#lament of the silent sisters

[deebris]

The Misteryous Visitor 4

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Bruce finally confronts Damian, and hates how tonight's events seemed to turn out just to remind him what a terrible father he is. He felt like he didn't deserve you, and he wanted at all costs to avenge the injustice Talia committed with you two.

Warnings: Family discussion; maternal overprotection; Bruce has psychiatric problems and is mentally unstable, besides being very angry; mentions depression, post-traumatic stress and the like.

Word count: 3.7k

Note: I apologize for taking so long to post the fourth part. I was looking for inspiration to continue in other fandoms. Now I feel engaged again to continue posting

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"She is not a secret." Damian tried to sound firm, looking Bruce in the eyes to avoid suspicion. But no matter what he did or how long he tried to maintain the lie, his father had already decided what to think about this enigmatic and strange situation.

"Hmm..." He let out a disheartened murmur, and the boy never thought something like this would happen, but he frowned with worry as he saw Bruce pour another drink. It wasn't like his father to act this way.

When Damian first met him in person at ten years old, he could have sworn Bruce and Talia were somewhat enjoying themselves that day, even with the barbs hidden in some exchanged sentences. Or maybe he was mistaken; after all, it had been so long. Perhaps he had preserved a false memory.

"How much have you drunk?" The boy asked with a disdainful voice, trying to hide that he was truly concerned.

"Why have you never talked about her? She is your sister, Damian." Bruce ignored the question but in a kind of silent acknowledgment, he rested the glass on the side table, preventing himself from getting drunk.

"Why are you acting like this? As if it's a big deal." He made a face of confusion. "Why do you care so much about this? She isn't even your problem. I won't stay here being interrogated because of her." Damian got up, taking hurried steps to the front door. He was running away, and he knew it.

"Where are you going?" Bruce stood to follow him, finally showing some kind of emotion beyond stoicism since they had been alone in the room.

"I'm going to wait for my mother outside. And when she appears, I'll come back to fetch Y/n. Then you won't have to see her anymore, ever again." Damian said, and although Bruce didn't know if in the last part his son was referring to you or Talia, he didn't dare ask for the detail.

"Why didn't you ask any of us for help when you found out she was missing? If she is someone so close to you, you could have talked to us." Bruce was speaking in that strange way again, like when he found out Jason was the Red Hood. He was hurt, and as if a whistle had snapped in his mind, Damian understood that his father was like this because of him. It wasn't Talia or how she always ended up causing problems; it was him. "You hid from me that you were still talking to your mother."

"And did I need to inform you that I talk to my mother?" The boy tried to maintain a haughty tone, repressing the urge to shout so that Bruce wouldn't see his conflicting feelings.

The truth is that it hurt to lie like this. It hurt even more to lie to you. Damian didn't show or openly say what he felt; his mother once told him that was weakness, but honestly, now he was disgusted with himself.

"You didn't need to inform me, but you made an effort to hide it!" Bruce didn't shout. His voice was grave, authoritative, and deep down had a tone of betrayal that had twice the impact of a shout. He seemed to reflect on something, and patiently Damian awaited a lamentable outburst, but just as he himself would do, Bruce was avoiding becoming emotional.

"I don't understand why, but you came to live with me and seemed to exclude her from your life because of us. She is your sister and didn't even know I am your father! You sent letters, which I'm sure you hid not just from me but from her too. And she ended up here in the middle of the night like a fugitive. Will you tell me again that all this has no reason?"

"Even if there were a reason, it wouldn't be your business." The young man replied harshly, and once again: it was a lie. It was his business. Seeing Bruce's angry scowl turn into a defeated look made one of his fingers tremble. Realizing only after saying something that what he did was wrong made a panic arise in his chest.

Bruce sat back in the armchair, giving up on the discussion once and for all. He felt so stupid for thinking he was succeeding in freeing his son from the League of Assassins' clutches, that he was doing a good job showing him he didn't need the blind loyalty Talia taught him to have. He feared that Damian would succumb to a villain's life, exactly as Ra's al Ghul wanted Bruce to be: cruel and ruthless.

Talia stirred bad reactions in him, and his sense of justice hammered in his head. How could he simply hand you back into her hands after you came here tonight? That woman was a bad influence on anyone, and it didn't matter if you were her daughter; you were a child. And wasn't that what he did with all his children? Took them from the streets and bad parents?

He wanted to vomit at the idea of allowing you to continue being raised by someone like her, among those people, but if he couldn't even change Damian, what could he do for you? Bruce couldn't force you to stay, but at the same time, he grappled with the internal conflict of corroborating that one day you would become like they. He is Batman, his duty is to protect. He should protect you too.

Bruce rubbed his eyes, feeling an intense headache and he day was already dawning again"Your mother isn't coming, Damian." He asserted, noticing that a long time had passed since they started waiting, getting up to return to his own room.

"You said we had a lot to talk about." Suddenly, the boy felt the need to prolong the conversation, if this could even be considered a conversation. It was as if they would never speak again if he allowed his father to leave.

"We don't anymore." Was cold, and that made the boy swallow hard. Bruce knew he would regret being so harsh, but at that moment, he wasn't thinking straight. The rational part of his brain was being dominated by his impulsive side.

Bruce opened his bedroom door with unusual violence. Lately, these episodes of anger were frequent, perhaps due to interrupted sleep; this damned insomnia was worse than in the last months. Alfred had already suggested he see a psychiatrist, but Bruce was sure he would leave there with a worse diagnosis than expected, so he avoided it as much as possible.

The butler once dared to mention that he might have some type of post-traumatic stress, but Bruce was stubborn and that led to an argument. He was a controlled man, but that day he shouted. The reaction was not unexpected, considering the tension from the chaos Scarecrow was causing in the city at the time, but Alfred was observant and knew the problems went beyond that.

The death of his parents was a delicate subject, and combined with the pressure of being Batman, Alfred saw Bruce become more obsessive, anxious, and even depressed over the years. Fortunately, the emergence of Dick was a break in the sad loneliness for him. And then came Jason, Tim, Damian, and things improved for a while, but the relapses still existed.

Bruce sighed as he admired his bed, wishing he could sleep again, but knowing he wouldn't be able to without taking another dose of pills, which certainly wasn't an option. Then he noticed your coat there. The garment had been left in his room, carefully placed on the arm of the room's couch.

He walked over and picked up the coat, rubbing the soft fabric with melancholy and noting how well-kept the garment was. It would probably be a good idea to return it to you; Would also be an opportunity to check if you were well accommodated.

Cautiously, he walked to the guest wing. Bruce thought he would need to check the rooms one by one to discover where Alfred had placed you, but a beam of light leaking from one of the doors indicated which one. He hesitated to turn the knob; it felt too intrusive. So, he knocked: three soft taps on the wood. He waited a few seconds, but you didn't come to open it, and he gave in to the act of opening it himself.

In slow movements, he leaned to look inside the room, without entering yet and checking if everything was okay. He saw your figure well wrapped in the covers, eyes closed and breathing in a consistent rhythm. You were sleeping, and the light he saw was the bedside lamp.

He entered, doing everything to control his steps, going to a chair to place the coat there. He felt the need to be gentle with the garment for some reason, handling the coat with such care, as if holding you in his hands.

He was envious of how pleasant your sleep seemed, wishing he could sleep like that too. He thought of turning off the lamp, but regretted it when he saw that his act interrupted your sleep. As soon as everything went dark, he heard the rustle of the covers, signaling that you had woken up. You stayed still for a while, staring at the shadow in front of you, knowing someone was there but too embarrassed to ask who it was, until the light was turned back on and you saw Mr. Wayne.

"Sorry, I think I woke you," he said softly, genuinely feeling guilty. "I brought your coat. I left it to dry better; it's still a bit wet," he continued, gesturing towards the chair.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you replied groggily due to the minutes you spent sleeping. Thinking he would leave, you clasped your hands as if praying and placed them under your cheek on the pillow. A common but funny position.

"Call me just Bruce," he sat on the edge of the bed, looking at your face. He had a question stuck in his throat and thought it would be a good idea to start a conversation. "Are you okay?"

"I am. Thank you for letting me sleep at your house." you answered serenely, and he nodded in agreement. "And you?" You asked back. Bruce blinked, surprised by your question, realizing that your eyes were shining. The truth is he couldn't say how he felt, so he said what anyone would say: 

"Yes, I'm okay," he said, more focused on your face, knowing you might be uncomfortable with that but wanting to see you better. 

“Can I ask you something?” He seemed anxious, and you waited expectantly in silence, which he took as a yes. “Why did your mother separate you two like that? Why didn’t she tell you anything?”

You stared at a random spot on the mattress, feeling a pang in your chest at the memory. “She did, in a way. Mom doesn’t like you very much, Mr. Wayne. I think that’s why,” you said, looking back at him, seeing him raise his eyebrows in amusement; you corrected yourself with a gasp: “Bruce.”

“Did she speak badly of me to you?” Bruce was curious like a silly child, even though a serious scowl was etched on his face.

“Not exactly about you. Mom and Grandpa hate Batman.” By this point, you had already figured it out. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots between your family and Robin with him after a few minutes of reflection. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Bruce let out a dry laugh, caught off guard. “Yes, it’s me,” he confirmed, and you shifted to sit more upright on the bed, excited.

“Is it true that you killed the Joker?” Your question made Bruce’s scowl turn puzzled. So that was the kind of rumor circulating.

“No, I didn’t kill him. He just... disappeared one day,” the same day Bruce thought he had lost Jason, and although deep down he wanted very much to have done it, he didn’t find it appropriate to admit that to you.

“I’m confused,” your voice became more relaxed, he thought it was due to the casual tone the conversation was taking. “If Damian is Robin now, what happened to the other one? He didn’t die, did he?” You asked the last question in a whisper, fearing it was true.

Bruce laughed at this. He had never thought about how people assumed Robin was a single person all these years. “No, he’s fine. You’d be surprised if I told you five different people have been Robin.”

Your eyes widened, and suddenly you remembered a detail: “There was a girl, wasn’t there? I remember seeing some photos in an old newspaper.”

Bruce was perplexed at how much you seemed to know about him, but in a good way. “Yes, there was a girl. She’s Batgirl now,” when he said that, your smile widened even more. It seemed like you were a secret fan, he would say, since in your own words: "Talia hates him" and Bruce knows she would hardly allow you to have such admiration.

But your smile faded, and that worried him for a moment until you spoke: “I didn’t know that man was Hugo Strange,” you looked at him with regret. “If I had known, I would have caught him for you.”

“Would you?” He asked, doubting you really could.

“Well... I would have tried,” you defended yourself, shrugging your shoulders.

“Very brave. But it’s good you didn’t do anything,” he said playfully, stopping to think for a moment. “Y/n, what did he tell you?”

He saw you wrinkle your nose in a grimace before answering. “I thought we met by chance. I was walking and saw a man smoking a cigarette on a corner. I was going to walk past, but then he asked if I needed help.”

“Which corner?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t far from home. I was trying to figure out the street on a map I found in the municipal library’s phone book,” you sighed, frustrated at not being able to give the information. “I ignored him, but he followed me. I got scared and started running, but he said he was a cop, so I trusted him.”

“Did he have a police car nearby?”

“He said he was undercover. But I don’t know what that means; I thought it was the same as being off duty.”

“It could mean that too.” Bruce saw your guilty expression, your lip trembling and your hands nervous.

“You don’t need to feel bad for believing him,” his larger hand enveloped both of yours like they were nothing. Were warm, and it was comforting. “I know Damian said horrible things, but he speaks in the heat of the moment.”

“It was not in the heat of the moment... He never just speaks,” your voice dropped so low it was almost inaudible. Your eyes burned, but there were no tears. Crying for your brother would be the last thing you would do again. “What was in the box?”

“What box?” He was confused by your sudden change of subject.

“Didn’t Dick give it to you?” You asked, feeling his hand move away from yours and touch his left pocket. What Dick had given him was a card and not a box. Maybe he had taken what was inside. “I guess he forgot.”

“No. He didn’t forget,” he quickly responded, snapping out of a stupor. A curiosity grew in his chest, a need to know what was in that card.

Bruce fumbled in the pocket where the card still was and pulled it out. He quickly examined the paper, turning it over to check the back for anything. For a long time, his voice was muffled, and Bruce could only hear a buzzing in his ear. It was impossible for those words to have any real meaning. His breathing became loud and shaky, as if he were in the cold, and you were startled to see his eyes blinking frantically.

“Are you okay?” You moved to approach him, seeing moisture suddenly form on his forehead. It was cold sweat.

“How is this possible?” You heard him ask himself, bringing his fingertips to his eyes, rubbing them to make sure he was really seeing. That card had left him unsettled, you realized, and hesitantly, you tried to take it from his hands to remove it from him, but his grip tightened at the feel of your fingers, so tight that it completely crumpled the paper. “Sorry. It’s nothing,” he stammered, seeing that the abrupt movement had scared you.

He got up from the bed, completely oblivious to you or anything else now. He staggered before reaching the door, very disturbed and seeming out of it. Maybe it was you who did something wrong and didn’t realize it?

He didn’t seem fit to walk, so you quickly removed the covers from your legs and went to him, supporting and guiding him to the chair where he had left his coat. He was very heavy, but he was so disoriented that he went limp. He seemed so shaken that he didn’t protest and simply sat there. You stood in front of him for a few seconds, not knowing what else to do to help him.

“Shouldn’t I call someone?” You asked.

“Dick,” he mumbled without looking at you, and that worried. It seemed intentional, as if it was too difficult to face you.

“Where do I find him?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of something, but Damian’s voice on the other side of the door caught his attention:

“Y/n, open the door.” You stood still, recognizing your brother’s voice, until he continued: “Mom is here. She’s going to take you home,” he said as a warning, opening the door after a moment without even asking. “Come on. Why are you standing there like a statue?”

He was perplexed when you didn’t respond, and then he noticed his father sitting beside you in terror.

“Dad?” He approached, kneeling to assess the severity. He was having another episode. Lately, Bruce had only been getting worse every day and still refused to ask for help.

“What happened?” Your brother turned to you, but your face already showed that you had no idea.

Damian tried to place his hand on his shoulder, but Bruce pushed it away aggressively. Your father would never act like this just because of the argument they had before, much less give him a venomous look as he did now, but beneath it all, there was hurt. He had found out about you, somehow.

He should have felt bad about how the news seemed to have been revealed, but he was relieved not to have to lie anymore. At the same time, he regretted choosing to cater to his mother’s whims once again, deceiving his father this way. But the omission had grown so much over the years he spent in the mansion and, after so long, it didn’t matter when he told him, the damage was already done.

Bruce wasn’t in a perfect mental state. He wouldn’t react like this normally, and knowing that, the man felt pathetic in front of the two of you.

“He asked for Dick,” you said to Damian, giving him space to breathe by stepping back.

“Forget Dick,” Bruce replied firmly, surprising. In an instant, he had a fit, and as quickly as he entered this state, he left it. Now, he seemed furious. “Where is she?”

This was a ploy by Talia and Strange. They were planning this together to hit him, a way to weaken him. It could only be that. It was too much of a coincidence Strange had found you just that night; nothing made sense. When had he and Talia gotten involved again after that day that led to Damian? He couldn’t remember and wasn’t good at recalling such old things. Maybe that wasn't even true. It was as if there was a big blank page in his mind.

“Get out,” Talia’s silhouette appeared at the door where she was leaning. Like most times when referring to the children, her voice was imposing, leaving no room for contestation. “Both of you.”

“You were supposed to wait downstairs,” your brother tried to contradict her. Despite everything he did for your mother, unlike you, he was the only one who had the courage to face her.

Her frown deepened at Damian’s defiance, but her stern expression softened at your trembling voice: ‘Mom...’ She sighed and opened her arms to you, casting a challenging look at Bruce, who returned it with an even harsher one, as she wrapped your smaller body than hers in a tight hug.

She knelt to your level, her hands gently brushing your cheeks and hair, noting how frizzy and messy it was. ‘Look at you. Your hair is all disheveled.’ She ran a finger down to your lip, grimacing at the cut there.

‘I’m sorry.’ Although less anxious now that you knew she wasn’t angry, you still regretted disobeying her.

‘My sweet girl,’ she said in a soft, genuinely affectionate voice. She kissed your cheek, casting that same malicious glance at Bruce again, as if provoking him. He felt a wave of nausea seeing her use you as a pawn just to taunt him. ‘Let the adults talk,’ she ordered, standing up and regaining her authoritative tone.

‘I’m staying,’ Damian protested. Leaving his father alone with her in his vulnerable state was a mistake.

‘Go and stay with your sister, Damian,’ Bruce was as harsh as Talia, but unlike her, he was seething with anger.

The boy closed his eyes in frustration but gave in, knowing it was useless to argue. He glanced at you, who had already walked out of the room and into the hallway. Damian was about to follow, but his father’s voice stopped him again:

‘She’s not leaving the house, Damian,’ his firm tone carried the weight of undeniable authority, with bitterness seeping through. The coldness in his voice left no room for warmth; it was distant. Bruce had finally gotten the push he needed. The possibility of you being his daughter gave him a sense of entitlement, and it made Talia’s arrogant expression falter for a moment; she looked apprehensive. ‘Do you understand?’ It was a question directed at both his son and Talia.

‘Yes,’ the young man replied simply, avoiding eye contact with his mother as he left. Damian paused in front of the door before fully departing, and his mother slammed it shut in his face.

He resisted the urge to eavesdrop and turned to look for you in the hallway, but you had vanished.

‘I deserve this,’ he muttered impatiently. You were avoiding him, and Damian couldn’t help but feel irritated at how childish that was. But he was one of the villains here; he was the one who lied, insulted, and rejected you. Realizing this filled him with shame, and unlike the first time, he repeated the words, this time with a tone of regret: ‘Yes, I deserve this.’"

Tag list:

@lafrone @sylum @mileskisser @belowbreadcrumbs @riddle-me-im-sirius

@rafa-the-beautiful @shehrazadekey @fairuzwhat @bedeater @arianapjs

@idonthaveanameforthisacc @azulawayne @nciolisa @lovelywritersgarden

@spideybv28 @faimmm @formula-space @cherry-peach-flavored

@godknows-shetried @randomrosie01 @whatsupstark @paastaboi @m3ntally-unstable

@masterradd-28 @justanormalpersin @6000-fandoms @fennecspage

@homan-oid @fluffy-strawberries @animegirlfromvietnam @tamsyien @ari-sama21

@kataraluvr @boatempollstriper @lokisgoodboy @enjisthings @thereeallink

@lumalesa-kadichizho @fyodorssimp1 @shintax-error @lara20aral @sulatsadark

@notahappystan @nebuluma @thetiredtoad0-0 @tmt-alexis @anuttellaa

@strawberrymangoes @lorastone-000 @starryhiraeth @worldussysblog

@urminebutidontwantyou @herondale-lightworm @nyra-42 @ohnoivefallen

@an-introverted-nishinoyasimp @ellie-x0xo @blkmystery

[vivalarevolution]

𝓤𝓷𝓼𝓹𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓷 𝓕𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼

Jacaerys Velaryon x Orphan Reader

Request: „Jacaerys , who grew up together with the Reader - whom Rhaenyra adopted and raised. Over time, their friendship changed, but since they never had the courage to admit their feelings, they gradually began to distance themselves from each other. When Jacaerys is promised to Baela, their relationship is no longer the same. They both blame each other for what happened and continue to minimize their interactions until their father promises her hand in marriage to someone else.‟

A/N: Request written by anon. A very interesting concept that I thoroughly enjoyed writing.

Please remember that english is not my native language, I do not use it on a daily basis, so mistakes can or will happen.

Work contains smut, so minors do not interact.

-Since she found out , she has not spoken a word to me…she hates me - the young prince lamented to his mother , Princess Rhaenyra , who watched him carefully , furrowing her eyebrows in consternation.

-You yourself said that you have hatred for her , why now your indifference to her has changed so drastically? - his mother remarked, looking for every single emotion that bubbled up inside him, wanting to understand what was hidden in the mind of her eldest son.

-I never hated her - he denied , closing his eyes and sighing heavily , frustrated -She is the one who hates me. She barely talks to me , and when she does it's as if ice falls out of her mouth instead of words.

-And why that bothers you now, my sweet boy? - Rhaenyra said softly, coming up to him and putting her hand on his shoulder - What happened that now , so suddenly, you crave her attention and acceptance?

Jacaerys was silent for a while, looking into the distance through the chamber window. Eventually he turned to his mother, his eyes filled with helplessness and anger , which slowly took control over his body.

He wanted to scream , he wanted to break everything within his reach and turn it into dust. But he did nothing and without a word , he walked away.

His steps were rapid , almost violent and hard. He walked through the corridors of Dragonstone as if the beast possessed his flesh , leaving behind a raw anger and tension that made the air heavier. And before he could chase away the fog that clouded his mind , he found himself in the chamber of his sister - Y/n Velaryon.

His dark eyes wandered involuntarily through the empty chamber , while his hands touched things that belonged to her. Stuck in an ocean of memories , he paused at the wooden desk, his fingers gliding over the material adorning the covers of old books , some closed , some open on pages , which she had read many times ,along with him , when they were still full of innocence.

He let himself remember , until his gaze rested on a piece of paper hidden between the pages. And before he could think about the subsequent consequences and implications , his hand uncover a letter , a letter regarding her...and the betrothal with Samwell Blackwood's son.

-Why are you here? - suddenly a female voice called out , a voice belonging to his younger sister , who was standing in the threshold of the chambers , looking at him , frowning her eyebrows.

-You can't marry him - he said , looking at her like an enraged animal, ignoring her question - You can't - he repeated, his body yet again being controlled by anger.

Her eyes rested on the paper , that was held by the young man in a disturbingly strong grip.

-How dare you tell me what to do? - she asked him , her voice dangerously cold -How dare you?!

-I dare to tell you what to do because I am your brother -he growled , clenching his hand into a fist , in which there was a letter.

-Brother? - she made an ironic sound - Our mother may have taken me under her care and raised me as her own, but that does not mean that you are my brother, no brother should be indifferent, cruel and cold as you are - she stated, and every word she spoke sounded like a sea of daggers that were cutting his body.

Jacaerys moved towards her, trapping her between the heavy wooden door and her own body.

-You talk about coldness and indifference? You are a hypocrite - he muttered, furrowing his thick eyebrows in annoyance - You are the one who destroyed the bond we once had. From the moment Baela was promised to me, you decided to destroy everything that was between us.

-If this is what you think - she scoffed, her eyes and voice devoid of emotions - If I make you so unhappy, you should be glad that I'm leaving for the Riverlands. You won't have to listen to me anymore, you won't have to see me.

-Do you truly think that's far enough? Do you think that there is a corner of this Earth that you could travel to far away enough to free me from this torment? - he muttered , looking into her siren eyes that seemed to draw him in.

They were both breathing harshly , words hanging heavy between them.

-What do you want me to do? - she whispered, feeling the air between them getting hotter -What do you want me to do to end your torment? - she asked , looking at him with misty eyes.

-I want you…to be mine - he replied - From the moment you let me touch your soft skin, from the moment you let me hear your voice, from the moment you let me admire your beautiful face I wanted you to be mine. Please dear sister , please let me be mine. Don't leave me, just be mine and I will be yours.

In response, the woman embraced his jaw with her warm palm and, moving closer to him, she let her full lips brush his.

-Nyke emagon va moriot issare aōhon Jacaerys (I have always been yours Jacaerys) - she confessed quietly , closing her eyes as his lips began to press against hers , desperate to feel her even closer , even more intensely.

Wet kisses spread over her lips , cheeks and jawline , leaving a trail of saliva behind. Jacaerys kissed her everywhere he could , marking her face with his mouth.

They were both needy , oh so needy. Every touch , every caress ,every whimper , every moan was more desperate than the last.

-Jaes ao yknagon sīr sȳz (Gods you smell so good) - he muttered , moving his nose along her neck , taking in the scent of the oils she sprinkled on her body and the sweat that had managed to appear on her skin through the heat she was in -Ao sylutegon sȳz tolī issa dōna mandia, sīr sȳz (You taste good too my sweet sister , so good) - he whispered in the hollow of her neck , licking and biting her pulse , while his long fingers , lazily hooked into the black fabric of her dress , letting it fall from her shoulders , revealing her firm , ample breasts.

-Oh Jacaerys - she mewled , embracing his head, entwining her fingertips between his wavy hair, pulling at its ends, drawing him closer to her -Don't stop…please don't stop touching me.

-Dōrī (Never) - he breathed out into her mouth , before he attacked her naked breasts , his tongue swirling around the hardened nipples , sucking them and tasting them with his tongue like a man starved.

Y/n moaned quietly , closing her eyes and surrendering to the feeling of a man's mouth on her skin and hands that sensually glided over her thighs , pulling the dark material up , revealing the material of her delicate undergarments.

-Jacaerys - she whimpered , watching as he sank to his knees in front of her.

-Will you let me taste you? - he asked , with rough fingers gliding along her smooth legs , stopping at her rounded hips , revealing her wet , swollen womanhood.

-Yes , yes , yes - she whispered , closing her eyes and tilting her head.

He was gentle and painfully slow, kissing and sucking her firm skin, leaving marks on her flesh as he got closer and closer to where she needed him the most.

She quickly fell into numbness. The amount of attention she was receiving seemed to overwhelm her body, but even so, she didn't want the moment to ever end, not with Jacaerys tormenting her womanhood in such an addictive way. She could compare him to a hungry animal , by the fact with what fervor he devoured her femininity, sampling every piece, not wanting to miss absolutely anything. She let the knot in her lower abdomen burst, spreading through her body the delightful and burning pleasure that was constantly coursing through her veins through the tongue of a man who refused to leave her, feasting on her even longer.

-Please let me feel you closer. I need you closer , closer than you have ever been - he groaned , embracing her frame , securing it in his strong arms and moving them so that he rested on the bed behind them, placing Y/n on his strong legs, immediately proceeding to attack her neck with slow kisses, while his hands crept to her throbbing entrance, which was waiting for him, embracing him tightly as he inserted two fingers into her, sensually moving them.

-Whatever you want , I'll give you whatever you want. But I beg you , don't make me wait my dear brother…I beg you. I need you as you need me…closer than we everwere - she whispered into his mouth , leaning her head towards his.

She moaned, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as Jacaerys removed his fingers from her tight canal , replacing them with his thick and veiny shaft that penetrated her gummy walls, making her hide her face in the hollow of his neck, moaning and panting as she felt her brother pushing inside her for the first time, kissing her cervix with his member, giving her incredible pleasure and pain that only increased her desire.

He tried to be gentle and slow, but the nails digging into his back, the melodious moans at his ear and the warmth of his sweet sister's body made him rough , almost violent , taking advantage of her trembling body , which seemed to melt into his.

-Ñuha jorrāelagon (My beloved) - Y/n whined , feeling the recently discovered pleasure grow in her lower abdomen, forming another knot ready to burst at any moment.

-Ivestragon nyke iksā ñuhon (Tell me you're mine) - the prince growled, thrusting into her harder, making her feel as if his manhood was deep in her belly.

-Iksan aōhon, iksan aōhon, mērī aōhon! (I'm yours, I'm yours, only yours!) - Y/n announced, grabbing his wavy curls, pulling them tight as an electrifying sensation went through her body, making her almost blind with pleasure.

-Arlī , ivestragon ziry arlī (Again , say it again) - he demanded, attacking her neck.

-Iksan aōhon (I am yours) - she repeated, bringing their foreheads together.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

After everything, she was finally his.

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"…ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ."

Word count: 4,900.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

DISTANCE — 10. Him.

When she left King's Landing, it was as if a black shadow had settled over the entire city, a dark suffocating mist smothering any ray of light despite the sun's bright rays. The Red Keep became cold and hollow. It transformed into a labyrinth of echoes from shared memories, now faded in time, like a persistent lament that could be heard in every corner. 

As the days passed, he sought refuge in a rigorous and emotionless routine. Breakfasts became occasions for his mother's presence, and lunches were spent with his sister, though the conversation lacked the vimness it once had. 

It was a comfort, albeit a fragmented one. Alicent was always attentive, quick to notice every visible need. However, her affection manifested in an attempt to keep him safe, shielding him from any perceived dangers, but not from the stormy sea of his own emotions. She was aware of his pain, but they never spoke openly about what truly troubled him, fearing that stirring those deep waters might overflow them. Instead, she offered practical advice and an outward calm that barely touched the surface of his emotional distress. 

Helaena, with her serene and enigmatic nature, was a peculiar source of comfort. Her visions and whispers, often cryptic, seemed to touch the chords of his deepest thoughts, as if she could see beyond the obvious. In her presence, he found fleeting moments of peace.

The loss of her usual brightness after her marriage to Aegon only accentuated the air of affliction in the castle, revealing a wound in her soul that resonated with his own. It was clear that neither of them had wanted that union, but it was she who had suffered a brutal clash between her ideals and a starkly different reality she faced.

Despite this, she often repeated to him that phrase he had heard for the first time so many years ago, accompanied by a small, wistful smile: "Our wait will be rewarded." 

He found it increasingly difficult to hold onto trust in those words. They had become a thin fragile thread, turning his faith into a dull ache and keeping him anchored to a life that felt increasingly distant and unrecognizable.

Her absence left him with an overwhelming void, a sense of loss so profound that it seemed to consume every corner of his being—worse even than the loss of his eye, as if a part of his soul had departed with her, his best friend, his love. 

He wrote to her many times, pouring into the pages a torrent of emotions he couldn't express aloud. Each one contained a silent plea for a response, a sign that she still thought of him. But her replies never came, and with each day of silence, his misery grew like a storm that besieged him without respite.

He immersed himself in a series of mental scenarios, imagining every possible reason for the lack of response. Had she heard about his indiscretions the night before she left? Or was she angry because he hadn't allowed her to visit when she needed him the most? 

He tried to convince himself that she needed space, that time and distance would heal their wounds, but as the weeks turned into moons, the lack of words became an increasingly heavy burden, leading him to question and finally accept that, perhaps, he deserved the silence.

Sometimes, when fate offered a reprieve and luck favored him, he would see her in his dreams, even if they were tumultuous. In them, she would drift away whenever he tried to reach her, her expression distraught at his sullied touch. The pain of her absence mingled with the fleeting joy of seeing her face again, creating a cut that seemed impossible to heal.

There were moments when he nearly mounted Vhagar, to escape the place where his memories kept him imprisoned, and fly to her. But fear and insecurity held him back. His heart, wounded and fragile, couldn't bear the possibility of meeting a version of her who no longer wished to see him. The thought of facing that rejection was too devastating.

His connection with Vhagar was another of the few true comforts he had left. Flying with her offered a breath from his earthly troubles, a sense of freedom and power that he found nowhere else. However, even this source of relief was restricted. His mother feared the dragon, not just for her size and might, but for what she represented: an unbridled power and independence that she could not control. With maternal concern deeply rooted in her, she limited his opportunities to fly, fearing that something might go wrong.

He and his siblings were now only permitted to fly during royal journeys, which had drastically decreased over the years, along with the king's health. 

These limitations felt like heavy chains pressing down on him more and more. His desire to fly, to feel the wind on his face and Vhagar's roar beneath him, was an essential part of his being—a way to feel free and leave his worries behind if only for a brief moment. Every time it was denied to him, the frustration and resentment grew, adding to the tangled web of conflictions that tormented him.

He threw himself into his studies with an almost obsessive intensity, as if each text and lesson could offer a distraction. This rigorous pursuit of knowledge was more than just a means to an end; it was a way to drown out the loneliness that gnawed at his insides.  Instead of confronting his pain, he buried it under a façade of determination, finding in discipline another means of desertion.

Physical training became another outlet. Every sword strike, every grueling exercise, was a cathartic release, a way to channel his frustration and sadness into something tangible. He often pushed beyond the limits of prudence, driving his body to exhaustion. 

The relentless ache became an inescapable companion, following him even in his busiest moments. Despite his efforts to keep his mind focused on other tasks, the image of her smile and the echo of her laughter lingered like ghosts that refused to be exorcized. 

He found himself wondering, with a knot tightening in his chest, if she had forgotten him, if she had found a new life on the island and no longer thought of him. This uncertainty consumed him inside, like a flame that never went out.

The nights were especially cruel, filled with restless tossing and turning as his mind replayed memories and imagined scenarios. The fear of having lost her forever and the guilt for not having done more intertwined, creating an internal struggle that left him exhausted and unable to find sleep. 

As the months stretched into years, he adapted to an existence where her absence was a constant. Yet, he never stopped missing her, nor did he stop yearning for the joy her presence had once brought into his life. It was a quiet, persistent longing that he learned to live with.

His kind sister continued to bring him fresh roses every week, a simple yet constant gesture that tried to fill some of the emptiness. Sometimes, in his frustration and pain, he rejected them, leaving them to wither untouched. Other times, in a fit of desperation, he would throw them away, as if by doing so he could uproot the feelings that consumed him. But there were moments when, with an almost reverent stillness, he would lean over them, breathing in their fragrance and letting the soft petals brush against his skin, searching for a trace of the connection they once shared.

On one particularly lonely night, he dusted off the gift she had given him, a tangible symbol of their bond. He wore it with pride, like a talisman against the encroaching sadness. Next to the cherished case, on his nightstand, he kept a piece of the sapphire. Each time he looked at it, he imagined her, and clinged to the memory of her with all the strength he could muster. It was a small comfort, a glimmer of the love and friendship that had once been his.

He was sitting at the table, engrossed in conversation with his mother. It was a quiet breakfast, one of those rare moments of peace they could enjoy together lately, as she had been increasingly occupied with court matters. 

She was giving him news about Daeron and the impending arrival of some nobles for the festivities in his father's honor. Everything seemed routine, just a simple update on the day's affairs. 

But then, almost as if it were of no consequence, she mentioned: "A raven has arrived from Dragonstone." Her tone was casual, almost offhand, as if she were talking about the weather or some other minor detail. However, the words fell like lead. "Rhaenyra and her family shall be joining us."

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. He stopped eating, his fork halted midway to his mouth, and he sat motionless. His mind went blank, struggling to process what he had just heard. She, the girl who had filled his thoughts and dreams for all those years, would be returning.

Alicent, keenly aware of her son's reaction, watched his face carefully. Despite her attempts to maintain an air of indifference, her eyes showed a flicker of concern. She knew the significance of the announcement for him, and though she tried to downplay it, she couldn't ignore the palpable tension that hung in the air.

He finally set the fork down, his mind swirling. He tried to maintain his composure, but the lump in his throat and the quickening of his beatings were hard to hide. "When, precisely?" he asked, his voice taut with barely suppressed anxiety.

"A few days before it begins, I suppose" she replied, not taking her eyes off him. "Nothing to be concerned about." But they both knew that was far from the truth. The news was anything but trivial. Her arrival was not just another court event; it was an emotional earthquake threatening to shatter the fragile calm he had painstakingly built over the years.

As the days crept closer to the celebrations, the nights grew longer and more sleepless. He found himself going over every possible encounter, every word he wanted to say to her. Anxiety gripped him, a gnawing fear that she had changed, that the woman he had loved and lost might no longer exist in the form he remembered. The thought that perhaps nothing remained of what they once shared was a weight he couldn't bear, leaving him on edge.

The days passed wrapped in a fog of anticipation. The news loomed over him inevitably and followed him wherever he went. The arrival of servants from Dragonstone only intensified this sense of imminence. 

Among these newcomers was Lyra, the lady-in-waiting who, years ago, had wished him a happy birthday with genuine warmth. Now, however, her gaze was tinged with disapproval, her brows furrowed, and her expression hardened. He felt each of these gestures like a small sign of what was to come, amplifying his own discomfort.

He had set aside the books, as they no longer worked; the words blurred in his mind, and he was unable to concentrate. Instead, he spent those hours wielding the sword, until the skin of his palms became rough and calloused. 

One day, waiting for his sister for lunch, he anxiously eyed the usual vase of roses, which already appeared wilted. Helaena arrived with a smile he hadn't seen in a long time, it was bright, contrasting with the gravity of his own thoughts; however, she did not bring new roses as she usually did. 

She noticed his unease and, in a casual tone, remarked, "you shan’t need them for some time, I believe." 

During lunch, she spoke with overflowing energy, filling the silence of the room. He, though less communicative, felt relieved by her presence and liveliness. 

As they finished, he accompanied her to the door. She bid him farewell with contagious cheerfulness and went to her room, leaving him deep in thought. He lingered in the hallway, contemplating the change in her demeanor, wondering what she had meant.

Just then a roar from Vhagar echoed through the air, strong and clear. It was soon followed by another. The sound, different from usual, carried a tone of joy, almost of celebration. It caught his attention, pulling him from his reverie. 

Nervous and conflicted, he closed the door and sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands. He didn't feel ready for what was coming; the feeling of losing control overwhelmed him, it was a sensation he despised more than any other.

After some period of introspection and as the commotion on the floor of the chambers died down, he decided to head to the yard. There, more crowded than usual, he found the usual scene: guards and nobles training fervently. Criston Cole waiting for him, stood ready, morningstar in hand.

"Are you ready, my prince?" Criston asked, his voice laced with challenge and a slight smile playing on his lips.

He nodded, taking a wooden shield and a sword from the armory table. They both faced each other, taking their positions. With every muscle tense and alert, he began to move his body, eager to release the pent-up nerves consuming him.

Criston was the first to attack, his movements swift and precise. He, instead, chose to maintain a defensive stance, blocking and dodging. He heard each clash, the impact of metal against wood and the crunch of the ground beneath their feet. 

As the fight progressed, Cole increased his aggression, launching more powerful attacks. At one point, he managed to hit his shield, splintering and breaking the wood. He threw the remnants aside, adjusting his grip on the sword. Even without a defense, he kept his composure, with more calculated movements. 

They moved in circles, gauging each other's reactions. It was then that he spotted his nephews among the spectators. The sight of him, whom he had not seen since the attack that cost him an eye, ignited a flare of anger within him. He bitterly remembered the injustice of that day, how Lucerys had emerged unscathed while he bore the scar, a permanent reminder.

Criston, sensing the shift in his energy, redoubled his efforts, but he, driven by a surge of emotion, held his ground. With precision, he found an opening in Cole's defense. With a quick and decisive maneuver, he ended the fight with the sword pressed against his opponent’s neck, securing a clear victory. The yard erupted in applause and murmurs.

Criston, breathing heavily, looked at him with a mix of respect and pride. "Well done, my prince. You’ll be winning tourneys in no time" he said, with a playful smile.

He had little interest in such spectacles. He viewed tournaments as mere displays, insufficient to measure a warrior's true worth. 

Aemond, with heavy breathing, replied firmly with an icy tone: "I don’t give a shit about tourneys." Then, with his gaze fixed on his nephews, he addressed them "Nephews, have you come to train?" The question carried a sharp edge, a latent provocation that resonated with the unresolved hostility between them.

The young men remained silent, their expressions serious. Without waiting for a response, he turned back to the armory table and took another shield, determined to continue.

As he walked behind his mother, his gaze was fixed ahead with his siblings flanking him on either side, all heading towards the hall where breakfast would be served. 

The night before, she had been absent from supper, and while he felt a temporary relief that the encounter had been postponed, it was mixed with the sadness of not having seen her.

As he entered the room, his heart skipped a beat. His gaze instinctively sought her among the others, and when he found her, it felt as though time had stopped. He tried to walk with apparent calm, though inside, a battle was raging. 

She was watching him too, and in that brief moment their eyes met, he felt a jolt course through his body. None of the fantasies he had harbored about this moment could have prepared him for the reality. She was completely different, yet unmistakably the same, her essence unchanged. 

She was more radiant than he had ever imagined. There was an air of dignity, confidence and grace in her bearing that left him breathless. There was a dignity in her presence, a poise that was almost otherworldly, captivating him beyond mere words. Her gaze, filled with a subtle strength, seemed to pierce through his defenses, making him feel as though he were standing on the precipice of an emotional abyss. 

He quickly averted his eye, fearing that his emotions might overflow if he maintained contact any longer. He took his seat, and the ensuing silence was almost palpable, heavy with tension and unspoken feelings.

As breakfast progressed, he tried to maintain his composure, but his mind was in turmoil. Every gesture she made, every word she spoke, was a new wave crashing over him. Seeing her after so long was both a blessing and a torment. His hands clenched together on top of the table as he noticed her eyes following him, her gaze inscrutable.

She was even more enchanting than what he thought was possible. The maturity of her features only served to enhance her natural allure, making her beauty more profound. Her face, framed by the dark cascade of her curls, seemed to shine with an inner light. 

Every detail, from the way her eyes sparkled with hidden depths to the delicate curve of her lips, revealed the woman she had become. Her attire, the deep black fabric draping elegantly over her, accentuated her striking features.

Each glance at her was a painful, bittersweet reminder of the time past and lost. 

His mother’s words echoed in his mind: “Nothing to be concerned about.” Everything in him was concerned, everything in him was engaged.

The mere mention of Dragonstone seemed to light up her face; the joy in her expression and the smile he adored were unmistakable. At that moment, he knew her stay would be temporary. She had found a new home, a new life away from him, and the realization was like a dagger.

Upon learning that she had become a dragonrider, he felt a profound joy for her. He recalled the long nights they had spent talking about dragons, imagining what it would be like to fly. He wished he had been there to see her take flight for the first time.

When the king remarked, “The mount of the Good Queen Alysanne. It suits you well” and Helaena, by his side, nodded slightly, a dark fear settled in his chest. It was a gesture laden with foreboding that he was reluctant to explore.

A few hours later, he found himself having lunch with Helaena in her room. The soft afternoon light filtered through the windows, bathing the space in a warm golden glow. Despite the cozy atmosphere, he was lost in thought, his mind still dwelling on the events of that morrow and the memories they had stirred.

Helaena, ever perceptive, noticed his distraction. “Brother” she said softly, her voice filling the room with calmness. When he looked up, she was watching him with a tender expression. “Are you well?”

He hesitated, the words he had kept buried for so long finally emerging. “Will we be together?” he asked quietly, his uncertainty and longing for answers evident. He trusted that fate had its own path, but he needed to know if there was any possibility of a future for them.

She tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful as she chose her words carefully. “Some things will depend on you; others are already woven into the fabric of destiny. But I have found that after a long winter, summer is appreciated more” she replied with a wisdom that seemed to come from a deep place. His brows furrowed with a hint of concern. “But you must always keep the door open.”

He nodded, caught between optimism and resignation. He bid farewell to Helaena, each step he took feeling heavier under the weight of her words. As he opened the door, he found himself face to face with the person who had been occupying his thoughts. For a moment, he was caught off guard, stunned by the unexpected encounter.

“Niece” he greeted with a courteous gesture, inclining his head

“Uncle” she replied with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, a barrier he recognized immediately. “I was looking for Helaena.”

“Of course” he said, stepping aside to let her pass and holding the door open for her. With another polite gesture, she moved past him, her presence filling the space of the room. Helaena gave him a small knowing smile as the princess entered.

He let out a long weary sigh as he closed the door, feeling a growing sense of unease. 

That night, after a long bath, he once again found himself unable to sleep. Sitting at the edge of his window, he gazed out at the clear sky while idly spinning a sapphire between his fingers. The distant roar of Vhagar echoed, and the restless tides mirrored his own agitation.

With a long sigh and a sudden resolve, he adjusted his patch back in place, rose and walked toward the fire crackling in his room. Lighting a candle, he moved quietly towards the back door, leaving the sapphire behind. 

It had been years since he last opened it; since that night, he had avoided the path, as if keeping it shut could keep that memory at bay. Now, driven by an unknown force, he opened it swiftly and stepped into the hallway.

A light from the other end caught his attention. It was her, holding a candle, walking toward him with a serious and determined face. Upon seeing him, her eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. They both stopped in their tracks, staring at each other. Words crowded in his throat, unable to be spoken.

“I wished to speak with you” she said softly, breaking the silence gently. He nodded, still silent, fearful that his voice would betray him. “Shall we go to your chambers?” she suggested, her tone firm but laden with silent expectation.

He nodded again, feeling foolish for having been paralyzed. He gestured towards the way, even though she knew it by memory. Stepping aside to let her pass, his heart pounded with a frantic, uncontrolled rhythm. She pushed open the door that had remained ajar and entered with the same familiarity of years past.

He closed the door behind them and approached cautiously. She moved to the window, where the moonlight bathed her in a silvery glow. He noticed then how she was dressed, wearing a robe over her nightgown and her curls disheveled, contrasting with the elegance of the breakfast, yet to him, she looked utterly divine.

She faced him. A pang of sorrow struck him at her expression. “Why?” she asked, showing a vulnerability that made him feel even more guilty.

“Why what?” he replied, dreading what was to come.

“Why did you never come to see me?” The question felt like a dagger, striking with precision. He looked at her, feeling a knot in his stomach.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words escaped him. Finally, he found his voice, though weak. “I did not know if you wished for my presence” he murmured, his words sounding hollow even to himself.

She looked at him as if unable to believe what she was hearing. “Is this some jest? I asked you so many times” she said, her tone incredulous. He furrowed his brow. “Did my letters mean so little to you that you did not even take the time to read them?” she added, her bitterness palpable.

He felt as though the world was swaying beneath him. “What letters?” he asked, trying to process everything, his voice softer, trying not to alarm her further.

“The letters!” she said, her words laced with indignation and sadness. “The ones I sent you” she continued. “I thought we had something special. Did I imagine it?” Her tone trembled with emotion. “I waited for so long, I wrote to you so many times, like a fool.” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands. “I hoped… I hoped for a response, a visit, something to let me know you hadn’t forgotten me.”

He took a step forward quickly, his heart pounding against his chest, feeling an urgency he could not ignore. “You wrote me?” he asked, incredulous.

She lowered her hands, her eyes burning with impotent fury. “Do not mock me” she said, turning away, looking out the window again.

He followed her, overwhelmed by a newly discovered helplessness and a fluttering hope of reconciliation. “I wrote to you as well, hundreds of times” he tried to meet her gaze, seeking some glimmer of understanding. “I swear this to you, by all the gods” he pleaded.

“I never received a single letter from you” she replied, finally looking at him with her beautiful eyes shining under the moonlight, her anger softening momentarily with disbelief.

"Nor did I. Not one. Had I received any, I would have come to you at once. You must believe me," he said, “I thought you did not want to hear from me” he whispered desperately, his deepest fears laid bare.

“Why would I not?” she asked, still with a hint of distrust in her eyes from the revelation. Everything seemed so absurd and cruel, yet he felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

She shook her head, her steps carrying her nervously back and forth in the room, her mind working frantically to understand. “It does not make any sense” her voice was a barely audible murmur, more to herself than to him. “Why?” She continued to mutter, her voice filled with a mixture of frustration and anguish, while he merely watched her.

Suddenly, she turned to face him, her eyes searching for an answer he did not have. “Are you not upset about this?” she asked, her voice rising slightly, annoyed.

He continued to watch her, feeling a strange sense of peace amid the chaos. "I cannot find it within myself to be angry at this moment," he replied, "not when you are here before me once more." His voice was filled with a sincerity that surprised even him.

There were so many emotions at play, so many unresolved things, but at that moment, all that mattered was that they were face to face once more.

“I never stopped thinking about you, wondering why I never heard from you, missing you.” He wanted to reach out, touch her, somehow close the distance that had formed between them, but he couldn’t. “I never wanted to lose you.”

“Is that true?” she asked, almost whispering. “Did you truly never stop thinking about me?” She looked at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, and in that shared silence, he understood the magnitude of what they had lost and what they might still recover.

He took another step towards her, his expression sincere. “Never” he said firmly, hoping she could see the truth in his eyes. “Not for a single second.”

She looked at him, her expression softening, and bit her lip, struggling to hold back the flood of emotions.. But the pain and confusion were still present, like a shadow that refused to dissipate. “This is… too much” she murmured, shaking her head slightly.

He nodded, understanding the enormity of what they had just uncovered. “I understand” he said softly. “Take all the time you need.” 

She turned, intending to leave the room, and he followed, prepared to escort her to her door. But just before they could move too far, she suddenly stopped and turned back to him. In an impulsive move, she threw herself at him with force, wrapping her arms around his waist in a desperate embrace. She pressed her face against his chest, her hands clasped tightly on his back, holding him with an intensity that suggested she feared losing him forever if she let go.

He, taken aback by the gesture and despite feeling he didn’t deserve her pure affection, couldn’t help but reciprocate the embrace. He wrapped his arms around her with a tenderness he rarely showed, letting himself be carried away by the moment. He rested his face on the crown of her head, breathing deeply, the sweetest and freshest scent of roses filling his senses, enveloping him in an intoxicating warmth.

It was a silent comfort. He realized how much he had longed for this contact, this closeness, more than he had even admitted to himself.

"I'm sorry" she murmured against his chest. "I'm sorry for everything." Tears began to fall, dampening his shirt. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his body.

She lifted her head, her eyes shimmering with something more. He found himself getting lost in that gaze. “What do we do now?”

With a gentle smile, he caressed her cheek with his thumb, wiping away a tear that had escaped. "I won’t let us be separated again" he promised, his voice firm yet tender. “If you will allow me, I wish to mend what has been broken.”

She nodded, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to shrink to the small space between them, where only the two of them existed.

@helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers @callsignwidow @squidscottjeans @scarletbedlam @fics-i-love-and-recommend @oh-you-mean-me @fossface @truly-abysmal

[cozymoko]

plz make a part two of your Yandere Diabolik lovers x sister reader were yui discovers reader

THE SECRET SAKAMAKI pt. 2

Note: Of course, of course!

Btw; I had to stop this at some point before I lost all my sanity. I will update later.

Part one! synopsis: Yui finally meets the only sister of the Sakamaki family who has been hidden away by her brothers. This but part two.

Format: Scenario; 3rd person and 1st person (some)

Word Count: ???

WARNING(S): slight platonic yandere themes.

Want more Diabolik lovers? → Masterlist! ★

Please proceed below the cut.

CREAAKKK—!

An unpleasant sound tore through the air, loud and haste. “Oh, it seems they’ve returned,” [Name] sighs, slowly rising to her feet. “Come now, there’s no need to keep them waiting, is there?” Her words came off as more of a demand than an inquiry. Even so, it was not Yui’s place to refuse her.

The walk was short, but to Yui, it felt much longer. She struggled to keep up with the strong strides of the woman in front of her, as they were brisk and confident. Despite just barely looming over her (and her rococo dress), Yui had nearly slipped countless times. Oh, how embarrassing!

[Name] paid no mind to the trembling girl at her side, nor the thin layer of sweat sandwiched between their palms (thanks Yui). Her sleek pumps served as the perfect distraction for the eerie silence that fell between the two of them, and so did the audience so joyfully awaiting their arrival. Well, Yui's arrival.

A loud huff escaped the woman’s lips, for they had finally reached the end of the hallway. Excitement surged through the vampire’s veins like an unhinged drug, slowly eating away at her polite front. And with one swift motion, her palms collided with one another, their sound commanding the attention of the brothers.

“Boys, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” She smiled.

Their reactions were rather strange, to say the least.

That's if they had one.

For what felt like the first time in history the boys were silent, like mice. Various of emotions were brewing amongst them, yet very few of them made it to their faces. Once growing bored of the silence, Laito let out a low whistle before shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well this is definitely a surprise. Who would've thought the two of you would meet this soon~?”

“What is the meaning of this?” Reiji pushed Laito aside with a dismissive hand, gazing intently between the two girls before him. His lean arms tightly crossed along the front of his chest, waiting expectedly for a response.

Despite being at the mercy of the second eldest, Yui could not help but allow her mind to foolishly drift to the conversation she shared much earlier with the beautiful woman. [Name] Sakamaki, the one who'd seem to hold all the truths of this wretched place...

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Why do you continue to waste your time with them, with Shu?” Reiji had often asked me in our youth. Though we’re all related under that man, solely Reji, Shu, and I shared the same mother. Thus, we were arguably the closest.

⠀⠀⠀⠀As a child, Shu cared very little about being the heir, that much we knew. But my mother, Beatrice, wasn’t very pleased. The thought of the three of us not surpassing the others pained her greatly, and I often suffered for Shu’s defiance. I suppose Reiji took note of that.

⠀⠀⠀⠀That day, he took my hands in his own. “If you stick by me we can surpass them all,” He lamented, tucking a loose strand of hair away from my eyes. At that time, that was the most passionate I’d seen him. “We will no longer be overlooked, we can be together. Shu Won’t you join me?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀The offer was tempting, but my answer remained “No,” in the end. I knew, his motivates had very little virtue. Seeking validation at the demise of out own flesh and blood.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Reiji’s proposal was driven by resentment and envy. That I could not condone.

The clearing of Reiji's throat brought the girl back to reality. From the looks of it, his patience had been wearing incredibly thin. Poor girl, thinking everyone will help her in life. With a woman so well-spoken at her side she must've expected her to take the lead. How foolish!

Glancing to her side, Yui's eyes widened; frightened and in utter bewilderment. The woman she had met merely hours ago was watching her, also waiting for the mortal's response. She alone could get away with being silent, but Yui could not.

Angst had begun to well up in her stomach in the form of warm bile. Her lips drew into a taut line, swallowing her anxiousness as well as she could. Even so, that was not enough. Sensing its arrival, the girls was quick to place a hand over her mouth. Further and further it crawled; closer and closer it drew.

But of course, someone came to her ‘rescue’.

“I'm also curious~!” Laito chimed, that same sing-song playfulness was laced in his tone. Yet there was some malice lying deep beneath it. “You just had to go and stick your nose in other peoples’ business didn’t ya, little bitch? I warned you already; what a shame~!”

His eyes flashed a quick tint of red, narrowing ever so slightly. Laito circled the girl, who's expression mimicked that of a caged mammal. It was a laughable sight, her anguish and fear. And to some, Laito's disdain may have been far more entertaining. However, [Name] knew better than to let this go on for much longer.

In one swift motion, [Name] had swept the mortal to her side, successfully out of her brother’s grasp. In her eyes, it was just an accident waiting to happen. That look in his eyes was one she'd been well acquainted with from a young age.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Now Laito is an interesting one. He wasn’t unbearable, that I can admit. There was just a bit of clinginess and I suppose he was a bit selfish at times. Nonethenless, I loved spending my time with him, there was never a dull moment.

⠀⠀⠀⠀That was in the beginning.

⠀⠀⠀⠀As we were approaching our “teenage years”, his behavior had become rather bizarre. All my friends at the time, male or female, had begun to disappear: one by one. I remember running home and sobbing to my brothers, asking what was wrong with me. What had I done wrong? That boy is surely Cordelia’s son, for they manipulate all the same.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“It’s okay, [Name], don't cry!”  Laito had been quick to comfort me, rubbing comforting circles into my back. “I hate to see you like this but it's your fault.” He scolded me very often.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“The world is filled with ugly people who want to take you from those who love and care about you as I do. Now, come with big brother. Let's get you cleaned up, you’ve stained your new dress~!”

⠀⠀⠀⠀It was evident, my naivety at the time. My mother had regarded me as a fool for lacking better judgment for the words of others. Looking back on it, I suppose that witch was right about something. Laito had successfully filled my head with lies, leading my dependency to increase tenfold.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Hah, what a bastard. Yet I cannot bring myself to hate him despite his actions. Perhaps it's due to his upbringing? The abuse he went through in comparison to mine? Hm, what do you think Yui?

A sharp pain shot through the hip of the mortal girl, the connection of another one, pulling her from her thoughts once more. “No need to punish this one, I quite like her.” [Name] cooed, rubbing her cheek against Yui’s. “It’s been so long since I've last talked to a girl my age. Can’t you just let me enjoy this opportunity?”

Though your question came off as more of a statement, it had somehow managed to detear him. You in no way needed their approval to do as you pleased, but seeing as the sacrificial bride already knows of your existence, what's the harm in roaming around a bit?

Reiji’s face contorted in pure disgust, “Absolutely not—”

“Hah- Pancake? Why her?” The redhead threw his arms up in exasperation, he was baffled rightfully so. “Man, and here I thought Kanato would be the most annoying bastard I’d have to deal with.”

Reiji didn't look pleased in the slightest at the interruption, as hypocritical as it is. Yet he kept his lips sealed. His mood had visibly soured, and by the looks of it he's not the only one.

⠀⠀⠀⠀I swore those two would’ve killed one another if not for my interference. They absolutely loathed the idea of sharing me, let alone my time. Somehow that had not been Ayato’s biggest issue. I’m sure you’re surprised.

⠀⠀⠀⠀No matter what we did or the few events Father took us to, Ayato always had to be the best. Initially, I thought it’d be for Cordelia’s approval but I couldn’t be more incorrect. He wanted me to see him, see the success he displayed.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Regardless, of how much I congratulated him, he wanted more. His stunts became more extreme. His motives were no longer crystal clear. There were times I found him antagonizing his brothers in hopes that I would scold him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Thankfully, he managed to even out over the years. Even if it was only a little bit. Ayato is still competing with our brothers, mainly Kanato, but old habits die hard. Especially for people like Ayato.

"Sister!" He wailed, glaring at Ayato through misty, dewy eyes. "Are you going to let him speak to me like that?"

Streams of tears began to descend down his fair skin. If not for the bags beneath his eyes, one could say he looked like a doll. With his free hand he pointed accusingly at the older triplet, using his other arm to clutch the teddy bear closely to his chest.

“Fight your own damn battles for once!” Ayato scowled. “You're always running and bitching to her about the dumbest shit."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Kanato, my dear older brother Kanato.

⠀⠀⠀⠀His clinginess never ceased to amaze me. Despite Kanato being older than me by at least three years, it often felt like I was his older sister, comforting and consoling him as his pitiful mother had failed to do.

⠀⠀⠀⠀If anyone were to hog my attention the most, it'd be him. We met when I was four, and at first he didn't really like me because “Babies are loud and gross!” But he changed his mind in the future, clearly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀The way he used to scream and shout when I spent time with the others was hilarious. Sometimes, I even detour bad for laughing at him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Uu...You love Ayato more, don't you?” He sobbed, gripping the hem of my frilled, violet dress. “Thats why you're leaving, you're going to play with him!”

“Shut the hell up, all of you!"

⠀⠀⠀⠀I cannot count the times I spent feeding his clinginess, enabling him. I never truly became close with Ayato until a year later because of it. It's a shame, truly. And honestly, he's no better now as I'm sure you already know.

Here we go again. [Name] sighed internally.

There, hiding in the shadows, stood Subaru Sakamaki. His arms were crossed securely along his chest, whilst his cherry red hues narrowed in discontent. His lips were pulled into a taut line, just barely exposing his fangs.

“You're the loudest one!” Kanato cried out, sending a glare of his own to the distant male. His nails began to dig in his skin just enough to leave little crescents in its place.

"Eh—?" Subaru pushed himself off the wall, pale fingers coiling into tight fists. “What the hell are you on about? Tch, you're a fuc—"

Admist the chaos, his frantic faze hadlanded on [Name], lingering just bit. The shock on his face was evident, as though his heart had dropped at the sight. Almost immediately, the corner of his mouth dips into a deep frown, shame slowly flooding his being.

He averted his gaze, finding his sheen coating of his boots to be rather interesting. Nonetheless, he could not dare to meet the eyes of his beloved sister, the ones burning and simmering through him like a heated torch.

This was a sight, [Name] hadn't seen from the young Sakamaki more than two times, counting. Seeing how they often visited one at a time, on their own accord, there was no true reason to do such. Yet, there went this perfect facade he tried so desperately to hold together; crumbling into thousands of pieces, collapsing at the feet of his beloved sister. The one he'd give the world to.

⠀⠀⠀⠀And Subaru, I couldn’t help but coddle him. He’s the only one younger than me, and the only child of Christa at that. I thought I could perhaps be the older sibling he needed.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Why do you have to leave?” Short, fragile arms had made a home around my waist. Despite his lack of muscle, his grip was almost bone-crushing. “Can't we just stay together?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀Times were tough, my family which had once felt whole was gradually being torn apart like an old, tattered piece of cloth. I’d spent most of my days with Subaru, he was the youngest so I thought he might need extra support. And I couldn’t help but coddle him. Unfortunately, that caused him to grow a bit too dependent on me.

“Fufu, Subaru, it's so nice of you to finally join us~!” Laito breathes out sarcastically, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.

⠀⠀⠀⠀He’d always do this when it was time for me to return to my mother, frankly, it broke my heart each time.

“No, it's really not,” Kanato frowned. “leave already.”

“That's the only thing I'll agree with him on.” Ayato cackled, hoisting himself onto the back of the vacant loveseat. “Why do you always have to be so damn loud? I'm the star of the show; Yours Truly.”

“Shut the hell up already! No one calls you that!” Subaru snarls, picking up a nearby vase. Poor thing.

“Can't you all just be mature for once?” Reiji sighs, and yet it doesn't take away from the vein in his neck practically threatening to burst.

“Heh, I should've known you wouldn't listen,” The champagne-haired man chuckled humorlessly. “Troublesome woman.”

The blonde blinked rapidly, as though surprised at the idea of her being addressed. Knowing the closeness of the two, she didn't think it would happen. Instinctively, she gripped the ends of her brown shorts, nervous and without an answer.

Shu merely chuckled, drawing his attention to the woman kneeling by his side. His youngest sister; his only sister.

“Yui,” [Name] called, reaching out to gently grab her hand. “Do you remember what I told you earlier?”

“U-um...huh?”

Yui hadn't noticed it before, despite the stories she'd listened to from the kind woman. But the two of them shared some uncanny resemblance. In face shape and hues alike. Both were gifted the same soft blue eyes, cold yet vivid in color; mimicking the tranquil waters freezing over in an unforgiving winter.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“Mother look! We all have the same eyes!” Shu shouted, shifting on the balls of his feet in sheer excitement.

⠀⠀Upon my birth, Shu had never been happier. This was before he became so cold, so it wasn't that far fetched at the time. I remember mother shushing him for being too loud around me when I was a baby. But that didn't seem to stop him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“It feels nice to look like someone for once,” He mumurs, lightly poking the plush flesh of your stomach. A soft smile overtook his lips as your giggled at his antics. “Well, besides mom, but she doesn't count!”

⠀⠀⠀⠀Our mother always said we looked like twins, hah, at least a little. Our eyes were the same, and our face shapes were too. The first and the sixth born being so alike was truly an anomaly to us all, but I suppose that's what makes it amusing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Surprisingly enough, my hair was a similar to his when I was younger too. Though it wasn't that noticeable, in my mind. Faint, platinum strands littered among the rest of my hair. Everything else, was all my own. That's all I had to my name in comparison to Shu.

“So noisy,” Shu moved to place his other earbud in, allowing his pale lashes to flutter over his cold eyes. He released the hand of his younger sister, finally giving her the ability to move once more.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“I'll protect you, forever, [Name].” Shu grins, craddling you in his small arms. “I won't let them hurt you like they tried to hurt me. We can be happy; you'll be happy. I promise.”

[Name] shrugged at his laziness. It was nothing new. Leaning over, she poked at his cheeks, digging into the softness hidden deep within them. “Stop.”

“Hah, no way!”

Yui could not help but admire the scene before her; it was warm and sweet. Bickering amongst the six was not a rare occurrence, yet something about this seemed different. (Even if Subaru threw a vase at Ayato) The air around them felt light and clear, the boy’s faces looked to be much younger and youthful. Almost as though she was peering into their past.

Sighing, [Name] raised to her feet, placing her hand upon the curve of her hip. Her cheeks were lightly puffed out, upset, after Shu had swatted her hand away. “Ahem,” She cleared her throat.

Silence.

“Now, you all know how much I hate seeing you fight.” She started, slowly approaching Yui (standing by the door). “Without me.”

“W-what?!” Yui cried out.

“I want to be involved too! It's been so long since we've all been in the same room.” [Name] smiled mischievously, running her manicured nails along Yui's slim arm. “So, let's have some fun.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀I know what you might be wondering. Why did they keep me in this room? If they love me so much then why did they act the way they did? The answer is simple really, it wasn’t their choice (entirely).

“Catch us if you can!” She shouted, making a beeline down the long, dark hallway. “C'mon Yui!”

⠀⠀⠀⠀Despite being the only one to comfort them when they were down, hug and nurture them with genuine worry - love. Ever since my father proposed the idea of a sacrificial bride, I was tucked away. He feared I would influence them far too much and they wouldn’t be able to rise to their ‘fullest potential’. 

⠀⠀⠀⠀Realistically speaking, they just had to come to terms with that.

“Yui,” [Name] says, gently clasping the mortal’s hand once more. A small smile tugged at her painted lips. “Don't think you're safe because of my arrival. You'll surely be feeling the affects later on.”

“W-what?!”

[Name] merely giggled, loud and filled with glee; ignoring the question of her mortal friend. “Run, quickly, before they catch up!” Kicking off her troublesome heels, the woman dragged her down the hall. Their hands locked tightly in one another, and their smiles sewn onto their faces.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀THE END!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀—いつも、いつまでも♡

[apricot-blossomss]

hihi!! may i please request an apollo x reader where he pleads for them to take them back after a minor argument, and apollo, in the heat of the moment and feeling petty, breaks up with reader

☛ apollo broke up with you over a stupid argument and begs you to take him back

☛ sfw, angsty, fluffy ending; tw: self deprecating thoughts; thank you for 100 followers!

He messed up. Badly.

His hand shook over the paper but he couldn't think of another verse. Or rather: there were so many swirling around in his mind, expressing regret, loathing himself, worshipping you and asking for forgiveness, that he couldn't find one to write down. With a frustrated groan, he buried his head in his hands.

"Lord Apollo?"

"Hm?" He said, begrudgingly looking up from his miserable laments and at the Muse Clio. She, as well as her sisters, had free access to the god's sacred gardens, though he would have preferred solitude right now. And he could not bear her pitiful looks, even though it was Clio's standard expression.

"I was sent by your high father," she said and came closer to the bench were the god had sprawled out all the heartbreak and breakup songs he had written in the last forty-eight hours.

"Sit," he said without putting away his pen. Instead, he started writing, but even though his words would have brought the highest poets to shame over the mediocrity of their verses, it still didn't feel enough for you. If he wanted to get you back, he'd have to do it properly, with the most masterful piece he had ever written.

Clio sat down on the small part of the bench that wasn't covered in music and lyric sheets, letting her eyes scan over them. Jeez. Whoever you were, you had to have done quite the number on the god. When she looked at him, he was feverishly scribbling on a fresh paper, looking like a madman. "Your father," she began carefully. "urges you to leave these gardens to tend to your godly duties."

"Tell him to shove his urges up his ass," Apollo grumbled and earned a skeptical look. "Come on. I'm sure you'll find a nice way of expressing the same sentiment."

"I have another message, from your sister," she added and he grimaced, a bitter feeling at the back of his throat. "Tell her I won't have her mockery." The muse fell silent, sad, worried eyes tracing his features.

"You can leave now," the god said in a monotone voice and without another word, Clio was gone. As so often in the last fort-eight hours, Apollo felt the tears sting in his eyes once more and leaned back to drape an arm over his face. But the darkness only brought the image of the fight back.

How could he have been so stupid, so hurtful and petty? It was an argument about a fucking a/c unit. It hadn't even been an argument initially. Just harmless banter, until he had overstepped and said something hurtful. And when you snapped back, he had felt hurt and lashed out. Stupid. He was so stupid. The whole thing started spiraling out of control until he had shouted back the fateful words.

"If you can't take a joke, maybe we're not right for each other"

The guilt ate him up from the inside. The image of your widened, teary eyes was burned into his brain, he saw it every time he closed his eyes, and every time he did, his heart squeezed so painfully that he wished someone would take mercy on him and shoot him with his own arrow. And no ink in the world would draw the pain out. Only one thing could- you.

You scrubbed aggressively at your kitchen sink, even though it really was not to blame for your current situation. "Stupid," you muttered to yourself as you forcefully scoured at a stain at the side of the sink. But it wouldn't wash away a bit. "Fucking thing," you muttered, scrubbing even harder. Finally, you gave up and took a deep breath through your nose. "Fucking shit"

Your doorbell rang and you ignored it. Like the last two days, you would self isolate and obsessively clean your house- that was how you coped with having the most stupid, petty idiot of a god as a boyfriend- now ex-boyfriend. The thought stung. And even more so, because as much as you would like to pretend it was, this wasn't all on him. The bell rung again, and you sighed, throwing your towel in the sink and opening the door with a little more vigor the necessary.

"Can I help y-" The words died on your tongue. Cool, silver eyes had you forgetting how to articulate a single word as the woman in front of you looked you up and down. She was gorgeous, in a wild way. Dark hair braided and of truly majestic posture, in a flowing dress and a bow over her shoulder. You felt your whole being shiver at the sheer might of her presence- something you only felt with Apollo, only that it felt much warmer and exciting with him. Your mouth knew before your brain registered her appearance. "Lady Artemis"

"You," she said, and the tone of her voice had you stiffen up, as if she had shouted. Her scrutinizing stare had you sweat and you dug your fingers into the palms of your hands nervously. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Th-thank you," you stammered, too panicked to think of anything else to say. Was she here to take revenge on you? Apollo would never allow that, that you were sure of. But who knew whether they cooperated?

"Your appearance doesn't live up to your reputation," she said coldly, but it didn't sound like an insult. The goddess studied your expression and sighed, a hint of exhaustion in her tone. "It must be something else about you then. Something that warrants this level of drama."

"I was hardly the one who started it," you bit back and regretted the words the second they left your mouth. Biting down on your tongue, you winced at your stupidity. "Please forgive me, that was out of line." Great. Insulting her brother in front of Artemis was surely the best move.

"He thinks the same." You looked up at her and were surprised to find her smiling a very slim smile. "You should see him, he's an absolute mess, drowning in his guilt."

"Oh," you said, without a hint of worry or remorse. Instead, you felt a sense of relief. He cared. He felt guilty. He was drowning in his misery. Artemis lifted her brow at your neutral expression and you shrugged. "It's nice to be appreciated."

"You are appreciated, alright," the goddess said under her breath as she remembered the tortured sappy breakup songs her brother had been bothering everyone with. Sickeningly enough, he was really good at those, so everyone was getting depressed. Even though Artemis tended to spend her time away from Olympus, she herself could feel the effects of this misery. And she was sure many gods would breathe a sigh of relief once the whole mess was settled.

"Look," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose as if she was having a migraine, which of course wasn't possible for gods. "Can you just take him back, mortal? He's awfully broken up and making everyone miserable."

"I'm not asking him to take me back," you said stubbornly. You may have had your part in the argument, but he was the one who ended things and your pride didn't allow for you to crawl back to him. "If he wants me back, he can tell me himself, I'm very sorry."

There was a short but noticeable silence. Then: "I understand." The goddess smiled. You were starting to live up to her expectations. "But he's just as stubborn as you and he won't get his ass down here until he has crafted 'the perfect song' to ask for your forgiveness." The thought did make your insides flutter. "How about a deal? I'll take you to my temple and make him fix this on the spot."

Not daring to refuse the proposal, you nodded and her hand got a hold of your upper arm. "Close your eyes" Instinctively, you followed her instructions. Even though you felt nothing, not even a hush of air, when you opened your eyes, you were in the most magnificent hall you had ever seen. Marble all around, with a high, open ceiling and trees invading it through the windows. A mix of ancient monument and forest.

When you turned around to ask the goddess whether this was Olympus, she was gone. You were alone, as small as an ant between the towering walls. They were so monumental it was almost claustrophobic- or rather, the opposite. Just as terrifying. The space made you feel tiny and insignificant and with those feelings came an unexpected dread:

What if he didn't want you back?

Why would he? He was a god, he could have his pick of hundreds of millions of people, people that were prettier than you, smarter than you, more exciting than you. It was like the walls were threatening to crumble, your breathing picked up and you tried to breathe through your mouth slowly, but not getting enough air only accelerated your sudden panic. What if he came in here and told you to go, that he didn't need you, didn't want you? That you couldn't even take a joke and you shouldn't be with one another? The scrutinizing look in her eyes as Artemis had looked you up and down was burned into your memory. Your appearance doesn't live up to your reputation.

He wrote you songs, you tried to remind yourself. He was being petty, that why he broke things off. Artemis says he regrets it, she said he wants you back. But you couldn't believe it- not really, no matter how often you tried to tell it to yourself. He wants you. But why would he? He loves you. Why you? There was no clock in the temple, of course, but it had been some time already . Would he even show up?

The tall stone doors were opened with such force they met the walls in a loud bang. Flinching hard, you shot around and saw him standing there, in between the doors that were creaking in protest of being handled with such force. You met his eyes and in that moment you knew you had already forgiven him. If a gods eyes could be bloodshot, his were. His usually effortlessly perfect hair was disheveled and his hands covered in ink. They hung powerlessly at his sides, as if they didn't know what else but the door to use their strength on. He looked like shit, and you felt love swell in your chest.

But you couldn't let him know. Pressing your hands to your hips, you lifted your chin. "I knew you'd come back" Liar "I just wouldn't have thought it would be this quickly," you said, sounding much more self assured than you had ever been in your life, much less now.

The god walked towards you, as if he were dream walking, raising a hand like he was about to caress your cheeks but slumped down in front of you instead, kneeling before you on the marble floor. "I am a fool."

"Yes," you said, nodding and gulping down the burning in the corners of your eyes. Because you couldn't stand the self loathing in his features, you studied a blooming cherry tree that was waving through one of the tall windows. When you felt hands on your hips, your own hands shot down but when they met his, your fingers curled around his and he let out a long breath.

"I am such a stupid, stupid moron," he emphasized and you finally managed to look down at him. The genuine regret in his eyes took your breath right out of your lungs. "Please... my love..." His hands closed around your smaller ones and he brought them to his face to put his head in his hands. You let him. "Please, forgive me. I was so stupid, please, take me back. Love?"

"Hm?"

"I'm so so sorry"

Not trusting your voice, you started caressing his cheeks and he sighed into your ministrations, kissing the palm of your hand softly. Teary eyes shone up at you and you looked back. Just when you opened your mouth to formulate an answer, he tightened his hold on you, while simultaneously reaching behind himself to grab a stack of scribbled-on paper out of nowhere and pushing it into your hands. "I tried to make the perfect one for you, but I failed. I'm sorry, my love."

As you read through the words, your heart started beating loudly in your chest. In disbelief, you read them through as the god still clung to your body. "Are these ... about me?" you whispered as your eyes skimmed over words of adoration and love, of appreciation and utter devotion, of little things you did that you had never noticed, or you had thought mundane- but he hadn't.

"Yes," he breathed. He didn't make a sound when he rose to his feet, though still hunched over in shame. His warm hands massaged your waist as they were carefully scanning your expression for your reaction. "Do you like them?" You had to like them, or he would lock himself in tarterus and throw away the key.

"I-" you stammered, voice hoarse. All your doubts, all your anxiety of being good enough... as you read through the words, they slowly erased them bit by bit. Your fingers were shaking so hard the paper trembled in your hands and you could feel the tears well up in your eyes. "Love?" He sounded worried, and you had to make yourself look up from the beautiful words to smile at him. "Yes, I like them. They're beautiful."

Thank god. "I'll make it all up to you, I swear," he said gravely, taking your face into his hands. "I will compose and sing operas to your magnificence, I will grant you every wish, I will never make you cry again, I promise"

"You just did," you laughed through your tears and pressed the stack of paper to your chest. "Can I uh- can I keep them?"

"Of course, silly. They are yours," he hummed, looking into your eyes with a look in his eyes you couldn't quite place. Maybe longing. Desperation. "Please, my love, take me back and I shall never make you suffer again."

"Alright," you said, smiling up at him and wiping away the saltine wetness on your cheeks. "And- I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that, you didn't mean it like that and I was just being stupid and overthinking and- I'm sorry."

Vehemently, Apollo shook his head and shushed down your apologies. "No no no, love, this was on me, just on me. I hurt you, I made you cry and I ... I can't get that out of my head." His voice sounded strained.

"Apollo?" Now, it was his eyes threatening to overflow with tears. "Why did you come back?" He looked at you as if you had just said the most bewildering thing ever. "I mean... you could have just left me. But you didn't." A small, bitter laugh escaped you. "I lied, you know? I didn't know if you would come back, I thought you might just not care that much."

"How could you ever think that?" he asked, as if he really couldn't believe it, and you laughed. "Because I hate myself?" It was meant to be a joke, but your puffy eyes and sniffs didn't do a lot of convincing on that end, you feared. The pained look in his eyes almost made you cry again, not even for your sake, but for his, because how could someone look this tortured and not break apart.

"You are the most amazing woman- the most amazing person- I have ever had the privilege of loving," he confesses. "I love you."

The genuinity in his words took your breath away, and you didn't get a chance to get it back because his lips crashed onto yours in a heated, desperate attempt to convince you of his words. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you kissed him back feverishly as relief flooded your whole body and you started relaxing in his arms. He could feel you slumping against him and chuckled into your heated kiss, angling your head just right for him to deepen the kiss, holding you securely and dipping you down. You giggled, fully entrusting him with yourself, and he smiled through the kiss.

"You are divine," he groaned, placing kiss after kiss on your swollen lips and you laughed lightly before the way of it was swallowed by his loving ministrations. "Says the literal god."

"APOLLO!"

Flinching, you broke away from the kiss just enough to see a very pissed off Artemis standing in the doors of her temple and glaring at her brother who frowned right back. "You're interrupting, sister."

"You are in my temple! How dare you do this in my temple you little shit?" When she whipped her head around to you, you buried your fingers in Apollo's tunic, already seeing your life flashing before your eyes, but against all expectations, she gave you a genuine smile. "If you don't want to take him back, I might still have a spot for you under my followers, you could join my huntresses, dear."

"That is a very gracious offer, but I fear I have to decline it, I'm sorry," you apologized and she tutted, though she didn't seem resentful.

"Ha!" Apollo grinned and she smacked him. He let her, grinning boyishly and hositing you up into his arms. You didn't protest, you were too dazzled by his unbelievably bright smile that had your heart explode into a thousand bubbles that popped all over your stomach, tingling. "Love, how do you feel about getting out of here?"

Waving at Artemis, you couldn't help your own smile. "Bye! And thank you, my lady!" She gave you a small smile and exchanged a look with Apollo that was more firm. Smiling at her, he glanced down at you and tightened his hold. "I know."

"Go!" his sister told him, shoving his shoulder, and in the flash of a second, you were surrounded by trees and flowers and sweet smells. A garden. Unmistakably divine, because no mortal place could be of such beauty.

Apollo set you down on a golden bench and sat down himself, pulling you into his warm arms. A long sigh left your mouth as you smiled at him, at his beauty, his smile, his shiny eyes. It felt so intimate, the way he was smiling back and pressed a kiss to your temple, huffing out a warm breath against your skin that was slowly warmed up by the sun. "Where are we?" you finally asked.

"My gardens," he answered, caressing your face with trails of sweet kisses. "Do you like them?" You nodded, admiring the colors as he was worshipping your face with his lips.

"Do you want to have them?"

"What?" you laughed, turning to look at him and fully convinced that he must be making a joke. But the expression on his face was undoubtedly honest. "N-no thanks," you mumbled and rested your hand on his shoulder. Your fingers interlaced with his.

"Do you know what Artemis told me before she happened to mention you were waiting for me at her temple?" Shaking your head, you started playing with his fingers when his captured your ring finger and his lips ghosted over your ear in a way that had you shiver in spite of the warmth of his sunny gardens. "She told me if I wanted you back forever, and if I loved you as much as I said, I should just put a ring on it."

"What?" you laughed instinctively, because you had built a wall around the topic for the both of you. What you had with Apollo wasn't permanent- it couldn't be, because you weren't permanent. What was he even talking about?

"I mean it," he said, so earnestly that the laughter died on your tongue. He brought your hand up to his lips and pressed his lips to your knuckles, your ring finger. "I would drag myself through eternal suffering for a life you. If you preferred a mortal life, I'd leave Olympus for you. I would kill anyone who hurt you, anyone ever made you feel small. I'd do everything for you, and I don't want to regret anything more."

Breathlessly, you searched his features for deception. "Apollo... you had thousands of lovers before me. Why me?"

He looked thoughtful and absentmindedly drew circles on your thigh. "You're right. I have loved plenty, and I have loved deeply every time. But even though it was genuine, it was never long, and that always worked for me, in some way." You felt the caress of his adoring eyes on you as you stared at your hands, trying to process his words. "It wouldn't work with you, never. And I would never be okay with it. I want you forever- or at least for as long as possible, as long as you want to."

There was a downside to dating Apollo, and it was the fact that your stammered confession and your attempts at wooing him with loving words crippled pathetically next to his flawless love poetry, his sure words and articulation. You really didn't know how to possibly give him an answer, other than leaning up and kissing him, as gently as the summer breeze, and thinking: if you could have this forever, what more could you need?

When you broke the sweet little kiss, you couldn't suppress a giggle and he raised an eyebrow at you. "It's just..." you grimaced. "I can't believe we broke up over an a/c unit."

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

[ghoulsbounty]

If you’re still taking requests I would love Baby Billy with the reader giving him a blowjob in a car if you can. You can do the plot and all that, thank you! I might request more if you’re taking them at the moment.

Heaven Itself

Uncle Baby Billy Freeman x Wife!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+), blowjob, oral (m receiving), cum eating (kinda), fingering, roadhead, spitkink-ish, rough oral sex, messy, face fucking, choking, gagging, dirty talk, reader is a good girl, porn with a little plot.

Word Count: 2.9K

A/N: OH BOY I love writing dirty things with this weird man. I realise I took 'giving him a blowjob in a car' and completely ran with it but I hope you enjoy it regardless, Anon. I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

It unfolded just as you had expected. You wished that Baby Billy would stop with the schemes, cease seeking approval from everyone else, especially his late sister's family. Yet, the allure of the coveted position of pastor at the new Locust Grove location, and the payday that would come with it, had drawn him back into their fold. You remained supportive, though with a quiet pessimism that always accompanied your husband's involvement with the Gemstones. It wasn't that you didn't like them, but they seemed to bring out the worst in him, and it was a side you rarely saw when it was just the two of you back home at Freeman's Gap.

Of course, it had happened again. Another argument with his brother-in-law, and Baby Billy had stormed out of the church, relinquishing the title of pastor and dragging you along with him to the car. It was a scene that played out at least once a month, and so when you caught Eli's exhausted eye roll as you were pulled through the doors, you gave him a silent nod. It was a signal that conveyed your resolve to sort everything out—not for Eli, of course, but for the sake of your husband's reputation and perhaps your own sanity.

Baby Billy gripped the wheel with white-knuckled intensity as you hurtled down the narrow, curving roads. The tires skidded on the tarmac with every tight turn, your stomach rising and falling with each dip as he accelerated so forcefully that you were pressed back into your seat. His eyes were wild, fixed in a furious glare at the road ahead, completely ignoring your pleas to slow down as your hand tightened around his thigh.

The rush of adrenaline coursed through your veins, mingling with a hint of fear as you clung to him, your heart pounding in your chest. Despite your attempts to calm him, he seemed consumed by a reckless determination, his foot heavy on the pedal as he pushed the car to its limits.

With each passing moment, the world outside became a blur, the only constants the roar of the engine beneath you and his frustrated rant about the head of the Gemstones. His words came out in a torrent of anger, punctuated by the car's aggressive growl as it hurtled forward.

"Fuck Eli Gemstone," he declared vehemently. "He thinks he's so high and mighty, but he'd be nothing without Aimee-Leigh. And who made her? That's right, Baby Billy Freeman, that's who. He'd be nothing without the both of us."

His words hung heavy in the air, charged with anger. The car sped on, each mile marker blurring past as he continued to vent his frustrations. His grip on the wheel remained tight as he poured out years of pent-up resentment.

You had heard it all before. You'd listened to him lament the loss of his sister and his career, watched him pine over what he had once had, and seen him almost scream in frustration over the fact that he had to keep going back to his brother-in-law for handouts.

The weight of his struggles was heavy on your shoulders, a burden you bore alongside him with each passing day. You had witnessed the toll it took on him, the way it gnawed at his pride and eroded his sense of self-worth. Yet, despite it all, he persevered, driven by a determination to reclaim what he had lost and prove himself worthy of the respect he felt he deserved.

After each failed business venture, it always took so long to rebuild Baby Billy, to piece him back together again. You had been through this cycle before, weathering the storms of disappointment and setbacks together. Each time, you had stood by his side, offering unwavering support and encouragement as he picked up the pieces of his shattered dreams. And as the darkened landscape passed you in a blur, you mentally prepared yourself for the arduous task ahead, knowing that it would begin with getting him out of his own head.

Your hand on his thigh slid higher, your fingers teasingly dancing over his crotch as you swiftly worked on the belt and zipper of his jeans. His rant lost momentum, his gaze locking onto you with a wondrous glint before watching your hand disappear into his pants.

"Keep those eyes on the road, Baby," you instructed, a mischievous smirk playing on your lips as you boldly grabbed his cock through his boxers. He emitted a low groan, desire igniting in his eyes, yet he dutifully complied with your command, refocusing his attention on the road ahead.

"Ol' Baby Billy getting some roadhead, now? Alright," he chuckled, a playful twinkle in his eyes as he adjusted himself in his seat and spread his legs wider, eagerly anticipating your next move.

Baby Billy seethed through his teeth as you liberated his cock from the confines of his tight jeans, already half-hard and throbbing in your palm. You felt the weight of him as he sat thick and heavy in your hand, hummed affectionately when he pulsed against your touch.

With practiced skill, you began to stroke him gently, feeling him grow harder, larger, in your grip. Your thumb traced teasing circles over his weeping slit, eliciting a low, guttural moan from him as he instinctively bucked into your hand, craving more of your touch.

You chuckled, unclipped your seatbelt and manoeuvred in your seat so that your legs were folded beneath you, leaning over the arm rest that sat between you both. His hand closest to you left the wheel, hung over you almost hesitantly before resting on your back with a soothing stroke. 

The air around you crackled with tension, the sound of his ragged breaths mingling with the steady hum of the engine as he slowed the car to an normal-pace. You smiled to yourself, inwardly praised yourself for knowing how this man ticks. You always managed to bring him back from the ledge that he put himself on. 

As you took one tentative lick at his slit, Baby Billy gasped, his grip tightening on the fabric of your dress. You squeezed the base of his cock, flicking your tongue over him again and lapping at the salty tang that you craved.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped, his hips instinctively rutting upwards for more as you pulled away with a teasing smile. Undeterred, you continued to stroke him leisurely, lifting your head up to kiss him momentarily on the cheek before dipping back down. With deliberate slowness, you spat a thick slew of saliva onto his aching, red tip before spreading it over him with your tongue, eliciting a low groan of pleasure from him.

"Well, if that ain't the best gotdamn thing I've ever felt," he sighed with satisfaction, his hand releasing its grip on your dress to tangle into your hair. "Hallelujah!"

As you hummed appreciatively around his cock, he guided your head down further, his hand urging you to take him in completely. The sensation of your throat constricting around him was intoxicating to him, a release of pent-up frustrations manifested in the rhythmic thrusts of his hips. Each choked gasp and whimper that escaped your lips fuelled his desire, a primal need to dominate and possess.

This dynamic between you had evolved over time, growing increasingly raw and intense with each passing year. You had embraced your role as the devoted wife, willing to fulfil his desires and provide him with the release he sought, no matter how unconventional or demanding they may be. And for Baby Billy, this unwavering loyalty was a source of comfort, a reassurance that despite the challenges and setbacks he faced, you would always be there for him, ready to support and submit to his needs.

You concentrated on keeping your jaw how you knew he liked it—slack and drool dripping down his shaft as he began to bob your head up and down with his grip in your hair. He set a rhythm that had you gasping for breath. The slickness between your thighs grew with each thrust, the taste of him—a salty bitterness—overwhelming your senses as he bullied his way deep into the back of your throat.

"Fuck, you look so good like this," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. "Choking on my cock, drool everywhere... you love it, don't you?" His hips thrust harder, his grip in your hair tightening as he took his pleasure from your willing mouth.

You squeezed your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure building between them. His words of praise and filthy words always had you burning for his touch, your desire growing with each moment as he continued to use your mouth as a cocksleeve. Yet, despite the overwhelming urge to seek your own pleasure, your focus remained solely on his.

His grip on the back of your head tightened as he began to thrust up to meet the descent of your mouth, his movements growing more urgent with each passing moment. You felt a sharp intake of breath escape him as he pushed down roughly, hitting the back of your throat yet again but holding you there, your breath cut short as his cock filled your mouth entirely and you retched around him. His prideful chuckle cut through the air, and you clenched your eyes shut, thinking of how bruised you were going to be after this but revelling in it none the less as you willed your throat to relax it's spasms. 

Finally, he released you, bringing you up for a gasp of air as your fat tears mixed with the thick saliva coating your chin. You took in deep, ragged breaths, your chest heaving with exertion as you blinked away the tears. Your body trembled from the intensity he loved to put you through, every nerve ending alight with sensation.

He looked down at you with a mixture of pride and satisfaction, his thumb brushing away a tear from your cheek. "That's my girl," he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection. "Always so good for me."

You shivered at his words, the ache between your thighs was almost unbearable, your arousal heightened by his praise and the soft touch amidst the rough handling.

"Such a good girl," he repeated, his hand moving to cup your cheek. His fingers traced your lips before slipping inside your mouth. "Get them good and wet, now."

You eagerly obeyed, swirling your tongue around his fingers as he watched you intently, his gaze dark with desire and satisfaction. Pulling his fingers from your mouth, he suddenly veered off the road, coming to a hard stop on the dirt path. You jolted back against your seat, Baby Billy pulling you back over the armrest with your face in his lap and your ass in the air, on display to anyone who would drive past you on the dark back road. The hand that was on the wheel now gripped the back of your head instead, guiding your mouth back to his cock with a sense of urgency.

As he directed you with one hand, the other deftly flipped up the fabric of your dress, slipping beneath your soaking underwear. The touch of his fingers against your heated flesh sent a jolt of electricity through you, igniting a fire of desire that burned hot within you.

You moaned around him as his digits glided through your wet folds, your body instinctively seeking more of his touch as you swivelled your hips back hungrily to find friction against his palm. He laughed, his head thrown back against the headrest as he looked down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I know you get yourself all worked up looking after me, now," he told you, the warmth of his voice sending shivers down your spine. "But you know Baby Billy will look after you too, sweetheart. A man's got to see to his wife."

You whimpered as two fingers entered you, thick and demanding, your body eagerly accepting the intrusion as you arched against his touch. The squelch of your cunt burned your cheeks with embarrassment as he fucked his fingers in and out of you with a relentless pace. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, building the tension in your body to unbearable heights.

Your screams vibrated around his cock as his thumb rubbed deliberate circles on your clit, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through you. The pleasure was intense, overwhelming, as he expertly manipulated your sensitive nub, driving you closer and closer to the edge with each tantalizing stroke.

His other hand now rested at the back of your neck, holding you in place as his hips thrust up to fuck your mouth aggressively. You remained slack-jawed and slobbering over him, completely at his mercy as he took control. This was Baby Billy in his element, relishing in the power he held over you, using your mouth as a tool for his pleasure while simultaneously bringing you to your own bliss. 

He liked to push you to your limits, to see how much you could take as he drove himself deeper and deeper into your throat. Each thrust was met with a gasp from you, your body straining to accommodate his relentless rhythm. Yet, despite the discomfort, you remained obedient, knowing that this was what he wanted, what he needed.

"I know you like it," he groaned, his eyes closed when your tongue began to lap greedily at his cock with every thrust. "Fuck, you love it when I fuck your mouth, don't ya? Having you here, stuffed with my fingers and my cock, you—fuck—you just eat that shit right up." His voice was rough with desire, each word punctuated by the rhythm of his thrusts as he surrendered to the pleasure coursing through him

You could feel it building, the tell-tale signs of his impending release. His thighs tightened, his hips stuttered against you, and his breathing became ragged as praise fell from his lips. You knew it was coming soon, the moment when he would finally give you his load, and you braced yourself for the inevitable surge of ecstasy.

You were almost there, too. The familiar pit in your lower stomach, the delicate feeling of teetering on the edge as his fingers curled inside of you, pressing into that spongey spot that had you seeing stars. A muffled cry escaped your lips as you pushed back to meet his relentless assault on your cunt, the intense pleasure overwhelming your senses.

The sensation was electrifying, every nerve in your body tingling with anticipation as you rode the waves of ecstasy crashing over you. With each thrust of his fingers and each stroke of his thumb on your clit, you felt yourself spiralling closer and closer to the edge.

And then it hit you, a wave of pleasure so intense it left you breathless. Your body convulsed with the force of your orgasm, pleasure rippling through you as you cried out. The sloppy sounds of him fucking you through your orgasm filled the car as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure shooting through you.

"That's it, let Baby Billy hear you, now," he panted, grinning as your garbled mewls grew louder, more spit gushing around him as he refused to stop his ministrations against you. You tried to wriggle away from his attention, your cunt now swollen and clenching around his digits that remained buried inside you. He chuckled breathily, his fingers coming to a still as they slid from you. He ran his hand up the expanse of your back.

Your body relaxed against the leather seat, tired and spent from your orgasm as your fingers released their tight grip on the arm rest. You pulled away from him, sucked in a deep breath, a string of spit connecting from his cock to your glistening lips. You felt empty and groaned at the loss of fullness, but didn't have time to contemplate it before both Baby Billy's hands were in your hair, using them to shove his way inside of you ruthlessly. He fell into a maddening pace, his hips rutting as his drool covered sac slapped against your chin. 

"That's it angel," he said encouragingly, his breath short as he dropped his head back to stare up at the ceiling. "You take everything I give you."

With a few more powerful thrusts, he comes with a loud shout from deep in his chest, releasing thick, white ropes down your throat. You swallow quickly, determined to take his heavy load as he desires, but there's always so much of it. It drips from the corners of your mouth, rolls down your chin as your chest heaves to suppress the rest of it. After the last few spurts have subsided, you lick diligently at his swollen tip, gratefully lapping up any traces that you couldn't take beforehand. Tucking him back inside his jeans, you raise back onto your knees to look at him with a fucked out gaze that has his chest warming.

He smiled at you with tired eyes, reaching out to cup your cheek. With a gentle swipe, he collected the salty residue of his release from your chin and guided it back between your lips. He was adamant that not a drop of him go to waste. You obediently cleaned it from his thumb, watching him through wet lashes before pulling away with a soft pop.

Your husband held your chin between his thumb and finger, giving it a slight shake as he smiled. His voice was laced with satisfaction and affection as he murmured, "Sent from Heaven itself."

[loweya-blog]

Bullied MC

(Warnings: Bullying, harassment, gore, fighting.)

The brothers catch someone trying to bully you/mc.

Belphegore

He is initially shocked when he came across someone yelling at you in the halls. For one, you are a powerful magic user. And even if it was during a time in which you didn't have magic, you still had the seven demons by your side. Once the shock has faded.... he is pissed.

He gets defensive whenever his twin is even slightly at risk. The idea of anybody causing you active harm boils his blood. His eyes narrow and he swiftly gets in between you and the bully. With his temper flaring, there is no reasoning with him.

The bully's eyes widen as they felt a tail wrap around their neck, choking them tightly. Belphegore silently stared, hate swarming his mind.

"Don't ever touch them," He muttered dangerously, just so that the bully could hear it.

It took both you and Beelzebub to pry Belphegore off. Beel hurried the moment he felt something wrong. The bully ran off and Belphegore eventually calmed down and began cuddling up to you, as if trying to keep you close and safe near him.

That night the bully had the worst nightmares of his life.

Beelzebub

Beel was on his way to practice when he heard the cries of a human. A human he knew very well. His stomach dropped as he rushed into the hall. He could see a random demon looking down at you, spewing vile words at you. Beel was in his demon form in seconds and flew to your, getting in between the bully and you.

He wrapped his arms around you and formed a protective barrier between you and the other demon. Once he was certain you were safe and protected in his arms, he picked you up and glared darkly at the bully who dared to try to harm you.

Beel already lost his sister. He already felt the suffering of his twin and now he could feel your pain too. Each tear felt like his own. So he cradled you closely and ignored any of your protests. His eyes glanced to the bully.

"Leave."

It was all Beel could muster at the moment. His priority was your safety above all else. You had to be safe. He flew right back to the House of Lamentation and placed you on the bed. Then he'd get you anything you asked for, especially snacks and listen to you all night long. He would also text his brothers to inform them of the situation.

Beel cared more about you than revenge. Besides, his brothers were already halfway through tearing through the demon and promised to leave him something to munch on.

Asmodeus

You and Asmodeus were supposed to hit the boutique later that day to get you both some matching outfits for an event. He preferred having people wait on him but for you? Asmo would wait for you any day. Besides it gave him some time to check his devilgram.

But.... you were taking a long time to finish up with whatever you were doing so he decided to go look for you, only to find some asshole bothering you in the halls, saying vile things to your face. THAT was something he'd never tolerate.

He slammed his heel right in the back of the demon's head, kicking him far away from you. Asmo had gone into his demon form and had wrapped his scorpion tail around you protectively, carefully combing his manicured hands through your hair to make it look nice again. He cast the demon who was bothering you a glance then smiled.

"Get on your hands and knees. Beg my darling for forgiveness," Asmo demanded with his every charming smile. His eyes.... were of blood lust.

He then guided you back to HOL or wherever you needed to go to calm down, using his charm to force the bully to remain on their knees and begging for forgiveness until their vocal cord was ragged.

Meanwhile back home you were pampered in his bath and reminded over and over about your beauty and pure loveliness.

Satan

Satan was having a lovely day. Satan was going to go to the cat cafe with you. Satan was feeling just fine.

Until he saw someone daring to press you against the wall and spouting horrid nonsense to your face. But it wasn't just that. The thing that truly set him off was that look of fear and the tears forming in your eyes.

His heart was pounding with wild fury as he snatched the bully from behind and slamming him into the ground. Every part of his mind screamed for revenge. He NEEDED to tear this bastard limb from limb and drag him through the halls for daring to make you suffer.

"You will feel every once of pain for daring to harm them!" His voice boomed through the halls.

It was only your touch.... your hand that brought him back to his senses. He could see you were still upset and shame boiled in his stomach. Satan didn't want you to have to stand up for the person who caused you harm. It was unfair. He let the demon go and immediately wrapped his arms around you, still seething in rage but calmer now he could hear your voice.

The two of you left for the House of Lamentation. There he would read to you and talk about what happened. He was careful to follow his psychology books and allow you to direct the conversation and sought to any of your needs.

Later.... when you were asleep.... he hunted the demon down. He wouldn't just kill the fool. That would be too obvious. He had a whole line of curses to try out on his foolish victim.

Leviathan

When his player two didn't show up to go to the Ruri-chan themed arcade with him, he was worried he'd been ditched. Of course. Nobody would ever want to go to an arcade with a disgusting otaku like him...

When this pessimistic demon turned a corner... for a moment he was stunned. A demon was spewing insults at you in the hall. YOU?! The most amazing beautiful handsome fantastic person he'd ever met? Then.... instant anger.

Leviathan didn't get angry easily and when his temper flared it was quick and over with in seconds, leaving him to sulk. He'd summon Lotan if Mammon stole his items or his brothers teased him too much. But.... the sight of a demon bullying you. Lotan was summoned immediately.

And Lotan also drenched everyone involved, including you. Leviathan immediately ran up to you with wide nervous eyes.

"I'm so sorry! I-I just wanted to soak him I didn't think in the moment and it's all my fault. ImsosorrypleaseforgivemeIjustwantedto-"

You managed to calm him down and the both of you escaped to the HOL. Leviathan didn't even want to go to the arcade anymore. He just wanted to take care of his player two. The both of you played games, watched anime and talked about whatever to get your minds off of what had happened.

As for the bully....well.... Levi may or may not have hacked into all his accounts and sent all the grim he could find to your account. What? It was just compensation for the harrassment!

Mammon

The greedy demon was absolutely stunned to see that you weren't immediately on board with his scheming to steal from his brothers to get some extra grim. Actually? no. He wasn't that surprised. But he always offered to let you join on his schemes.

Just as he was about to go start his plan.... he saw you in the hall with another demon. At first his jealousy flared. Who was this demon? Why were they talking to HIS human? But when he realized all the shitty things that demon was saying, that jealousy turned to pure protective fury.

"Oi! Hands off my human!"

Before the other demon could even react, Mammon had sped at him full force and shoved him away from you. He was in demon form and had his teeth bare as he glared at the other demon. He then stood upright and looked at you.

"Lets head home. I got... uh.... you need to stuff for me! Yeah. That's right."

With that pathetic excuse, he dragged you back to HOL where he would cuddle you all night to remind you that you were his treasure. T R E A S U R E. That meant precious, no matter what the bully claimed.

Suddenly the target of all his money grubbing schemes shifted from his brothers to this bully and were ten times crueler. He'd use it to buy his treasure somethin nice to remind them how they shine.

Lucifer

He was late that evening due to paperwork and afterschool responsibilities from RAD. Lucifer hadn't expected you to wait for him during that time but according to a text you sent, you did. It brought a subtle smile to his face as he finally packed up for the day.

The moment he saw that demon harassing you, that smile was gone. He strutted right up to the demon and pulled him off of you immediately.

"Are you alright?"

His entire focus was on you while his grasp was on the idiot who dared to attack you, and tightening every moment. Unfortunately his position made it difficult to immediately lash out like his brothers did. He couldn't damage the reputation of Diavolo. But he was a clever demon and knew how to handle things properly.

First, he would take excellent care of his beloved. He tossed the other demon aside like they were garbage and swiftly picked you up like you were some sort of princess. In moments, you were safe and sound back at the HOL. Specifically his room.

From there, he'd pamper you and soothe you in every way. If you wanted hugs, he'd wrap his black feathered wings around you like a safety net keeping you warm. If you wished for food or entertainment, he'd pour a glass of the finest demonus and put on one of his records. You'd be treated like a queen for the night and constantly reminded how regal you truly were until he could feel your heart overwhelmed with pride.

And when you were fast in his bed, asleep.... then he would handle the bully. He'd assess their weaknesses and strengths first. Then, he'd meticulously pull apart the bully's life thread by thread until everything unraveled. Friends would abandon the bully. Companies would refuse the bully any sort of jobs. Even random curses would appear from which the bully couldn't escape. To seal the bully's fate... Lucifer would have the bully's crimes come to life, expelling them both from RAD and any other place of importance.

All the while Lucifer would spend with you, showing you how lovely you truly are.

[kingminie]

until forever falls apart | 01.

pairing: kim taehyung, reader 

genre: angst, exes au. 

warnings: emotional cheating, infidelity, swearing, detailed smut, chain smoking as a coping mechanism.

word count: 11.8k

description: you’ve never been much of a believer in the phrase ‘first love never dies’ but it seems as if the universe badly wants to prove it to you — and you’re absolutely and royally damned the moment you find out that the phrase holds truth. 

or alternatively, you come as a stand-in photographer for your cousin’s prenup shoot and you find out that it’s your secret ex who’s about to get married, and kim taehyung really doesn’t make it any less easy for you. 

01 | ongoing.

Love has always been easy for you — both falling into or getting out of it, but more of the latter, really. 

However, there are things about this so-called ‘love’ that you don’t quite get — will probably never get — and it leaves you in a sticky position when friends come to ask advice that roots from such a concept.

It always ends in a snotty mess and a sigh of I don’t know why I came to you for this at the end anyway. It makes you feel like shit; a clueless, ignorant, wondering piece of shit because how is it that everyone seems to have been looking at love and defining it from a single different lens with a unified perspective, and you’re stuck at seeing it from the other endpoint.

It isn’t your fault you don’t assimilate hurt with loving, is it? It isn’t your fault that you don’t expect to clean up a colossal mess every time love comes to its end. And it most certainly isn’t your fault that when love ends, you let it go. It ended, and that’s that. For you, anyway. So, why exactly, do people fault you for having such a reaction at the conclusion of a relationship?

Why does it seem to be a taboo and something that’s unheard of when a month after a relationship ends, you find yourself not grieving over a love that’s lost? When and why does it seem to have become the standard to mope and pine and cry as if acceptance and moving on is an outlawed concept right after a relationship ends?

That’s because you’re a heartless, unfeeling bastard, that’s why, as your best friend, Jungkook, so likes to put it every single time. And maybe, it is the defeat and the eventual acceptance that people will never see things in your perspective that you just roll your eyes and move on with your day. 

Love, for you, is something that ends when it ends. A wound that closes, heals. It leaves a scar, sure. You remember the hurt, yes. But the initial peak of pain wouldn’t be there again if it healed, would it.

With all that, you’ve become unsure — of what to do, of what to say, of how to act — when people lament over a lost love. Which, at this very moment, is what exactly your sister is doing. 

All tears, snot, and hiccups under your blankets. 

Sobs wrack her body in an uncontrollable shake, a vibrating mess under the sheets as you’re left to wonder what the fuck to do with your hands. But you never get the answer because she wails, head lifting from the blankets, “How could he do that to me? Six years, six years! Six years he threw away for what, a year of meaningless sex with his assistant?” 

You don’t really think it’s meaningless when dear, dear respectable Hyunwoo decides to break off the engagement, but you keep your mouth shut and continue to awkwardly pat your sister’s back. 

Your hand stills just an inch away from her back when she looks at you, wet eyes and mouth set in a downward curve, and whispers, “What should I do now?” She sniffles and you flinch. Because her goddamn snot is staining your bed but fuck, okay, you can’t think about that now, “I love him.”

You hesitate, weighing the words you’re about to speak in your head and thinking about the consequences before settling for a question, “You–you’re not thinking about giving him another shot if he asks for it, are you?” 

At this, your sister remains silent and you sigh because yes, yes she will give him a chance in one heartbeat if the bastard do so much as give her a fucking petal and a printed ‘I’m sorry’ hallmark note.

“You don’t get it.” 

Ah, there it is. 

Of course, it’s always going to come down to you not getting it. 

Maybe your sister sees it, the anger bubbling in your gaze as you glare at her, because she scrambles to sit down with her legs underneath her, knees parallel each other as she kneels on the bed facing you.

And it would have been funny, seeing your older sister like this, but the searing exasperation breaks through and you let it, mouth opening, “No, you don’t get it. See, this is not just a matter of moving the fuck on. He fucked you over, Hana, so much that there’s no amount of apology or groveling he can do to fix that. He fucked his assistant when he’s due to walk down the aisle in a year with you and if that doesn’t spell out how much respect he has for you, for our family, and you still choose to remain blind despite that, then you came to the wrong person because I won’t coddle you.” 

“I care about you,” your voice softens and you see her shoulders slump, “This is not just about my once-it-ends-then-it-ends view on relationships. Hyunwoo did an unthinkable, unforgivable thing and there’s no going back from that. I’m not letting you walk back to the person who lacks respect for a relationship, much less for you. Do you get where I’m coming from?” 

Hana nods meekly, head hanging low before you hear her sniffle once more. It hurts to see her like this and you want nothing more but to pummel the son of a bitch who did this to her, “I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head and you let out a breath, all air knocked out from your lungs when she slumps forward, arms snaking around your shoulders as she pulls you in for a tight hug, the phrase of ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ a litany on her tongue.  You squeak as her legs slither their way around you in a tight grip and she lets out a weak laugh that sounded much more like a wheeze before you push her off, feeling a wet blot on your shoulder. 

“I want to be you for a day. Not like you,” she mutters as she gets comfortable on the pillows, your pillows, “But be you entirely. I want this pain to vanish in a week and just forget about him.” 

She pauses, “Maybe after I key his car.” 

The pain doesn’t vanish, you think and tell her. “I just learned how to deal with it, Hana. And it isn’t overnight that I do it. And you will get over it too. Heal from it. Someday, one day.” 

The silence that follows is comforting, and you think she must’ve fallen asleep, just as most do after a good cry. But she hasn’t, you realize, when she rolls over once more and speaks in a quiet voice, “The way you are right now,” she pauses, only continuing when you give her a nod, “is it because of him?”

There are only a handful of people that could fit about who she means, you know that, but you refuse to speak of any of them and opt to ask her a question instead, “Which way that I am exactly are you referring to?” 

“The closed-off you,” Hana replies, a soft tilt to her words, “I had a theory, you know, that you moved on so fast from the relationships you had after because you were never really invested in the people after him. That he broke you, enough for you to place that, whatever you have around your heart that doesn’t allow people to hurt you. You love other people, but you never really allow them to love you as much because of it which makes detachment and parting easier when it ends.” 

You don’t really mean to, but the words Hana speaks are like a vacuum, drawing you into a place you’ve managed to tuck away in the very back of your mind. Memories rush in and you drown in it — of honey blond hair, rectangle smiles, and skin that smelled of oakmoss and jasmine. 

“Am I right?” 

You let out a laugh as you nudge a pillow towards your sister, “You and your unending theories. No, Hana. It’s not because of anyone in particular. This is just how I am, how I think. It’s just unfortunate that it's only the minority that shares the same sentiments as I do.” 

Hana looks as if she’d try to refute before deciding against it, groaning when her phone rings and you raise an eyebrow because who in hell would be calling her at midnight. She shakes her head, twisting the phone around so you can see who’s calling and you see the word Studio and you shrug before she takes the call, only hearing snippets of the conversation and it seems as if it's about work. 

Hana owns a photography studio — a hobby turned business venture with her friends. Your parents were against it initially, deeming it a ‘not suitable’ business for Hana, but your older sister is a head-strong bull and proceeded with her plans without a single support from your parents and of course, because she’s Hana Park, she can make anything succeed if she puts her mind to it. 

“—yeah, you goof, I’ll be right there, don’t worry. Why are you so stressed about this anyway, is this your secret wedding or something?” You lie closer to your sister and she mouths ‘Jimin’ before returning to picking her nails, “I get it, okay. Stop freaking out, I promise to be there tomorrow. M’kay, bye.” 

She heaves a dragged-out, exaggerated sigh just as she tosses her phone on the bed where it bounced, “You know, I’d assume it’s our dear brother’s prenuptial photoshoot tomorrow with the way he’s freaking out over the details. I’d actually think that if I didn’t know of him and his single ass and his emotional attachment to his bachelor title.” 

“It’s Sunday tomorrow, and you’re booked because of that phone call,” You list, “So I can only assume Jimin knows one of them and used his connections to book your exclusive ass into working on a Sunday.” 

Hana laughs, “You’re not wrong. Soyeon made the reservation for November, which is like, a month from now. Jimin moved it for tomorrow in such a rush last week for reasons I don’t know why.” 

“Soyeon?” You gasp, eyes going wide, “You’re not talking about Yang Soyeon, are you? Oh my god, how did I not know about this?”

Your sister snorts, ungraceful and loud, “Who would have expected for the youngest cousin in the family to be the first one to be wed, huh? Date’s set for April next year and I don’t even know who she’s marrying,” But she pauses and a frown mars her features, “I would’ve been the first one to walk the aisle and yet, here I am.” 

Wait. 

“Hana,” you start, “aren’t you meeting Hyunwoo’s parents tomorrow for brunch? To formally call off the wedding? Isn’t that what you came here for tonight, because you were having second thoughts of actually calling it off tomorrow?”

You see the realization dawn upon her, her eyes widening in recognition of the planned confrontation, her mouth dropping to a comical shape of the letter ‘o’ before she sits up so fast you actually ask if her back’s okay and you hear the frantic hits of her nails against the glass of her phone, the worry leaking thickly in her voice as she speaks to multiple people, all of which ending in a frustrated sigh and groan from your older sister. 

“Fuck!” she screams as she disconnects from a call once more, “I can’t find anyone to replace me, everyone’s either booked already or have plans for tomorrow. Fuck, shit, I’m screwed. Jimin’s going to kill me. No photographer’s available tomorrow, what am I going to do now, I—you.”

You still, nailed in place by her stare, “Fuck are you looking at me for?” 

It’s in this moment you feel the doom coming down on you from all the corners of the universe when Hana smiles, actually feeling it that you shiver. She picks up the phone, calls Jimin, asks if 10 o’clock is okay for everyone to gather tomorrow, kisses your cheek good night. 

Kiss of fucking death, you feel like. 

You’re never a morning person — nor do you have plans to become one — and you aren’t used to being awakened by a goddamn wet, slimy tongue licking your face all over. 

Hana’s laugh echoes around your room, followed by hushed good job from her and a shrill bark from her dog (you really did not know how Orion arrived here when the dog wasn’t even here last night), and you are never one to have thoughts of murder so early in the morning but your family has really been testing your limits. But then you remember that you willingly handed over to Hana the passcode to your apartment, something for emergencies and shit like that, but of course, she took it as an invitation to come and go as she pleases. 

Fortunately, she cleans up after Orion’s mess, thank god. 

Rolling over, you prepare to squint as protection against the glare of the sun since Hana had already pulled back the curtains, but you sit up at the lack of the sun’s intrusion into your eyes and see that the sun hasn’t even risen yet. The city that you can see through the glass window is quiet, still in deep sleep. As you should be just before Hana woke you up. 

“Dad’s going to have a fit when I tell him what you’re blackmailing me to do,” you groan, falling back on your pillow, “I’m running his business and here you are making me take photos of people Dad hates, well, by extension.”

Hana does nothing but flash you a grin, “You’re the only one I can trust to be on par with my skills, honey. Besides, I already have Dad booked in the freaking out area ‘cause you know, I’m a bachelorette now.”

You roll your eyes and you move off your bed, making it neat and tidy to which Hana scoffs before grabbing the mug of cold coffee right from her hands and chugging it all down. Looks like you’ll need more than a cup with what you’re going to be faced with today. 

“Is Jimin coming? My car’s in the mechanic, I’m getting it tomorrow.”

Hana nods before telling you just how far Jimin is from your apartment, “About Jimin, actually.” Your sister trails off and you feel an oncoming headache because of course, there’s more. 

“I didn't exactly tell him I can’t make it today so I’m trusting you to, um, calm him down when he freaks? He’s only weak to your charms and absolutely immune to mine.” 

Turns out a little while after that, Jimin’s absolutely immune to the both of you. Especially you.

“No, what the fuck. What—no.” 

Jimin stands frozen, fingers gripping the edges of the kitchen island. His eyes are wide, mouth open in disbelief as he listens to Hana’s explanations of why she can’t go today, her eyes flashing as if to call you for help but you only shrug because there’s really nothing you can do to help her out of this. She made her own bed, might as well let her lie in it. 

It irks you quite a bit though when Jimin starts to become unreasonable despite Hana’s crystal clear explanation as to why she’s unavailable today, and on a typical day, you know Jimin would understand, and would easily let it go because obviously, Hana’s life matters take precedence over a photoshoot that can be scheduled on a different day. Jimin today, however, is extra adamant on not having you take over the shoot and it might have very, just very slightly struck the wrong nerve in you.

“You know, Jimin, if this is a matter of your trust in my abilities, I’d gladly back out of this. I’m doing this as a favor to Hana, I’m not here to help you,” you quip, tight and low as you regard the both of them, “So, if you refuse to accept my help, then call your friend to find another photographer, better yet schedule another one with Hana.”

Hana starts to protest but Jimin shakes his head, turns to you with soft eyes and a pouting set of lips, “I’m sorry, that came off wrong. Really wrong. I swear I wasn’t trying to undermine your abilities, nor am I saying that there is anything to undermine because you’re good as shit at this, maybe even better than Hana, it’s just that—”

He cuts off his ramble mid-sentence as if to catch himself — to keep from spilling whatever his reservation about you being the stand-in for Hana, which you don’t really know what. 

Three things about Jimin are these: he rambles when he’s extremely nervous, fidgets with his thumbs when he’s scared, and refuses to make any eye contact if he believes he’s done something wrong. It’s always one of the three when it comes to him and never altogether. And yet, he stands in front of you, doing all three simultaneously and your heart plummets to the marble flooring beneath you because what is he so scared of, really, to be like this in front of you. 

“Look, if you don’t want me to do this, that’s okay,” You start to speak and Jimin turns to you and opens his mouth to speak when you shake your head. You aren’t finished speaking, “That is, if you have an alternative, if Soyeon agrees to reschedule, I’m sure Hana can fit them right in some other time—” You give a pointed look at your sister who rolls her eyes but nods, “—but if they don’t, you have no choice, Jimin. Unless you want to take the photos yourself.”

Jimin lets out a breath, agrees, and proceeds to call whoever he needs to and converses in a low tone that isn’t discernible to you, but Hana can hear and your eyebrows furrow in concern when her head turns so fast towards Jimin’s direction, panic clear-cut in her eyes as she picks up on whatever it is that Jimin is saying. She curses under her breath, turns ghostly pale before she pulls Jimin into one of the guest rooms, leaving you to your thoughts and your second cup of coffee. 

“You kept this?”

It’s a good three minutes after that Jimin’s voice pulls you out of your trance — your attention previously held by the large black ant that is now on top of an apple. You turn and your breath hitches at the rough sketch of the overly-familiar Pomeranian in his right hand. You shrug, “Jungkook must have left it there when he came over.” 

At this, Jimin raises his eyebrows. Stares at the picture a little bit too long before putting it back in place, under Jungkook’s purple-pink painting of a sunset, to the right of Jimin’s present two years before. He then looks at you, really looks at you, that you become unnerved enough to look away and pretend to busy yourself with some imaginary dust on the counter. 

You know. You know how the framed sketch is too clean, too in place, and too taken care of to be something that your best friend accidentally left behind. And you know Jimin knows this too with the way his eyes turn to you and you fear. Fear that pity would be reflected in them and so you stand abruptly, deaf to the frantic calls of Hana and you head straight to the building basement and settle comfortably on the passenger seat of Jimin’s car. 

You ran because you’re a coward — afraid to face questions you know you have no answers to.

Jimin enters not a minute later, silent and mum, but the silent looks your sibling keeps giving you is not something you miss no matter how discreet he tries to be about it. You brush it off though, citing the tense atmosphere to be the reason he’s doing so. 

But little do you know that this is the first of the many mistakes you will be making — the tiniest among all others.

The theme is simple. Glamour, editorial-esque Vogue-spread motif. Fit for the rich. Something that exudes elegance and opulence. Classy, simple, and elegant. You nod as you skim through the print-out Hana rushes to get to you through one of her employees, one hand busy writing ideas and suggestions. 

It warms your heart that despite all the things Hana has to face today, she hasn’t failed to make everything easier for you, as she always does. And everything’s in accordance, just as they should be. That is, except for one, someone. Jimin really cannot stop himself from shaking and you actually fear the poor boy is turning into a leaf, dancing in the wind, with how he physically cannot stop himself from moving. 

You’ve had enough of it — his nervous fidgeting, the frantic scan of his eyes among the crowd, the unending bounce of his knees — so you move to approach him, just in time to pluck out the cigarette he’s about to light in his hand and he jumps, “Minie, you’re making me nervous here. I’ve seen you nervous but it’s never been this bad.” 

Jimin looks at you and your chest constricts at the face he’s making. A beat, two beats before he lets out a shaky breath, “I’m sorry.”

You think of the exchange back at your apartment, the one where it came off as if he had no faith in you as Hana’s substitute and you let out a small laugh. You know Jimin would never think that. Flicking his chin, you shake your head, “It was me who took your words the wrong way, Min. You don’t need to apologize.”

He looks as if he wants to say more but a car pulls up, red and ostentatious with the way the roof is folded down, and you grin as you see your cousin, a matching upward curve to her lips. 

It isn’t new, really, when you catch sight of her hair — beautiful shades of cotton candy pink and pastel blue glinting under the sun. 

Beautiful, daring Soyeon, the darling of the Yangs. 

You nearly meet your end, though, that day if it isn’t for Jimin cursing and pulling you back when Soyeon isn’t able to stop her car at the designated yellow parking line and she too squeaks a wheeze when she steps on the brakes. The car comes to a stop, and you see her breath does too, before she throws her head back and laughs. 

“You’re fucking crazy.”

She sticks out her tongue before she jumps over the door, her flimsy taupe pants billowing after her. You only manage to let out a yelp of protest before she has you and Jimin in a bone-crushing hug and you feel your chest rasp to get some air in when she squeezes once more before finally letting go. 

“This is a two-people marriage we’re having today, right? You’re not marrying yourself here?” You ask and laugh as she rolls her eyes. It’s definitely her thing and it wouldn’t be a surprise if she did. “I didn’t even know you were in a relationship and now you’re getting married?”

She shrugs, a wide smile still on her lips, “It just happened,” Her eyebrows furrow when she looks over at Jimin who’s uncharacteristically silent and nudges him, “I still won’t forgive you. I know my groom’s your best friend but it doesn’t really give you a free-pass to have him here at six in the morning to get you coffee. Who does that?”

You don’t really hear what Jimin has to say to her because you’re bidding your goodbye to them both when one of Hana’s assistants — the one she had assigned to brief you over all the details of today’s shoot — pulls you from the conversation, apology written all over her face at the thought of interrupting you but as soon as she open her mouth to speak, you dismiss it with an its okay and you signal for her to go ahead. 

“This is the final list of the concepts Hana had brainstormed which one of the client is yet to choose from,” she hands you a thin stack of paper, a portfolio sandwiched between two clear binding covers, “The bride has already chosen the concepts she wants that are to be included for today’s shoot, so, all that's left is to hand the checklist to the groom for the shoot next week.”

Nodding, you skim through the portfolio and shit, it’s definitely good. 

You’re whisked away towards the building, directed towards the seventh floor of the rented building in which you’re told Soyeon’s groom is, handpicking his outfits for the day. 

You give the door a knock, hearing a bustle of people talking on the other side of the door, and when no one answers, you push the door open. You’re immediately greeted by a flurry of people walking back and forth, all of them either with stacks of paper in their arms or Brioni and Gucci suits in tow. 

It’s a mess, a downright mess you want to run from because you haven’t ingested enough coffee to face this. 

Which is exactly why you nearly cry when someone steps in front of you, a neat smile in place and a large cup of iced coffee in one hand, a hand extending towards you, “You look like you need this.” 

He tilts his head once, gesturing inside the room, “I’m Yoongi, Min Yoongi. Jimin texted me earlier that his other sister is standing in for Hana and I assume that’s you.” 

Something feels vaguely familiar about Min Yoongi and you list it off as a passing name Jimin had mentioned in the stories he had told you. 

“There’s a meeting room on the very far left, grumpy groom’s there,” Yoongi smiles, “Nice meeting you, um—”

“(Y/N). My name’s (Y/N), nice to meet you too, Yoongi.”

You think as you walk that there’s no point in going over next week’s concept today since Hana can already make it by the next photoshoot and she would’ve understand better the dynamics of it all if they talk then, but okay, since you’re already here, might as well help all the way. 

Through the frosted glass of the meeting room, you see a silhouette, tall and broad. You have never been a people-person and meeting new ones really isn’t your strong point so you take three deep breaths, hand tightening on the cup of coffee Yoongi handed you, before pushing the glass door open. 

“Hi, I’m sorry I ran a bit late. It’s—” 

And you stop. 

You stop because you suddenly can’t feel the cold cup slipping from your grip. You stop because you feel the liquid pool at the very bottom of your shoes, sticky and wet and messy. You stop because you can’t breathe. You stop because your heart fucking stops too at the sight of Kim Taehyung. 

Beautiful, dazzling Kim Taehyung. 

First boyfriend, first love, now ex-lover, Kim Taehyung. 

Soyeon’s groom and soon-to-be husband, Kim Taehyung.

“Everything okay here?” Yoongi. You hear his footsteps behind you before you see him and you can’t be thankful enough at the interference that’s very much needed. 

But you allow yourself to be pathetic, just as you always are around Kim Taehyung. And because you can’t help it, frankly, when your eyes meet his and all sense that is good and common jumps out the window behind him. Because he looks fucking beautiful — him and his honey hair that’s now framing his face, a little bit longer, lighter. Because the room reeks of him, jasmine, vanilla, and oakmoss and it consumes you. The part of you that, despite it all, still longs for the Kim Taehyung from four years past.

On a good day and you meet him once more, you think you would have laughed. A fake smile and a head held high would’ve done it in front of him. But all it takes is one look now. One look, at the time when all your defenses are down, for the self-imposed chain that blocks it all to break and give, a domino effect in your mind as it all comes back; the whirlwind of feelings and emotions that the calamity of him brings forth. 

You nod, feeling the light touch of Yoongi’s fingers around your arm, and you anchor yourself with it. Pull yourself from drowning in him once more. “Yeah, sorry,” You breathe, “It slipped. I’m really sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll have someone take care of it, don’t worry,” Yoongi waves you off when you bend down to start cleaning up your mess, nods toward Taehyung, “Go on, he gets grumpy if he’s left to wait.” 

Oh, you know. 

So, you do. 

You drag your legs to where Taehyung stands, feeling like you’re hauling wet logs for limbs. It’s silent, save for the sound of Yoongi’s shoes against the floor as he kicks at the fallen blocks of ice, and maybe, he takes the silence for Taehyung’s bout of pettiness because he hisses a quiet behave before he walks out. The silence becomes even more suffocating when now it’s just you and Taehyung. 

“So—”

“I—”

You shut your mouth when he speaks at the same time as you. 

You decide, though, to continue because you’re here for one thing and that one thing entails that you have something to say to him. But he doesn’t, he shouldn’t. 

“So, let’s talk about concepts. I’ve been told that Soyeon has already chosen the ones for today — for both your individual and couple shots, and you get to choose the ones for the shoot with Hana next week. Here,” you slide the portfolio across the table, taking a seat across his own without waiting for him, “Hana already made an outline for everything so, this, is basically a checklist you just have to choose from and—”

“How are you?” 

“—I’m just going to wait until you’re done filling them out so I can bring them back and start with—”

“(Y/N).” You finally look at him then and you look away the second you do because you’re trying so hard to keep yourself whole and you feel like one second more in his gaze and you’ll fall apart, “I’m sorry.” 

And you try. God, you try so hard to repress the tiny, evil voice that pushes you to throw reason out the window. But it comes out anyway, and there’s no stopping what flows out of your mouth after, “Why,” you laugh, “Sorry because you wouldn't have chosen Hana's studio if you knew I was the one to take your photos? Or sorry because you had my brother acting like a train wreck just to keep this from me? Don’t worry I won’t be here next week.” 

His face pinches, tongue rolling out to wet his lips, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then don’t apologize to me—” you grit, fists clenched and heart thundering, “—as if you assumed that seeing you has put me in a position that hurt me. Because it really doesn’t. Not anymore, Taehyung. So if you have anything to apologize for—” 

You cut yourself off because no, no he has nothing to apologize for. He doesn’t have to say sorry. One person deciding to walk out of a relationship doesn’t warrant an apology from them. An explanation, sure, but you don’t really need it from him. He made it clear enough all those years ago just before he slammed the door of your apartment shut that he just didn’t love you enough — not anymore then. 

It’s been four years. It’s been four long years and you should be over him — and you are, you’re certain that you are. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt because it does, fuck, it still hurts so much and you don’t know why. 

“—apologize to Jimin because I just know he feels like shit for lying to me because of you.” 

You commit your second mistake that same day in the middle of shooting Taehyung’s individual photos. Soyeon had gone for a nature theme this time and so you find yourself in the middle of the forest with a near-naked Taehyung in tow and thank heavens it rains because one more glimpse through the viewfinder at his well-oiled torso and you might have combust and run away from the photoshoot, Hana’s reputation be damned. 

Jimin seems to be attached to you now, becoming a human magnet not long after he had apologized so much he knelt, snuggling to your side every chance he gets that it’s suffocating you because he’s overcompensating but you don’t really have the heart to call him out. Not when he looks like a puppy whose tail got accidentally stepped on when you get around to even do so much as try. 

So, you let him become your shadow for the time being, finally letting out a huge breath of relief when lunch time comes around and everybody takes a break and you slip past him to the very back of the dilapidated cabin you stumbled upon just before the last shoot ended, not too deep into the forest that faces the river. 

Finally, you think, as you savor the peace, even though momentary. You’re glad to be away from the commotion and it makes you realize once more why you choose to be cooped up in an office. It’s because you really can’t handle this many people and it physically and emotionally drains you that you can’t think.

You pause when you reach into your pockets, the gritty warning from Hana and Jimin an alarm ricocheting in your mind how it’s an unhealthy habit and it’s going to fucking ruin you someday. But the short-lived guilt is replaced by justifications of how it’ll be a free-pass and your siblings can fuck off because they’re the reason you’re here in the first place. 

Besides, burning through one stick won’t hurt them if they don't know. 

So you let your fingers feel for the familiar leather case, pull the only stick inside and you’re so, so close to reaching your sweet release from this damned mental pressure when you realize you left your lighter at home. Letting out a curse, you clamp your mouth around the unlit cigarette, letting it hang and opting to indulge in its semi-sweet smell that goes so well with the rain. 

“Want a light?”

You still, the cigarette falling from your lips at the sudden fright. Down, down, and down until it’s washed away by the rain. What a waste, you lament. Sighing, you turn and see Taehyung who’s sporting a sheepish smile, the same familiar white in between his own mouth, lit unlike yours, “I’d accept, but there’s really nothing that needs lighting anymore.”

He has a shirt on now, you notice, flimsy and buttoned up halfway. His hair is tousled messily, now free from the rigid form it previously had, and you give him your back when you feel the urge to fix the fraction of hair that has fallen forward. You hear him take a drag and you smell before you see the tendrils of gray smoke when he releases and god, the small whiff, even in the tiniest fume, has your shoulder relaxing. 

“I’d offer one but I don’t have any spare with me,” you hear him say before you feel him move, “I’ll get the fallen one for you, if you want.”

You roll your eyes and wave him off before you see him lean against the other column, the change in position means that he’s now closer, closer than he’s ever been since the day you last saw him, years ago. And he’s close enough that the thin material of his shirt brushes against your hoodie when the wind moves. And you want to move too, only if it isn’t for the fact that one move and you’ll either fall into the river or be skewered by the worn down wood and you don’t really feel like dying today. 

Ironic, how you went for a smoke break to relieve the stress of the day, only to have it doubled. 

Now, this is where you make the second mistake. 

Because you really don’t mean to stare at Taehyung. You don’t mean to let your stare at his mouth linger a second too long that he sees.  It’s just unfortunate that the cigarette is in his mouth, and you stay fixated on the damn cigarette that you fail to see him catch your gaze and hold it. 

It’s unfortunate that you don’t take a step back when he takes one step forward. 

It’s unfortunate that you become pliant when his cold fingers softly grip your chin, coaxing your mouth to open and welcome the smoke that he blows from his own mouth, hot and intoxicating and tinged with the memories of all the nights past that he’s done this. 

It’s unfortunate that you take a long drag when he places the soft end of the cigarette from his mouth to yours, unhesitating and eager. 

“Feeling better?” He asks, gentle as he pulls the stick, planting it back to the hold of his mouth. You see a slight upward curve at the corners of it. 

This is bad. Wrong and unacceptable and absolutely inappropriate, you know. But you can’t help but accept when he offers one more drag, an offer of release. This time you pluck it out from his fingers, feel the warmth of him around the smoke, and inhale. 

It’s only when the embers die out that you feel it, the heavy feeling coming back tenfold as you realize the gravity of what you just did. Not for anyone else, but for you. The toll this will have on you when you go home and have all the time in the world to think about your stupidity. So before you get sucked into the void of self-destruction, you excuse yourself, not caring about the delicate drops of rain that fall but not before you turn back and shout your thanks. 

“Okay, you shared a smoke, so what,” you mutter to yourself as you dry yourself off. You’re two people who share a history, a history that’s now dead and gone. A flame that was once bright but has now burned out, never to be rekindled again. 

You enter the building with thoughts of rationalization that tries to justify what you’ve done as something harmless, clouding your mind enough that you don’t see Jimin barrel towards you with a smile on his face, only to be replaced with disgust when he breathes and chokes at the ghost of smoke that clings to your clothes. 

He rummages through a nearby luggage and returns with a bottle of perfume, “If you want your head still attached to your shoulders by tonight, you’d know better and douse yourself in that shit because Hana’s here to take over and you only have two minutes to shove Listerine down your throat before she finds you.” 

In the haste of trying to avert your sister’s wrath, you damn near shower the entire contents of the bottle, only to realize that night when you come home that despite the endless showers you take, you still smell like him. Because of all people, Jimin just had to take from Taehyung’s things and now you’re doused with him all over again. 

It’s later that night that you’ll fall asleep to the smell of jasmine and vanilla despite years of trying so hard to rid your apartment of any scents. 

Of any trace of Kim Taehyung.

The third and fourth mistake, you make five days later. A Friday that you’re miraculously off work early. Well, technically, you can get off whenever you want but as the faithful, loving, and overworking youngest child that you are, you’ve assimilated longer hours at your father’s company to productivity and so you’ve never really found reason to clock off early when you can do so much more if you stay a bit later than most.

Besides, the company won’t run by itself, so there’s that. 

Now, though, you wonder why you thought like that because as you walk down the street, everything looks divine. The setting sun settles on the horizon, sandwiched between two skyscrapers, bleeding purple and orange and pink and it’s breathtaking. Painfully so. For the first time, you indulge yourself in the sounds of the busy city and for a change, it’s peaceful despite the loudness. You can’t remember the last time you took a stroll like this, having been so immersed in work. The last time you walked down the street the like had been years ago, with—

The breath you take is sharp and sudden that it has you bent over on the sidewalk, coughing and wheezing your lungs out that people start to look. You flash a smile, sending a quick thanks to your sister’s ex-lover for choosing to establish the studio within a five-minute walk from the company building, and nearly combusting on the spot when you pull their glass door that clearly says push right after you nearly heave your lungs out from climbing 10 sets of stairs because the elevator isn’t working, coincidentally.  

“Hey,” you greet the people on the lounge before specifically turning to Younha — the one who had walked you through everything on the previous shoot, “Is Hana here? I have the initial photos ready if she wants to see. Played around and edited most of them.”

Younha looks sheepish as she raises her hand to her nape where she nervously scratches, “About that,” she grimaces, “Hana phoned earlier that she’s running a bit late tonight so she told me to look over the photos and pick the final ones with the client, but I don’t trust myself enough to do that just yet, so would it be okay if we go through it together?” 

You assure her it’s okay. And really, it is, because you’ve finished work anyway and it’s a Saturday tomorrow. You can afford to be late an hour or so. You watch her plug the USB on one of the computers lined up against the wall, see her gasp when she pulls up the photos. 

“Oh my god, these are beautiful. You’re telling me you shot each of these by yourself, edited them all on your own, all in less than a week,” Younha turns to you, eyes wide, “Can’t you come and work with us?”

You laugh, genuine and loud, “The raw files were already beautiful untouched. Just touched up some lighting here and there.”

“Yeah, and who took those raw shots, hm? Who coordinated every single thing that resulted in those shots looking like that? You, that’s who,” Younha seems to realize who she’s talking to and she blushes before muttering something else you can’t hear, “Also, about Hana—” 

Uh-oh. This can’t be good.

“—so she told me earlier if I can pick out the final photos with the client, right? And since you’re here,” Younha trails off and you still there is no way, no way that you’re going to sit hours dissecting each photo with Soyeon, worse if it’s Taehyung. You have your pride and you’ll cling to that even if it’s the last thing you do in this world.

No way in hell. “Hana’s on her way here, right? I think she can make it.”

Younha nods, a low hum before she answers, “She can. In two hours. Maybe. Not sure. Our client, however—” She tilts her head to the right. Towards the direction of Hana’s office. “—is here.”

It’s a sigh of defeat you let out. Walking away from here means you admit you’re a coward, walking in Hana’s office will mean you’re weak. See, it’s always a lose-lose thing for you everytime a certain Kim is involved. The very, and only, Kim who seems to be haunting every part of your daily life the past five days. Or in this current case, a future Kim but a Kim nonetheless. 

Younha smiles, the sly fox, when you place your bag back down on the table, “If I’m going to stay here for the night, might as well ask for coffee. Lots and lots of it.”

You only barely get the full sentence out but Younha is already on her heels with a mock salute.

You push the door to Hana’s office, making sure (twice) not to pull this time, and your eyes land on Kim Taehyung whose eyebrows rise in surprise upon seeing you. If he thinks you’re meaning to keep on meeting him like this, well, he’s wrong. The universe likes to spring surprises down your path of life and it just so happens that for now, Kim Taehyung might be its play thing — to torment you with, most probably. 

He sits on the couch that rests against the white wall, beside the windows that occupy the whole one side of the room that overlooks the city. Hana’s office is more like her office and a miniature studio, exclusive for her and whoever she decides to let in here, separate from the lounge and the main studio. It’s an industrial loft, made modern and more suited to her taste and it’s just so goddamn bright in here, you realize.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you mutter as the door clicks shut behind you. 

You head straight to Hana’s computer, turning it on and plugging the USB before you plop down on the office chair. “I had the photos with me and I dropped by to leave it for Hana but she apparently has things to attend to for the next two hours and you’re here already so, yeah.”

Taehyung only nods, silent and awkward when he stands. 

You sigh, “Grab a chair and come here, I guess. We have, like, a thousand photos to sift through. See if you’d like any changes done to them. The earlier we finish, the better.”

Three hours pass after that and you’re left with no Hana in sight, 325 file numbers listed down, a faint headache and tired eyes, a hungry stomach, and three accidental brushes of Taehyung’s hair on your cheek because what before is a ruler-long distance between the two of you has been reduced to mere centimeters, and Jesus Christ, you don’t know who moved between the two of you that it has come to such. You’re firm to say it isn’t you because your ass remains frozen, stiff as a board everytime Taehyung does so much as inhale. 

“Can you—” Taehyung clears his throat, pointing to the keyboard, “—move to the next one, please.”

You mutter an apology, pressing the right arrow and you see the photo move. Frankly, you aren’t paying attention. Not to anything, least of all the photos. It’ll be like knocking consciously on Hell’s door if you do pay attention. 

Because you can take being around Taehyung, you can easily detach yourself from reality when you are — and not feel anything, to look at him alone and think of him as an ex-friend, an ex-lover without the rest of the titles attached. But to look at the photos, the pictures you took, there’s no detaching from that reality. The reality that the man you had feelings for — might still have feelings for, but you push that thought back — is getting married, of all things. 

And you list this off as feeling weird, an ex marrying a cousin. You aren’t jealous, god, no. It’s just that — weird. Well, you think. 

“Okay, I can’t take this anymore,” Taehyung breathes and you still, unmoving as the statue on the corner of the room, “I’m going to order Chinese. I’m not going to last the rest of these photos if I don’t eat. Anything you want?” 

He might as well have slammed the mouse he’s holding with the way he casually lets it fall off from his hand to the table, leaning back on his chair and oh god, his head is leaning on the back of your chair. One move of your shoulder and the back of it will touch the side of his head. He has his phone over his head, elbows hanging in the air as he opens his phone with a click. He hums as he scrolls and this is so, so painfully domestic that you struggle to breathe. 

It’s been push and pull the whole night. He asks, you answer, and never the other way. 

Fifteen minutes that you’re plunged in deafening silence and you punch the air in your mind when Younha knocks, take-away bags at hand and a smile on her face. 

Taehyung hands you your food, places the utensils in neat order, pokes the straw through your bubble tea and gently places it in front of you and you stare. You stare because never in your life did you ever think you and Taehyung would ever be in this situation. Toeing around each other, walking on eggshells. 

There had been a time that silence wasn’t an option — it’s either you filled the quiet or he did; mouths off about Pokemon and stickers and dogs he met on a certain day, or silence filled with wordless communication through flesh and skin and heavy breaths. 

Never this — a fragile silence that no words could ever fill. But of course, Taehyung knows how to break that. Break you when he speaks, “I think we’ll have this one framed for the reception.”

You blink at the photo on the monitor, big and taunting. In it, Taehyung smiles, a wide rectangle stretch of his mouth as his chin rests on top of Soyeon’s head, the latter leaning her weight on Taehyung. It’s evident, palpable even, the happiness that’s shared between them. A running joke between the two of them captured on a permanent photograph only they can understand. 

“Yeah,” you nod, a smile, or an attempt at it, stretching your lips, “it’s beautiful. Definitely worthy for the reception. You can hang it in your home after.”

It’s an instinct – you’d like to believe so – when you feel Taehyung move beside you and you mindlessly mirror him, freezing the moment you take in the miniscule space that’s left as you both huddle to look at the monitor. A good couple inches you can count on one hand. And you refuse to move away because no, this is not at all affecting you. And it’s Taehyung, you justify, who’s currently invading your space. 

The third mistake is when you try to steal a glance at the corner of your eye because you think he’s engrossed with the picture. 

But then you see that he isn’t. Not when his stare locks with yours the moment your eyes move.  Had been on you all this time. 

The fourth is when he moves and you don’t. 

Not when his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth to wipe whatever it is he sees there. 

Not when he flashes you a smile – something so fond and warm and tender that renders you mute. 

Not when he succumbs to sleep an hour later, head lolling on your shoulder.

But the entire world moves when he stirs and the overhead lights hit something golden. It crumbles and caves beneath your feet when a locket falls out of the top of his loosely buttoned shirt. An identical locket to the one that now sits heavy on your chest – once heavy with the broken promises, but now empty of the love that first came with it.

You see his forehead wrinkle as he slowly wakes and you feel the start of the burn that first settles on your chest before it moves and starts from the corners of your eyes. You train your eyes on the monitor, fingers clicking away on the mouse and the keyboard faster than ever.

“I’m sorry,” you hear him say. His head stays on your shoulder as he speaks. “What time is it?” 

“Quarter before ten—”

“I missed you,” he breathes and you hear him let out a soft laugh before he whispers, “I always miss you.”

It feels as if all the air in your lungs has been knocked out and you turn to speak when you see that he’s fallen back asleep. And god, you wanted to shout at him, let out the years of pent up frustration and grudge you’ve had all these past years and ask all the unanswered whys and hows. But looking at him now, after so, so long, you realize you do too. 

A tear drops and a multitude of realizations follow. 

You missed him. You missed him. You miss him. 

And fuck, you’re still in love with him, you realize. So much and enough to make you not think of the consequences of the realization that you do.

Not when his fiancée finally comes and places a chaste kiss on his lips.

Not when a wedding invitation lands itself on the desk towards you.

And especially not when the ghost of him lingers when they’re gone and you find yourself praying for it to stay just a little bit longer.

You did not plan for your Friday night to be like this at all. 

The initial – and final – plan was this: show up to the club your sister wanted you to show up to, make it look like you’re genuinely happy to be there, flee the moment midnight hits when your sister and her friends are too drunk to realize you aren’t there anymore, and sleep away in the solace your tranquil and quiet apartment offers. 

The night and plan had been going well, much to your delight. 

Just until the fleeing part, that is. Because the moment you press the unlock button to your car half past one in the morning, you see a very drunk Kim Taehyung eagle spread on the hood of your car, with only a rumpled halfway-buttoned shirt that’s tucked into his pants, one of his shoes already on the roof of the Mercedes. 

And so instead of proceeding to the sleeping part of your plan, here you are now, struggling under the weight of Taehyung as you try to push in all his limbs in the passenger seat because he refuses to go away. Why, of all people, must you be the one to find him like this? Other people would’ve paid no mind leaving him on the pavement but of course, the universe had to make sure it just had to be you because old, cruel fate had it out for you and your demise.

Two weeks spent in isolation from the rest of the world in an attempt to justify and get over the realization you had of still being in love with an ex and the world just dumps him in the hood of your car of all cars. 

“Kim Taehyung, I am not above violence, I will fucking knock you out if I have to if you step your foot out and kick me once more, for the love of god,” you heave, “Are you with Jimin?”

At this, he grins and nods, eyes half-closed, “Jimin went home. I think. Or wait, maybe he’s passed out in Yoongi’s tub. I think. I don’t know, do you think he’s still here? Wait, do you know Jimin? How do you know Jimin?” 

You sigh, “Give me your phone. I’ll get Soyeon to pick your ass up.”

Taehyung lets out a loud gasp, proceeds to choke on air before he looks up at you, “How do you know my girlfriend?” 

You pause for a second before rolling your eyes, “Phone.”

“It’s in my left pocket, can you get it for me? I’m so tired,” he whines, wincing as his head lands on the head rest. You reach over to pull his phone out, only to retrieve a pack of cigarettes but no phone. You freeze when his hand grips your wrist that’s still in his pocket, feeling your heartbeat in your ears when he leans forward, so close that you feel his breath on your cheek, “Butt pocket, sorry.” 

You take a deep breath as he continues to look at you with a grin. You move closer, angling your head away because you would be fucking cheek-to-cheek if you don’t and you pause just before you touch his back pocket, “No, you know what, you can get it yourself. Either that or I leave you out here on the streets.” 

Taehyung pouts but he moves his arm behind him nonetheless, proceeds to feel his other pocket when he finds the first one empty.

“My phone’s gone,” he huffs, “Oh! It’s in Minnie’s car!”

You let out a loud groan, rounding the car to open the driver’s side to look for your bag so you could use your phone and you let out another sound of frustration, louder this time, when you remember the picture of a beige bag being left underneath your couch’s pillow. You look over at Taehyung, a war in your head as to what to do with him, before you finally settle on the choice that you never, ever think you would’ve made. 

“Fine,” you grit as you turn the engine on, “I’m going to drop you off your house but I’m not gonna be held accountable for the reasons you’re going to have to explain to your girlfriend if she greets your drunk ass as to why the fuck her cousin’s dropping her fiance off, alright? Now, are you still staying in the same apartment ‘cause I’m going to drop you–”

Taehyung snores, body folding in on himself as he slightly shivers. You sigh, dropping your forehead on the steering wheel, enough to hurt and make the horn whine, “This is fucking unbelievable. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Hey, Taehyung,” you shake him, poking his shoulders the way you know he hates, “Wake up and tell me your address, asshole. I’m not driving to the other side of the city only to find out you changed address. Hey.” 

He makes the tiniest wave of his arm before he goes back to sleep. 

You glance at the clock that says it’s now nearing three in the morning and you run your hands over your face because fuck this. 

Now, you head to your apartment with the plan of just dumping Taehyung in the foyer and letting him sleep there until he has his mind back in the morning – you figure he’d probably run off the minute he wakes up. 

“Hey, wake up.” You nudge him when you arrive and you sigh once more as he merely stirs, opening his side of the door before attempting to move out of the car only to heave when the seatbelt he still has on pulls him back.

With a grimace, you round to his side and lug one of his arms around your shoulders and basically carry all of his weight towards the elevator. You give a tight smile to the staff at the reception as you pass by, dismissing the offer of help. You nearly drop to your knees as soon as the elevator doors close, exhaustion flooding you all of a sudden. 

As soon as the door opens to the penthouse, you remove your hold on Taehyung and he slumps against the wall. You let out a breath before pushing him to one of the guest rooms where he immediately plops down on the bed after knocking his shoes off.  A small smile plants itself on your face and you reach over to pull the covers over him. 

Kneeling down on the floor beside the bed, you brush off the loose hairs that cover his face and you whisper, “You’re making it so hard for me.”

Deciding that you’ve helped him enough, you head to your room to change and shower – a long bout of internal battle against yourself as you try to wash off all that happened. 

It is an hour later when you’re already in your bed, tossing and turning that you find yourself a long way from sleep, and so you push the covers off of you to head towards the kitchen to find something to drink. The sun is starting to rise, you see, as you stare at the large windows, uneasy at the thought that Taehyung is there. Here. 

And you know you shouldn’t care anymore. You’ve done enough and beyond to help him, you remind yourself. But that doesn’t matter, really, because here you are, pushing the guest room open to check on him, a bottle of water in hand. He remains as he was the second he got here and you sigh as you pull one of Jungkook’s shirt and sweatpants from the cabinet, a spare he leaves in the case he unintentionally sleeps over, and you walk towards Taehyung before slowly shaking him awake. 

“Hey,” you speak softly as his eyes crack open, mind still swimming in alcohol, “you should change into this. Your clothes must be uncomfortable to sleep in. Here’s some water too.” 

His eyes open a little bit wider, voice hoarse when he speaks, “(Y/N)?” 

You swallow, “Yeah, it’s me.” 

“I can’t remember most of tonight, how did I—”

You smile, “And you probably won’t remember all of this when you sleep once more. Just change and drink this, Taehyung.”

A part of why you’re doing all the things you’re doing is the fact that you know he will forget this. 

He sits up, swaying as he does so, twisting the water open. You greet him good night, and just as you turn to head back to sleep, his hand dart out to grip your wrist – as tight as the grip that has your heart beating so loud in your chest as he does, “I’m sorry.” 

Without turning around, you answer, “You don’t have to be. I would’ve done the same for anyone else.” 

“No, you wouldn’t have.” 

Pressing your tongue against your cheek, you rip your arm away from his hold, now turning around to face him. He slowly stands, eyes trained on you. You open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it, “I’m not saying sorry just because of tonight,” he speaks quietly, “This is an apology that’s long overdue. An apology I never had the courage to give you. An apology that I owe you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being the coward that walked away without an explanation. For not being the person I promised you I would be.”

“I told you,” you say through gritted teeth, “You don’t owe me an apology, Taehyung. It’s over and done with. Apologizing to me would mean that there’s still loose ends between us, and I’m telling you that there’s none. You may have burnt those ends the moment you walked away and I have burned mine in the years that followed. You don’t owe me anything.”

He’s closer now, so close that you feel yourself getting overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol and his perfume. “Then why are you still wearing this?” 

You feel all the walls come down, then, when his fingers trace the golden chain of the locket. The once emblem of young and promised love, of an oath, of Kim Taehyung. The necklace that never was once removed from you since then. 

You chuckle, bitter and harsh, “You’re still wearing it too, Kim.”

You flinch as you feel the pad of his thumb wipe away at the trail of tears that has somehow escaped, “Leaving you was the only choice I had then. It killed me to walk right out of that fucking door but it was the only choice. For you, for me, for us. Even if it meant me becoming the asshole, it was the only choice.” 

“Don’t feed me that bullshit, you left me. And in my vocabulary and everyone else’s, leaving the person you claim to love without a single explanation is a shit move,” you nearly damn snarled, “I could’ve accepted you telling me you didn’t love me anymore but you fucking walked out without a single word. Well, I guess it worked out great for you, huh? You’re getting married now.” 

“I did l—”

“Don’t fucking dare say it,” you sob, feeling all the energy draining out of you in a second, “You’re four years too late, Taehyung.”

The chains that hold all the hurt and grievance of the past four years had been unlocked and with the thought of Taehyung not being able to remember this tomorrow, you let it all out. 

“I lied,” you whisper, lips and chest shaking as you breathe, “It hurts me seeing you now. So fucking much. Because you never wanted to get married. I remember when we were together you said that we could live without the titles, the labels, and the technicalities of it all, because you’d love me the same. So yes, it hurts. I can’t deny that it does when the things you didn’t want with me, things I wanted to have with you, you learned to want with someone else. Shit like this hurts because even if I was okay without all the titles, I thought then that spending a lifetime with you wouldn’t be so bad. But you made it seem like you never wanted marriage, not with anyone ever and so I accepted it, content even with just being with you.”

“But then you show up like this,” you say so quietly you don’t know if he can hear it, “You can’t expect it not to hurt, Tae, because it does. So, so much.”

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung lightly rests his forehead on yours, “I’m so sorry.”

“Answer me this one question,” you look up at him, “Please.” 

You feel him nod, “Anything.”

You feel it again, the suffocating claws that grips around your chest, the pain of unanswered questions and doubts, “Was my love not enough for you?”

You feel it before you hear it, when he nods against your head, hands coming up to hold your cheeks, “No, no, god, no. It was more than enough. It was so much more than enough that you became someone who didn’t deserve someone who couldn’t reciprocate the amount of love you were giving me. I’m sorry.”

“I miss you, Tae.” You whisper, and you can barely see him through the tears, “And it’s so, so wrong and I shouldn’t be doing this but fuck, I do. Four years and I still miss you and now you’re here, back in my life, and yet you’re still the farthest you’ve ever been from me.”

Maybe it’s the realization that he is – so far away from you and will never be close enough anymore – that you think maybe this is the long-awaited end. The closure you’ve once longed for but never had. Maybe there really was no reason for him leaving you beyond the fact that he didn’t love you anymore – and maybe that was enough reason. You just didn’t want to accept that fact. Maybe it’s time that you do. 

After Taehyung, you’ve become someone who believed that love is something that’s easy to let go, when in fact, all this time, it is the love you had for Taehyung you’ve never let go of. And maybe, it was never love for the people that came after him and so it became easy for you once it’s over, once it ended. Because what has started that really counted has never reached its end, for you anyway. Because it will never be the same. 

Because they weren’t Kim Taehyung. 

“Don’t cry for me. I don’t deserve it,” he smiles a small smile as he wipes a tear away. 

“Then stop making me cry, asshole,” you softly retort, hands coming up to wrap around his own to pull them away from your face. You can’t think straight when he has his hands on you, “I’m not asking for you to love me again, not anymore. Maybe we could be friends?”

It’s a weak attempt at humor, you know. And you really don’t think you can be just friends with Taehyung. But you’re weak for Kim Taehyung and you’re still so fucking in love him that you’d settle for whatever there can be between the two of you. He doesn’t need to know the specifics.

“Can we, really?” He laughs softly, a sad smile appearing, “I’m about to do something very stupid, for the very last time, so please, stop me if you don’t want to because I don’t think I can stop myself.”

He leans forward as the inches between you decrease down to a zero, his lips pressing against your cheek, your forehead, your eyelid, and to the corner of your mouth before he pulls away. “No, you had something to drink too, I’m drunk, you’re drunk. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, ” Taehyung breathes against your cheek, eyes shut tight. 

“I’m not.” 

Whether that’s an answer that refutes your state of intoxication or a statement that debunks Taehyung’s apology, you don’t know. Because the next moment finds you pulling him forward, arms snaking around his shoulders as you kiss him. Soft and unhurried and sad – a declaration of what had remained unsaid for the past years. 

The last time, you swear, and from tomorrow then on, you’re going to be friends. This night will be void – forgotten and discarded. Taehyung is going to continue with his life and you with yours. 

It’s so easy to become so lost in Taehyung that you forget the rest of the world. 

That you don’t hear the sound of the door opening. 

Or the second set of drunk footsteps that follows the first one.

“What in the fuck is going on here?”

[vipwinnie]

“ It’s always been you “

Theodore Nott x reader

Summary : you thought he loved you, and ultimately you were right

You always had a big crush on Théodore. And to your greatest happiness, the alchemy happened with him. You quickly became friends sharing the same interests, and your relationship has only evolved over the years. You had become so close that you could easily pass for a couple.

It was a gentle autumn morning; you had accompanied theodore to get ingredients for a potion. You were on your way back, walking near the lake.

“What a lovely place for a walk, isn't it?” he said, looking out over the peaceful lake.

“Yes, it’s really beautiful here. I really appreciate this peace and quiet.” you replied.

“Me too, it’s like time stops. By the way, you look really beautiful today. “he added

"Thank you, you are very kind. You know, I really enjoy our time together.” you said staring at theodore's face with starry eyes.

“I too, really enjoy every moment spent with you. You’re different from other girls, you know?”

"Really ? How so ?"you asked.

“You are unique, special. I feel really good in your presence. I can not help thinking of you."

“Oh, I feel the same way. You knew how to touch a sensitive chord in me. I’m so happy to be with you.”you said, with the biggest smile on your face.

“It’s amazing how much we are on the same page. I feel like I can share anything with you.”

“I feel so close to you too. It’s like we have a special connection.”

You hadn't noticed that he had stopped walking, looking you straight in the eyes. Stopping yourself, you look him in the eyes. Their eyes met, a shy smile appearing on their lips. Their faces moved closer and closer, their breaths mingling delicately. Everything seemed to freeze around them, the entire world disappearing in a suspended moment. You've been waiting for this moment for so long. But when you think that your lips are finally going to touch each other. But suddenly, Theodore stepped back. You didn't understand.

“I have potions class in 5 minutes, I really should go” he said, walking further away without giving you one last look as if you didn’t exist.

You stood there alone, only the sounds of the lake could be heard. You were lost, the more you thought, the more the tears came. What did you do wrong? Did he hate you? You shouldn't lose faith .

The next time you saw him that day, Theodore's last class was Defense Against the Dark Arts. As usual, you were waiting for Theodore to come out, you were waiting for him leaning against a wall. You saw him come out, so you went to meet him. You took a deep breath and gathered all your courage to go to meet him. Your heartbeat speeds up as you get closer to him.

But when you approach Theodore, he seems to completely ignore you. He doesn't even look you in the eye, as if you were invisible. Your heart breaks into a thousand pieces at this very moment. You feel devastated and humiliated. Tears begin to slowly fall down your cheeks as you hurry back to the dorms. You take refuge in your room, closing the door behind you. Sitting on your bed, you lament to yourself, wondering what you did wrong to deserve such rejection. Thoughts swirl in your mind. You remember every moment you spent with Theodore, analyzing every interaction, searching for answers to your pain.

You wonder if you misinterpreted his signals or if you were just naive to believe that he could feel the same attraction as you. Sadness invades you, your sobs turn into a silent cry of despair. You feel alone, misunderstood and hurt. The questions loop through your head, questioning your own worth and attractiveness. That evening you went to bed, with tears in your eyes. Your sister took a really big hit today.

The next morning, you wake up with a rush of excitement in your heart, knowing that you will soon join the others for breakfast. You secretly hope to meet the eyes of your crush, Theodore. Yesterday, he completely ignored you, but you ignore this disappointment and remain optimistic. Entering the common room, you look for him, but he is nowhere in sight. You feel a slight disappointment, but you refuse to let it ruin your day. You greet your friends and sit down at a table, ready to enjoy this friendly moment. As you start to chat with your friend Pansy, you suddenly hear Theodore scratch his throat. Your heart races with hope. Will he finally speak to you? But instead, he announces in an unsteady voice that he must go back to the dormitories.

You are stunned, unable to understand why he is acting this way. A sadness invades your being as you see him walk away without even glancing at you. You feel rejected and hurt, wondering what you could have done wrong to deserve such treatment. Tears threaten to fall, but you hold back, not wanting to show your vulnerability to others.

You feel lost, unable to understand why Theodore treats you like this. You question your actions, looking for answers in the smallest details of your relationship. Maybe it's your fault? Maybe you're not interesting or attractive enough for him? Theodore's strange behavior doesn't go unnoticed by the rest of your friends either.

“What happened with Theodore? We noticed that he completely ignored you. Draco asked you.

“Yes, I don’t understand his behavior at all. I thought everything was fine between us, but he avoided me and left without saying a word.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s an explanation. It's not normal for him to ignore you like this. He really cares about you, I know that.” reassured you Blaise who was still swallowing his breakfast”

"Exactly. Theodore is a good person and I am convinced that he would never want to deliberately hurt you. He must have a valid reason for his behavior.” Draco continued.

“But it still hurts me. I feel like I've done something wrong or that I'm insignificant to him.” you say

“No, don't think that. You are an incredible person and you deserve someone who treats you with respect and love. Theodore needs to talk to you and explain to you what's really going on." he continued.

"Exactly. Maybe he's going through something difficult right now and he doesn't know how to tell you. You know how he is. But know that this is in no way your fault.” Draco continued in turn.

"Thanks guys. “ you said even if you weren’t really convinced.

Later in the day you tried to find him so you could finally talk to him. As you headed towards his dorms, you saw him in one of the hallways, sitting on the bench with a girl. They seemed to be laughing and chatting, as if they were best friends .

Reality hit me hard. You felt betrayed, devastated. Tears begin to flow down your cheeks, your legs weaken under the weight of pain. You wanted to run away, to escape this scene that was breaking your heart. Without thinking, you started running, your sobs muffling his cries of despair. You walked through the park, feeling lost, betrayed and abandoned. But to your surprise, you heard footsteps behind you. It was Theodore following you, his eyes full of worry and confusion. He called out to you, trying to catch up with you. You stop, turning your tear-stained face towards him.

He approached you, his voice trembling with emotion. He asked you what was wrong, why you had run away in such a hurry.

But you didn't want to hear these words, so you tried it all, you kissed him. His lips pressed against yours suddenly in a sweet kiss, triggering an explosion of emotions in your heart. His hands squeeze with yours tenderly, your lips moving in perfect harmony. It was a kiss filled with passion.

As your lips slowly part, you keep your eyes closed, trying to hold in this magical moment. You can feel the smile on his face, the happiness shining in his eyes. The world gradually regains its colors, and you open your eyes to look once again into the gaze of the one who has just stolen your breath. Theodore approaches you hesitantly, his heart heavy with remorse.

He kissed you back: it was definitely the best day of your life. But I thought you didn't love me? You pushed me away so many times" you say with tears in your eyes.

He kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his. “I’m so sorry…” he whispers, his voice trembling. "I ignored your feelings because I was afraid of mine. I didn't know how to deal with them, so I thought that by keeping you at a distance, I could bury them."

Tears continue to stream down the girl's face as she listens to his words. "But why? Why be afraid of your feelings?", you asked, trying to understand. Theodore gently wipes away the tears streaming down the girl's cheeks.

"Because I simply love you. I was afraid of what that meant, of the vulnerability that it entailed. I was a coward in ignoring myself and I'm so sorry for making you suffer. "

You stared at Theodore, your eyes red and swollen with tears. Despite his pain, you could see the sincerity in his eyes. "I...I feel the same way. I have feelings for you too, but I was afraid to tell you. I thought you didn't feel anything for me."you said.

Theodore gently caresses your cheeks, a shy smile appears on your face. "I'm sorry I was so blind...

You didn't let him finish, interrupting him with another fiery kiss showing all your love for him.

[ambrosykim]

"how do you know which time might be the last? / what i would give just to see you again"

a gorgeous piece i commissioned from @kirnet of my lavellan lamenting her life

i know the wolf/halla dynamic are always talked about but helle is so halla coded. soft and silent until she needs to be swift. can be spooked easily and either flees or freezes. has the means of defending herself with her knives like halla antlers. wary of people and not slow to trust. same hair colour.

the hands represent her guilt at allowing her clan to die, yet they are never truly gone bc they gnaw at her mind. she only has her sister now who she thought also perished but (un)fortunately survived bc she had been tracking helle.

and ofc the wolf!!! the eyes in the lake!!! i am truly obsessed with the eyes in the lake, as if solas is always watching here even if he's not present.

truly helle is never alone yet she is always lonely.

[huramuna]

new valyria - one shot.

aemond x shera stark, modern. 18+, minors do not interact or you will be smited. a banshee's lament au.

new valyria, the hottest club in town, is owned by the Targaryen family. it is themed in the style of Valyria of old with towering pillars of ivory and gold. the dress code is strictly red and black and their signature drink, a fruity and spicy blended brandy, is called 'the Balerion'.

i might do more one shots in this au heehee.

word count: 5.5k

content: smut (specifics below cut), angst, shera being a mess, aemond = whore?, aegon has rabies, helaena x shera agenda

ain't it fun - paramore • hard times - paramore

warnings: thigh riding, oral (f receiving), shera has a praise kink, aemond targaryen has a tongue piercing, semi public sex (they're in an alley)

“Sher, please don’t be a buzzkill, it's one night— just one!” Cregan exasperated, hands held out in a pleading fashion. He was pacing back and forth in front of his sister, perplexed. 

“It’s seriously not my scene, Cregan. I mean… loud music, flashing lights and intoxicated individuals everywhere? You really think that’s a good place for me to be?” Shera retorted, lazed back in her fluffy couch, glancing at her phone every once in a while.

“It’s really classy, trust me. There are tables to the side where you can sit away from the action.” 

“Why am I even going if I’m going to be ‘away from the action’?” she punctuated air quotes in his face. 

“When was the last time you left the house except to go to the post office? When was the last time you socialized with anyone who wasn’t me, Moongeist or Helaena?” 

Shera went silent, brow knitting together. She folded her arms over her chest defensively. “Low blow, make fun of the girl with an anxiety disorder and agoraphobia.” 

“I’m… I just want you to experience life! You’re young and spry— you should be out in the world trying everything while you still can! But instead, you insist on staying at home, wearing glasses that make you look like a librarian, and making soap. You already act the part of a grandma.” 

“It’s… I just don’t want anyone to see me, I don’t want to be perceived, Cregan. I don’t want people to look at me, to… to,” she gestured fervently to her eye, hands shaking slightly. She had a scar that ran the length of half of her face, bisecting her one eye into a milky-blue blindness. It was from a childhood accident, which was more or less a hazy nightmare to her now. “Y’know.”

“No one will see you, Shera. It’s… dark and low lit, that’s part of the experience.”

“Thirty minutes. I will stay approximately thirty minutes before I call an uber and go home. And… you have to do my laundry for… a month. No, two months!” Shera exclaimed, pointing out two fingers at him. Moongeist whined on the couch, giving a low warbling noise. 

–

Two hours later, she was dressed. She opted for a lacy baby-blue lolita style dress at first, but Cregan had protested immediately. 

“You look like a scary Victorian doll. Pick something from this era, please. Plus, there is a dress code of black and red.” 

Shoving a rude gesture in his face, she begrudgingly changed. She opted for a red satin dress. It had a scoop halter neckline which was certainly not her usual style. Glancing in the mirror, she wholly considered bailing out of the situation entirely. The snug fabric hugged her curves, her thighs rubbing together as she walked. She felt… exposed, all of the little dips and divots of her body on display— she wasn’t sure if it was even flattering. 

A small frown tugged at her lips as she fiddled with the plunging front of the dress, trying to get it to stay at a point where her breasts didn’t look like they were about to burst out and start kicking ass and taking names. Isn’t there tape made for this sort of thing? As self conscious as she was about the whole situation, there was something… liberating about getting dressed up with (almost) the sole purpose of being ogled at. While her face was something of a sore point, she would hope that at least one person in the club could find her body desirable. She was a ‘short-stack’ as Helaena called her, who worshiped her curves and soft spots like they were the second coming of a messiah. Shera squeezed her thighs together at the thought– if she didn’t get a hookup tonight, she would need to call Helaena. Some itches could only be scratched on your own for so long.

Pressing double-sided adhesive tape, that she used for her soap orders, to her chest, she somewhat successfully kept the satin in place. Giving another look and not quite on board with what she saw, she hid herself in an oversized puffy faux furred jacket. 

Just thirty minutes. It’s just thirty minutes, Shera. You can do this… just… chill out. 

Despite her lackluster words of affirmation and the subsequent panic bubbling in her stomach, she grabbed her purse. Her breathing was uneven and she took a hit from her emergency inhaler, hoping to the Gods at play that she wouldn’t have an asthma attack in the middle of the club. 

Shera imagined, somehow, dancing with some attractive number and getting hot and heavy (as if!) and then having to pull out her inhaler. Lung health is not cute. Oh, yeah, my airways get blocked sometimes by mucus and I can’t breathe. What do you mean you don’t want to stick your tongue down my throat? 

Myriad of issues aside, she pushed out of her room, head held not quite high, but just enough so she could see. 

Cregan nodded in approval (as if he was some sort of fashion expert) and they were off. The drive was quiet and Shera realized he never told her the club name. He always referred to it as ‘the club’. She somewhat understood the need for a dress code at an establishment like a lounge, but color coded? How pretentious. Shera and Cregan didn’t even really look good in red— they were more akin to monochromatic and cool toned blues rather than red. 

Red and black reminded her of… something. She couldn’t quite place it.

They pulled up to the building, which didn’t have a sign or anything. It was wedged in between two other buildings, but its architecture was vastly different. While the adjoining facilities were modern, the club looked like it was from ancient Greece. It had towering ivory pillars, etched in the simplistic but still somewhat complex design of corinthian filigree, the individual chips of the sculptor’s chisel still apparent— they were handmade, hand carved. The inside of the building emanated a foreboding and very deep red. 

Shera suddenly wondered if she was about to enter Mount Olympus— or maybe the underworld, as the sickly maroon color reminded her of the River Styx. 

The bouncer, a burly man who could easily bench press Cregan (an impressive feat, considering her brother was a hockey player built like a brick shit house) stood at the door. 

“Name.” the makeshift Charon grunted. Shera half expected him to start brandishing a wooden paddle. 

“Stark.” Cregan replied, hands in his pockets. 

Not-Charon looked at his list, then at the pair of Stark siblings, back and forth for at least thirty seconds. 

“S-T-A…” Cregan began to spell out their last name in irritation before the ferryman held up his hand in pause. 

“You’re on, go in.” 

Entering the club, to which Shera still didn’t know the name of, was certainly like entering the gates of Hell. She felt like Dante, entering the first circle, guided by Virgil. It was dark, the low boom of bass ringing in her ears. They were guided by a path of red floor lights. What is this? An amusement park? It was a weird mix of trepidation of entering the unknown— which to Shera, could either be the actual entrance to Hell, or the entrance to the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney world. All she was sure of is that she wanted a turkey leg and to go home. 

And yet, some part of her brain, as small and withered as it may be, pressed on for adventure and excitement. They approached the end of the path and it gave way to a large room, still painted in that deep saccharine hue. The roof was high-vaulted and curved inward– it was like stepping into the Pantheon, the coffered, domed ceiling seeming to go on forever. The club was set up in a circular manner, as the room curved around. The bar itself was in the middle, hugging a large stage platform. On the stage was a singular grand piano and a DJ station. All surfaces were decorated in ivory, accented by red velvet. 

The music playing was a mix of the piano and the DJ, working together to create a surprisingly exuberant melody that made Shera’s skin rise in goosebumps. 

“Let’s get drinks, Sher,” Cregan steered her to the wrapping bar quickly, his sights set on something or someone in particular.

Shera didn’t feel much like drinking– she had no taste for alcohol, only trying it a few times in her life and never enough to even get a buzz. She didn’t find the point in choking down liquid that tasted like poison only to feel like living death the next morning. She slipped into one of the velvet bar stools, her feet dangling under her.

“Just cranberry juice, please,” she murmured to the barkeep, who returned her request with an eyebrow raise. 

Cregan began whooping and hollering behind her and she turned to see someone she hadn’t seen in a long time: Jacaerys Velaryon. 

Once upon a time, Shera and Cregan had been extremely close to the Velaryon and Targaryen kids, growing up in the same social circles, they were all an unstoppable and very tight knit little group of hellions. 

But that was years ago– she didn’t talk to any of them anymore, except for Helaena, who she had stayed best friends with throughout the years, and may or may not be in a casual on and off situationship with.

She tried not to remember the fact that, at some point, she had been attached at the hip to Helaena’s brother, Aemond. They were like peanut butter and jelly, like cookies and cream, like macaroni and cheese, and any other iconic food (or maybe not, she was just hungry) related duo. Thick as thieves, they were. Until… the ever creeping monster of puberty and hormones and all the things related to growing up split them apart. Shera developed her terrible anxiety disorder, while Aemond flourished in academics and moved through the social ranks at school. They hadn’t spoken since they were sixteen, when Shera inevitably withdrew from physical school in favor of at-home, online school.

Shera approached him warily, seeing him laughing and joking with his friends that were just… so out of her atmosphere, she couldn’t even imagine having a conversation with.

They hadn’t been close in a few years but… it wouldn’t feel right just up and disappearing from school without telling him, right? 

Some stupid, childish part of her thought he might ask her to stay, ask her what’s wrong, ask her anything, really. 

But as she got closer, she felt all of their eyes on her, their lips pulled into sneers. It's irrational, it's irrational, it's irrational, she tried to reason with herself and her bubbling anxiety in her stomach. They aren’t laughing at you, they aren’t, they aren’t. 

But it… it feels like they were. Aemond’s blue eyes zeroed in on her, one slightly off-color than the other. They had both been involved in a childhood accident, leaving them both blinded. But, looking at the two of them, one would only be able to notice Shera’s glaring scar. 

Aemond’s eye and subsequent scar had been mostly covered up with extensive cosmetic surgery and other procedures, at his mother’s behest, and on his father’s dime, which was seemingly an endless well. His eye, which he lost, was replaced by a near perfect replica. No one who didn’t know him closely would ever notice.

At the time of the incident, Shera’s family was going through a transitional period– namely, her and Cregan’s father passing away while they were both underage, the following legal battle over inheritance with their uncle and just things that no kids should go through. It was the catalyst of Shera’s subsequent anxiety and myriad of following issues.

She didn’t even approach him further that day in the hall. She said nothing to him, merely turning on a heel and leaving.

That was eight years ago.

“Jace, my god,” Shera gaped, eyes wide. He certainly wasn’t a kid anymore and had put on some muscle mass– she assumed from playing hockey with Cregan (even if he was still dwarfed by the absolute unit of her brother). He had those unruly chocolate colored curls, oh-so reminiscent of his rumored father, Harwin Strong. But that was a touchy issue within itself and best left unsaid. 

“Shera!” Jace went in for the hug right away, squeezing the poor girl tight. “You look fantastic.” It felt like an obligated lie. 

“Thank you… um, what are you doing here?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Oh, I’m always around this place most times or another. I DJ on the side when I’m not on the ice. Mom made a spot for me.”

Mom? What did Rhaenyra have to do with this?

She must have looked visibly confused. “You know this… is my family’s place, right? New Valyria?” 

It hit her like a train– a freight train that smacked into her and kept on going until there was nothing left of her but Shera-shaped dust. “Oh.”

“Cregan didn’t tell you?”

Her brother scratched a hand behind his head, looking somewhat sheepish. It was a weird look on him. “I… may have not. I wasn’t lying per say–” 

Shera opened her mouth to say something more, but was interrupted by a cup being slid her way by the bartender. Without looking, she lifted it to her lips and took a deep gulp. It was, in fact, her cranberry juice– but it had been mixed with vodka. Heavily. She suppressed the urge to spit it out and looked back up. “I asked for just juice.”

“It was sent from the gentleman over there,” the bartender pointed to a small alcove adjacent to them where none other than Aegon fucking Targaryen was sitting, legs splayed out like he owned the place (well, he did in some capacity, she supposed) and a lady on each arm. He had the biggest shit-eating grin she’d ever seen, staring right at her. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she put a hand on her forehead. “I’m leaving, Cregan. I don’t give a shit about the deal anymore.” 

“Shera, we’ve been here for five minutes–”

“Five minutes. It took five minutes for someone to somehow recognize me in this stupid red lighting– and not just someone, no, one of my childhood friends who hasn’t spoken to me in eons and is looking at me like I’m his next meal. Not to mention, my shithead brother didn’t mention that the club he is forcing me to go to is owned by said childhood friend’s family. I should’ve fucking guessed it with the red and black dress code, fucking pretentious. No offense, Jace,” she murmured, taking a breath. “I’m done.” she gathered her purse, slipping off of the seat. That vodka must’ve gone straight to her head, as she’d never been so adamant about something. Fuck it. She threw back the remainder of the glass of vodka cranberry (regretting it immediately) and flipped her brother another rude gesture.

She was so blinded by red– not just the color scheme, but the rage she felt bubbling as she rushed to the exit. The rage and anxiety was a more powerful cocktail than anything they served at the bar as she pulled out her phone with trembling hands, trying to call an uber. She didn’t look up the whole time, somehow managing to almost reach the gate to salvation– before she ran head first into a very hard body. A very hard body with a pointy fucking necklace on that stabbed her in the forehead. The force of her stumble was catastrophic, for her, as she fell to the ground on her ass. The hard body stayed upright, only shaken a little.

A heavily tattooed and, ahem, large calloused hand reached in front of her. She took it, half expecting to pull her own weight up, but was easily lifted to her feet. The hand was warm. Unnaturally warm. The smell of cigarette smoke and… sandalwood blew out her senses. She could feel his breath on her face as she swayed slightly into him– he was looking down at her directly, pupils boring holes into her. The heat of the situation rose into a fever pitch as they were practically pressed together, his hand straying to the small of her back so she wouldn’t fall over again. It felt terribly intimate.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry— I… the… I’m sorry,” she stammered, trying to get out some sort of explanation to why she’d accidentally used this person as a springboard, but it just came out in a string of unintelligible ramblings. Her heels clicked on the floor, stumbling back and forth.

“It’s fine,” he replied. The voice sounded familiar, but still somewhat faraway in her mind. “Are you alright? You seem… unsteady.”

 She wouldn’t be surprised if she had given herself a concussion from face planting into… she glanced up, eyes trailing the body before her. He was tall with expensive Italian leather shoes and impeccably pressed slacks. His shirt was red and only half buttoned, leaving a small patch of sheer white-blondish chest hair. His hands, which dwarfed hers, were inked in tattoos that seemingly stretched his body, peeking out on his exposed torso. 

The offending pointy necklace revealed itself; a golden pendant of a Seven-Pointed star. Her stomach dropped into her feet as she realized exactly who it was. 

Fuckfuckfuck. Meeting his gaze, it was none other than Aemond Targaryen. Her former best friend, companion, partner in crime. She expected his face to twist into a sneer like it had before at school and she wanted to vomit. I have to get out of here. 

“You’re bleeding,” he pointed to her forehead where she had consecrated herself with his pendant. A bit of blood was trickling from her skin. 

That is what he has to say? You’re bleeding? No hello Shera, hi Shera, I recognize you Shera? A frown made home on her face as she realized he might not even remember her. 

“Um, it’s… it’s fine,” she wiped the blood away with the back of her hand, feeling it being replaced with new droplets. “Sorry for running into you, sir.” Sir? What the fuck is wrong with you, Shera? 

“At least let me help you get cleaned up, yeah?” Aemond pressed, tilting up her head to most likely observe her wound– but it also felt like he was sizing her up, checking her out. “Only if you call me sir again.”

She made a garbled noise of surprise at his last comment, her mouth opening to try and spew out some half-assed cheeky reply. “I… I guess,” she murmured. She really just wanted to go home and cry and never leave the house again— but that stupid and childish part of her brain that hadn’t resurfaced itself since leaving school was nagging her. It felt sickly euphoric to her to see him again. She hated to be objectifying, but he had grown up to be, quite frankly, gorgeous. “S-... sir,” she squeaked out lastly, finally thankful for the gaudy lighting– without it, Aemond would’ve seen her face lit up like a tomato. 

He nodded with a ‘hm’ noise, leading her down a hallway to the far side of the Pantheon. It was lit up normally with sconces on the wall giving clear white light. It was obviously a staff-only path. 

Okay, Shera. Breathe. You can get through this. Let him put a bandaid on your head and hopefully not recognize or remember you and you can be on your way. You always wondered what he grew up to look like and now you know! Here is your little Aemond fix to mend the Aemond sized hole in your heart. Then you can move on and totally not wallow over this for weeks.

The office was nice– it was his, she knew instantly. It had tall bookshelves filled with different philosophers and big named authors, no doubt some of them first or second editions worth thousands. Shera felt like she was intruding, like she didn’t belong. She didn’t, really. Swaying side to side, she awaited further instruction.

“Come,” he said, not so much asking. He seemed to lack some manners these days– Alicent must be aghast.

She shuffled and took a seat in one of the chaise velvet seats in front of the desk. She fluffed into her coat, wanting to just hide, her muddled mind replaying the way he spoke. Come, come, come. Christ, I need to get laid– maybe I should call Helaena. The lights, still a bit low, weren’t a scathing fluorescent color like on the club floor. He could most certainly see the scar running down her face– and the fear she held in her eyes. 

Even though it was plain as day, he didn’t say anything. He opened a first aid kit, dabbing her forehead with peroxide soaked gauze, his expression watching her every movement. His gaze was almost snake-like, unblinking as he observed.

She hissed at the sting of it, gritting her teeth slightly. He only gave an answer of a slightly knit brow. 

It was silent— save for Shera’s quiet and slightly wheezy, squeaky breathing. Her hands were clenched on her knees, her dress riding up her skin, which she was constantly tugging downward. As he shuffled closer, one knee knocked between her two shaking ones. Was that an accident? The creeping heat only seemed to grow.

The soft beat of the music from the club coupled with the blood rushing in Shera’s ears made her want to scream. Everything seemed in slow motion as Aemond, still apparently a painstakingly asinine perfectionist, took his sweet time to patch her up. This gave her time to watch him in turn, focusing mostly on the way his lips were upturned, cupid’s bow taut. Flicking back up to his eyes, they were looking back and forth from her lips to her own gaze. The air around them seemed to go stagnant. Holy fuck, does he want to kiss me or do I have something on my face? 

Her eyes must’ve read confusion, panic, elation and all the things in between that go with wanting to kiss an almost stranger in a club– but he wasn’t exactly a stranger to her. But, she supposed she was to him. His fingers tilted her chin upward and his lips curled into a smug grin, auto completing her thoughts. 

He pressed a bandage to her forehead, mouth open to say something, like he was going to do something, but he was caught off guard by the door to his office slamming open. Shera didn’t even look to see who it was— she was more focused on the fact that Aemond goddamn Targaryen had a tongue piercing. She felt like she was going to melt.

“Hey Aem, that fuckin’ slag bit me— do you think I should go get a rabies shot or something?” a slightly slurred voice drawed. “Ohhh, shit.” Aegon stumbled into the room, leaning on the doorframe. He was, in fact, bleeding from his neck, some very prominent bite marks marring his skin, coupled with vicious looking hickies. 

“Busy,” Aemond grunted, focusing his gaze back on tending to Shera. 

“Like busy or… busy? I don’t see your hand up her skirt or anything, so you can’t be that busy.” 

“Fuck off, Aeg,” he continued, gritting his teeth in annoyance. “Seriously.” 

“Well, Criston wants to talk to you ‘bout throwing that girl out— since it is your management night, eh?”

The smallest breath of annoyance slipped from the younger brother’s lips. “I’ll be right back.” 

Aegon still loomed in the doorway after he left, staring at Shera. “You didn’t like my drink?” 

“I don’t really drink.” 

“And yet… you’re at a bar where they serve alcohol.” 

“I’m trying to leave,” she sniffed.

“Not hard enough apparently,” Aegon flicked open a lighter, taking a drag from a suddenly lit cigarette. “You look like a lost pup, Shera.” 

“You remembered me.” 

“I may have the IQ of a golden retriever but I’m not that stupid. I couldn’t exactly forget your bird’s nest of red hair or himbo of a brother. Seriously, all those body slams from hockey must’ve damaged his brain.” 

Shera snorted a little laugh. “Aemond doesn’t even seem to recognize me— or, he hasn’t said anything.” 

“He’s got his head too far up his own ass to recognize anything other than cunt. He’s more of a whore than I am these days,” he took a deep drag, puffing smoke out into the hall. “Don’t be surprised if he fingers you before he even asks for your name.” 

An unfamiliar feeling churned in Shera’s stomach. “I… I gotta go.” she huffed, grabbing her purse and walking past Aegon. She was biting down so hard on her lip that it started to bleed, the metallic taste savoring like lead on her tongue. 

She makes her way through the throngs of people, everything around her a blur. It seemed that Aemond didn’t remember or recognize her– fine, that was fine. She didn’t expect him to– who would, really? Her eye unwillingly caught a glance of his figure again on the outskirts of the club. He was talking to a woman dressed in a sparkling red dress, looking like Jessica fucking Rabbit. His hands eclipsed the woman’s hips as they were leaned close together, clearly in some sort of heated conversation. 

 Her throat felt slightly constricted as she pushed out of the exit door into the alley. Has she misread his signals? They were totally about to kiss before Aegon came in, right? 

He’s a bigger whore than me these days.

Fat tears rolled down her face unwillingly as she leaned on the brick wall of the alley, fumbling for her phone again. Why did it hurt? It was stupid, she was stupid– they hadn’t seen each other in eight years and he didn’t even recognize her– so why did it sting to see… that? 

She texts for an uber rather than calling as her emotions are in no place to talk to someone. She drops her phone on the concrete several times by how much she’s shaking– she doesn’t even hear the door of the club close with a creak behind her.

“You left. I wasn’t done patching you up,” Aemond slunk around into her line of sight, head bowed low to try to look at her face.

She swiveled to the side to hide her expression and distress in her phone. “... had to go, sorry,” she whispers, trying her best to sound like she wasn’t crying.

“I didn’t mean for him to interrupt us– my brother’s an idiot,” he was chasing her face. “Let me see.” he put his hand on her cheek and turned her face to him again. She let him, forever putty in his hands. If only he knew. If only he really cared.

His thumb wiped away some of the tears. “It doesn’t hurt that bad, does it?” he whispered, getting close to her once more like they were in the office. “I can always kiss it better, hm?” 

It felt like an invitation, the opening of a letter of acceptance to some grandiose college she could never afford, never fit into– but for one moment, she decided to bask in it. Let the hurt come later; it always comes later. He had been interested in some capacity. Not in her, not really her, but for some anonymous club fling. 

Fine.

“Why don’t you, then?” she returned, eyes half lidded under his heavy gaze.

It was all the consent he needed– their lips melded together, all tongues and teeth. It was borderline obscene, like they were attacking each other. His hand threaded through her hair, tongue tracing the outline of her cupid’s bow before tangling into her mouth. She felt the ball of his tongue piercing meld against her. He tasted like coffee and cigarettes– on anyone else, Shera would find it unpleasant, but she was so intoxicated on the idea that Aemond’s tongue was in her mouth, she didn’t care. She even would say she liked it.

Heat kindled between the two of them, coming to a roaring flame as he slotted his leg between her legs again– before must have just been a prelude, as he didn’t give any indication that his knee pressed against her clothed core was an accident. No, it was pure intention. He lofted some of her weight onto his leg, encouraging her to chase her pleasure, hand riding up her dress to grip her bottom firmly. 

She gave an experimental roll of her hips, finding her arousal and ever growing wetness to only increase, whimpering a small moan into his mouth. He, apparently liking that, pulled her back from his face by her hair, staring down at her like he wanted to commit her expression to memory.

“Come on,” he growled, voice husky against the shell of her ear. “Ride my fucking leg.” Aemond’s lips connected with her skin again on her neck. 

It felt like a lightning bolt struck her right in her core, making her toes curl and tingle. Her mouth was open as she pleasured herself on him, using him– she was approaching her end almost embarrassingly fast as he angled his leg a bit more upward, pinpointing all the pressure onto her clit, which at this point, was barely even guarded behind her panties. Aemond’s hand on her bottom slinked the elastic of her underwear until he reached the front, two fingers swiping down her soaked folds. 

“Soaked for me, are you?” he asked, parting her underwear to the side to rest against her thigh, her bare cunt now in direct contact with his clothed leg. She was surely making a mess on his expensive slacks, she didn’t even have to look. He quirked a brow and laved his tongue over one of the fingers that had just slid through her wetness, testing the taste. 

Her brow furrowed and the building heat, the harp’s string right in her core, came undone with that. She wanted to moan his name– she almost said it. “A–,” she cried, burying her face in his shoulder as she rode out her orgasm on his leg. 

“That’s a good girl,” Aemond praised, his words of affirmation going straight to her core. She did, unfortunately, have a praise kink. “Can you stand?” 

“Mmh– y-... yes,” she replied as he took away his leg– but not before sending her into slight overstimulation with a cheeky bump to her clit. 

“Good, stay there, love,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead (which felt strangely familiar out of this supposed random club hookup). “Wanna taste you now. You can give me one more, can’t you?” 

Her legs wobbled as he got down on his knees in the back alley on his no doubt designer pants (now painted with a souvenir from her) to eat her out. She could barely speak, just nodding.

“That’s right,” he hummed, squeezing into her thigh as he spread her legs. She was dripping right into his mouth as his warm lips made contact with her– he teased her slightly by blowing on her bare skin, chuckling as she squirmed and whimpered. “You’re too cute.” his tongue flattened and laved over her cunt, not letting a drop of her arousal go to waste as he went to town. He continued his teasing by edging just around her clit, making her chase his mouth slightly as he moved to suckle just outside of that spot.

It was torture. Sweet, sweet torture as he edged her for a good two minutes while she was already on the edge again. The coolness of his tongue piercing sent chills up her spine as he finally, finally began to zero in on her pearl, the ball of the piercing dancing around it, stimulating her to a delicious peak. 

“P-Please, please, please,” she whined, fisting his hair. 

He had the audacity to look up at her, face first in her thighs, and wink at her. All remnants of teasing were gone as he began to feast, focusing solely on pulling out her second orgasm. It didn’t even register to her, as she was clenching around nothing, tears welling in her eyes from the sheer intensity of her peak, that he hadn’t gotten off yet– she had hardly touched him. He was focusing all on her.

She went boneless for a moment as she came down from her high, almost moaning his name again. He held her until she came back down to earth. 

Her hands fiddled to his belt, she desperately wanted to return the favor– 

“Your uber’s here, love,” he murmured, helping her out of the alley to the car awaiting. She looked down, realizing her phone had been unlocked on the uber ETA screen. 

She was spinning still, reeling from the entire interaction. Next thing she knew, she was sitting in the back of her uber as Aemond stood, door in hand. 

“Bye, Shera.” he grinned, closing the door.

He knew the whole time.

[mintmatcha]

Makki is crying on the couch and you aren't sure how to respond.

Hands folded over his heart and phone clutched between them, Takahiro squeezes his eyes close as tight as possible and lets the tears just flow. His whole body heaves with silent sobs, ribs expanding and constricting arrhythmicly as anguish contorts him, flushing the skin of his cheeks a dark, splotchy red. Misery overwhelms him from head to toes and he just lets it happen, crying midday and midapartment.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a squeak of a sound comes out.

"Hiro?" You manage to say on your second try.

"Hey!" He scrambles to sit up straight, wiping the wet from his cheeks with his thumb. His voice is snotlined and jagged, even as he tries to sound chipper. "Hey! What's up, baby?"

You slink closer, hands knotted behind your back. "You okay?"

"Me? Pst, yeah. Totally." Makki shrugs and smiles, the wet of his eyes still threatening to roll over. "Just chilling."

You tilt your head and he understands the motion; Hiro pats his lap and you close the gap between you to slide into it, legs over his and hands finding his cheeks. They are still warm and wet with tears, gritty with their salt. His cheeks puffy out as he forces a smile for you.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you try. He shrugs again, face scrunched up in a playful pout, then lets the facade crumble. Shoulders fall as he nods and he lets his bottom lip quiver.

"Just missing my mom." His eyes are red against his strawberry blonde hair.

"Oh, Hiro..."

You aren't really sure what else to say. It's not like there's anything you could say to make it better.

You never knew his mother and you never will- something that Makki has lamented to you before. He insists that she would have loved you, maybe even more than he loves you. She would have loved the apartment, loved the ring Makki bought you, loved the list of babies' names that you two may or may not ever use.

"I got an ad for perfume." Makki says after a long while. There's a lift to his voice, as if he finds whatever he's saying to be silly. "Mom used to wear this awful perfume towards the end. Smelt like a fucking cheap hand soap."

He laughs midsentence, tripping over his words. "And she wore so much of it that when she hugged me, it'd just cling to my clothes for hours. My sisters and I hated it. Oh my god, we tried to come up with excuses not to hug her but she always fucking got us anyway."

When he laughs this time, it's more of a shaking exhale, caught somewhere in between misery, melancholy and amusement.

"I really want one more stupid, stinky hug from her," Makki whispers. "Just one more."

You know it's not the same, but you wrap your arms around him anyway and squeeze, scrambling to hold as much of him as you can.

[kiiwiigii]

The Red-Eyed Boy pt. i

Pt. Two | Three | Outtake

Alec x Swan!Fem!Reader

Summary: When Edward goes to the Volturi seeking death he accidentally exposes Bella's sister. Not taking any chances Alec is sent to finish you.

Warnings:

I haven't written ff in forever soooo...

Also I have trouble with the whole Y/N thing.

Language

Kinda, sorta NSFW I guess? Lot's of kissing.

Word Count: 1,938

A/N: Alec is aged up.

Aro let his mouth twist into a cruel smirk. Apparently, the Swan girl was dead, a sad waste of possible talent he lamented silently, but what was done was done. Edward had had no intention of turning her anyway, so what did it matter?

However, there had been another problem that Edward hadn't meant to expose.

Her sister.

"NO!" Edward shouted. "No! No, she's not aware. She doesn't know-"

"Now, now Edward. We cannot take chances, you know this. The girl already has her suspicions."

Edward's face crumpled into a half snarl. Going to the Volturi for your own death was one thing, but not only had he been denied this sweet relief, he had sentenced another to death. Surely he could get them to understand that Y/N was completely in the dark. Sure she had suspicions but that was just it. Suspicions. And aside from a few shopping trips with Alice (in which Alice had to practically drag Y/N out of the house in an attempt to get to know her better) she had stayed relatively far away. What Bella should have done, he thought with a cringe.

"Alec." Aro called over his shoulder.

Alec was at his master's side in less than a second, staring blankly ahead and awaiting orders.

"You are to head the Swan household in Forks. Take care of Bella's sister."

"Of course Master."

Alec gave a bow before sharing a look with his own sister and heading out of the throne room; Edward's renewed attempt at talking Aro into sparing the other Swan girl's life fading away ever so slightly. He couldn't help but smirk. Fresh blood that didn't have to be delivered. A chance to hunt. Maybe he would play with his food before he finished her off. Make her run. Make her beg. Or perhaps... a different kind of begging. A begging brought on with kisses and meaningless words whispered in her ear. His smirk twisted into a smile. There were always different ways to play, right?

Dad,

I'm with Alice. Edward's in trouble. You can ground me when I get back. I know it's a bad time. So sorry. Love you so much.

Bella

"You gotta be fucking kidding me."

With a groan I let the letter slip from my fingers and back to its original place on the kitchen counter. I knew Bella was still healing, but never in my wildest dreams did I picture her dropping everything and just taking off for the boy who dumped her.

I paused, leaning against the counter with my head in my hands, wondering if I should just go ahead and call dad or wait to break the news to him when he got home. On the one hand if I called him now, it would distract him from his job... however if I didn't tell him now and he finds out I knew before he got home, I could possibly land myself in hot water and get grounded myself. And oh boy was Bella going to get grounded. Probably for the rest of the year if not her life.

She probably figured I'd find the letter first and would butter dad up anyways. Soften the blow that his eldest daughter went missing with a barely half-assed explanation. Well, she would be wrong about the latter at least. She'd be dealing with dad by herself on that one. As much as I loved her, I didn't want to be mixed up in her shenanigans.

Mind made up, I picked up my cell to make the dreaded call, and as expected dad picked up on the first ring.

"Uh, hey dad..."

I'm dreaming of him again. The boy with the red eyes.

He was standing in front of a familiar house, just watching. Waiting. I could see it in his eyes as they flicked back and forth. He was contemplating something, his head tilting just slightly as he took in the sloping roof and the off-white siding that was in severe need of cleaning. A truck and police car rested in its driveway, silent and empty.

My heart leapt. Why was he in front of my house? I'd dreamt of this boy plenty of times before, but never had he been in my own yard. Or anywhere I was even familiar with.

Instead, he was usually shrouded by a fine black mist. Sometimes, if I was lucky enough, he would simply be doing something rather mundane, like reading a book or walking in a garden. Other times my dreams would be rather violent, and I could hear the screaming of his victims as he ripped them to shreds. Then there was the girl that usually stood by his side. If the boy was violent, she was easily a hundred times worse. It was like watching a horror movie come to life and I couldn't close my eyes. I found that I didn't want to close my eyes. He was fascinating to me.

Or maybe it's because I'm a weird and sick individual.

He circled around to the back of the house now, his eyes trailing upwards until they landed on the second-floor window, a smirk beginning to curl on his lips.

My window.

I woke up with a gasp, clutching at my sheets.

What the fuck?

My imagination was finally getting away from me.

I couldn't help but look towards my window, still tightly shut and locked, only the soft glow of fairy lights winking back at me. Untangling myself from my sheets, I slipped from my bed and plodded over to the window. Nothing's out there, I thought. It's a stupid dream. They've all been stupid dreams. The red-eyed boy doesn't exist, Y/N. I unlocked the window and pushed it upwards before sticking my head out and looking around. Of course, I couldn't see worth shit but I squinted my eyes anyway, you know, just in case it would help me see better.

The yard was dark and empty. No handsome, red-eyed boys anywhere to be found.

I almost breathed a sigh of relief before a loud jingle broke through the silence, causing me to jump and slam my head into the window.

"Fuck." I hissed, cradling the spot that I could now feel a nice bruise forming.

It took me a moment to realize that the jingle was coming from my phone. Scrambling towards my dresser I managed to trip on the sheets I'd thrown off just minutes ago and go crashing to the floor. Tonight was just not my night. Despite my new entanglement, I reached up and managed to grab my phone, flipping it open without looking at the caller ID.

"Y/N? Y/N?" The voice on the other end was frantic.

Bella. I finally let out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding, the tension easing from my shoulders for the first time in days.

"Who else would it be?"

Despite my irritation and anger from her stunt I couldn't help but crack a grin as relief flooded through me. She was safe. I could already feel the hysterical laughter bubbling up. But that was quickly quashed as a new voice spoke from behind me.

"You're just as clumsy as your dear sister."

I whirled around and promptly dropped the phone as my eyes took in the dark figure standing at my feet. He was beautiful. Sinfully so. Dressed in all black, his pale skin stood out all the more. Agonizingly perfect and flawless, with dark hair sweeping across his forehead. And his eyes. Oh those eyes. My dreams didn't do them justice. Didn't do any piece of him justice.

"You." I breathed; eyes wide.

He suddenly tensed as our eyes met.

"You." He repeated.

Before I could blink, he was right before me, a gloved hand cradling my face. My mind was going haywire, trying to comprehend just what was happening. What was this pull I was feeling? What is this warmth? Did he feel it too?

"Your eyes." I whispered.

He arched a brow in amusement. "What of them?"

"They're beautiful. Like- like rubies." I stuttered quietly, feeling myself flush. "Am- am I dreaming again?"

Now both brows shot up. He probably thought I was crazy. And at this point he would be right. The boy that I had literally been dreaming about since I was a child was right in front of me.

"Y/N!"

The faraway crackle of my phone pulled me back to reality and I slowly picked it up, watching the boy in front of me. He made no move to stop me, only brushing a cool thumb across my cheek.

Wait, when had he lost the glove?

"I- I'm here."

"Did you hear anything I said?"

It was Alice Cullen

"Er- no."

"Listen," Alice began hurriedly. "I know this a lot to take in, but Alec isn't going to hurt you. It's- mates are a complicated thing in the vampire world."

"I'm sorry, what now?" I blinked rapidly as I tried to process what she was saying.

There was a low growl before I felt the phone being taken from my hands gently. I would be lying if that growl hadn't sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

"Cullen. Given your talent I think you would know that Y/N is perfectly safe with me." He leaned in as he tilted my head back, his nose running along my neck. "She is my mate after all."

My breath hitched at not only his words but the little nips and licks he began to trail along my neck, cool against my flushed skin. Oh gods, this could not be legal.

"Please inform Aro that Bella's sister will be coming to stay with us soon."

With a click he snapped the phone shut and molded his lips mine. I was pretty sure that my heart was about to beat out of my chest. Finally, he let me come back up for air with a small nibble on my bottom lip and burying his face back into my neck, his hands running down my sides in a slow caress.

"So- so you're Alec?"

He let out an actual purr at the sound of his name. "Say it again."

"You know people usually introduce themselves before making out right?"

There was a growl in response, and I almost let out a moan. Oh fuck, please stop doing that. It was doing weird things to my body.

"Alec."

He lifted himself up to look at me again, eyes no longer that beautiful ruby red but nearly pitch black. He kissed me again and again, swiping his tongue along my lower lip before delving into my mouth with a hunger that shot heat straight between my legs. This time I moaned. He chuckled as he pulled away, placing light kisses along my jaw until he reached my ear and nibbling yet again. Lord did this boy like to nibble.

"I will be back, mio cara."

Suddenly he disappeared just as my door opened and my dad stood there looking rather alarmed. I just blinked at him in a daze.

"I heard voices." He grumbled, looking for all the world like he had just rolled out of bed... which he had.

I felt my face heat back up, trying to figure out exactly what he had heard and trying to come up with an excuse.

"Uhm. I heard from Bella!"

For once my sister saved the day.

NEXT

{Masterlist}

Wanna be notified when I post a new story? Ask to join my taglist!

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 31)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap, Birth, Complications

Moments later, Cillian joined the others in the dining room and, after you were finished feeding Mara, you followed suit.

Everyone sat down at the table, exchanging polite greetings and small talk. Your mother was still upset, but she refrained from saying anything more hurtful. Instead, she focused on making pleasant conversation with Siobhan and Cillian's other sister Sian. 

As time progressed, Cillian's mother rose from her seat, carrying a steaming dish to serve everyone. "Dig in, everyone!" she encouraged, gesturing at the array of delicious food. "We can all eat now," she announced cheerfully.

"Siobhan, why don't you start passing out these plates?" she suggested, handing a stack of dishes to her daughter. Siobhan obliged, distributing the food among the guests. The aroma wafted enticingly through the air, tantalizing their senses and drawing their attention to the feast laid out before them.

"This smells amazing, mum," Cillian praised, serving himself generous portions of the delectable dishes. "You've outdone yourself once again," he complimented sincerely, watching his mother beam proudly.

"Thank you, Cillian," she murmured appreciatively while Frank rolled his eyes for reasons unclear to you. 

Cillian and Frank then shared another round of heated glares, their tension escalating with each passing moment. Neither one of them uttered a word to one another, but their body language spoke volumes. Their rigid postures and clenched jaws hinted at the animosity brewing beneath the surface.

"Would anyone like some wine?" Cillian's mother asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence, causing Cillian to nod. 

"Are you alright?" she then added worriedly, her gaze darting between Cillian and Frank.

"Of course," Cillian assured her, forcing a tight-lipped grin. "Just tired," he lied smoothly, reaching for his glass of wine. 

"Well, babies do that to you, Cillian," his mother laughed kindly, patting the hand he rested on the table. "You need to pace yourself because it will get worse," she then chuckled, her gaze flitting between him and you.

"We will," you promised, meeting her sympathetic gaze. "We seem to be working well as a team so far," you added, attempting to lighten the mood.

Cillian nodded, flashing a brief smile before returning to his meal. The group fell silent, each member consumed by their own thoughts as they savored the scrumptious food. The air buzzed with an undercurrent of tension, but the palatable dishes successfully managed to divert their attention from the simmering hostility.

Despite the occasional strained laughter and forced smiles, it proved somewhat challenging to maintain a cohesive conversation and, at around 9 o'clock, after a few more glasses of wine, Cillian's mother called it a day.

"I think I should get some rest before tomorrow," she said, yawning widely before she left the dining room and, as soon as she did, your mother and Frank looked at each other, rose from their seats and disappeared into separate rooms without saying a single word, leaving you, Cillian, Siobhan and Sian sitting there awkwardly.

"Don't worry," Siobhan tried to console you, her hand squeezing your arm comfortingly. "Tomorrow will be better," she then smiled encouragingly, causing Cillian to shake his head in disbelieve.

"This is ridiculous," he groaned, rubbing his temples. "I didn't expect that we would have to deal with such nonsense when we came here," he lamented before walking towards the living room in order to confront them both.

"They are behaving like children," he said, his jaw muscles bulging visibly. "Frank especially," he then added bitterly while Siobhan and Sian exchanged knowing glances.

"Just give them some time to process this Cillian," Siobhan reasoned patiently though Cillian merely shrugged in reply.

"They had nine months to process this," he argued stubbornly, crossing his arms defiantly. 

"I understand, Cillian," Siobhan consoled sympathetically, her tone gentle and understanding. "You're frustrated right now--"

"I'm beyond frustrated," he cut her off impatiently, his brows furrowing in agitation before barging off to find them.

"You'll only provoke them," Siobhan called after him, her words falling on deaf ears.

Sian sighed heavily, shaking her head in exasperation. "Why does everything involve drama in our family?" she moaned despondently, casting a sorrowful glance at you.

"Fuck, I feel like I am at fault," you sighed, biting your lip nervously. "If I hadn't gotten involved with Cillian in the first place, none of this would have happened," you lamented, staring blankly at the empty wine glass on the table.

"Y/N," Siobhan said to you, patting your hand. "We all do dumb things sometimes, especially when we are in love," she assured you fiercely, her unwavering gaze conveying a certainty that suprised you.

"I am not in love with him," you lied, your voice trembling slightly. "It was a short-lived and stupid little fling," you dismissed it, biting your lip nervously. "We weren't really serious about it," you insisted, although the truth was much different. 

"Sure, if this is what you want to tell yourself," Siobhan replied, offering you a comforting smile. "But, in any event, what I am saying is that you aren't responsible for other people's reactions or behavior," she emphasized, her gaze lingering on you thoughtfully. "Cillian and you seem to be happy enough with whatever arrangements you have in place so your mother and Frank will just need to let it go and deal with it," she concluded resolutely, her voice firm and unwavering.

You sighed heavily, mulling over her words carefully. She made sense, but you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for inadvertently causing turmoil within Cillian's family. 

"You are right," you admitted reluctantly, your voice barely audible. "Cillian and I are content with our arrangement and if my mum doesn't want anything to do with her grandchild then that's her loss," you determined, swallowing thickly.

"Exactly," Siobhan agreed wholeheartedly, her gaze locking onto yours just as Cillian appeared again, sighing heavily.

"I give up," he muttered, throwing his hands into the air dramatically.

"I told you there was no point talking with Frank when he gets like this," Sian reminded him, watching him with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, he's got to learn that the relationship between Y/N and myself is not his business," Cillian growled, shaking his head in frustration. "He can't control everyone's life," he added before barging upstairs. 

Cillian was visibly upset, his anger and irritation plainly evident in his tense posture and stormy gaze. You watched him disappear upstairs, his footsteps echoing loudly against the hardwood floors.

"I will be back," you told the sisters before following Cillian and, as you approached the bedroom in which Mara had been sleeping, you could hear Cillian speaking softly to your Babygirl. 

"Shh, it's okay my perfect little girl," he cooed, his voice low and soothing. "Let's just get that nappy changed, shall we?" he told her, seeing that, clearly, it was this time of the night for her. 

"Do you want me to do this?" you asked quietly as you opened the door of the bedroom, observing Cillian cradling Mara lovingly.

"No, I've got it," he replied, looking up at you briefly before tenderly laying Mara down on the changing table. "I actually enjoy this part," he explained, his voice soft and soothing. You watched him closely, admiring how adeptly he navigated the task.

"Really? You enjoy changing dirty nappies?" you queried skeptically, arching an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Really," he confirmed, his lips quirking upward in amusement. "I mean, it's something I can do, you know. She won't let me bottle feed her and she most certainly won't go to sleep for me anymore," he then explained, chuckling slightly. "She prefers you to do it," he continued, grinning broadly at you.

"Well, I do have the mother's touch," you winked while Cillian disposed of the used diaper into the bin, before he grabbed a fresh one and placed it on the changing mat.

"Or maybe you're just naturally gifted Y/N. You are amazing with her," Cillian said honestly while putting a new nappy on to her and taping it securely before he lifted her up in his arms. "Ready for mommy to feed you again?" he then asked your baby sweetly while she gurgled happily and kicked her legs in excitement.

You took her out of his hands, kissing her forehead affectionately before responding to Cillian. "I guess the only real difference is that I have got the goodies and you don't," you joked lightly, watching him chuckle softly.

"You are perfect with her Cillian and you are most certainly perfect with me these days," you admitted quietly, feeling Cillian's gaze lock onto yours. 

"If I was really that perfect, then I wouldn't have made you come here with me," he retorted, his gaze flickering across your face. "I mean, with the way Sarah and Frank are acting, this is far from ideal and I am sorry for making you come. You deserve to be treated so much better," Cillian apologized, his gaze boring into yours.

"Cillian, you didn't make me come here," you countered, your gaze flickering across his face. "I chose to come with you, remember? It wasn't an obligation," you pointed out, watching him consider your words.

"You are something else, you know that?" Cillian murmured, his voice hushed and filled with emotion. "And I think that l am actually in love with you, Y/N."

You paused, studying him intently. His confession caught you off guard, his words painting a vivid image of his inner turmoil. "Cillian," you breathed, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. "I think I may be in love with you too," you confessed hesitantly, blushing profusely.

His breath hitched sharply, his gaze locked onto yours. "Really?" he gasped, his eyes widening in surprise.

"I have been for a while but things were just too difficult between us. You then met Amanda and dated her for a while and I figured that my feelings for you were unrequited so I tried to ignore them,” you confessed, blushing deeply. "I never expected that things would change," you added, squirming uncomfortably.

"Things have definitely changed," Cillian agreed, his gaze burning with intensity. "Or maybe they haven't, and I was just trying too hard to ignore how I felt as well," he sighed wistfully, reaching out to cup your cheek affectionately.

"So, what are we going to do now then?” you asked cautiously, your gaze fluttering across Cillian's face. 

"Well, we could work things out. We could be a proper family, move in together and give this relationship a shot," Cillian murmured, his words stirring a warm flush in your veins. "You, me, Mara and, occasionally, Max," he added, his gaze piercing into yours. 

"You know what? That sounds absolutely wonderful," you exhaled, smiling brightly. "I want that, Cillian," you confessed fervently, your voice trembling slightly just as Cillian finally leaned in and captured your lips in a passionate kiss.

To be continued...

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred

[n0cturn4]

Series In every universe - 10 . Damian Wayne

Character: Damian Wayne x Reader Summary: "What do you want me to do for you?" Word Count: 654 Land of Ancient Times.

In a distant kingdom, where rivers whispered ancient secrets and trees danced to the whim of the wind. She inhabited the crystalline waters of a river that wound through enchanted woods, her laughter reflected in the currents and her dances adorned with flowers that gently floated around her ethereal body alongside her river sisters.

One morning, as the rays of the sun filtered through the leaves, a young knight with an intense gaze and unparalleled skill approached the riverbank. It was Damian, heir to a kingdom struggling against shadows, a prince marked by pain and responsibility. His steps were silent, but the weight of his title resonated in his heart.

You watched him, fascinated, as he crouched by the water's edge, touching the surface with the tips of his fingers, as if wishing to understand the essence of life that pulsed there. You felt an instant connection, a flame that illuminated the darkness surrounding the prince. However, beneath the water's surface, a subtle sadness lingered, like the mist that rises at dawn.

"What is your desire, noble knight?" you asked, your voice a soft echo of aquatic melodies.

Damian lifted his gaze, deep as the river's abyss. "What do you want me to do for you?" he inquired, his tone laden with longing and curiosity.

You smiled, a serene glow in your eyes, but something melancholic sparkled in your gaze. "I want you to stay exactly as you are. You are already everything." The declaration flowed like water, filled with authenticity and emotion. You saw in Damian not just a prince, but a being who carried the weight of the world, and his essence was so magnificent that you wished to preserve it in all its imperfection.

Surprised by the simplicity of your desire, Damian felt his heart warm. "You are the reason I fight," he murmured, the words heavy with meaning, but a shadow crossed his face. "And you? What makes you happy in such a dark world?"

The gentle breeze that passed seemed to whisper the laments of the waters. "I dance among the currents and play with the rays of the sun. Yet, there is a sadness that accompanies me, like an invisible shadow. The waters surrounding me are also the current that binds me. I am trapped in this river, while the world beyond continues to change." You looked into the depths, where fish swam freely, and a solitary tear rolled down your cheek. "I cannot accompany you to the battlefields, nor to the kingdoms that need courage."

Damian stepped forward, the desire to comfort you burning in his heart. "I do not fear the battles, but I would fear losing you. You are the light that illuminates my path in the depths of the river," he said, his eyes shining with determination. "Whatever the storm, I will always be here, waiting for you."

The connection between you solidified, like intertwined roots beneath the river's waters, but melancholy hung over you like a dark cloud. Damian knew that his role as prince called him away, and the thought of leaving You filled him with profound sadness.

"One day, the current may carry me far away," you murmured, your voice tinged with hope and pain. "And I will be but a legend told on moonlit nights."

"But I promise," Damian replied, his voice as firm as steel, "that until my last breath, I will fight to bring you into the light, wherever the currents may lead you. Your love gives me strength, and I will not let your melancholy become an echo lost in the shadows."

And so, with the sun setting on the horizon and the last rays of light tinting the sky golden, the waters continued to flow, eternal and pure, guarding the secrets of a love stronger than time and deeper than the seas. Yet in your hearts, longing already nestled, a gentle melody of hope and pain, intertwined in the waves of fate.

[koolades-world]

Got inspo after that satan angst hc, here’s the link in case you haven’t seen it. also drew inspo from willow and lavender haze by taylor swift, my favorite normie artist LOL

hurt/comfort, happy ending :)

just like lilith

Loud crashes and bangs, followed by enraged, maddening screams echoed through the House of Lamentation late at night, a tell tale sign Satan was mad about something again. His brothers didn’t dare check on him and everyone who walked by kept as silent as possible. He really tried his best to not do that anymore, he really did. But some things just couldn’t be helped.

He toppled another bookshelf with both hands and knocked over another with the accidental lash of his tail, making him even more upset. Pages fluttered as the shelf hit the ground. He grabbed one book in particular that had been a gift from Lucifer and ripped it apart by the spines, throwing the halves to separate sides of the room. He hated Lucifer.

Stupid Lucifer.

Stupid Mammon.

Stupid Levi.

Stupid Asmo.

Stupid Beel.

Stupid Belphie.

Stupid Celestial Realm.

Stupid angels.

Stupid Devildom.

Stupid Lilith.

He didn't mean that... did he?

Diavolo, why did everything have to be so complicated? The name Diavolo alone sent him into another rage induced fit. He tore off part of his bed frame and threw it as hard as he could at the only mirror in the room. Despite it being enchantment, it shattered into hundreds of pieces. Part of the enchantment held up, as it stayed in its frame despite being in so many pieces. He snatched it off the wall and began hitting against any surface he could get his hands on. He tried his hardest to do any more damage to it, but it stayed intact.

As he tried clawing the mirror, he noticed himself again. Messy blond hair stood on it's ends. Obsidian horns curling out of sight. A ruddy face. Deep jade eyes, bloodshot and red in the whites. Tears actively fell from his eyes, streaking their way down his face.

When had he started crying? He saw hundreds of himself, each and every one coming to the same realization. He swiped his tears away. All of his mirror-selves followed suit. For once, he was unsure how to feel. He looked himself in the eyes, horrified yet transfigured to the spot by the sight of his own face.

He found his thoughts drifting and his rage slowly took the backseat. Was Lilith's hair as wispy has his? Did she have those little flyaways and that cowlick that refused to behave no matter what he did to it? Did she really have the same straw-yellow blond? Asmo always told him his eyes were breathtaking. Did he tell her that too? Were Lilith's the same? Did they reflect everything she felt? Were they really the same green, the green that could be both jade and emerald at the same time? With the same hints of yellow at the bottom the were reminiscent of the sun on the horizon before dawn or dusk? Was she also fond of beautiful things? He was sure if she was the rising sun, he was the setting sun.

Usually his fits were about Lucifer, and how he felt he could never escape his shadow. In the end, they were the same. Not this time though. This time, it wasn't even really his fault. If it wasn't his fault, who's fault was it then? Could he really blame his brothers for seeing their lost sister in him? They probably missed her so much it hurt. If she had survived, would they even want to see her like he was? He knew she would have taken his place as the Avatar of Wrath. If he and Lucifer were two sides of the same coin, what does that make Lilith to him? Were they the same face, or did were they too two sides of the same coin? What did that make Lucifer to Lilith once he was added to the equation? Did Lucifer subconsciously wish to have Lilith back? Is that why he was the way he was? Would he even be here if Lilith had lived? Would his brothers prefer that?

The thoughts were dizzying. It overwhelmed him. He threw the mirror as hard as he could across the room. It finally shattered. The tiny shards showered across the ruins of his room like snow onto a battlefield. He let his tears fall freely, and sank his knees in the small patch of moonlight coming in through his window. He let out an agonizing cry, one that everyone in the house could feel the pain deep from within. For once, his brothers felt bad. They would never understand. It felt good to get a little of that feeling off his chest. He wallowed in the silence after his shriek, until he heard a soft knock on his door. This caused him to snap to attention and growl at whoever was on the other side.

"Satan?" He heard an echo of the voice he knew so well. Their tone was gentle in a sorrowful way. No longer was it warm. This was waterlogged, droopy, like a small flower under heavy rain. "Can I come in?"

"Mc? Yes, come in." The door cracked. For a moment, he thought his brothers would be behind them, and that it was all a trap. But he was wrong. They were alone, still dressed in the fancy outfit from the dinner they had gone to as a family earlier that night. Their eyes were just as red as his own. They stepped into the small gap and shut it behind them. As they got closer, he noticed silent tears falling from their eyes. He got up and met them at the door, pulling them close to his chest. They began shaking, wracked with sobs. He quickly forgot about his own spiral that had taken place just minutes before. While he was raging, Mc had been out there somewhere, upset. He began to feel more awful about what he had done.

"What's the matter?" He ushered them over to his bed, one of the few mostly undamaged things. Part of his bed frame had been used to shatter the mirror, and at some point he had shredded a few pillows. They sat among this fluff, holding each other, Mc in his lap. It was silent for a while before Mc was calm enough to answer.

"I'm so sick of your brothers." They looked up at him with tearful eyes. He gazed back at them, knowing he probably looked exactly the same. "It's just... I love them. I really do. But I am so tired of trying to be my own person. I am not Lilith." Her name cut him like a knife. But as Mc placed their hand on his chest and leaned in, he could fell the cut heal. A small void within himself began to fill.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" He wiped away their tears that had been steadily falling, like he had his own.

"You must be tired of hearing that name." They couldn't even bring themself to look up at him anymore. He felt guilt seep in. He had never even considered that. They had been hiding everything from him to keep him safe. He cuddled them closer, hoping to shield them from all the pain. "Lilith must have been so sweet, but I am not her. You are not her. We are not her. I've seen the way your brothers look at us when we're together. It's like they don't even see us. It's only Lilith to them. Part of me wishes we never found out. Maybe things would be the way they were before. I wouldn't even be here if everything hadn't happened the way it did, and maybe you wouldn't either. But they just don't seem to care about that and it's sickening how obsessed they are over the idea that we are what they lost."

"What happened after I left?" He had an idea of how this had all started. He had stormed off to his own room after they got home from dinner upon discovering his brothers wanted to retake a particular photo they had taken with Lilith but with him and Mc where Lilith was. That was the whole reason behind the dinner, and he and Mc were the only ones left in the dark.

"I wanted to go after you, but Lucifer wouldn't let me. I didn't know what had started the argument in the first place, so I wanted to get to the root of it. Everyone seemed uncomfortable. I get it now. They were feeling guilty about what they had decided to do. They filled me in on everything after I screamed enough. I said some things that would have made you proud." He could feel them smile weakly against his neck. "I told them I hoped they were sorry for what they had done. I honestly didn't mean to be so harsh with my words, but I think it was the wake up call that they needed."

"What did you say?" He stroked their hair, laying his head on top of theirs.

"I told them Lilith was dead and that she wasn't coming back. Lucifer slapped me and the force sent me pretty far. The others tried to act like they were concerned, but it was just as much their fault as it was his. I refused to let them touch me. And then I came here." After hearing that, he pulled them off his chest to look at their face. Tears were still bubbling over both of their faces. The room was dark, but he could see the bright red outline of Lucifer's hand on their face.

"Don't do that ever again. Not on my behalf. What if you got seriously hurt? What would I do without you?" It was silent for a moment. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer to his questions or not. "Where does it hurt? Let me make it better."

"It hurts here. And here." He watched as their hand ghosted over their face, and to their side, their back and their leg. He could feel fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. Holding them close, he muttered a spell that would take away the pain. Feeling them relax in his arms soothed him a little.

"I'm never going to let Lucifer near you again. I'm... scared. What happens if he gets his hands on you?" He wasn't used to admitting how he was feeling, but the moment felt raw enough to admit it. He took in a shaky breath and hugged Mc tightly like they might disappear.

"I want you to know that you're beautiful. Satan, the Avatar of Wrath. You're you, and nobody else. The man who established so many animals shelters across the Devildom. The man who got me through exam week time and time again. The man who took me in whenever I felt upset just to get away from it all. You are your own person, and I love you for that. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you." Mc burrowed their head into his chest to place a kiss over his heart. At some point during their conversation, he had shifted from his demon form to his regular appearance.

"I could say the same about you. You're also your own person. You've been there for me more times than I could count. I love you too. All the love in the world wouldn't be enough for me to give you. I wouldn't trade you for the world." He began to smile for the first time that evening. Mc lifted their head to meet his eyes.

"I have an idea. Diavolo owns me a huge favor. How does a spontaneous trip to the human world sound? Just you and me, for as long as we need, and as long as it take your brothers to really miss us?" The mischievous glint in their eyes was something he was so familiar with. He met it with enthusaism.

"That sounds wonderful. Where would we go though?" He thought about the logistics quickly.

"While my first thoughts were my house or Serenity Manor, but once they realized we weren't in the Devildom, they would look there first. Diavolo has mentioned this small, cute beach house he goes to from time to time on his own. He would let us borrow it. It's barley big enough for two, but we could make it work. It's in the middle of nowhere. Perfect for us." The more Mc talked, the more Satan liked the idea.

"I love that idea. When do we leave?" Satan was never one to agree to spontaneous idea like this, but in the moment, it just felt right.

"How does in twenty minutes sound? We pack right now and disappear before your brother realize we're gone. Diavolo has to be awake right now anyways." Mc brushed their hands over his face. Tears had stopped falling. The stains lingered but they could only see each other.

"Let's do it. I'll take you to your room first, just in case Mammon happens to be in there." He stood up, and hugged Mc for a moment more before letting them go in favor of taking their hand. Satan knew he would be in for a fun time. He could always rely on Mc, no matter what.