#when you have all these feelings and they come to the surface at once this is what you get

[prythianpages]

Out of My Head | Azriel x Reader

Azriel x Reader x Eris | Your father, the Night Court’s astrologer, is called to Velaris and you tag along with the hopes of catching a glimpse of Azriel, the one you’re madly in love with. The opportunity for Azriel to show you around comes up and you take it, unaware that things are about to become messy…

warning: this was meant to be cute & short to show your relationship with Az but it ended up being 5,685 words oops lol, some angst, rhys kinda being an asshole again

a/n: Eris does make an appearance in this if you look closely 🤭 I tried to write this fic off as a stand alone so it's still easy to follow but if you need more context, here is the masterlist.

Meeting Azriel had felt like fate, as if the stars and his shadows themselves had conspired to cross your paths. Becoming his friend had been a choice. But falling in love with him? That was out of your control, like being swept away by a tide you hadn’t noticed rising. 

Now, you were drowning and happy to drown. To let the flood of him consume you entirely. Every time you’d see him, even from afar, it’d fill your chest with a feeling you couldn’t explain, your heart leaping at the mere thought of catching his gaze.

You welcomed the flood of emotions, let it carry you to depths you’d never dared to explore. Your heart was so irrevocably his, you had no desire to find the surface.

So when Rhysand had invited your father to Velaris to discuss his first born’s birth chart, you insisted on coming along. It had taken days of pleading to wear down his resolve, but you had done it. Manifested it, rather, with the help of the moonwater you kept hidden beneath your bed.

Seeing Azriel was not guaranteed, as you were unsure if he’d even be in Velaris. But that wasn’t the only reason you wanted to go. Leaving behind the harshness of the Court of Nightmares, even for a short while, was reward enough. And if fortune smiled upon you, perhaps your father would let you assist with the reading, just this once.

Your father had never quite embraced your desire to follow in his footsteps.  The way he’d look at both you and your brother with that disappointed gleam in his eyes stung. He had always hoped you would stay at home and learn the ways of a “perfect,” traditional Night Court wife, much like your mother. His dreams of a successor rested squarely on your brother’s shoulders, not yours. But much to his dismay and your relief, your brother had chosen to become a warrior in Keir’s army.

Everything you knew of astrology, you’d learned by sneaking into his sessions, stealing glances at his star charts, or losing yourself in the dusty books of the Night Court’s observatory. That cold, stone-walled tower had become your sanctuary—your only glimpse of the night sky.

Though still in the Night Court, the air in Velaris was different. It felt cleaner, lighter. Freer. A wonderful contrast to the oppressive weight of the Court of Nightmares. You took a deep breath, savoring the rare glimpse of the day sky from the High Lord’s impressive townhouse, your father having just winnowed you both.

The sun felt so warm and soothing against your skin. Too caught up in the beauty of the daytime sky, you didn’t notice when your father abruptly stopped. You walked straight into him, sending the heavy box and stack of books in your arms tumbling to the ground.

A hiss of disapproval escaped your father as he turned to scowl at you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, quickly dropping to your knees to gather the scattered items.

“I should’ve left you at home,” he said with an exhausted sigh.

"But who then would assist you in bearing the weight of all these books, given the state of your back? Rest assured, my arms are more than capable,” you said with a huff as you slowly rose back to your feet, arms overwhelmed with the weight of your father’s things. “I shall gladly bear the burden for you, father."

“Clearly.” Your father said dryly, his gaze pointedly lingering on the dented corner of one of the boxes.

You winced at his tone, grateful his back was turned to you again. The door to the High Lord’s and High Lady’s house opened, the former being the one to greet you. Even Rhysand was different here. His violet eyes gleamed warmly, free of the cruelty he wore like armor in the Court of Nightmares. The smile he sent you both softened some of the tension knotting your chest.

 “Damus, Y/n,” he greeted. “I appreciate you both coming all this way.”

Rhysand gestured for you to follow him. This was not your first time in Velaris but it was your first time meeting Rhysand in a private residence of his here. You couldn’t hold back the small gasp that escaped you as you marveled at the beauty around. Paintings, no doubt crafted by the hands of your High Lady, adorned the wall and there was light. So much light and warmth in this house. It truly felt like a home. No stone walls, no darkness, no cold.

There was a flutter in your chest when you felt something cool and velvet-like brush against your legs. You instinctively glanced down, though the books obstructed your view. And when you looked back up, there it was–that giddy leap in your heart.

Azriel immediately rose from the couch he had been seated on, his hazel eyes meeting yours before they dropped to the weight in your arms. With a few swift steps, he was in front of you, plucking the boxes and books from your grip as though they weighed nothing. You exhaled softly, your thanks barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears.

Azriel smiled, shadows curling gently around him as he shifted closer. “I wasn’t sure you’d be coming along today,” he murmured.

“Neither was I,” you admitted, turning your head toward him as you continued to walk. “But I’m glad I did.”

“So am I,” Azriel said.

Your cheeks burned at his words, and you quickly averted your gaze. Azriel was glad you were here. Perhaps, even waiting for you, hoping for you to show up. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Perhaps it was proof of what you’d always suspected—that the bond you felt pulling you toward him wasn’t one-sided. A spark of vindication flared as you imagined Eris sneering at you from some dark corner of your mind. If only he were here to witness this moment. To see just how wrong he’d been.

Azriel did like you and it was only a matter of time before it evolved into something more.

You frowned, shaking the thought away. Why were you even thinking about Eris? And since when did proving anything to him matter?

“Y/n.” Your father’s sharp tone dragged you back to reality. “The books.”

“Oh,” you breathed, glancing at Azriel, who still held them. Before you could speak, your father’s gaze darkened as he realized the task you were supposed to handle had been passed off.

Azriel’s jaw tightened but he said nothing as he handed the books and boxes over.

You moved to follow your father into the study, but he blocked your path, his glare cutting through you. “Stay here and don’t cause trouble,” he said before the door shut with a resounding thud.

You flinched, staring at the closed door. “Sweet Cauldron,” you muttered under your breath, “did Mercury retrograde move into his mood?”

A shadow curled around your wrist, the soft caress of it soothing the sting of your father’s dismissal. The corner of your lips lifted slightly. Azriel had told you once how the shadows came to him during a time of unbearable darkness, offering comfort when nothing else could. They showed him that darkness wasn’t inherently wicked, that it could hold its own kind of solace and strength.

Azriel had also told you that his shadows didn’t approach others. At least not like this, so openly and friendly. To them, you were one of the few exceptions, having met them before you properly acquainted yourself with their master.

You often wondered why. Did they sense the sorrow you tried to bury beneath and conceal? The longing that seeped into your soul–longing not just for their master but for freedom, for a life beyond the suffocating confines of the Court of Nightmares?

Your gaze lifted, finding Azriel’s attention focused on the tendril wrapped around your wrist. His hazel eyes darkened slightly, thoughtful, as if trying to decipher a mystery.

“Well, what am I supposed to do now?”

Azriel blinked, his attention falling back to you, gaze softening. The siphons on his leathers caught the light and your eye. You followed the movement of his arms as he slid his hands into the pocket of his leathers and wondered what they’d look like in casual clothing. And how far did those tattoos stretch, the ones that peeked above his collar and disappeared into those leathers? 

“We could go for a walk?”

Your brows lifted in surprise. “A walk?”

Azriel sauntered closer to you and a tingly sensation bubbled up in your stomach. “It’s a beautiful day outside and I would hate for you to waste it in here.”

“But my father…”

“He doesn’t have to know,” Azriel replied with a small, sly grin that felt almost boyish, his shadows dancing around him. He then gestured toward the door to Rhysand’s study, where some of his shadows had already slithered beneath the gap, lying in wait.  “Your father will be in there for a while. And besides, I did promise you I’d show you around, didn’t I?”

You bit your lip in contemplation, gaze flickering between the door and Azriel. This was what you’d wanted, been hoping for, wasn’t it? A chance to see Azriel, and now here he was, offering you his time. Your heart leaped at the opportunity, already screaming yes.

But your mind wasn’t so easily swayed. What if your father needed you? Wouldn’t this be your perfect chance to prove your worth, to show him how capable you were? Then again, the way he had dismissed you earlier, slamming the door in your face, made it clear he wasn’t expecting or even wanting your help…

“Only if you’d like, of course,” Azriel added, his tone soft. He must’ve sensed your troubled thoughts. “I can always keep you company here instead.”

The flutter in your chest returned with full force. Azriel seemed to really want to spend time with you. Alone. And as much as you admired the beauty of the High Lord’s house, the promise of fresh air, open skies, and Azriel’s company was too tempting to resist.

You found yourself nodding, your heart overriding your head. “I think I’d like to go for a walk.”

**

Velaris continued to take your breath away. 

Children darted between market stalls, their faces alight with pure delight as they chased one another without fear. So incredibly and unbelievably different to the cold silence and rigid rules of propriety in Hewn City. Here, no one glanced over their shoulder with suspicion or hurried along with their head bowed.

The people of Velaris moved freely. Kindness radiated from strangers who greeted one another warmly, who paused to chat in the bustling markets or helped an elder carry their bags. Artists lined the streets, painting the city’s beauty on canvas while musicians filled the air with beautiful melodies.

Azriel led you through the city, showing you as many places he could. He took you to a small bakery first, where he swore the best chocolate croissants were made. Then, to a cafe that sold a variety of appetizing teas. You drank it all in, committing the wonders of Velaris to memory.

As you walked along a bridge, the river’s gentle current caught your eye. It was broad daylight yet, the water glimmered like liquid starlight. You paused, resting against the bridge’s railings. Azriel moved to stand beside you, tucking in his wings so they wouldn’t bump against you. 

You couldn’t help but think how unfair life could be. For a place such as Hewn City to exist at the same time as this one. Both of the same court, yet so divided. And why had you been born in the wrong one? 

Azriel picked up on the way your expression had fallen. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said and at the way Azriel’s eyes watched you closely, you knew he was not convinced. You let out a soft sigh, relenting.  

“It’s just…I thought places like this only existed in my dreams,” you glanced down at your hands. “And now, I just can’t help but dread my attendance at the next Court of Nightmare’s ball even more…when I could be here instead, watching the stars from the City of Starlight itself..free of any worry, any burdens.”

Azriel frowned at the hidden implication of your words.

A dark tendril fluttered toward you, brushing the hair that had fallen back behind your ear. Another softly brushed against your face and wiped a stray tear away. More went to you, wrapping around your hands, seeking to give you comfort and you honestly weren’t sure if it was of their own will or Azriel’s.

Their comfort brought you back to the fateful night you first met them. You’d known of them–of the Night Court’s shadowsinger, at least–long before you actually knew them. The same way you had known Cassian was the Night Court’s leading general and Morrigan, the court overseer.

**

Things had changed after the events under the mountain. High Lord Rhysand had gathered the Court of Nightmares council, a tense meeting filled with bitter accusations thrown across the room. Keir and a few other noble lords, including your father, sat around the table, each one arguing fiercely over who did what under Amarantha’s rule.

As the heated exchange unfolded, your father’s loyalty was questioned, and the words left you unsettled. You had nearly spilled wine over one of the lords in your discomfort, hands trembling as you failed to properly grip the chalice.

But then, a dark shape emerged from the shadows, winding its way around your wrist like a silent guardian. The shadow stayed there, curling around you in such a way that was strangely comforting.

You had snuck glances at the shadowsinger then. 

Azriel stood just behind Rhysand, his face a stoic mask. His attention was elsewhere, either unaware or pretending to be, of the shadow that had strayed from him and wrapped around you.

A break was called. And then, Keir, always the one to provoke, threw an insult at your father. You had no control over your tongue, the words slipping from you without thought. It was in defense of your family but speaking out of turn was a dangerous thing for a female to do. Especially in this court. 

And though you had done it in your father’s defense, he did not return the favor. His face twisted in a mixture of disgust and disapproval, making you feel smaller than you ever had.

Keir’s face reddened with rage and as he glared at you, the shadow around your wrist tightened. Azriel’s eyes flashed, a cold, sharp stare locking onto Keir. It was the closest thing to protection anyone had offered you in this ruthless court. It left you stunned and wide-eyed. 

You had been quickly dismissed by your father then. The weight of your court’s cruelty pressed down on you, suffocating. You fled, finding an empty room, locking yourself away in a cold, lonely corner of the building.

And then the tears came. You didn’t even notice the darkness that had formed around you, so accustomed to the shadows yourself. But this wasn’t the same darkness. This one was… different. Comforting. Protective.

You could only stare at them in awe, one hand reaching upwards to touch the shadows.

But when the door creaked open, your hand fell back to your side. Fear had risen in your throat as your gaze shot to the tall figure in the doorway. You shifted backwards, your back hitting the stone wall behind you, fearing the worst. It was the shadowsinger. And he had come to punish you on behalf of your father.

But he did no such thing.

His eyes swept over the shadows surrounding you—his shadows. The mask of indifference he always wore slipped for just a moment. A faint furrow appeared between his brows, shock flashing in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, sending the shadows a look that had them slithering back to him, albeit reluctantly. “If they’ve scared you. They don’t normally do this…are you alright?”

You blinked the tears from your eyes. “You’re not going to punish me?”

His brow furrowed deeper, confusion crossing his face. “Punish you? For what?”

There was a flicker of recognition in his gaze, followed by a soft exhale. He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. His shadows swirled around him, some curling around his ear, whispering to him. Whatever they whispered to him had his expression softening.

“If anyone needs punishment, it’s Keir. For having the nerve to talk to you like that.”

Azriel took your silence as an invitation. He lowered himself, slowly, attentive to the way your breath hitched. Finding no resistance from you, he flared his wings slightly to allow him to settle on the floor across from you. His boots brushed against your shoes, and he gave a quiet apology. Others had done much worse and yet, no one had ever apologized to you.

“I’m Azriel,” he told you with a small smile, quickly adjusting himself to the cramped space. “You’ve met my shadows. Though I control them, they don’t always listen. Sometimes, they follow their own will. I really hope they didn’t frighten you.”

You were still frozen in disbelief, but in that moment, something inside you shifted. A spark of hope—a spark you hadn’t known existed in the Court of Nightmares, didn’t know could exist.  

“They didn’t. They’re nice,” you admitted quietly, gaze following the movement of his shadows. Your eyes then met Azriel’s, surprised at the warmth you saw in them.

And then slowly, you felt your body relax. “I’m y/n…”

**

A shadow wrapped itself around your wrist, squeezing you gently, pulling you from your thoughts. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was the same one from that night.

“Sorry,” Azriel murmured sheepishly, the same way he always did when his shadows caught him off guard.  “They really like you.”

The shadow unraveled from your wrist, slowly and reluctantly. It returned to Azriel, the others that had begun to surround you doing the same.

“S’okay,” you shrugged, though a small wave of disappointment settled over you at the thought of his shadows acting on their own will and not his. “I like them too. My little friends, they keep me company during those dreaded court events. Them and Eris, though the latter isn’t exactly one I welcome…”

Azriel’s body tensed at the mention of the Autumn male.

“But it’s strange,” you continued, not sure why you were telling Azriel this. “Despite all the insults he throws my way, he’s somehow kinder than all the other males at court. Maybe Autumn males are–”

“Please, don’t ever pair Eris and the word ‘kind’ in the same sentence,” Azriel interjected, his tone filled with disbelief. “You have to be careful around him, Y/n. I don’t know why he gravitates toward you…” Your heart stuttered in your chest and Azriel's gaze hardened. “But he’s not to be trusted. If he continues to bother you…”

Was that… jealousy? The thought made your pulse quicken, but you kept your expression steady.

“He’s fine,” you said, your voice a little too casual. Azriel went still, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. You felt the heat rise in your neck, and you hastily added, “I mean—it's fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to,” Azriel insisted. He turned to face you fully, and your stomach fluttered at the intensity in his gaze. “I can handle him for you.”  

Azriel’s presence alone was enough to make anyone think twice before crossing you. It sure kept Keir from lashing back at you all those years ago and the handsy, sickening males away from you during court events. You knew he would handle Eris without hesitation. So you should’ve said yes, and accepted his offer. 

But, as the words settled on your tongue, you hesitated. You weren’t sure you wanted him to.

However strange and uncomfortable your encounters with Eris often were, there was something intriguing about him. Something that pulled at you despite his sharp words and caustic demeanor. It was almost like a game, a dance of sorts, and you found yourself drawn to it. To him, more than you cared to admit.

A small part of you wanted to continue this twisted back-and-forth with him. He was not a welcome companion but one whose absence would, much to your denial or disbelief, go noticed. The way he challenged you, made your pulse quicken, even when you didn’t want it to. The way his eyes lingered just a little too long, and how he always seemed to know exactly how to get under your skin…

No. You didn’t want Azriel to step in. Not yet. Not while this strange curiosity about Eris still simmered beneath your skin. 

“I can handle it,” you murmured, though the words felt more like a reassurance to yourself than to him. Your gaze trailed after the fae strolling along the river’s edge. Before Azriel could protest, you turned to him with a smile, changing the conversation. “Can we walk along the shore?”

The Sidra river was even lovelier up-close. With the sun beginning to set, the sky blushed in hues of pinks and oranges and you felt as if you were walking through a dream. A dream you didn’t want to wake up from. Azriel walked quietly beside you, the tension from earlier gone.

You breathed in deeply, reveling in the sweet mixture of fresh air and Azriel’s scent. The sound of water rippling against the shore was just as soothing as the early evening breeze. Your gaze fell on a rock ahead, its smooth surface glimmering in the fading light, and you quickly bent down to pick it up. 

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, watching as the stone sparkled like starlight cupped in your hand.

“It’s a rock,” Azriel said drily.

You couldn’t help but grin, lifting the rock to show him. “It’s not just any rock,” you corrected him. “It’s a rock from Velaris. It’ll make a perfect addition to my growing collection of–”

“Rocks,” Azriel finished for you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

He knew about your rock collection. Of course, he knew. How could he not? Azriel had been the one to enable it. It had started as a joke, a silly request from you when he had mentioned visiting Spring. You had asked for a souvenir, half expecting him to politely decline.  

"What could you possibly want from Spring?" he had asked. “A rock?”

And out of all the things you could’ve chosen, you had simply nodded your head. “Sure.”

The way he had returned from his mission, slipping a smooth rock from his leathers and placing it in your hand, had been so unexpected, so sweet. You’d gasped, unsure whether to laugh or cry. He had remembered. 

And when he mentioned going to Winter Court next, you had shyly grinned at him, asking for another “souvenir.” What had started as an innocent collection had become something far more significant to you. Azriel didn’t know but that rock from Spring was the first gift you had ever received in years–decades, almost.

You treasured those silly rocks, keeping them lined up neatly on your dresser. You even painted them with little designs—daisies on the rock from Spring, a tiny shell on the one from Summer, and snowflakes on the one from Winter.

“This may actually finish my collection,” you mused, slipping the rock into the pocket of your skirts, your smile soft.

“I thought I had brought you one already?”

“Must’ve slipped your mind,” you replied with a playful shrug of your shoulders.

Azriel’s expression shifts into one of mock seriousness. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said, bowing his head before his voice turned teasing. “What will I bring you now, then? I’ll be flying out to Dawn next week. You sure you don’t want another rock from there? Or perhaps, this time, a jar of dirt?”

You rolled your eyes, the motion automatic but immediately followed by a sharp pang in your chest as your heart seemed to freeze. A lady, especially one from your court, rolling her eyes at a male? No matter how familiar you could be with a male, a gesture such as this was dangerous and unforgiving.

But Azriel only chuckled, his gaze warm and unbothered. Relief rushed through you, leaving you momentarily breathless, though you tried to play it off with a dry tone. “Ha,” you said, your thoughts already drifting to other possibilities. “But, if you are going to Dawn…”

He tilted his head, eyebrows raising slightly as his lips curved. “Go on.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to a feather…”

His dark brows furrowed in confusion, and you felt your heart beat louder in your chest. “A feather?” he repeated.

You shrugged again, trying to look casual about it. “A feather from a swan from Dawn. They’re native to the court and mate for life, you know. Some see them as a symbol for love and fidelity. I’d like a feather so that I can add it to my Aphrodite altar.”

“I see.” Azriel’s gaze had turned thoughtful, clearly processing the information. There was a brief pause, and you held your breath, suddenly aware of how ridiculous your request might sound…

 “Y/n, are you… practicing witchcraft?”

You react almost too quickly, it’s suspicious. 

“No,” you said, shaking your head with a small laugh. Even though you had sought out the help of a witch not too long ago, something you’d probably take to the grave with you, given the failed results. Or the fact that this feather would be an offering given with intent to Aphrodite for luck and blessings in love…

”Well, not exactly, I just–it’s a…”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Azriel mused with a chuckle, saving you from whatever disaster of an excuse you could come up with. The sound of his laughter was like a release, the tension in your shoulders easing. “If it’s a Swan’s feather you want, then I’ll make sure I bring one to you.”

There was something in his tone, the certainty in which he said the words, that had warmth pooling in your stomach. It was the kind of warmth that spread quickly, making your whole body feel lighter and creeping up into your chest. 

You turned to look at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

Your feet faltered as the rush of emotions made you dizzy. You barely noticed the uneven ground beneath you, and before you could regain your balance, you felt yourself tipping forward. Azriel’s hand shot out, gripping your arm and pulling you steady against him.

Your breath hitched at the feeling of his touch, gaze falling to where his hand rested on your arm. Slowly, your gaze trailed upwards. Azriel’s gaze was soft, his eyes searching yours in that way that made your heart race. 

“Thank you,” you breathed.

“Of course.”

You were both so close now, you could feel the heat of his breath. The world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. The sound of the river faded, replaced by the pounding of your heart. His free hand brushed against yours, a touch that sent a spark skittering across your skin.

And then, it happened.

A sharp, sudden tightening in your chest.

It wasn’t the pleasant flutter you’d grown accustomed to in Azriel’s presence. No, this was something else entirely. A pull, intense and demanding, like an unseen thread yanking you backward. You gasped, flinching out of Azriel’s grip, who immediately let you go when he felt your resistance.

Your hand flew to your chest. Azriel’s brows furrowed in concern and his shadows stirred anxiously, circling you as if they could shield you from whatever had caused your distress. “Are you alright?”

“I… I don’t know,” you murmured, your fingers pressing against the spot where the ache had settled, desperate to soothe the inexplicable burning. “But I think I’m fine now. ”

You weren’t sure if you were reassuring him or yourself. But you pushed the feeling aside, turning back to Azriel with an uncertain smile.

He took a hesitant step closer, hand hovering over your shoulder. “Are you sure? I can take you to a healer–”

“No,” you immediately shook your head, eyes widening. Calling for a healer meant risking your father finding out you had not heeded to his order of staying put, of you not causing trouble. You’d rather suffer the consequences of whatever sickness had suddenly struck you than be left to deal with your father’s reproach.

“I’m okay. Could we–could we head back now?”

**

Azriel's pov

Worry continued to brew in Azriel’s mind as he watched you settle onto an armchair, hand still rubbing at your chest. His shadows twitched restlessly, curling tighter around him. You had always been easy to read but he found himself struggling to decipher the distant look in your eyes. You hadn’t even looked his way once since he winnowed you both back to the townhouse.

He parted his lips, ready to urge you to see a healer, despite your earlier protest. But a shadow curled itself around his ear and he made himself busy with the book in his hand instead.

The door to Rhysand’s study opened. Azriel’s shadows whispered to him as they noted the way you had stiffened the moment your father stepped out and forced a smile onto your face. He was always unsettled by your father’s indifference to you, his grip on the book he held tightening.

"Let’s go home."

Lord Damus’s voice was detached as he dumped the books in his arm into yours. Azriel noticed immediately that it was a smaller load than what you had arrived with, but that did little to ease him as you winced under the weight.

He moved instinctively to help you, but the harsh stare Rhysand shot at him from across the room made him pause. Azriel blinked, momentarily stunned by the anger that flashed in Rhysand’s eyes.

"Thank you for your time, Lord Damus. I wish you both a safe trip back," Rhysand said, his voice smooth and composed, contrasting the look he had sent Azriel.

Lord Damus bowed in respect and you did the same. Albeit, with a struggle, given all the weight in your arms. Some of Azriel’s shadows darted toward you, hiding within the shadows of the sitting room. They settled underneath the books you carried, helping you silently. And at the way your arms eased, so did Azriel’s.

It was short lived because as soon as you and your father disappeared, Rhysand turned back to him.

“My office. Now.”

Rhysand’s tone left no room for questioning or contemplating. Azriel’s shadows hissed at the sharpness but the shadowsinger yielded to his High Lord’s command. As he entered the office, the faint traces of Feyre and Nyx’s scent lingered in the air, but neither was there now. 

“Did something happen?” Azriel asked, senses on high alert.

Rhysand leaned against the front of his desk, his gaze locking onto Azriel. "I didn’t think I’d have to ask this twice, but... are you out of your mind?"

Azriel’s shadows swirled around him, speaking in tongues. He let out a sound, a mix of disbelief, defensiveness, and the all-too-familiar hint of rage that had been waiting just beneath the surface. Not again.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

Rhysand’s humorless chuckle cut through the air. “Oh, trust me, I wish I was.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. 

“I can’t believe you would be so careless as to sneak her out of here when…”

“Her father has no clue,” Azriel shot back, trying to defend the choice, though even he knew it wasn’t enough.

“I bet your scent still lingers on her,” Rhysand snapped. “Do you know how dangerous that could be? For an unwed lady of her status to be caught alone with another male, to smell like another male? It could ruin her. I don’t know what you’re intentions are with her but Y/n is in love with you—”

“I know.” Azriel cut in sharply.

Rhysand’s expression darkened further, his voice hardening into ice. “So you do know. What’s your game here, Az? Because all I can think and worry about is how it will end for her.”

Before Azriel could respond, Rhysand’s voice rang out again, cutting through the growing tension like a blade.

“You will stay away from her.”

The words hit Azriel like a slap, his body going rigid as the words seemed to echo in his mind.  Because this was not his brother talking to him. It was his High Lord. His shadows were seething, reflecting the storm brewing inside. How had it come to this…again? The same damn warning, as though Azriel couldn’t be trusted to make his own decisions. 

First, it was Mor. Then, it was Elain. And now you.

Unbelievable. His lips twisted into a humorless, bitter smile then. “Should I just ask you for a roster of females I’m allowed to be with? It would save us both a lot of time and trouble.”

“I said it before and I’ll say it again.” Rhysand breathed in sharply, barely able to restrain his vexation. “And I pray to the Mother I won’t have to say it for a third time...”

Azriel’s shadows froze mid-whisper. The room grew quiet and unnervingly still. His wings twitched, as if they too, braced themselves. Because he already knew what was coming. 

But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

“If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall. Heck, I’ll offer to pay for it this time.”

And the words stung just as sharply as they had the first time.

“Just stay away from y/n.”

[series masterlist]

A/n: I had fun writing this <3 and I hope you can understand a bit more of why reader is madly in love with Az. I mean, who isn't? lol But does he like her back or simply like the idea of someone being in love with him for a change…😈

series tag list: @kaitttttttt , @nebarious , @daughterofthemoons-stuff , @justyouraveragekleemain , @tothestarsandwhateverend ,

@ratgirl2020 , @myromanempiree , @vanserrasimp , @itsswritten, @acourtofbatboydreams

@imjustagirl713, @paleidiot, @scarsandallaz, @marina468

@utterlyhopeful-fics, @bia-wayne-west

if you asked to be put on the tag-list and don't see your username, please remind me!

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits15, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

[cherie-doll]

Hellu, could you maybe do a drabble or hc or whatever you feel comfortable with, of the cod men reacting to reader being in a car crash??

(I was just in a car crash, my head hurts, I’m coping 💀)

If not then that’s okay ❤️❤️

my goodness, are you okay dear?? ૮ ㅇㅁㅇ ྀིა

𓏲 Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

🝮 Price finally got some downtime to rest and catch up on his sleep debt at home. You insisted he stay home while you go to the grocery store only a few blocks away. Now imagine how his body tenses and he's up from the recliner in a heartbeat the moment he receives the phone call about your accident. He's supposed to drop the tense and hard face off while he's at home with you but this is worse. He's trying to keep calm on the surface but a can of worries within, just wanting to spill out. Thankfully, the accident didn't result in fatalities nor major injuries. He's holding you and checking you all over, listening to everything you're saying. Does something hurt? Feel dizzy? Need water? He's taking you right home, don't worry about the wrecked car.

🝮 Simon's mood when he picks up the phone initially is that he's annoyed, his answering "yes?" is a little sharp because you had just had a small argument over him once again not paying attention to the list of items you insisted he take when grocery shopping but didn't. So now you had to pause everything and go get the thing yourself, which means he'd have to wait at least another hour before he could eat dinner. Your voice over the phone was weak and scared, your frail voice that barely answered because your mind was all over the place and fading. You couldn't think straight after the crash. Simon dropped everything and staying on call with you made it faster than the cops would've. He carried you out of the car and cradled your body in his arms even in the ambulance, all the while muttering lowly how reckless you could be and how stupid and idiotic he was for letting you drive while mad. He swears he'd never let it happen again.

🝮 Johnny wasn't expecting you to answer with "was in a car crash" to "how was your day?" Like why are you telling him just now that you're arriving home. He gets off the couch he's by your side in an instant. Why didn't you call him? Because you thought it was nothing big? He almost thinks you're bluffing, why he can't help but assume the worst or imagine a terrible accident. You're sitting down this instant and- did you go to the hospital? And if you did he's surprised they just let you walk out. You argue back that you barely got a bruise but he insists you're going again and getting an examination done just in case. You have to tell him these things else he'll have a hard time letting you go out alone again.

🝮 The only thing Kyle knew was that you'd be hanging out with friends. And that's how it was supposed to be, he could expect you to come home late in the evening or maybe nearing night. But the clock marked the midnight hour and you hadn't walked through the front door yet; very unusual of you. He paced the living room from one wall to the other, he had the right to be worried so he wasn't being a controlling nor clingy partner if he just wanted to know where you were past midnight. The worry only increased when he called and it went straight to voicemail. Okay, maybe your phone died. And he kept trying to come up with plausible reasons as to why you weren't home yet when the bell rang and he threw the door open to a distressed looking friend of yours explaining the car accident you had been caught up in. You were conscious when taken away but in pain, your friend was still explaining this when Kyle grabbed his shoes and was already walking to the driveway.

🝮 Roach and you frequented bars pretty often and usually took a cab home. You hadn't had more than one drink however and decided to drive home while he dozed off in the backseat. He woke up to the sound of tires screeching and before he could make out what was happening his body was jerked and thrown forward. Groaning and rubbing his neck he called your name only for you to weakly respond. A soft gasp left his lips followed by his fingers reaching out to the bleeding gash, blood staining his fingertips. When he called emergency services and had you taken to the hospital, the cops has questioned how the accident happened and he was ready to take the blame on insisting you drive despite both having consumed alcohol. He knew there wasn't any other believable lie he could sputter, surely the one drink you'd had would show up on the tests.

🝮 Alejandro didn't think it'd ever happen to you. An accident bad enough that you had to be taken to the hospital? He's there as fast as he possibly could get there. He ignores the nurses who are trying to tell him that you're okay for the most part, just a little shaken. But he's checking you all over and almost loses it when he sees a bruise, demanding for the doctor. It takes you forcibly holding him back and holding his head so he can meet your eyes and see that you're fine, you're not in severe pain. From now on you're not driving anywhere alone because he doesn't another scare like that to happen again.

🝮 Rudy is worried sick when you insisted on driving the last stretch of the way home, at night too. Your driving skills are passable during the day but at night it can be difficult to tell from the high beams of other car's lights flashing at you. When you tried braking at a stop sign you saw last minute, due to the ice already forming on the road the car didn't come to a complete stop and nearly skid off the road. His hand instinctively reaches across to hold against your body, making sure you don't fly forward despite you having the seatbelt on. It's just instinct for him to protect you in every situation. He gets off, running over to your side and the time doesn't matter anymore. He'll sit out on the hood of the car however long you need to recover from the close call until you're ready to go back home. Except he's not letting you drive.

🝮 Phillip was waiting at a second location for you to come pick him up after his car was getting fixed for something. He wouldn't have bothered you but the repair shop was half an hour drive away, something was just bound to happen. And he doesn't realize this because his mind is so preoccupied with the petty shop owner over what was the problem with his truck that when his phone rings and he picks up he sounds a little mad, not at you though. Soon he hears a dispatcher's voice instead of yours his mind goes to the worst place. Don't know where he gets the car from but he's speeding down the highway praying that you're fine and he gets to you. But he gets there and sees you sitting on a strip of grass off to the side of the mess and holding an ice pack to your head.

🝮 Makarov is hiring a chauffeur to drive you everywhere and anywhere you need from here on out and finding out who was the idiot who rammed into the back of your car while at a stoplight. He can't believe you didn't ask the other driver for their information, doesn't matter though, he'll get the information later. Maybe you should quit going out altogether, no? Okay it was worth a try, whatever you want. From now on you have to promise to not ever get into an accident ever again. "How am I supposed to control tha-"

🝮 Keegan didn't freak out after you told him you just veered off the main road and were now stuck in some rundown road. He calmly gathered whatever tools he thought he might need and started his truck. The scene he encounters when he arrives is somewhat off, you're waving him over, sitting on the hood of your car with a sheepish smile. He walks around the car and finds the dent on the side and back of the car. And before he can ask what the hell happened- shit, you're bleeding? You're going to have to start from the beginning if you don't want him ignoring your requests and taking you to the emergency room instead.

🝮 König left the car parked with you waiting for him in the passenger seat, and when he came back he sees his car in pieces, absolutely destroyed from a car speeding off the road and ramming into the side. He panics, tries to pry the door open to get to you, even breaks a window before you're tapping him from behind. "I'm right here" He turns around, lifts you off the ground and lets out a sigh of relief. He seriously thought he would have to search through the wrecked car for you. How had you even gotten out? You saw stray cat and got out before the car had been hit. But now you have to be the one worrying over König's hand and forearm which has glass embedded.

🝮 Horangi blames himself for the car crash. He wanted to teach you to drift because you'd seen how he does it and you're eager to nail it too. Things escalate rather quickly and it's no longer a smooth Saturday drive when you loose control and drive off the road, the tires slipping onto the grass and slamming sideways into a tree. He's holding your head, not knowing if you're got knocked out unconscious or not, but his mind doesn't fully register the bigger dent is on the rear doors not the driver nor passenger side. With one hand he's holding your head to his chest, his other shaky hand attempting to dial emergency services, feeling faint himself before you come to and look around confused. He's grabbing your face in his hands looking you all over making sure you didn't receive a single bruise.

🝮 You assumed Nikto would be cross if he saw the state his car was in. He was hesitant to let you drive out alone knowing you still went a little hard on your turns and it had been raining frequently. The moment he arrives, you're fixed on his eyes, carefully determining whether he's already thought of what he'd do to you the moment he saw the disaster his car was. But you're surprised and speechless when he strides over to you, silently looks you over, barely assesses the car and just picks you up. "Aren't you mad?" "About what?" "Your car!" And he barely glances at it, shrugs and drives you home.

[fucked-up-mover-shaker]

ive said this once and i will say it again, grady is the most nuanced character in KOTLC. Purely from just how he is written in canon- there is so much we can draw from his character with little inference.

On the one hand, you have a walking tragedy: he manifested one of the rarest and most dangerous abilities in the lost cities at a young age, he lost his daughter to her fiance, (if we're talking theory, he may have been in the neverseen), you can't help but feel sympathy for him.

But then- you realize something terrifying.

Gisela and Vespera are right.

Grady is the most ruthless elf in the lost cities.

But he's also one of the kindest.

Despite the danger it poses, he and Edaline adopt the Moonlark, they put themselves at risk. Despite everything been through, they willingly give their love to a girl who needs it. That is one of the kindest acts someone can pull off.

However, as alluded to earlier, there's another side to him. Despite how concerned, kind, and thoughtful he is; he is also vengeful, impulsive, and distrusting.

Let's look at Everblaze again. Partially because it's the best example of his darker nature, partially because I have it on hand right now, partially because it is my favorite book in the series.

In Everblaze, Grady's vengeance and impulse is seen in full. Take King DImitar, for an example. Sophie was going to be taken away; and Grady jumped in. He believed it to be the right thing to do; and believe me it was, but there is a dark tone to it. A feeling of impulse; that he wasn't truly thinking at the moment. And he almost violated the treaty, if it wasn't for the Councillors coming to his defense.

This scene serves as subtle foreshadowing for later and sets up something very important about Grady:

He could kill someone if he wanted to. And he knows that.

But what could push him that far? Well, there is an answer to that, an answer we later find out:

Jolie's death.

When he finds out the true circumstances to Jolie's untimely demise, his sheer ruthlessness is demonstrated. There's a deeper level to this however, it is his underlying fear of being taken advantage of showing to its surface.

Brant took advantage of Grady and Edaline, and that is the biggest injustice to Grady. Because it's what he has been fearing, it's why he had closed himself off to the world.

That fear causes the sheer level of terror that is caused in Grady. Terror that builds into his impulses, which causes him to go out to find Brant, with intent to kill.

That's why he doesn't want Sophie to come with, he doesn't want his daughter to see the monster he was about to become.

The monster he believes himself to be.

It's not just Everblaze, but a feeling that permeates his character and his choices.

His distrust of Keefe stems from two things:

The similarities he sees between himself and Keefe (the sense of humor, the blond hair, and later in the books; the ability of control).

How that, in a way, is all Grady has ever known.

Elves manifest young. Meaning that he has spent a majority of his life being distrusted by his peers, as well as distrusting the world and fearing someone would take advantage of him.

So when there's a talented but terrified young kid that needs his helps; whether through adoption or through training, he obligies.

Why?

Because he sees himself so much in that situation. Because of that deep feeling of kinship, he feels a need to take care of people in that situation.

Grady's empathy trumps his distrust.

And that's why he starts helping Keefe. That's why he adopts Sophie.

tl;dr: grady's character absolutely FUCKS why does no one talk about this???

also he is hotter than hell and i will fight people on this

[logos0]

From Ice to Fire

Leah Williamson x Reader Enemies to Lovers | Happy Ending

The wheels of the plane touched down at Heathrow, and the hum of the engines died as you peered out the window at the grey skies over London. It was a far cry from the snow-dusted landscapes of Scandinavia that you called home. But here you were, ready to embark on the next chapter of your footballing career. Arsenal FC had been a dream for years, and now you were one of their newest signings.

As you stepped out of the taxi at the training grounds, nerves prickled at your skin. You had achieved so much to get here, yet a voice at the back of your mind whispered that the hardest part was still to come. Meeting the team, proving your worth, adapting to the intensity of English football—all of it loomed large.

The team welcomes you warmly on your first day at Meadow Park. The first person to greet you was Beth Mead, her grin wide and her energy infectious. "Ah, the new signing! Heard you’ve got a killer left foot. Let’s hope it’s true." Vivianne Miedema followed with a calm nod, and Kim Little, the captain, offers a handshake that carries a quiet authority. But then there’s Leah Williamson.

The Lionesses’ captain greets you with a polite, almost perfunctory nod. Her reputation precedes her: confident, charismatic, a born leader. But something about her intensity feels off. The Lionesses’ captain carried herself with a quiet intensity. Her eyes assessed you from head to toe, and her polite nod felt more like a formality than genuine welcome.

For the rest of the day, her presence loomed. During the first drills, she was the one who barked out directions, corrected positioning, and, more than once, seemed to single you out for criticism.

"You need to stay tighter to your mark," she said sharply after a defensive drill.

You clenched your jaw. "Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you’d tracked your runner."

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension.

It was going to be a long season.

Your integration into the squad is smooth… except when it comes to Leah. The rivalry between you two grew over the weeks. On the surface, everything seemed fine. You worked well enough together during games and even exchanged the occasional word of praise when necessary. But in training, it was a different story. She seemed to find faults in everything you do. A misplaced pass? She’s the first to point it out. A moment’s hesitation on the field? She’s already barking instructions.

"That’s not how we press here," Leah said during one particularly gruelling session, her tone clipped. "Maybe in Scandinavia, you can take your time," she snaps after one particularly tense drill, "but here, we move fast."

You wiped sweat from your brow, shooting her a glare. "I’ve been playing football since I could walk. I think I know how to press."

"Not in the WSL, you don’t," she snapped back. You glare at her, chest heaving from exertion. "Maybe if you passed the ball sooner, I wouldn’t have to clean up your mistakes."

The tension between you was palpable, and the team could feel it. Beth smirked knowingly, muttering, "Oh, this is gonna be fun to watch."

During the next weeks, your Scandinavian coolness continued to clash with her fiery intensity at every turn. The team, much to your dismay, seemed to find your friction entertaining. Beth Mead started taking bets on when the two of you would finally explode, and even the usually reserved Vivianne Miedema would smirk when you and Leah squared off during drills.

It wasn’t that you disliked her—at least, that’s what you told yourself. But her constant nitpicking, her relentless need to push, got under your skin like no one ever had before.

And yet, you couldn’t help but notice her. The way she commanded the field with such confidence, the way she celebrated every goal like it was her first, the way her laugh—rare as it was—lit up the room during team dinners.

But noticing wasn’t the same as liking.

One evening after training, you stayed late to practice free kicks. The floodlights cast long shadows across the empty pitch as you lined up ball after ball, aiming for the top corner.

"You don’t rest much, do you?"

The voice startled you, and you turned to see Leah leaning against the goalpost, arms crossed.

"And you don’t know when to leave people alone," you shot back, though your tone lacked its usual bite.

To your surprise, she didn’t respond with a snarky remark. Instead, she grabbed a ball and joined you. The two of you fell into a rhythm, each taking turns at the goal. There was an unspoken competition in the air, but it felt different this time—less antagonistic, more playful.

When you finally stopped, both of you breathless, Leah gave you a small, genuine smile. "You’re not bad," she said.

"Coming from you, that almost sounds like a compliment," you replied, earning a quiet laugh.

For the first time, the tension between you seemed to ease.

The match against Chelsea was a turning point. Arsenal was down 1-0, and the clock was running out. You intercepted a pass from Sam Kerr and drove forward, weaving through defenders before threading the ball to Leah, who was perfectly positioned. She scored with a thunderous strike, and the stadium erupted.

Before you knew it, Leah was running toward you, a wide grin on her face. She wrapped her arms around you, her excitement contagious. "That was all you," she said breathlessly, her forehead briefly touching yours.

For the first time, her words felt entirely sincere, and something shifted between you.

After the Chelsea game, the team celebrated with a night out. You found yourself seated next to Leah, and to your surprise, the conversation flowed easily. She asked about your life in Scandinavia, and you told her about the snowy winters, the northern lights, and the small village where you first fell in love with football.

"You’re full of surprises," she said softly, her eyes searching yours.

"So are you," you replied, feeling a warmth you hadn’t expected.

A few weeks later, after a late-night training session, you and Leah ended up alone on the balcony of the team’s hotel. The city lights glittered below as silence stretched between you.

"I was wrong about you," Leah said finally, her voice quiet.

You turned to her, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I thought you were just another hotshot here to make a name for yourself. But you’re more than that. You care about the team. You push me to be better." She hesitated, her usual confidence faltering. "And I… I think I like you."

Your breath caught, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop.

"I like you too," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

She leaned closer, her hand brushing yours. When she kissed you, it was soft and tentative, as though testing the waters. But when you kissed her back, it was with all the passion and fire that had burned between you from the start.

The shift from enemies to lovers wasn’t seamless. You still bickered during training, but now it was laced with humour rather than hostility. The team noticed the change immediately.

"You two are ridiculous," Beth teased one day. "Just get a room already."

Leah rolled her eyes, but her hand found yours under the table.

On the field, your partnership flourished. Leah’s leadership and your creativity drove the team to new heights, and Arsenal climbed to the top of the league. Off the field, your bond deepened through late-night conversations, stolen moments, and an unspoken understanding that you had found something rare.

The season ended with Arsenal lifting the trophy. As confetti rained down, Leah pulled you into her arms, her smile brighter than ever.

"We make a good team," she said, her forehead resting against yours.

"We always did," you replied with a grin.

In that moment, surrounded by your teammates and the deafening cheers of the crowd, you knew this was just the beginning—for Arsenal, for your career, and for you and Leah.

From enemies to lovers, from ice to fire—you had found your home.

[focusonkayjay]

between the ride and the roses (4)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 3.3k

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: forced proximity, jungkook is emotionally constipated, OC is clueless.

A/N: I really hope that fans of "Gilmore Girls" come across this story, because the town hall meeting scene is entirely inspired by the show. I’ve tried to capture the same essence and energy, so I hope you can envision it just like it's depicted in the series, with all the quirky charm and fast-paced dialogues etc etc. that said, I feel like things are about to take a dramatic turn. what do we think? ;)

part 4: mixing the grease with the soil

As the days slip by, the tension between you and Jungkook has become an unspoken constant, like the hum of a distant engine, always there, always humming beneath the surface. It’s an unyielding stalemate neither of you seems willing to break, as if maintaining the distance is safer, easier, less likely to damage the delicate balance of your lives.

But then, without warning, subtle shifts begin to take place. Jungkook’s friends, once notorious for crowding your shop’s entrance with their gleaming motorcycles, now park further down the street. The loud laughter, the sharp revving of engines that used to echo through your workspace, disrupting your day, have faded into memory. The newfound peace feels like a long-overdue truce, and while it doesn’t erase the tension, it’s a welcome relief.

Your encounters with his friends Jimin, Hoseok, and Yoongi have settled into something almost cordial. A nod here, a wave there, brief exchanges that are polite but still distant. It’s enough to keep things civil, but when it comes to Jungkook, there’s no such middle ground. You don’t greet him, and he doesn’t acknowledge you. It’s a silent agreement to maintain the distance between you two.

Yet, for Jungkook, the distance isn’t as simple as it once was. The quiet animosity, the unresolved arguments, the invisible barrier between you guys—they all weigh heavier on him now. He can’t put his finger on it, but your presence has started to linger in his mind in ways that unsettle him. It gnaws at him, a persistent whisper he can’t ignore.

He finds himself noticing things he shouldn’t. The way your hair falls into your face while you’re tending to flowers. The way your laugh rings out when your friends visit, lighting up your features in a way he can't help but admire. His eyes find you before he even realizes he’s looking, and it infuriates him how easily you captivate him, how effortlessly you draw his attention without even trying.

It started small. A passing glance as he worked on a bike outside his shop. Then, the details began to add up. Like last week, when he saw you laughing with your friends outside. He’s pieced together their names now, after observing from a distance.

The man who visited your shop that day, the one who elicited the first genuine smile he ever saw on your face, is Taehyung. An artist, Jungkook suspects, given the occasional specks of paint adorning his clothes, arms, or sometimes even his cheek.

Then there was Namjoon and Seokjin or at least that's what he thinks their names are. Their exact roles in your life are a mystery to him, but they tower over most people with their astonishing heights and they mostly show up late, long after your closing hours, often bringing you food or whisking you away in their cars for reasons he can only imagine.

And then there’s a girl, Juwon, who seems to frequent your shop the most. Sometimes she buys flowers; other times, she simply lounges inside, waiting for you to finish your work.

Jungkook feels ridiculous for how much he’s noticed. He shouldn’t care about the details of your life or the people in it, yet he finds himself drawn to them, piecing together bits of your world from snippets of conversation and stolen glances. Even the sound of your laugh, carefree and genuine, has a way of pulling his focus no matter how hard he tries to ignore it.

It hits him in unexpected moments—how beautiful you look when you laugh, how your smile seems to brighten everything around you. And in those moments, he feels the tension between you two fade away, replaced by something softer, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge. You look happy, and it stirs something deep within him, something he wishes he could suppress.

He doesn’t know why it matters so much. Why does it bother him that he’s not the one making you smile? Why does it sting to see you so effortlessly connect with others when he feels so distant from you?

He always tears his gaze away, forcing himself to focus on the bike in front of him, but it’s futile. The image of your smile lingers, a persistent flicker in the back of his mind.

The ease with which you interact with the people around you only serves to highlight the chasm between you. You’re kind, approachable, a natural at making others feel at ease. And Jungkook? He feels like an outsider, watching from the shadows, wrestling with feelings he doesn’t understand and can’t seem to shake.

Why is it so difficult to be around you? Why does everything feel so impossibly complicated? The questions haunt him, their answers elusive, leaving him restless and frustrated with a distance he doesn’t know how to bridge.

But what you don’t notice is the quiet way Jungkook has begun to weave himself into your life, his actions subtle, small gestures that he hopes will somehow make up for the things left unsaid between you two.

Like that one time you were struggling to move a heavy bag of soil into your shop and he pretended not to notice, yet somehow, when you turned around to get something else, it was already sitting inside, untouched by your hands. Or the way he’s started parking his bike just far enough away so that it doesn’t block your view of the flowers from the shop window, as though he’s silently trying to make your space feel a little more yours, and a little less his.

He never says a word, never acknowledges the thought behind it. He simply continues working, silently apologizing in a way that only he understands.

And then there’s the smallest, most hidden gesture of all: the way he wipes his hands clean on a rag before leaving the garage to walk past your shop at the exact moment you’re working outside. His steps slow just enough for you to think he’s passing through casually, but if you weren't so oblivious, you’d see the way his gaze lingers just a second too long on you, a silent question hanging in the air that neither of you have the courage to ask.

It’s as if, in every small action, he’s trying to show you something... something you can’t quite see, something he can’t quite say.

//

It’s a quiet morning when Mr. Kwon, a man in his early 60s and also the town head, steps into your shop, his polished shoes clicking against the wooden floor as he heads towards the counter.

You’ve just finished arranging a fresh batch of daisies, their bright white petals catching the light. He adjusts his glasses, eyeing you with that steady, slightly intimidating gaze.

“Y/N-ah...” he begins, his voice as measured as ever. “I wanted to remind you about the town hall meeting later this week, on Thursday. It’s about the annual fair. Please be there.” he says calmly.

You raise an eyebrow, wiping your hands on a towel. “That’s it? No more details?” you question, amused.

He gives a small smile, one that barely softens his usual stern demeanor. “There’s more to discuss at the meeting, so just be there.” And with that, he turns and leaves as quickly as he came, leaving you wondering what exactly he’s got planned. You watch him walk towards the shop next to yours and you're quickly distracted when a customer walks in.

Right next door, Jungkook is having his own first encounter with Mr. Kwon’s business-like approach. He’s just finished cleaning his motorcycle when the town head arrives in front of his shop, looking like he’s stepped out of a corporate boardroom.

“Jungkook...” Mr. Kwon begins “I’m here to remind you about the town meeting this week, on Thursday. It’s a big one—planning for the annual fair. Since you’re part of the community now, I strongly encourage you and your friends to attend. We need fresh perspectives.” he states, eyeing the rest of the boys behind him.

Jungkook blinks, taken aback. “Wait, I don’t even know what this fair thing is—”

“You’ll figure it out. Just be there.” Mr. Kwon’s tone is firm, his back already turned as he walks away, but he suddenly stops in his tracks, turning his head over his shoulder. “And wear something presentable. It’s not a garage.” he says.

Jungkook chuckles faintly as Mr. Kwon left, his friends stifling laughter behind him. “Presentable.” Yoongi drawls. “You gonna show up in a tux, boss?” he jokes, causing everyone to snicker.

As Jungkook continues with his work, his thoughts linger about this so called town meeting. It was his first time being summoned to one, and while he wasn’t particularly eager to attend, Mr. Kwon’s authoritative tone made it clear it wasn’t really optional.

//

The evening of the meeting arrives, and you walk towards the town hall with Juwon’s arm tightly clinging to yours. “If we’re late because you had to rearrange just one more daisy, I’m blaming you.” you hear her say and you laugh. “Relax Juwon-ah." you reply, rubbing her hands that held your arm.“Namjoon said he’d save us seats.” you inform.

As you approach the town hall, the streets hum with excited chatter, the townspeople preparing for what’s sure to be an eventful fair. Suddenly, the low rumble of motorcycles grew louder. Heads turned as Jungkook and his gang rode in, their bikes gleaming under the evening sun. They parked with an air of nonchalance, right outside the town hall, drawing curious glances and a few whispers.

“First time seeing the townies up close?” Yoongi teases Jungkook as they get off their bikes. “I guess." Jungkook mutters, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets as he waits for Jimin and Hoseok to take off their helmets so that they can head inside.

While the bikers still seemed to be parking their bikes, you and Juwon were already inside the hall. You instantly spot Namjoon, Seokjin, and Taehyung, eagerly saving two seats for you and Juwon. They wave you over once they see you, their faces a mix of impatience and playful annoyance.

“We got prime real estate!” Seokjin declares, gesturing to the front row. “More like you just wanted to be close enough to whisper critiques about Mr. Kwon’s tie.” Namjoon says dryly. "Someone has to keep the man humble.” Seokjin quips, shrugging.

You and Juwon take your seats and just as you’re getting comfortable, Taehyung grins. “Speaking of critiques, how long do we think it’ll take Mrs. Han to bring up her pie-eating contest again?” he asks, stifling a laugh. “I’m giving it five minutes. Namjoon replies as he holds up his phone. “Starting the timer now.” he chuckles.

Once Jungkook steps into the hall, he finds himself slightly out of place among the vibrant crowd of familiar faces and lively chatter. His eyes instinctively scan the room, landing on you and your friends seated in the front row. You laugh at something Juwon says, your eyes crinkling with genuine amusement, while Taehyung playfully argues with Namjoon about something he can't quite hear.

Jungkook feels a strange pull—your energy, so warm and lighthearted, stands in stark contrast to his own awkwardness in this unfamiliar setting. His gaze lingers for a moment too long, enough for Yoongi to notice and nudge him. “Spot something interesting?” he teases, smirking.

Jungkook shakes his head quickly, looking away. “Just taking it all in.” he mutters, though the faint flush on his cheeks betrays him. He follows his friends, as they all take their seats somewhere in the middle of the hall.

The room fills with excited chatter, the buzz of anticipation thick in the air. People whisper eagerly about the fair and what it will bring this year. As Mr. Kwon takes the stage, he adjusts the microphone and clears his throat and everyone falls silent, waiting for him to start.

“Good evening, everyone.” he formally begins, his voice commanding. “Thank you all for coming. As you know, the annual town fair is upon us, and tonight’s meeting is about planning and assigning tasks. This year, we’re aiming to make the fair even better—more organized, more collaborative, and, hopefully, more memorable.” He pauses to scan the crowd.

“Now, I know some of you have suggestions...” His gaze lingers pointedly on Mrs. Han, who immediately raises her hand. “Mr. Kwon.” she begins, her voice carrying. “I really think it’s time we bring back the pie-eating contest.” she says, standing up.

Mr. Jung groans from the other side of the room. “For the last time, Mrs. Han, the clinic is not sponsoring antacid tablets for everyone!” he says, his nose twitching. “Maybe if you baked better pies, fewer people would need them.” Mrs. Han shoots back, earning a ripple of laughter from the crowd.

“Okay, okay!” Mr. Kwon interjects as he holds up his hands. “Let’s keep this civil... or as civil as possible.”

Namjoon leans over to Taehyung. “Three minutes. She’s getting faster.” he whispers as they both cover their mouths, not wanting Mr. Kwon to catch them giggling like children.

Mr. Kwon clears his throat, signaling for everyone to settle down. “We need to make this fair something special. This year’s theme, ‘A Night in Stardust,’ is all about wonder and magic. We want the fair to be an experience that stays with people long after it’s over." he announces.

"‘A Night in Stardust’, huh?” Taehyung whispers. “Sounds like something out of a sci-fi romance.” he says while Namjoon smirks. “Or Seokjin’s poetry journal.” he jokes. Seokjin feigns offense as he dramatically clutches his chest. “Excuse me, my poems are classic.”

As Mr. Kwon continues, he outlines more exciting events, including a fortune-teller’s tent, carnival games like ring toss and a scavenger hunt, handmade jewelry booths and various other things along with a stargazing dome to tie in with the theme.

At the mention of the fortune-teller’s tent, Seokjin laughs. “Last year, she told me I’d meet someone tall and handsome and that they would save me from a storm that was supposed to ruin my life.” you hear him say. “Turns out it was just Namjoon holding an umbrella when it rained heavily that one night in September.” The room erupts into laughter, Namjoon included.

“And we’ll also have the hammer strength game. Let’s see if anyone can beat Taehyung’s record.” Mr. Kwon adds as Taehyung grins smugly, while Namjoon mutters something about “unfair leverage.”

“Let’s not forget the stargazing dome.” Mr. Kwon continues. “Where we’ll have a real view of the stars... no glitter, no tricks, just pure, unfiltered stardust.” The crowd applauds, everyone eagerly imagining the magical experience the dome will bring.

As the meeting continues, Jungkook watches the people around him with quiet fascination. He notices how easily they laugh and joke with each other, their voices filled with warmth and comfort. Everyone seems so relaxed, as if they’ve known each other for years. His attention shifts to you and your friends.

He’s especially taken aback by how involved all of you are in the conversation. You and your friends aren’t just listening; you're actively participating, cracking jokes, teasing one another, and sharing in the laughter. Each one of you adds something to the mix, whether it's a funny remark or a playful comeback.

The easy way everyone interacts with one another catches Jungkook’s eye. It’s not just about the words being said, but the bond they share. There's a warmth in the room that’s impossible to miss. The sense of unity is so strong that it’s almost like a shared heartbeat among the townspeople. He can’t help but smile at how effortless and natural it all seems.

As he watches, it finally clicks for him... this is why the town fair is such a big deal. It’s not just about the rides or the food stands or the games. It’s about the connection between people. The fair is their time to come together, to celebrate their friendships and shared history.

Jungkook realizes that the fair is more than just a tradition—it’s a celebration of the town’s unity. It’s a chance for everyone to bond, strengthen their ties, and create memories together. In that moment, he understands the deeper meaning of the fair, and he feels a sense of appreciation for the way this community truly values each other.

As the laughter fades, Mr. Kwon clears his throat, signaling the shift in the meeting's tone. "Alright, time to assign tasks for the fair." he announces, looking around the room. His gaze moves around as he begins assigning tasks to various townspeople.

Your friends Taehyung and Namjoon are responsible for setting up all the games, while Seokjin is responsible for the food stalls and making sure all the stalls have everything they require. Juwon is in charge of the performances as she's needed to choreograph a dance for the little kids.

Mr. Kwon continues his rounds of assigning tasks here and there. As he goes down the list, you shift in your seat, feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation. When he finally comes to you, the room quiets, all eyes turning in your direction.

"Y/N-ah." Mr. Kwon starts with a smile. "Your shop will be in charge of the decorations... think glowing flowers, twinkling vines, anything that will transform this fair into something magical." he says.

You nod, a little taken aback by the responsibility, but you’re ready. The pressure is real, but you can’t let it show. "I won’t let you down." you smile, even though the weight of the task settles in your chest.

"And..." Mr. Kwon continues, his eyes now flicking to Jungkook. "Since your shop is right next to Y/N’s, I’m assigning you both to work together. Jungkook, you and your friends will handle all the logistics—setting up tents, building stages, and making sure everything’s in place and all that. You two will be coordinating directly."

A hush falls over the room. Whispers ripple through the crowd as the news sinks in. You glance at Jungkook, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat. His expression is unreadable, but you can feel the tension in the air. It’s clear he’s not thrilled about the arrangement, but there’s no backing out now.

Seokjin leans towards Juwon, his voice low but just loud enough for you to hear. "Oh, this is going to be fun." he whispers, and Juwon chuckles, eyeing you.

You catch Jungkook’s gaze for a moment, his eyes lingering on you a bit longer than expected before he quickly looks away. It’s clear neither of you are particularly excited about working together, but the task ahead is unavoidable. Though there's an invisible wall between the two of you, you both know you can't avoid each other forever.

"Is everyone okay with this?" Mr. Kwon finally asks, scanning the room with a hopeful smile. "Remember, we’re all in this together to make this fair a grand success. Let’s show these other towns how we do things here !!" he laughs as everyone else in the room, nod in agreement, their energy buzzing with excitement.

For most, it’s just another fair, but for some, it’s an opportunity to come together and create something truly special. Jungkook’s eyes briefly meet yours again, and for a moment, the weight of the responsibility settles in. Neither of you speak a word, but there’s a quiet understanding that the next few days are going to be full of surprises and challenges.

As the meeting wraps up, the lively chatter and laughter return to the room. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, you can’t help but feel the tiniest flicker of annoyance, nervousness and excitement. The fair will bring more than just stardust—it will bring a new chapter for you and Jungkook, whether either of you are prepared for it or not.

<- part 3 // part 5 ->

series masterlist

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈, 𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

— pairing; itoshi sae x reader  

— summary; in which you and sae meet again in japan after a messy breakup in spain. set in the blue lock manager au.

— notes; please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ It’s not really something you like to broadcast, how you and Sae were close when you were in Spain with your parents for that brief, wonderful period of time. While he honed his skills with football, you would balance your studies while helping out at Re Al.

❋ Things had been so simple back then. Late-night walks in Madrid, your fingers intertwined with his. Sneaking kisses in quiet corners, away from prying eyes. Sharing popsicles and everything else. Sae was cold to the rest of the world, his softness reserved entirely for you.

❋ You were each other’s first everything — first kiss, first love, first heartbreak.

❋ Some part of you had to have known that this was only temporary, considering how often your parents travel for work. But it still comes as a shock to you when you parents abruptly decide to return to Japan to help fund the Blue Lock project.

❋ And Sae, so full of potential. Sae, whose career is finally taking off. You aren’t about to let him leave it behind; and Sae, too driven, too focused on his dreams, wasn’t about to throw it all away and return to Japan either. Not like this. Not for you.

❋ You hadn’t expected to see him at the airport to see you off. Sae’s expression was closed off, and it was like the two of you were strangers once again, the distance and silence already stretching endlessly between you. As if your relationship had never existed in the first place.

❋ The breakup was messy, yet silent. Both of you knew instinctively that this was the end. And just before Sae left without looking back, his final words to you were, “If you’re going, don’t expect me to wait.”

❋ The last image you have of him is his retreating figure, back rigid, leaving as the words die on your lips.

❋ And that was that.

❋ You’d returned to Japan with your parents to work as a manager at Blue Lock (Ego had agreed to take you in under the promise of free labour, apparently). Ego’s lectures aren’t fun, but you’re actually learning something under him and Anri when you’re not being driven insane by a group of rowdy, immature teenaged boys.

❋ You try really hard not to think about Sae. Even if the occasional headline reminds you of his burgeoning career in Europe. But the memory of him is a quiet ache in your chest that surfaces in random moments — when you see the colour teal, or hear a song he’d used to like.

❋ You’ve been to JFA headquarters only once or twice before, but it’s bustling with activity as always. Your purpose here is purely business; you’ll act as a secretary for Ego and Anri while they finalize plans for the U20 match with the top brass.

❋ You didn’t think that he’d be there.

❋ Right at that very moment.

❋ In that very room.

❋ Fate is cruel, sometimes.

❋ He looks . . . The same, yet somehow different all at once. His hair’s a little longer, his expression sharper, but those piercing green eyes haven’t changed at all, and the realisation makes your chest throb painfully all over again.

❋ You wonder how you appear to him, underneath your professional blazer and veneer of carefully controlled calm. Does he think you still look the same? Or does he think that you’ve changed, become a total stranger to him, much like how he is to you right now?

❋ His gaze is intense, scorching. You can feel it the second you enter the room, but you keep your head down and try to pay attention to the meeting. (The thought of having to present incomplete notes to Ego certainly does a marvellous job at helping you focus.)

❋ A breath of relief soughs out of you the moment the meeting ends. Quickly, you gather your things, following Ego and Anri out the door. You’re eager to avoid the lingering eyes of the association’s board members.

❋ And perhaps most of all: you’re eager to avoid unnecessary small talk with Sae.

❋ But you catch a final glimpse of him out the corner of your eye; Sae, still staring at you. His expression seemingly softer, almost hesitant. It’s almost as if he wants to call your name, to stop you from leaving, but something — Pride? Anger? — holds him back.

❋ The door to the meeting room clicks shut behind you with a cold finality, and this time, you’re the one leaving first.

[rhysatlas]

another lifetime, another possibility

ship: Jayce & Viktor rating: T warnings: none, does contain spoilers for all of Arcane, especially act 3.

word count: 1.9k summary: They wake up in a world so familiar and so different at once. They're different now, too.

also on ao3.

a/n: This is the first fic I’ve written for them so I hope I did them justice. This is also the first fic I’ve posted publicly in like 3 years so I’m super nervous but!!! I hope you all enjoy it 🩵

They’re back to the beginning, but it’s different.

They’re different.

The area around them is familiar, the flowers around them bright, the presence of nothing and everything around them. 

He’s older now, his body weary from the weight he once carried— he doesn’t have to carry it anymore, he doesn’t carry the weight for them both, not here�� and his mind no longer restless, no longer clouded by the guilt and shame that had followed once before. He’s in the body he was in before he was nothing, just a blip in the horizon, a glitch where he shouldn’t have been. 

And his partner, his everything in every existence, is different too. The towering, godlike Herald is gone, having been reverted back to how his body was before, no longer looming and reeking of misguided intentions. It’s Viktor standing before him now, those gold eyes boring into his as they stare at one another, the amber only shining brighter in the sunlight beaming around them. Viktor looks as he did before his illness worsened, before all of the chaos truly began— it was always there, bound to exist in their previous universe, always beneath the surface— and yet, he looks calmer, more at ease than Jayce had ever seen him. 

He’s reminded of when Viktor saved him from that ledge, eyes filled with wonder and amazement, looking at him with that small smile on his lips. 

“I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Viktor.”

Jayce finds himself stepping forward, hands reaching towards his partner, his Viktor, desperate to know if this was real. He needed to believe it was real, just as Viktor always believed in him. 

He always had, hadn’t he? Viktor always believed in Jayce, even when everyone else thought Jayce was mad for suggesting bringing magic into the hands of the people. Even if it wasn’t what they’d expected, Viktor believed in him when no one else would. Just as he had believed in Viktor.

His hand meets the skin of Viktor’s jaw, fingertips gentle and seeking, tracing the sharp angles as if he’d done it over and over again before. Maybe he had, in another lifetime, another possibility. 

Viktor melts into it, a shaky sound leaving his lips as his own hand reaches up to settle against Jayce’s, holding his hand in place as they continue to stare at one another, feeling as though the stars aligned, universes and galaxies finally meeting to form this moment. Time feels like nothing and everything here, they have forever now, in this small plane of existence— it’s theirs alone. Past experiences come flooding to the surface, from every universe, every lifetime. It’s overwhelmingly familiar, like a reminder of what he almost lost, a bad memory from another universe. 

“Jayce,” Viktor says quietly then, and Jayce feels his heart aching. It’s Viktor’s voice, not the Herald’s, not the God he wanted to be. 

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, moving closer to his partner while cradling Viktor’s face in both palms now, until their foreheads touch once more— a familiar gesture now, intimate and loving, filled with understanding and affection. 

“It was affection that held us together.”

It had always been affection, he knows that now. Jayce had always held love and care for Viktor, and from the way Viktor gazed at him, he held the same for Jayce. They’d always been two sides of the same coin, held by the red string of fate that tied them together. Chaos alone, order as one.

“Viktor,” he breathes, closing his eyes as he listens to Viktor breathing, taking in the warmth of being together again. His partner feels alive, warm and feeling, no longer the cold husk that the Hexcore made him, and it brings tears to his eyes. “Oh, Viktor,” he says again, voice cracking from the waves of emotions hitting him all at once. 

He feels hands on his face now too, gentle brushes of Viktor’s thumbs catching the tears on his cheeks, and it’s then that he can feel Viktor trembling, tears catching on his own hands still holding his partner’s face so tenderly. 

“Jayce,” Viktor says again, while pushing into Jayce, hands now in his hair, dragging him close, allowing Jayce to bury his face against Viktor’s neck. 

He breathes in deep, openly sobbing as his own hands drop from Viktor’s face to hold him close instead, embracing him with the same fierceness Viktor has shown him time and time again. His partner is sobbing alongside him, body shaking so harshly that Jayce fears he’ll collapse if he were to let him go. He won’t, not now, he never would again. 

Eventually they kneel in the flowery fields they’ve found themselves in, unable to stand anymore, clinging to one another. Viktor’s hands trace over the lines of his face, as if memorizing every detail. Jayce does the same, tracing over the sharp edges, the soft details of Viktor’s skin, lingering on the mole by his lips. They seem to be making up for lost time as well as getting used to the changes of themselves. He can feel Viktor’s hands in his hair, carding through it as it’s longer than he’s ever had it, fingers running over his beard, over his cracked lips, only to settle on his shoulders. Jayce’s own hands trace over his partner’s cheekbones, tracing over the mole under his eye, then his fingers tangle in Viktor’s chestnut brown hair— its longer now, the blonde tips present, the only feature Viktor kept from his changes due to the Hexcore.

“I missed you, Viktor,” Jayce tells him as he leans his forehead against his again, listening to the way his partner’s breath hitches at the gesture. “I’m sorry for everything—”

Viktor shakes his head at that, hands cupping Jayce’s face again, holding him so tightly; his eyes urgent, boring into Jayce’s.

“No. Don’t apologize for anything, please. You did what you were driven to do, as you always have,” Viktor tells him, and Jayce closes his eyes, letting the feeling of Viktor’s breath fanning out over his lips warm him to the bone. “I don’t blame you for anything. I never have, Jayce.”

If he had just left things alone, if he hadn’t allowed the Hexcore to consume Viktor, none of this would have happened. No, if Viktor hadn’t found him on that ledge, if he’d actually—

Jayce grits his teeth, stopping the dreaded thoughts before they could fester, before they could ruin the time they have now. 

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says regardless, eyes opening to catch the golden eyes of Viktor’s.

“I know. I forgive you, Jayce,” the other man says, fingers brushing over the back of his head as he pulls him even closer, their noses brushing now. “I’m sorry too. For going too far… for losing myself.”

A wounded sound leaves Jayce at that, one of his hands reaching down to grasp Viktor’s hand, the very hand that he’d held as they finished what they had started. 

“I knew you were still in there, somewhere. I lost myself too, we lost ourselves,” he whispers, running his fingertips over Viktor’s knuckles. They still needed to have a deeper conversation about everything, they still needed to heal from the trauma they’d been dealt, but Jayce knew it could wait. They had eternity now, they had their forever. “I forgive you too, Viktor.”

Viktor smiles then; it's small, barely there, but it’s Viktor.

Jayce leans in, tilting his head just slightly before he pauses, listening to the hitch in Viktor’s breath. They sit like that for what feels like an eternity, breathing the same air as they cling to one another, waiting for the other to move but too scared to ruin this fragile moment between them.

Viktor is the one who initiates it— Viktor who never reached for him, Viktor who always pushed Jayce away— who leans in and kisses him. A gasp sounds between them and Jayce is almost certain it was from his own lips, but it doesn’t matter, not when Viktor is kissing him. It’s soft at first, hesitant and unsure, until Jayce draws him closer when he wraps his arms around his thinner frame, and Viktor sighs against his lips. It increases in intensity as they cling to one another again, Jayce gripping Viktor’s waist and Viktor’s arms around his neck, holding him so tenderly.

They fall into the grass and flowers below them, Jayce hovering over Viktor when his partner rolls them over, staring down at Viktor with an affectionate light, unable to control himself when Viktor gives him that tiny smile again. He leans into him again, branding Viktor’s lips with his own once more, listening to the way Viktor hums, content and quiet. 

The kisses turn to more, shedding the clothes they’d shown up into their new paradise in, and Jayce finds that he’s losing himself in Viktor, taking in every noise that leaves his lips, savoring every feeling of Viktor’s hands on his skin, unable to control himself when his lips linger on Viktor’s chest— right where he’d been hit by a blast from Jayce’s hammer, the scar a reminder of what transpired and eventually led to this moment. Viktor sighs at the gentle touches Jayce places on his skin, only wanting more and more.

Afterwards, they lay against one another, curled up under the blanket he had given Viktor, the one Viktor seemed to never want to get rid of, just tracing each other in lazy, almost sleepy touches. The sun has started to set, painting them in pinks and oranges, a soft breeze flowing through the valley of the world they’re in.

“It’s going to take some getting used to,” Viktor remarks suddenly, fingers tracing over Jayce’s jaw as if petting Jayce’s beard, a huff leaving him when Jayce turns his head to press kisses against the inside of his wrist. “I think it suits you.”

“Yeah?” he drawls, a dopey smile on his lips as he nuzzles against Viktor’s palm, pressing a soft kiss against his wrist. He catches Viktor’s gaze when he looks back at him, smiling as he tangles his fingers in Viktor’s hair. “I could say the same about your hair.”

Viktor hums, shifting closer to Jayce once more, and Jayce meets him halfway, their lips meeting in a gentle and chaste kiss. 

When they break apart, Viktor lays his head on Jayce’s shoulder, fingers tracing the definitions of his chest, and Jayce continues drawing lazy lines over the pale skin of Viktor’s back, connecting the moles he finds there like constellations. The sky is dark now, the stars vast and endless, yet it brings Jayce nothing but comfort. They were in their own paradise now, their universe. 

“I love you, Viktor,” he murmurs against Viktor’s forehead when he turns his head to gaze down at his partner. “I’ve always loved you,” Jayce continues, cupping Viktor’s jaw as his gaze catches his as Viktor draws back slightly. Viktor’s brows are furrowed, eyes wide with guilt and shame for a moment, before his expression softens. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. But— I love you, Viktor. You’re my partner, my everything, and I wouldn’t change it for anything. If you’ll have me.”

“I love you too, my Jayce,” his partner breathes before surging forward and kissing him again. “You’re telling me now, there’s no need to apologize. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, I love you too much to let you go. You’re my forever, Jayce.”

Forever. They have forever now, in a world of their own creation. And Jayce feels his heart swell. 

“Forever, huh?” he teases, watching as Viktor smiles again, both chuckling even as tears start to flow from their eyes once more. 

“Forever,” Viktor affirms.

[rose24207]

Unseen tears

Summary: A mother struggles with emotional isolation and her distant family until her husband finally steps in to confront their children and begin mending their fractured bonds.

Genre: Mafia!Dad!Lando, angst, (fluff)

TW: Mafia

A/N: Amelia is 15 and Jacob is 13 and basically everyone is being a bitch… yeah anyways. English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome (fr request something pls (I sound like a desperate ex))

Masterlist

The large estate was filled with the sound of clinking glasses and soft chatter. It was the kind of evening where everything seemed in its place—elegant, calm, and polished.

But beneath the surface of the pristine home, the tension was palpable. You had hoped it wouldn’t last, that the rift between you and the kids would heal over time, but you could feel it worsening.

Every day, it was becoming harder to put on a smile and pretend like everything was okay.

Amelia and Jacob, once so close to you, had become distant, angry. They were growing up, yes, but the way they acted now—so dismissive, so cold—was not the way you had imagined it. They were becoming more and more like strangers, and it hurt, deep down.

But what hurt even more was the silence that had come between you and Lando.

Despite everything going on, he hadn’t noticed. He couldn’t see it—the way you cried yourself to sleep every night, the constant knot in your stomach, the ache that lingered from the words they threw at you.

To him, the house was running smoothly, business as usual. He didn’t know the weight you carried every day.

"Mom, you're being ridiculous," Amelia had snapped at you earlier that afternoon. Her voice, normally filled with playful sarcasm, was now laced with anger. "Why do you always act like everything’s falling apart when it's not? Just stop being so overdramatic."

Jacob, standing next to her, didn’t even bother to glance your way. He was busy on his phone, his fingers tapping mindlessly on the screen. The look on his face—a mix of disinterest and frustration—cut deeper than any sharp words ever could.

Why wasn’t he even listening?

But you didn’t react.

You’d learned, over the past few weeks, that it was easier to keep the peace by saying nothing. Easier to take the insults and pretend they didn’t sting.

That night, after dinner, you went up to your room earlier than usual.

You didn’t want to argue anymore.

You didn’t want to face the cold glares and the harsh words.

The sound of the door closing behind you should have brought relief, but instead, it felt suffocating. The room, while large and filled with luxury, felt like a prison. Alone. Isolated.

Lando hadn’t even looked your way tonight, his focus on the kids and the staff, making sure everything was perfect, as usual.

He didn’t know you were fighting tears, again.

You sat on the bed, letting the weight of it all hit you. You’d tried so hard—always doing your best, always putting the kids first, making sure Lando’s life and work were smooth and effortless.

But it never seemed to be enough.

The tears fell freely now.

Quietly.

The sobs wracked your body, but you made no sound. There was no one here to comfort you. Lando was out of the house, probably in his office, and the kids were still running on their own schedules.

You were alone in your sorrow.

The next morning, you were still struggling to hide the redness of your eyes. The servants and staff walked around the house quietly, careful not to disturb the uneasy atmosphere that had taken root.

You’d spent the night awake, your heart still aching, and now you were just going through the motions.

When Lando came into the kitchen, he didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong. His usual cocky grin was in place, and he kissed your cheek casually, as if everything was fine.

“Morning, love. How’s everything today?”

His words were like a slap to your face.

How could he ask that when everything felt like it was falling apart?

You forced a smile, wiping your eyes before you responded. “Good, just—just a little tired, that’s all.”

Lando didn’t notice the exhaustion in your voice. He didn’t see the faint tremble of your hands. His focus was on getting ready for the day.

"Right. Well, I’ll see you later then. I have some meetings and... we’ll catch up tonight?"

You nodded, though you knew the “catching up” would never happen.

It never did anymore.

As the day wore on, Amelia and Jacob continued to shut you out. Amelia was particularly icy, her words sharp and cruel.

“It’s not like you can do anything right, anyway,” she said during lunch, her tone dripping with contempt.

Jacob wasn’t much better.

Whenever you tried to talk to him, he ignored you or gave half-hearted answers, his mind preoccupied with his phone or whatever else he found more important.

You tried to speak to Lando about it that evening, but he was distracted again, caught up in his own world.

“Can we just sit and talk for a second?” you asked, your voice tired and strained.

Lando looked up, sensing the urgency in your tone. But instead of offering comfort, he simply sighed. “Not now, (Y/N). I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, and the kids—”

“They don’t listen to me anymore,” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “I can’t do this alone, Lando. I’m trying, but they’re pushing me away.”

Lando’s eyes softened for a moment, but he quickly brushed it off. “Don’t make it about me. I’m doing the best I can. The kids will grow out of this phase.”

But you knew better.

This wasn’t just a phase.

You had watched your children change, seen the way they grew colder, more resentful, and you didn’t know how to fix it.

You had tried everything.

Later that evening, it happened again.

Amelia and Jacob’s insults had been building all day, each one more hurtful than the last. But you had tried to stay calm, tried to understand that they were only struggling to find themselves.

But that night, when you were sitting in the family room, watching the kids laugh at something on TV, it hit you—the sudden realization that you were invisible.

It felt like they didn’t care at all.

That they didn’t want you to be a part of their lives anymore.

You stood up, silently, and slipped away to your room. The tears came fast again, spilling down your cheeks as you tried to stifle your sobs.

It wasn’t long before Lando came looking for you. He knocked gently on the door.

“(Y/N)?” he called, his voice softer than before. “Are you okay?”

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t find the words to explain the ache that had been growing inside of you. Instead, you turned your back to the door, wiping your tears quickly.

The door creaked open. “(Y/N), look at me.”

Reluctantly, you turned around, meeting Lando’s gaze. His eyes widened at the sight of you—at the tear-streaked face and the redness of your eyes.

For the first time, he saw the pain you had been hiding.

“What’s going on?” he asked quietly, stepping into the room. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You couldn’t speak.

You felt too raw, too exposed.

But Lando, noticing the silent answer in your expression, immediately understood.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

He stormed out of the room, heading straight to the living room where the kids were lounging.

“Amelia. Jacob,” he said, his voice loud and commanding. The force of his presence made them both jump.

“What’s wrong with you two?” he snapped, his anger rising. “Why are you treating your mother like this?”

They exchanged nervous glances, clearly not prepared for this confrontation.

“Dad—” Amelia began, but Lando silenced her with a harsh gesture.

“No. Don’t speak. I’ve been blind to what’s been going on, but I’m not anymore. You two are spoiled, entitled and ungrateful. Your mother has done everything for this family, and yet you treat her like she’s invisible. Like she’s nothing.”

Jacob shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t speak.

Lando’s eyes flared with fury. “You will not disrespect her again. Do you hear me? I’ve been far too lenient with you both. From now on, you will both lose privileges. No more going out with friends until you understand the weight of what you’ve done. No more free reign in this house. No more devices for you. You want respect? You’ll earn it.”

Amelia opened her mouth to protest, but Lando shot her a warning look.

“Enough,” he said. “I don’t want to hear another word. Get upstairs. And don’t think I won’t follow through.”

Both kids stood up slowly, their faces a mixture of surprise and shame. As they left the room, Lando’s shoulders sagged with exhaustion.

He turned back to you. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I failed you.”

You shook your head, unable to hold back the tears anymore. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to be the bad guy. I just wanted to help them.”

Lando pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his voice softer now. “I’ll make it right. I won’t let them treat you like this anymore.”

The days that followed were filled with apologies from the kids, awkward but heartfelt.

They knew they had messed up, and while it didn’t immediately heal the hurt, it was a start. Slowly, things began to improve in the household.

Lando kept a watchful eye on everything, making sure to include you in the family decisions more than ever before.

And at night, when the house was quiet and the kids had gone to sleep, Lando would sit with you, wrapping his arms around you, reminding you that you weren’t alone.

“I’m sorry,” he would whisper, his voice filled with guilt. “I should have seen it sooner. I should have protected you.”

You just rested your head on his chest, letting the comfort of his embrace soothe you. Things weren’t perfect, but for the first time in a long time, it felt like they could be.

And for the first time, Lando was truly listening.

Thank you for reading!

[swifty-fox]

Soooooo excited for more Benny and Brady heheheh

i'd show you some smut but first they're going through the Horrors

“One,” Gale murmurs under his breath, voice so absent Benny knows he doesn’t realize he’s speaking out loud, “Two, Three, Four…” 

Five, Six, Seven, Eight, come the fuck on Johnny, Nine…

Paddlefoot’s Proxy slips through the cloud cover with all the grace of a cannonball and Benny breathes exactly none because she is about as devastated as a bird could be and still soar. 

Chunks from the wings and tail sheared clean off by flak, flaps missing or only half raised, rattling with the effort, leaking fluid and debris and shuddering with the exertion of it all. There’s a hole in her belly, spilling guts across the tarmac and Gale’s shouting for an ambulance, for a fire crew, John echoing in his broader, louder voice. Benny’s not shouting, Benny’s still not breathing, he’s scared to take any air from the sky that might soften Proxy’s landing. Somehow she’s still got landing gear, somehow they spool out seamlessly and she drops down to earth with hardly more than a bounce, creaking and groaning and sobbing but coming to a graceful stop all the same. 

Benny breathes out. Feels Gale leave his side, calling for space, calling for emergency crews, the wailing sirens growing closer and closer. He won’t go, won’t risk being in the way so he’s not close enough to see the faces of the battered bloody bodies they pull from the open gut-wound of Proxy, their screams faint and tinny and smothered by the thick fog. He waits and he breathes and he listens to men die in the distance and dies exactly nothing about it because it isn’t his job to do anything about it aside from stay out of the way. 

There’s commotion up by the cockpit, human bodies crawling over the surface of her body like ants and Bennty brings the cigarette to his mouth mechanically. Smokes his way through five minutes of waiting, then fifteen, and then thirty. The ambulance leaves, laden with wounded bodies and Benny won’t go until he’s sure everyone is out but he isn’t sure who’s left at this point, if all of Proxy’s children had been chauffeured away bloody and broken.

Figures come back through the fog. Ken Lemmons, a handful of Brady’s crew, pale-faced and stricken, Major Cleven, Major Egan. Both different from Buck and Bucky, with the distinction between all in the serious set of their mouths. And then Benny stumbles, though he isn’t even walking, or maybe it’s just his heart forgetting to work for just a moment. 

John Brady, face freckled by sun and blood, hair a wet slick back from his forehead, baring every bit of the pale, blank shock written there. There’s a cut high on his cheekbone, still oozing watery blood, a bruise across the bridge of his nose like he’d adjusted the sit of his oxygen mask – a nervous habit – so many times it had left damage to the skin. But he was standing, he was walking, and had been cleared by the immediate medical crew. 

“Johnny,” Benny calls in a voice he doesn’t recognize. 

Says it again when Johnny seems to take a moment to focus on him. He leans forward and places his half-finished cigarette between the other mans lips. Johnny pauses, blinks a few times like he has to remember what to do with the tobacco, and takes it from Benny’s fingers as gently as Meatball with a treat. Normally, it would make somewhere around Benny’s hips tingle. 

“Was it bad, Jack?” he asks stupidly, like it could have been anything but bad, horrendous, soul-rotting. Just like every single time was. 

“Captian Brady’s cockpit door jammed,” Bucky says, “Flak cut comms with the crew.”

He could have been flying a graveyard, for all he knew. 

“Gotta get him to interrogation,” Bucky adds kindly. The information already given a kindness, the formality a gentle warning. 

It’s just them so Benny reaches out, takes hold of Johnny’s bloody, bird-boned wrist and squeezes once, twice, three times.

this will be out thanksgiving day!!! featuring dom bottom John Brady

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 16 "Destroyer of Worlds"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her AFAB FMC, explicit sexual content, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, plans within plans, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced abuse, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/ Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, murder, teaching the universe about feminism, female rage, Frank Herbert would frown, No actually he would kneel in front of me, putting the science and the porn in sci-fi, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: We're really getting there now 🥹🥹🥹 I'm so excited. And I'm very pleased with this chapter 🤭 I can't wait to hear what you think!

Reposted from my Ao3💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter, Next Chapter (tba) →

Day 100

No guards frame the door that is tall and glinting back, just like Feyd had assured her. When she had approached it and passed through it several weeks prior, she thought it may as well lead to hell, but today she is certain of it. Except it won't be Feyd's hell or hers, it will be his.

And he will have no time for tricks.

With her gun of clear, shiny plastic raised in front of her chest, the relic enters Baron Vladimir Harkonnen's bath chambers.

The scented, herbal fog hasn't grown as dense and thick yet and the white, fleshy heap at the center of the tub fills out her sight at once. And unexpectedly, there is movement to the right, not a guard or a servant but Glugo who quivers in a damp basket near the wall.

While the woman's eyes are briefly averted, the Baron's shield flares up around his misshapen form at a flick against the massive, silver band at his middle finger. The smallest and priciest model on the market, Ixian technology.

"I expected my nephew," he drones, voice amplified by the vaulted ceiling but distorted by the shield.

"Hands on the pool edge," the woman demands, voice as cold as cryogenic vapor. Vladimir acquiesces, unable to reach for the transponder behind his ear. An invisible muscle ticks at his fleshy jaw.

"I hold audiences every Freitak," he attempts to jest, arms spread out in mockery as he adjusts them on the slippery edge. "No need to assault me in my own bath chambers."

A blunder, he realizes quickly as her face hardens with rancor. Not a molecule would fit between her clenched teeth.

"You're troubled because of what you saw," he concludes. "It was a mistake." Vladimir concedes all too quickly. His finesse seems to have evaporated along with the curling steam and he realizes he knows nothing substantial about the woman.

"Quite," she confirms curtly, closing in with slow, deliberate steps. The crosshair projected by her interface, only for her eyes to see, dances over the Baron's face, but she won't take any risks. At the center of the vaulted chamber, a generous distance separates them still, but she feels more confident in her aim.

Pulling a trigger is as easy as dropping a bomb. She should have it in her. Her kin have dropped bombs like rainfall back in the slaughterhouse warfare for oil and soil and rare earths.

The Baron gawks at the muzzle, an unassuming hole among glossy, alien plastic. His old eyes might be deceiving him, but he thinks he can see the inner cogs and channels shimmering through the surface, and a metallic component that doesn't belong.

A lasgun! She's either a maniac or an idiot! Or truly a relic of long-forgotten ages, like the sisterhood had said.

He could either deactivate his shield and die certainly, saving the palace and the capital from nuclear fallout, or he could take them down with him, his nephew included.

"You don't want to fire a lasgun at me, kid."

His voice booms and the Tleilaxu creature leaps out of its basket, hand-feet splatting across the damp tiles. Thank God, it flees out the door, the relic thinks. That tiny moment of inattentiveness is enough for Vladimir to flick the switch at the ring on his pointer, a special gift that was given to him just a few days ago, and just in time. Already, he feels safer.

"That's not a normal lasgun." Her attention is back on the Baron and she smiles knowingly. Vladimir despises the self-assured look of it.

"We can find a civilized solution for this," he declares with renewed confidence. Pretending to think, he sways his fatty neck from side to side. "I know my nephew has plenty to offer, so I don't see why we shouldn't be able to share."

She laughs out brightly, a sound like a whiplash across the Baron's heaving chest. "Where I'm from, there's the death penalty for abusers like you. I couldn't build an electric chair, so I brought something else."

"And what have you got there?" Get her talking, he thinks, beady eyes greedily darting for the door.

"Feyd's wedding gift."

"Feyd's wedding—?"

Thumb slipping over the back of the gun, she cocks the hammer.

"Did I understand that correctly? If you miscalculated, this test will cause an atomic explosion?" The memory of a few days prior fills out her mind, easing the terrible anxiety that now dampens her palms. "Yes, but I did not miscalculate." "Then why test it?" Feyd-Rautha had paced anxiously behind her and sized up the heap of towels stacked in the corner of her room, their outline blue and blurred by a softly humming Holtzman shield. "Better to be safe than sorry." "I'd feel sorry if you blew up my planet." "I wouldn't," she had responded with hardness and pulled the trigger. Doing so fires the bullet first, then a fine tuned laser beam from a smaller second muzzle, as light travels faster than matter and the bullet needs more time to reach its target. The double muzzle is calibrated to take the bullet's weight and distance from the target into consideration. Light may have no inherent mass, but photons do transmit impulse. And so the photons that comprise the laser beam collide with the Holtzman shield's nuclei and propel them into motion towards the body they are meant to protect. The beam's impact isn't hard enough to trigger a nuclear chain reaction, but just right to accelerate the nuclei. And by the time the bullet arrives at the crime scene too, its relative velocity to the shield is that of a slow blade. With a thump, the bullet had sunken into the stack of towels.

The door moves at her back and the only reason why she doesn't jump in fright is because she recognizes his footsteps.

"Wait, my darling."

The Baron could weep with joy at the sight of his dear nephew. Not who he had called, but an even more welcome sight. It was he who had given the boy everything; schooling for his cunning mind, planets to govern, blades to play with, toys to warm his heart and his cock with. Everything in exchange for a measly bit of affection!

Feyd-Rautha, dressed from neck to toe with not an inch of skin showing aside from his face and hands, loops his arms around his betrothed's waist, chin tilted and leaning against her temple.

"Let me do it." 

Vladimir pales, shuffling in the sloshing bath water as his nephew gently takes the gun from the cursed woman's hand and closes in like a starved viper. His chest rises beneath the full coverage of his suit.

Desperately, the Baron looks at the door.

"My dear nephew, you're falling for a hoax! Do you want to blow up the city?"

Feyd-Rautha stops, still several meters away from the tub. Vladimir seethes.

Anxiously, the relic observes the jittering path of the digital crosshair, weapon out of her hands and out of her control. As Feyd halts, the red mark settles on the Baron's pasty forehead. His aim is perfect.

"You want me dead, then come closer, at least! Look me in the eyes when you do it, my boy." The Baron's tongue flicks out, grey-pinkish flesh, to wet his bottom lip. He wants him so close that he can see the whites in his nephew's eyes before the city blows up. Stripped naked and unarmed aside from the poison needle in the signet ring on his pinkie, he feels more than ever like a heap of flesh, defenseless and abandoned and to his own surprise, it is the latter that hurts most.

Feyd-Rautha doesn't speak.

"Say something, boy! You've had more than enough chances to do this, but you didn't, and I'll tell you why." The Baron raises himself slightly, bulging chest emerging from the inky water. "You don't want to kill your own un—"

The echo of a bang ricochets off the vaulted ceiling and the Baron finds his head knocked back, vision filled with fractured red, his shield dissolved.

With his head rolled on the tub's edge, he can only see the ceiling, and something wet slips over his brow, into his blurry eye. Vladimir had always thought, when Feyd finally manages to kill him, he would ravage his body with blades, take him apart to the last organ, gorge on his flesh while it is still warm. It had almost aroused him.

But his nephew's final touch — denied. 

How cruel.

"You did it!" His betrothed's arms loop around his waist from behind, the embrace hard and stormy, her face against his spine. Feyd still stares in awe at the corpse of his uncle, massive, white flesh afloat obscenely in the tub.

"I did," he confirms, his voice hard, with tremors around the edges.

Feyd feels like he should perhaps burst into tears or yell, but none of the like wants to come out of his heart. The accomplishment might take a few days to feel real. What is entirely real, however, is the face of his darling as she slides to his front and cups his cheeks, overjoyed. The tears that his eyes are missing in his, shimmer distinctly in hers and before he knows it, she has tilted his face down to hers and pressed her lips on his, comforting and needy.

Anxiety melts under soft kisses and tears track down her cheeks, coloring their lips with salt.

"I see you've done us all a favor."

Feyd and his woman snap apart, staring in horror to the ajar door. A few steps into the chamber stands a figure swathed in black like a bad omen on the battlefield. The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam looks appreciatively at the corpse of Baron Harkonnen.

Even through the mesh of her veil, her sharp eyes perceive the wicked twitch of the na-Baron's hands around the gun.

"Hold still!" She commands and Feyd-Rautha's finger freezes at the trigger.

A pop-up blinks in the corner of the relic's interface, signaling the detection of the soundwave pattern she had picked apart a few weeks ago.

"What are you doing here?" The relic hisses, fingers screwed around Feyd's dangling wrist. She looks a tad haggard compared to when the Reverend Mother had last seen her, with a touch of madness in the eyes.

"My presence was requested by the late Baron and he was right to do so."

"Your presence?" Feyd's voice rings out in distaste, aiming for mockery but rage oozes from every strained muscle. The Reverend Mother sees in him a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

"I wasn't any less surprised than you are, Baron Feyd-Rautha." She tilts her head and with her moves the crass shadow thrown by her oblong headpiece. "That's how I knew the gravity of the situation. Your uncle was beginning to feel a bit uneasy. He had a feeling you were plotting something, so he requested my help, thinking I was the only one who could."

"But you are too late," Feyd barks, fingers clenching helplessly around the gun. "He's dead!"

"He is. And yet, I arrived perfectly on time." The Reverend Mother calmly crosses her hands in front of her body.

"You could have intervened and didn't?" Horror much bigger than when she had the Baron at gunpoint rises to the relic's chest.

"I must confess, I was… curious." Gaius Helen Mohiam waits but the younger woman remains silent. "How did you do it?"

The engineer laughs out, a sound that's shrill and unpleasant from her clamoring heartbeat. "Sure, I'll tell you and give away the single most valuable piece of information in the universe."

The Reverend Mother purses her lips. The truth is, she had made her decision the second the bullet had passed through the Baron's shield. That knowledge must die and not even reach the ears of her own sisters. Temptation brings out the worst in humans and careful plans are traded all too easily for short-lived power.

Perhaps Feyd-Rautha knows too, but he is a force they can control. The wildcard however has no place among them.

"This must not come out," the Reverend Mother declares, her tone a whiplash.

The glint in the wayward woman's eyes tells her everything she needs to know. The terrible relic is not horrified by the idea of throwing the world off balance. She embraces the potential of destruction like a tumor the flesh it feasts on. Thousands of years of selective breeding are at risk at the whims of one wicked catalyst.

"I think maybe it should," the relic snarks. 

"You're an abomination!" Mother Mohiam snaps. "You should have stayed in the ice like the fossil you are."

"You shouldn't have thawed me then. This is your doing!"

And this is why the Reverend Mother must undo it. "There is no place for you here," she coldly proclaims.

"Then watch me make one! I'll carve, dig and shoot a mold for myself and if I end up destroying something on the way, I'm not sorry."

"That I can see, and that is precisely why there is no place for you in this world."

Feyd-Rautha stands at his betrothed's side, a shackled guard dog watching the heated exchange between witch and scientist, between the present and the past which might become the future once more.

"It is a pity," the Reverend Mother continues. "But there will be more opportunities to continue this bloodline." She tilts her head, sharp eyes locked onto the relic through the shroud of her veil. "Kill yourself."

Her interface flashes red, a warning at the center of her vision. For a brief moment, all joy fades from her eyes, all hope, and to end her own life seems to be the only logical consequence — until the code sequence she had programmed weeks prior is triggered into action, playing an opposing sound pattern directly into her skull.

Sound waves meet in destructive interference and only a dull, sad ache behind her sternum remains.

Mother Mohiam grows cold with terror when the abomination remains unmoving and smiles.

"You're full of surprises." The Reverend Mother's tone carries a hint of begrudging admiration. Underestimating her is a mistake she won't make again. The woman whose only ability of notable importance seemed to have been prescient dreams had somehow bested her command. But it doesn't matter. There is never only one way to the goal.

Feyd-Rautha realizes that too, but a second too late.

"Kill her."

The na-Baron slackens and turns, soulless eyes holding no recognition. She releases his wrist. Terror devours her when Feyd-Rautha points the gun at her forehead. And just like before, his aim is perfect. A red glow, visible only to her, bleeds into her vision from between her eyes and she remembers.

He aims with the gun that is linked to her brain. The trigger clicks only half a second after she jams it via remote control.

No bullet breaches her skull and the relic stumbles away from her love who stares at the handgun in confusion, pulling the trigger three more times before discarding the weapon with a dissonant clatter. A muscle tics at his jaw, cat like eyes narrowing into slits and he reaches for his belt. Glinting steel emerges from its sheath, a hissing purr. Her betrothed prowls.

"Feyd, don't—" She pleads, backing away with quickening steps. There is nowhere to go, only the tub where she could hide herself behind the Baron's floating corpse. "It's me, you don't want to kill me. You love me!"

"He doesn't know that," Mother Mohiam coldly reminds her and the relic glares hatefully.

"You're destroying his life!" She sobs, stumbling over the steps that lead up to the bathtub and falling on her bum. "How can you live like this? You're the abomination! He will kill you in revenge, he'll blow up your whole planet!"

Her beloved towers right over her, head crowned by a corona of glowglobe shine, his chiseled features entirely calm, innocent.

"Do it!"

"I'm sorry," she cries. "I love you."

Feyd grabs her by the front of her shirt as she tries to roll away. She squirms and sobs pathetically, helpless with no further tricks up her sleeve, no hidden blade or gun, no voice of her own to wield against him or her.

The Reverend Mother raises her chin in triumph, but all of a sudden, there is movement at the door, at the unsuspecting witch's back.

Mikhail Kyelug comes flying through the door, sword flung out in a wide arch. Right after him sprints Lilia, with Glugo clutching her hand.

The Reverend Mother spins in surprise, lips open, but her words are severed along with her head, terrible voice silenced forever as Mikhail's blade cleaves through her neck and spine with an awful crack. The world spins together with her head. The headpiece comes off, giving away thinning, grey hair. Voicelessly, she curses that her last ever sight is Baron Vladimir's Harkonnen's bloated face, dead eyes locked with dead eyes.

Feyd-Rautha whips around from the racket, blade quivering in his clenched fist. The relic's nails have dug inky crescents into his wrist. For a moment, no one moves and three humans and one humanoid wait with bated breath for Feyd to drop the blade.

But the voice is no link to be severed by the wielder's death, it is a temporary alteration of the brain, and so Feyd's face remains empty, shark eyes glaring at the intruders. Mikhail sees it too.

"Back! Back I say!" He roars and barges like a bull. Feyd-Rautha releases the woman's shirt, facing the threat that is bound to crash into him with hissing metal.

Blades collide.

Lilia jumps over the Reverend Mother's corpse and dashes past the fighting pair to  collect her weeping Lady from the steps. Glugo's hand-feet splatter after her with haste and it picks up the discarded gun, cradling the devious, shiny thing protectively against its misshapen chest.

Glugo had known right away, when it scuttled past the tall, old witch in the hallway and she had commanded it in that terrible voice to leave, that she meant harm. So, it had ran as fast as it could and pulled at Lilia's hands and skirt, because Lilia would know what to do. 

The three of them huddle down in the corner, the relic crying into Lilia's chest. Glugo slips a quivering hand-foot into her palm but its milky eyes are aimed at the center of the room where its friend and Mikhail are grappling and grunting.

By the Sun, the na-Baron fights like a demon! His pupils are shrunken into pinpricks and his mouth is pulled apart into a gashing grin. Mikhail's armor is torn at the shoulder and black blood weeps down his armpit. Every next parry burns as if his muscles were about to tear apart and with the rush of pain comes a rush of clarity.

Fists, not blades. 

Mikhail drops his blood-slick sword and catches the na-Baron's wrist, stopping the tip of the blade centimeters away from his neck. Roaring, he shoves the na-Baron backwards until he collides into the wall and slams the taller man's wrist against the tiles, once, twice. Feyd's blade slips out of his twitching fingers and clatters to the ground as his lips skin back from glinting, black teeth in anger.

Mikhail doesn't hesitate. He drives his thick-knuckled fist into the na-Baron's guts like a battering ram. Wearing no armor, Feyd doubles up, spitting saliva across his own chest. Ringed hands grasp at Mikhail's chest plate, attempting to hurl the guard to the ground, but Mikhail's boot crashes into Feyd's pelvis and scarred knuckles find Feyd's soft cheek. Skin splits open and his molars sink into the soft flesh inside his mouth.

"Stop, stop, stop!" Feyd blurts out, choking on spit and blood, hands raised in the air as Mikhail's final blow cracks across his jaw. He lurches to the ground and rolls on his back in defeat, his eyes clear and wide in terror.

"My Lord," Mikhail pants, raising his bloodied fists in a shaky salute.

"I— I didn't—" Feyd's head turns to the corner where both women are huddled up, Glugo in front of them, clutching the handgun in one of its oily-black hands.

"My darling," Feyd rasps, spluttering blood. "I nearly killed you."

"It's not your fault," she sobs immediately and frees herself from Lilia's embrace. The pair meet in the middle and her arms whip around his neck, his around her waist and he squeezes her until he feels her very heartbeat against his own, convincing himself that she's still alive.

Their foreheads fall against each other and she gently cradles his aching jaw, thumb stroking under the bleeding cut on his cheek. Feyd-Rautha's long, lowered lashes cast shadows across his eyes and something dark and bitter flashes in them.

"No," she insists immediately and her tone forces his eyes back on hers. She won't allow him to hate himself for something he almost did. "We're alive and they're dead. This is our victory."

Next to Feyd-Rautha and his Lady, Lilia has rushed over to her husband, making an endearing fuss over the wound on his shoulder and his bruised hands. Deft fingers have unclipped the shoulder piece and tugged the cut fabric apart to inspect length and depth of the laceration.

"S'fine, my darlin'," Mikhail rasps with exhaustion and slings his good arm around her middle, pulling her into him to place mindless kisses atop of her head.

The relic peeks over Feyd's shoulder and unlatches one hand from her beloved, beckoning for the pair to come closer. "Thank you," she sighs with tear-thick voice.

Lilia confidently seizes the offered hand, thumb brushing comfortingly over her Lady's knuckles. Mikhail stands awkwardly behind her, one hand on Lilia's waist, not daring to touch the woman of higher standing so affectionately. "My Lady."

Feyd-Rautha releases his woman after all and turns to face his saviors. At once, the guard and the handmaid drop to one knee before him and lower their heads in devotion.

"Baron Harkonnen," they mumble in unison and a muscle twitches across Feyd-Rautha's cheek.

"No," he interrupts with grating tone. "Stand up!"

The pair obey, glancing up with confusion as they raise themselves. Feyd-Rautha regards them with a long glance and exhales deeply, then slowly kneels in front of them, pale head rolling forwards until his eyes are trained on the ground.

"Thank you," he says. "You saved her life, and mine."

"My Lord," Mikhail mutters, overwhelmed and looks to the Lady for help while squeezing Lilia's waist. "It was only our duty, eh?" He insists but that is hardly true. Not duty but friendship had hastened their steps and fueled his fists when they barged into the room.

Glugo can no longer contain itself and scuttles over on hasty hand-feet, mewling with worry as it flings four of its eight limbs at Feyd's chest, tugging on the thick fabric while pressing its misshapen pug face against his sternum.

Feyd winces when shiny plastic is waved about right next to his face and he tries to capture the gun out of Glugo's innocent, little hand-foot while cradling the creature's head with one big, pale hand.

"It's jammed," his betrothed reassures him. "Come here, give that to me, hm?" Gently, she grasps the weapon and places it back in its holster.

"Hush, hush," Feyd mumbles and allows himself in a moment of vulnerability to rest his bruised cheek atop Glugo's head while his darling softly squeezes his shoulder.

"It is actually Glugo who deserves your gratitude, my Lord," Lilia reveals and Feyd holds the glugging creature a bit tighter. "It came to me crying and begging and I knew you needed us."

Glugo doesn't know exactly why everyone smells so much of tears and joy, but it knows it did something right and that it is surrounded by the kindest beings it has ever known.

"I wouldn't go near," the relic remarks, stopping Feyd whose prowling footsteps have carried him closer to the round tub in which the fleshy, white mountain of his uncle's corpse still floats, unmoving. "He's radioactive."

"I won't," Feyd grates out, plush lips skinned back from his teeth in distaste. He feels none of the morbid fascination he had always assumed he would feel when his uncle is finally dead by his hands, only a grim, long-awaited sense of accomplishment. Turning his head, he finds Glugo tugging curiously on the dead Reverend Mother's dress. The poor thing does have a penchant for liver after all. Feyd clicks his tongue. "Don't touch that!" 

Glugo scuttles away and back to Lilia's outstretched hand. It will receive a proper victor's feast later, something more worthy of its bravery than an old witch's, rotting corpse.

"I want the bodies completely eradicated, both of them," Feyd demands. Lest they return as Gholas, a voice of paranoia whispers to him, but he is all too happy to listen.

"How?" His woman curls her arm around his middle and Feyd pulls her to his chest, inhaling the scent of her hair before he makes a decision.

"Burn it down," he rasps. "Burn down the whole wing."

In the afternoon hours, the citizens, guards and slaves of Barony are left gawking and gasping, faces turned in shock towards the colossal palace pyramid where vicious smoke curls from the very top, black claws against the crass, white sky. At the na-Baron's behest, no one is to extinguish the wrathful flames. 

Proudly, he watches it burn, the place that holds two decades worth of abuse. The biting smoke soars towards the stars, like the herald of a new age.

I am Time (Death), cause of destruction of the worlds, matured And set out to gather in the worlds here. Even without thee (thy action), all shall cease to exist, The warriors that are drawn up in the opposing ranks.

- Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita

A/N: Killed the baddies with the power of friendship and science 🥹 (2 more chapter to come)

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[abiteofhoney]

The Vampire and The Devilspawn

3036 words | Chapter Navigation

Chapter 4

Magdalena wakes in a gasp, the instinct to fight for her safety pulling her out of the lull of sleep. She sits up where she’d been lying on the floor, and something heavy pulls at her neck, the dread-inducing sound of chains rattling as she moves. Panicked, she reaches up to grab at the collar, but touching it only drives the metal prongs deeper into her neck, not yet piercing her skin, but threatening it, and it hurts enough to get her to stop touching it. From the pronged collar runs a thick chain, snaking across the floor to where it’s bolted on the wall behind her.

Looking around, she finds that she’s in a nearly empty, concrete room. A metal door is set into the wall directly across from her, but nothing else. No windows. No other way in or out. 

Her legs ache as she maneuvers to her knees, her joints creaking and popping, and acutely aware of how she moves with the chain and collar. She feels too weak to stand up on her feet so she stays on her knees and eyes the door across from her. The chain doesn’t look nearly long enough for her to reach the door, so escape is not an option unless she can get the collar or chains off.

Magdalena turns towards the wall behind her, scooting until she’s directly in front of the bolted hook holding her chains to the wall. Even though it strains her stiff hips, she puts both feet on the wall on either side of the hook, and then grabs the chains and yanks with all of her might. A few puffs of dust cloud the air, but it otherwise doesn’t give. So she tries again. And again, and again, and again, until she’s sweating and she can hardly feel her arms. 

Defeated, she lets the chains fall and lies down where she is, trying her best to keep from crying through her frustrations. 

“Giving up already?” a taunting voice calls through the door, which opens a moment later. 

Magdalena sits right back up, turning so that her back is to the wall,  not to the black-eyed man walking into the room. He smiles at her, flashing a smile of pearly whites – too white and too straight to look natural. They shine too brightly in the dim room, only one single bulb hanging from a wire overhead. 

“Fuck you,” she spits at the cherry-skinned man. 

“There’s that fight. I like watching you fight, Mags. Thought you almost gave up on us there for a bit, but we fixed that, didn’t we! You can’t go dying on us now, and besides, you’re going to look adorable with fangs.” 

Fangs. 

She has some, doesn’t she? 

She runs her tongue over her teeth. Everything feels in place, her canines poking into her tongue, but there are no fangs. She remembers having some, biting those devilspawn with them, and she gets an odd sinking feeling like she might actually … miss them. 

They were so fun to bite with. The blood she drew tasted so good. 

She snarls at him, but he only laughs. “Oh, Mags, stop it. You just look ridiculous. Maybe you’ll be a bit more menacing once those fangs come in.” He ventures a few steps closer, and Magdalena wonders if she has enough slack in her chain to reach him. 

She studies him where he stands, struggling to see him in the dim lighting. He’s dressed in all black with dark red skin and eyes as black as a moonless night. That’s about all she can see of him, the shadows across his face obscuring any noticeable features. All she needs to see are those empty black eyes for her anger to spike anyway. 

“Fuck. You,” she repeats through clenched teeth, wanting nothing more than to rip into his flesh. 

Her wish is partially granted when he pulls a small blade out of his pocket and rolls up one of his sleeves. A wicked smile curls his lips as he drags the blade across his forearm. Her focus immediately zones in on the blood that bubbles to the surface as it assaults her senses even from across the room. 

On instinct, she lurches for it, fingers just scraping his skin as she’s yanked back by the collar. With a cry of pain, she falls to the floor, grabbing at the pronged collar as it digs into her throat. 

But when she touches her neck, there’s nothing. Her fingernails only find skin. Fighting for breath, Magdalena sits up, eyes wide as she looks around the bedroom. 

The bedroom. 

The events of the past day flash through her mind as she remembers where she is and realizes that what felt so real a moment ago was only a dream. Maybe a memory. 

The pain felt so real. The scent of his blood still lingers in her senses. 

Her hunger is definitely real. Her tongue finds her fangs right where they should be, sharp and ready to sink into flesh. 

She trembles from head to toe, using the wall to lean on so she can stand, the pain in her stomach near unbearable. She stumbles first to the door closest to her, but a strike runs through the center of her forehead like a jolt of lightning and Anzurin’s words echo around her skull: If you feel like you have to bite someone, you bite me. 

Her feet carry her towards the bathroom door instead. Numbly, she shuffles through the bathroom and into Anzurin’s room, keeping as silent as she possibly can. She walks slow and soft enough that her steps don’t make a single noise, and she opens the door handle with impeccable caution. The hinges don’t even squeak as she pushes it open. 

Anzurin’s bedroom, in the dark, seems to be mostly the same as her own, his bed positioned right where hers was, and he is peacefully asleep on it, his face towards her. Running her tongue over her flesh-hungry fangs, she sneaks right up to the edge of his bed, taking a moment to stare down at him and make sure she hasn’t woken him up. She studies his face, watching to see if his eyes open, but her focus doesn’t stay there, trailing down to his neck instead. Her tongue screams for another taste of his blood. 

Magdalena drops down to her knees and reaches out for him, but her hands only hover. Her mouth pools with saliva, her breaths shallow as she leans forward, sniffing. He smells so delicious. He tasted even better, and she feels like she’s starving once again. 

She sinks back on her heels when Anzurin moves, turning onto his back as he throws his arm over his eyes. The thin silk sheet over him gets pushed down to his waist when he turns, leaving exposed his bare torso, so much skin she could bite. 

Quickly but quietly, Magdalena hurries around to the other side of the bed and climbs onto the mattress carefully enough as to not wake him, making it all the way to his side on her hands and knees. To test how deep he’s sleeping, she reaches out, running her pointer finger down his arm where it lies on the bed. 

He doesn’t stir as she drags her finger from elbow to wrist, so she takes it a step further, sinking down into a fetal position so that her mouth is only a breath’s width from his arm. 

Then she bites him. 

Softly, she sinks her fangs into his meaty bicep and tries to keep from moaning as his blood touches her tongue. So sweet, so warm and delicious and filling. As his blood floods her throat, a memory touches her, a flash of what might have been her human life. A memory of sitting next to a roaring fire, ash and smoke filling the air with the sweet scent of marshmallows and chocolate, warmth and comfort in the gentle air of night. It’s more of a feeling than a taste, a comfort of something familiar and joyful. 

He stirs, grumbling something incoherent, but doesn’t quite wake, so she keeps drinking. She swallows mouthful after mouthful of blood, grateful for the warmth of it that fills the freezing hole in her stomach. Not even taking every drop of Herra’s blood satisfied her as much as his does. 

Losing herself in the taste of him, she sinks her teeth in further, grabbing his arm to hold it tight to her mouth. 

But then it’s brought to an abrupt end by a hand wrapping around her throat, shoving her back onto the bed. Magdalena blinks and Anzurin is directly above her, rage in his eyes as he glares down at her and snaps, “What the fuck are you doing?” 

Magdalena swallows the blood in her mouth, struggling to do so with his hand tight around her neck. “Hungry,” she gasps, more an airless rasp. 

“You have no right to come in here and bite me,” he seethes. “Don’t ever –” 

“But you said,” she cries. “You said to bite you.” 

Anzurin grumbles low in his throat. “I did not tell you to come into my room and bite me while I’m sleeping. That’s not okay, Magdalena.” He finally releases her, climbing off of the bed to head into the bathroom, saying over his shoulder, “At least you were gentler this time. Still a bit too rough, but better.” 

She sits up but stays where she is on the bed, licking every inch of the inside of her mouth for whatever blood still lingers. She sits there until Anzurin’s head pokes back through the doorway, peering at her curiously. “Well, are you coming?” She scrambles off of the bed and into the bathroom with him and as soon as she rounds the corner, he says, “I told you that when you’re hungry, I’ll feed you, but you have to ask me first, Magdalena. You can’t just sneak into my bed and bite me. One, that’s my personal space. Two, it’s dangerous to wake me up like that; I could have hurt you. And three, I don’t want to get blood on my sheets and things.” 

She stands by the door while Anzurin cleans off his arm, the wounds from her bite already healed, but the spilled blood still clinging to his ruby skin. It seems like such a waste to watch it run down the drain; she could lick it off of his skin. She’d get every drop, too. 

Briefly, Magdalena notices that the glass she’d previously broken is completely cleaned up off of the floors and vanity counter, though the shattered remains are still on the wall. She wonders who cleaned it; they must have done it while she was sleeping. How long was she sleeping? 

She looks around the room for a clock or something to tell her what time it is, but there’s nothing of the sort, so she asks, “Is it morning?” 

Anzurin shuts off the water and walks past her, back into his room, motioning for her to follow. “No, it’s probably about midday, actually, but it’s still ‘nighttime’.” He puts the words in quotes with his fingers. “You’ve only been asleep for an hour or so.” 

Magdalena nods along like she understands, but she doesn’t. How can it be midday and nighttime at the same time? Not to mention that it feels like she was asleep for a lot longer than an hour. She continues to follow Anzurin, just accepting what he says without asking any questions – not really sure what to ask. 

He leads her to the other side of the bedroom to a small, two-person sofa that sits against the far wall. Anzurin drops into the corner of it, a yawn escaping him as he gestures for her to join him. “Come on, come feed so I can go back to sleep.” 

Magdalena sits by his side, pressed right against him as she stares at his neck, waiting for the go-ahead, but Anzurin shakes his head with a soft chuckle. “No. I’m not letting you drink from my neck until you learn how to bite without tearing. Arm only.” 

She pouts. “I’ll be gentle,” she promises. 

“Prove you can be – on my wrist.” 

She whines, but relents and turns her attention to his offered wrist. Still trembling, whether from her lingering nightmare, or from her hunger, or just her excitement to feed, she grips his arm and sinks her teeth in, digging into his supple skin. 

“Alright, I can’t keep doing this.” Anzurin – for the last time – fists the hair at the back of her head and yanks, ripping her teeth from his flesh. 

She throws her head back, slamming his hand into the wall so he lets go of her, and snaps for his face, teeth just barely grazing his cheek. “Stop it!” 

Anzurin lifts his hand to the scratch along his cheek - not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a mark. “I needed you to stop biting –” 

“Ask. First,” she hisses through her clenched teeth, rubbing the back of her head to soothe the stinging. “I don’t like it.” 

The hard edge in Anzurin’s gaze softens and the tension leaves his shoulders. “Alright, that’s fair, I apologize. I just –” He sighs, then runs his long forked tongue across his forearm, repairing the damage her teeth did in the blink of an eye. “You have to be gentler, Magdalena. You can’t just keep taking chunks out of me every time you feed, and when you’re out on your own, you can’t tear apart everyone else you drink from.” 

She nods along, seeing sense in what he’s saying. It’s just that her hunger gets so overwhelming that she can’t help herself. And flesh feels so good between her teeth. 

Anzurin leans into her, putting his wrist in front of her mouth once more. “When you bite, Magdalena, only use your fangs. Pierce me once, then take your fangs out, and then you can just drink. Your regular teeth should never touch my skin. 

She frowns, gnashing her teeth. “I like biting. Tearing.” 

“We can find you something else to tear into later, but it’s not going to be me. Bite like I just told you, or don’t feed at all.” 

Too hungry to go without, Magdalena relents and does as told. Only her fangs pierce his wrist, and when she pulls them out, the flow of blood doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t flood her throat like she loves, but she draws out as much as she can, gulping it down to soothe the ache in her gut. 

That ache is the most familiar thing around her. The pain of hunger is the only thing she knows, the only constant in the fleeting mess that the last day has been. There’s nothing she remembers about a life before it. 

Finally, the roar starts to settle, and just as her hunger is fizzling out completely, Anzurin murmurs, “Alright, that’s enough for now.” 

She whines, but licks the two puncture wounds and then pulls her mouth away, but she doesn’t yet let go of his arm, pressing her nose into his skin and inhaling as deeply as she can, filling her lungs with the scent of him, the summer sweetness. 

Anzurin chuckles and smoothes his hand over her hair, brushing it back out of her face. “Good enough? Think you can go back to sleep now?” 

Her lips part and she grazes her fangs across his wrist, but she doesn’t bite. He told her to stop, and she promised she’d listen if he asked. “Nn-hng,” she mutters, nodding. Her tongue teases the wounds once more to lap up the blood that’s still drizzling out of him. 

“Not a drop wasted with you, is there?” he teases as he finally pulls his arm out of her grasp. With a quick flick of his forked tongue, he heals the puncture wounds on his wrist, leaving behind not a trace of her bite. 

“Tastes good,” she pouts. “Like s’mores.” 

“S’mores?” he laughs. “Those little marshmallow treats that humans like?” 

She nods, excited that he knows what she’s talking about - that she actually remembers something, anything, about a human life. “Mhm! Sweet, but - but fiery, too. Smoky.” 

“Many have fed from me, but I must say, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that comparison before. At least you like it, hm?”

“My favorite,” she purrs. 

He laughs once more, a bark of a noise. “Not Herra? You drained her.”

She scrunches up her nose, shaking her head. “Too sweet.” If she wasn’t as hungry as she was, she probably wouldn’t have killed Herra. The sweet, flowery taste of her blood would have driven her away sooner if she hadn’t been starving. And her blood wasn’t bad, but just too sweet for her taste. 

“What about Brem’s?” Anzurin asks curiously. 

“Sharp,” she complains. 

His head cocks to the side. “Like, spicy?” 

She shakes her head. “No, sharp.” She thinks about the way it stung her tongue slightly, trying to find a comparison, and finally, she lands on, “Like pineapple.” 

“I’m sure Brem will be interested to learn that he tastes like pineapple. I don’t think anyone’s ever bitten him before; he’s not a mentor so he’s never had to feed anyone.” Anzurin yawns once more. “Alright. If you’re fed, you should go back to your room and go to sleep.” 

She thinks about the dream she had, the reason she woke up so hungry, and shakes her head. She doesn’t want to go back there. She doesn’t want to see that too perfect smile and those empty eyes again. “I don’t want to sleep,” she refuses. 

“Well, I do,” he says, standing. “And you probably should get some more sleep, anyway, so just go back to your room and try.” 

Reluctantly, she does go back to her own room, but she doesn’t even attempt to sleep. In order to stay awake, she plants herself in the middle of the room, standing there with nothing to lean or sit on, staring at the bathroom door to wait until Anzurin is done sleeping. 

~~~~

I don't remember if I told everyone, but book one of this story is only 15 chapters, so we're just a chapter over being 1/5th of the way there!! only eleven more mondays!

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[shaded-night]

The Price of Gift Giving, pt. 2

part one here because its important to the plot - It wasn't often that both Aventurine and Ratio have a shared day off. It was even more rare for the Doctor to insist Aventurine call in a vacation day.

He has no idea why, he's wracked his brain for any reasons the day before calling in. There wasn't a holiday coming up, nor an anniversary. This was just... a normal day of the week.

When he woke up on his day off, Aventurine was surrounded by his beloved catcakes, making sure to give each one of them their morning pets. There was an empty space on their bed where their Doctor should be, but Aventurine wasn't going to fuss about it. After all he now has all day to spend with his four favorite beings in the universe.

The bedroom door opens, and Ratio enters with a tray in hand.

"Oh? What is this? Breakfast in bed?" Aventurine perks up eyeing his favorite assortment of fruits paired with a typical balanced meal, courtesy of Ratio's nutritional involvement.

"Since we have the day off, I figured I would make it special." Ratio places the tray down between them as he joins Aventurine back in bed. The blond eyes him suspiciously for just a moment before digging into their breakfast.

"Mmm. A day off that you made me take, you mean." Not that it really mattered. He'd much rather stay home with Ratio and the cats than be subjected to meeting all day. Still he didn't press for an explanation, nor did Ratio provide one. They ate in comfortable silence, Aventurine sneaking a few pieces of fruit to the cats; for once not being scolded by Ratio for feeding them human food.

As they finished their food, Aventurine was prepared for a cuddling session. They often did this when it came to anniversaries where they also have breakfast in bed. However, this time Ratio was quick to stand up and before Aventurine could question anything he was scooped up into the Doctor's arms to be taken to their bathroom.

Aventurine's curiosity was peaked, this whole morning was a surprise. As much as he'd like to as what's gotten into his boyfriend, he was also willing to just let Ratio be. Silently he watched Ratio go through the process of setting up a bath. As the water filled the tub, Ratio graciously helped Aventurine undress, making sure to leave plenty of kisses along the blond's bare shoulders.

Their bath went without much fanfare. Both of them falling into their routine of washing each others hair and Aventurine's absolutely necessary task of blowing the foamy bubbles at Ratio's face.

It wasn't until they finished washing up that Aventurine really felt like something was different. Ratio helps with drying his hair like usual, but when he was finished he continued drying off Aventurine's body. The fluffy towel was brought along his shoulders, and he felt Ratio press a light kiss to the brand on his neck. The towel moved lower and so did Ratio's lips. For every dried section of Aventurine's back, a plethora of kisses followed along each and every scar along his back until his marred skin was tingling under the affection.

When Ratio was finished, Aventurine turned, ready to confront this unusual behavior but froze when he was met with nothing but pure devotion in those wine-gold eyes. Every word stuck in his throat, unable to surface under such emotion.

They dress, Aventurine adorned in simple lounge pants and his (Ratio's) favorite sweater. Ratio takes his hand, intertwining their fingers as he leads them out of the bedroom and to the living room. There the full scope of Ratio's plan shows; the couch prepared with blankets and pillows, the coffee table covered in Aventurine's favorite snacks paired with a bottle of wine, and the TV set to play Aventurine's favorite movie.

Aventurine stops at the end of the hallway, taking everything in and suddenly feels almost worried with how these events are taking place without any known initiative.

"Seriously, Veri, what is all this?" Concern laced his words because there had to be something wrong, something that prompted Ratio to plan everything out to this extent. When he turned to face his boyfriend, Ratio almost looked guilty, shying away from his gaze.

"It's my apology. I would have done this sooner but the project I was tasked with took far too long; I had to wait until it was finished to assure we both would be able to take time off."

"Apology? For what?" Confused, Aventurine played through the last few days trying to piece together any moment between them that could have lead to this. But everything was completely normal.

"The other week, when you gifted me that pen. I was so very cold to you, ungrateful even. I love that pen so much, I've used it every day since. I smile every time I see the engraving because it reminds me of you." Ratio blinked, a stray tear falling from his eye. Aventurine reached up and brushed it away with his thumb. "Your expression at that moment; I can't get it out of my head. You didn't even look hurt, you just looked empty. You are the person I cherish the most in this universe, how could I have said that to you? How could I have made you look like that; feel like that? What if you start second guessing yourself the next time you think about gifting me something? You shouldn't have to live with that underlying anxiety."

Oh.

Aventurine couldn't believe this. Ratio held onto something like that for weeks, meanwhile Aventurine had long forgotten about it. But here was Ratio, looking at him with the most apologetic face and all Aventurine could feel was unbridled love. He pushed Ratio against the wall, only pulling him down to connect their lips. The kiss left Ratio a bit dazed and breathless when they finally broke apart.

"You worry too much. I already forgave you for that. I did technically break a promise so it's not that big of a deal."

"Yes but...I want to make it up to you. I'm not always good with words, so I planned to show you how much I love you."

Stupid, stupid Ratio. Going above and beyond for something so simple. Does this esteemed Doctor not realize how much he's already given to Aventurine?

"I'd find a way to buy the entire universe for you if you asked, Veritas. Nothing would stop me from spoiling you. But...thank you. You didn't need to do this, but I really do appreciate it." Aventurine's face brightened when Ratio finally smiled. Good. As silly as this situation seemed to Aventurine, he knew it weighed a lot on Ratio's shoulders.

"Does this mean we can skip watching that dreadful movie?"

Aventurine scoffed, pulling Ratio along to the couch.

"Of course not! It's my favorite movie and you're going to sit through it whether you like it or not."

With a sigh, Ratio sat down beside his boyfriend and wrapped a blanket around them both. The catcakes, who were silently waiting for them this whole time, hopped onto the couch as well and snuggled up to the couple.

"I suppose getting to spend time with you like this is worth sitting through it." Two glasses of wine were poured and Aventurine smiled as he rested his head on Ratio's shoulder.

"You're stuck with me all day, it's best to make the most of it."

The movie starts and the both of them conclude that the life they have together right now is the most precious thing to them.

Nothing will change that.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Four - Planetoid

Part Three

———

Adrenaline is one hell of a drug, it’s a direct part of the organics fight or flight response. Where the heart rate, respiratory rate, and blood pressure increase. It decreased the immediate ability to feel pain and practically enhanced one’s ability to fight. Most pilots were deemed in their compatibility testing to resort to fight, more often than flight, in response to an external threat. To face the action instead of turning tail and running off, it was something they’d either have to have or something they’d have to learn. To move with the punches, so to speak. For the mech pilots they’d learned fast that flight; would get them killed and fight was the right instinct to have.

One of the easiest ways for adrenaline to be produced is with the feeling of either fear or thrill, again that fight or flight response. Most people experience it on amusement park attractions or when participating in some sort of extreme activity like sky diving. Things that were significantly more popular before the invention of mech suits and long before the alien invasions. It wasn’t a terribly far off comparison, sky diving, as Hound and Sunstreaker fell through the lower atmosphere of the planet.

The suits were designed to survive exit and entry of different planetoids, thank you Preceptor, but even with that in mind they were supposed to remain attached to the Odyssey during that time. Not in free fall, but it was safer for the shuttle to only have two of the four mechs attached to it during a decent. Easier to maneuver into a safe decent and certainly a few hundred tons lighter than it would be. Starting at the ever approaching surface, over the comms it was mainly heavy breathing of someone forgetting to turn their microphone off. The fear was palpable over the frequency, even as the two mechs twisted in the air to slow their decent. It was entirely unlike anything they’d had to deal with before and that was terrifying.

“I need you all active on comms.” Breakdown sounded calm, certainly calmer than he had when the airlocks to the mechs unlocked, much more in his element on a collision course with an unknown entity then when the technology around him did things it wasn’t supposed to do, “Copy.” Hound could hardly respond, trying to right his mech for the crash landing, moving about to grab hold of Sunstreaker, he spoke up next; “Alright, this is just like the evacuation training, except we remain in the suits.” “Yeah, copy.” Sunstreaker’s voice didn’t waver, also calm. If there was something to be said about pilots, they needed to have a certain level of crazy to handle the job. Their hands clasped together and held tight, falling much faster than the shuttle, though that was experiencing its typical re-entry. Banking lightly to adjust for the airstreams in the atmosphere.

Scanning the planet, cause it was certainly large enough to be one on second look, there was possible inhabited areas both to their north and east, artificial lights shining in the distance. Hound kept hold of Sunstreaker, kicking lightly to turn them in the air, “Alright, we need to veer away from landing to our north or east, Breakdown you will need to bring the Odyssey down as safely as you can away from those sectors.” His visor was lightning up with readings coming in from outside his suit, it making the adjustments that were needed for proper functioning, “You don’t think those could actually be inhabited areas, right?” Sideswipe was still breathing heavy, less anxious now and more with effort. He’d moved around and was ensuring that Breakdown’s suit was staying secure to the Odyssey. With a sigh, Hound shakes his head a bit, “I have no idea, but it’s not something I want to crash into if it’s the case. Sunny and I are going to pull our shoots once we’re under a mile from the surface so they don’t shred. You and Breakdown are doing to be heading towards the north, so if you have to put it down before reaching the potentially inhabited space do so.” He was activating his safety measures, as was Sunstreaker.

“You two are dropping like stones, we’ll land miles apart.” Sideswipe was looking down and back at them now, re-securing his mech to the Odyssey, “Yeah, we are, so stay with the shuttle and we’ll meet you there.” Sunstreaker was the only one who could keep Sideswipe calm, his voice low and easy, “We’ll see you in a while, just don’t play your music over comms.” There was a quiet scoff, “You do that one time and you never hear the end of it.” Hound smiles a bit and looks to Sunstreaker, nodding his head slightly as they pull their shutes, the shuttle far ahead of them and still high in the sky.

—

Mission Control received the message after twenty minutes, smiling, before passing it onto NASA for their own logs. Sending a brief but detailed response, effectively hiding in plain sight the simple saying of ‘keep looking’. The boss stood at the back of the room, hands clasped behind his back with an award winning smiling, which only faded slightly when a minute later their coordinates and vital signs popped offline, but data was still coming through for a moment long before showing a incredibly long delay. A longer delay than Voyager’s, frowning, he leans back against the wall for a second, “Send for pilot 2672, he’s going to training. And loop the data for the nerds at NASA.” Several people go into action as he stands there, watching the response time of their message tick up to over a year.

—

They landed in what best can be described as a giant puddle, it wasn’t deep enough to be considered a lake nor was it moving to be considered a river or creek. The suits were quick to inform them that it wasn’t water either. Grabbing hold of the shoot, Hound was folding his up and trying to tuck it back into the compartment it opened out of, “It’s a one time use without the re-pack codes to override the locks.” Sunstreaker wasn’t folding his up, but staring at the sky, watching the shuttle as it disappeared into the distance. Swearing, Hound draped it over his shoulder before adjusting the comm frequency to open two separate lines, one with the shuttle and one for here on the ground, “Shuttle, we’ve landed, alert us of how far you reach.” “Copy Hound.” Breakdown’s voice was almost static with the growing distance between them.

Sharing a look before turning on their targeting and weapons systems, Hound’s gun folding out from a compartment in his thigh, hefting it into his hold with ease as Sunstreaker flipped plating back on his arms, “You ready for this kid?” To be honest, Hound had only seen footage of the twins fights, he was often deployed in the evening or night to handle things to close to communities for the governments liking. The twins were much more flashy and fought in the day time off the coasts of Florida primarily, “Born ready Sir.” Hound cringed lightly, “Don’t call me sir, for the love of god.” He could tell it brought a smile out of the grumpier of the two twins, who nodded at him before they started walking. Fluid that wasn’t water splashing lightly over their feet, “What do you think this stuff is Hound?” Sunstreaker looked to him and Hound shrugged lightly, “Waitinf for my systems to fully calibrate, once they have I can run some tests.” Nodding again, they fell in next to each other, following the streak in the sky towards wherever the Odyssey went.

Out of the four of them, these two were the most mentally prepared to trek across an alien planet, so to speak, they certainly had more kills than the other two and one had more experience than any of them. Their suits were well suited to the terrain and there was a higher level of mutual respect. Sunstreaker had come to Hound several times over the years, asking for advice in the fight, he supposedly used to go to Jazz and knew the two of them were relatively close. At least as close as two pilots could be without being related. Their bond was nothing special, but shared experience was one hell of a way to stay connected with someone. Hound had been in the fight for twice as long as the twins combined, it was hard to make it that long fighting the flying squids, but you just had to keep going. If it wasn’t you in the suit then it would be someone else, someone younger. Looking to Sunstreaker, Hound rests his free hand on his mech’s shoulder lightly, “We’ll catch up with them Kid, then we’ll find wherever the bastards are coming from, end this fight.” Sunstreaker stared for a long time before nodding, sighing, then looking down at his feet, “What ever this not-water is, I think it’s going to damage my paint job.” Laughter was one of the best ways to lighten the mood, and Sunny knew how to bring out the loudest laughter from Hound, he was bent over and shaking his head, “I didn’t put spare paint on my essentials list, did you?” “Yes, actually, I did.” Now they could both laugh as they walked across the hard and wet ground.

—

Landing a space shuttle was a great deal like landing a plane, only with a plane you didn’t have giant mechs attached to your sides, and usually you’d have a runway to land on. The other down side to this was Breakdown flew helicopters, not airplanes, least not usually. He certainly had more experience than Sideswipe, but less than Hound who just followed orders of being the first in his suit if shit were to hit the fan. Keeping the Odyseey steady was important, the most important thing, but all Breakdown really wanted to do was bail in his mech and say screw it to the shuttle, what good would it do them if they couldn’t get it back off the ground.

“Hey Breakdown, any word from Sunny and Hound?” Sideswipe, who was holding onto the outside of the shuttle watching this weird world fly by, was trying to sound calm. Biting his lip a bit, he checks over the comm system, “Uh, not since they landed Sideswipe. See anything interesting out there?” He wanted to redirect the thought process, focus on the mission, take the focus away from the worry, “Yeah, I think Hound was right about the artificial lights. I don’t know what it is, but there are a lot of them to the east.” His voice wavered slightly, breath shaking on the radio again, “Sideswipe, take a moment to focus on the mission. Right now we need to land safely, then we can worry about Hound and Sunstreaker.” He adjusts the tilt to the shuttle, sighing as it continues to descend. It was quiet for a few minutes as Sideswipe turns off his comm.

They sat in the silence, separate but together, facing an entirely unfamiliar world.

“Alright, I’m good. How long do you think till we land?” His voice was clear and nearly calm, good enough, “Just a few minutes, we’re descending fast. We’ll be about ten klicks or twelve from the others, hopefully by the time we land. They should be making up ground fast.” Breakdown was quick to start lowering the landing gear, flipping several switching and activating the distress beacon, in case there were any Earth scanners anywhere, anywhere. Traveling through space was fine, being teleported to the atmosphere of an unknown planet was not.

If there was such thing as a smooth landing for a mech pilot, Breakdown and Sideswipe would not know. The ground may appear to be smooth but it was just as bumpy as any bit of unpaved ground back home would be. Getting thrown around in their respective piloting chairs, thrown against the seatbelts, was unpleasant. Groaning, Breakdown sits back and rubs his back when they finally came to a stop before turning on the comm, “Hound, Sunstreaker, we’ve landed supposedly about twenty klicks north of you both. Thought it would be closer, going to do some diagnostics on the Odyssey and check the atmosphere for us, see you in a bit.” With a flick of a switch, he deactivates the comm. Standing back up, Breakdown goes into the main hold to start running the checks, turning off anything unnecessary now that they were out of space.

Sideswipe stood around outside and slightly away from the shuttle once he disconnected from it, scanning the horizon for Sunstreaker and Hound, trying not to worry. Chewing on his lip had become a bad habit when he’d had to give up his other vices to become compatible. The wait was killer.

—

For giant mechs, it still takes a while to walk a handful of miles, sure the strides are longer and you certainly are bigger than the normal person, but it still takes time. Breakdown was still running scans and checks, not really able to piece together whether the air on this planet was toxic or not, and the suits were running their normal life support protocols. There was enough air in a suit to last several days, plus the compressed canisters still aboard the shuttle, if they were on a toxic planet they could probably survive long enough to get a message out about it.

Sideswipe was impatience, as soon as the familiar yellow suit appeared even in the distance, he took off running towards him. They collided as if they’d been separated for days rather than a few hours. Hound shook his head and kept walking towards the shuttle, activating the comm, “Any update Breakdown?” Only a moment of pause was there, “No, anything change out there?” Hound sighs, “Not yet, but I don’t like it. If those are artificial lights, they should have seen us coming and been here by now.” It hung in the air, the unknown, “Wrap up the scans, we’re going to head towards them for checks before it gets dark. If it gets dark.” Rubbing his face, Hound looked around and in the general direction of what could be a town of some sort, “Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, I want you both to have your weapons out. If whatever took Jazz is here, I don’t want us to end up fighting an unknown enemy.” Sunstreaker looks over, “Or a whole lot of a familiar enemy Hound, they could have figured it out.” They paused before the twins started to prep their weapons.

“You boys keep your weapons up, Breakdown get to your suit and fall into attack formation DC-19. We’ll be back to the Odyssey shortly.” Hound had his gun up, it was a specially made item for his mech, experimental technology that seemed to hurt the aliens pretty well back home. Sunstreaker had long blade like bracers on the arms of his mech, along with more agility for advanced hand to hand work. Similarly, Sideswipe had one bracer and an extending sword on the other side. Hound’s feet slide slightly on the surface, it was much more slick that it initially appeared to be. Swearing under his breath, he rights himself and in turn his mech before looking over his shoulder, “We’re going to scout the immediate area and whenever their night cycle starts we will return to the Odyssey. Last thing we need is to get caught out in the dark.” Sighing slightly, he looks back around, as the last of his systems finally integrate and realign to him. When you were calibrated to a suit, it was meant to feel like a second skin, the suit of armor that you needed. For some pilots it felt like more than that. It felt like that for Hound, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, and Breakdown. The twins had a similar reaction once their suits fully calibrated, both sighing deeply and rolling their shoulders in sync.

The landscape was entirely different from Earth, it didn’t even look like the images from Mars, it just was something entirely alien. Sideswipe whistles, looking this way and that, “Wow, have you ever seen some place like this?” Chuckling, Hound shrugs slightly, “Reminds me of Montana. Big sky country.” Coming back up to the shuttle, he waits as Breakdown’s mech gains its footing, only for a brief delay then, “We’re not in Kansas anymore.” Breakdown’s voice was filled with a mild amusement, which caused both twins to groan loudly, “You know, I hate cliches. That’s what we are right now, walking cliches.” “Oh come on, let the man have a little fun Sunny!” Sunstreaker shoves at Sideswipe, “You defending the cliche makes it worse.” They were hardly back together for five minutes before their bickering picked back up. Hound rubs his face with a deep sigh, “We need to move before it’s dark. I don’t want to leave the Odyssey any longer than we have to.” Shifting to stand straight, then adjusting his gun, the twins fall silent then fall in. Attack position DC-19 was designed for fighting aliens, specifically designed for when they would face a hoard of them with as few as two suits. Four was a rather generous amount to have together at one time on Earth.

Right now, they could be the only four on the whole planet as far as they knew. Hound lets out a shaky breath and starts to move north, the nearest section of artificial lighting was around seven klicks that way.

A light, near the comms terminal in the main bay of the Odyssey flashed with delayed messages, from over the last five years. Finally within range to be received.

The four of them started north together, Hound with his gun up and ready, Sunstreaker to his left with arms slightly raised as if to box, Sideswipe to his right with his sword extended down to his side, and Breakdown to the rear with his shoulder mount humming ominously, hammer swinging lightly at his side. Moving together in tandem and with purpose towards the populated sector, or potentially populated sector, to find answers. Their heart rates fell to a resting rhythm, breathing joining it, while their feet clanked lightly against the metallic ground. The adrenaline was finally starting to wear off and they all went from feeling unstoppable, to significantly slower than before, but to determined to stop.

———

A/N

More Tags! I am so happy people have been enjoying this as much as I have been enjoying writing it. The entire Mecha AU has been eating my brain and for something that I was BS-ing with my sister about to hit the pages for me was incredible. I love writing, I love seeing all your own tags when you re-blog it. It give me so much inspiration to keep writing.

Between now and when I get to part six, I might post stuff for Arcturus Two, since they will have their disconnect. But we’ll see how much time I have this week. Between thanksgiving and LSAT studying, this inspiration is not saving me much time.

Thank you to everyone who has liked my posts, especially thank you to those who have re-blogged both the series and the masterpost, I promise to get the links fixed soon, I’m doing this all on mobile so it loves to be a pain.

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch

And of course thank you @keferon for inspiring us all in this crazy AU. I have loved watching us all froth at the mouth for it.

[keep-dr3aming]

tonight’s soft..ish thoughts

being curled up next to you, tracing my fingers along your jawline, smiling at how beautiful you look laying there with those kind eyes looking right into mine. i want to feel your warmth, i want to hold your hand and intertwine my fingers with yours and maybe have a thumb war in the midst of everything. i want your soft sleepy voice calling me pet names, i want your hands all over my skin and your fingers through my hair. i want to tell you how perfect you are to me. i want one of those kisses where it’s all soft and intimate at first until you just can’t hold back anymore. i want your hands to ravage me, to completely overpower me, pinning me up against the wall and my futile mini efforts to try and hide my face or to get away when we both know i don’t want to run or hide from you, i want to stay there and look you in the eyes and listen to your voice. i want to be completely lost in you. i want to make you happy. i want to get on my knees and worship you. i need to worship you. i need to worship you and your cock. i need you to fill me up. your cum makes me so happy and blissful. i have no choice but to follow and obey. i am completely devoted to you. i adore you. i want to kiss you all over. i want to make us cookies, i want to run and jump into your arms and get twirled around in your embrace and heck..

i just really wanna be on your lap, please 💖

[psalmsofpsychosis]

me in this corner on my knees like fellas, i'm literally begging you, please interpret things, dont just fucking swallow stories and essays and media and all kinds of fucking information without giving it two tiny winy thoughts

[narcissusneverknewme]

a very select portion of personalities trigger my latent tsundere traits.

In reverse of the usual order, this feels all the worse if they are fictional.