happy I get to see them once again. We are in this as a pair, as we always have been.”

Rhys drops my hand and straightens to his full height, looking every bit the part of a High Lord. He extends his right hand into the space between us.

“Then let us strike a bargain. We do this together. We take steps forward to grow and heal, as one, never letting the other fall far behind.”

I put my hand in his and we close our grips around one another.

“As one.”

If the look on his face is any indication, I know Rhys feels the seal of our bargain at the same time I do. I look down to see identical markings on the inside of our right wrists.

We drop each other’s hands and fell into a comfortable silence, both leaning against the railing of the balcony. I can tell that Rhys is exhausted, both mentally and physically. He seems reluctant to leave, reluctant to admit how much one conversation has so utterly drained him.

“It’s alright Rhys.”

He hums in response and gives me a questioning look.

“Go back to your room, you need sleep. I will be fine.”

“Our room.” He frowns at his own words. “It will be one day again, give me time.”

I give him a tentative smile in return.

“We’ve got all the time in the world.”

He reaches down to squeeze my hand before releasing it and begins making his way toward the door. I call his name and stop him just as he reaches it and is about to walk through. He turns to face me.

“Do me a favour.”

“Name it.”

“Try and dream for me, you deserve the peace it will bring.”

My words are met with an expression holding a difficult story I do not yet know and before Rhys disappears into the house he says,

“I simply think of you darling and I’m already dreaming.”

[gravitywonagain]

Sake and Cider at Sunrise

(a Fresh Powder in the Pine Trees story)

.

“Tomorrow morning, what are you doing?”

Lan Zhan is sitting at his desk in the middle of reading through something that looks exceedingly boring. Probably budget reports or something equally dull. Wei Ying isn't interrupting him so much as saving him.

Wei Ying half-sits on the edge of the desk as he grabs the paperwork from Lan Zhan’s hands and skims it. It is a budget report. 

“I --” Lan Zhan reaches to take the report back, but Wei Ying is faster, pulling it away as he interrupts whatever Lan Zhan was about to say.

“Nope. The answer is ‘meeting Wei Ying at Dafan for fresh pow.’”

He grins as Lan Zhan lets out a small sigh, his shoulders slumping under the burden that is being Wei Ying’s friend. 

In the most deadpan manner possible, Lan Zhan looks at Wei Ying and repeats, “Meeting Wei Ying at Dafan for fresh pow.”

Wei Ying bursts out laughing, almost falling off the desk, “You should say ‘pow’ way more often. I’ll die. It’s amazing,” he says, getting control over himself again. “Okay. But really. You wanna go?”

“I… sure. What time?”

“You’re gonna love this: Meet me there at five-thirty.”

The confusion on Lan Zhan’s face is understandable.

“In the morning?”

“In the morning.”

The skepticism is... also understandable, if a little dramatic. 

“You, and I quote, ‘hate waking up before dawn with the fire of the noonday sun which is way better than the dawn sun anyway.’”

Wei Ying laughs again, “I can’t believe you remember all that!”

Lan Zhan’s expression shifts to one part it’s true so what the fuck are you on about with this five-thirty nonsense, one part am I being pranked?, and one part I listen to the things you say and Wei Ying isn’t quite sure what to do with any of that. 

“But, yeah, that’s true. Unless it’s for powder. I will do many things for good powder.”

Now Lan Zhan looks like he’s filing that bit of information away for later, which is not concerning in the least. He turns his body to face Wei Ying and gives him his full attention. It’s a lot.

“Okay. What should I bring?”

Right. Backcountry. 

“Any gear you would want for hiking and powder skiing. You can borrow Wen Ning’s skins and bindings, I already asked. They won’t be perfect, but they’ll do for now, and I’ve got beacons and shit that I can lend you. You’ve done avalanche safety, right?”

“Every year since I was twelve.”

“Wow, say that with a little more disdain, Lan Zhan.”

“It was a requirement in school and now a requirement for my certifications.”

Wei Ying chuckles at the weird contempt Lan Zhan has for his many certs and their annual requirements. “Okay. Well, maybe this will make it feel more worth it.”

“If you say so.” Lan Zhan does not sound convinced.

“I do! The snow report looks epic!”

“Epic?”

There’s a small quirk in the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth that makes Wei Ying’s heart beat faster.

Wei Ying nods, “Epic, Lan Zhan.”

“I hope you don’t mean that in the alpinist sense.”

In the alpinist sense, “epic” would mean that they hike, get lost, someone’s binding breaks, a freak storm hits, they have to dig in for the night, they leave at least one piece of gear on the mountain to be found in the spring, and, eventually, they make it back to the cars, hungry, tired, and probably after running into their own search party on the way down. This is absurd. Lan Zhan is such a fucking nerd. Wei Ying has no idea what he sees in him. 

He rolls his eyes but can’t quite keep himself from smiling, “When have I ever meant anything in the alpinist sense?”

Finding out Lan Zhan was a budding alpinist had been almost as bad as the minor panic Wei Ying had over the golfing scare with Jin Zixuan. Who wants to freeze their ass off, crossing crevasses on stupidly unstable ladders and getting hypoxic, just to stand on top of a mountain? Lan Zhan, apparently. 

“I will get you on big mountains one day.”

“Only if I can ride down.”

“Hm.”

Lan Zhan narrows his eyes, calculating but smug. Like he’s just won, or figured out how to win but needs to adjust his strategy. 

Wei Ying kind of hates it. But it’s kind of captivating, too, and hot. Very hot. 

Especially when Lan Zhan leans in slightly and Wei Ying mirrors him, caught in the gravity of Lan Zhan’s sharp gaze. Lan Zhan’s eyes flick to Wei Ying’s lips and Wei Ying is about to say something about them being in the fucking Ski School office when, suddenly, Lan Zhan snatches the budget reports out of Wei Ying’s hands and leans back in his chair. 

Smug, indeed. 

-

It’s still dark when Wei Ying pulls into the Dafan parking lot in his and the Wens’ well-loved, mostly-red ‘98 Subaru Outback. Did he make fun of Wen Qing for being a stereotype when she bought it? Yes. Does he love driving it around the mountains because it is, objectively, a good mountain car? Also, yes. Of course, next to Lan Zhan’s clean, white 2018 Jeep Cherokee, it looks like an absolute beater. 

Wei Ying looks at the clock on the dash as he cuts the engine. 05:27. Fuck yeah. He zips up his jacket, grabs the two thermoses from the passenger seat, and gets out of the car to meet Lan Zhan where he’s lifting the Jeep’s hatchback. 

It’s cold and quiet. Dark. The sun hasn’t even really started lighting the sky yet. Wei Ying breathes in the mountain air, pine trees and snow and granite, and lets it freeze his lungs for a moment. His shoes crunch on the snow and gravel as he walks toward Lan Zhan. 

“Good morning, Sunshine!”

“Good morning, Wei Ying. You’re… awake.”

Wei Ying smiles at Lan Zhan’s surprise, “Yeah, well, I drove here, so I sure hope so.”

“Mn.”

Their breath condenses in the air and swirls in the light from Lan Zhan’s open door. 

Wei Ying hands the cleaner, less dented, stolen from Wen Qing thermos to Lan Zhan, then turns to open his own hatchback to begin sorting through his own gear.

He can see Lan Zhan out of the corner of his eyes as he does. Standing as if frozen, with the thermos held out in front of him, confusion radiating off him like body heat.

“A Wei Family treat for the top!” says Wei Ying.

It doesn't seem to clear up Lan Zhan's questions.

“Okay, well, yours is just tea, you fucking lightweight." Never. He will never let it go. "But mine is sake and cider!”

Lan Zhan's eyebrow pops up, but it's an expression of curiosity rather than confusion. Wei Ying doesn't let himself think for too long about how well he can read Lan Zhan's silences these days. Or how fucking sculpted Lan Zhan's cheekbones and jaw are.

“My dad used to make up thermoses for my mom when she was backyard touring. He made them when we were all together, too, and let me have sips at the top.”

“Of sake?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t much, just a taste. But now it’s a tradition.”

Lan Zhan nods and sets the thermos down on the bumper of the jeep as he gathers his gear. He, as it turns out, already had touring bindings and skins, or his brother did, so they’re actually more prepared than Wei Ying had planned for, which is perfect.

“You’re gonna have your own gear by the end of the season,” says Wei Ying with a grin.

“Am I?”

“You are. And it’s going to be all the really nice, expensive stuff and I’m gonna be so jealous.”

“Hm. We’ll see.”

—

The hike starts out smooth, though Lan Zhan struggles a bit with the grade of the climb. Wei Ying cheats a little by putting his own climbing bars up, "Stiletto mode," he calls it, and Lan Zhan grumbles even though he's not the one breaking trail.

“Have you ever actually worn stilettos?” Lan Zhan asks.

“Oh, Honey, just wait until you see me in drag. You will lose your gotdamn mind.” 

Lan Zhan is mostly silent as they hike. Wei Ying lets the quiet linger.

It's early. They're surrounded by soft, fluffy powder. The air is still and freezing.

By the time they're halfway up the hill, they can turn off and stow their headlamps, the cold light of dawn shading everything blue. When they reach the top, the sun is peeking over the ridgeline, painting the sky and snow with pinks and purple, gilding the moutnains across the valley, sparkiling on the calm lake water in the distance.

Wei Ying drops his pack, fishing out his thermos and watching Lan Zhan do the same. He takes off his gloves to unscrew the cap, to press the release and pour himself a little cup of nostalgia.

The hike wasn't particualrly long or arduous. He feels his legs engaged, not tired. They still protest when he sits, though the chill of the snow through his snowpants eases some of their complaints. The sake eases them further.

Lan Zhan's eyes fall closed as he sips his tea, still standing, skis and poles stabbed upright into the snow next to him.

"This is nice," he says, and Wei Ying thinks he's not talking about the tea.

He's so beautiful in the morning light. It might be worth waking up early just to see him like this: serene in the cold, lit gold by the sun.

Steam rises from his thermos cap, turning his nose pink.

"Yeah," says Wei Ying, "yeah, it is."

After a calm moment, they begin to strip the skins off, the ripping sound loud in the near silent valley. Wei Ying shows Lan Zhan how to fold them in on themselves so that they won't stick to anything and everything in his pack.

When Wei Ying grabs his toolkit and gets to work switching his bindings around, Lan Zhan asks if he can try Wei Ying's drink.

Well, no. He asks if he can try the "Wei Family treat," but Wei Ying can't think about that too hard right now. He just grins and asks, "You gonna pass out on me at the top of this mountain, Lan Zhan?"

"Just a small sip," Lan Zhan says, taking the proffered thermos.

The face he makes rivals the cute scrunching of his nose when he tried beer for the first time.

“This is not sake or apple cider," he says, disdain and distrust in his voice.

Wei Ying laughs, “It is!”

“No, this is brewed rice alcohol and instant cider mix.” 

“You’ve seen my car. You think I can afford good alcohol?”

“I think this is closer to a cleaning solution than food grade,” he says, sniffing the thermos, wincing dramatically, and then handing it back to Wei Ying.

Wei Ying takes the thermos laughing, “Not all of us own a mountain, Lan Zhan!”

He loves bitchy Lan Zhan. He does not understand how Lan Zhan has managed to convince everybody that he’s all serious and stoic all the time. 

“Real sake need not be expensive,” Lan Zhan says, sounding exactly as rich as he is. 

“Like you’ve ever even tasted ‘real’ sake,” Wei Ying shoots back with a smile. 

“I’m not sure I’ve tasted any sake.”

Wei Ying snorts into a new bout of laughter and drops to his knees in the snow next to his splitboard. He giggles his way through configuring it back into a snowboard shape while Lan Zhan adjusts his ski bindings. 

“Alright,” says Wei Ying when he calms himself enough to speak, “Are you going to keep making fun of me? Or are we going to get some sunrise fresh tracks?”

“Just waiting for you to finish minor surgery on your gear.”

Wei Ying has to stop strapping in because he can’t breathe. It’s the deadpan snark that just fucking kills him. That bone-dry delivery. That playful glint in his honey-brown eyes. That deep, smooth baritone. Getting off track.

“Okay, punchy,” he says with his arms resting on his knees and his lungs labored with his amusement, “Is this what alcohol does to you before you pass out? Do we need to wait for you to sober up from your single, tiny sip?”

Lan Zhan makes a face that is somehow haughty and embarrassed and unimpressed all while saying fuck you with his eyes. 

Wei Ying loves it. 

“You’re so fucking cute,” Wei Ying says to no one in particular as he stands and clips the chest strap of his back pack together. He checks himself, looks around their spot. Nothing looks out of place. 

He shakes the adrenaline into his arms, feeling the moment shift. Lan Zhan, too, seems to feel the change in mood as he adjusts his goggles on his face. They share a look, a nod. It feels as natural as the smell of pine trees on the breeze. 

“Okay,” Wei Ying says with a smile, “let’s go.”

Wei Ying hops his board once, takes a deep breath of cold mountain air, drops his nose into the bowl, and floats.

Riding in untracked powder down a steep, open slope is one of his favorite things in life. He carves into the mountain and feels it carry him. His toe-edge cuts through the powder and he leans into the slope, dragging his hand through the snow just to catch it on his glove. It’s light, airy, cold. The wind rushes in his ears and he hears his own heartbeat.

His shoulders roll with the turns and his hips follow, easy as anything, used to this from years and years of muscle memory. He cruises down the slope, big easy turns, powder spraying in his wake. The sun is still lancing its rays across the mountain and it sparkles with the colors of dawn. He flows with it. His knees bend into the stretch, toes curling in his boots, weight shifting without him ever having to think about it. 

He sees Lan Zhan fly past him and the cold stings his lungs. Lan Zhan is beautiful in motion. This is not the first time he’s thought this. But, here, in Wei Ying’s world of quiet mountains and fresh powder, Lan Zhan is beautiful. His turns are clean and graceful, a slow rhythm building when he plants a pole. 

For a moment, Wei Ying sees his baba. 

When he meets Lan Zhan at the bottom of the hill, Wei Ying is smiling so hard he can’t control it. He, very carefully, does not spray Lan Zhan with snow when he stops, choosing to stop down mountain on his toes. There will be more laps. This one he wants to be as smooth and perfect as their first tracks. He wants so badly for Lan Zhan to be happy, to be enjoying this with him.

“What do you think?” he asks, trying not to let his anticipation color his voice. 

Lan Zhan turns toward him, then looks back up at the mountain, then back to Wei Ying. It’s not easy to see behind the goggles, but there’s a fire lit inside him. 

He smiles at Wei Ying. It’s small, a twitch of his lips, but real and young and happy. The same almost childish exuberance colors his voice when he says, “Again.”

The second lap is excellent, not only because Wei Ying gets to stare at Lan Zhan’s ass for the entire hike up, but also because the ride down is just as floaty, just as soft and perfect and breathtaking as the first. He does manage to spray Lan Zhan with powder this time and Lan Zhan’s unimpressed face kills Wei Ying for a second time before 8am. 

The sun shines bright in the sky on the third hike up and already the heat is rising. They begin to strip layers even before they start the climb -- jackets stowed in backpacks as they each drink some water and reset their gear. 

Wei Ying’s shirt comes off about halfway up the mountain. 

At the top, Wei Ying finds that Lan Zhan’s insulation layer has been tied around his waist and that there’s a silver necklace chain barely visible under the collar of his henley. 

When he asks about it, Lan Zhan takes his gloves off and pulls it free. It’s a family necklace, he explains, a diamond and aquamarine accented platinum snowflake on a platinum chain. His brother has a matching one, so do his father and uncle. 

He trails off and Wei Ying thinks there’s more to the story, but he doesn’t want to press. Not now. Not the time. 

They glide down the slope, crossing nobody’s tracks but their own. It’s quiet and peaceful and it’s just them. Only them. A perfect kind of solitude. 

It’s not until the fifth hike up that Lan Zhan finally gives in to the heat. 

Their muscles and bodies are warm from exertion, midday is truly upon them. In the rising temperatures Lan Zhan stops climbing, plants his poles and starts removing his pack. 

The sudden cessation of hiking noise and the sliding plastic sound of a backpack buckle behind him causes Wei Ying to stop and turn. When he does, he sees Lan Zhan, gloves stowed on his grips, shirt coming off over his head, winter-pale skin shining in the high noon sun. (Best sun. Best sun for so many reasons now.)

Wei Ying’s brain breaks a little. 

It’s one thing to know that someone is an athlete. It is another to see the sculpted muscle and lean lines that that entails. It’s a third to see all of that for the first time surrounded by mountains and powder and pine trees and perfectly lit by winter sunlight and the surrounding snow. Wei Ying wishes he had his camera. 

“The Heavens have blessed us this day.”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan sounds both pleased and annoyed as he tucks his shirt into his backpack. The gemstone snowflake hangs between his collarbones, askew from his movement. 

“Seriously, Lan Zhan. Holy fuck. How is that fair?”

The man has a six-pack and sex lines and still manages to look genuinely confused by Wei Ying’s reaction. The audacity. 

“I bet you have a gym in your house, don’t you.”

“I do,” Lan Zhan says easily, putting his gloves back on and drawing attention to his forearms. As if Wei Ying weren’t already absurdly attracted to him. 

“Oh, fuck off.”

Lan Zhan’s shoulders and chest and arms flex as he pulls his poles out of the snow and gestures with one up the hill. It doesn’t even look deliberate which drives Wei Ying crazy. His snow pants sit low on his hips and Wei Ying wants, almost desperately, for a reason to make Lan Zhan go first so he can check out his back muscles as he hikes. Nothing comes to mind. He settles for maybe, possibly, getting a repeat wardrobe change on their next lap. 

Fuck, he wants to see those muscles work. 

“Yeah,” Wei Ying lets his eyes drag over Lan Zhan one more time before turning back up the trail, “I’m gonna go bury my head in the snow to cool off now. Thanks. Where’s an avalanche when you need one?” He stabs his poles into the snow and grabs his t-shirt from his waistband. 

“What are you doing?”

“Putting my fucking shirt back on. I have enough self-esteem issues, thank --”

“Don’t.”

There’s something in Lan Zhan’s voice that forces Wei Ying to turn and look at him. Something vulnerable and raw.

“Don’t?”

“Please,” he says softly, “I like looking at you.”

Wei Ying feels speared open by that. He feels… The blush that creeps up his chest is bared already. 

“Aiya, Lan Zhan. How are you so fucking sincere?”

Pink graces Lan Zhan’s ears as he holds Wei Ying’s eyes. He says nothing. He doesn’t look away. 

Wei Ying gives.

“Okay. Okay, the shirt’s staying off.”

When they reach the peak and start stripping the skins off their skis, Wei Ying does, in fact, stick his face in the snow. It only helps a little. 

They finish after a sixth lap. 

Lan Zhan does take off his shirt again as he leads the hike up. 

Wei Ying, somehow, doesn’t die about it. 

-

The next day, after lessons are closed, Lan Zhan meets him by the instructor lockers and hands him the thermos he’d taken home. When Wei Ying grabs it, it’s heavier than he expects and it sloshes like it’s full. He quirks an eyebrow at Lan Zhan, but Lan Zhan just nods at it, clearly waiting for Wei Ying to take a sip. So he does. 

It’s hot and sweet and… alcoholic? It’s smooth and thick, but not syrupy, and smells spiced. 

“This is delicious, Lan Zhan!”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan looks smug as hell and says, “That is sake and cider.”

Wei Ying’s laughter can probably be heard all the way in HR, he shakes so hard with it. 

He loves it when Lan Zhan is a bitch. 

[vodika-vibes]

The ARC and the Monster

Summary: Three months after the events that left him with prosthetic legs and a prosthetic arm, ARC Knight Echo is on a journey to relearn himself. And while on this journey, he discovers a village that doesn't exist.

Pairing: ARC Knight Echo x Reader

Word Count: 5810

Warnings: Mentions of death

Mando'a Used: sen'ika - little bird (according to the website I saw, lol)

A/N: I am very bad at writing fight scenes, I should work on that, lol. This is a twist on Beauty and the Beast, and I'm actually happy with it, which is surprising.

Divider by saradika

“Morning again, darlin’,” You smile tiredly at the merchant, “Bacon and a fresh loaf of bread?”

“I don’t suppose you have anything new?” You ask as you lean against the counter.

The Merchant laughed, “You know I don’t, darlin’. One loaf of bread, and one rack of bacon. As normal.”

You sigh and rest your head on your palm, “I am so tired of bacon.” You say with a sigh.

“Ah, I know darlin’.” He reaches out and lightly pats your hand, “How are things at the palace?”

“Same as ever. As per normal.” You smile at him as you take the bag of food, “How’s the wife?”

“Exhausted. We both are. We never expected our son to be an infant for almost 30 years.” He sighs, he accepts the credits and you wave as you head towards the door.

“Maybe someday the curse will be broken,” You call from the door.

“You won’t find many people who still have hope, darlin’. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You wave and step out of the shop, allowing the door to swing shut behind you. You neatly side-step several other people, and start walking the meandering path headed back towards the manor.

At this point, you can walk the path while wearing a blind-fold, you’re so familiar with the path between the village and the old mansion you call home.

You are, or were, the head chef for the Duke of these lands. In charge of all of the cooking and all of the food shopping. At the time it was a good job, high paying with incredible job security, and a chance to move up in the world.

Of course…that’s not what actually happened.

Thirty years ago a stranger appeared at the palace doors on the night of the young Baron’s 15th birthday. The Baron himself answered the door, though it wasn’t his duty, and he sent the guest away with a harsh word and a violent hand.

The Stranger was a Sorceress, and she was so put out by the Baron’s actions that she cursed the entire land. The Duke and Duchess vanished, trapped in a painting to your best guess, the young Baron twisted and changed, until his looks matched his personality…and everyone unfortunate enough to live in this Duchy ended up trapped in a time loop. 

This day, the day of the Baron’s 15th birthday, repeats over and over and over again. And the only way for the Curse to break is if the Baron show’s any true remorse.

But…

Well…

He doesn’t. 

You stop in front of the manor, and then turn to walk around the building to enter through the rear. No need to draw attention to yourself, if at all possible.

There are some good sides to being trapped in a time loop, you suppose as you push the door open. For example, anything that happens today will be reset when the clock strikes midnight. Any dishes that get broken will be repaired, any injuries will be healed, and any money spent will end up right back in your account.

Also, no one can die.

But no one can be born either. 

You kind of feel bad for one of the Housekeepers, she was 7 months pregnant when this whole fiasco began, and now, thirty years later, she’s still 7 months pregnant.

But that not dying has been a boon. Especially those first few years when the Baron was so angry at everything that he lashed out at everyone.

It was incredibly…strange. Getting ripped to shreds and then waking up in bed the next morning like nothing happened.

Luckily, the Baron has since learned that his temper tantrums have no lasting effect, and has since locked himself away. You don’t know what he eats…and to be honest, you don’t care. You have more important things to do than deal with a self important brat.

You step around one of the butlers, who is dutifully dusting a vase, “Good morning, Chaz,” You greet.

“Good morning, Miss.” He replies, “Did you have a nice walk?”

Your smile is wry, “Well, it’s warm and sunny, right now, and not a cloud in the sky. So, I was miserable.”

He chuckles, “I sent the young ones to the kitchen for a baking lesson, they seemed thrilled.”

“Well, if I had the choice between cookies and math, I would choose cookies too, Chaz.” You joke as you lightly pat him on the shoulder, and then step around him.

“Quite right, Miss.” He says with a laugh, “Also, the Young Master is in a foul mood today, I would avoid the southern gardens.”

“When isn’t the Young Master in a foul mood.” You reply, “But I’ll tell people to stay clear.” You toss him one last smile, and walk the short distance from the side entrance to the kitchen, and you set your bag on the counter, “I have bread…and bacon.” you call out to your staff.

The room erupts into groans of dismay. “If I have to have bacon one more time,” One of the maids says dramatically as she drapes herself across the prep table, “I’m going to throw myself off a bridge.”

“That would be impressive since there are no bridges in the Loop.” You counter dryly, “Also. I’m making soup with bacon and chicken.” The moaning slows to a stop, “Great. Also, Chaz says stay out of the Southern Garden. Also, who’s doing baking lessons?”

“Granny’s got the kids,” One of the other maids calls from near the window, “And I saw the young Baron head into the Garden, he looked mad enough to spit fire.”

“Alright everyone, let’s get to work. We have a manor to feed.” You call, and the room devolves into organized chaos, and you smile. Running a kitchen is a dance, and it’s a dance you’ve performed over ten thousand times. Everyone is in their positions, and though the room looks chaotic…well, they’re performing a masterpiece. 

You smile and slide yourself into your position, and begin your part of the dance.

***************

It has been three months since the events that saw ARC Knight Echo losing his arm, and both of his legs in a magical explosion. And while he has prosthetics, and they work well, and he’s comfortable with them, he’s still not comfortable with his new body.

It’s why he went to Rex and asked for time. Time to heal on his own, without people hovering around him. Time to get used to the prosthetics and the way that his body moves now.

And after two weeks of camping, he’s starting to feel more like himself. Still, he’s not quite ready to return home just yet. For all that he claims that he hates camping…he’s actually enjoying himself. Enjoying the hunting and the fishing, and navigating the land with nothing more than a map and a compass.

Still, Echo is beginning to think it’s time to return home. There’s only so much time he can spend on his own before he starts missing his brothers, and starts talking to the trees around him.

He glances at his map, and then at the bridge several feet away, “Well…I’ll get to the top of the hill, and then I’ll turn around and head home.” He says to himself. He looks over the map one more time, and then folds it and slides it into his jacket pocket. He then hefts his bag over his shoulder, and he crosses the bridge.

He walks up the shallow hill, crests the top, and then he stops. Slowly, without moving his eyes, he pulls the map out of his jacket and he looks down at it, and then back in front of him.

There is not supposed to be a village here. And yet there is.

A well settled village, at that. The houses look old, like they’ve been there for a while, and the road is cobbled, rather than dirt. Echo pockets his map, and carefully adjusts his jacket so he’s able to rest his hand on the pommel of his blade.

And then he starts walking down the cobbled road.

This is strange, and he loves solving strange.

******************

Once more, you walk the distance between the manor and the village. You go to the grocers, you buy bacon and bread while making jokes about having literally anything else, and you leave the shop.

Normally you don’t pay any attention to your surroundings, you’ve done this thousands of times now, but for some reason, today you do. Maybe you’re just feeling wistful, remembering the days when you could crest the hill and cross the bridge and head into the forest.

You flicker your gaze towards the village exit, and your breath catches in your throat.

There, standing next to the welcome sign, is a man. A strange man.

And, after thirty years, there are no strange men in this village.

You turn and walk towards him. He’s tall, though not the tallest man you’ve met, with dark skin and dark hair. As you get closer, you notice that his hair is curly, and that he’s got a prosthetic arm.

By the time you’re close enough to talk to him, you’re sure. “You’re from outside,” You breathe out.

He pins you in place with a curious stare, “If you mean that I’m not from this village, then yes, you’re right.” He looks away from you, his dark eyes scanning the village properly, “This village isn’t on any map.”

A pained look crosses your face, “We used to be,” You say quietly, “But…not anymore, I suppose.”

He glances at you, and then at some of the other people in the village, some have stopped what they’re doing to stare at him, while others blatantly ignore him, “Why are they looking at me like that?”

“People don’t come here,” You explain, “I…I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“I’m Echo. Echo Fett. I’m an ARC Knight of Mandalore.” 

You introduce yourself with a smile, “I work at the manor, as the head chef.” You explain as you motion, vaguely, to the manor, “Um, so you asked what people are looking at you-”

“Yeah. They’re staring at me. I know prosthetics aren’t normal-”

“What? No! That doesn’t have anything to do with it.” You hasten to say, as you reach out and touch his arm lightly, “Just…please, will you listen to our story?”

He turns his attention back on you, “Yeah, alright.”

You tug him off the main road, and to a small park. Families used to picnic there, but not anymore. 

You sit on one of the benches, and wait until he’s sitting next to you. “So…what’s the story with this place?” Echo asks.

“Um…okay. So this story begins thirty years ago, on the night of the Baron’s 15th birthday.” You explain, your voice quiet, “You have to understand, the Baron was never a good child. He was always harsh, always cold, always mean…no one ever had anything good to say about him. I can’t even describe just how awful of a boy the Baron is.”

“Okay. So he’s a brat, the son of a Duke?”

“That’s right,” You nod, “Well, there was a surprise visitor. And for some reason the Baron answered the door himself. He turned the stranger away with violence…and it turned out that the stranger was actually a sorceress.”

“Oh no.”

“The entire Duchy was cursed as well.” You say quietly, “The Duke and Duchess were trapped in paintings. The Baron has become a monster. And the rest of us…well, we’re trapped.”

“In what way?” Echo asks.

“We have to live the same day, over and over and over again. We can do different things, within reason, but time never moves on for us.” Your voice is soft, “You’re the first new person we’ve met in years.”

He leans back against the bench, and he doesn’t say anything for a really long time, “So…what happens when time resets with me still here?”

You bite your lower lip, “I don’t know.” You hesitate, “I would suggest staying away from the manor, though. Until we know if the loop affects you…you need to stay away from the baron.”

“Why?” Echo asks.

“Because he’ll kill you.”

Echo stills, and something flinty enters his eyes, “Does he kill people often?”

“Oh, he hasn’t killed any of his employees in five years now.” You try to soothe, “And, well, it resets at midnight anyway, so…”

“Does that make it better?” Echo asks, his voice very gentle.

Your hands shake slightly as you remember razor sharp claws and teeth dripping with saliva, “...no.” You admit. You clench your hands tightly in your lap, to try and stop the trembling.

Echo glances at your hands, and reaches to place one of his hands over yours, “It’s okay. You’re safe here.” 

“For now.” You answer softly, your hands moving slightly to lightly grip his hand, the metal is cool under your hands, but is also soothing somehow, “It’s why you need to leave.” You say as you look from his hand to his face, “If you stay here-”

“No.” He interrupts, he smiles at you to soften the harshness of his word, “Look, you said that the curse is based around the Baron, right?”

“Yeah. He changed, and then his parents were trapped in the painting, and then the duchy was trapped in the loop. In that order.” You reply.

“Okay, so with the curse centered on the Baron, then to kill the curse we need to kill the Baron,”

You’re already shaking your head, “He’s too violent. If we get too close to him he’ll kill us.”

Echo frowns thoughtfully, “Then I’ll do it.”

You start and stare at him with wide eyes.

“I’m an ARC Knight, this is what we do.” Echo explains, his voice very kind.

“Free people from decade long curses?” You ask doubtfully.

He laughs softly, “Fight things that other people can’t.” He squeezes your hand, very gently, “Trust me.”

You hesitate for a long moment, and then you slowly nod. “Okay Echo.”

He smiles at you and gently releases your hands, “I’m going to need your help. Can you get me into the manor?”

Your gaze lingers on his clothing for a moment, and anxiety twists your stomach, “What if he claws you?” You ask, “His claws are…they ripped through me in one…”

Echo reaches into his backpack and pulls out a small metal orb, it’s glowing faintly, “This is an armor sphere. This is where I store my ARC armor when I’m not actively using it. Don’t worry, sen’ika, I’ll be wearing armor when I fight the Baron.”

“...okay.” You stand and gather your shopping bag in your arms, “Then you should probably follow me.”

“Yes ma’am,”

Echo follows you through the streets, and down the path that leads to the manor, and he follows you around the building to the side entrance. You hold the door to the manor open for him, and he steps into the worn down hallway that leads to the servants quarters.

Chaz is waiting for you. His severe gaze looks from Echo, to you, and then back to Echo. “The Young Master is in the library,” He says in a clipped tone, “I have instructed everyone to remain in their rooms for the time being.” He exhales slowly, and then lightly touches Echo on the shoulder, “Good luck, young man.”

“Thank you,” Echo replies, growing slightly startled when Chaz bows deeply, and then turns and vanishes into a side room. “Sen’ika, I need someplace to put my armor on.” He says to you.

“We can use the kitchen, it’s the one place in the manor the Baron never comes to.” You say, “Plus it’ll be empty right now.”

“Great, lead the way.” He follows you down a side hallway and into the kitchen, where you help him clear one of the prep tables, and he activates the little sphere, and lays all of his armor out on the table, and he quickly starts strapping the pieces to his body, “Where’s the library?” He asks.

“It’s part of the main building, on the third floor.” You explain, “You’ll never find it unless I show you…it’s not like there are any maps of the manor.”

He cuts his gaze towards you, “I don’t want you anywhere near the fighting.”

“I’ll be careful,” You reply, “But you’ll never find it without me.”

He sighs quietly, “Fine, but you will listen when I tell you to do something.”

“Yes sir,”

He finishes pulling his armor on, and he hooks his blade to his hip and then grabs his helmet, “Alright. How big is the library?”

“Massive. The Duchess was all for education.” You answer as you head out of the kitchen and into the hall, “She purchased several copies of every book ever printed and all of them are kept in the library.”

“So it’s cramped?”

“Less so than you might assume…it’s just very big.” You guide him through the twisting halls, until you reach the main living quarters. Unlike the servants quarters, which are clean and well maintained, the main house is dimly lit.

The wallpaper is ripped and torn, and there are some places where the wooden floorboards have been ripped up and flung into the wall. Pictures have been torn to shreds, and none of the furniture is usable. “The Baron did all of this?”

You nod, “He destroys the house every morning…at this point it doesn’t even take him an hour to destroy the house.” You carefully step around one of the floorboards, “Follow me, we need to go upstairs.”

You move silently through the house, and Echo is just as quiet, in spite of the armor he’s wearing. Finally you stop in front of an ornate door, “Is this the library?” Echo asks, his voice hushed.

“It is,” You hesitate, “You can still leave, Echo.”

“I’m not doing that.” Echo replies.

You sigh softly, and then you push the door open just enough that the pair of you can enter. Just like every other room in the main house, the library is destroyed, but you lightly touch Echo’s arm and you point at the ceiling, “There.”

Echo’s gaze follows your finger and he inhales sharply, “That used to be a man?” He asks.

The creature is shrouded in shadow, with claws long enough to rip a man to shreds without trying, and teeth that barely remain in his jaw. He clings to the ceiling, as though gravity has no effect on him. 

“Yes,” You whisper, “That used to be the Baron.”

Echo motions for you to get back, and draws his blade, “How do I get him down?” He hisses.

You glance at him nervously, and then you lift your fingers to your mouth, and you release a loud whistle that echoes through the chamber. And then you immediately duck under a fallen bookcase.

The Baron’s eyes snap open, revealing blood red eyes, and he releases a noise that sounds like a million angry snakes hissing at the same time. And you watch as the Baron moves, lunging at Echo with his terrifying speed.

But Echo is just as fast, and his blade is just as sharp as the Baron’s claws. 

You watch, terrified, as Echo proves just how good the average ARC Knight is, and you gasp when, in a smooth motion, Echo severs the Baron’s head from his body.

You slide out from your hiding space, and take several steps towards Echo, when the pressure in the room changes suddenly. You clamp your hands over your ears as the pressure increases and becomes painful.

You feel Echo’s hand lightly against your shoulder, and just barely hear him calling your name. And then there’s the sensation of a baseball bat slamming against your chest and the world goes dark.

**********

You wake with a painful groan. Your entire body hurts, and your head is throbbing. You let out a noise of discontent as your bedroom door bursts open and Chaz hurries in, “Good you’re awake. Get up, get dressed.”

You groan and roll out of bed, landing on the floor with a painful thump, “Why does everything hurt?” You rasp out.

“You were standing right there when the curse reset,” Chaz replies as he pulls you to your feet, “You took the brunt of the reset.” He explains.

“Oh…it sucks.”

“It does.” He agrees as he shoves an outfit into your hands, “Get dressed, you need to get out of the manor.”

You clumsily take the clothes and start peeling off your sleepwear, replacing them with the loose tunic Chaz gave you, “Why?”

“Echo killed the Baron yesterday, didn’t he?” Chaz asks in return.

“Yeah. He did. But if the world reset-”

“I broke a plate yesterday, it’s still broken.”

Your fingers pause on the ties of your shirt, “That’s impossible.”

“It’s improbable, but killing the Baron caused a change. You need to go back to the village and see if you can find Echo. He’s not in the manor.” Chaz pauses and leans in, “I think he was flung outside of the loop, since he’s not a part of it.” He motions to the blue and black backpack sitting in the corner of your room.

You pull your trousers on, and then pull on your boots, “That makes sense,” you say quietly, “What if he doesn’t come back?”

“He’ll come back. I have a good feeling.” Chaz replies, and then he grips your shoulders tightly, “Listen. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but I think if we kill the Baron once for every year that we’ve been cursed, the curse will break.”

“30 deaths? There’s no way. We already know that the Baron remembers things that happen in previous resets.” You remind him, “There’s only so many times that Echo will be able to kill him with a sword.”

“Agreed. Don’t worry, we’ll handle it.” Chaz pushes you out the door, “Now go!”

“I’m going, I’m going.” You allow him to propel you out of your room, and down the hall, and then out the side door, and he slams the door behind you.

You huff out a heavy breath, and groan as pain shoots through you. You slowly walk the familiar path to the village, where you’re greeted by enthusiastic shouts. The grocer is missing a loaf of bread he sold the day before. The baker’s flour level is down just a little bit.

There’s change for the first time in years.

You walk to the Village sign, and lean heavily against it, your arm folded protectively against your ribs. You had forgotten how pain lingered. You don’t like it.

Your head snaps up when you see movement from in front of you, and a relieved smile crosses your face when Echo, still clad in armor, walks over to you. “Are you okay?” You ask.

He pulls his helmet off, “Are you? I found myself on the other side of the bridge when I woke up. Why are you holding your ribs?”

“They’re bruised, I think.” You reply, “I woke up in bed because of the reset.”

“So it didn’t work.” Echo says with a frown.

“Well, it is. But the curse is just…cracked. At least, that’s what we think.” You step closer to him, “Chaz broke a plate yesterday, and it’s still broken.”

Echo frowns, “You have a theory?”

“We think that if the Baron dies once for every year that we’ve been trapped here, the curse will break.”

“Thirty deaths?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Echo exhales sharply, “How many more times can I use my sword before he learns how to avoid it?”

“Better to not risk trying it again,” You reply as you reach out and take Echo’s hand, “But, we have lots of weapons…assuming you know how to use them.”

“I haven’t encountered a weapon I can’t use,” Echo replies dryly, “Come on, back to the manor.”

“Yeah.” This time Echo guides you to the manor, and through the side door.

Chaz is sitting in the kitchen with one of every weapon from the armory, “He’s in the west garden today,” He says as soon as he sees Echo, “Which one of these do you want?”

Echo presses his blade into your hands, “Keep this safe for me,” He says, and you nod, curling your arms around it, while he picks through the weapons, eventually grabbing a pair of axes which he spins expertly, “How do I get to the west garden?”

“I’ll show you,” You say.

“You’re already hurt,” Chaz says, “I’ll show you,” He says to Echo.

“But-”

Echo smiles at you as he pulls his helmet on, “Don’t worry, sen’ika. I’ll be fine.”

You watch him walk out the room, led by Chaz, and you tighten your grip around Echo’s blade.

***********

You wake up in your bed, dressed in the tunic and pants from the day before, with your arms wrapped securely around Echo’s blade.

You lay in bed for ten minutes. Whatever Echo did to the Baron clearly worked, since the day reset less than three hours after it began.

You roll out of your bed, and hurry out of the manor. And by the time you reach the village sign, Echo is waiting for you, his arms folded. “You’re okay?” You ask as soon as you’re close enough.

“A few bruises,” Echo replies as he takes his blade back, “I don’t want to get close to him again, I don’t think.”

“We’ll figure something out.” You say as you hug him quickly.

“I’m sure we will.”

The third death involves a massive amount of crossbows, which pin the Baron to the wall of the ballroom.

The eighth death involves a truly terrifying amount of fire.

The fifteenth death involves an explosive made from flour and gunpowder.

“Halfway there,” Echo says as he leans back on the bench in the garden, “Only fifteen more deaths.”

“Are you okay?” You ask as you reach out and touch a bruise on his cheek.

“Just exhausted, sen’ika.” He smiles at you, “The people sure seem happy with all of the changes,” He notes.

“Change is good, Echo. Being trapped is…it’s a kind of hell. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” You say quietly. 

“Well, with any luck, you’ll soon be free from this curse.” Echo says with a grin, “What’ll you do first?”

“Leave. I’m going to go literally anywhere else, and I’m never going to eat bacon again.”

Echo laughs, “Maybe I’ll take you back to Mandalore with me,” he says lightly, “It’s very different from this little village.”

“Oh, I’d like that-” You start to say, only to pause when something hits your face. The bustle of the village, just one street over, descends into silence, as the sky opens and rain starts falling.

You scramble to your feet, holding your hands out as the cool water splashes against your hands. And then you laugh, “Rain,” You whisper, “It’s raining!” You laugh again and spin in the rain, turning to grin at Echo, “Echo! You brought the rain back!”

From the next street over you can hear triumphant shouting, cheers of delight, and laughter.

You spin away from Echo, giggles of sheer delight falling from your lips as you stand in the pouring rain.

And Echo…well, he leans his elbows on his knees and he watches you with a fond smile on his lips. And when loud music starts playing the next street over, he gets to his feet, and he lightly takes your hand in his, an impish look crossing his face, “May I have this dance?”

You grin at him, and spin into his arms, “You may,” You agree as you look up into his eyes.

The seventeenth death involves an intricate trap with ropes, pulleys, and the heaviest bookshelf in the manor.

The twenty-first death involves a pit filled with lances.

The twenty-ninth death is much more straightforward, with Echo using a truly amazing number of potions to kill the Baron.

“This is the last one,” You whisper as you apply a healing ointment to Echo’s arm, and then reach up to patch up the bruise on his cheek.

“I think you’re more worried about this than I am.” Echo teases as he gently grabs your wrist, and lowers them away from his face, “Everything is going to be fine, I promise.”

“This is the closest we’ve been to freedom in years, Echo. I’m just…I’m nervous, that’s all.”

He smiles at you, warm and soft, and he leans in and lightly presses his forehead against yours, “There’s no need to be nervous.” He murmurs, “I’m going to take care of you.”

You release a shaky breath, “Okay. Are you sure you want to use your sword?” You ask one more time, just to make sure.

He laughs softly, “Yes. I’m sure. He won’t be expecting it.”

“But-”

Echo presses a light kiss to the inside of your wrist, “Trust me, cyar’ika. This is for the best.”

“I do trust you, but I’m still nervous.” You murmur, even as heat floods your face at his gentle kiss.

He smiles reassuringly at you, and gently releases you, “Go and take your position.”

You nod once, and take half a step back. Then you hesitate, and step back towards him and stand on your toes to press a kiss against his cheek, “Good luck, Echo.” And then you turn and hurry away.

Echo lets out a quiet chuckle, and then he pulls his helmet on. He walks the familiar path to the main room of the house, and he glances up at the second floor, where all of the employees of the Manor are standing, watching.

There’s the sound of angry hissing, and then the Baron is there. Twenty-nine deaths have left the creature angry and paranoid. Angry enough that his gaze was locked on Echo, and not any of the innocent people in the room.

Echo spins his blade with the ease of someone who knows what he’s doing and he takes a step towards the creature, “It’s time for this to end.” Echo says flatly.

The creature snarls and throws himself at Echo.

But Echo has already killed this creature twenty-nine times. He knows how he moves, how he acts in a given situation, and he’s clever enough to be able to make educated guesses on how he’ll react in unknown situations.

The whole encounter has already played out, hundreds of different times, in Echo’s mind. He already knows how it’s going to end. And so do the people watching the last fight.

Echo moves, just enough out of the way to not get hurt. He activates the runes on the blade, and he strikes. The Baron releases an inhuman scream, and spins to try and flee, but Echo strikes two more times. 

And the creature falls still.

Nothing happens for a long moment. And then the shadows that cover the creature disperse in every direction, washing over all of the people, then across everything in the Duchy, and then the shadows vanish as if they never existed to begin with.

You look at the massive clock on the wall and you watch as the calendar and time speed up to match the current day and year, and then you hurry down the stairs, “Echo!”

He pulls his helmet off and grunts as you crash into his side, “I’m okay, he didn’t even touch me.” His arm slides around your shoulder as you hug him tightly.

“No!” You both turn at the wail coming from the young man kneeling on the ground, “No! How could you? I was strong! I had power!” The Baron, a teenager again, gets to his feet, his teeth bared. “I’ll kill you!”

Echo lightly pushes you behind him as the teenager lunges at him. He draws his fist back, and then slams his fist into the boys face, sending him reeling back to the ground, “On the authority given to me by the Royal Family of Mandalore, you’re under arrest.”

“I was cursed!” The boy spat, “You can’t arrest me for being cursed!”

“No, but I can arrest you for the repeated murders of your employees. Just because it didn’t stick doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.” Echo says flatly, and then he presses the tip of his blade against the teenager’s throat, “Unless you think that none of them will testify against you.”

The boy hesitates and then looks away.

“That’s what I thought.” Echo effortlessly cuffs him, and then tosses him against a wall.

“So…what happens next?” Chaz asks.

“I have to make a phone call to Mandalore, we’ll get people out here to help you all get resettled. Thirty years is a long time, my friend.” Echo says as he clasps Chaz’s shoulder, “Although, unless anyone wants to stay here, we’ll probably reach out to different nations to help you get settled somewhere else.” He smiles at the group of people, “A new start…for all of you.”

He steps away from Chaz as the older man begins giving orders for information to get passed onto the village proper, and he leaves the manor. You chase after him, “So, what happens with me, then?”

“A new start,” Echo says, stopping as you hurry to his side, “Doing whatever you want, wherever you want.”

“What if I want to stay near you?” You ask.

He pauses and looks at you, “Well, I might be able to help with that.” Echo says with a slow smile. “If that’s what you really want.”

You hum thoughtfully, “You brought the rain back, Echo. And you fought for our freedom. There’s nothing I want more than to stay with you.”

He laughs softly, “Come here, sen’ika.”

You step closer to him and he lightly hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer, and then he lightly bumps his forehead against yours.

“I have an idea,” Echo says lazily, “How about, once I make this call, we go down to the village and buy sandwiches from the cafe, and we have a picnic while we wait for help to arrive?”

You rest your hands on his chest plate, “Like a date?” You ask softly.

“Exactly like a date,” He confirms.

You smile at him brightly, and you raise up on your toes to brush your lips against his, “I like that idea.”

He smiles against your lips, “Glad to hear it, cyar’ika. Now, I really do need to make this call, but you don’t have to move if you don’t want to. Actually, they’re probably going to have some questions for you, so it’s best that you don’t move-”

You grin and lay your cheek against his shoulder, it’s not a happily ever after, not yet at least, but it’s a start and that’s all you can ask for. 

[niallerspayno]

We’ll Be Alright - Chapter Seven

Masterlist

Your POV

I startle awake to the sound of my door creaking open. I’m still snuggled into Liam who sleeps soundly beneath me. His hand still intertwined with mine.

“Y/n?” I hear a familiar Irish accent call.

Niall’s eyes meet mine through the crack in the door. I watch his eyes trail over Liam and I, something in him shatters. I practically jump out of bed and away from Liam, causing him to wake up.

“Uh, hi Niall, everything okay?” I ask, trying to act normal.

He clears his throat, holding in his emotions despite them being written all over his face, “We’re heading to the stadium soon, I just wanted to check in… I’ll leave you guys to get ready.”

He closes the door a second later and leaves, “Shit.” I curse.

“Everything okay?” Liam asks, still half-asleep on my bed.

I run for the door, “I’ll be back in a second, stay here.”

I’m out the door looking for Niall, “Niall?” I call.

The commotion causes Louis and Harry to pop their heads out of their room, “What’s wrong?” Louis questions.

“You know that conversation I promised I’d have tomorrow? Well, I think I need to have it now.” I say to Louis.

I leave them there, continuing my pursuit down the hall looking for Niall. Finally I find him, sitting against a wall at the end of the hallway with his head in his hands.

“Niall?” I call gently, “Please talk to me.”

He shakes his head “No.”

I crouch in front of him, “Please. I owe you an explanation.”

He looks up at me, eyes red, “Why?”

“I’ll explain everything. Let’s just go back to my room, it’s not worth the risk to do it in the hallway.”

He nods again, getting up and rigidly following me back into my hotel room. When we get back, Liam is awake and sitting on the edge of the bed. His concerned eyes watch as we enter. I gesture for Niall to sit next to Liam and he obliges.

“Y/n? Is everything okay?” Liam asks again.

I sigh, “I owe you both an explanation.” They both watch me intently, waiting for me to continue, “I have feelings for you… for both of you. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure you both have feelings for me too.”

There’s a tense silence.

“Oh.” Is all Liam says, he turns to Niall, “Is it true?”

Niall nods, “I’m sorry, Payno.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Liam puts his arm around Niall.

Niall finally meets my eyes, “Do you like Liam more? Because if you do, I’d prefer I know now.”

I shake my head, “I was just seeing where things go with both of you. I’m afraid I don’t like either of you more than the other.”

“Okay.” Liam looks up, “I still want to see where things go as well, Y/n. But if we do this, Niall also deserves a fair chance.”

“I agree.” Niall adds, “I really like you, and if there’s a chance something could happen between us then I want to give it a try. But I also feel Liam deserves a chance too.”

I nod, “Okay. If anything changes, I’ll let you both know straight away.”

Niall holds his hand out to Liam, “May the best man win.”

Liam shakes it before he stands, “We better get ready to go to the stadium.” He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze and smiles sadly as he leaves.

Niall follows after him, giving me a small smile before he takes his leave. I flop onto the bed and groan. What has my life become?

…

Arriving at the stadium for the second time today is a lot crazier than the first. There are fans everywhere and a hundred times the security and crew that was there earlier. The boys and I are ushered to the back of the stadium.

I’m lead to a separate dressing room. Seeing my name on a dressing room door as if I’m a celebrity is insane. I guess I kind of am a celebrity now though. But I haven’t really done much yet.

I’m left alone in the dressing room so I pull out my phone to check my Instagram and Twitter. I’ve neglected both of these since meeting the boys. I pull up my Instagram first to see if there’s anything new and I’m gobsmacked. My roughly 1k followers has become 50k and my comments are sections are full.

I click on my most recent post, a video cover of Take It Easy by The Eagles. There’s a ton of positive comments and support. People seem excited to see me joining the boys on tour, though they’re of course also disappointed about 5SOS.

There are negative comments though commenting on my looks, my voice, my possible relationships with the boys. I allow myself to go down the rabbit hole of scrolling through them. I go to twitter next and it’s similar, but there’s even more negative comments on there.

I don’t even feel the tears slipping down my face. I feel numb as I allow myself to get lost in their horrible words. If that’s what people think of me, I can’t go out there.

“Y/n?” It’s Harry, popping his head through the door.

I wipe the rest from my face, trying to act normal, “Hey, Harry. What’s up?”

He sees right through me as he walks over, “What are you doing?”

“Just scrolling my phone…”

He peers over my shoulder and sees the comments on my Twitter, “Oh, love.” He wraps me in his arms, “Please don’t listen to them. You have me, four other talented artists, and a large crew that all know they’re wrong! And millions of fans that believe in and support you too.”

I nod, “I’ve had negative comments before, but not to this extent. I guess I’m just not used to the amount of people who know who I am now.”

He lets go and comes around the crouch in front of me so we’re face to face, “Get used to it. Because, darlin’, you’re a star. The whole world is going to know you and love you.”

I smile at him, “Thanks Harry.” My mind wonders, “Have you and the boys spoken about everything?”

“Yeah.” He swallows, “We all sat down and spoke about it when we arrived. Things seemed a bit tense at first, but we’ve all agreed to just go out there and have fun.”

“I’m glad.” I squeeze his shoulder.

He stands “I’m glad I came to check on you. Now, you’re probably going to get swarmed with our make up and wardrobe people. I’ll leave you be.” He shoots me a wink and leaves.

Next chapter

…

Author’s Note: This is definitely an angsty chapter. Just wanted to pre-warn. Also some fluff!