#and fuck it I'm stopping there I'm not writing ANOTHER wedding fic

[drvscarlett]

The Tortured Drivers' Department

— combining another one of my favorites. I'll be taking notes and writing fics about which TTPD song do I associate with the drivers ( + I will be including the retired ones). This is the main list and I'll be linking them when I finished writing them. Let me know if you wanna be tagged

Also give TTPD a listen. Its so beautiful and a masterpiece

Fortnight

— i love you, its ruining my life (Lewis Hamilton x Mercedes!reader)

The Tortured Poets Department 

— At dinner you take my ring off my middle finger and put it on the one people put wedding rings on. And that's the closest I've come to my heart exploding (Pierre Gasly x ex!reader)

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys 

— 'Cause he took me out of my box, stole my tortured heart left all these broken parts (Lando Norris x reader)

Down Bad

— Fuck it if I can't have him (Charles Leclerc x athlete!reader)

So Long, London

— You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? (George Russell x secret girlfriend! reader)

But Daddy I Love Him

— "I'm having his baby" No, I'm not, but you should see your faces (Alex Albon x Horner!reader)

Fresh Out the Slammer

— Now, pretty baby, I'm runnin' back home to you (Esteban Ocon x childhood bestfriend!reader)

Florida!!! (feat. Florence + the Machine) 

—I need to forget, so take me to Florida (Logan Sargeant x heiress!reader)

Guilty as Sin?

—What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind? (Oscar Piastri x bestfriend!reader)

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

— I was tame, I was gentle till the circus life made me mean (Nico Rosberg x Lewis Hamilton)

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

— they shake their heads, saying, "God help her" when I tell 'em he's my man (Daniel Ricciardo x longtime girlfriend!reader)

loml

— Oh, what a valiant roar. What a bland goodbye. The coward claimed he was a lion (Max Verstappen x childhood sweetheart!reader)

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart 

— Lights, camera, bitch, smile (Zhou Guanyu x model!reader)

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

— And I'll forget you, but I'll never forgive (Yuki Tsunoda x Actress!reader)

The Alchemy

—'Cause the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me (Kimi Räikkönen x assistant!reader)

Clara Bow

— This town is fake, but you're the real thing (Sebastian Vettel x Ferrari heir!reader)

The Black Dog

— I am someone who, until recent events you shared your secrets with (Mick Schumacher x driver!reader

imgonnagetyouback

— I'm an Aston Martin that you steered straight into the ditch (Fernando Alonso x wife!reader)

The Albatross

— She's the albatross, she is here to destroy you (Jenson Button x revenger!reader)

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

—So if I sell my apartment and you have some kids with an internet starlet. Will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon? (Carlos Sainz x Vasseur!reader)

How Did It End?

— The deflation of our dreaming leaving me bereft and reeling (Logan Sargeant x Oscar Piastri)

So High School

—You knew what you wanted, and, boy, you got her (Charles Leclerc x reader ft Max Verstappen x childhood friend!reader)

I Hate It Here

—I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind (Kimi Räikkönen x interviewer! reader)

thanK you aIMee

— And then she wrote headlines in the local paper laughing at each baby step I'd take (Mark Webber x reader)

I Look in People’s Windows

—What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time (Sebastian Vettel x reader)

The Prophecy

—Don't want money, just someone who wants my company (Pierre Gasly x politician's daughter!reader)

Cassandra

—So they killed Cassandra first cause she feared the worst (Lewis Hamilton x wife!reader)

Peter

— Forgive me, Peter, please know that I tried to hold onto the days when you were mine (Lando Norris x reader)

The Bolter

— "Oh, we must stop meeting like this" (Max Verstappen x hollywood starlet!reader)

Robin

— You have no room in your dreams for regrets (Oscar Piastri x girlfriend!reader)

The Manuscript

—One last souvenir from my trip to your shores. Now and then I re-read the manuscript. But the story isn't mine anymore (Carlos Sainz x McLaren employee!reader)

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 masterlist #max verstappen x reader #lance stroll x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #fernando alonso x reader #jenson button x reader #sebastian vettel x reader

[fookingmuffins]

it's time to go

James potter x reader

Summary: Angst. You love James, but it's time to go.

Warning: cheating, screaming and James being a dick.

A/n: lmao I really ran after posting like 4 fics, but I'm doing a little better and even though I'm stressed with uni I've been dying to write something, so I hope y'all enjoy. (This actually took me so long to finish and i dont lobe the ending but i needs to move on, oops)

You sighed as you prepared to open the door to the house you shared with James. Once upon a time, you would've rushed in without a second thought. But lately the war had taken a toll on the two of you. Once happy moments were now filled with fear and dread, making you feel like you were drowning. And no matter how hard you tried to hold on to the love of your life, you could feel him shutting you out. James had always been an open book anyone who ever met him knew that, but lately he had built this wall meant to keep you away, only you. At first, you tried to understand and be patient considering everything you two were going through, but after countless fights of you begging for him to talk to you, you were tired. You squeezed your eyes shut once before pushing the door open and plastering a fake smile in your face, maybe today would be different.

"Jamie, I'm home, I brought your favorite from the bakery by my work!" you shouted into the house buy were greeted with only silence. After checking the house you realized you were alone which immediately sent you into a spiral of worry since James was supposed to be here an hour ago but deciding that maybe he had gotten caught up with something you tried to ignore your panic and start getting ready for your friend's Alice’s engagement party.

You heard the door open and close while you were finishing up with your hair, causing you to get up and genuinely smile when you saw James make his way to the bedroom that the two of you shared.

"I was wondering where you were, I got you some pastries they are in the counter." you tried, but he just gave you a tight-lipped smile with a wave before passing by you to your shared bedroom. You went after him and saw he was getting ready to jump in the shower. Figuring it was going to be another quiet afternoon, you sat at your vanity staring at yourself in the mirror holding back the tears threatening to spill and ruin your makeup and just prayed that at the wedding maybe you two could have fun like you used to. You didn't even realize how long you sat there until you heard James get out of the bathroom and start getting ready, and you decided to just get dressed too and sit by the window with a book while you waited for James to be ready.

"Are you okay?" You were broken out of your train of thought by James’s question.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be. " You answered, giving him a similar smile to the one he gave you when he arrived.

"I don't know, you just keep staring into space, and it's kinda creepy." he tried to joke, but what once would've made you smile and roll your eyes instead caused a knot to form at your throat again, and you felt tears prickling your eyes once again.

"Well what am I supposed to do is not like I can talk to you anymore James you always shut me out, and I don’t know what to do anymore to get you to bring down the walls that keep shutting me out! I don't even know what I did for you to shut me out!" You couldn't help but let out everything for the millionth time, hoping that maybe today would be the last time you two were having this conversation and that he would finally open up and let you two go back to normal.

However, you soon realized that it was only wishful thinking because James immediately lowered his head and mumbled "For fuck's sake y/n not this again"

"Yes, this again, James! Please talk to me! Stop shutting me out, please!" you were a sobbing mess by this point, begging him to let you in, not caring if you ruined your makeup.

But James just shook his head and walked out, "I'll wait for you in the car while you get cleaned up, we can't do this right now, or we’ll be late." just like that, he left you alone frozen with mascara running down your cheeks. You felt numb and just quickly tried to clean up but when you were done and staring at your reflection stare back at you with puffy red eyes you just felt pathetic.

On the way neither one of you talked James kept his eyes on the road while you looked out the window too lost in your thoughts to realize your usual music that would usually be playing while the two of you drove was not playing, James realized, and he felt like he was suffocating in the empty car ride.

The wedding was beautiful and despite your problems you couldn't help but imagine that one day it would maybe be you and James standing in an altar professing your love in front of all your friends and family. You turned to look at him as Alice and Ben were sharing their vows, only to catch him staring at Lily, and she was staring right back at him. You felt something break in you as confusion overtook you. Why is he looking at her?

Was she the reason that you were slowly getting kicked to the curb? Back in Hogwarts everyone knew that James was obsessed with Lily but when she finally gave him a chance things just didn't work out. Then you caught James's attention, and the rest is history.

You tried to focus on the happy couple in the altar as the ceremony came to an end, but you felt someone was stabbing you and twisting the knife.

By some miracle during the reception James asked you to dance which shocked you, but his eyes seemed so sincere and like they were almost begging that you couldn't help but to foolishly be filled with hope once again. As you took his hand, he genuinely smiled at you again the way he used to with that same boyish grin that made you fall for him 5 years ago.

The two of you danced in the center of the dance floor spinning and laughing around, you had not been this happy in so long. After a particularly long fit of giggles, James pulled you closer and looked into your eyes with a spark that the two of you hadn't shared in months. When you two were about to lock lips, someone cleared their throat besides you two and the two of you pulled slightly away.

"James could I have a word with you please?" Lily asked looking at James who immediately pulled away from you and went with her after telling you he'd be right back. Just like that you were brought back to reality the cloud 9 that you had been in for a little bit long gone, and again the sinking feeling invaded you, feeling like you were drowning. You needed a drink.

You went to the bar and after getting your drink you decided it wasn't enough, and you needed air. You walked out of the salon where everybody was and made your way to the garden, and that's when you heard it.

"James! You said you two were over, but it sure as hell doesn't look like it! I can't beli-"

"I know, I know, but I can explain Lily please! I-I-I came here with her because she was embarrassed to come alone, so I promised this would be our last outing together." You felt your heart stop, air getting caught in your throat.

"What? That doesn't-" Lily started as you felt the glass in your hands slip and shatter on the ground.

Both of them froze and looked at where you were standing, you could feel a knot forming in your throat but glared at the pair in front of you with tears forming in your eyes.

"Y/n I can explain!"

" I think both of us want an explanation, James, but she deserves it more. Y/n/n I'm so sorry I had no idea you two were still together." Lily went to walk away and James was about to chase after her when she heard you scoff and as you turned around.

"Say goodbye to Alice and Ben for me, would you? I have to go." you rushed out before basically sprinting to the nearest exit, hearing James chase after you, which wasn't hard considering he was taller than you and an athlete. He grabbed your arm when you two had made it to the parking lot and turned you around.

"So that's why I'm getting the cold shoulder." you blurted out before whatever he was able to utter whatever shit excuse he was going to tell you. You almost wanted to laugh, which made you feel like you were insane, but you thought about all the hours you had spent over the past couple of months looking in the mirror trying to see what was wrong with you, overanalyzing every tiny detail in your face. Laying in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying everything you had done that day that might have set James off.

"No no baby, I swear it's not what it looks like, Lily is just bitter we didn't work out, and she's trying to sabotage us! I've just been so stressed because of it, and I am so sorry I let it out on you."

"Bullshit James! You were literally just talking shit about me before i showed up and ruined your little act." You were seething by this point, and James flinched after your outburst. You had never been one to scream, and he knew that, but right now you honestly felt like nothing was the same and you weren't the same. "A-and you wanted to chase after her and you know what? maybe you should. Maybe you have a better shot at getting her back because we are over James Potter! I-I am so tired... I-" You were crying from all the different emotions you were feeling at that moment. Finally getting some enlightenment about why your relationship was dying gave you some relief of the crushing pain you were feeling being hunted by the "what if's" and "why's" you weren't the problem.

James tried to get close and wrap his arms around you. god he felt like an idiot for hurting you. He honestly doesn't know what he was thinking. He had hoped you never found out and had planned to break up with Lily soon enough, but he just needed to explore a little what it could've been like if he had stayed with her. Plus the thrill of it was something that James had loved for the time being, but he never wanted to hurt you. His heart broke at the sight of you, he couldn't imagine what you were feeling.

"Don't even think about it! Don't ever touch me again don't ever look at me, I hate you so much Potter, I don't want to know anything about you from this day on James! We now mean nothing to me, we are strangers!" You glared at him in a way he had never seen you look at anyone, and felt his heart drop.

He tried to protest, feeling the tears leave his own eyes at the idea of losing you completely forever. But you just turned around and walked away.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter angst #james potter x reader angst

[halsteadlover]

𝐌𝐫. & 𝐌𝐫𝐬. 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝

*Gif and pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Fem!Reader.

• Requested: no.

• Summary: you and Jay finally got married but even on your weeding day you can’t seem to be able to keep your hands off each other so you sneak out during the party to have a quick rendezvous.

• Warnings: smut (18+), dirty talking, lots of cursing, fingering, oral sex (m. receiving) unprotected sex (don’t be like them fellas!!!), semi-public sex, so much fluff you’ll drown in it.

• Word count: 7800.

• A/N: PLEASE READ THIS ONLY IF YOU’RE 18+ minors stay away. I’m actually shit at writing summaries y’all can tell. I’m so excited for this fic so y’all better eat this up 😭 I really hope you’ll like it, please let me know what you think and comment, like and reblog, it’d mean the world. Stay safe and love you all xx

“And I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

It was surreal.

You and Jay were finally husband and wife and you couldn't believe it.

“I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” he had whispered on your lips when you exchanged your first kiss as husband and wife, your heart bursting with joy and happiness.

On the way to the wedding venue Jay did nothing but kiss and caress your ring finger, still in disbelief you really decided to marry him. You were his, forever.

You couldn’t stop grinning.

Everything seemed more beautiful. The colors were brighter, the air cleaner, the sky bluer, the trees greener.

Everyone present including colleagues, friends, family could see how happy you both were, how much you doted on each other, how much you were in love. There wasn’t anyone who hadn't thought at least once how much they would’ve liked to experience a love like yours. So pure, genuine, crazy, overwhelming.

Jay didn't take his eyes or hands off of you for even a second.

He kept looking at you and the more he saw you smiling, laughing, so happy and carefree, the more he couldn't contain his disbelief. God, he would’ve given you the fucking moon if it meant always seeing that smile on your face. You were so unbelievably beautiful especially in that white dress, which hugged your body so perfectly it seemed to be sewn on you.

My wife.

My wife.

My wife.

He kept repeating in his mind.

How the hell did he get so lucky?

His hand circled your hips with a firm, possessive grip, while his thumb caressed the fabric of the dress that covered your skin. He couldn’t help but stealing kisses from you from time to time, between a ‘congratulations’ and another, whispering how much he loved you and how fabulous you looked in your wedding dress.

“Did I already tell you how stunning you are, my love?” Jay asked as his eyes ran up and down your body, holding you to him with so much passion and desire you felt like you were dying in his arms.

You both had inaugurated the dance floor by doing the first dance and while those present watched the scene with emotion, some of your relatives took videos with their cell phones, unaware of the things that Jay was whispering to you and just seeing with how much adoration you looked at each other.

You smiled as you talked, slowly swaying to the song’s rhythm, unaware of how much your eyes sparkled as you looked at him. He looked at you with just as much admiration, his cheeks aching from how much he was smiling, his heart exploding with joy. Even someone blind could tell how much that man loved and adored you, how much he venerated you, how much he worshiped the land you walked on.

“You're not half bad either Mr Halstead,” you replied with a cheeky smile, unable to take your eyes off him and how wonderfully the suit he was wearing looked on him “God, I just want to rip your clothes off right now,” you continued, not realizing you had actually said it out loud.

Jay's arms tightened around your hips, pulling you further into his body and trying to hide how that one sentence made him feel. “Baby don't talk to me like that… I'm already trying so hard not to drag you away right now. You really want to make me lose my mind?” He warned you in a low tone, his lips brushing your ear before leaving a soft kiss on your cheek. He then sighed with frustration making you chuckle. “I don't think I can last the whole day.”

The song came to an end before you could respond and before you knew it everybody was drunkly dancing around you.

Your feet were sore as you and Jay danced with friends and relatives and you would’ve paid gold to take off those damned torture machines.

Seriously, why did heels have to hurt so much?

You were hot, sweaty but happy, like you had never been before. Jay wasn't much for dancing so he eventually went to talk to some other guests but he was having the time of his life and couldn’t take his eyes off you as he watched you dance, the way your body moved to the music, the way your curves were hugged by your wedding dress, the the way you sprayed happiness from every pore.

The love he felt for you was so unconditional, powerful and intense in such a way it took the air out of his lungs, it made the blood boil in his veins, it consumed him deeply, burned him from inside.

He had never once in his life felt anything like this, not until he met you. It felt like constantly being punched in the stomach every time you looked or smiled at him, it felt like his heart skipped a beat every time he heard your laugh, making it dance to that melody he couldn't wait to hear for the rest of his life. That kind of love was so profound that even when you were sad or cried, he felt like a piece of him was being ripped out of his body, especially when he couldn’t do anything to make you feel better.

He lived for you, breathed for you only, to a point he couldn’t even function when you weren’t by his side.

“Okay, okay, enough, I'd like to dance with my wife now,” Jay's voice made you turn and you almost tripped over your own feet when your eyes landed on him.

He was standing behind you, looking at you with a gorgeous and mischievous smile on his lips, his hands shoved in the pockets of his suit. He exuded confidence from every pore of his body and you couldn’t even explain how you managed to get that man. He was so charming, so dreamy and insanely hot, he completely took your breath away.

My husband.

Wow. How the hell did I get so lucky?

You smiled at him and the friend you were dancing with raised her hands in surrender. “She’s all yours Halstead but treat her right or I’ll kill you.”

His eyes traveled down your body, running his tongue over his bottom lip after biting it as his gaze devoured you with so much intensity and desire that every cell in your body lit up on fire. “She’s in excellent hands Clara, don't worry.”

“Ugh you’re disgusting. Stop eye-fucking my friend in front of me.”

You laughed as he wrapped an arm around your waist, now looking at Clara. “Can you blame me? C’mon look at her.”

“I’m still here and I can here you, you know,” you intervened, giggling as your arm encircled his hips too.

“I'm watching you Halstead, just remember that,” she warned him with an amused look and pointing her finger at him before walking away and going to grab another drink.

Jay then let you go and turned your body to his, holding out a hand towards you, finally meeting your gaze again. “Would you give me the honor of this dance, Mrs Halstead?”.

The way that name slipped from his lips made you melt like a snowman under the heat of the sun's rays, God how much you loved the way it sounded.

Mrs Halstead. Fuck me.

“The honor is all mine Mr. Halstead,” You grabbed his hand and before you knew it you were already pressed against his chest while his arms wrapped again around your hips possessively, almost as if he was afraid to let you go.

“My gorgeous wife” he whispered while swaying to the rhythm of the music. A rush of shivers ran down your spine forming goosebumps all over your skin. “Do you have any idea how much you drive me crazy? I’m so obsessed with you baby.”

His lips left small, sweet kisses on your lips, making you have a hard time to respond. You giggled as his beard tickled you meanwhile he planted chaste kisses along your cheek and neck. He inhaled your scent deeply, a scent he’d never could live without.

“And I’m so obsessed with you.” You wrapped your arms around his neck as his hands slid down the small of your back, resting chastely on your ass. “You make me so insanely happy Mr Halstead.”

Anyone who saw you two would say you were just a beautiful couple dancing happily on the best day of their lives.

But the things Jay was whispering in your ear were far from innocent, they would’ve made even a porn star blush.

“God I can't wait to take this dress off you,” he had said as your bodies moved in time to the music. He had turned you around, pressing your back against his chest and wrapping his arms around your waist. There was a lively song playing at the moment, the bass so loud you could hear it across the room and you couldn't deny you were grinding against him more sensually than you would other times on purpose.

You couldn't control yourself, not when it came to him.

Jay had the ability to make you give in with just two simple words whispered in your ear. Normally you couldn't keep your hands to yourself for a long time, your sexual chemistry had always been high and this moment was no different. You wanted him so badly you almost forgot you were on the dance floor celebrating your wedding.

You almost moaned when you felt his erection pressed against your ass, hard and sore, repressing the instinct to get on your knees and pull down his pants in front of everyone.

“Baby,” he murmured against your ear, leaving wet kisses on your neck. “God the things I would do to you now…”

Your stomach tightened in a vice as the heat in your lower abdomen continued to expand. “Tell me darling. What would you do to me now?” You replied in a question, pressing your ass further against his dick.

God I hope no one notices.

Jay let out a sigh that went straight to your pussy, making your legs clench in desire. “Fuck please stop, I can't take this anymore,” his arms tightened around your hips even more, as if trying to let out the frustration. He felt like he was exploding and the more you kept grinding against him, so sensually to the music’s rhythm, the more he wanted to rip your dress off and fuck you in front of all the guests.

You turned towards him again, placing your hands on his chest and caressing him slowly and sensually while batting your eyelashes seductively as you looked at him.

Jay thought he’d come in his pants just from the way you were looking at him.

His eyes were now hungrily fixed on your lips, which he wanted so desperately wrapped around his hard dick.

“So?” You urged with a smirk on your lipstick-covered lips. “What would you do to me baby?”.

Jay placed his hands on your face, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. “You really want to know what I would do to my wife right now?”.

You were so desperate you nodded as if you were possessed, God, you would’ve done anything that man asked you. That man that was now your husband.

It's so surreal.

He licked his lips as his eyes moved up and down your body for a moment, quickly but at the same time imprinting every detail of how that dress looked on you in his memory, before returning his eyes to your face and tracing with them the outline of your lips.

“It would be better if I showed her, don't you think?” he whispered against your lips, making you forget again you were in public and not just the two of you.

“Wouldn't it be better if I just showed her the way I would take off her dress and get on my knees for her? Wouldn't it be better if I showed her how much I want and desire her by licking her pussy and every bit and drop of her wetness until her legs tremble? By fucking her so hard until we both forget our names? By being buried so deep inside that sweet little cunt of hers that she’s gonna feel me for days?”.

He pressed his lips on yours in a chaste and sweet kiss, in stark contrast with the things he was saying to you. “And show her how hard I am inside my pants just by looking at her in this dress? Show her how happy I am that she’s my wife? That I get to keep her forever?”.

That's it.

You slightly pulled away from him and grabbed his hand before leading him away from the dance floor and out of the wedding reception, not caring if someone actually saw you two leave. Your free hand held the edge of your dress as the two of you walked down the hall. He followed you like a puppy, a stupid, inebriated smile on his lips, his body quivering with anticipation and frenzy.

You arrived in front of a door that marked ‘storage room’ on its nameplate and looked around noticing that no one was there. You opened the door and pulled Jay inside with you and before you could even fully turn towards him, his hands were already on your face and his lips had captured yours in a kiss that took the breath out of your lungs.

He closed the door with his feet as he devoured you in a passionate and devastating kiss. Never letting you go, he removed one hand from your face before locking the door, returning his full attention to you immediately after.

He didn't know why but that was one of the most beautiful and breathtaking kiss you had ever exchanged, so overwhelming it made his knees weak and his stomach twist.

It may have been the fact that was the first real and passionate kiss as a married couple, maybe it was because he could finally call you his wife, because he could do this for the rest of his life, but all of this drove him like crazy.

“God I want you so much baby,” you breathed out in a little moment of separation. He didn't give you room to do or say anything else because he started kissing you again so intensely that a hit train would’ve been less crushing.

You slightly parted your lips and his tongue slid in your mouth without hesitation as they moved in sync against each other. Your dragged your hands along his chest, touching every bit of his body you could reach, almost shaking from the frenzy and desire of wanting to touch his heated skin.

A deep moan vibrated in his throat when you sucked on his tongue, making him lose that shred of sanity he had left. He pushed you against the wall, his body pressed against yours as he continued to kiss you passionately and greedily.

“You'll be the death of me,” he murmured against your lips as he planted kisses up your jaw and down to your neck. His tongue wet your skin as he nibbled it, his lips sucking at the same time making you gasp and writhe in pleasure. “I want to fucking rip this dress off you.”

You giggled – since the feeling was pretty much reciprocated – eyes still half closed as you enjoyed the sensation his lips gave you. “Don't you dare, it was expensive as fuck.”

He suddenly pulled away from you and a cold feeling took over you at that distance. His eyes traveled down your body and how your wedding dress hugged every single curve perfectly, fuck, it felt like it had been sculpted on you, like it was made just for you to wear.

He just wanted to take a good look at you, imprint in his memory every single detail of you in your white wedding dress.

But the way he looked at you, God. He was like a predator about to haunt his prey, glaring at it with desire, ready to capture it and devour its flesh with voracity and hunger. You felt so beautiful, like you could rule the world, like you were unstoppable, and you could only thank your husband for that.

“Fuck baby…” His chest rising and falling heavily due to that ardent kiss. He bit his bottom lip so hard he thought it’d start bleeding. He shook his head slightly as he continued to look at you lustfully, as if he could hardly believe you really existed, that you were actually his. “My beautiful, perfect wife…” He sighed. “I could just come from looking at you damn it.”

You pulled him back to you by the collar of his jacket and had to use all the strength you had in your body not to tear it off him along with that shirt. You kissed him again as your hands roamed down his body. You just couldn't take it anymore, you felt you’d explode soon or later if you didn't have him immediately.

You slipped his jacket off his shoulders, dropping it to the floor and hastily unbuttoned his shirt, eager to finally touch him, feel his skin against yours.

He did the same, unzipping your dress and you pulled away as he helped you step out of it. You didn't care if it got dirty or even ripped, you were just eager to finally have him, to feel him, your mind too foggy to think about anything other than Jay. But he took your dress instead of dropping it on the floor and placed it on an empty chair there.

This gesture made you smile with happiness and with every passing second you couldn't help but think about how you couldn't have chosen a better man to be your husband.

It was only then that Jay realized what you were wearing underneath your wedding dress, that vision alone almost making him fall unconscious on the floor. You were wearing one of the sexiest and most breathtaking white lingerie he had ever seen you wear and this made him regret not dragging you out that dance floor sooner.

My fucking wife.

“Baby… Jesus Christ…” he sighed heavily as he looked at you with so much lust and hunger, his mouth and his eyes wide open. “You… Wow… You’re so fucking beautiful… Holy shit…”

“I guess you like it then,” you giggled like a schoolgirl and grabbed his hands, pulling him back to you. He wasted no time touching you, caressing your curves and sliding his hand down your back until he grabbed your ass. He squeezed and massaged it with so much passion you were sure he’d leave some marks.

“Is this what you were hiding from me under that dress? Fuck if I had known I would’ve fucked you on that damn dance floor in front of everyone.” He started to grind his pelvis with yours and making you moan when his hard dick pressed against your intimacy.

“Jay please…” you sighed as he continued to grind against you, making you lose your mind. God you wanted him so much you it hurt.

His lips kept brushing his lips against yours, pulling back when you tried to kiss him and chuckling at your frustration.

“My sweet beautiful wife,” he murmured and placed his lips on your neck, on that particular spot that he knew made you lose your mind. A small moan left your mouth as he began to lick and suck at your skin again and you tilted your head, giving him more access. “I can't wait to be inside you.”

You grabbed his face and pressed your mouth on his, kissing him voraciously and passionately. It was like you were burning inside, as if your soul was trying to escape from inside your body and merge with his.

You had reached the point where you couldn't hold on for a second longer, you wanted your husband, you wanted him to take you there against those cold walls while all the guests danced in the wedding reception unaware of what you were doing.

You frantically unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down along with his boxers and freeing his hard erection, after sliding his shirt down his arms and leaving him naked in all his glory. You wrapped your hand around his erected dick and he let out a throaty moan, so fucking sexy you found yourself squeezing your legs together for some relief.

“Fuck yes…” he groaned as he struggled to continue kissing you while your hand pumped up and down on his dick. “I want to fuck this pretty mouth so bad,” he placed a hand on your cheek as his thumb caressed your lips. You took it into your mouth, licking and sucking it while your eyes were fixed on his.

He stopped when another loud moan left his mouth and he tilted his head back, his mind too clouded with pleasure. “Shh… You don’t want anyone to hear us don’t you love?” You smirked as you let go of his thumb.

“I don't give a fuck, I just need you,” he whimpered in an increasingly desperate tone.

“Yeah? How bad do you need me baby? Tell me,” you whispered sensually, biting his bottom lip as you slowed the pace of your hand and earning a frustrated verse from him.

“Fuck… Stop playing with me,” he warned you while at the same time his hips buckled up to meet your hand’s motion. You drew imaginary circles on his tip with your thumb, wet from the stain of precum. “Fucking tease,” he hissed before kissing you again. It was a sloppy and messy kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth, your saliva mixing with each other.

“Now get on your knees.”

Your pussy clenched at the sound of those words and you were never so happy to obey. You were about to kneel down but before you could, he picked up his jacket from the ground and placed it in front of you, making you smile like an idiot.

If there was one thing that Jay cared about more than anything it was knowing that you were comfortable, everything else came second and this was one of the many things you loved about him: how thoughtful and caring he was, even at certain times you always came first.

“I love you so much, you know that?” You kissed him sweetly, making him smile.

“It’ll be better for you since I put a ring on that finger.” He chuckled. “And I love you so much more.”

Your heart exploded in your chest and you kissed him one last time before kneeling down, your eyes still in his as he watched with attention every little movement you made.

You jerked him off again before moving your face closer to his dick, sticking your tongue out and he almost fainted… Fuck, he wanted to take a picture of that moment so badly, he would’ve printed it out and hung it all over your home because that vision alone was pure heaven.

Maybe it wasn't a proper thing to do to compare the image of you with his dick in your hand and your tongue sticking out to heaven, but he was too distracted to think about it.

A deep, guttural moan escaped his mouth as you traced a long wet line with your tongue from the base of his dick to the tip, which went straight to his pussy, forcing you to squeeze your legs together again.

“Ah holy shit…” he sighed, breaking off with another moan when you drew circles on his tip with your tongue just as you had done with your thumb not long before, tasting the saltiness of the leaking precum. “Fuck baby please stop torturing me…”

You smirked before wrapping your lips around his veiny dick and taking it fully into your mouth, starting a steady rhythm as you bobbed your head up and down his shaft.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whimpered in pleasure as the heat of your mouth enveloped him. His eyes were half closed, his lips slightly parted as he struggled to maintain control and not make any noises. But it was so fucking hard, especially when your eyes were looking at him with so much sensuality they took the air out of his chest, not when your mouth was making him more ecstatic than any drug that existed.

“Yeah baby just like that… Oh yes… My sweet girl…”

He threw his head back, giving you a perfect view of his neck, his prominent jawline and veins and that alone was one of the hottest, sexiest things you had ever seen in your entire life.

His moans filled that little storage room and you hoped for a second no one was passing by or they would’ve surely heard him, but this thought immediately vanished, too caught up to his pleasure to care about the rest of the world.

Jay began to move his hips, fucking your mouth and hitting the back of your throat with the tip of his dick. “Shit, shit…” he loudly moaned “God you’re so fucking pretty with my dick in your mouth.”

And it was true.

You were so breathtakingly beautiful. Especially with your watery eyes, the mascara running down your cheeks, your lips swollen and pink as they continued to grind on his shaft, back and forth, again and again.

You tried not to gag while he continued to fuck your throat with particular voracity but it was almost impossible, just as it was becoming difficult to breathe as his dick kept completely filling your mouth.

“Y-yes baby… Oh fuck… That mouth of yours will be the death of me.”

Even though you were the one on your knees, you felt so powerful. Damn it, how much you loved knowing you were the only one who could make him feel this way, that you were the only one whose mouth he could fuck so mercilessly it almost made you choke on his dick, knowing that his moans, his sighs and whimpers were only and solely for you, knowing that it was only you who was making him lose his mind so badly.

He placed a hand on your head, threading his fingers into your styled hair, tugging and making you moan onto his dick. God you loved it when he did that, and he knew it.

Sensing you were having trouble breathing, Jay pulled his dick out of your mouth, taking it into his hand. “Stick out your tongue.”

You did as he said, feeling every cell in your body go up in flames.

“Such a good girl. My baby is so good for me."

He smirked as he began to slam his dick against your tongue which left a long stream of saliva on it, his other hand still in your hair as he continued to maneuver your head to his liking.

“You like that huh? You like being my pretty little slut?”.

“Fuck yes baby, please use me.”

He put his dick in your mouth again, letting out some of the most borderline pornographic moans you’ve ever heard along with strings of obscenities and profanities.

“My wife is so dirty… Oh god yeah… She likes being dirty for me?” He groaned and you managed to nod while looking at me through your lashes. It didn't take long for him to feel the orgasm starting to build inside him and he had to stop, not being able to hold on any longer.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck stop baby, you're gonna make me come,” he panted as if he'd run a marathon, stepping back and letting his dick pop out of your mouth. “I… Fuck, I need to be inside you.”

Before you could say or do anything, he helped you get on your feet and pressed his lips to yours still swollen, wet and pink from the killer blowjob you had just given him. He pressed your back against the cold wall but you didn't care, you were too hot to notice.

A moan escaped your lips this time when he moved your lace panties to the side with his fingers and slid them over your pussy.

“Fuck… Baby, ah yeah…”

“So fucking wet god… You drive me insane, I can't wait to be inside this pussy,” he kissed your neck as his fingers drew imaginary circles on your clit giving you the pleasure you so much needed.

Your hips began to slowly rotate following the same movement he was doing, your mind clouded with pleasure as you felt yourself already on the verge of an orgasm. God you were so horny, you didn't think you'd ever been this eager to fuck him.

“Look at that, fuck me, you're soaking my hands baby…”

“Bab-… Fuck yes… Please…” you babbled senselessly, struggling to keep at bay the moans and sighs that had taken the place of Jay's and were filling the storage room at that moment. “I… I can't…”

You wrapped an arm around his neck while grabbing his bicep with the other hand, trying to find some support because you felt like you’d collapse on the floor at any moment.

Your lips nibbled and sucked the skin of his neck making him sigh in your ear, on one hand to keep your almost uncontainable moans and on the other because you wanted to mark him, because you loved seeing what you did to him, you loved knowing he has only yours.

“Ah yeah… Fuck…” you hissed, biting down on his skin when he penetrated you with two fingers.

“Yes baby, fuck yourself on my fingers. Show me how much you like when your husband touches you like that.”

“J-Jay… Oh shit… I need you please…” you managed to stammer between moans. You felt like you were about to come but you needed to feel him, you needed his dick inside you.

Jay pulled his fingers out and you almost had a heart attack when he brought them to his lips. Without his eyes ever leaving yours, he licked away every trace of your fluids, humming with pleasure as he tasted you.

“You taste like heaven, I can't wait to lick every fucking drop and make you come on my face.”

“Jay I'm about to lose my goddamn mind. Please hurry up.”

He chuckled and brought his hands to your ass, pressing your half covered pussy by your panties still pulled aside against his dick, making both of you sigh with desire.

“What do you want baby? Tell me.”

You grabbed his face with your hands, pressing your mouth against his and sliding your tongue inside his when he slightly parted his lips. His hands continued to massage your now red ass, pressing his fingers hard as you kept grinding against each other.

“I want my husband to fuck me against this wall,” you whispered against his lips, pink and swollen from your impetuous kisses, your noses brushing.

My husband.

These simple words made him feel a sensation he couldn’t quite describe, an explosion of emotions that caused an electric shock to go through his entire body, which made his heart beat wildly and his legs feel like jelly.

It was pure melody.

It was so sweet and sexy at the same time, it made him was so happy he felt like he was touching the sky with a finger. He was your fucking husband and he couldn’t still fathom the idea he really managed to make you his wife.

Jay crashed his lips against yours again, sucking out that little trace of your soul you still had left in your body. He was eager to possess you, to feel you, to show you how much he loved and wanted you.

His hands lowered to your thighs and you took that as a sign to jump into his arms. With almost astonishing ease, he lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck.

Your back was pressed against the cold wall but it didn't bother you, you couldn't even feel it. With one hand he held your thigh, while the other stroked his dick a couple of times before aligning it towards your entrance, penetrating you with a single slow thrust and making both of you to let out a loud and deep moan.

“Jesus Christ, fuck…” he moaned, using every ounce of his will and strength not to come instantly. His other hand settled on your thigh again and his fingers pressed so hard they felt like they were going to tear your skin at any moment.

Jay had his face buried in the crook of your neck, his lips wide open as if trying to get some air, his breathing quickened.

“Shit baby you feel so good inside me,” you breathed out as his dick stretched out every corner of your vagina. He wasn't even moving and you were already falling apart. “Please move…”

Jay pulled out of you slightly just to penetrate you again, this time with more force. He started moving his hips slowly, in and out of you, making you crave for more. But it didn't take long for him to start fucking you like his life depended on it, his thrusts now stronger.

He was thrusting so deep you could feel him in every corner of your body and a piece of you disintegrating with each passing second. Your arms held him close to you, your fingers on his shoulders while your nails slid across his skin, leaving marks that would probably stay there for days.

“God baby I can't get enough of you, f-fuck…” he groaned in your ear as his lips left trails of wet kisses on your neck and his tongue licked your sweaty skin.

You tried to answer but the pleasure was so intense, so high you couldn’t get anything out of your mouth other than a moan or a whimper. It felt so fucking good you couldn't even describe it.

A particularly loud moan escaped your lips as he gave a particular deep thrust, making you almost jump out of your skin as he hit your G-spot. “Oh my fucking god… Just like that… Oh yeah baby…”

“That's it, moan for for me princess. You’re being so good.”

He raised his head from the crook of your neck so he could look at you. You opened your eyes and met his eyes shining with luxury and passion, his pupils so dilated you couldn’t see the green of his irises.

His dick twitched inside you as he continued to fuck you against the wall mercilessly, and seeing you so deeply in the throes of pleasure, your mouth slightly open, your cheeks flushed, your eyes half closed… He was going crazy.

You kept looking at each other’s eyes, extending the deep connection between you two to another level. It wasn’t just your bodies that were fucking, but your souls too and you would’ve payed gold to stop the time and live this moment over and over again, forever.

“I love you so much baby, God I love you.”

“Fuck.” He crashed his lips into yours in a messy and sloppy kiss due to the continuous gasps interrupting you. You rested your forehead on his, both covered in a thin layer of sweat.

“Mine.”

He kissed you as his dick soaked with your fluids continued to thrust in and out of your pussy.

“Mine.”

He kissed you again.

“Mine.”

He kissed you once again, sucking and biting your lower lip but stopped by another moan as your walls clenched around him making him struggle to even stand still.

“God… Oh yes baby keep going… Please…” you spluttered and closed your eyes as you felt your orgasm take over you.

“Don't close your eyes, please look at me… Ah Jesus… Fuck yeah keep clenching around me like that, you’re such a good girl for me baby.”

You did as he said as you placed your hands on his face looking into his eyes and feeling that sensation of pressure twisting and clenching your insides.

“I love you, fuck… S-so much…” you cried out again now, your mind completely gone. Your eyes started to water from the intensity of his thrusts and you felt like you were going to implode in that same instant. “I'm coming, I'm coming, I’m coming please don’t stop…”

A loud moan escaped your lips as an overwhelming orgasm hit you like a truck, almost giving you a heart attack. Your arms encircled his neck again, your nails scratching the skin of his shoulders.

You didn't know if you could die from an orgasm but damn that was exactly how you felt. It was like someone made you fall from a ten-story building without a parachute.

Jay exploded in an orgasm after a few more thrusts, filling your pussy with his cum until the last drop before pulling out. He exhaustedly rested his head on your shoulder leaving small, sweet kisses on your neck.

The silence that now reigned in the storage room was only broken by your panting while you both tried to catch your breath as if you had just run a marathon.

You felt so good in that moment, like your body was floating in space and you didn't know if it was the thrill of being discovered, if it was the wedding, but that was the best sex you had ever had.

“God I can't feel my body anymore,” you murmured and he chuckled as you stroked the hair on the back of his head, leaving kisses on his cheek in the meantime.

That little room smelled of him, you and sex and you had never smelled a more sublime fragrance.

“Can we stay here forever?”.

“I'm afraid we still have a party to attend,” he tiredly chuckled again. Jay raised his head to look at you, a stupid smile on his lips, his heart happy. “Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you are angel?”.

You smiled and gave him a kiss on the lips, this time sweet and gentle in contrast to the ones exchanged so far. “And you're a flatterer Mr Halstead, I know I look awful right now, my makeup is all ruined.”

“You’ve never been more beautiful than you are now Mrs Halstead. You look like you've been fucked properly.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, already starting to imagine the jokes and teasing your friends would make as soon as they’d see you, not to mention the embarrassment in front of your relatives and family.

You decided you’d think about this at the right time.

After both of your regained a bit of strength again, Jay carefully put you down but wrapping an arm around your waist when your knees buckled and you nearly fell to the ground.

“Wipe that stupid grin off your face,” you commented with mock annoyance when you noticed the smug, proud expression he was looking at you with and the way he was trying not to chuckle.

“I take full credit,” he laughed and before you could respond he silenced you with a kiss, making you forget what you even wanted to say.

After getting dressed, Jay helped you put your wedding dress back on, zipping it up your back and helping you fix your hair and what was left of your makeup as much as he could. He left a kiss on your right shoulder as his hands stroked up and down your arms. “I don't want to go back there.”

He kept planting kisses on your shoulder and up towards the crook of your neck and your jaw until he reached your cheek which he insisted on, making you smile stupidly. His arms wrapped around your hips from behind, pressing your body against him and holding you until you were almost breathless.

“Where did the ‘we have a party to attend’ go?” You teased him, meanwhile placing your hands on his and caressing them.

“I want you all to myself, I'm not ready to share you with other people again, plus now I want to fuck you again.”

You laughed, feeling your cheeks heat up. “Already?“.

“Already? Baby I would spend twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week buried deep inside you, don't act like you don't know me c'mon.” He kissed you again. “And above all seeing my cum dripping out of you and this damn lingerie drives me crazy, you can’t seriously expect me to resist you.”

You turned to him and cupped his face in your hands before pressing your lips against his as his arms encircled your hips again. A flock of butterflies exploded inside your stomach and he kissed you breathtakingly, making you lose the ground beneath your feet.

“I love you so much,” you whispered between kisses, forgetting again that the two of you had been locked in that storage room for God knew how long. “I'm so happy I married you.”

He smiled as you kissed him again, almost making you kiss his teeth. He’d never get tired of hearing it, no matter how much you had said it. “God baby I love you so much more.” He held you even tighter, as if he wanted to somehow get under your skin and steal your soul, which he had actually been doing for so long.

“My wife, my wife, my wife,” he continued to whisper, stealing several more kisses from you, kisses that he actually couldn't even manage to give you because of the way you couldn't stop smiling.

“You make my heart so happy.”

“Stop you're going to make me cry,” you hit him lightly on the shoulder covered by his jacket, feeling your eyes fill with tears.

God, could you love someone so much it hurt? Because that's how you felt.

You loved that man so much. So intensely you couldn't sleep when he wasn't there, so much you missed him even when he was just a few meters away from you, so deeply you couldn't imagine a life without him since the moment you met him.

You had always dreamed of an everlasting love, the kind that took your breath away just by thinking of it, that fairytale love, that love you had always read in novels and seen in films and Jay Halstead gave you all this and much more than you ever imagined or deserved.

He was peace.

He was home.

He was everything you had ever wanted and more.

Jay took your hands in his, bringing them to his lips and leaving a kiss on both of them, focusing in particular on your ring finger. His eyes shone like the ring’s stone at that moment and you looked at them mesmerized, thinking about how lucky you were to be able to do this all your life.

“We should go back there…” you murmured in a low voice, already sad for having to break that little bubble in which you took refuge even if not for a long time.

He snorted like a child but nodded. “I can't wait to have you all for myself.”

He intertwined his fingers with yours before unlocking the door and peeking out for a moment to see if anyone was nearby.

“Shit,” he muttered, immediately closing the door again when he saw a waiter walking down the hall holding an empty tray.

You let out a laugh when you saw his expression and he covered your mouth with his hand. “Shh, they'll hear us.”

“Baby we were fucking against the wall ten minutes ago, I'd say we're a little late for that don’t you think?” you whispered back, taking his hand away and looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

He playfully rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah whatever. Now kiss me.”

Before you could say anything he pulled you towards him by your hips, pressing his lips on yours. His body was pressed against the door and yours against his, your arms around his neck and his around your waist as his hands slid on your ass while you made out like teenagers hiding from your own parents.

“I'll never get tired of kissing you, it'll never be enough,” he whispered against your lips, nibbling and sucking your lower lip, making you sigh.

“I know what you're doing, stop it. Until proven otherwise it's still our wedding and we have to celebrate it,” you admonished him, dropping your hands to his chest and slightly pushing yourself away from him. You got a sound of disappointment in response, just what a child would do.

“You know what’s a great way to celebrate? Having sex. C'mon baby, come here.” He tried to put his hands on your hips again but you took a step back, crossing your arms over your chest in mock disappointment.

“We have a whole life to have wild sex. You don’t want to celebrate your wedding with your wife?”.

“Drop the act baby, I’m not falling for it,” he boop your nose with his index finger, a gesture that immediately made you smile even though you tried so hard to hold it back. “Of course I want to celebrate with you, that's not what I meant. This is the best day of my life.”

He chuckled before grabbing your hand and moving away from the door. He opened it again and like a few moments before, he checked no one was coming. When he realized that no one was passing by at that moment, you both left the storage room and he closed the door behind you.

You both smoothed your dress even though it was totally useless, anyone from a mile away could tell you had some hot sex just some moments before.

But you didn't care, it was your day, yours and Jay's and damn, you were free to do whatever you wanted even if it meant sneaking out of your own party to have sex in a storage room.

Okay, it wasn't a very proper thing to do but what could you say, all couples consummated their marriage on their wedding night, you and Jay had just rushed things along.

So you walked hand in hand with your fingers intertwined towards the wedding reception, both of you with a stupid and joyful smile on your faces and happy as you had never been, ready to get drunk and finally start your life together.

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[kiwisbell]

Larks and Katydids [dave york]

There's something sweet about you that keeps him coming back to this little diner. You do not know the dark corners of the world he lives in. But you will.

my masterlist!

pairing: dave york x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: dom/sub dynamic, age gap (20s/40s), blood, violence, murder, soft!dave, dom!dave, stalker!dave, but in a cute way, it's for your own good, obsession, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected sex (wrapping before tapping etc.), brief orgasm denial, submissive reader, dave is a bamf, protective!dave, possessive!dave, dave is nice but only to you, shirley jackson references, fingering, creampie, daddy kink, sweet girl being a dave york staple, kidnapping, implied innocence kink

word count: ~ 14.7k

a/n: y'know what.. now that i'm looking back it.. this fic kinda gives red light and now i'm wondering if i might need some serious introspection for writing shit like this. anyway ☠️ some of you know may already be aware that my earlier fics were inspired by hozier songs. this one was somewhat of an ode to nfwmb, but that may just be because i listened to it non-stop while writing. anyway, if you haven't already read this one-shot, please enjoy!! xoxo

LARKS AND KATYDIDS

His eyes keep drifting toward the sweet, pretty thing behind the counter. 

Dave has instincts. Good ones. For one, he knows that the idiot sitting across from him is not the type of client he wants to make a deal with. Senator Isaiah Berkeley may have the means and motive to kill his cheating wife, but Dave’s instincts prickle up the back of his neck. Berkeley is flighty, nervous, visibly sweating at the brow. He’ll be a liability. Some men are not built for the jagged edges of this life. The man still wears his wedding ring, for fuck’s sake. He’d regret hiring Dave the second he found his wife’s body after a fall down the stairs.

Dave never doubts his instincts. Now, they sink their claws into his eyes until he cannot help but flick them toward your pretty face. Jesus, you’re pretty. This diner is a hole in the wall, a red-and-white and black-checkered-floor retro nightmare that smells vaguely of syrup, and he’s surprised the staff aren’t wearing fucking rollerskates to deliver the food. But the coffee is good, and the food is real, and there’s not another soul here. Except for you.

He likes the simple black shirt and skirt you wear, and he likes the way you roll up your apron to make it fit the curves of your body. He likes the shape of your mouth, the gentle touch to your eyes, the way you beamed at him when they entered the diner. Best seat in the house, you said when you sat them in the corner. Dave tasted honey when he tried your name out loud and took his order: two coffees, black. You smiled, like you could have guessed, and said, Be right up. You don’t carry a notepad. It makes him like you more: you’re clever. You remember things. 

You’re standing behind the counter and reading a book, your chin in your palm, and he’s fascinated by the speed of your eyes across the pages. He understands why you’re so quick when a gruff male voice erupts from the kitchen, calling a name that must be yours. “Get back to work,” he snaps. 

You scramble to hold your place in the book and scurry around the counter to check up on your only two customers. As if you hadn’t been so good, so attentive. You’re good. He knows it. You should be treated like it. Dave’s fingers twitch, like he can swipe at the faint frown that furrows your brow. Fuck, you’re adorable, even flustered, especially flustered. 

“How you folks doing?” you ask, that sweet smile a poison that festers in his blood. “Sure I can’t get you anything else?”

“No,” says Berkeley shortly, not meeting your eye. Could he be any more conspicuous?

Dave, rubbing his fingertips over his bottom lip, doesn’t want to leave it at that. “What are you reading?” he asks.

You blink as if you’ve never heard the question before, but you don’t ask him to repeat himself. He likes that, too. “Oh,” you say, and it sounds like a trembling sigh of excitement. Dave feels himself swell up a little with pride. “It’s called We Have Always Lived in the Castle.”

He hums. “Jackson.”

He likes being the one who dropped that sparkle into your eyes. “You like her?”

“I know her,” he says. Across from him, Berkeley’s fingers are white-knuckling the handle of his coffee mug. He’s staring into the dregs like he expects them to tell him his fortune. “Don’t have a lot of time for reading nowadays. Do you like it?”

You nod eagerly, and he doesn’t think he’s imagining the way you lean toward him slightly, as if frantic to answer his question. “I’m reading it for a literature course I’m taking. I think she’s one of my favourites now. But I really shouldn’t have my nose in a book at work.”

Oh. You’re young. You’re young, still in college, and you’re goddamn smart. The interest stirring in his pants mirrors that in his head. 

“Our secret,” says Dave. “I’ll have more coffee, please, honey.”

He certainly does not imagine the way you bite your lip to suppress your grin and hurry off for the coffee pot, a little mouse. You like to please. He doesn’t need more coffee; he and Berkeley are almost done, whether he knows it or not. 

“I can’t take your contract, Senator,” says Dave, still watching your perky ass as you walk away. “You’ll have to find somebody else.”

Berkeley’s mouth opens in preparation for what Dave presumes will be a flurry of feeble threats and reassurances that I can pay you well, but Dave slips out of the booth and walks away—not before slapping down a couple bills that will cover the cost of their coffees. 

He should go back into town, sleep, and get Kovac to reach out to some more potential clients. But he wants to linger for a bit, hang around, see why his instincts are pushing him toward you, you pretty young thing with a smile that dims all other light. You’re on your way back to their table, holding the coffee pot, and nearly bump into him in your rush. “Oh!”

Dave steadies you with a firm grip around your elbow and doesn’t let go. Your skin is soft, prickled with goosebumps. 

You bow your head in instant submission, instant apology, and he tilts his head to the side. He makes you nervous. “Could’ve hurt yourself,” he says softly. 

“I’m sorry. Guess I was excited.” Your eyes flicker up toward him, and he forces them to stay there when he lifts your chin with his finger. 

“Exceptional customer service,” says Dave. Your laugh is breathless. “I was just leaving. Don’t worry about that second cup, sweetheart.” He drops his hand only to dig out a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and place it in your palm. “Wrong Jackson, I know.”

Your eyes widen at it. “This is way more than your coffee.”

Dave lifts his brow. “You want me to put it in your pocket myself?”

You slowly pocket the bill. “Thank you,” you tell him. It’s strong and clear, and he likes the way it sounds coming from your mouth. 

“I was in college once,” he says good-naturedly. “In ancient times. I know the costs.”

Your laugh, your real laugh, is the chimes of dawn. You’re so bright. You’re the sun slowly painting the sky orange as it rises. “I’ll be done in a few months.”

“Yeah?” Dave frowns. “What’ll you do after?”

You shrug one shoulder. Your other arm is still burdened with holding up the coffee pot. “Hopefully, get as far away from here as I can.”

“Your parents suffocating you?” He’s good at digging, at unearthing treasures with only words; he shouldn’t have to be, in this line of work, but he likes to know things. Likes the control that comes with being prepared for anything, everything. 

“They’re dead,” you tell him. It’s plain, colourless, and Dave’s curiosity deepens. “I live with my uncle.”

There it is. 

Everybody has a trigger. People are like guns. They are predictable, but if you handle them wrong, they’ll jam. He catches the way your eyes shutter at the mention of your uncle, the way your shoulders round slightly, even though that brilliant smile is still on your face. Dave doesn’t like it. 

“Does he treat you good?”

Your slow blink is trancelike. “He’s family,” you say simply, and Dave knows that’s the answer you give every time the man doesn’t treat you so good. 

He grinds his teeth a little bit, an old habit from his smoking days. “Well, I hope you get the hell out of dodge,” he says. 

“Please come again,” you say. “God knows I’ll still be here.”

Oh, he’ll come again. In fact, he decides, he may not even leave.

~

Dave follows you home. 

It’s a short drive once you pull your beat-up Cooper off the highway and enter a little courtyard surrounded by dilapidated apartments. He knows the area. And he knows it’s not safe. Dave turns off his headlights and idles in the hazard zone, watching as you exit your car and rush to the front door with your purse clutched to your chest. He shakes his head, clicks his tongue to himself. Scared little bird, too pretty to live in a place like this.

He waits a little longer. Eventually, he sees you—he knows it’s you, even five storeys up, from the length of your hair and the way it moves—shuck the curtains open. It’s a small window of orange glowing light in the darkness, but he can see you. A man—your uncle—approaches the window, too, lifting the pane and blowing a cloud of smoke outside. Dave rolls down his window and strains his ear. It’s useless; he can’t hear a thing. And yet, he waits. 

He doesn’t know what he waits for. Maybe he’s expecting him to hit you, to lash out, to do something. Something that would let Dave scratch the itch in his knuckles. Instead, he’s only waiting, until your uncle tosses his cigarette out the window and latches it shut. He is evicted from your world for tonight. But he will not go quietly.

It begins with a phone call. Ari. Need you to track someone down for me. 

Your uncle’s name is Jason. He doesn’t share your last name, having been a half-brother to your father, but it’s him. Felony charges: breaking and entering, assault, possession. Run-of-the-mill, except it isn’t, because the fucker lives with you. As far as Dave has been able to dig up, you’ve never reported a word against him, but it seems you like to stay away most of the time, anyway.

Oh, yes. Dave has been digging into you, too.

Senior in college, majoring in Environmental Science at Northeastern. Long-standing and passionate affair with nature. Event Coordinator for SAF (Students for a Future), where you’ve organised speaker panels with renowned climatologists and planted trees in Franklin Park. You write for the association’s newsletter. 

All of it makes Dave frown, rubbing at his brow, hunched over his desk under the light of a single lamp. You’re so good. You’re clever and optimistic and ambitious, and you deserve a hell of a lot better than living in that shithole and working such a lacklustre job. He looks at the picture that accompanies your file, pulled from your social media, and adjusts the hard length in his pants. You’re photographed in the sunlight, smiling bright, your hair loose and gently blown about in the breeze, wearing a skimpy little sundress. Dave hisses and squeezes himself at the base of his stiffening cock. Jesus, get it together, he scolds himself. It’s a fucking photograph. 

Oh, but he’s thinking about you. He’s remembering the tenderness of you, the kind heart, the way you belong nowhere near him. Your soul is snow-white. He will bloody it. 

You've had boyfriends. Of course you have. A young woman who looks like you doesn't go her whole life without boys clumsily tossing themselves at your feet. It doesn't mean Dave refrains from investigating them, too. Two of them were from high school, short-term, and went to different colleges to live different lives. The third—Jack—lasted a year and a half, and you met him in a first-year sciences course. Both of you were from different towns, fish out of water, and gravitated to one another because you had no other friends. None of your friends were surprised when you and Jack began dating, but they were surprised to discover he'd been cheating on you for the last two months of your relationship. 

Jack said you got busy and couldn't fulfil his needs. According to Dave’s thorough research, the girl he crawled to was his roommate's girlfriend. Dave grinds his teeth as he examines the kid’s picture. He's a fucking kid. He's clean-cut, a trust fund baby, never planted a tree in Franklin Park despite your attempts to convince him. He's never gotten his hands dirty the way Dave has. He's never bloodied them. 

Another sip of whiskey, and his cock won’t rest. Dave grunts, unzipping his pants and whipping his belt off, pulling himself out. “Fuck,” he hisses, eyes fixed on your smiling face as he spits into his hand and begins to stroke himself. “Fuck.”

His head tips back against the headrest of his office chair. You’re kneeling in front of him, your sweet doe’s eyes awaiting his instruction. He takes you through it, step-by-step, because he’s a bad man, but he’d be good to you. Your perfect lips wrap around his head, your tongue lapping up the precum that beads out, greedy but obedient. You take him deeper, choking around his length and his girth, your mascara smearing as he cups your face and encourages you to take me, you can take me, sweet girl. You do—of course you do—making a low, satisfied hum around his cock when you manage to take him down your throat, happily swallowing around him as he begins to pump his cum inside you. That’s it. That’s it, baby. 

Dave’s hips jerk as he comes, and splatters his cum across his stomach and his hand. Some of it, though, lands on the picture of you, which he does not remember picking up, clenching in his fist.

Is there a circle of hell darker than the one he’s already destined for?

Dave returns to the diner the next week, and your grin when you see him soaks through his bones. You nearly bruise your hips in your rush to get around the counter to greet him. 

“I loved it,” you tell him right away, “the Jackson book. I think I’m gonna write my paper on it.”

He likes that you want to tell him about your life. He likes that you trust him with the small details. He doesn't want you to trust another man like that. It's a dangerous world and being so trusting will burn you. He can't let that happen. Little bird, with your glass bones so breakable. 

He unwinds his arm from behind his back and offers his gift to you. Your eyes glimmer when you see it, then slide slowly up to meet his. “You brought me a book,” you gasp, “and I don’t even know your name yet.”

“It’s Dave,” he tells you, placing the book into your hand. “I looked her up. Thought you might be interested in more.”

“Dark Tales,” you read, beaming up at him with the same smile from the picture he’d jerked his cock over. Fucking Christ. He’s going to hell. You step closer to him and, tentatively, as if he might lash out at you, lift up onto your toes and kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you, Dave.”

He tries to quell the arousal that’s pumping blood double-time to his cock. He really tries. But he cannot quell the memory of your lips on his skin. Why should he deny himself the heavenly indulgence of your attention? 

“I expect a book report,” he says, all stern brows and unwavering eye contact. 

You hug the book to your chest and he wants to shove you to your knees, bend you over the counter, bury his face in your needy pussy. You say his name, and it’s a whispering shockwave that trembles all the way down his spine. “After such a thoughtful gift… I’ll do anything you want me to.”

Yes. Yes, he knows.

Dave knows what you need. He is what you need. 

You need a man who will treat you right. You need someone to handle you properly, assuredly. You need a man who will hold you like you’re precious, shimmering granules of a crushed diamond. You want to be told what to do. You want to be dominated, protected, fucked. You want to be wrecked, and you want it to put you back together. 

You need a man who will treat you right for the first time in your life. 

Dave continues to come into the diner once a week. He steals you away for conversation whenever you aren’t attending to your other customers, and he gets a tick in his jaw whenever you’re whisked away. Your very existence evicts reason from his head. He wants to give you all the money you could ever want just to get you away from those wandering eyes and too-close hands. He wants to come in every single night you work just so he can keep an eye out: your silent, deadly protector. He wants to slash all the tires that aren’t his so nobody can come here and invade his private time with you. He knows he cannot do any of this because it’s something close to clinically insane. 

Instead, he only talks to you. And really fucking enjoys it. 

“And then Kate broke up with Garrett, even though she still loves him, but once she realised it, she realised Emily was totally in love with Garrett, so by the time Kate went back to beg him to take her back, he was already in bed with Emily, and now none of them are talking. And I’m down three club members.”

You speed through all of this while pouring his coffee, and Dave tries to wrap his head around the plot. “So… what did Emily do wrong?”

You click your tongue. “You would fail a test on girl code, Mr. York. We don’t go after one another’s boyfriends, crushes, or exes. We definitely don’t fuck them.”

Dave vaguely shakes his head. “They didn’t teach me that in school, sweet girl.”

“Good thing you’ve got me, then,” you say, and Dave never gets tired of the way your cheeks flush at the nickname. “What did you study?”

“Never went to college. Joined up when I was eighteen.”

“Oh.” You’re flustered right away, opening your mouth to stumble over the words, “Thank you for—”

Dave silences you with a mere flick of his eyes upward. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew the shit I did.”

The quiet lingers heavy and stifling, but it’s you who breaks it. “So,” you try, clearing your throat, “what did you do after?”

“Apparently, I thought serving my country was the only way to go. I was C.I.A.” He notes the way you blink in astonishment, and he feels compelled to make you learn that he isn’t good. “Now, I own a security company.”

“Does that mean you protect people’s homes from break-ins, or people hire you to professionally break in?”

The twist of your lips is wicked and shoots right to his cock. Dave leans over the counter. “Wanna take a guess?”

“Sorry, Mr. York. Anyone that secretive about their job description is up to something shifty.” Your eyes still tease him. “And I don’t want to end up dead in a ditch somewhere. Bills to pay.”

“You know I’d keep you safe, sweet girl.”

You’re cleaning the counter with a rag and he’s sipping his coffee, but both of you are smiling behind your respective tasks. “I know,” you say, your eyes briefly meeting.

Every so often, he follows you to school. It’s nice: friendly, modern with natural touches, good to look at among the fall leaves that crunch underfoot. And there you are, walking down the steps, wearing a Northeastern sweatshirt, a pair of jeans, and sneakers, your hair loose. You're laughing at something your friend said; in fact, you seem to be surrounded by friends. Dave slips his sunglasses further down his nose as he leans back against the Lincoln. His popular butterfly, so happy and brilliant. 

He doesn't know how your eyes find him so quickly, but they meet across the courtyard. And a game begins. 

You stop in your tracks. Your friend puts a hand on your shoulder (“Are you okay?” he imagines she asks), and you nod, making up some excuse. Dave folds his arms over his chest and watches you continue your walk down the path, departing with all but one of your friends with friendly waves good-bye. 

He knows your class schedule, which means he knows you have to walk right by his parking spot to get to the building. You make it to the end of the path and your friend finally spots Dave. Oh my God, he sees her whisper. The rest is unintelligible, but he's smug as a motherfucker when you bite down on your lip to hide the grin that's tugging on your pretty mouth. And then your hand twitches, and something falls to the ground behind you. 

Dave smirks. Clever thing. He rushes to pick up the key ring while you and your friend keep walking. “Excuse me, miss,” he calls out. 

You turn around, all coy and demure, and he wants to drag you inside his car and sit you right on his cock to straighten out your behaviour. “You dropped your keys,” says Dave, lifting them up with a jingle. 

You feign a gasp. “Oh, thank you, sir.” You make sure to brush your fingers along his knuckles as you pluck the key ring from his hand. “You're a hero.”

Dave lifts his brows in acknowledgement, looking at you over his sunglasses. “I've heard those are good,” he says, eyes flicking down toward Dark Tales, bookmarked near the end and tucked under your arm. Behind you, your friend has her thumbnail in her mouth, enraptured in the conversation that's unfolding. 

He’ll have to rectify your lip-biting habit. “I got it as a present,” you tell him, your fingers tracing the title on the cover. You know exactly what you're doing, and the thrill of knowing you're attracted to him thrills Dave. 

“Very thoughtful,” he muses. “I’m sorry to keep you. You must have somewhere to be.”

“Thank you again.” You look up at him through your lashes and Dave feels his nostrils flare. Your friend tugs on your elbow and he can hear the vague whisper as you both retreat from him: … so hot. 

It's been a few months since he met you. He finds himself following you home and sleeping in his car outside your apartment more than in his own home. It irks him that he can't look inside and see that you're okay, knowing with absolute confidence that he hasn't hurt you. 

The night something goes wrong, you sense it long before he does. 

The diner is occupied by two other customers, one in the corner and the other by the door. Not unusual for this time. Dave approaches the counter and prepares to tease you about your incidental meeting yesterday. 

But you just smile politely at him and ask, “What can I get for you tonight?”

Dave frowns. “Sweet girl—”

“Coffee?” You pick up the pot and Dave starts at the way your hand trembles so badly the coffee spills over the rim of the cup. He wants to touch you, reach out and wrap his firm hand around your wrist, steady your nerves. Why are you so frightened? “I’m sorry,” you say shakily, scrambling for the rag under the counter. 

Dave’s instincts are never wrong. Something, or someone, has put you out of sorts. His blood reaches a simmer at the thought. His job is to protect you. He's supposed to keep you safe and happy. But your eyes are stricken with fear and your posture is stiff. The rag in your hand won't stop shaking. 

It’s the way your apron sits askew, like you've been anxiously twisting it, or it's the way you smile like he's a stranger and hand him something small, “a little something extra,” on the house. 

He unfurls his palm and finds a note. 

The man in the corner has a gun, it says. 

You don’t once stop smiling.

He doesn't recognise the man. He wears a leather jacket and jeans; there's a scar on his cheek and over the bridge of his nose, which is bent from one too many breaks; and he's looking right at Dave with a crooked smile on his face. He lifts a hand and waves. There's a tattoo on his wrist: the sigil of the Lukov Brotherhood. Dave dips his chin in greeting. Cordial. A farce. They both know it.

Dave takes a sip from his cup. “Spill coffee on me,” he says behind the rim, obscuring his mouth from the view of the man in the corner. 

You go to top up his drink and overshoot, staining the front of his white dress shirt. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” you squeak. 

Dave feigns a mild-mannered annoyance. “Where's your bathroom?” he asks, shucking off his jacket. 

You gesture for him to follow you and usher him into the tiny, one-stall bathroom. You slump against the door and put your hands over your face. A shudder racks your whole body. 

Dave can't have this. He crowds you, taking your wrists and prying them from your face. “Sweetheart.” He brushes a knuckle over your cheek. “Did he hurt you?”

You swallow thickly. “No. No, he just walked in and asked for a table, but he pointed the gun at me and said he was waiting for the right person. Said I wouldn't get hurt if I didn't get in the way.” Your eyes meet his, frantic. “Oh, God, did I just get in the way?”

Dave pulls you into his chest and lets you rest your cheek on his heart. Your breathing evens out as you listen to it beat, strong and steady. “He's a hired killer. He’s probably here for me.”

“No.” You shake your head, shoving away from him. “No, he can't… He can't do that. Why would he—?”

“I lied to you, sweet girl.” Dave cups the back of your head and bunches your hair in his fist. He needs to make you understand. “The first night we met, a senator was asking me to kill his wife for him.”

“You…” For a moment, you trail off, lingering on the silence. He can't tell whether you want to flee or bury yourself in his chest again. To his shock, a small burst of laughter escapes you, and you slap your hand over your mouth to stay quiet. “I knew you didn't just break into houses. Someone with a car like yours, all those nice suits… God, I’m stupid.”

You're trembling a little from the shock, but Dave needs to take care of the problem and get you out safely. “I need you to work with me,” he tells you. “You listening to me?”

You nod vigorously. “I’m listening, Dave.”

“Good. Good girl.” He squeezes your hip. “You need to get out through the back. I’m going to give you my keys; get in my car and lock the doors. Not your car. Mine.” 

“What about you? Dave, what if he hurts you?”

It fills him with a certain courage to know how deeply you care for him. “He's a lackey, sweetheart. Joined a so-called brotherhood just to scratch an itch.” Dave leans in and kisses your forehead. “He's not gonna get me.”

He's certainly not going to get you. 

Dave reaches past you to open the door, but you grab his wrist. “Wait.”

He barely opens his mouth before you're standing on your toes and pressing your lips to his. It's a frantic, hurried kiss, but it's enough. It's enough for Dave. He's going to win because he needs to take you home with him. 

When you pull away, he pins you with a stern look. “My car, sweet girl. No detours.”

He opens the door and lets you flee, and then Dave is rolling up his sleeves, rolling his head around his neck. 

The other customer has left, meaning Dave and the Lukov lackey are alone. “Mr. York,” he greets, toasting his cup of coffee with a grin. He's fucking cocky, thinks Dave, lifting the drink you poured for him. “She's very pretty.”

Yeah, he's going to make this hurt. 

“Let's get this over with,” says Dave, approaching the man’s table and sitting across from him in the booth. “Who sent you? Why did they send you? And how many more are coming?”

“You don't even wanna know my name?” He pouts. “Ouch.”

Dave lifts a brow. “Answer my questions. If you're good, I’ll let you die quickly.”

The man leans back in the booth, acting like he doesn't know enough about Dave York’s reputation to give him the respect he's owed. New to the game. “Well, my name is Jonah, and since I’ve got a gun pointed at your precious bits under this table, I’ll skip the questions. If that's okay.”

He could have killed Dave the second he walked through the door tonight, but he wants to tell a good story, move up the ranks. It’s childish. Dave kicks out his leg and jolts Jonah’s arm aside just as the man’s instincts kick in and the shot goes off. It rings in Dave’s ears and the sound of the weapon clattering onto the floor, safety still off, echoes in the little diner, but he’s diving across the table and grabbing Jonah by the collar. He jerks the killer’s head forward so it cracks against the porcelain saucer next to his mug. Dave picks up the cup and tosses the contents directly into Jonah’s face. The man howls, the blood from the new gash in his forehead mingling with steaming coffee, but Dave is already kicking the gun toward himself under the table and weighing it in his own hand. 

Dave slides out of the booth and drags Jonah with him, tossing him into a heap on the floor. “I don’t like to repeat myself,” says Dave, aiming the gun between his eyes. “But I guess I will, since you’re clearly new to this. Answer my questions, kid.”

“I’m not answering shi—”

Dave lowers the gun and blows off the man’s left kneecap. The resounding yowl can be heard for miles, no doubt. He frantically grasps for the gory heap of flesh, bone, and blood that soaks through his jeans, seething through his teeth and spattering saliva down his chin. It’s almost pitiful. 

“FUCK!” he screams. “It was fucking Berkeley! Isaiah fucking Berkeley hired me. FUCK!”

Dave isn’t surprised. “Better. That’s one down.”

Jonah lifts his hand as if pleading for mercy, his breaths tedious and his face waxy. “Please, please, I—”

Dave fires a shot straight through his begging hand. The bones shatter and the muscles tear, and the blood is a river down the would-be killer’s wrist. He’s a screaming, growling, cursing heap on the blood-soaked floor. “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! Fucking cunt, fucking son of a bitch, you knew too fucking much, man! He wanted to fucking shut you up, and he wanted me to kill your fucking bitch once I was done with you! FUCK!” Jonah cradles his useless hand to his chest and his face rapidly greying, going ashen with terror and agony and blood loss. “And if I couldn’t do it, he said he’d sent the rest of the fucking Brotherhood to take you both down. Fucking… please, let me fucking go, it fucking hurts.”

Berkeley wants him dead. Not surprising. He took a risk approaching Dave to fulfil his contract; he knew he would get the job done, but only if he said yes. And because he didn’t, Berkeley’s got his reputation on the line if Dave decides to blab about the plot to have his wife killed.

He wanted me to kill your fucking bitch once I was done with you.

How interesting. How very fucking curious. 

The third shot tears through the soft flesh of Jonah’s stomach, and he doesn’t even scream this time. He crumples to the floor and stares at the ceiling, every tremulous breath a labour to suck in. 

“You won’t live,” says Dave, cool and detached. “You’ve lost too much blood. Do you want me to kill you, kid, or do you want to lie there in pain a bit longer?”

Jonah shakes his head vaguely. His face is white. His saliva is brilliantly red. “Kill… me. Just fucking kill me.”

Dave ejects the remaining three bullets from the clip and kneels next to the man’s body. He places one bullet in the hole where his knee once was, another in the hole where his limp hand once was, and he digs the final one into the weeping wound in his stomach. “I hope, in your next life,” he whispers to Jonah, “you aren’t as stupid.”

He leaves without firing another shot, but he suspects the life has fled the man’s body by the time the bell above the door chimes to signal Dave’s exit. 

You’re sitting in the car, your hands folded neatly in your lap. They seemed to have stopped trembling. “Dave,” you whisper as he slides into the driver's seat. “You’re covered in blood.”

“It isn’t mine.” He presses the ignition and reverses out of his spot. He allows himself to look at you, and your eyes are already glued to him. “I’m going to take you to my home, sweet girl. Are you okay with that?”

You nod, and his eyes dip to watch the way your throat hollows when you swallow. “Yes,” you say breathlessly. “You killed him. I saw it.”

His eyes capture yours again. They’re two beacons in the dark, glowing neon red under the light of the diner lights. “Does that scare you?”

It should. And he isn’t surprised to see you tilt your head forward in another nod. “But—” Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips, and Dave has to look away to avoid veering off the road once he merges onto the highway. “But I don’t want to leave you.” It leaves you all in one breath, like your clothes are suffocating you, the closeness of your two bodies in the car, the stifling darkness.

“Why don’t you want to leave me, sweetheart?” It’s a test, and your eyes glimmer with confirmation that yes, you know it is. 

Your hand finds his, your fingers threading through his and resting on the console between you and him. “Because you keep me safe.”

He lifts your joined hands and kisses your soft, unmarred knuckles. It goes unspoken: I always will.

~

“Wow. I didn’t know assassins paid so well. Maybe I should take it up as a side gig.”

He’s absolved himself of the blood on his hands and changed into a new shirt, but he still smells faintly of iron and sweat from the scuffle. Dave watches you spin in a circle on the spot, staring up at the crystal chandelier in his foyer, your eyes dancing like they’re full of stars. “Sweet girl. You told me you refused to step on ants when you were little.”

“Insects and people are different.”

Dave steps up behind you and circles an arm around your waist, his fingers splaying over your rib cage and tugging you back against his chest. “You’re right,” he says into your ear. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes find the phantom bloodstain on your apron in the shape of a perfect handprint, nor the way you shiver. “People would point their guns at you and splatter your pretty brains all over the wall. People would hurt you. That man…” Dave’s lips press against the curve of your neck. You smell so sweet: rich like coffee and a bit salty with sweat. “He would have slit your pretty throat. You see how I couldn’t let that happen, right, baby?”

Your head lolls a bit, resting against Dave’s shoulder. “I know,” you say, clear as sunshine in a stream. 

“I need you to tell me something, my beautiful girl.” Dave uses his hand on your abdomen to turn you in his grasp. You stare unflinchingly into his eyes. “Has your uncle ever hurt you? Has he ever given you any reason to make you believe he would?”

You blink at the change in subject. “He’s never lifted a finger against me,” you tell him. “But he’s… I don’t know, Dave. It started after my parents died. He comes home late some nights, high on something. He’s despondent most days, but he’s never hurt me. He just…”

“Isn’t there.” You nod your head, and Dave is somewhat glad he doesn’t have a reason to take the life of your only remaining relative. “Would you like me to look into it?”

Your lips twist in a tiny smirk. “Like how you’ve looked into me?”

His clever girl. “You like to play,” he murmurs, twisting a lock of your hair around his finger. “That trick with dropping your keys.”

You tilt your head to the side, brows curving up in that oh-so delicious way, and he wants to shove you onto your knees, right here in his fucking foyer. “I’m not tricky,” you say innocently.

“Reading too many books,” he grunts, his breath hot against your jaw when he leans in close and brings his lips next to your ear. 

“Well, when you keep buying me books…” You gasp when he takes your lobe between his teeth.

He huffs into your skin and sucks at the spot beneath your ear. You taste… Fuck, you taste so soft, tangy with sweat, sweet as the syrup you pour. His brain is hazy with how desperately he needs you. 

“Dave,” you gasp, your fingers greedily grasping a handful of his hair to keep him close. “I need… please, I need—”

He cuts you off with a teasing slap to your ass. Your yelp is music to his ears. You just clutch onto him, trying to pull him closer. 

“You don't know what you need, sweet girl. I know what you need. I say what you need,” he says softly, cupping your chin in his palm. “Understand?”

You're honey in his palm, dripping through his fingers, warm. “Yes, Daddy.”

“That’s right.” Dave cradles the back of your head and watches you melt into the touch, your body like a doll’s in his hands and your pupils eclipsing your irises. His cock is a hard and heavy weight in his pants, twitching at the beast that awakens at the use of your nickname. “You need Daddy to fuck you,” he coos. 

He's thrilled and achingly hard, knowing he was right about you, knowing you want him to take the reins away from you and give you what you need. Your eyes are syrupy. “Yeah, I do,” you sigh, pressing your body up against him. 

He takes your hand and leads you up the staircase. Your footsteps are eager as you scurry after him to his bedroom. There's a large mirror next to his king-sized bed, neatly made with neutral greys and crisp white bedsheets. “You need a plant or two,” you point out, but he's pressing his body up against yours and your words diminish to a soft moan. 

“I’ll let you decorate, sweet girl,” he says, gripping your hips and letting you feel the hard line of his cock against your belly. You grind into him, rasping his name. 

Dave chuckles, and you whimper at the way the vibrations rumble through your spine. “So needy.” The stubble on his jaw scratches lightly against your cheek as he continues to kiss his way down your neck, taking his fill of you. “Such a busy girl. Always working, always studying. You must be so tense, under all these clothes…” He nudges his nose against your cheek and reaches around you to tug at the bow that holds your apron in place. “Let me take them off. Hmm?”

“Please,” you whine, letting him manhandle you in front of the mirror and turn you so you’re forced to watch yourself. Dave ducks his head and puts his mouth back on you, drawn to your soft skin and the soft sounds of pleasure he can pull from you. He unties your blood-stained apron in one tug and lifts it over your head, his deft fingers shifting to the zipper that holds up your dress. When he finally finds more of your skin beneath that black fabric, a little impatient in the way he shucks it off your shoulders, Dave eagerly kisses your shoulders, the back of your neck, licking and sucking every new dip and plane he can reach. You tilt your head to give him more access, wherever he wants, moaning his name and begging, begging, “Please, Daddy.”

“Watch yourself,” he says softly, licking up the side of your neck, “in the mirror. I want you to watch yourself. Can you do that for me?”

Your eyes are lidded and your head is being mostly supported by his shoulder, but you keep your eyes on your reflection as he begins to lower himself behind you, taking the dress with him. He’s pressing kisses to each knob of your spine as he exposes you to the cool air, your nipples perking up and your skin erupting with goosebumps. He handles you reverently, on his knees behind you by the time your dress pools around your ankles, his hands reaching up and squeezing your ass. You jump slightly on the spot, and his laugh is rough—like dragging a wet cloth over gravel. “So beautiful,” he says, and it echoes in the cold room. You feel (and watch) two of his fingers slide through your legs until he finds your slit, wet and glistening. He hums, apparently satisfied. “Who did this to you, sweet girl? Who made you so wet and needy?”

You whisper his name, but it’s not good enough for him. Dave bites into the flesh of your left cheek and lands a smack to it at the same time. “You!” you squeal, grateful for the way he holds you, steadies you, before you can fall. You’re so wet it begins to drip down your thighs. “You, Daddy. It’s you.”

“That’s right.” Dave rises to his feet and lifts his two fingers, soaked in your arousal, to your lips. Once you open your mouth, he fixes them against your tongue, forcing your jaw to remain open as you swirl your tongue around his digits. Tasting yourself. His eyes are so dark they’re black in the dim light, and you want to be so good. You want to please him. He’s strong, capable, so gentle with you, and yet you feel yourself cleaving in two under his lightest touch. You’re splitting, wrecked, soft and pliable as velvet in his hands, and this is what you need. You let your mind fade, sinking into the sweet honey of skin and sex and oblivion. 

The man with his body pressed up against yours is a wraith, dealing in death and dark corners and the cool grooves of a bullet—its ever-certain path through the air. He is wrath itself. His hands have squeezed out life and carried it home with him. His hands now caress your body, and you can almost call it worship. 

You twist your heart from your body and place it gingerly in his palm. He will keep it safe. It thrums like a live current through your chest to his. He wraps his murderous fingers around your throat and squeezes gently, forcing your chin to tilt upward. “I want you to get on your knees,” he says, breathing it into your skin as he kisses along your jaw, making the filthy act of it sound so loving, “and I want you to suck my cock.”

Your core is tight with the arousal that soaks your cunt, and you reach behind you to squeeze his length over his pants. Fuck, he’s big. He’s long and thick and you’re dizzy at thought of him splitting you open on it, fucking your throat. “I want to make you feel good, Dave. Please.”

Dave backs away from you and sits on the regal grey velvet upholstery of the chair in the corner. You turn toward him and begin to follow, bared before him, but he leans one elbow on the armrest, still-wet fingers tracing his mouth, the outline of his cock mouthwatering. 

“Don't walk,” he says. “Crawl to me.”

The thrill of the command, clear and uncompromising, sends you to your hands and knees. It should be humiliating, bruising your knees on the hardwood while dripping down your thighs, but the way he’s devouring you with the yawning black of his pupils, thirsty, makes you add a sway to your hips, a prowl to your crawl. When you reach him, you nuzzle your cheek against his thigh, and he tips your chin up with his finger. “My beautiful girl. Take me out. Go on, baby.”

You slide down the zipper of his dress pants and pull his heavy, thick cock from his briefs. It’s weeping precum, twitching in your grasp, and you can’t help but flatten your tongue against the vein on the underside of his shaft. He hisses, “Fuck,” and it’s delicious. He smells like the iron of blood and something wholly him, all man, and your lips meet the tip of his cock in a reverent kiss. He’s being patient, generous in his time with you because he’s finally fucking here: he’s with you, and you’re safe, and you’ve got your lips wrapped gently around the head of his cock. He will not ask you to rush. He will only coax you gently through giving him the pleasure he’s only let himself imagine taking from you.

You let a trail of spit fall from your mouth onto his cock, and it jumps under your teasing touches, the way you lap at him like a kitten at a bowl of milk. You’re so greedy, like he knew you’d be, but he’s so fucking close by the time you tuck your teeth under your lips and slide his cock into your mouth, deep and hot and tight, the girth of him prodding the soft walls of your throat. If you keep this up, he won’t last long enough to do all the things he wants to do with your body.

“Jesus,” groans Dave. His head tips back and his eyes find the ceiling, but that’s not fair, because your eyes are fixed on his. He keeps watching you, the fucking picture of all his fantasies, your pretty eyes wide and smudged with your mascara, your body bare for him. Tears carve paths down your cheeks as you bob your head on his cock, taking him deeper each time, choking and crying. 

Dave’s hand finds the crown of your head and rests there. “Fuck, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re good. You suck cock a lot? Hmm?” His fingers curl in your hair, and you moan around him. “Mine’s the only one you really want, though, isn’t it?” he coos. “Mine’s the only cock you need. You’re my good little slut, sweet girl, on your knees for me.”

Your throat chokes him when you swallow him down, his leaking tip prodding the back of your throat, so fucking eager to please, so good for him even though you’re leaking onto the floor. You love being treated like a slut for him. You love being the one who gets to make his chest heave, his breaths laboured with the effort not to come down your throat. Dave wants to paint your tongue and your face with his cum, but Jesus, he needs to be inside your tight little cunt, and he knows it’s what you need, too. He slips out of your throat, even as you chase his cock with your tongue, and holds you back by the hand that still rests on your head. 

“I wasn’t finished,” you say, and the little whine that pitches up in your used throat makes him drag you up onto his lap and drag his hand between your bodies, his fingers slapping lightly against your clit. You moan, rolling your hips against him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

Dave mocks your pout, yanking your head back so you’ll look him in the eyes. You look positively wrecked, makeup smeared and eyes unfocused with lust. Your cunt leaves a wet patch on his pants. “Poor thing,” he says softly, teasing his fingers through your folds. “You want to come, don’t you?”

“I do,” you say, your throat raspy. “I want to come so badly. Please let me come.”

“Mmm.” Dave acts like he’s pondering it, circling your clit slowly—too slowly—as his mouth explores your throat before he finally makes it back to your lips. He kisses you tenderly, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting himself in your mouth. He slides two fingers inside your soaked cunt and drinks down your gasp. “That what you wanted?” he breathes into your mouth. “My fingers?”

“Any—nnnngh!” you moan, rocking against his palm as his fingers curl up against a spot inside you that makes your thighs tremble. “Anything you’ll give me, Daddy. Oh, fuck, please, make me come.”

“Such a good girl,” he hums, letting you ride his fingers, licking up the sweat that beads down your neck. “Such a needy whore for me, baby. I want to hear my name when you come.”

“Mmmm, Dave,” you mewl, body keen and wanting against him, your nipples rubbing against the fabric of his dress shirt, grinding into his hand as you near your high. Another smack, this time to the side of your thigh, another soothing touch to the welt forming there, and you’re sobbing his name, coming in a sudden trill of lightning down your spine, freezing you on his hand as your eyes roll back in your head. 

He likes the way you slump against him, your face once again finding solace in his neck, nipping and sucking at him as you quiver in the aftershocks of your orgasm. He likes you so supple and malleable in his hands as he stands and wraps your legs around his hips, only to deposit you on his bed. “Spread your legs,” he orders. “I want to see the mess you’ve made of yourself.”

His words send new shocks of arousal to your core, and you ease your thighs open for him. You’re fucking soaking. Soaking and ready for him. Too bad he isn’t through with you. Dave briefly tucks his aching cock into his pants and crawls onto the bed, yanking your thighs up around his shoulders and flattening his tongue against your slit. 

Still sensitive from your orgasm, you cry out, pushing gently at his head. “Can’t… Dave…”

“Said you wanted to come, sweet girl.” His hand presses down on your belly as his tongue flicks your clit, and your eyes roll back. “Didn’t say how many times. Be good and let me taste you.”

You can only whimper as he begins to lap up your slick and lavish his attention on your clit, keeping your body flush to the sheets even as you writhe and moan. He's fucking good at this, paying the right amount of attention to your clit and knowing when to pull back when it's overwhelming. He keeps his eyes on you as he eats you out, devouring you the way he likes and making you take it. “Fuck, fuck,” you croak, white sparks snapping behind your eyes. “Daddy, I’m gonna—ah, I’m gonna—!”

He keeps his tongue firm against your clit, wiggling slightly as you soak him, coming hard and fast and without mercy. Dave smacks your thigh again, and you can't tell if he wants to send another surge of pleasure through you or if he just needs to take out the frustration of having not come yet. 

Dave pulls his cock out of his pants again, so hard it looks painful, and manhandles you until you're on your stomach. He slips a pillow under your hips and kneads your ass like he's getting out stress. You moan like a whore when you feel the tip of his cock tapping at your entrance, back arching. Dave covers your body with his and nips your earlobe. “You gonna be good, honey? Gonna let me fuck you the way you need?”

You're so desperate and dazed with lust that you reach back to grasp his cock, take him inside you—

Dave grabs your wrist and, for good measure, your other one too, pinning them at the small of your back. “That… wasn't good,” he says coolly, biting down on your shoulder. “I say what you need.”

You nod your head in absolute submission, your cheek pressed into the mattress. “I’m your good girl,” you tell him. “I’ll be good for you.”

Dave slides his cock through your wetness and notches it inside your entrance. Your moan is breathy and desperate, your cunt clenching around him, trying to suck him in deeper. He wrenches you open slowly, big thick cock splitting you in two, hot and slick and the thick haze of want. “Take me, baby,” he urges, halfway inside you and pushing deeper. “You can take me.”

“I can, I can.” You're nodding, wiggling your hips to take him inside you to the base, wanting all of him filling you, claiming you. Nobody’s ever come close to the way Dave is making you feel, and he knows it. He fucking basks in it like warm sunshine. 

“Look at you,” he grunts, hips meeting the flesh of your ass as he finally sinks in all the way. “So beautiful. All mine.” A short thrust knocks his tip against your cervix, and you cry out with the pain and the pleasure. 

“You're so big, Daddy,” you gasp, short of breath despite doing nothing but lie here.

“Yeah?” He pulls out halfway and thrusts back inside, groaning at the same time you do. “You like my big cock? You like me deep, right in your belly?” His hand slips beneath you and settles at your lower abdomen as he establishes a punishing rhythm. 

You can't breathe. You can't speak. You can't exist like this, ruined and scattered into tiny pieces, your mind floating somewhere above you in the aether. It's glorious and it's agonising and you can't even remember how words taste. 

Dave fucks you. He really fucks you, grinding deep and fast and using your body the way he wants to. You clench around him in your desperate quest to come again, the pleasure all-encompassing, liquid. He drips praise over your body like honey, encouraging your body deeper into that place of blissful nothing. Here, you relinquish control. Here, you feel. He gives you exactly what you need. 

His fingers find your clit and you scream his name. He fucks you like an animal as he lowers his body over your again, biting then tonguing the marks on your shoulder, grunting into your ear. “Dave,” you moan weakly. 

He bites again, like a punishment, his hips angling his cock deeper, somehow, sliding up against your front wall. “Spoiled,” he mutters into your skin. “Spoiled girl, you’ll want my cock all the time now, won't you?” You choke on your groan, and your core tightens as his fingers work your clit. “Who owns this little cunt? Hmm?”

“You,” comes your wrecked moan. “It's yours, Daddy. Oh, fuck, please… Daddy, please, I’m yours… I’m gonna—gonna come!” 

And you do. Christ, you clamp down on his cock, your hips bucking uselessly under him and your eyes squeezing shut as you keep him tucked so deeply inside you with your tightness, milking his cock. It works: Dave pushes your name out of his mouth in a hot breath against your shoulder, hot cum spurting into your needy cunt. You take it the way you take his cock: zealous and whining, his sweet, spoiled thing, your body sucking him in and taking every drop. 

“Dave,” you whisper, tears still streaming down your face. “‘M sorry, I got mascara on your bedsheets.”

Dave chuckles, lifting himself off you even as his body protests, seeking your warmth. “You got a lot of things on my bedsheets, sweet girl. It's okay. Take my hand.”

You turn yourself over and stand with his help, thighs quivering. “Oh,” you gasp, “wow. That was good.”

He presses his lips to your cheek. “Adorable,” he laughs. “Need to clean you up. Get your pretty ass in the shower.”

Your giggle is a little wobbly, a little drunk, but your drunken, beaming face is a reward to him. “Yes, sir.”

Dave smacks your ass as he follows you into the bathroom, watching you steady yourself on the glass doors as you step inside. “I've got class tomorrow,” you grumble. “Gonna have to teach myself how to walk again.”

“I don't know,” muses Dave, purposefully sliding his body up against yours as he reaches into the shower and sends the water streaming down over your head, “I like you like this.”

“Of course you do.” You flip your hair back and get it wet under the water while Dave strips out of his clothes. He steps inside with you and gently swipes a washcloth between your thighs, watching you shudder as he cleans the cum and slick from your thighs. 

You hold onto his forearm and stare, eyes lidded and ringed with smudged makeup, at his strong, scarred body. “You've been through a war zone,” you mutter. 

“A few of them.” Dave wrings out the washcloth and uses the water streaming down your face to wipe away your ruined mascara. You trace a scar on his pec, an old knife wound he barely remembers getting, and your eyes are so full of reverence for his past, his life, that it winds him a little. 

“How’d I get so lucky?” you whisper. 

Dave shakes his head, squirting shampoo onto his palm and lathering it in your hair. He finds he likes this: the quiet mundanity of it, the ease of being close to you, the thrill of being the one who takes care of you. “I’m not the kind of man who walks away from something he wants,” he tells you. 

Your voice is hushed, vulnerable in the wake of all he's done to you. “And you wanted me?”

Dave presses his lips to your forehead. “I still do.”

“They won't stop, will they.” Your fingers finish the job of washing your hair as Dave mirrors your actions, cleansing himself of the blood and grime of the day. “They'll keep trying to… kill you.”

“They will.” There isn't a point in being false. You can take the truth. You deserve it. “That idiot senator wants me dead. He’ll keep sending people after me until he's sure I won't blab to anyone else.”

“Anyone else?” Your throat dips as you swallow down steam and water and the scent of linen. “So he knows… about you and me.”

“He knows that you matter,” says Dave, “and—”

“And that's why he wants me dead, too.”

You're smart. He's known it since the first day. But his vision is a red mist at the thought of some fucking coward putting a target on your back just for knowing him. “He's not going to hurt you,” says Dave, a bit more forcefully than he intended, telling you and himself and the whole world. He softens his voice, smooths it over like icing on cake, kissing you on the mouth for good measure. “He wants me dead because he knows I can fuck his life over in a couple hours. You… you’re…”

You lift your brows knowingly. “Leverage?”

“Good leverage,” he says, his hand resting at the nape of your neck. “If he wants to get to me, you're the best way.”

“I don't like that, Dave.” He wants to eradicate every memory of your frown from his head. “Doesn't it scare you—being hunted like an animal?”

“You know what scares me?” He pulls your body close, your tits pressed up against his chest. His thigh nudges both of yours open. “Someone… some fucking politician… wants to take you away from me. My beautiful, smart girl.” Dave catches the gasp that leaves you when his thigh brushes your sensitive clit and swallows it down with his mouth on yours. “They want to use you. Point their guns at you, the way people do.”

“And insects never do,” you mumble, rolling your hips and sighing at the white-hot pleasure that erupts each time your clit drags along his naked thigh. 

The shower walls are thick with condensation and the closeness of your bodies is immeasurable. Dave crowds you until your back smacks wetly against the cold tile wall, and the hunger in his eyes only makes you feel wanted. His cock is stiffening against your hip, his desire cloying and clotting in your brain. 

“Daddy…”

It’s soft and pitched high, and it gets lost in the relentless pattering of the hot water against his back, the walls, the floor. Dave grabs your thigh and hauls it over his hip, sliding his cock through your folds with no warning, no abandon. You think you say his name again, but he's pushing into you in one hard thrust, cleaving you in two and baring his teeth against your jaw. And nothing matters but this. 

~

You aren't in the diner next week. You aren't at school the next day. Your contact in his phone—something new you both decided to share with one another—yields no new messages. When he calls you, it goes straight to voicemail. He wants to be reasonable. You're sick. Your phone isn't working. No—your phone is brand-new; you just bought it yourself. You were perfectly healthy when you saw him two nights ago, when he made you sit in his lap on his desk chair and fucked you until you were muffling your screams in his neck. He wants to be reasonable, but there's no reason you should be missing. 

So, that night, Dave breaks into your apartment. 

Your car isn't in your parking space: the first alarm bell. The second: your door is unlocked. The place has been left in a haste, the latch bolt sliding harmlessly against the plate as Dave gives the door a shove. It opens without the turn of a knob. He curses when he sees your purse hanging on the hook just inside. 

Dave lifts his flashlight and makes a quick sweep of the room. It’s so small —there’s barely a kitchenette and a single couch, which sits in front of a box-shaped television. He kicks aside a cushion that’s fallen to the floor and investigates the bathroom—he’s horrified to see mould and mildew so blatantly mocking you on the walls—and finds nothing in the bedroom. There’s only one bedroom. Dave opens a drawer and finds men’s boxer briefs, socks, jeans. Nothing of your warm, bright touch linger in this bedroom. What the fuck? 

You sleep on the couch every single night.

Underneath the socks in your uncle Jason’s top drawer, Dave hears a faint rattle. He picks up an amber bottle with a white cap. Blood pressure medication, supposedly. He tosses these aside and searches for more. He needs more. He needs to keep this methodical, or he will explode with anger. 

Dave slides his hand beneath the mattress. A couple more bottles, indicating his forgotten problems are perhaps not quite behind him, and a number of late-notice bills. It’s nothing. It’s fucking useless, useless… 

He wasn’t fast enough. He should never have trusted this man to stay with you. You should be living with Dave. You’ll decorate his home with plants and bright colours and your shampoo will be next to his. His home will smell of you, not just the faint tang of blood that he can’t seem to expel. 

“Fuck!” Dave yanks out Jason’s top drawer and tosses it across the room, somewhat vindicated when it smashes into splinters against the wall. It draws his eye toward the desk in the corner. The little black shape underneath it, tucked underneath the carpet. 

It’s a cell phone. Dave picks it up and finds one message blinking up at him. The battery is almost dead. 

Coordinates. 

Dave fumbles to pull out his own phone and take a picture of the screen. Then, he pockets both devices and leaves. He’s lingered too long already.

~

The coordinates take him next to the Charles River, a shipping dock whose workers seem to have left in a haste. He’s surrounded by large wooden shipping crates, rain-soaked and creaking in the lashing mist that lifts out of the river in the rainstorm that’s begun. Tarps flutter around the crates, not quite pinned down. If you’re crying out for help, there’s little chance to distinguish your voice from the rain and the general din of the city. 

It’s nearing midnight, and Dave’s cell phone begins to buzz in his back pocket. Your face lights up the screen, bright and smiling and posing extravagantly (he took it in the diner, when the two of you were alone, about to exchange phone numbers; “You’ll need a glamour shot,” you said, and Dave was happy to oblige). 

He puts the phone to his ear. “Tell me which crate you’ve put her in, and I’ll make it quick for all of you.”

“I promised I wouldn’t harm her,” says a male voice he doesn’t recognise. Another Brotherhood lackey, he guesses. “She’s being very good for us, Mr. York. Very obedient. Did you break her in for us?”

Dave will not take this bait. “Put her on the phone.”

There’s a faint rustling, and his vision goes blood-red at the sound of your little yelp of pain. “Dave,” comes your trembling voice. “Dave, I’m sorry.”

Dave begins to splash along the rain-slick pavement. Oil runoff stains the water and colours it like a prism. He has a cap on his head and the hood of his jacket is secure atop it. “Shh. None of that, beautiful girl. Are you hurt?” 

“N—no, just… No.” It isn’t a satisfying answer for him, but you’re panicking. “Jason… It was Jason. He took me.”

“Why did he take you, baby?” Dave pushes open a shipping crate and finds nobody inside. 

Your whimper indicates the man is holding you somehow, likely by the hair. “He… please… He told me he would get the money he needed.”

“Your boss offered to pay him, then?” says Dave, directing his attention briefly to her captor as he moves further east along the waterfront. He’s straining his ear for any indication of nearby voices. “In exchange for his niece?”

“More like in exchange for you. I guess he knew she’s the only way you’d come.” The man seems ecstatic with the power of holding onto such a special piece of leverage. “You’ll behave, won’t you, Dave? I know she will.”

“Dave, west! TURN WEST—”

The sound of a hand striking your cheek makes Dave jerk away from the phone and kick his foot through a nearby crate, his heart thundering with the rage that clogs his chest all the way up to his throat. The crate’s door swings open, empty. “If your girl doesn’t shut up, York, I’m going to stuff her mouth with my dick.”

His ears are ringing, the rain spitting and the wind rattling his brain around his head. This man truly believes he’ll get away with taking Dave York’s woman. It’s almost laughable. 

And it’s too late for him. Dave’s already heard your scream from a crate further down the waterfront. 

So the man on the phone can see him. Dave looks up to find a security camera fixed to the scaffolding above him, winking a red eye at him through the mist and rain. He waves, as if to an old friend. “You get off on watching me, huh?” 

“Fun to see you flail around,” says the man, “like a chicken with his head cut off.”

Dave can’t help but grin. “Keep watching.” He stops in his tracks and raises his gun to eye-level. “Sweetheart? You still there?”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I’m here.”

“Duck,” he commands, and the shot rings out through the rain.

A little hole perforates the wooden crate, and Dave can hear your scream through the phone. He drops his shoulder to force open the door and finds his victim writhing on the floor. The shot struck him in the shoulder, but Dave puts another between his eyes. It’s merciful and too quick for what he’s done to you, but you’re what matters. And here you are, tied by your wrists and ankles to a chair, your hair matted with rainwater and an angry welt on your cheek. You cry out in relief when you see Dave kneel in front of you and cup your face in his palms. “Oh, sweet girl,” he says. “So smart. You did good, baby.”

You don’t cradle your chafed wrists to your chest or shrink away from him when you’re free, the way you should. Your arms wind up around his neck and you nearly knock him over in your rush to embrace him. “Easy,” he mumbles, burying his face in your hair, breathing in your scent mixed with the saltwater mist. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I knew you’d find me.”

He chuckles. “Your uncle didn’t make it easy for me.”

“That man…” You pull away and gesture toward the dead man on the floor. “He was the one who called Jason. Said he’d be cleared of his charges and given a huge lump of cash if he brought me to him.”

He helps you to your feet. You’re shivering like a leaf in your little dress and apron. Dave almost rips his jacket in his haste to secure it around your shoulders. “There’s going to be more,” he says. “A man as paranoid as Berkeley didn’t just send one asshole to kill me. I need you to run, sweet girl. Do you understand me? Run to the car, near the park, and stay away from the streetlights.”

You dip your chin in a nod, but a flick of your eyes over his shoulder has him stiffening. “Dave, get—!”

He’s pulling you to the ground and covering your body with his before the shot fires. When it does, it cuts clean through two walls of the crate, but another follows in its stead. Dave rolls off you, flipping onto his back, and fires at the man just visible behind the door of the crate. The first strikes his leg, which doubles him over. His brain matter falls in chunks to the wet pavement before his body crumples. Dave stands up as you crawl across the floor and dig around your captor’s dead body, producing his gun. “You know how to shoot that thing, baby?”

“Of course not!” you squeak. “Feel a bit better holding it, though.”

He flicks the safety on. “Good. Stay behind me.”

You’re dutiful in the way you follow him outside, the gun useless in your hands but Dave’s gun pointed and ready in his. The crates make it difficult, but his ears are fine-tuned to the noises of footsteps. He hears them from his left and his right simultaneously, firing one shot at the glimpse of a boot and another at a shoulder. The leftward man collapses, clutching his foot, and Dave puts a bullet in his head. The one to his right makes an almost-impressive shot from around the corner that takes out the bulb of a streetlight behind them. But his skull shatters from the impact of Dave’s flashlight striking him in the head, and he collapses. 

You’re stunned by the ease with which he kills. He's meticulous and he's accurate. The muscles in his face are set, determined, a soldier moving before your eyes. He never wavers. He never flinched nor grimaces. You wonder if he would even hear you if you uttered his name. His mission clouds his eyes and wraps cloth around his ears. It's a murderer you watch at work now, a professional one, a wraith whose eyes glimmer like oil slick in the darkness. The gun clutched clumsily in your untrained hands trembles. 

How can such a man handle you so lovingly?

He ushers you inside his car once you wind your way back through the maze of crates, but a shout of your name makes you spin around and lift the gun you have no idea how to handle. It's a cold, dead weight, trapped between your fingers. 

“Jason,” you warn, “don't come any closer.”

“Kiddo, just let me explain.” Jason lifts his hands, indicating he's unarmed. He's standing by your car, wet hair plaster to his forehead, eyes sunken and cheeks gaunt. Behind you, Dave places a hand on your lower back. He isn't lifting his own weapon. He's letting you decide. 

“You can't explain this to me,” you say through your chattering teeth. “You put me there. You traded me for money. I’ve paid everything, I’ve put up with you being high all the time, and I’ve let you sleep in my bed. Because you were family.”

“I wanted to repay you. I wanted to get a fresh start.” He stumbles forward in his haste to reach out to you, and Dave steps in front of you slightly. 

Jason scowls. “And you. Are you fucking her? You know my niece is still in college? You know you're old enough to be her father? You're fucking sick.”

Dave’s nostrils flare. “I saved her fucking life. I'm the one keeping her safe while you run around with your mouth glued to a joint. How many times has she bailed you out, huh?”

Jason lurches forward, deliberately this time, aiming a fist at Dave’s face. Dave grabs his arm before it can wind back and twists it around his back. “Stay fucking still,” he sneers into his ear. Something inside you coils tight like a poised serpent, the very depths of you inexplicably wound for need of something you cannot yet name.

You stare into your uncle’s face. “You’re the sick one. I hope you get your money, because you're leaving. Dave, can we please drop him at the police station?”

~

You can't sit still. 

Dave’s ordered you to sit on the edge of his bed while he cleans up from his massacre by the river. He hasn't let you leave his sight since last night, which means you've missed two days of school and nobody knows where you are. Your phone shattered when he murdered your captor, but Dave lent you a replacement from his desk. Apparently, he owns twelve cell phones. 

“Which one of these do you use to buy drugs?” you asked. 

“Guess you’ll find out.” Dave smirked at you and handed you a brand-new model. “If they ask for York, say I’m dead.”

You told your friends that you'd come down with a deathly case of the flu and they bought it, dutifully sending their notes to you in bulk through your group chat. Since you shut off the phone and placed it next to you on the mattress, you haven't been able to stop from squirming, your thighs rubbing together as the itch you've been fighting for hours clambers down the knobs of your spine. 

“Dave?”

He emerges from the ensuite, still drying his hands on a bath towel, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and his face freshly shaven. You know and he knows that he’s been purposefully torturing you, and now all you can do is straighten up, not-so subtly pushing out your breasts toward him. A soft whine leaves your lips at the sight of him standing above you, so strong and deadly. 

He doesn’t speak for a moment, and you wonder if he’s angry with you. You feel his knuckle brush under your chin until it’s directing your gaze, forcing you to look up at him. “Sweet girl,” he says, thumb caressing your cheekbone. “You’re all trouble. Know that?”

You bite your lip, your desire a pounding, beastly thing, clawing up your throat. “I think you should remind me.”

Dave chuckles, his hand leaving your face only to trail downward, finding the top button of his shirt, which is draped over your own body. “Wearing my clothes,” he says, circling the button with his finger until it pops out. His eyes are black, thrilled by the sight of your collarbones, flexing in and out thanks to your fluttering breaths. “Sitting so still and pretty for me…” He clicks his tongue like he’s disappointed in you. “Would you stay sitting here all night if I asked you to?”

“You know I would, Dave,” comes your shuddering sigh. 

“You’d be safe that way,” he muses. Another button comes undone, and the soft skin between your breasts tempts him closer until he’s standing between your thighs. His fingers trace your hard nipples, visible through his dress shirt. “Such a dangerous girl, going missing on me. Do you know how much you scared me?” You go to dip your head in apology, but he grasps a chunk of your hair and pulls it back. “I asked you a question, baby. Answer it.”

“I never meant to scare you,” you tell him, still seeking his touch as you push your tits against his fingers. “I was so scared… thought he would try to…”

Dave shushes you. “I know, sweetheart, I know. Do you know what I would have done to him if he did?”

You shake your head. “Tell me.”

His hand leaves your hair and winds around your throat, his thumb and index finger pressing at your pulse. “I would have cut off his dick. I would have made him watch me do it. I would take off each. Fucking. Finger.” Dave’s other hand, done fondling your tits, ghosts along your arm until it finds your hand, which he lifts to the hard outline of his bulge. “I’d make sure you never remember him touching you.” The hand on your throat squeezes, and your core floods with arousal, another whine slipping out. Dave tips his chin toward you. “You trust me to keep you safe from men like him. Don't you?”

Frantically, you breathe out a yes, your brows curving up in the middle in the delicious way he loves so much. He enjoys the delicate curve of your body against him as it seeks his. Your tits are smushed against his abdomen, your face so close your chin nearly brushes his sternum. You're warm and so soft. Dave is nearly doubled over with the affection you show him and the affection he craves to show you. But he knows what you need—to be shown that you're safe in his arms. 

You gently squeeze his length over his pants and Dave hisses, prying your wrist away and pressing your hand to your own breast. “If you’re going to tease,” he says, “tease yourself. Go on, sweet girl. Touch your pretty tits.”

You roll your head back on your shoulders as you squeeze your tits over the fabric of his shirt, pinching your nipples and puffing out soft moans of his name. Dave’s cock twitches in his pants, and he pulls it out swiftly, hard and heavy against his stomach, jerking himself slowly while he watches you. 

“So beautiful. Does it feel good?” Your eyes are fixed on his hand working his cock, another needy moan slipping past your lips. “Would you rather be the one touching me, baby? Is that what you need?”

Your tongue darts out to lick up his slit when he squeezes the base of his cock, and Dave grunts, hips lurching forward, momentarily losing control. You eagerly take the tip between your lips, but he pulls away and slaps his cock on your tongue. “Such a bad girl, not listening. Lie back.”

Your eyes are black holes, and Dave presses his palm on your sternum to guide you onto your back when you can’t seem to think through your haze of lust. He drops to his knees and shucks your panties off your legs so roughly they tear, dangling off your ankle. It only fans the flames licking at your core, and he can see the glistening wetness of your cunt, begging to be touched. “If I ask you a question,” says Dave, blowing on your cunt and making your stomach clench, making your moan pitch high, “I expect you to answer me. I know you want me, sweet girl, but you should learn to listen to me. Hmm?”

He yanks your thigh over his shoulder and parts your folds with two fingers. “I’m… oh, I’m sorry, Daddy. Please… please let me feel you. I want to feel you. I’ll be good. I’ll be—fuck!”

You squeal when he licks up your tempting slit, groaning at the taste of your sweet tang, mingled with the scent of body wash and linen and something ineffably you. “And if I want to taste you,” he says, pressing sloppy kisses to your cunt, gripping your thighs so tightly his fingers will leave bruises, “I expect you to lie down and spread your legs for me.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you gasp at the white-hot pleasure from his warm tongue lavishing attention through your folds. “Yes, Daddy, anything you want, anytime. I’ll do anything—ohhh, fuck, Daddy, please…”

A hand presses firmly against your belly to keep you grounded as he tastes his fill of you the way he wants. This is your punishment, you realise: being at his mercy, spread out like a meal for him, disregarding your pleasure and just feasting on you at his own pace. Always at his own pace. You want to curl your fingers in his hair and keep his face in your pussy, but the idea that he’s between your legs because he wants to just taste you is so delectable that you lift your arms above your head, wrists together, and refrain from urging him anywhere. He’s in charge. He wants to remind you. As if you need reminding.

Dave notices. He sees the curve of your back, your tits straining out of his shirt, your body stretched out for him like a lounging cat. He pulls away from your cunt and bites down on the flesh of your inner thigh. You yelp, the muscles in your legs flexing around his head. “You like this,” he hums, flattening his tongue against your clit. You moan long and low. “Yeah, you do. My good little slut, letting me do what I want with your body.”

“Mmmmoh!” He nips your clit and it makes you tremble, your orgasm clawing at you despite his negligence. “I’m your slut, I’m just a whore for you, your good little whore. Feels so good.”

He and his cock love your babbling. It twitches against his stomach as he laps at you, a cat at his bowl of milk, drinking you down on his tongue. Your moans grow closer together, more frequent, and he knows you’re about to come. So he pulls away from your soaking pussy. 

Your hips chase him until your mind catches up, realising he hasn’t given you your orgasm. It isn’t surprising, but it still makes you pout. “Oh, my poor girl,” says Dave, mocking your expression, crawling up onto the bed and over your body, taking your lower lip between his teeth. You try to kiss him, desperate to be touched, but he pulls away again. “You wanted to come, didn’t you?”

“Only…” You swallow thickly, the desire evident in your eyes. “Only if you want me to.”

Dave grins, his fingers sliding down to your clit and slapping it lightly. “So good for me,” he says, ducking his head again and slanting his mouth over yours. You sigh into him. “I can do whatever I want with this pussy. Tell me.”

“You can do whatever you want with my pussy,” you say between inhaling lungfuls of air as he relentlessly devours your mouth. “I’m yours, it’s yours.”

You look so beautiful spread out beneath him, steadfast in putting your trust in him even as he tore an orgasm away from you, that Dave can’t bear to withhold any longer. He guides his cock to your entrance and slides inside you without warning. You gasp, your eyes unwavering from his. 

It’s intimate like this, and he’s surprised by how much it chokes him. You’re looking at one another as he establishes a deep, grinding rhythm inside you, your legs wrapping around his waist and his mouth connecting with yours in long, sloppy kisses that leave you both breathless. Dave holds you reverently, the way a follower carries offerings to the altar, his hand around your waist and bowing your back to deepen the angle. His other hand, balanced with his elbow, cradles your head as he keeps his mouth close to yours and refuses to let you look away. 

He knows you’re getting close, and he is, too. He takes the opportunity to explore your body, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and sliding his hand up your ribs, tracing them with fascination for the way you breathe. He feels your rapid pulse under his fingers, circles your nipples with his rough fingers, and basks in the curves of your perfect, smooth body beneath him. You’re perfect. You’re everything he’s been waiting for, his sweet, clever girl. 

“You’re mine,” he says, whisper-quiet, his hips sliding against yours, deliciously slow and rubbing up on your clit in just the right way. He won’t deny you this time. 

“I’m yours,” you say, your nose nudging against his. He grins. Happy.

You come just before he does, your entire body tightening and quivering, your cunt squeezing him, ironclad around his cock. Your brows lift in pleasure and your eyes droop, your lips parting just enough for a small gasp to escape. He huffs into your hair when he comes, spilling his hot cum deep into you and bucking his hips flush to keep it snug inside. 

His body is a canopy over yours, and he finds he doesn’t want to move. You smooth his hair back, your touch so gentle and calming to his erratic heartbeat that he lets out a chest-deep sound that sounds like a purr. “You’re beautiful,” you whisper to him, and there’s so much more awe in your voice than he deserves. 

He lifts his chin to capture your mouth. His heart is swelling up into his throat. “Stay with me,” he says. 

It’s not an order and it isn’t jagged-edged. It’s him asking, pleading. It’s him opening his palm and offering a key to you. It’s soft as the brush of sunlight over your skin in the earliest hours. “I’ll stay with you,” you tell him, pressing your lips to his. “You need some touches of colour in this place.”

Dave chuckles, rolling you over until you’re lying on top of him. You’re all the colour he gives a fuck about.

~

There’s a skip in your step as you walk to his car and slide inside. Dave traps your jaw between his thumb and forefinger and pulls you toward him for a kiss before you can even tug on your seat belt. “Hi, baby.” He grins into your mouth. “How was class?”

“You know, it’s funny,” you muse, checking your reflection in the visor. “Everyone was talking about it. Apparently, Senator Berkeley was found in his home with a gunshot wound to his head. They said it was suicide.”

Dave makes a noncommittal noise. “Shame. He must’ve been caught up in something he couldn’t deal with.”

You shrug, getting situated as Dave pulls out of the parking lot. “I started reading the book you got me.”

He places his hand, palm-up, on the centre console, and you take the invitation to thread your fingers through his. “You like it?” he asks. 

You lift your joined hands to your cheek and rest it there. “I’ll tell you about it on the way home.”

THE END.

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #dave york #dave york smut #equalizer 2 #dave york x f!reader #dave york fanfiction #dave york x you #dave york x reader #dave york x female reader #dave york fic #suburban murder daddy

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

a good omens grieving update because if I'm crying at 5 am you better be too.

Good morning, maggoty loves of mine. Despite all attempts to distract myself and you all with wedding cakes and dresses and textposts, it is five in the fucking morning, and I've been crying for half an hour already.

I'm listening to the Pentatonix cover of Hallelujah on loop and I will never be normal about anything ever again and there is nothing you, I, God, Satan or even Neil can do about it.

@mirrorleaf was kind enough to hijack my stupid royal family post with this fucking gorgeous edit of season 1 set to Hallelujah. Thank you, I'm now fucking sobbing and I found another edit again of season 1 and then I read fics and now I'm NOT FUCKING OKAY.

All the times Aziraphale looks up to Heaven and prays, how hopeful and desperate he is, and then the way he looks at Crowley while he's pinned against the wall, entirely calm and sure and safe.

And the song playing with Love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah over Crowley crying over alcohol when he thought Aziraphale had died. I'm not okay.

I need to watch season 1 again. When I watched it first, it was in two installments with you maggots on livestream, and the first installment was like two days after I was kidnapped as Mascot of Good Omens. Needless to say, it was all a fever dream.

Then I watched this edit now and there's so much. There's so much fucking layers and emotion and nuance that I didn't notice. And it's absolutely going to wreck me and then I'll have to rewatch season 2 and by then I'll have no self-preservation and I'll have read the book and I'll never ever be okay again and I'll have to live with it.

You all really just found a guy on the internet and fucking wrecked him, huh. This fandom really just did that. Now salt and pepper shakers made me think about Crowley's Fall and the inherent transience of human nature and The angel you knew is not me.

It hurts. I thought I was ridiculous about Drarry. No I was entirely fucking reasonable about Drarry. This is a gut punch except to the throat. Repeatedly.

I remember when I made a post a day or two after finishing season 2 and someone, @thescholarlystrumpet it was probably you, told me that grief isn't a linear process and to take care. To anyone outside this broken fandom, that would seem like a disproportional response to a show's season 2 finale when we know that it will end happily. Everyone in this fandom knows how much that reminder is needed, though.

Besides, though we know that the show ends happily, we know that Aziraphale and Crowley will be together and it is inevitable, how does it still fucking hurt so much? I knew all the spoilers, technically, of the show before I started, and it still surprised me with the emotions.

I had to stop writing this post for a few minutes because an image came to my mind and I had to sketch it. Of how I'd felt when I came here, lonely and frightened, and how the fandom grabbed me and forced me to watch the show and how much it hurts and how beautiful it is and how it feels like a mirror. A shattered mirror, one that's soaked with all our blood and tears, but it showed me I wasn't alone. So here, have this brief sketch and do NOT come at with about pretentiousness my beloved maggots because for one, I have always aspired to be pretentious and for another, THE SUN HASN'T FUCKING RISEN AND I'VE BEEN IN TEARS WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

Congratulations, the next time anyone asks you if you've ever killed anyone, every one of you can confidently say that yes, you are indeed directly responsible for murder. My blood is on your hands, motherfuckers, you adopted a Mascot and then killed him.

#good omens mascot #good omens #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #good omens fandom #maggots #crowley #lgbtqia #aziraphale #neil gaiman #good omens 1 #good omens season 1 #ineffable divorce #crowley x aziraphale #aziracrow #final fifteen #ineffable fandom #good omens brainrot #ineffable brainrot #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #ineffable lovers #good omens edit #good omens 2 #hallelujah

[armins-main-hoe]

Coukd u do an aizawa arrange marriage fic?

Sure! But i don't think i can create a whole fic with chapters so this will just be like a really post with my head cannons about it.

I know you sent this request like literally ages ago and I'm so sorry for only now getting to post it. I was not trying to deliberately ignore you're request I just had not opened tumblr to write in a very long time.

But I'm back now and I'm going to keep up with all the requests I get.

Aizawaxfem!reader

Selenophile

(A person who loves the moon)

You both got married in your early twenties, by now quirk marriages were not as common and were often frowned upon, yet your life had been sealed with Shota Aizawa since you got your quirk.

His quirk, the ability to remove another's quirk with his eyes and your quirk, the ability to control another's health, to either make it better or worse, by your touch.

What your families hoped to achieve was a quirk where one could control another's health with their sight. Since you can always see further than you can touch, the two family heads believed that a quirk like this could lead to a lot of success and, of course, money.

Neither families were at the top of the upper class of society but that did not stop them.

When you first met Shota, you could tell he was a man of few words, he did not like small talk. His eyes sullen and drooping with lack of sleep. You struggled a lot to keep the conversation going with him.

During your engagement, you hardly met him, he was busy with starting his career as a pro hero and you were still doing your apprenticeship under the top nurse of Japan's most famous school, UA.

When you got married and had arrived at your honeymoon, you were sweating buckets. While you weren't all that close to your newly wedded husband, you could never deny that he defiantly had the body of a pro hero, in other words, he was hot as fuck sometimes.

All the exhaustion from the wedding had suddenly disappeared as you began to wonder if he too was expecting anything from tonight.

He didn't. He went straight to sleep. Ugh, men.

The rest of your honeymoon was just as awkward, well at least from your side it was, Shouta did not seem to care all that much, he just appreciated the actual time for sleep he was getting.

Months passed and your relationship with your husband did not get any tighter, you both took turns with chores and cooking, working around each other's schedules.

By now Aizawa's pro hero career was kicking off and you had finished your apprenticeship and had begun working with Recovery girl.

You soon began to think your life was not all that bad, you enjoyed your job and it paid extremely well, you had developed some sort of mutual understanding with your husband, though there was no romance nor friendship, there were no arguments or squabbles either.

Not wanting to admit it so soon, you had actually begun to feel fond of Shota. Sure no strong romantic feelings yet but you could tell he was a genuine guy. A workaholic but to be fair, so were you.

After a year went by, however, you both soon began to get pressure from your families to start trying for a child. They wanted their perfect quirk and they wanted it now, claiming that they had given you both plenty of time to settle in.

Shota would then tell you that he was perfectly fine with waiting, since all anyone can do was talk and shout. No one could physically force you to conceive a child. He also believed now was not the time for a child for you both, since the two of you were so busy with your own work lives.

While you agreed with him you began to wonder if he actually ever wanted to have children. Just like you he was forced into this marriage, neither of you had a choice. But now that you are married, no one can force you to have children like they forced you to get married. So in a way, you both have a choice now.

You didn't ask him about it.

One day you got a call from Shouta, it was late in the evening and you had came home after work. He had told you before hand that he was going to go out and have dinner with a friend of his.

You pick up the call and immediately realised the person on the other end was NOT your husband.

"Yo Mrs Aizawa, your *hic* HUBBY bubby is on the floor, passed out *hic*"

ah, Hizashi Yamada, also known as President Mic. You had never met him but you knew he was a really close friend of your husband's. You then made your way over in your car and picked the two drunk men up. After some difficulty, you managed to get the loud blonde to his place and then got yourself and your husband back to your place.

You helped him walk up the stairs and back to your shared bedroom.

"Okay, stay sitting on the bed, i'm gonna get you something esle to wear okay?" You tell him softly.

"Y/nnnnn?" Shota called out even though you were in the same room.

"I'm here." you say while opening his wardrobe.

"You're my wife, you know that?" He drunkly babbles.

You smile at his antics. "I know shota." You walk towards him with a pair of more loose clothes.

"My pretty wife."

You know he's drunk but it still made you blush.

"My pretty cute wife." He then grabs your face, squishing your cheeks.

"S-shota-"

"Why are you like that?" He asked, letting you go and throwing himself back on the bed.

"Like what?"

"Like, like... like awkward around me. I'm your husband!" He threw his arms up for effect.

"Come on, change your clothes." You pull him up so he is sitting again.

Thats when he pulls you onto his lap.

"Shota!"

"Y/n!" he whined.

He then hugged your waist, nuzzling into your neck. You're entire body flushed, you did not know what to do. You couldn't move even if you wanted.

"You're like the sun y/n.." He then mumbles, yet you couldn't quite understand what he was saying as all you could focus on was his lips brushing against your neck.

"So pretty and happy and... well.. hot. But no matter what I can't get close to you."

"i'd say you're pretty close to me right n-now..."

"But i'm drunk." He then looks up at you.

"Oh so you're aware?"

he nods. "I don't think I have the balls to hug you sober."

You let out a soft laugh, your mind and heart still racing, you had never been so close to him ever since you shared a kiss on your wedding day.

"Why's that?" you asked him, somehow feeling your heart calm down.

"I'm scared." Your eyes widened at his words. You never thought he could be scared of initiating a deeper relationship with you, you always thought that he just did not want one. The conversation ended there that night since he ended up falling asleep straight after.

Shota woke up to one of the worst hang overs he has had his entire lige the next day. Suppose it was not all that bad since his wife took the day off to help him get better.

He did not quite understand why she would take the whole day off, he already had the day off which is why he even agreed to drinking. He thought that she didn't have to skip work just fro him, though he was grateful that she did.

He also noticed that something about her has changed, she became more... close? He isn't quite sure. But he likes it.

With a new step forward in your relationship, the two of you found each other becoming much closer to each other, you would sit and talk for much longer during dinners, tell each other more about your personal interests and on those off days where your both manage to get a day off on the same day, you both would spend the day together, almost as you would on a date.

Then there was a day where Shota had another long shift at his agency, he came back home with a few new cuts and bruises.

You were just getting ready for bed when you saw him go in the bathroom, you noticed the blood dripping down his arm.

"Shota?" You knocked on the bathroom door.

"Yeah?" You heard him say followed by a soft groan.

"What happened?" You ask. "Can I come in?"

"It's fine don't worry, go back to bed."

"Shota.... I can help. You know how my quirk works."

After some convincing, he let you in. His cheek had a dark pink bruise forming, his hero suit ripped. Though he mostly wore black, up close you could see darker patches of black where it clearly was soaked in his blood. The worst of it was his arm, his sleave completely missing and he had burn marks around a massive cut that started at his bicep to his elbow.

"Fuck." You breathed out at the sight of it.

"That bad huh?" He chuckled.

"Why didn't you get patched up at ur agency?" You looked up at him

"The medical staff are out on strike."

You nodded, you heard of some medical staff in some agencies leaving because of how little they got paid.

"Take your top off" You softly say. You can't imagine the type of pain he must be in and yet he's standing and smiling at you like it's nothing.

His top was off and you saw many other little cuts adn bruises filling his skin. You frown at the sight.

"I'm okay Y/N." He whispers.

"No you're not. Stop acting so tough. No one would be okay in a condition like this." You softly scold him while you take his injured arm in your hands and start using your quirk to heal him.

"I'm okay because I have you remember. Look, it's as if it wasn't even there." He looks down at his arm, any sign of injury completely gone. You shake your head at him and then start to work on his torso.

There you both stood, under the single light of the bathroom, your hands on his bare chest while he looked down at you. You then looked up at him. your hand coming up to gently trace the bruise on his cheek while you watch it slowly disappear as you used your quirk. You're eyes met his.

There was something in the way he looked at you. Something that made you feel warm. Something that made you feel safe. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, or maybe the way he looked at you but you found yourself leaning towards his lips.

One of his hands held you by your waist, another now on the back of your head as he leaned in too.

At first it was just a simple peck. But that small kiss ignited something more. As if burning down the doors that help all your pent up emotions towards him. He pulled you back in, kissing you much more passionately this time, his lips moving against yours as if he needed to devour you. He walked you backwards while kissing you till your back hit the door.

Breaking off for air you looked up at him. "Finally grew those balls huh?" You teased him, referring back to when he was drunk.

He rolled his eyes before picking you up so your legs crossed around his waist, carrying you to the bedroom and laying you down on the bed while he hovered on top of you.

"You.. ready?" He asked, placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

"For what?" You ask. He wiggled his eyebrows at you while smirking. You let out a laugh while playfully smacking his chest.

"So?" He laughs with you, littering your face with his kisses.

"Yeah, I'm ready." You smile while you felt his lips kiss you all over.

He stopped and took time to admire you, his wife. His pretty wife.

#mha #my hero acedamia #mha aizawa #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #bnha aizawa #aizawa sensei #arranged marriage #aizawa arranged marriage

[dameronology]

stop, you're losing me (s.h)

taylor swift released a new song so here's a fic based on it. this doesn't have a happy ending btw it's just pure angst lol

warnings: language, angst, arguing

it's kinda short but i'm getting back into the swing of writing. love you all and thank you for bearing with me through the last few months.

jazz xx

If you stared at the wall for long enough, you could still see the shadows of what once. The rigid outlines of you and him, dancing around what had been an empty room this time two years ago; the contours of your bodies as you spent hours putting together furniture, desperate to make the space yours after years of uncertainty. Nailing pictures to the wall - you and him last year in Italy, the pair of you at a friend's wedding in the fall, school photos and yearbook pictures. Then, if you blinked hard enough, squeezed your eyes shut and peeled them back open, you'd see the room for what it was now. Empty; photo frames you'd foolishly brought, never used and collecting dust; a crease in the sofa where he used to sit, cold because he was never fucking home anymore. The shadows that used to be happy were tense now, backs arched and arms flailed, faces flexed from smiles to frowns and then pure rage.

It was just you. No Steve. No laughter, no tears, no anger. Emotions replaced by apathy and the man didn't have a clue. Maybe he was just fucking oblivious but every futile attempt, every conversation you'd tried to have on the matter, had been in vain. Maybe it had worked for a few weeks; a few weeks where Steve would come home early from work, bring you flowers and get you a booking at that one restaurant with some vaguely sentimental meaning to your relationship. Then it would go back to normal - late nights, forced conversations, and finally, the stand still. The moment where you'd realised your relationship was stagnant and whilst everyone was getting married or pregnant or buying a house, you were going no where. At least not with Steve.

He was home late as usual, just after 9PM. He came through the day, car keys and briefcase thrown to the side, top button immediately undone and tie coming loose. Steve barely looked at you as he moved across the living room, straight to the fridge for whatever leftovers he could fine. It wasn't until he turned around, mouth full of pizza and a can of Coke in the other hand, that he finally gave you a smile.

"Good day?" he asked.

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, not bad."

"Good," he gave you another smile, breezing past you and to the bedroom. Door slammed, minor shuffling, and then he re-appeared, now in an old t-shirt and sweatpants.

Sometimes, you wondered if he sensed it too. The coldness in your touches, in your voice. The way there was always a massive gap between you in bed at night. If he had noticed, Steve sure did a good job of ignoring it. He always had, in a way. Even after everything - the Upside Down, the monsters, the darkness - he hadn't wanted to talk about it. Maybe he was clinging on to the familiar. Even when everything had changed, your relationship stayed the same. If only he'd known that was the entire problem.

You'd had faith for a little while, but then you'd lost it.

"Nancy called, by the way," Steve continued on, waltzing around the room - heating on, TV volume up, mail thrown onto the coffee table. "The baby's doing well. She's six months along now."

He passed by you, hand ghosting across the back of your shoulders. That was it. That was your physical contact for the day, unless he was feeling sweet enough to accidentally kick you in the night or brush past you in the bathroom when he washing up before bed.

"Steve?"

Your voice was low; enough to alert him. Steve stopped, turning to face you.

"Yeah?"

"I'm moving out."

His shoulders dropped for a moment - and then he laughed. He fucking laughed. "Yeah, good one. Your jokes are getting worse."

"I'm not joking," you said. "Our lease is up next month. I'm moving."

"Where?" his eyes followed you as you got up and walked to the kitchen. He was on your heels like a lost puppy, immediately by your side. "And when were you gonna talk to me about this? Do you mean...like, a place together? Or a place apart? Because I thought we liked this apartment. We do don't we, because of the sky lights, and the fancy fuckin' sinks in the bathrooms-"

"- the place isn't the problem, Steve!" you cut him off. "It's you."

"How?" he asked. "I thought we were good?"

"Look at us!" you snapped. "Of course we're not good! You're a stranger to me, Steve. I never see you, and when you do you're just...you're not there."

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I've just been busy with work, okay? I'll try harder."

"You always say that," you shook your head. "Why do I have to keep asking you to try? You should want to try. You should want to act like you love me. Am I asking too much by asking you to fucking love me, Steve?"

"Do you honestly think I don't love you?" Steve said. He looked defeated now; drooped shoulders, sad eyes, bottom lip folded like he was about to cry. "You're everything to me. You have been since we were sixteen years old, and you're seriously asking if I don't love you?"

"If I'm everything to you then why don't you act like it?" you quietly asked. "Why all this...brushing past me? Acting like we're just room mates?"

"I...I don't know," he murmured. "The way I felt about you hasn't changed-"

"- I've asked you so many times Steve - if something is up, if we need to talk about stuff, if I've done something," you cut him off again. "And you see me every day sat here, waiting for you to come home, trying to make conversation and you just...you do nothing. You ignore me. You ignore all my futile fucking attempts to make an effort and quite honestly I am done."

The anger had taken over now, taken hold on your brain and tinted the edges of the vision. It was red. Not pink, how it used to be when you were happy, or blue when you were sad, but still had each other. It was just red; scarlet for the realisation that you were stood opposite each other now and not beside one another. You weren't a team anymore.

"So...you're dumping me?" Steve sniffed. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Yeah," you nodded.

"Do you really want to lose me over this?' he asked.

You shrugged. "You've lost me already, Steve."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington reader insert #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #strangers things imagine #stranger things imagines

[moonlight-prose]

LOVE ON THE BRAIN SNIPPET

a/n: this is merely a snippet of what's to come (hopefully soon cause i'm working really hard on it), but since the event is happening currently and i still want to add my piece - here we are! this is for the galentine's day event hosted by the incredible @ohtobeleah. i have a bigger moodboard attached to the actual fic, but i made a smaller one for this piece. i promise the actual fic will be done soon. i swear. also a big thank you to @soulores who has been the biggest cheerleader as i write this fic.

pairing: mickey "fanboy" garcia x f!reader

warnings: not explicit (for this snippet), angst, alcohol consumption, our reader is going through it, mickey being an absolute fucking sweetheart.

Promises were made to be broken.

You understood that now as you watched the life you built crumble to the ground and land at your feet.

The promise you made to one another a year ago. To one day stand in front of the people who loved you most, and speak vows of commitment. Words you knew to never take lightly. They were etched into your heart the day you discovered the ring in his coat pocket.

And yet...promises were far too tantalizing to remain solid—unwavering.

The image of his lips on her neck forced a wave of nausea to the surface. It choked you, pressed down on your chest until the breath was forced through your mouth. Until you could no longer process what taking a regular breath felt like. You grasped the wall beside you as bile rose in your throat, your stomach churning as the pain spread down to the very tips of your fingers.

Somewhere in the midst of sobbing in your car as you drove on the darkened road of who knows where, you found this place. A hole in the wall dive bar. The alcohol was shitty but strong and the patron smelled like cigarettes were their main meal of the day and the neon sign outside only had two letters that lit up the night. But it was perfect given the circumstances.

You could barely make out the bartender's face halfway through. Which turned out to be exactly what you needed.

A way to erase the memories from your mind. To go back to the woman you once knew before he ever came into the picture.

Perfect teeth.

Your first thought of him was how fucking perfect he was. How put together he appeared. And you thought—by some nonsensical logic—that he could make you perfect too. If you got married at your perfect wedding and had a perfect marriage, life wouldn't be so bad. All the past horrors of parents who fought day in and day out, and family members who belittle you, would cease to exist.

You would no longer be the person who was too scared to go after anything.

Yet now even the word left you with an awful taste in your mouth, that not even the alcohol could dispel.

Time moved differently in a dive bar. One hour turned into two, which slowly ebbed into three. And by the time you managed to dig your phone out of the bottom of your purse, notifications lined the front screen. Missed calls and texts filled with paragraphs of apologies and false hope of a future that could never be again. You ignored each one with a renewed fury that built in your body—an anger that had been simmering for years.

He promised you perfect. He offered a hand of peace and yet you never noticed the lies in his eyes. If only you had looked up to see it, but what he held out to you clouded your vision from the truth for too long.

"Asshole."

The frozen night air stung your face the longer you stood there waiting. What that was exactly...you didn't know. Was it time to turn back and set things right? Or was it for time to speed up—to heal the gaping wound in your chest.

Couldn't the people that stood mere feet away see that you were bleeding? Couldn't they see the way your chest had been cleaved in two?

The squeal of brakes splintered the silent night air as a familiar black car came to a quick stop on the side of the road. The image of someone practically leaping out of the driver's side was a blurry sight. You tried to squint and focus, but the amount of alcohol you drank was beginning to take its toll. Maybe if you sat down for a bit you'd feel better, but they were heading right for you—the frantic tone of their voice breaking through your haze.

"Mickey?" You slurred your words, your back hitting the wall behind you as you stumbled.

"What the fuck happened?" His curls were in disarray, shirt wrinkled, and his belt was missing.

Had he driven here from the city?

You tried to reach out for him, but your limbs were suddenly far too heavy to even lift an inch. He seemed to take notice. Taking a step closer, he grasped your cold hand and pressed it to his shoulder, his other arm sliding around your waist to lift you slowly from the wall. The movement was tender compared to the panic in his demeanor.

Although you were still too far gone to notice that Mickey looked at you like you were a piece of glass. Something that was already shattered beyond repair.

It took some time, slow steps and soft encouraging words, but you eventually made it to his car. He dug for his denim jacket in the backseat, slipping your arms into it silently, because this was Mickey. This was the man who used to make you shitty soup at one in the morning when you were sick. The one who would stay over at your dorm after a date gone wrong.

The man who was going to give you away at your wedding.

"Am I okay to drive?"

You nodded, head resting against the seat as you struggled to take a deep breath. The weight on your chest refused to let up, even as the soft rumble of the engine began to lull you into what you hoped was a dreamless rest. You weren't sure if you could take seeing his face again. If you could stomach the visual of them together in your bed.

Mickey's hand pressed to your shoulder. "Bebita?"

Sighing, you leaned into the warmth of his touch—a safety net even after all these years.

"We'll be at my place soon okay? I'll take the backroads to avoid moving too much—"

"He slept with her," you mumbled.

Mickey went silent. The type of quiet that you'd only been privy to once before. The one that led to him nearly getting arrested for beating the shit out of his little sister's ex boyfriend. The one that was reserved for people who hurt the ones he loved. And if you were coherent you would tell him to forget about it, to ignore the way your heart was shattered into pieces. You would beg him to go on as if things were normal, as if you hadn't just been run through with the sword named betrayal.

But this was Mickey, and like it or not...he could always tell when you were bleeding.

"We'll be there soon," he replied softly, though the grip he had on the steering wheel said differently.

If only you were able to see it.

#mickey garcia x reader #mickey garcia x you #mickey garcia x y/n #fanboy x reader #fanboy x you #mickey fanboy garcia #my writing #working on the fic as i post this but it’s turning out longer than i thought

[plasticfangtastic]

American Royalty Ch. 12

A Homelander x F! Reader/Dadlander fic

A/N: This chapter its a lot longer for it is the penultimate chapter, just wanted to thanks all who have read till this point and I hope you look forward to the final chapter after reading this. It was a joy to write this story, if y like to be in the taglist plz let me know. prev chapter:

Tags: fluff, romance, slow burn, dadlander, child neglect, child abuse.

Chapter twelve

Names

You let him have the wedding venue and the honeymoon destination… you didn’t expect for him to drag you to Tasmania but just like you did with the house he did this out of spite, but ignoring the cool heat… it was beautiful. 

It felt personal and small even if there was a whole camera crew and millions of people watching.

Homelander excuse had been that while taking Ryan for a flight he had spotted this national park on the small island, staring into the violet painted lake, the way he recanted how the mist blanketed the lake shore… you knew he wasn’t gonna settle for anything else, and of course it was as far away from William Butcher than he could get.

He had lifted this place out of a fairytale, every corner had elaborate details. No doubt he had some Hollywood set designer build this, he was a romantic to the extreme… corny too, but as you look at the million flower petals scattered around you, you blushed. There was really just you and him, no groomsmen or bridesmaids– the guests were nonexistent either.

Here you two were forcing each other into an unhappy marriage, but no matter what you told yourself… Homelander would be happy in this supposed misery, perhaps it was only you who was unhappy... were you? No matter how fake this all was, he did cry when he saw you, he even stopped caring that William Butcher was there taunting him with his presence– yeah he did turn red when he spotted the smug bastard smiling knowing he was untouchable with all these cameras around… god knows what he was planning, but he stopped caring as he saw you in that dress.

Nevertheless there wasn’t any pretense as he smiled during the reception, the way you felt his heart against your chest as you danced, as you caught that nervous look trying to hide itself not from the cameras nor from his peers but from you.

There you were blushing as you saw him visualizing every step of your routine, trying to keep it together as he tried guiding you.

“Geez just take a fucking breather–  relax.”

“We are live!” He whispered with panic.

“John is not for them… is for us.” You kissed his neck, resting your head against his shoulders to hide your face but also so he could feel your nerves more clearly– I hope you’re having a good time… is fun… I… this is so beautiful… thank you.” You looked up once more– you look good in a suit… you should wear them more often… I like it a lot.” your voice was more breathless than you realized as you stared into his blue eyes.

“Thank you…” He kissed you before forcing another awkward dance move– I just expect to be the last man to ever see you in that dress.”

“Maybe…” Your smile made his ears red– I could be okay with that.”

He was puddy in your hands after that, making the wedding not the worse day of your life, Helena did cursed at having to wear an itchy dress but Ryan was over the moon, and as you rested your feet for a moment, and the cold wind tousled the chiffon on the ornaments, and petals flew away in the breeze.

As you looked at the trees and catched the singing of barking owls hiding in the racketeering of leaves.

For a second you bought into the lie, your daughter would have access to everything the world could offer and beyond, and this boy would get a family, even if the two were struggling to get along, even if the boy still seemed anxious around you, forcing you to walk on eggshells… maybe he would come to love you… maybe you could be happy inside this family. 

“I have to ask… why did you came here?” You lifted the actual french champagne bottle towards the dark haired man.

“Worry I’ll ruin the day for you, luv?” he placed his glass closer.

“I would love it if you did… John is probably trying to find the right commercial break to kill you.”

“You invited me but I am here for Ryan… never thought I’d get to have dinner with him under his nose… after I kill the cunt… I always did worry ‘bout him– I never pictured myself surviving. But now he has a little sister.”

“Well if you kill him, I’ll get custody of Ryan and then you can also make me marry you if you like.” He took the bottle of your hands after tasting the bubbly it had simply been divine, looking at the label and knowing how pricey that was he gave it a long messy gulp– just gotta top this.”

“No thanks.” He took a short sip also admiring the insanely picturesque view of the lake– why did you agree to marry him? Even after–

“I don’t care… Flight 37… working with Neuman, killing Stillwell… the supervillains he helped made– I don’t give a fuck. Why would I care now…? Caring will get me killed, and I got two children who need their mother… Homelander is who he is and I can’t change that, even if he did change, it won’t change what he’s done, so I’ll just move on and take him as he is.”

Butcher almost seemed disappointed but he opted to keep his tongue tied, the thought of Ryan losing another mother over a moral dilemma didn’t sit well with him.

“Want me to get you a to-go box? The cake is divine… I’ll let Ryan know you’re leaving… don't try anything funny…”

“I’ll think I’ll stay until they serve the coffee…”

“We got tea too… 2 sugars?” you say forcing a smile.

“Honey, and a little wedge of lemon.”

“Then I’ll guess I’ll get the kid… hopefully he does kill you.”

He gave you a dirty smirk as you went looking for your adopted son.

Catching the skittering glimpse of Homelander as he kept a watchful eye on you too.

The Honeymoon was beautiful as you headed for the mainland, a bit short but beautiful nevertheless… William didn’t ruin the wedding but he did bother you two during the honeymoon.

A year had passed, here you were sitting in the sitting room while you awaited for Homelander to crawl out of the dressing room. 

Just thinking about how ridiculous it looked to have a closet bigger than your kids bedroom and for him to have nothing to wear made you squirm in your seat, but he was hard to please, without the super suit he just felt small and ugly, even if was still just as handsome as before.

“We can't miss this doctor’s appointment…”

You pushed your tablet aside, as he emerged in a black t-shirt, a wine jacket and black pants, he kept staring at his shoes as if they weren’t the right match, but at this point you had been waiting thirty-six minutes.

“Homelander… I don’t think anybody is going to roast your shoes, so can we go?”

“I just want them to look at me and say that I look conf–

“Chill. You're not the one who's gonna get implanted with some eggs, but feel free to carry them yourself if we keep delaying this. Being late won’t convey any confidence.”

He looked at your clothes, just sweatpants and a nice colorful t-shirt, dissaproving but he bit his tongue instead.

“I’m nervous… what if it doesn’t work again… this is our third time.” He bit his lip trying not to think about the journey here– my fucking sperm its useless…”

“We survived the fire… we are good… we got a couple embryos. It worked now. I gotta hope my oven works once more… you know I'm no spring chicken– i'm in the geriatric category” You stood up reaching after him to comfort him, he just slumped into your shoulders– we had Helena and you made Ryan, you can do it again…”

In all honesty the process had been difficult for him, he had completely misunderstood what was wrong with his body, when the topic was brought up five months into this marriage it had come off as a shareholder asking for investment returns, he had given you everything you asked but here he was asking for his return so why were you surprised? You were mildly disturbed about how much he’d prepared behind your back, it almost came off as if he had already been preparing with somebody else but you pushed that strange gut-feeling aside, the calendar certainly playing a part but you rather not think more of it– your part had been easy, you made eggs, your body was sufficiently healthy and you weren’t that old that it would prove more than challenging to get it to work, but he had been the issue.

At the mention of getting a sperm donor he had almost killed the doctor for the suggestion, he shot down any mentions of adoption, he didn’t want to consider it, he didn’t believe in it, if they weren’t his blood he didn’t want them– he had already won the odds lottery with his two kids so why push it? It only made sense to him but you didn’t voice your concerns.

He was back to being that young man who thought he would be alone forever, he was enamored with the notion of having another child, looking at parents and their kids thinking how perfect it all was when they had beyond plenty, staring at the baby clothes at target when you dragged him shopping, looking at all the spare rooms in this home and wanting to fill them… a son or a daughter it no longer mattered, he had his preferences but if tomorrow they told him he would have another girl he would be happy, he would still cry and he would go and paint the walls pink himself.

But seeing himself in the mirror he was disgusted by all the naked eye couldn’t see.

“is going to be alright, John.” You kissed his temple.

Maybe it was seeing him like this that mellowed you, or perhaps it was that nothing was set in stone, those eggs might not survive, you might have to give up and the thought of your womb being a rental would fade from both of your minds.

But it didn’t.

He cried a lot when it didn't.

If he had been a groomzilla during the wedding he had become a neurotic mess once the bump settled.

He had made it clear he wanted that baby from the get go– admittedly he put up with some of your worst behavior solely because he wanted this, asking you to schedule sex on your terms, you two even discussed this in a room full of lawyers the sex acts you were okay with– threesomes off the table but risky public sex was in the maybe’s.

 Then after that you had to settle on starting fertility treatments as part of the conditions of your marriage, admittedly the agreed divorce settlements left you in a comfortable spot and Helena was always going to be cared for but it came with prerequisites… of proof that you indeed had tried instead of pretending– he had accommodated you beyond expectations… so here you were staring at the slight bump forming under your navel.

The maids duties had doubled, he didn’t want you putting a single extra ounce of work, an elevator being installed was discussed but would’ve taken far too long on remodelations to be realistic, a brief argument took place where he suggested they all moved back to the Vought penthouse as it was less stairs but it was shut down by the majority party. 

Even taking out your stand mixer had him on edge, poor Ryan had to rush to help you if he was nearby just so his dad wouldn’t give you that look– where he scanned your body to make sure the bean was still fine.

As it grew bigger and your body began to waddle and wobble more concerns arrived.

Even showering had him on edge on the off-chance you would trip and fall on your stomach, so he insisted on joining you or at least demanded you showered only if he was in the house, depending on your hormones, your preference was either, altho you knew the kids bodyguard was always informed by the staff if you showered or took bath just to be alert.

“Ricardo? Cassandra? Terry? Damian? Kathy?” You looked at him then back at the TV screen, your feet might as well have been covered in shredded glass so you tried to rest but here he was pestering you– There has to be a name you like… like how did you name Helena?”

You looked at him again, lowering the volume on the screen.

“I think Maeve said the name once… thought it sounded pretty.”

Homelander stopped his pacing as his brows touched and your expression grew confused, he took a deep breath.

“I was in the hospital in a lot of pain… I thought of other names… but maybe the nurse had a similar name, why?”

“You named my kid after Maeve’s piece of shit girlfriend!” he barked.

“… wait really?” You said perplexed.

“Her name is Elena!” He was frumpy.

“Maybe the nurse's name was Yelena or Helen.” You rather not dwell too much in that memory– I like Cassandra altho that’s the Deep’s ex-wife no?”

“Argh…” He cursed under his breath– what about Freyda… Vivienne… Loukas… the name has to be perfect… the names Helena and Ryan freaking jumped in popularity after people learned those were my kids names– it will create trends!” He sank on the arm chair throwing the book to the side– it has to be perfect… their name needs to be like poetry… I want to fall in love with them everytime I say their name… and I think it's a girl.”

Homelander paused, catching sight of you.

“You couldn’t bring a cake to tell me that?” You cursed under your breath holding on to your stomach, you took some deep breath feeling your blood pressure spike–... Genevieve… I almost named Helena that… there was this nice lady back at the half-way house… she was lovely and she helped me out a lot… she was getting out of an abusive marriage– her name was Odelia, she helped me get my first job and sort of my food stamps and such” You bit your cheeks trying to suppress the bitter taste in your tongue– either way she went back to her husband and I never saw her again, even if I called it send me nowhere… her middle name was Genevieve.” 

He smiled.

“If it's a boy I like the name Jason.”

He would continue looking for names helplessly, tempted to post an online poll to help determine but even Ashley said that might backfire.

Each added centimeters to your waist made his nervousness worsen, during those awful months trying to conceive he had tried all the hokum– between the drugs and the smoothies, he had become obsessed with himself but now it was your food bothering him, bringing dieticians and nutritionist to plan menus to boost your health, suddenly your years of expertise were nulled– your diet wasn’t a problem he just didn’t want to believe you. 

Your pantry was filled with wholefood crap and every matter of organic good and insipid health scams, all the meats and veggies now source directly from vetted farmers or killed by himself, somehow a single youtube video taught him how to perfectly cut and portion salmon that he’d caught twenty minutes before… on top of making sure to keep track of your health with his powers, so Homelander made sure everything that entered your mouth passed his standards.

Like a dog caught eating something forbidden, his fingers tempted to pry those fried oreos out of your mouth, but here you were getting fried oreos and beignets and guzzling ice tea as he stood outside the candy store, both kids behind you trying to wipe the powdered sugar off their shirts as their father eyes grew wider.

“I need sugar, John… is called a craving.”

You crossed your arms as you swallowed that beignet whole, you knew it was coming as you reached the end of your first second trimesters– you were hit with monstrous cravings, you devoured M&M’s and so many slices of dollar pizza, you put a dent on your suffering bank account back when you were pregnant with Helena, but now you didn’t need to drink water to calm yourself. 

You could buy the food you denied yourself before and here he was about to scold you for it.

“That’s poison.” He stared at his kids. He entered the cramm and small eatery as the elderly owner stared at him in awe– and you two… I expected better from the both of you.” He said firmly.

“She was cranky” Helena says as she sucks her fingers– moms need to meet their cravings.”

Ryan nodded in agreement as he slurped on his egg cream.

“Think of your cholesterol.”

“Says the guy who hasn’t eaten anything for two days… maybe that’s why you’re cranky.” You barked back already picking your bag off the ground as you headed out– oreos are vegan anyhoo so it’s healthy.”

“You know that’s not true!” He follows you behind as he pushes his kids out the place.

Rolling your eyes as he continues his incessant baragery as you stuffed each sweet into your puffed cheeks.

At night it kept you awake, the memories of endless cravings, of pawning and selling your beloved knives and cooking equipment just to make enough dough to stay in a crappy motel, to get some coins to eat, each meal had to be carefully considered, you had no steady income, you couldn’t eat much of anything but water at times as you picked between buying nappies for newborns and clothes for the baby over another real meal, you at least had the multivitamins… telling yourself this was gonna kept her strong.

Your stomach growling as you look at your diminishing wallet, your stomach growling as you slept in couches and not wanting to burden anyone, not wanting to annoy them as you ate something off their side of the fridge, even your mother gave you grief when you ate a whole tub of yogurt in a sudden urge.

But here as you woke up from a nightmare you looked around and saw that this was your beautiful house and this was your beautiful husband hovering above you panicked as he hadn’t build-up the courage to wake you up.

“I thought you might punch me and break your hand if I woke you up.”

You latched onto him, wanting him to comfort you, he didn’t question a thing as you asked him to bring you yogurt from the kitchen, holding you as you ate with a quiet sob.

He wanted a fat baby, a healthy baby and a super one too, as you ate he could see its tiny stomach fill but behind his worries there had been bigger concerns– he had read the files on Becca’s pregnancy, about how the fetus demonstrated abilities while inside the womb, pictures of her glowing stomach, Becca had been made to stay in a facility during the last trimester just out of fear the fetus would kill her or injure his containment.

Your files weren’t so alarming, you experience horrible pains, most of your medical debt had been from having to be in and out of a hospital for so long, but Helena didn’t shoot lasers nor did she fly, her strength slightly over average and her skin just resistant enough that super strength was needed to administer stitches, but this baby wasn’t any different from the average.

The what-if his child was a mud person repulsed him, but nothing he couldn’t fix.

“You can program it already?”

Helena looked up from the desk, before her all manner of high tech equipment and a computer she had been typing mindlessly for an hour before her father had showed up.

“In theory… I’m still struggling with the human issue. If anything I’ve been more successful with already doped up supes– Elmo’s case for example… The Russian government had been testing Soldier Boy, managing to develop their own Compound V… Serum MGH…” She pulled out some classified documents on her screen– … Their version is a lot more interesting and unstable but they wanted to make: You. their version already managed to “program” flight and strength but highly volatile and dangerous even the animal subject didn’t last long… all I did was stabilize it.” She pushed her overgrown bangs aside just to let her father peek at her unamused expression– this is about the fetus, no?”

“Your sister.” He seemed concerned at her tone.

“Looking at your files and Ryan’s I guess the odds are in your favor… altho…” She took a couple minutes to find the files– about twelve years ago one of your girls aborted a fetus at 14 weeks and according to this autopsy the fetus did not contain any significant compound V traces– god knows what that means.” a couple pages down– and the other died from ‘spontaneous human combustion’ so maybe don’t worry if the fetus its human at the moment”

Homelander had a hard time swallowing the cold delivery of his child, moseying the documents with disinterest, he took a seat as his body grew heavy.

“You can fill this form and request the same purity percentage of the Compound V used on your trials, but you know how random it’ll be.”

“How long have you known about those?” His mouth so dry, it's painful, his tongue swelling as his hands grew cold and painful..

“A while. They really wanted you to fly” She stays still instead of facing him– Why did you never kill Dr. Vogelbaum? or Dr. Park?”

“I dunno…” He had never given himself an answer, nor did he understand why his heart ached after the man died before him.

Helena squints lightly as she types a couple notes, the sound of the keyboard swallowing him whole.

“Sentimental attachments or misplaced love… interesting.”

Homelander didn’t see Helena sitting in the room with him, there was something different about her, as he saw her type on the computer and that disinterested expression that he saw his doctors once again, watching him like a sample.

“If you weren’t my daughter…” He hissed.

“You already made my replacement and this one would be a lot cuter don’t you think?” her fingers stopped gliding for a second– regardless what exactly are you looking for in terms of powers? Got plenty of genetic material to work with from all the failures from here, Sage Grove and Godolkin… I like the challenge and I’m sure you would be nice enough to get me some raw materials if needed.``

She opened a notes screen, ready to be entertained.

Homelander shoulder got closer, staring at her, her voice venomous but she was still dainty… the ire of a jealous child, she had gained a brother whom her mother loved and now another baby in under two years (not even) she has been trusted to cope– she was still a kid. His hand found her head, her eyes blinked blue ready to protect herself, thinking of how easy it would be to have her skull crushed against this desk, of the shape of the dent he would leave.

“I love you Helena… just as much as I love Ryan and I love your sister.” He said softly pulling her chair towards him, her hand glued to the desk as it squeaked– she’s not you. she’ll never be you, she won’t be my perfect little peonie. That’s you, my love.”

“Am not jealous, I feel pity for the both of you. Ryan might be an imbecile but I can tell my mother doesn’t love you and neither do you.” she groaned, pushing his hand away– you’re both babytrapping each other… poor unborn sod nothing but an addendum for your custody battle.”

“You really believe that?” He recoiled from her.

“Really?” her voice was firm– do you love Y/N or you love what she could do for you?”

“I love her in my own way… am not stupid. I know she wanted me for money and I don’t doubt her affections towards your brother are motivated for money! Even yourself Helena! All you want is this!” He gestures to the room– You think am an idiot! Do you think so lowly of me?” His voice had a different tone, she began to wonder if she could hold him back but for how long?-- so save me the crap!”

“Is you who thinks so lowly of me.” her tiny fist squeezed the hem of her skirt– you bastard!”

The chair slid and crashed against the thick wall, she sank into her chair covering her head as his open palm raised.

His hand froze in the air held by an invisible force against his own, he blinked awake, watching his reflection in a glass beaker, small tears budding on the corner of her eyes as her breathing struggled to keep steady.

“I-I-I didn…” 

Homelander lips clattered, his whole body shivering as he caught the gravity of his display, he dropped on his knees taking her into his arms forcefully, the girl squirmed but stayed quiet, he held her drowning in her delicate scent, wanting to barf as the cocktail of her fear poured out of her skin.

“I am sorry… I am sorry” He repeated over and over under his breath as the girl just said nothing

Helena's eyes closed.

“All I done has been for you… I will bear anything your mother gives me, all her scorn and hatred if it means I can have you… have you and your brother and now your little sister… your mother will have anything she ever wants and all I want from her… is you.” He whispered with a shrill voice– she has the mansion, and the maids and not a single worry left… all you’ve ever wanted to give her. I’ve given them on your behalf… so you can be freed of worries… a father's job is to provide for his family. Is not his daughter’s job.”

His vice tightened just enough to mask his shivering self.

“Dad is sorry. I’m truly sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He kissed the sides of her temples, afraid of letting her go.

Helena had seen the reports, she avoided the images as much as she could but the descriptions had been more than plentiful, she seen the violent things done to him and done by him, she wasn’t oblivious to him.

She should’ve been more careful, she thought.

“You could have kill me.” she said with annoyance.

“You’re not scared?” he looks at her face, seeing the red in her eyes but also the stiffness in her expression– we good?”

“We are good, dad.”

She could see there was a conversation taking part in his head as he kept looking past her.

Thinking of an odd hand-written note buried in the pyre, she looked at her screen and how everything looked so big in this room, she hit her forehead back on his shoulders, his face softening as he took her gesture, holding her, wanting to go back in time to stop himself for he had threatened to tear apart all he had worked for and endured. Helena knew that this was the only way to keep the world around her.

“I need to go back to work… regarding the fetus… I only got ...what an hour or two before home time…?”

“We can put that aside.”

Helena stood watching the street from the terrace, all the houses just as tall and the massive hotel building next to their house a motivating factor for the purchase, the trees lining their streets and the few lights coming from the hotel next door and next door neighbors, it was as loud as it was silent.

“Is it loud to you?” She looked up as her father parked next to her, trying to ignore the sounds from the hotel– you think at this price tag…”

“It's close to Madison Avenue, perfect to spend my paycheck, no?”

She turned to see he had a giant stuffed axolotl in his hands, completely disregarding his passive aggressive comment.

“You went to build-a-bear?” she raised her eyebrow.

“I had to do the whole heart ceremony. I bet it's all over TikTok now” His whole face was tight and red as he handed the stuffed animal to his daughter– had to rub that stupid little heart on my knees, and that's a hard angle to reach on this suit!”

She giggled.

“You could have just bought the display one– they sell them to you, y’know.”

“What?” He walked towards the rail trying not to cry as the memory of being made to make a wish to the green haired store attendant as she spoke with the same tone she used on small children on him– what’s next it's optional?”

“Yeah.” she hugged the thing dragging the tail as she sat on one of their chairs– am sure they’ll think it's cute.”

“Who's ‘they’?”

“The worthless masses.” burying her face in the soft fabric– I love it.”

He blushed.

“What happened today… it’ll never happen again… I swear.” he swallows listening to your steps below as you worked on the cupcakes for your upcoming baby shower. He had wanted a big gender reveal party but you had forced him into just a quiet event with only a handful of friends old and new– I do love your mother– just so we are clear”

“Is okay I forgot for a second you aren’t human… the only thing that could touch me before has been fur not people… so let’s just not dwell in the past…”

“I didn’t mean it… what I said about you and Y/N and money… sometimes I just think the worst of people'' he looked vulnerable and painfully human as he spoke– what your mother and I have it's more complicated than most people could understand– even you!”

“Just don’t divorce… I’ll leave with mom… she would need me…” She mumbled looking away from him.

“I’ll never leave her.” A wicked glint coloured his eyes as a half smile amused him– She can’t leave me either. Not with Genevieve now in the picture… I mean I would go broke if I did…”

“How bad was your prenup?”

“The things I gave up just for getting christmas with you and Ryan… horrific… a bloodbath.”

“Maybe you should go win mom over.”

He took that as a small victory, Helena let herself be taken back inside, Ryan wondering where she got the toy, making a quick promise to take the kid to a toy store.

A maid took the tray into the fridge as you welcomed your husband home.

“Hey, a new episode of that Kdrama we've been watching came out today. Just getting some snacks ready for tomorrow then I’ll go join you guys to watch it.” You said cleaning your hands on your sides– you went to build-a-bear?”

“Long story. Our little genius did a great job in the lab and deserved a present. Right baby?”

“I should have asked for a raise shouldn’t I?” 

“Maybe discuss that with ‘bossman’ overthere.” 

They both gave you strange looks sharing a quiet conversation away from you.

That night he was unusually touchy, wanting to keep his hand against your stomach and his head close to your bosom, the kids cursing at the stupid behavior of the love birds on the screen as they continued to miss the signs, your hand unknowingly finds itself stroking his ear and chin, as he caressed your stomach.

“She sleeps a lot you know. that's good.”

“Thanks for officially killing the surprise there, honey.” You knock your head back– you better keep it quiet until the cake is cut!”

“Oh! Am having another sister!” Ryan sounded both happy and sad– you think she’ll like baseball?” 

“Anything else you want to spoil?” Helena mentioned as she flicked popcorn in his direction.

“She’s very blonde.” 

He did get to sleep in the bedroom that night, you simply couldn't fault him for being overly excited… this was now just how he was for some reason.

“Put the beds together… you can hear her better that way no?”

He does without protest.

A pillow wedged under your stomach and your head, frankly you only needed his arm to help bolster your neck, knowing that as you kicked in your sleep, he would keep the pillows in their strategic spots to ensure your comfort, for he slept very little.

“I like the name Genevieve… it's elegant… it's perfect.”

He stifled a yawn as you twisted your neck to look at him.

“Sorry is not a son.”

He stroked your stomach, feeling every minute movement your child did inside, telling himself that she was reciprocating.

“I don’t care she’s everything to me…” he kissed you lightly– I just want to meet her already even if she looks like a blonde alien.”

“You’re not even a real blond” you rub your body against his as you try to get comfortable– don’t call her an alien, you meanie.”

“Thank you for our little area 51 escapee.”

“Don’t listen to him, honey. Your father is just mad, he isn't a natural blonde.”

taglist-- @immyowndefender @fromforeigntofamiliarity @demodemo909 @ghqstfqce

#homelander #the boys amazon #homelander x reader #homelander x you #my fic tag #american royalty #homelander fanfic #dadlander #will say i did not enjoy writing that scene with HL and Helena in the least. #sorry for the lenght

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Did somebody say... ANOTHER RAMBLE?

*Barges in like about to stop a wedding*

(But thank you for wanting my rambles and liking them! I appreciate it and hope you have amazing day as well!)

OKAY SO, REMEMBER YOUR HELEL (ithaqua s tier skin) FANFIC. YOU SON OF WONDERFUL PERSON, I WAS LITERALLY OBSESSED OF THAT FANFIC, BUT I GOT IMAGINES WHILE READING THAT FOR ABOUT.. wait, let me count.

2329th

2330th..

Around 22331!

I WILL BE EXCITED IF YOU WRITE PART 2, but if you don't want! It's alright. I respect your boundaries and you of wanting what you want to write! I'm chill with it!

WHAT IF LIKE.. Well, probably like imagine too, WHAT IF S/O (the Farmer girl!), BUT S/O IS LIKE ROYALTY TOO (changing reputations here!), was actually and supposed to be betrothed to Helel when they were young/children. Like child marriage and all that.

I do think Helel would be surprised as child back then, but how children would react, he would be upset and confused. But he slowly accept it, thinking his fiance may as well be not so interested to him anyways. BUT THEN, when this motherfucker entered the room where he would meet his betrothed partner, and quickly fall in love at the sight of them.

His once act of bored and "man I don't want to be here, at all!" Turned into child-like and puppy crush on S/O, liking them already as he doesn't want to change at all. But, I think this is start of Helel obsession as well..

BUT ALSO TWIST HERE, Nathaniel (Or Nebu, I don't know which design suits him. But I like Ithawua Hunter! Nathaniel Nebuchadnezzar design more! I think it suits him!), Nebu actually likes S/O, but hearing them being betrothed to his own literal brother, Helel. He's upset and doesn't talk to Helel for awhile. MOSTLY YEARS AS THEY GROW UP

But during and after Helel exile, even though he's supposed to be the crowned king, with Nebu being now the Sun King. As he has the power with Helel gone as well (He coming back later), he makes S/O his own lover. Even though S/O promise themselve to only love Helel (it can be out of love or only doing it to satisfy the royals)

S/O situation will be like the farmer girl on the fic, locked up the cage and their body getting used, but with more punishment if S/O keeps mentioning Helel

But when Helel comes back (with trust issues), I think he will regeconize his own betrothed. Feeling happy and relief, just to see his own betrothed, but seeing what Nebu has done to them. You may hear some... Screams in the brother dungeon

But remember, Helel is very much fucked up after his years old exile. So, he's still the same but more overprotective and does keep his betrothed in the golden cage. Like trapped dove, with body of a delicate doll.

(I HAVE HYPERFIXATION ON THIS FANFIC)

(SORRY I'M BOTHERING YOU WITH BORDER OF RAMBLES!!)

Im screaming rn THIS IS SO GOOD AAA

As for part two to 'Darling Bird' idk cuz it my first idv fic and alot has changed i think in how i write Helel (he very corrupted) and my unnecessary need to world build bzjjzjzj that prob cringe and very religious themed ndnsjsj but one day jzjzjz

God i love these asks sobs pls if you have discord pls join my server! We are all screaming about florian (and florian x reader x norton lololol)

ALSO IM THINKING THT LUCA YOU WROTE TOO AAAA i miss him hchvnj my adhd brain exploding lol

#anon ask

[horrornvnfan]

To Need Another Person

I wrote yet another Restart Heart Fanfic! This is a sequel to The First Night, and takes place on the morning of Day 2 of the game. This is starring my MC, Maria Dust, and Ezra and Steph.

This fic is a re-write two scenes from the game put together, so canon lines/events/actions are used here or have been edited to fit the characterization of Maria Dust, but credit must go to the original. Please check out Restart Heart and support the dev here @restartheartvn, the game and the story are really amazing!

If you're interested in Maria in the context of this game, click here.

————————————————————————

You woke up to Ezra's limbs intertwined with yours. And the sound of vibration.

Reluctantly, you open your eyes. Your body felt so sore you thought you were going to crumble into pieces. You feel like that was an injustice, considering all the nonsense you were already going to have to go through from here on out, with cancelling an entire wedding and dealing with your family.

At least you got to experience some kindness yesterday. Ezra, Sammy, and Blaire's trip to the cafe and beach was more pleasant than you expected, considering your emotional state and your status of just being their acquaintance at the time. And then last night, with Ezra… he was so understanding. He even made you laugh.

You were grateful for it. But now that you were awake, there was no slipping back into a comfortable sleep with Ezra by your side.

You tried to move only to get a groan of displeasure from Ezra. He did not want you to leave and in the moment he reminded you of a cat. He grumbled, "Your phone has been going off for the past like, 10 minutes."

You blushed hard as you heard his voice in your ear, deep and mildly annoyed. His voice was normally pretty deep, but this was just insane. And you don't know why you didn't expect it to sound so close. You were cuddling.

Maybe you should stop cuddling. Act cool, for a change.

"How much has it been going off?" You ask as you carefully attempt to wriggle away.

Before he could respond, your phone started buzzing again. You let out a soft groan and reached over to grab the vibrating device. It was a text from Steph. Unusual. You opened the notification to see what the fuss was about.

Steph: [I'm outside, open the door in 10 seconds or I'm breaking it down.]

"Oh, it's just Steph," You yawned. "They're outside."

The gears in your head, previously turning painfully slow in your tiredness, sped up tenfold. Both you and Ezra jolt up and look at each other awkwardly. You couldn't help but stare at Ezra for a moment before quickly jumping out of bed, only for your legs to falter momentarily. What happened to your plan to act cool?

Before you could fall like a tragic baby deer, Ezra's arms shot out and caught you. An oddly tender moment passed as they looked at you a warm blush dusting their cheeks. However, the banging on your front door took precedence.

Embarrassed, you flung yourself from Ezra's hold, and shouted, "STEPH! Stop it! Give me a minute!"

You fumbled out of the bedroom, Ezra trailing behind, and as you swung the door open, still in pajamas and your hair a mess, you came face to face with Steph, who stared at you in disapproval.

"Why the fuck didn't you answer your phone??" They demanded, more cross than you expected.

"I just woke up!"

"And who is that?" Steph glared past you, somehow offended by Ezra's presence in your apartment.

Before you could turn around to introduce them, you felt Ezra gently place his hand on your shoulder. "I'm Ezra, I kept sugarsnap company last night."

You were about to turn to Ezra to nod in confirmation and continue the introductions, but Steph's reaction right in front of you kept you from looking back. They were shifting uncomfortably. And it was strange. Steph was practically never intimidated or made uncomfortable by someone else.

Feeling awkward, you gently nudged Ezra out of the way and stepped aside. "Come inside! I'm sorry for not waking up earlier, y'know how it is."

Steph nodded absentmindedly as they stepped into your apartment. For a moment you just stared at them, the fogginess of sleep and the sudden adrenaline of running out of bed starting to wear off. Steph was here. In your apartment. After what felt like ages of ignoring you or being too busy to even text. Your heart felt tight. And with Ezra here as well, already having comforted you last night over completely different emotional issues, you felt painfully awkward.

Steph wasn't looking at you when they said, "Yeah… did you mean to leave your window open?"

"Huh?" You followed Steph's gaze to your open living room window. "Oh! No, my roommate, Chris, usually leaves our windows open. No idea why, never got the chance to ask." You quickly moved to the window to slide it closed. "I wish he wouldn't, though. I know most bugs are dead or gone this time of year, but I really don't need to risk an infestation right now."

Steph turned back to you and smiled nervously. "Well, how are you feeling? You didn't text me much so I thought you might have… had a bad reaction to what happened."

You didn't like how they said that. You did text them yesterday. You called them multiple times the night of the party, when you were drunk and crying and Chris had to get you home. And now Steph was being vague?

Ezra spoke then. "No need to beat around the bush, I know what he did."

Oh. Right, Ezra being here was why Steph wasn't being direct. There wasn't another reason, like Steph not caring. You needed to stay calm. Steph was here.

And you could see Steph's growing discomfort. "Can I talk to you alone, Maria?"

"Yes," You said too quickly. Sheepish, you smiled at Ezra. "Ezra, Steph and I will be in my room for a bit. You can make yourself comfortable, or eat anything in the fridge."

Steph grabbed your hand and hurried you into your room as Ezra watched.

You felt tumultuous. Steph was here, and that was so important to you. You'd missed Steph so much for so long, and finally, they were here. You needed them. You had no idea how to say it. How to not burden them or make them want to distance themselves from you again. But this was a good first step, you could ask Steph to grab dinner with you, or watch a movie, just a time where you could talk, and--

Steph was scowling at you. You froze, surprised. You'd gotten into your head a bit for a second there, but why were they upset? Steph stared at you incredulously. "Are you serious, Maria?"

"I-- What? What do you mean?"

"While I get what happened really fucking sucked, what the hell was that?" They were pissed at you. "A fucking stranger? Really?"

Shit. You completely forgot about how this would look to Steph, having Ezra spend the night. Your body felt cold, and you gripped your arm tightly. "Ezra isn't a stranger. We're friends now. And we didn't have sex. They just sleptover."

You glare at the ground for a bit, resentment bubbling in your gut. Why did Steph accuse you of that? It's not like you, and they know it. And it wouldn't be fair of them to be angry if you did sleep with Ezra anyways. Your sex life was not their business. "What does it matter?" You continue. "It's not like you were here. You decided that work was more important than my wedding shower."

"Are you KIDDING me?!" Steph scoffed at you, causing your gaze to meet theirs. It was a bit of a low blow, and you knew it. Steph's schedule had always been a point of contention with them, but you were mad. And you were hurt.

They said, "You know I would've rather been there than at work, but I can't exactly quit my job for a fucking party, Maria!"

"It's not just a fucking party," You said through a clenched jaw. "It was one of the most important events in my life and you couldn't take off a single day."

"Well, I'm here now, aren't I?" Steph countered flippantly.

Your face was getting hot, and your impulse control was dropping. So you asked them something you'd wanted to know for months. "Steph, why did you never RSVP to my wedding?"

A deafening silence fell over the room. They were still displeased with you, but there was a new emotion there now. They hesitating. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

Steph's unwavering gaze made you squirm a bit. "Alright. I didn't RSVP because… I didn't want you to marry Kenneth."

Your mind went blank, astonishment temporarily replacing your anger and pain.

They went on. "In fact, I hate Kenneth. Even before all of this shit came to light."

"What?" Your mind was racing. They hate Kenneth? Since when? College? High school? Not younger, couldn't be before then, not for all this time. How could they be saying such earth-shaterring things so blandly, like it was something casual?

They said, "I know that if I came to your wedding, I would not be able to stop myself. So I decided, for your sake and your happiness, to not go."

You rasped a question. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I did."

"No." You said so harshly that Steph took a step back. "No, you really fucking didn't, Steph. You were always supportive. I can't think of a single time that you didn't support this marriage. You even helped him pay for an engagement ring!"

"Yeah, because he couldn't even remember your favorite fucking color, Maria!" Steph snapped defensively. "He didn't know what kind of jewelry you liked, and just assumed the gaudiest, most expensive thing would work! He thought you wanted all this extravagant, outlandish, and down right stupid stuff for the proposal."

Steph went on, unloading their feelings as if they'd been holding in a secret and were relieved to breathe again. "I helped him so much because I didn't want you to be sad. I didn't want him to fucking fail. Yet even with all that fucking help I gave him he still went and got your little sister pregnant."

Your heart was hammering. You couldn't hear much else besides the blood roaring in your ears. Steph showed up two days late after your life was ruined. Steph had scolded you for finding company in someone else when you were vulnerable. Steph had been avoiding you for months. Steph never even thought you should marry Kenneth to begin with. And now Steph was talking like that fact was their burden all this time.

Your voice came out strangely calm, teetering on the edge of fury, when you asked, "You know I was with someone who couldn't even remember my favorite color, and you just let me stay with them?"

It was like something clicked in Steph's head, and they faltered. "I just… I--"

The steadiness of your voice wavered only slightly, still holding back to bulk of your anger. "No, you knew how little he cared and you just let things stay that way? You let me stay with him?"

"Maria, I--"

Unable to hold back any longer, you shouted, "You didn't think to say, 'hey Maria! In case you were doubting the biggest decision of your life, here's proof that you're not crazy! You really ARE going to be miserable if you marry him because Kenneth doesn't give two shits about you!'"

Steph's eyes were wide, and they almost looked hurt. "You thought you were going to be miserable?"

"Of course I thought that!" You snapped. "I never asked for this marriage! I was doing it for my family!"

Steph definitely looked hurt now. You didn't know if they were guilty or if they pitied you, but it didn't matter. You were so, so angry. And you couldn't stop yourself from crying as you ranted on. "You are my best friend! I listen to you more than anyone! I would've heard you out of you just TALKED to me! Instead, what, you shut me out entirely because you thought I was an idiot for marrying a man like that?!"

"No, Maria--"

"Or maybe it IS all my fault!" You were hysterical. "Maybe I should've tried even harder to talk to you, and to stop the marriage sooner! But you're just pretending like you care when I called you the night it happened, and when I texted you yesterday morning and night, to no response."

A long silence went on after that. You weren't looking at Steph. You couldn't. You furiously rubbed at your face to force yourself to stop crying.

Distantly, almost monotonously, you heard Steph say, "It's my job to care about you. And I do. It's not pretending, Maria."

Bitterly, and uncaring if Steph heard you or not, you muttered, "You've done a poor job of it lately."

You heard a strained intake of air, and knew that you had hurt Steph saying that. Maybe it was deserved. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe you were both huge fuck-ups who needed each other, and maybe you needed to be apart. You couldn't entertain any possibility right now. You could already feel your overwhelming emotions starting to shut you down. With your face still covered by your hands and sleeves, you could vaguely see Steph's shadow on the floor, and that they were reaching out for you, but stopping just before contact.

"I'm sorry." They said quietly, and you saw their shadow move away. The floorboard creaked as they got close to your door. "You have my number if you need me."

You listened as they left your room. You listened as the front door clicked open and shut. And you crumpled onto the floor of your room.

You held yourself tightly as silent cries wracked you, willing the pressure to be enough to calm down already. You always hated crying, feeling so helplessly out of control. You didn't know why you yelled at Steph like that. You shouldn't have. You said way too much. You didn't say nearly enough. But you were so frustrated with everything, and so hurt, you couldn't stop yourself.

Hot tears streamed down your face as soft footsteps drew near. Deliriously, you thought it was Steph, but as warm arms enveloped you into a hug, you recognized instantly that you were wrong.

Fucking hell Maria, you actually forgot that Ezra was here. That's another tally for you being a rotten friend. Still, you let yourself settle into their embrace and let out a soft sob. Here they were, comforting you yet again, when you didn't really deserve it. Their body was warm, their hug gentle yet firm enough to help you feel a semblance of security. You needed to push down your shame for now, and focus on your breathing.

Ezra's voice was muffled against you as they said, "It'll be okay, sugarcube."

They let you cry for a while, before moving their hands to cup your face and look at you. You flinched at the sudden touch, and while they paused, they didn't move away, holding you so lovingly -- if you could even use such a word -- that it was almost cruel. With their thumbs, they wiped your tears, and your body relaxed further, very unused to such contact, but unwilling to reject how soothing it felt.

Once again, you had far too much you needed to say, and far too few words to do it. You let out a sad sigh. "Ezra…?"

"Yes, sweetness?"

"I'm sorry if this--"

"No. Don't apologize. I know what you're going to say. 'I'm sorry if this is a lot to handle since we hardly know each other.'" Ezra's hands moved down to your arms, rubbing softly, and they leaned foward to press a small kiss onto your forehead, making you jolt with surprise. Ezra leaned away again and stared into your eyes with a kind smile. "Please don't fret too much about them. You texted them and they never responded… What kind of friend does that?"

Your face fell and you looked away from their gaze. You didn't want to talk about Steph right now.

Ezra carried on. "I'll be here for you whenever you need me, okay?"

You nodded silently as Ezra helped you into a stand, before pulling you into another hug. Distantly, you wondered if maybe it would be fine to rely on Ezra a little more. They had been nothing but patient and genuine with you, supporting you through chaos despite not knowing you well at all. And their hugs were nice, so unlike physical touch with other people you don't know well. Maybe… Maybe it would be okay.

You suddenly felt a gentle bite on your shoulder, and you let out a surprised yelp, reeling back with a bewildered expression.

Ezra who gave you a playful smile. "Sorry, you're just really cute…"

Baffled, you said, "I'm cute enough to chomp??"

Ezra gave a short laugh and buried their face into your neck, squeezing you tighter. "Yeah. You are." Their face felt warm against your skin. Were they… blushing?

Before you could ponder this interaction further, you heard a phone buzz, and Ezra pulled away from you. You watched as Ezra pulled his phone out of his pocket and began reading the notification, then he re-read it. Their face fell, and he stood up suddenly. "Sugarsnap I am so sorry, but I really have to go. Eliana -- my little sister -- needs me."

Before you could say anything or even stand up, Ezra grabbed his stuff and was already halfway out your front door. However, he quickly gave you a tightlipped smile as he shut your apartment door behind him.

You sat on the floor in stunned silence, bizarrely calm again, with streaks of dried tears on your face, wild hair, and a terribly hoarse throat.

What on Earth were you going to do today?

#this is maria's lowest point in the game-canon sadly :( #the dam breaks. :(( but the only place to go from here is up! #my next fic will be an entirely original scene! it'll be Maria with Steph and Kenneth when they were younger! #because i am obsessed with childhood dynamics and am excited to explore this one! #i hope i did my idea of Steph and Maria's baggage justice here #especially for Steph's character #i love them dearly and would hate to misinterpret them. but the relationship is messy it has to get worse before it gets better! #i also want to do an original scene with Blaire i've been planning for a while but it's not perfect yet! #and Sammy's fic with Maria omg i've rewritten it so many times trying to write Sammy's voice accurately #Sammy when i catch you Sammy-- when i catch your characterization i SWEAR-- #restart heart #MC: Maria Fielding #my post #my writing

[renmackree]

Nr. 2 with sterek for the fic prompts pls! Love your writing <3<3<3

Thank you Anon! I'm glad you enjoy my writing<3 Prompt me up!: Open

2. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Derek let out another exhale, this one just a little louder than before as he flipped another page in his book. It was a lazy summer Saturday and for once nothing seemed to be interrupting their plans. Then again, most days had become almost eerily quiet since leaving Beacon Hills. It was good -- yes, Stiles wouldn't complain -- but it was still strange. Stiles was playing the beta of a mobile game that Danny had made ("Wolf Quest"), making small mental notes on things the other would need to change before the launch.

The wolf let out another huff and Stiles shot him an incredulous look.

"Is there something you want to share with the class, Cujo?"

Derek glanced up from the book, his eyebrows furrowed at the nickname Stiles had decided to go with. Stiles didn't care. They were working on this thing called communication and if Derek was going to act like a passive aggressive Midwest farmer, Stiles was going to call him out. They might have moved to Minnesota, but damn it they were from California.

"No, it's nothing." Derek turned back to his book, not even meeting Stiles' eyes.

"Now is it a nothing nothing or a Derek nothing? Because those are two different things. Remember when you called your bleeding out nothing?"

"That was six years ago, let it go."

Stiles rolled his eyes so heavily there was no way Derek didn't feel it. People in New Mexico felt the eyeroll.

"Derek Josephine --"

"-- Still not my middle name."

"--Hale, you will tell me what is wrong or I will wash your clothing with the Laundry soap that has aconite in it."

Derek looked up now, narrowing his eyes as if he was trying to decide if Stiles was being serious or if he was bluffing.

"Yeah, itchy fucking balls all night, I'll even wash our sheets in them. So tell me what you're huffing and puffing about over there Big B."

The wolf closed the book and took a deep breath. "Casper took my spot."

Stiles blinked, looking down at the white and gray kitten on Stiles' lap. He had draped his little paws over his legs and was purring happily.  They had only just gotten him a few months ago after Derek had rescued him from the small lake outside their property. Stiles had instantly grown attached to the little mew mew and named him Casper since his meow was as soft as a ghost.

"Wait," Stiles felt a grin cross his face. "Wait a minute. Are you jealous? Of a cat? Derek." Stiles did everything in his power to stop the laughter; the big Derek Hale was jealous that a kitten had taken his usual reading spot on Stiles' lap.

The wolf huffed again, grabbing his book and standing up. "I'm going to read outside."

"No no no, Derek wait I'm not--" Stiles laughed again, shaking his head. "Derek please, no you can come lay your head on my lap too!"

"I hate this," Derek grumbled and began stomping off towards the yard. 

"You don't mean that. Come back, Balto! I'll even stroke your hair! Free of charge! Usually people pay a full penny for these magic fingers to touch their body. But for the low low price of your pride, I'll stroke you!" Stiles called from the couch, still not getting up. He had a cat on his lap, you don't disrupt that.

Derek had already closed the door and gone outside, but luckily werewolves had super hearing.

"I'll cook dinner tonight!" Stiles offered, trying to get Derek to come back. "I'll even be the little spoon tonight!" He could tell this one was going to require the big guns, something he'd been saving for a rainy day. Turns out a quiet Saturday was the perfect time.

"I'm ready to marry you!"

The door swung open loudly, scaring Casper off Stiles' lap and skittering down the hall. Derek's eyes were wide, mouth open enough to show the prominent bunny teeth. "Stiles..."

"And I'm not just saying it because you're pouting. I really do. Want to. Us. The wedding thing. But please, nothing like Jackson's that was --OH"

Derek had walked over and wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist, resting his head in his lap where Casper had been. His spot. 

It was a lazy summer Saturday and for once nothing seemed to be interrupting their plans.

#inbox answers #inbox fanfiction #sterek #ren writes #I hope you enjoy whatever this is #it was sweet fluff so have at it! #welcome to the hale mouth

[achaotichuman]

Back with chapter 3 of this fic! I have decided to make the rewrite of A Court of Mist and Fury stretch over four chapters instead of three for formatting reasons. Anyway, if you have no idea what this is here is chapter 1 and here is chapter 2

Summary-

Finally free of the Mountain and Amarantha's grip on the people. The Spring Court is scrambling to get back to normal. With their wedding not far away, Tamlin is struggling to keep his Court from falling into disarray. When he starts to get sick things begin to take a turn for the worse and worser.

When Feyre is taken by the Lord of Night, it doesn't look like anything it can get any worse. With his life experience Tamlin should know that things can always get worse.

Request- Do you think you could write about dahlia in this context: https://www.tumblr.com/praetorqueenreyna/737196004108058624?source=share, hopefully featuring deadbeat at first mom feyre, horrified stepdad rhysand, tired of it all tamlin and a supportive lucien/eris.

_____________________________________________________________

A Field Of Dahlias

When Feyre came back Tamlin was certain this time something was very different.

She stopped looking in his eyes at all. And no longer opened her arms for him. Her face was dull and she rarely spoke to anyone at all. 

Like all wildness had been stripped of her, the chaotic human girl he had loved gone. 

He wasn't the only one that noticed. 

Tamlin was slumped on the floor against the wall of his bedroom, and just outside on the other side of the open door was Ianthe, was slumped against the wall as well. Unable to stay in the same room as each other, they resorted to sitting with an open door between them. 

"She hasn't spoken to anyone." Ianthe said, "I'm worried."

"I'm worried too."

"What did he do to her?"

Tamlin's thoughts flashed back to the wedding, where she had run away, all on her own. 

"Hey Anth?" Tamlin asked, using the old shortened nickname.

"Yeah?"

"Did Feyre say anything the day Rhysand whisked her away the first time?"

He heard Ianthe's long dress rustle as she adjusted herself, "Yeah, we had a conversation before she ran off again, then he found her."

Tamlin furrowed his brow, "So you found her before he took her away?"

There was a heartbeat of silence, then Ianthe said, "if I had known he would have found her I would have dragged her back myself. But I didn't want to resort to that."

"Okay, what did she say?"

Ianthe looked at Tamlin through the open door, "She said... she didn't want to go back."

Tamlin went still, but Ianthe said, "I'm sure it was just wedding jitters."

"Yeah, jitters."

***

She was gone. 

Gone. 

Tamlin stared at the sentries as they recounted the events that had taken place. 

The Night Court's third had broken in and whisked her away. 

He had tried. 

Fucking tried. and it still wasn't enough. 

There was no safe place, there was no control of the situation. She had been taken and there was nothing he could do. 

He stood in front of the broken doors. Long curls whipping in the wind. Unable to say anything, see anything, feel anything. All went numb and all went blank. 

It was all wood splinters across broken tiles. Hinges creaking endlessly in the wind. The sword at his hip felt useless and the bow and arrows he was armed with could do nothing. 

There was a low whistle from behind him, "Couldn't have just opened a window, no, we had to do all of this."

Another voice, a female's "Could you be of any use, Eris?"

"Like you Ianthe? What do you wish for me to do? Magically remake the doors?"

"That might be a start," Lucien said as he walked up to stand beside Tamlin. 

There was silence, then Ianthe asked, "How far exactly do we need to run to not be within the perimeter of your soon to come explosion?"

"I'm not going to explode." Tamlin said quietly. 

He could practically feel the lift of Eris' eyebrow as he asked, "Are you sure about that?"

Tamlin shrugged, "There's nothing."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lucien asked. 

"I mean I feel nothing, they took her, again. After I went to the extreme to protect her from them. And there is no longer anything I can do."

Silence. The feeling of numb weighed in worse than rage or sadness. He felt hollowed out. Useless. Worthless. He couldn't protect his fiancé from the male who had assaulted her. 

How would he protect a defenceless child?

"We can't just leave her." Ianthe insisted. 

"We won't." Lucien said, he took hold of Tamlin's hand, "But we need a game plan."

Tamlin looked over at him, eyes determined and strong. Hand warm and firm. 

The High lord nodded once. 

Inhale once, exhale. One heartbeat, then the next. 

"Someone, find someone to fix these doors." Tamlin ordered. 

***

A week passed and panic began to rise in the Spring Court. It's citizens banding together and conspiring for a way to free their Lady from the clutches of the Night Court. 

Ianthe thankfully did most of the groundwork with the people. Calming their worries and assuring them the Lady would return. It did mean she was out of the Manor most of the time. 

Which suited the others fine since the three of them plotted for what to do next. 

"She is in the grasps of a mind controller, we have no real way of knowing if she is safe." Eris said as he sat back into the green lounge. 

"There has to be something we can do." Tamlin bit down on his bottom lip. Sitting at his desk. One hand playing with his sleeve. The world was too sunny today, to nice and perfect. It should have been storming as the Lady of Spring was gone from it. 

As Lucien looked between his brother and Tamlin, he went to stand, as if to walk to Tamlin. Then a letter popped into existence, it floated down and Lucien snatched it from the air. Quickly ripping it open and scanning the contents. 

"Alright we may have a bigger problem." His eyes relentlessly scanned the contents over and over. Eye whirring continuously.

"Oh God." Tamlin cursed as he leaned further in the back of his chair. Eyes tilting to the sky, screwing them shut as if he could block all of it out. 

"What now?" Eris asked, a low, almost growling noise in his voice. He too was done with everything. 

"Hybern." Lucien, a slight breathlessness in his voice. 

"What about them?" Tamlin asked as he braced for the worst. Hands gripping the rests of his chair.

"It seems we have the beginnings of a War."

***

He couldn't even enjoy this.

Tamlin remembered some days in his early childhood when he sat on his mother's knee, and she told him and his brothers stories of the days they were born. Of the terror and the love. Of the fear of the unknown and the joy of finally meeting them.

He wanted to be excited. He wanted to be excited about meeting his baby. He wanted to feel happy about this. He wanted to want it.

But as Tamlin laid in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't breathe. One of his hands rested on his belly. He wondered how long it would take before everyone would know.

He could only think of the fact that if he never got her back, his child would grow up without a mother. He might never see her again. His baby's mother may only end up being the story of the Cursebreaker.

He couldn't sleep, not like this.

Something pulled him to get up, and Tamlin, too tired to do anything else. Listened to the calling and slipped away from his bed.

He walked down through the hallways, white nightgown swishing in the moonlight. Following where the knot in his chest begged him to go.

Eventually he found himself standing outside of Lucien's rooms. Something in him begged to knock.

But it was late. He was probably asleep. He wouldn't want to be woken up.

The door opened and Lucien stared at him from the other side. The red head blinked, pants loose around his hips, and chest completely bare. Dark skin completely on display. It took Tamlin too long to realise he was staring.

Lucien cleared his throat, and Tamlin said, "You're awake."

The Fox nodded, “You’re awake too.”

Tamlin nodded as well. 

Silence encompassed them, and Tamlin wondered if he shouldn’t have come here. 

“Do you want to come in?” Lucien asked softly. 

“I can’t sleep.” Tamlin blurted out, immediately wishing to take back the statement. He was already weak enough. 

But nothing shone on Lucien’s face other than love. He stepped aside, holding the door open, “Come in, Tam.”

“Gods,” Tamlin mumbled, walking inside. 

Lucien closed the door, then he took hold of Tamlin’s hand. His hands were always warmer than most, never too hot but never, ever cold. The High lord wondered if he just never left Lucien’s embrace if he too would never be cold again. 

Slowly and gently, Lucien pulled Tamlin onto the bed. Tamlin went with the motions willingly, too tired for anything else. Concern, worry, was gleaming in Lucien’s big eyes, but Tamlin ignored it. 

In the end, Tamlin laid on his side and Lucien behind him, pulling him to lay flush against his body. Lucien’s lips pressed against the skin of his neck. The blankets were almost unnecessary, Lucien being enough to keep them both away from the chill of the night. 

Then Lucien’s hand slid further down, going beneath the swell of his breasts to lay on his belly. Then he stilled, fingers tensing ever so slightly. Then, Tamlin felt Lucien smile against his skin. 

The Fox kissed him, gently, in a sleepy haze. His mouth travelled up and he whispered, “You’re starting to show.”

Tamlin blinked his eyes down, then his own hand slunk down and rested on top of Lucien’s. 

It was small, would be unnoticeable if he wore a slightly baggier shirt. But Lucien was right. His belly now had the smallest bump to it. Tamlin’s heart fluttered as Lucien’s smile widened and he leaned up to kiss his temple, half mumbling, “You’re going to be a great dad.”

The High lord swallowed hard. 

He didn’t know what to feel. 

But with the male behind him. He felt a little less alone in it. 

“I don’t know.” Tamlin whispered. 

Lucien hummed, “Don’t know what?”

“How to be a parent.” He confided. 

Lucien rubbed his thumb across Tamlin’s abdomen in slow, gentle circles, “No one does at first. I’ll be here for you, so will Eris.”

The Fox of Prythian then kissed his shoulder, “And soon enough, so will Feyre.”

‘Hopefully Feyre.’ Tamlin wanted to say. But to ruin the moment with his dark thoughts didn’t sit well with him, so he remained quiet. 

“What do you think it will be?” Tamlin asked, his voice barely a whisper. 

Lucien was silent for a moment. Hands still moving gently. Tamlin nearly melted into his touch, never wanting to leave the warmth and comfort wrapped around him. Slowly, Lucien moved his lips down to his fluttering pulse point, kissing the soft, tender skin. 

“A girl.” Lucien said, “I think you would be a good girl dad.”

Tamlin’s breath stuttered, he had avoided all thoughts of the baby. Now laying here, hidden in the darkness, only the silver moonlight watching them. In the arms of the male who had held him these three horrible months. He didn’t mind thinking about it. He almost felt like he wanted to think about it. 

“My family has never had a girl.” It was true, the Fairburn family line had only ever had sons. That wasn’t a rare occurrence, most High lord lines had only sons. On the rare occasion a family had an only daughter, the High lord power had jumped to a male cousin. If he did have a daughter, he wasn’t sure she would inherit the power. 

He prayed no son or daughter of his would have the power. It only wreaked havoc, it was near uncontrollable, with a mind of its own. He didn’t wish to inflict that on any child of his. 

Lucien hummed against his skin, “Maybe you’ll break the record.”

Tamlin laughed. Then he asked, whispering into the night, “What do you think she’ll look like then?”

Lucien hummed again, finger tracing circles on his belly, “Like you, blonde hair, green eyes, pale skin. But she might have Feyre’s figure. Or maybe the other way around.”

Tamlin twisted his neck to look at Lucien, the male pulled back slightly to see his eyes properly, “Or a combination, brown hair and green eyes?”

Lucien smiled, “Or blonde hair and blue eyes.”

“What if it’s a boy?” Tamlin asked, intertwining his fingers with the hand of Lucien still resting on his stomach. 

“If it’s a boy… I think he’ll look like Feyre. Brown hair, blue eyes.” 

“So if it’s a girl she’ll look like me, and if it’s a boy he’ll look like Feyre.” Tamlin said. 

“I think so, but that’s just a guess.” Lucien ducked his head to kiss Tamlin’s shoulder, “But we still have a while before then. 

“Still have things to do.” A lot of things to do, most including what to do with Hybern. And how to get the mother of his child back. 

God’s Feyre still didn’t even know. 

“We will get her back, Tam.” Lucien whispered, pressing another soft kiss to his skin, “And we’ll get through whatever Hybern throws at us.”

“What if we can’t?” He dared to ask. 

Lucien pulled him closer, leaning over and kissing his cheek, “We will.”

The next morning Lucien woke Tamlin up as he slowly moved away. Tamlin purposely pretended to keep sleeping as the Fox sat up. Then his hand moved to pull back strands of blond curls from his face. Running his fingers through the golden hair, firm fingertips pressing gently into his scalp. 

Lucien then leaned down, his breath ghosting the shell of Tamlin’s ear, before trailing down to his cheek, kissing the skin, then moving to his temple. A kiss there, before shifting downwards and pressing a kiss to his neck and shoulder. 

Tamlin shifted slightly, then blinked his bleary eyes open. Lucien looked up with a got caught face. Then he smiled sheepishly, “Good morning, did I wake you?”

“Yes,” Tamlin smiled, “But this was a wonderful way to wake up.”

Lucien’s mouth parted slightly, before he returned the soft smile, “I’ll do it more often then.”

Tamlin’s skin heated until he was flushing from head to toe. Lucien laughed under his breath at his red face, then pushed up to press a kiss to his forehead, “Good morning, love.”

“Good morning, Fox.” Tamlin laughed, as he threaded his fingers through waves of scarlet.

In a minute they would have to get up and face the world again. 

But for now their entire world was each other’s arms. 

***

Eris was supposed to be of at least some help. Of course he seemed to be acting little more than an annoying fly buzzing around his head at all times. 

Tamlin turned the corner of the hallway, long silk dress flicking around his ankles. Trying to ignore the voice behind him. 

“If you would listen to me for a single moment, High lord, without running off-” Eris chastised him, following the High lord like a very determined dog. Though Tamlin would never make that comparison aloud, for fear of Eris burning him alive. 

"It is too early for you, Eris." Tamlin said, as he walked towards his office.

Eris hissed under his breath, then darted forward quickly. Grabbing his hips to pull him back.

"You need to listen to me for once in your life-"

"Hands off him, Eris." A voice seethed from behind them.

Tamlin smirked over his shoulder, and Eris rolled his eyes, but did release him.

"You needn't go feral protective male on me, Lucien, I don't want to claim his child." Eris had a shit-eating grin smeared across his face as he stepped away from Tamlin.

Lucien stammered, face going red. Tamlin felt his body flush all over, heart racing as his eyes cut between the two brothers.

"I am not feral protective, you just have reason to touch him." Lucien reasoned.

Eris lifted an eyebrow, "Fine then.”

Tamlin looked between them once again, then rolled his own eyes. It was eight in the morning and he had a headache. They could go spar with the sentries, he however was not going to stand in the middle of their sibling spat. 

So Tamlin turned and walked into his waiting office. Eris seemed to remember why he was chasing Tamlin in the first place and quickly followed, causing Lucien to bolt after them as well. 

“As I was saying, Hybern is our biggest problem right now, but not just ours, all of Prythians.”

“Obviously.” Tamlin replied, skimming through some papers left forgotten on his desk. 

Eris huffed, “So, what that means is that it will also be the Night Court’s problem.”

Tamlin’s eyes snapped, “What are you playing at, Eris?”

He crossed his arms, “I am betting on Rhysand trying to figure this out as well as us. Feyre may play into that.”

“You think Rhysand would use her?” Lucien murmured. 

“I don’t doubt it.” Eris said. 

Tamlin fell back into his chair, crossing one leg over the other. The skirt of his dress draped over his thigh. One hand subconsciously fell to the small bump in his belly. 

It would certainly be a Rhysand choice to use Feyre in fighting against Hybern, after all, they knew her as the one who defeated Amarantha. 

Amarantha…

Rhysand had served her for his own gain for half a century. In that time, who knew what he learned. What he saw. 

Tamlin’s own father had played with Hybern. The Spring Court had plenty of connections, and was Hyberns best bet on smuggling into Prythian. 

“Lucien draft up a letter for the King of Hybern.” Tamlin said. 

“What?” Lucien’s blazing eyes snapped from his brother to Tamlin, “Why?”

Tamlin balled one hand into a fist. For his stolen love, and unborn child, he could do this. 

“Because we are going to take a page from Rhysand’s book and play double agent.”

***

“You can’t be serious.” Ianthe said, her face completely devoid of emotion. 

“It is the only way.” Tamlin told her, the High lord’s command seeping into his voice, causing her to flinch back slightly. The Priestess fisted her hands and looked briefly at Alis, who stood in the room so Ianthe could as well. 

“Do you know what Hybern nearly did to us? What will try to do-”

“Yes I do Ianthe, more than you do considering you and your family ran at the first sign of danger.” Tamlin hissed. They stood in his office, Tamlin faced the window, letting sun shine down on his face. 

Ianthe twitched as anger twisted on her face, “My father sent me away, I did not know what was happening until it happened.”

“You did not think it suspicious? Or thought that you are a grown woman who can make her own decisions-”

“Are you blaming me for escaping? Like hundreds of others did?”

“I am not blaming you, I am saying you don’t get an opinion on what went down.” Tamlin’s hand once again went to his bump. The sun was setting and the moon was rising, soon night would be upon them. Briefly he thought about returning to Lucien’s quarters instead of his own. And basking in his warmth all night long. 

“Don’t get an opinion?!” Ianthe’s face twisted as her eyes turned fiery, “I may not have been here for the fifty years, but I know a hell of a lot about Hybern, and what they will do.”

Tamlin lifted an eyebrow, “Hell?”

“Oh don’t call me on my language when you swear every other sentence.” Ianthe snapped. 

“Well what do you know Ianthe, that I don’t?” Tamlin challenged, one hand tracing the windowsill. 

She sucked in a breath, eyes furious, then her jaw tensed and she gritted her teeth. Eyes flicking around his face, “I know their ways, and I know how slimy and disgusting they are. What they will resort to.”

“And how do you know this?”

She went very still, not even her Priestess robes swayed. Like a band being pulled tighter and tighter, prepared to snap. 

“Don’t do this, Tamlin. You will regret it.”

“I already have so many regrets, Anthe.” Tamlin smiled coldly, “What’s one more?”

Her gaze was locked on his. Her mouth pressed into a firm line. 

For a second, something like grief was flaring in her eyes. 

***

“You don’t have to try this.” Tamlin said. 

“And yet I will, if we can prevent Rhysand from ever using Feyre, we will.” Lucien said as he strapped daggers to his belt and sheathed his sword, before picking up his pack. 

“We will get Feyre back, Tam, no matter what it takes.”

Tamlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Brom and Hart waited at the entrance of the Manor. They were currently in Lucien’s room. Tamlin’s eyes for a second, looked to the bed, where the sheets and pillows were still a mess from when they had been tied up together. Lucien’s arms around him, lips on his skin and whispering all things in his ear. 

Tamlin didn’t want him to go for two reasons. One, the biggest, was that Rhysand could destroy his mind if he set foot in his lands. Or anyone else could either. He could lose Lucien and never know where to find him.

The second, selfish, one was that Tamlin didn’t want to sleep alone. Be alone at all.

So the High lord stepped forward and into Lucien’s arms, who quickly swept him up into a tight embrace. Tamlin whispered into his neck, “Please come back alive.”

Lucien pressed a kiss to his pulse point, then to his jaw and finally his forehead, before whispering into his hair, “Of course I will.”

Tamlin huffed a laugh, then looked up at him with a smile and teary eyes, “You have to be around to meet the baby.”

Lucien’s arms tightened slightly around him, then he murmured in a low voice that sent a shudder down Tamlin’s spine, “I will come back, and I’ll bring her with me.”

The High lord didn’t respond, just pressed his nose into the crook of Lucien’s shoulder. Staying locked in his arms, never wishing to part. He wanted to simply meld with Lucien and never be forced to leave him. 

But all good things must come to an end, Lucien had to pull away. He adjusted his bag on his shoulder and pressed one last kiss to the crown of Tamlin’s head, then he turned and they both walked out to the grounds of the Manor. 

Bron and Hart stood looking determined as ever, neither waving, neither backing down. Lucien had asked for them both specifically to accompany him, and both had said yes without a question. 

Andras’ second and third. They both had always been close with Lucien and Tamlin. Tamlin knew losing Andras had hit them both as hard as the High lord and emissary. But still they would tread into enemy territory for Feyre. 

“Ready?” Lucien asked, they both said yes in unison. 

It wasn’t with much fanfare that they winnowed away, except for Eris and Alis appearing to wish them well. And a slightly concerning threat from Eris in regards to what exactly he would do to Rhysand’s wings if he laid a hand on Lucien. 

Then Tamlin was saying goodbye and they were gone. Only his spicy scent left sticking to his dress to remind him of the male who was now out of his territory and out of his protection. 

Eris put a hand on Tamlin’s shoulder, “Feyre will return.”

He wanted to say it wasn’t Feyre he was worried about. At least not in that moment. 

***

Tamlin had thought the weeks without Feyre had been terrifying, they were nothing compared to the agony of Lucien being gone. 

Now not just one person he loved and cherished was gone, but two. He felt sick all the time and he could say for certain it wasn’t just nausea from the baby. Everytime he passed the library he looked, expecting to see red hair by the fire. Instead the embers were cold and Lucien was nowhere to be seen. 

His room was loneliest of them all. He had grown so used to sleeping beside someone, now being without anyone, it was a sudden change and one he did not like or appreciate. 

“You can’t mope about forever.” A sneering voice told him. Tamlin didn’t look away from the window behind his desk. Staring out at the fields of wildflowers, roaming trees and the ever present deer. If you looked further out the forests would change, melding together until you didn’t know where the floor started and the roots ended. Twisting and turning, cutting out all light. 

As light as Spring could be, it had its dark sides. 

“I am the High lord, I can do whatever I want.” Tamlin told him. In truth he knew he had to do more. They possibly had another war on their hands, and if he wasn’t careful, they could lose. 

If it weren’t for his current… situation, he may have marched right into Hybern. Or hell into Autumn, and demanded for someone to do something. Instead of the constant song and dance that the other rulers liked to partake in. 

As it were, he couldn’t risk it. 

Eris walked further into the office, his footsteps marked by his heels clicking against the wood floors. Eventually he stood right before Tamlin’s desk, glaring down at him. Tamlin lazily tipped his eyes towards him, chin in his hand, and one leg crossed over the other. 

Alis had handed him this morning, one of his mother’s old dresses. Tamlin couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy wearing them, he felt… closer to her somehow. Even if it had been well over two hundred years since her death. It was a dark scarlet with a high neckline and long sleeves. 

His mother had simpler taste, but she had never wanted for glorious gowns. As the woman had spent most of her time in the gardens or forests. 

“You keep thinking that, Tamlin.” Eris sneered, “But being on a throne can be one of the most restricting jobs in the world.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Expectation.” Eris stated, bluntly, “Though you never cared for those did you, Fairburn?

Dark emerald cut to glowing amber. Tamlin glared, “No I didn’t, because life isn’t a game. I don’t bother with rules that aren’t real.”

“If you think they are not rules to this, you truly are naive, Tamlin.” Eris’ eyes were laughing, mocking. Tamlin snapped. 

“No, they’re aren’t rules to this. There shouldn’t be rules for living. We shouldn’t be stuck in a constant cycle of cheating and hiding, and pretending behind masks in the name of this game of life.” Tamlin’s hand gripped the edge of his desk, claws beginning to prick his skin. 

Eris laughed, “Do you think we can just stop playing, Tam?”

Tamlin’s mouth pulled back into a snarl, “I think when people like you keep playing, and encourage others to as well. To learn this made up game. You only entrench it deeper into society and force on your children.”

Eris, cold and calculating Eris, began to lose it. Tamlin could see it in the way his hand twitched and his eyes scanned Tamlin’s face a beat too quickly, “Watch your tone, High lord.”

“Or you’ll do what, Eris? Burn me to death?” 

“You infuriate me,” Eris shook his head, a grin dawning on his face, “You do make me think from time to time though.”

Tamlin rolled his green eyes, playing with the velvet fabric of his mother’s dress. Eyes turning back to the window behind him, watching the wind play with the petals of flowers. 

“Have you received any word back from Hybern?” Eris asked. 

Tamlin now glared. Before Lucien had gone they, being Eris, Lucien and Tamlin, drafted a letter, it had been sent just a day ago. Asking for help, to get Feyre back from the Night Realm. 

The three had argued for two hours on whether or not to reveal the pregnancy to Hybern, as a reason for their desperation for Feyre’s swift return. 

They decided it would be best to play the face of a male gone near insane with lust for his lost fiance, and when the time to meet was given… well all would be revealed on its own if Tamlin met with Hybern. 

“Nothing yet.” Tamlin said, “but we will wait for Lucien to return even if they do send word, before we do anything.”

Eris hummed, then took the seat across from Tamlin’s desk, “Truly a pity this whole situation.”

“Careful who you pity, Vansnake.” Tamlin murmured. 

Eris barked a laugh at the nickname that had floated around when they were younger. Hoping between bars, and laughing with not a care in the world. Hisses and curses spat on the Vanserra name were common. They were deserved, afterall, the Vanserra blood had produced a line of killers, spiteful assholes, and abusive bastards. 

Tamlin had jumped in with his own creative nickname. Arm slung around Eris’ shoulder, bottle of open liquor in one hand, and a cigar stolen from his second-eldest brother in the other hand. The then Prince had slurred out about a snake he saw. Then watched as Eris’ dazed, amber eyes glowed in the light of the club. 

“Vansssssnake.” Tamlin had slurred. 

Eris had thrown his head back as he howled with laughter. 

And it stuck. 

“What are you going to name it?” Eris asked. 

Tamlin hummed in question. 

Eris traced the armchair with a longer, slender finger, “The child, what will you name it?”

The High lord blinked, he hadn’t even thought about that. 

Him and Lucien speculating what the baby would look like came back to mind. He smiled slightly. Then he faced the outside world again. 

A butterfly floated gently on the breeze, it flew through the air. Tamlin’s eyes followed it’s bright orange wings, and watched as it descended upon a red dahlia hidden amongst a myriad of other colours and species. 

“I have no idea.” Tamlin whispered. 

“Well then.” The tone in Eris’ voice made Tamlin look back over at him. The male snapped his fingers and a large, heavy book with a deep purple cover fell into his lap, “Come here and we’ll fix that.”

Tamlin furrowed his brow, but stood regardless and walked over, sitting smoothly into the velvet couch. Watching as Eris flicked to the first page, “This is a book of names.”

Tamlin lifted an eyebrow, “Really?”

Eris looked up with his own eyebrow raised, fingers lightly grazing the pages, “Really.”

Tamlin’s mouth curled into a smile and he leaned over to have a look, “Okay then.”

The Autumn Lord gave a small smile and read off the first name. 

They found no names. Tamlin pointed out all the ones he knew from people he had met. They even came across a ‘Cassian’ both shuddering at the name before howling with laughter. 

Alis eventually came in with mint tea and honey cakes. Eris moved from the leather chair to the lounge. Letting Tamlin sit close beside him as they read off all manner of names from the old book. 

They found two possible options, Ried if it was a boy, and Kaitlin if it were a girl. 

Tamlin couldn’t say either jumped out at him, but both were sweet names. 

And by the time he fell asleep on Eris’ shoulder he was more relaxed than he ever had been during these days with Lucien gone. 

***

When Lucien returned he was livid. The anger seeping from him was palatable by any passing by, even though he held it in a tight leash. 

Tamlin had been signing off on some papers, passing the time with working. Even though Eris and Alis had told him to lay off over working, and stressing himself out. 

Then he felt him. 

Fire, and something sweeter, something delicate and venomous, like rays of sun that burned. It rippled through the world, like a silent pond disturbed by a child pricking the surface. 

Tamlin was on his feet in seconds. Picking up the skirts pooling around his feet. Green today, another of his mother’s old dresses. 

Running, barefoot, the tiles cold under his feet, he bolted for the entrance. Nearly knocking into a servant he rounded the corners. Until finally he was near jumping down the grand staircase. 

Near halfway down he halted. 

Lucien stalked into the manor, head held high, and eyes heavy. His mouth twisted into a frown. He had black-blue bruises, dirty with his hair half falling out. Red spilling across leather hunting gear. He let the quiver on his back drop to the floor. Bron and Hart were close behind him. 

Tamlin stared in shock. 

Alis was quicker than him and ran up to the three, quickly attending to Lucien first. 

But the red-headed male laid eyes on Tamlin, and pain twisted in his eyes. 

He gently pushed past Alis who furrowed her eyes at him. 

Then without a word Lucien stalked up the stairs to where Tamlin was standing. The Lord could only remain stone still as the emissary marched the stairs until he stood directly before Tamlin. 

“Lucien.” Tamlin breathed. 

Lucien shook his head, “She won’t come back, Tam.”

Silence. 

His words seemed to shake the world with the weight they held.

Tamlin’s hand fell to his stomach as his whole word crashed a little more. His knees gave out underneath him. 

Swiftly, Lucien wrapped an arm around his back. Tamlin’s hands went to his chest, gripping tightly as he gasped in a breath. 

“Why?” Tamlin rasped. 

“Tamlin…” Lucien trailed. 

They both knew why. 

But 

Fuck. 

He had lost her. 

No. 

No. 

Please no-

“No.” Tamlin pressed his head into Lucien’s chest, “No, no, no.”

“Where is she?!” A furious voice yelled. 

Tamlin and Lucien looked up the stairs to see Eris descending, eyes burning pools of amber. 

“She won’t come back, Eris.” Lucien whispered. 

The room heated as Eris’ temper flared, he gestured to Tamlin, “But she has a child on the way-”

“And she doesn’t know that.” Tamlin murmured. 

His hand fell to his side, before Eris looked up to the sky and mouthed curses. Fingers rubbing his temples, “What do we do then?”

Lucien turned down to Tamlin, “Why do we do then?”

Tamlin fisted Lucien’s shirt, and he murmured, “I don’t know.”

***

“Dear God.” Tamlin hissed as he turned on his side for the hundredth time. Nothing was comfortable, everything was too hot or too cold. The light of the moon shining across his face was awful, and would not stop, but if Lucien closed the blinds it was too warm without the breeze of the night. 

Lucien groaned as Tamlin woke him again shifting in his arms, “Tam-”

“What?” Tamlin mumbled, half asleep, but unable to be fully asleep. 

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s so hot in here.” Tamlin grumbled into his pillow, before turning again and pressing into Lucien’s arms. 

“Then I’ll take off the blankets.” Lucien said, but before he could move Tamlin said, “No, then it’ll be too cold. 

“Mother above.” Lucien cursed, before removing his arms from around Tamlin, “Then don’t cuddle into me.” Then he rolled onto his other side. 

Tamlin stared at his back, blinking at his form. Then festering rage pooled in his veins.

“Oh I see, you hate me.” Tamlin said. 

“Tamlin!” Lucien rolled back onto his back. 

“No, I get it.” Tamlin said, no emotion in his voice, “I’m not good enough for you.”

Lucien once again mumbled something to the Mother, “Tamlin I love you.”

“But you don’t want to touch me.” He countered. 

“Because you said you’re too hot! You- you know, fine! Come back here, I’ll touch you.” Lucien tried to reach over to pull him close again, but Tamlin huffed and pulled away, crossing his arms. 

There was a beat of silence before Lucien asked, “Really?”

Tamlin shrugged, “Maybe.”

The silence of night was lighter than day, there wasn’t anything around to witness them arguing in the dark. Nor Lucien breaking into giggles as he ran a hand across the mattress to wrap around Tamlin’s waist. 

“Hey!” Tamlin tried to shove him back, even as a smile spread across his face. 

“Come here.” Lucien said with that devastating grin on his face, pulling him into his chest and pressing his lips to Tamlin’s neck, sloppily kissing the skin before working his way to his jaw. 

“Stop!” Tamlin laughed, “Gods, stop Lucien!”

Lucien laughed in between each kiss. Tamlin squirmed and tried to wriggle away but Lucien manoeuvred him to lay underneath him. Trapping him by resting his forearms on either side of Tamlin’s head, caging him in. Then Lucien attacked his face, a kiss to his cheek, then the other, then his nose, forehead and temples. Tamlin laughed until his sides hurt. 

“Lucien Vanserra,” Tamlin wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Yes, my High lord?” Lucien raised a perfect eyebrow, that damning smirk still plastered on his damning face. 

Tamlin leaned up and pressed a kiss to the tip of Lucien’s nose. 

The Fox went a very, very bright shade of pink. Tamlin fell back into the pillows as he laughed. 

Soon, Lucien’s shoulder shook as he fell into a fit of giggles as well. 

He laid down half on top of Tamlin. Legs on top of his, tangled with each other, his upper body beside the High lord. His arm around the outline of his belly, slightly more swollen since Lucien had left. 

“Four and a half months now.” Lucien murmured. 

“Yeah.” Tamlin whispered, eyes facing the spotless ceiling. The endless white like an alternate version of the night sky. When he closed his eyes he saw the endless black. 

White, black, white, black. 

He wished his issues were as plain and simple as black and white. Easy to pick between and easy to figure out. 

“What if war breaks out again?” Tamlin whispered to the ceiling, unable to stifle the question. 

Lucien pressed his face into Tamlin’s side, thumb rubbing gentle circles into his belly, “We will deal with it then, for now we have tonight.”

Tamlin let his eyes close, let the black take him, as his hand found Lucien’s hair, “Yeah, you're right.”

Silence passed, only broken by his and Lucien’s soft breathing.

Then there was a feeling of movement that made him gasp as his eyes shot open. Lucien was up in a second, sitting over Tamlin, eyes wide, fear of what could be happening. 

“What happened?”

It was like butterflies in his stomach, a sudden tickle that was so strange, so odd. Out of place, movement that wasn’t his own. 

“I think-” It happened again and Tamlin covered his mouth with his palms. 

“Tamlin what’s happening?” Lucien asked, eyes darting over him so quickly, one hand going to his thigh and the other planted next to Tamlin’s head. 

“I think that was… I think that was kicking.” Tamlin whispered. 

Slowly, the fear left Lucien’s eyes as wonderment filled them. 

***

Golden hair spilled out on red silk sheets. Eyes of dark emerald glinting up at him with tears pooling in them. Skin gleaming in the moonlight. Dress of white cotton, falling around the flesh of his breasts and exposing his collarbone. Lucien’s eyes went down to his stomach, his hand, almost out of his own control, flicked up to touch. But his eyes quickly went back up to Tamlin’s, permission. 

Tamlin nodded quickly, his hands grabbing onto Lucien’s and placing them on the centre of his belly. 

“Do you feel it?” Tamlin whispered. 

Lucien’s brow furrowed every so slightly, tongue caught between his teeth. He moved his strong hand over the fabric. 

Tamlin laughed softly, “I think it’s gone.”

“Still.” Lucien murmured. He had never felt this way. Like he was caught in amazement and wonder. Something so brand new, that he understood nothing about. But there was a deep curling need in his core, slow moving and constant. Always sitting low in him, like embers stoking. A want and a need. He needed to be closer to the male underneath him, in a body that was not of a male. A female with a babe in her womb, a male he cared so deeply about, whom he couldn’t live without. 

Feyre’s face came back to his mind. As she had drawn her arrow and looked at him with such hatred. Rhysand’s laughing eyes behind her. As they had threatened him. As she had refused to return to the Spring Court. 

He supposed she had every right to leave. After Tamlin had locked her in. It was out of desperation. But she cried and screamed. 

Still. Seeing the same male underneath him, bathing in moonlight, so at peace and gentle. 

His. 

This was theirs for tonight. 

All theirs.

All his. 

He kissed the words into Tamlin’s skin as his mouth grazed the soft spots of his neck. Causing the High lord to grip his hair. 

“We have tonight.” Lucien whispered.

“We have tonight.” Tamlin whispered back. 

***

“Well, Hybern has returned our letters.” Eris drawled as he lounged in the green couch. Tamlin was sitting at his desk, and Lucien stood near him. As of late the male was always beside him in some way. Rarely leaving his side. 

“What do they say?” Tamlin asked. 

Eris grinned as he plucked the letter from the space between realms. It was a matte black envelope with a blackened seal. Tamlin’s hands curled into his fists in his lap. Fisting his dark blue dress. 

With a swift, single move, and a short tear. Eris opened the letter and pulled out the contents. 

“High Lord of Spring,” Eris began, “We have taken time to ponder your request and our council men have elected to stage a meeting. A ship will be sent to your Western docks on the third moon of this week. 

This being the first of our meetings since your father’s unfortunate passing, we are more than delighted to finally meet with you face to face. 

With sincerities, the King of Hybern.”

Silence encompassed the room. Tamlin’s breath stuttered ever so slightly, and Lucien was at his side in a second, moving faster than any could see. His hand fell to Tamlin’s shoulder, squeezing ever so lightly. 

“The nerve of that male to have already made up the date.” Lucien murmured, “The third moon is tomorrow which means-”

“Which means we leave today,” Eris finished, “I suppose you two best pack up and prepare.”

Tamlin’s hands were shaking, but he nodded all the same. He could do this, he had to do this. For his Court. For his people. For his child. 

For Feyre. 

He could do this. 

There was a light rapping at the door. Tamlin and Lucien looked up quickly, but both just blinked. Still caught in molasses, at what to do, what to say, how to move forward. 

So it was Eris who called, “Come in!”

“Is it just you in there? Because I’ll have to get Alis then!” Ianthe called back. 

“It’s Lucien, Tamlin and I!” Eris told her. 

“Mother- no.” Ianthe stomped down on her own cursing. Tamlin nearly laughed, as his memory of the female before she became a Priestess was a woman who swore in nearly every sentence. 

“I’ll get Alis then! Hold on!” 

“Holding.” Eris said. Tamlin could nearly hear the eye roll through the door. 

A few seconds passed and the door opened to reveal a very tired looking Alis walking through. She sat down on the lounge next to Eris and sighed in relief as she was finally off her feet. 

Ianthe then came through. Out of her robes today, with a deep blue scarf over her head and a loose blue dress with a high-neck and long sleeves that nearly covered her hands. 

“Tamlin, there is a problem.” Ianthe said, her normally level voice had the slightest touch of worry in it. Setting Tamlin on edge. 

“We have many problems, at the moment.” Tamlin mumbled, “What's this one?”

She breathed in through her nose, holding her breath for three beats before releasing it, “The lands are dying, the magic is being depleted somehow.”

“Depleted?” Eris asked, eyebrows furrowing, “Wouldn’t with the current situation the magic would be thriving?”

Ianthe cut blue eyes between Eris and Tamlin, “That would be expected yes. Unless..”

The Priestess looked back over at Tamlin, wells of ice now looking more concerned than ever before. Tamlin scrutinised her for a moment, trying to pry at what she was hinting at. 

Then it hit him. 

Tamlin went white. 

“What?” Lucien put his hands on Tamlin’s shoulders, the warm solid presence behind him being the only thing keeping Tamlin anchored. 

“Unless there was something wrong with the child.” Ianthe breathed out, voice quivering ever so slightly. 

The flames in the fireplace burst. Alis cried out as she jumped over to the back of the lounge, avoiding the lick of the flames, pulling Ianthe down to the ground with her. 

Eris reacted quicker than anyone, throwing up a ward and forcing the fire back into it’s place. Directing it to heed his command. Tamlin watched as his eyes glowed with terrifying power and orange licked around the ends of his red hair. Like it was caressing its beloved son. 

There was no doubt in Tamlin’s mind Eris was the chosen Heir of the Autumn Court. And would be a powerful Lord at that. 

He was glad Eris was on his side. If he weren’t… 

Tamlin didn’t say a word, everything sucked from his mind. He looked up at Ianthe’s hardened eyes. She turned her gaze away as they met. Like she couldn’t bare to look at him. 

It hit him with a wave of sickness and fire. Blood boiling over like it might spurt from every pore. Like his skin had been turned inside out as his organs constricted around each other, intestines becoming a noose for his lungs as the breath was stolen from him. He gasped. 

Lucien was moving his chair to the side and kneeling for him in a second, grabbing both his hands and stroking them. Eyes trying to find Tamlins, but Tamlin kept looking away. 

If something was wrong with his child. With the one thing he was supposed to create as a High lord. As a High lord of Spring. The Court of fertility. Of life. If he wasn’t able to care for it. 

Failure. Failure in everything. 

Feyre was gone. Rhysand doing whatever he wanted with her. Leaving him only with his Court, and on the verge of war. 

And one child. The one thing he had to protect. 

If he failed in this. 

He could hear the whispers now, the accusations, the failing of his people. 

The ground would shrivel, the magic would leave. 

Would the magic leave him? 

Could it leave him for failing it in such a way?

His breath was gone, he couldn’t breathe, there was no air, he was trapped in a pocket with now escape. 

Gasping for breath, Tamlin clutched Lucien. The red-headed male, stood and pulled Tamlin up into his arms. Holding him gently, warmth spreading all around him as Tamlin buried his head into the heart before him. Thumping quickly underneath his tunic, but steady and constant. Always there. Always would be there. 

“To go to Hybern now…” Eris broached the subject they were all thinking of. 

“Hybern?” Ianthe shot to her feet, pulling away from Alis as they both got their bearings. 

Eris turned flaming eyes to the Priestess, “Hybern reached out to us this morning, they are sending us a ship, we are to leave tomorrow.”

Blue eyes widened, something akin to actual fear flashed over Ianthe’s face, her hands clasped into a prayer and she mumbled something before facing Tamlin and Lucien. 

Lucien rubbed up and down Tamlin’s back as tears threatened to break from the corners of his eyes. But he took in a tight breath and pulled away just enough to face Ianthe, “Yes, we are going.”

“Tamlin no, you cannot-” She reached a hand out like she could anchor him to Spring and prevent him from leaving. 

“I am the High lord and I will do as I please,” Tamlin’s voice echoed through the chambers and the four around him shuddered as the full weight of the High lord’s power settled over their skin. Ianthe’s hand fell to her side, but her chest expanded quickly as she attempted to level her breathing. 

“As your friend and High Priestess, I am warning you this will not be a good idea-” She attempted to continue, but Tamlin held up a hand. She closed her mouth, looking down.

“We are going.” Tamlin whispered. 

We have to. 

I have no other moves left. 

“Fine.” She gritted out, turning on her heel. Dress flaring around her, she strode for the door. Back ramrod straight and head never turning back. She slammed the door closed with such a force a picture on the wall beside it smashed to the ground. 

Alis winced at the noise and the mess it left behind. 

Tamlin sighed. 

One. 

Two. 

Three heartbeats. 

He fell to his knees, Lucien went down with him. Saying something to him, in his ear, rubbing his hot hands all over his skin, but nothing reached Tamlin as the world faded in and out of black. 

There was a flutter in his belly, and that feeling was everything he held onto. 

***

“The baby seems fine for now. Steady heartbeat, not too much movement, but as they grow I’m sure that will pick up.” Heilda said, hand poking and prodding over his flesh. 

She finally pulled up and Tamlin pulled his shirt back down over. He wore a white shirt with billowing sleeves, heavy green woollen skirts and an emerald jacket which had been slung over a nearby chair in his room. He was laying on his bed, now sitting up. Lucien was sitting beside him, hand in his, squeezing at rapid intervals, breathing a sigh of relief at Heilda’s words. 

Eris sat by Tamlin’s desk. Picking at his nails, but even he flicked his eyes up. Loosening his breath, and releasing the tension in his shoulders. 

“We’re safe to go to Hybern then?” Tamlin asked her. 

Heilda barked a laugh, “You wouldn’t be if there was no concern for your baby being unhealthy. But you have to go regardless, right?”

Lucien squeezed his hand again, and Eris’ face twisted into annoyance as flaming eyes landed on Heilda. The lesser Faery didn’t shy away, instead she grinned at the Vanserra’s.

Tamlin sighed. She was right. There was nothing they could do. He had to go. Hybern left no room for argument. 

“Well, if everything looks alright then…” Tamlin sung his legs off the bed, releasing Lucien’s hand. The fox grasped out for him, like he didn’t want to let go, but eventually pulled away and stood up as Tamlin did. 

Tamlin snatched up his jacket from the chair in the corner of the room by the door. Eris smoothly stood. Brushing off his jacket and adjusting himself. 

“Well if that is all, I’ll be making my return to Autumn.” Eris didn’t meet either Lucien or Tamlin’s eyes as he spoke, simply choosing to look out the window. 

A beat of silence passed, Tamlin saw the twitch in his hand and the hitch in his breathing. 

He smiled. Softer in this form, everything was different like this. He was more tired, more sick, but he couldn’t say he hated everything. 

If this was any other situation he may have been able to enjoy it. 

Tamlin walked up to Eris and brushed the back of his palm. Eris quickly jerked his eyes down to him.

“Thanks for being here, Eris.” Tamlin whispered. 

Eris’ flaming eyes dimmed just slightly. Face paling in comparison. He looked down at Tamlin’s fingers brushing his, “Be safe, Springling.”

“I never am.” Tamlin smiled. 

Eris laughed, it was quiet and nearly choked out, but he swallowed hard and nodded, “When you return I’ll be back.”

“I know you will.”

With that Tamlin turned away, and Eris nodded to his brother. Who nodded back. A silent exchange. 

The Heir of Autumn winnowed and Tamlin faced the door. 

Lucien held out his arm, and Tamlin linked theirs. 

“To Hybern, my Lady.”

Tamlin threw his head back as he laughed, “To Hybern, you prick.”

***

Alis had hugged him tightly as they left. Tamlin had nearly wept in her arms, but held himself together, if only because they had dozens of people watching them as the carriage was packed. 

“Be safe,” She had whispered, “For all of us.”

“Of course I will.” He whispered back, before releasing her. 

Alis curtsied low, before taking his hands and kissing them gently, “If only your mother could see you know.”

“Would she be proud, you think?” Tamlin asked, voicing the small insecurity.

Alis just smiled so softly, “She would be so proud to call you her son.”

As Tamlin had climbed into the carriage, Lucien right behind him, he had glanced over his shoulder. 

On the steps of the manor was a certain blonde haired female with pale blue robes. Her steely eyes gazing over at him. Tamlin nodded to her, either she didn’t see, or didn’t care. As Ianthe turned and headed back inside the Spring manor. 

They were off not just a few minutes later. 

As the voices of the people shouting after them faded into the distance, Lucien reached out through the empty space between them. Taking hold of his hand. Squeezing gently. 

“In just a few hours we’ll be at the port.” Lucien said. 

This carriage followed the winding paths of the old Fae routes. Ones that were too dangerous to set foot on. For they twisted and turned into different paths that led ones into dark forests and pits to fall. The carriages of the Spring manor were all spelled and warded for the path to lead them through to their desired location. Turning a trip of days, even weeks into nothing more than mere hours. 

“I know.” Tamlin whispered. 

“Are you ready?”

“Are you?” 

“No.”

Tamlin barked a laugh at the honest answer, looking down to his brown leather shoes. Breathing out a sigh, he thumbed Lucien’s hand, rubbing soft circles into his skin. 

“When we get there Lucien, I want you to do something for me.” Tamlin murmured. 

Lucien blinked, “Yes, anything.”

Tamlin laughed, then he released a breath before saying, “I will be a female to you and everyone there. Do not address me as a male.”

Lucien furrowed his brow, “Whatever you say, of course, but may I ask why?”

Tamlin swallowed, “In places like this it’s better to allow people to think what they see instead of trying to explain.”

Lucien looked as though he wished to say something but bit his tongue. Slowly, he wrapped an arm around Tamlin’s shoulders, “Whatever you say, Tam.”

Tamlin rested his head on Lucien’s shoulder, eyes closing. He was so tired. Everything was exhausting and he just wanted to sleep for a thousand years. 

Lucien pressed a soft kiss to Tamlin’s head, and Tamlin let sleep encompass him.

***

Over the open sea, his, no, her skirts flared out. A flash of green in the breeze. Her golden curls fell down her back and overhear shoulders, picking up gently. The swell of her belly mostly concealed by the large emerald coat covering her. 

In the face of Hybern today, Tamlin was exactly that. A female, nearly five months along and ruling a Court that was half in chaos. 

Lucien watched from the back of the deck. His red hair in a loose braid behind him, only strands falling over his face, dressed in impeccable green. With quiet steps he trod past the workers on the Hybern ship to where Tamlin stood at the edge, watching the writhing sea below them. 

Their morning had been nothing to stew over. After they ate breakfast, Tamlin ate not nearly enough to soothe Lucien’s worry over her. But they couldn’t delay, packing up a carriage with the bare necessities, they headed for the western port. 

The carriage ride was mostly silent. Lucien still felt the same jitters of anxiety fluttering in him, but remembering how Tamlin had let her head rest on his shoulder, completely placing all her trust in Lucien, that if worse came to worst, the Autumn lord would protect her. It made his body light up with pride, easing the knots in his stomach, making it easier. 

Not easy, but easier. 

Finally he was standing beside Tamlin, looking over the endless horizon. The buttery sun over large blue skies, reflecting silver in the lapping waves. 

“How are you doing?” Lucien asked. 

“Like I am going to be sick at any second.” Tamlin whispered. 

“Oh shit-” Lucien’s hands went to her long hair on instinct but Tamlin laughed as she pushed him away with little force. 

“I meant it’s… anxiety inducing. But I can’t say I like the sea motions either.” Tamlin told him. 

Lucien hummed, “I see.”

Reaching out his arms like it was the easiest thing, he wrapped them around Tamlin, his front pressing against her back. Tamlin grinned as she tipped his head back to see Lucien’s eyes. 

“Well then, my Lady, allow me to distract you.” Lucien murmured into his hair. 

“You’re such a sap.” Tamlin chided, before looking over the sea again. 

“Am I now? I don’t think so.” Lucien whispered, mouth moving down, breath tickling the shell of her ear. Tamlin shivered but arched ever so slightly into the action. 

Lucien moved a hand down, over the bump. Hands holding, touching, in any way he could. He couldn’t get enough of this, of any of it. 

Cutting through the salty tang of the air was the gentle smell of a rose bloom, slowly unfurling. The change in scent that distinctly made out the new growing life. Lucien couldn’t help as he pressed his face into Tamlin’s hair and breathing in that new smell, excitement curled in his core as he thought of everything he could do with the little faeling once they arrived. 

Lucien’s mind turned to what they would look like, with tiny hands and claws, blond hair and green eyes. Or perhaps more like Feyre.. 

He felt himself sour at the idea of it looking anything like its mother, as Lucien thought back on when he had tried to get Feyre to return. The words she had spat at him. 

Forcing himself away from that, he focused on the person in his arms. Putting all his attention on the High lord. 

“We’ll soon be on Hybern’s shores.” Tamlin whispered. 

Humming, Lucien moved one hand to take Tamlin’s, “We will.”

“What if this goes wrong?” Tamlin whispered. 

“Then we will deal with that then. For now we focus on the present.” 

Feeling the worry starting to overtake Tamlin. Lucien pressed a kiss to her skin. To her neck and up to her jaw. Tamlin laughed and quickly tried to push him away, “People are going to see you.”

“Let them.” Lucien murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. 

“We can’t be too risky, Luce.” Tamlin whispered. 

“I know.”

Then why did he want to get riskier?

***

Hybern’s dock was like any other. Markets, and ships. Cargo being unloaded and reloaded. People yelling orders and moving things about. 

But there was a distinct downcast over the people. Most wearing hoods low over their heads, not a smile in sight, nor laughter in the air. Unlike in Spring, where joy was abundant in the people, especially the lower class and the lesser Faeries. 

As they exited the ship. Lucien took hold of Tamlin’s hand. Stepping out in front of her. He wouldn’t let her be exposed in this place. Whilst he felt bad for the general mood of the people, he knew violence was abundant in streets like this. 

It reminded him so much of the bigger cities in Autumn. 

Tamlin seemed to feel the same, as she squeezed Lucien’s hand. 

A carriage of black was already parked at the docks. As they stepped onto the wooden pier, several guards emerged from shadows, in between crates and large containers. They had been waiting. 

Dressed in all black armour. Looking like shadows themselves, they flanked Lucien and Tamlin’s every side. Guiding them off the pier and onto the rocky cobblestone road. The sky was turning grey as clouds emerged and the winds picked up. 

Parked and ready was the carriage, the footman, as silent as everyone else, opened the door and allowed them in. Lucien lifted Tamlin’s hand and nodded for her to enter first, before quickly sliding in behind her and letting the door shut. 

Sitting down on the plush black seats. Tamlin watched the windows, looking out after the scatter of people. Glancing curiously at the carriage, but not daring to stare for a second too long. 

“This place is… grim.” Lucien said tightly.

“Nothing’s changed.” Tamlin murmured. 

Lucien blinked, “Pardon?”

“Nothing has changed since the last time I was here.” Her voice was smaller now. Tighter somehow. 

From the last time… 

Lucien’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second as he remembered that Tamlin’s father used to drag her here. 

Reaching out a hand, Lucien took Tamlin’s hand in his own, squeezing. Reminding her he was there. Never-leaving. Tamlin looked back over to him. Eyes dulled, the green somehow lessened. Like life was being sucked from her. 

Lucien stroked the back of her hand, “I’m right here, Tam. And I always will be.”

“Will you?” Tamlin challenged, “Will you always be there Lucien?”

Lucien stared at her for a moment. Mapping her face. Green eyes, pale skin, high cheekbones, a strong, straight nose. Her neck, long and unmarred, sharp collarbone. Her breasts outlined by her white shirt, then the bulge of her belly, a reason they were so desperate for Feyre to be returned. 

The Fox of Fire reached out and cupped her face, “Yes, yes I will be there, I will always try everything in my power to remain beside you.”

If Feyre couldn’t, or perhaps wouldn’t, promise that to her, Lucien would. 

Tamlin’s hand loosely grabbed Lucien’s wrist. Eyes snagging on his chest before looking up into his warm eyes. 

“Okay. Okay.” 

***

“Holy fuck.” Lucien whispered in awe as they finally arrived at the large bone gates of Hybern’s castle. Tamlin made no noise, hand just falling to her stomach. Eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing. 

For Feyre. 

They were doing this for Feyre, and Prythian, and the soon to be child. 

Memories swam back up from black, of Tamlin’s father dragging him out of these carriages kicking and screaming. Into the palace, back to her. 

He wanted to be sick. Remembering what this place had been for him. 

The day he lost his purity. In that bedroom of red and black silks, red hair above and around him, her scent drowning out everything else. Even her moans had smothered his cries and screams. 

Tamlin shook his head. Letting his curls caress his face, and feeling back into his body, his skin, his hands, his muscles. All of it, here. In the present. He wasn’t there. And he would never be there again. 

Never again. 

And so Tamlin fell back into what he was playing today, putting on a mask that wasn’t his own face as the door opened and he took the hand of the foot man. As he stepped onto the same grounds he had been tormented on, he took a breath, closing his eyes. 

She opened her eyes, and Tamlin faced the castle before her. 

Keep the mask on, the one she swore she wouldn’t wear since she inherited the throne. 

“Shall we, my Lady?” Lucien asked beside her. Hand brushing out, to touch the back of her hand. Tamlin gave her a grin, however small it was. 

“We shall.” 

They linked arms and walked up the bone white steps of Hybern’s castle. Guards of black like shadows watching their every move. 

As the blackened doors swung open. The familiar creak of the hinges setting off Tamlin’s nervous system, making her want to run for her life. 

But it was the grim faces of the Lords and Ladies that watched as they stepped into the dark, eerie castle, made Tamlin want to run more than now. 

They all stood, lined up like dolls, dressed in long silk gowns of white and black. Not unlike chess pieces, only moving once ordered too. Tamlin didn’t meet any of their eyes and instead faced the one in the centre of the group. 

With robes of sparkling black covering her entire body, a lady with a smile that slashed the air, and blue eyes filled with cunning malice stepped forward. Her head covered by a low hood. Though Tamlin could see blonde hair curling around her face. 

She looked as young as a rose bloomed in Spring. With soft, supple skin, and a glowing expression. However the weight that settled over them as she came forward revealed that she was more than likely older than the castle itself. 

She looked strangely familiar. Tamlin couldn’t place where she had seen her before. 

She bowed low, causing more blonde hair to fall around her face, “Lord and Lady of Spring, welcome to Hybern.”

Tamlin felt Lucien stiffen beside her. 

This was not going to be fun. 

***

They were led to a meeting room. Through winding, dark tunnels, carved with illustrations of killing, maiming and bloodshed. Tamlin kept her eyes on the people in front of her, and Lucien’s warm presence, so as to not slip back into the memories of coming to this dark place. Being tormented and taken against her will.

Shaking her head lightly, her curls bounced as they walked. 

Lucien snaked a hand around her waist, rubbing soft circles into her skin. Tamlin was thankful for the distraction. A blush spread up her skin, she felt like she was on fire. 

Finally they made it through those dark hallways, and into a large room with windows that overlooked the kingdom down in the darkness below. All stone and cold. A large, black table sat in the centre, covered with papers and maps. Torches lit up the space, and everyone took their place at the table. Tamlin and Lucien were led to one side of the table, and sat down. 

Silence overtook them and no one dared breath too loudly. Lucien kept looking at Tamlin, at the Lord and Ladies, trying to find their game, to figure them out. Always slinking around, playing games and wanting to engage with others. 

Lucien was good at games. But Tamlin was the best at this one. 

She looked right ahead, to the head of the table. Spine straight from her lower back to her neck. Head raised, and eyes relaxed. Mouth set in a firm line. No movement, not even a quiver. 

The doors slammed open and all Lords and ladies stood. Lucien included, one hand falling to Tamlin’s shoulder. Tamlin did not stand, she didn’t even look over her shoulder. 

Hybern walked through the room, footsteps ringing, echoing. A constant beat that fell into sync with his heartbeat. Always cunning, always measured. 

Tamlin didn’t look at him as he walked past the Spring Lord. She only met his eyes when Hybern found his seat at the head and relaxed back into the dark leather. 

His dark, ashy eyes were the same as when they first met. Hybern’s mouth twisted into a grin when he met the blank green Tamlin held in her own stare. 

“Be seated.” Hybern ordered. 

Everyone followed in unison, Lucien’s hand fell away from Tamlin, but his eyes cut to her every now and again. Tamlin wanted to snap for him to keep his eyes on the King, but also knew that would be worse than just allowing Lucien to play his own games. 

“Spring Lord.” Hybern drawled, “Or should I say Lady?”

Quivering of eyes, and low whispers as all eyes went back to Tamlin, and the form he was in. 

“Lady shall be fine until further notice, Dae.” Tamlin’s mouth curled into a smile. 

Hybern’s grin fell into a frown with disdain painted on his face, “Remember your place here, Spring Lady.”

“Oh I do, Hybern.” She said with a lift of her blonde eyebrows, “A better question would be, do you? Afterall, my place is no longer beneath your General.”

“No it isn't, is it?” The grin began to return, “Your place is atop her now, as she resides in the grave.”

“My place,” She replied smoothly, “Is on the throne of Spring, amongst the seven High lords of Prythian. Amongst the rulers of the Faery Lands.”

We stand on equal footing, did not need to be said for Dae to get the idea. 

Dae, a name Tamlin had overheard in her earlier years. It had been laughed from the tip of her father’s tongue, no doubt a shortened version of his real name. Of which had been the best kept secret in all of the Faeryworld for several centuries. 

There was something powerful in using that name on him. Having something over him that others would be beheaded for having. 

Tamlin grinned, and Dae returned it. 

The door opened again, and this time, Hybern glanced behind Tamlin and his eyes filled with smugness. 

“Welcome back, Jurian.”

Tamlin’s blood turned cold. 

“Good to be back, Hybern.”

***

Jurian’s presence didn’t hurt the mission as much as Tamlin thought it might. The former human General watched from his place beside the King, eyes smoothly moving between Tamlin and Lucien. 

Lucien locked in on the General, taking in every twist and turn of him. Tamlin ran her thumb over the back of his hand, Lucien had found his next challenge, and it appeared Jurian thought the same, if the way he kept glancing back at the Fox was any indication. 

Tamlin however kept her eyes deadlocked on the King of Hybern. 

The Cauldron. 

When Hybern had spoken of how he had taken back all the pieces, reassembled it, gaining power beyond anything any Fae had owned before the Black Queen. Tamlin had felt her heart beating in his chest like a rabbit caught in a trap. 

But outside, he grinned like a fiend. Green eyes sliding to Jurian as she drawled, “So you tossed his eye into the Cauldron and he came out fine.”

Hybern lifted an eyebrow, a dark chuckle escaping his throat. Jurian’s eyes went dark. Face going pale as he scowled. 

Tamlin felt a little sorry for picking at such a sensitive spot, but she didn’t let it show on her face. 

“Something along those lines.” Hybern replied, his eyes turned to the woman in robes on his right. She grinned from under her hood. 

“Yes,” She murmured, “Along those lines.”

Tamlin narrowed her eyes. Strange. 

Jurian appeared unnerved by the robed woman. He kept glancing at her like she was something to fear. Something to hate and pull away from. 

Tamlin clocked the glances, making a mental note to stay away from that woman. 

And the meeting truly began. 

Hybern briefly outlined their plans. His words twisting and turning in a way that revealed no weak spots, or ways to pry. 

But he confirmed they wanted to take Prythian, and the humans. 

Tamlin wanted to vomit as she listened to the savouring in his voice, salivating at the idea of having slaves once more. Of having so much control. 

Tamlin replied with slow, laughing responses. As if she too enjoyed the idea of so much power being in the hands of the Fae once more. As if she agreed with it all. Hybern listened, watched, and examined every detail. 

Tamlin put on the performance of a lifetime. Spinning and weaving lies like silk, summoning every drop of horror and hatred he had learned and remembered from his childhood. Milking memories of his father and brothers, turning his face into one of theirs. Eyes glowing with the idea of violence and wanting for bloodshed. 

Grins and looks of being made insane with wanting for control. Jurian met his eyes, making quips every now and again. 

Eventually conversation turned sour. 

“Now, another topic, Feyre Archeron.” Hybern said. 

Tamlin stiffened and the movement was noted. 

“Yes.” 

“You want her back?” Hybern asked. 

“Yes.” Tamlin replied. His voice shook with poor restraint, and it was all part of the act. He nearly grinned as Hybern’s eyes flashed with an almost look of sympathy. 

He hated masks, and pretending and fake faces. 

Being hatred of it, didn’t mean he couldn’t do it. 

Hatred didn’t equate to a skill issue. Even if he wished he didn’t know how to do this. 

“If there is any way to get her back, I want to try it.” Tamlin said. 

Hybern’s face twisted into a grin, “Then we will try.”

***

“On a scale of one to ten, how fucked do you think we are?” Tamlin asked as the door to their bedroom swung closed. 

They had been placed in interconnecting bedrooms in the West Wing of the castle. All draped in luxurious silks. Decorated with black and red. Tamlin felt sick seeing the crimson blankets and pillows. 

As Lucien locked the door, Tamlin began to pick up everything red and shoved it in a nearby closet. 

Lucien was silent for a moment, and Tamlin looked over her shoulder as she bashed a pillow that had done nothing to her other than exist, to get it to fit into the now too full closet. 

“What?” Tamlin snapped as she forced the door closed. 

“Nothing.” Lucien replied, “I think a good seven.”

“Great.” Tamlin replied sarcastically. 

Lucien moved away from the door. He snuck up behind Tamlin and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face into the crook of her neck. 

Tamlin sighed, “What’s wrong now?”

“Everything.”

“How pessimistic Lucien, that’s my job.” She smiled a little. 

Lucien breathed a laugh across her skin. Tamlin fought against arching into the warmth behind her. 

“We’ll be fine, we just need to play Dae’s game.” She murmured. 

“How do you know his name?” Lucien asked. 

“I just know the shortened version. From my father.” Was all she responded with. 

“I see.” 

There was a heartbeat of silence. It hung in the air like the silver moon in the sky. A breath away from the darkness surrounding them. For a moment only they existed in the room, and no one was outside, no predators that would overpower them the second they smelled blood. 

Then Lucien moved like an asp. One arm sweeping around the backs of her thighs. And around her shoulders. Swooping her off the ground so quickly Tamlin shouted in surprise, then tossed her head back as she laughed. 

Lucien grinned as he moved for the bed of black in a separate room. The door opened, faelight sparking to light as they walked through. 

Lucien gently placed Tamlin amongst the linen. She grinned as she crawled further up, until she was lying on the pillows, sitting up on her elbows. 

Lucien settled further down on her legs. Lying on his front and smiling up at her. 

Reaching out a hand, Tamlin pushed strands of red hair away from Lucien’s face. Thumb stroking over the scarred skin, her smile lessened over so slightly. Lucien caught her wrist, pressing her hand to cup his face. 

Tamlin’s smile came back in full as she held him, as his eyes closed and he pressed back against her palm. 

“What are we to do?” Tamlin whispered. 

Lucien hummed, “Enjoy every moment we can.”

#acotar #pro tamlin #tamlin #feyre archeron #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #tamcien #feylin #feysand #rhysand #ianthe #religious lesbian icon ianthe #elain archeron #nesta archeron #eris vanserra #pro eris vanserra #alis acotar #the band of exiles #the court of dreamers #acotar headcanons #acotar au #acomaf #acowar

[tavina-writes]

I'm still thinking about that post where @lgbtlunaverse talks about symbolism and then I was like "yeah I'm pretentious as fuck when it comes to all of my fic related things which is silly bc it's just fanfic" (the post is here btw it's a great post.)

And I think that like, actually, it's nice to be a little pretentious about things. It's nice to give meaning to symbolism and pick and choose what stuff goes where and what you pair with this other thing and why you chose this time of day and not another time of day and actually! talk about it! Bc I love talking about it I think it's super fun! I love getting meta about my own writing and I'd love to hear about it from other people, so beloved mutuals (and anyone else who writes and wants to play) tell me below about your favorite symbolism/motifs/reasons why you did that in x scene in your fic.

I'll start! This is from Chapter Six of the Lan Xichen/Original Female Character arranged marriage fic, where we get Some More Family History re: Ningning.

"The Zhushan Li," Yongyong says, coming to a stop in front of the closed doors of the Li Family Ancestral Hall, "was founded by Prince Heyi of the middle Tang, after he revoked his status as a prince of the court and retreated here to Zhushan to be a cultivator instead." The wind rustles through the screen curtain of jade green bamboo leaves, the sound so familiar to Lan Xichen that it registered almost as comforting. "His two older sisters are the statues here on each side of the entrance. This one," Yongyong turns to the one on the right side, "is his eldest sister, Princess Le'an Appeasing the Gods. And this one," Yongyong gestures briefly at the one on the left, "Is his second sister, Princess Yu'an Allying With Tibet." Princess Le'an's face is upturned, the sword at her jade white throat already drawing blood. Princess Yu'an's face is down turned, the tears on her jade white cheeks visible even through the red mist of her wedding veil. Lan Xichen has not read about this tragedy, did not know its form and contours, but— One sister dead to appease the gods. One sister married to a distant land.

I love parallels and the 'one looking up/one looking down' both colorless except for the red and the fact that they effectively died thing just GETS ME. But it's also the "you never escape the patriarchy no matter what kind of woman you are" type story. You can never escape it! Not if you're bold and rebellious, not if you're gentle and demure and these two women ARE really the two sides of the same coin on "well in this system, you die."

I could go on but like PLEASE tell me about YOUR meta thoughts about your fic I want to see it lets talk about it!!!

#writing #my writing #ningning core #please come talk to me about this stuff I want to know so much about everyone's choices

[lightningboltreader]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you for the tag @welcometololaland @three-drink-amy @iboatedhere @jesuisici33!

I wasn't going to do this because I don't post much, but I thought maybe this would help other new/slow/stats clueless AO3 writers (I never looked at my Statistics page).

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

37 (and three more planned for this year)

2. What’s your AO3 total word count?

Comparatively tiny: 62,713

3. What fandoms do you write for?

911 Lone Star atm

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Well, let me tell you what the handy AO3 graph shows:

All Up In Your Mind

(5802, E) Carlos is lifting weights at the gym when he considers whether he looks too muscular for the wedding. For a second opinion he sends a locker room selfie to TK.

How to Bathe Your Lizard

(2913, E) All Carlos wants is a hot bath after a long day, but he comes home to find a small obstacle.

Only a Lifetime

(1504, T) Carlos watches TK with Lou Two and worries that this family won't be enough for him, for the prompt "Do you regret asking me to marry you?" TK assures him that the answer is an emphatic no.

He's Not For Sale

(3369, E) After the 4x10 Stand Up to Cancer fundraiser event, TK leads Carlos to the loft's bedroom to work out the frustration and longing born of tight suits, flirtatious smiles and the not too subtle hungry looks from charity patrons.

Dinner, Party of Three

(510, G) Carlos prepares for a night in with TK before an unexpected visitor joins them for dinner in this 4x06: This is Not a Drill ficlet

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I should probably check. I intend to acknowledge every one. Thank you, thank you to those who comment.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don’t do that. Happy ending or it’s not over yet. < taking Amy's answer

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Maybe Only a Lifetime?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet!

9. Do you write smut, if so what kind?

Yes, the Tarlos kind.

10. Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Nah, they're not my thing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I’m small potatoes over here.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I'd love to.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Been pretty Tarlos obsessed for a few years now.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

A wedding countdown "cold feet" prompt fill in which Carlos doesn't want to marry TK after Gabriel dies. I stopped at 1,500 words, it was too fucking sad...but I'd like to fill in the comfort. lol

16. What are your writing strengths?

Not sure I've written enough to have strengths. I like prompt fills though, I think I"m pretty good at creating unique little scenarios.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Most of them! I'm new to fiction writing as an adult person. World building is probably the biggest in my mind.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Sadly I don't know any other languages well enough.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

[redacted] as a very angsty teen

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

The next one!

I haven’t seen a ton of these, come play along. :)

#20 questions #writer fic asks #tag games #lightningboltreader rambles

[singlecrow]

Still in Philadelphia, have been advised multiple times that the Phillies are playing tonight, today has been lovely despite the fact I'm an idiot (amazing way to stop strangers trying to talk to you on the street is to shout "Sorry I can't stay I have to go and sort out a monumental fuck-up of my own making!" in a British accent, poor random guy never stood a chance). The disaster was averted though no competence of mine. Wedding was lovely! Beautiful brides, fannish guests of long love and standing, glorious setting, delightful amount of people who wanted to talk to me about my books (or, "...you're the one who writes the mash fic, aren't you?" well, not the only one, I've been advised some other people do as well, but yes, sorry, it's me) and also one extremely unexpected person who overheard I'm a Gael and wanted to talk about THAT. Wonderful. What a wonderful country.

New York from tomorrow, and there a bunch more friends. Once we get back to Boston the pace of this trip slows down a little, but so far I'm really glad we came. K and I have been mistaken for a couple a few times. Another unexpected delight.