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fyorina · 20 days

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ᡣ𐭩 I, CARRION

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: the day of the event has arrived and dazai is second guessing everything, but it's too late for him to back out now.{wordcount: 12k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: PART FOUR wow guys we're really getting into the meat of the fic now. HAHAH this is the chapter i had to split into two parts, initially it was going to be one big one but then it would've been a whopping 23k words and that's a bit much even for me. i didn't want to cross the 20k realm HAHAHH. anyway, this chapter really was a pleasure to write, the second scene was my favorite but the ending was SOOOO close to usurping it

GENERAL WARNINGS: again, i'll just leave this warning on every chapter - dazai struggles a lot with disassociation/derealization & losing himself in the pages of the book. as always please let me know if i forgot any warnings

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

“Gin-chan, I’m so nervous.”

You pace around Dazai’s penthouse anxiously, twisting your fingers in front of your body. The event is taking place tomorrow night. You still don’t have an outfit for it—Dazai told you not to worry about it, you’re still worrying about it because what does that even mean? You don’t know what to expect from the event, and Gin is evasive when you ask her about what will happen, just keeps telling you that it’ll be fine as long as you stay with Dazai.

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” Gin says, as she always does, still tapping away at her laptop. Glasses hang off the bridge of her nose and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. You feel a bit ashamed about constantly going on about your nerves when you know damn well she, Dazai and all of the other executives of his company have been working nonstop the past few days trying to finish preparations. “Dazai-san will be with you the whole time, and if he has to talk business, someone will sit with you until he can get back so you’re not feeling awkward.”

Somehow, you think that might be even more awkward because you doubt a random person is going to want to babysit you while Dazai is busy, but you don’t voice your thoughts, instead just withering as you circle the large room for the sixth time in the past five minutes.

You’ve hardly seen Dazai all week. You don’t really mind, you know he’s swamped with work and you’ve been keeping yourself busy going out cafe hopping and shopping. Gin comes with you when she can, but it’s usually Nakajima Atsushi or Tachihara Michizo that joins you—Gin had introduced you to the two security guards a week ago when she’d been too busy to come with you to a cafe downtown. You don’t mind the company but you can’t help but wonder why Dazai is so insistent that someone comes with you.

Well. You can’t help but wonder about a lot of things, really. You’re pretty certain that Dazai is still hiding something major from you. You don’t know a lot about business, and you especially don’t know anything about his business, but something isn’t right. You’re not stupid and everyone is not as slick as they think themselves to be, you see how tense and anxious people get when you mention him to them, more so than the average worker would be at the mere mention of their boss, and everyone in the entire damn building is armed, even though they clearly try to hide it whenever you’re in the area.

You and your friends have joked about the uber wealthy before, and how no one above a certain tax bracket obtains their wealth without some sort of blood money; you’re about 99% sure that’s what’s taking place here too, and it would certainly explain all of the secrecy. More so than trade secrets at least, you feel a bit dumb for that to have even been an explanation in your mind. You just don’t know the specifics. You don’t know if you want to know the specifics, you think you’d prefer to remain ignorant because 1) you definitely don’t want to have any sort of culpability, not when you’re on path to graduate school and hopefully a very prestigious job with the government, and 2) … you don’t want to face the reality of what that would mean.

You like Dazai. More than like him. You’ve been slowly coming to terms with the fact that you really, truly care for him, and if you end up learning the… specifics of his job, then you’re going to be forced into making a decision you don’t want to make: preserving your future and morals or risking them for him. And you’re not going to sit around and claim to be some upstanding, virtuous person. You’re not. But you are ambitious, and you’ve had your mind set on your future since you learned how to pick up a pen and write. You’ve worked your entire life to get where you are now, slaved your way through a prestigious undergraduate school in Japan and spent months preparing for the entrance exams for graduate school, only to what? Throw it all away for some man?

God, you almost feel sick. Distantly, you wonder how awful of a person you must be for the threat to your future success to be the main reason why you’re questioning yourself, and not the fact that it’s very likely that Dazai and his conglomerate have some sort of business with Japan’s underground, maybe even direct dealings with the mafia itself.

You pause from where you’re pacing around the room, eyes widening a bit as another realization hits you. You had thought it was odd that Dazai and Gin and all of the executives of the conglomerate have been so stressed and anxious over an event that they’re not even hosting, but what if… Your throat spasms a bit as you swallow, wondering if Dazai is about to bring you not to an event hosted by their rival, but to an event hosted by the mafia. You don’t think he would put you in danger like that, you don’t want to think he would put you in danger like that and you wonder if you’re just sending yourself down a spiral of unnecessary paranoia.

But it doesn’t make sense. Dazai is enamored by you, and you don’t think you’re being conceited by saying that because he has made it abundantly clear. There’s no way he would ever put you in danger like that. Not unless… you feel a bit green remembering his reaction to you saying that you’d go out on your own and stay with your friend the weekend of the event. You could feel the anxiety radiating off of him for a split second before he asked you to come with him. You also remember how he always makes sure someone is with you when you go out, and god, you swear you’re not a conspiracy theorist but nothing is making sense when you look at it through your rose-tinted lenses but looking at it through these lenses. The lenses of a man who is obviously smitten with you, and who might have dealings with the mafia—of course he wouldn’t want you to go out on your own because he’d be scared that you might be targeted as a means to get to him.

Oh, you feel dizzy. What have you gotten yourself into?

“Are you okay?” Gin is looking up at you, brows furrowed in concern. “You look a little sick.”

“I’m fine,” you say, but the words sound pathetic even to your own ears and you know Gin doesn’t believe you from the way she tilts her head to the side to study you.

Luckily, you’re saved by the bell. Literally.

Your head snaps to the side as the elevator dings, and ordinarily, you would be ecstatic because who else would be coming up to the penthouse besides Dazai and while you’ve certainly missed him over the past week with how busy he’s been, you’re not sure if you’re ready to see him right now with the way your thoughts have just spiraled, because you think you might blurt something out that you can’t take back.

But, for better or for worse, it is not Dazai that enters the penthouse.

“Good morning, ladies,” a familiar voice croons as the elevator doors slide open. Your eyes light up as you whip around, eyes falling upon a face you haven’t seen in almost two weeks. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Albatross!” you say, excited, a smile splitting your face, because yes, even knowing about the possible affiliation with the mafia, you’re still excited to see the blonde—he’s never been anything but sweet to you, and he’s really the only one besides Gin and Chuuya who doesn’t treat you weirdly because of your relationship with Dazai.

“D’aw, look at it, Lippmann, told you the doll would still remember me,” Albatross grins, dark glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose as he tosses you a wink and then looks back toward the elevator.

Your gaze follows his, and your eyes fall upon a vaguely familiar person stepping out of the elevator and into the penthouse, carrying a few boxes. Pale hair cut into a bob, a pretty, androgynous face, dressed to the nines in a light purple waistcoat and matching pants—where have you seen him before? Wait-

“You’re-!” you begin, eyes wide and lips parting in shock.

“Walter Lippmann,” the man greets you with a kind smile and soft eyes, you feel a bit flustered, you can hardly meet his gaze. “Everybody just calls me Lippmann though.”

You try to speak, but you’re a bit starstruck—the last thing you’d expected was for a movie star to step into the penthouse. You’re looking between Albatross and Gin and then hesitantly back at Lippmann as you try to figure out what’s going on.

Albatross cackles. “Looks like she’s gotta crush, Lippmann. Better not let the boss find out, he’ll get jealous.”

“Albatross,” you complain, hands flying to cover your hot face. “Not true, I’m just surprised. Am I allowed to be surprised?”

“Yeah, sure, doll, that’s it,” Albatross says, clearly not believing you at all as he throws himself onto the couch next to Gin, looking up at you. “The boss asked us to pick up a dress for you. Go try it on, I’m going to raid his liquor cabinet while you do—if he asks, you better take the blame.”

You see Gin roll her eyes. “You will not raid his liquor cabinet, Albatross,” she says firmly, but the man only winks at her.

You turn your attention back to Lippmann, who’s carrying the dress in a garment bag, a shoe box tucked under his other arm. He gives you a small smile and then motions for you to follow him; you’re still starstruck as you follow him into Dazai’s bedroom, pointedly ignoring the way Albatross snickers.

You watch as Lippmann hangs the garment bag up on the closet, placing the shoebox down on the bed. He turns toward you after and says, “Try it on and make sure it fits properly. And make sure you like it.”

You nod, lips parting to speak but no words leave your lips. You look up at the garment bag, down to the shoes, and back to Lippmann and then you ask, “How do you… how do you know Dazai?”

Lippmann gives you another gentle smile, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. You notice, a bit curiously, that he seems to take a moment before he speaks, as if choosing his words carefully.

“I knew Dazai’s father,” he says after a few seconds. “I work with the Mori Corporation sometimes regarding press and political matters. Like a spokesperson when Dazai is unable to.”

Hm, you think to yourself before nodding, a movie star as a spokesperson for a corporation, that’s a bit odd, isn’t it?

Your brows furrow slightly as you try to fit the new knowledge in with all of the rest you’ve put together over the past few weeks but it’s just another jagged puzzle piece that’s not fitting in anywhere.

“I’m a huge fan of your movies,” you finally tell him, rubbing the back of your neck as you toss him a sheepish smile. “Like, no joke, almost cried when you had your discussion panel for The Good Society three months ago because it was two days before my entrance exam to grad school so I couldn’t go.”

Lippman laughs, pale cheeks flushing as he looks down at the ground before back up at you. “Honestly, you didn’t miss out. The whole panel was a mess, and the AC broke twenty minutes before, so it was ridiculously hot.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, cursing the fact that you are 1) still half dazed on top of 2) already being naturally awkward, but Walter Lippmann is Walter Lippmann, so of course he knows just what to say and do.

He nods to the dress that he hung up on the closet. “Try it on and then give us a show,” he says, winking at you before he makes his way out of Dazai’s bedroom back into the other room with Albatross and Gin.

You sigh when you’re alone again, tilting your head up to look at the ceiling for a moment, wondering what your life has become before you make your way over to the dress. You unzip the garment bag, curious to see what Dazai had picked for you, and your eyes shoot open when you see the red gown within the bag. Smooth and silky, off-the-shoulder, it’s probably the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon; you feel like you shouldn’t even touch it, much less put it on.

But Lippmann and Albatross and Gin are out there waiting, you can hear them talking through the door, so you force yourself to gingerly pull it off of the hanger, careful to not be too rough with the material. It doesn’t take you too long to get your clothes off and the dress on, but when you do, you can hardly bring yourself to move away from the mirror.

You look beautiful. You do. The dress is a perfect fit, it compliments your skin, it compliments your hair. You look beautiful, but you feel like a fraud, like a clown in a ball gown, hoping that the beauty of the dress would draw attention from the fact that it’s not meant for someone like you.

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at your reflection. Too long, evidently, because you hear a sharp knock at the door and Lippman’s concerned voice asking if you’ve gotten the dress on.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’m dressed.”

You hear the door to Dazai’s bedroom creak open but you don’t turn to look.

“I think this costs more than my student loans,” you breathe out, staring at yourself in the mirror. You smooth your hands over the silky material, eyes catching the way it clings to you perfectly. “God, where the hell did he get something like this? It’s like it was made for me.”

“Probably was,” Lippmann says from where he’s leaning against the doorframe, lips quirked up into a half smile as he tosses you another wink. “Perks of dating one of the richest men in Japan.”

You let out a noise caught between a whimper and a laugh, suddenly feeling very, very out of place.

Lippmann clearly catches your sudden change in attitude and his brows furrow. “Do you not like it?” he asks curiously. “There’s plenty of time for him to send for something else.”

“No, no,” you hurry to say, voice catching. Although you’re unsure how twenty-hour hours constitutes ‘plenty of time’, but you digress. “It’s perfect. It is.”

“What’s the issue then?”

“I just…” you trail off, eyes lingering in the mirror. “I feel silly, I guess. How obvious is it that I’ve never worn anything like this before?”

“Silly?” Lippmann asks, amused, peeling off the doorframe to make his way over to you. You swallow thickly as he straightens your posture and then uses two fingers to make you raise your chin. “You look stunning. Like a woman who belongs on the arm of the most influential man in Japan… Like a woman who doesn’t need to be on the arm of any man.”

Your face feels a bit hot as you let out a puff of laughter. “Now you’re exaggerating.”

“I certainly am not,” Lippmann says firmly, taking a step back. “You’re only getting in your head. From what Chuuya has told me about you, you’re more than suited to outwit and outclass anyone in attendance at that event.”

Your face feels hotter now, smiling as you roll your eyes. “Flatterer,” you say, but you feel a bit better, chest lighter as your gaze turns back to look at the mirror. “... Do you-”

A sharp whistle from the door draws your attention from Lippmann; there’s a lecherous smile on Albatross’s face as he leans against the frame and looks at you, glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose. “Damn, if you weren’t the boss’s girl…”

Gin slaps him hard on the back of his head, glaring at him before turning a small smile to you. “You look beautiful,” she says softly. “He’ll be speechless when he sees you tomorrow.”

Your throat feels tight as your lashes flutter, a smile on your lips as you look down at the ground. Even though the concerns of your realizations from before still weigh heavily in the back of your mind, you can’t help but feel a bit giddy at the thought of seeing Dazai tomorrow.

The giddiness is long gone.

You still haven’t gotten dressed.

You’re sitting at the edge of Dazai’s bed in your bra and panties, staring at the wall with your knees pulled to your chest. Your dress is hanging on the closet on the far side of the room, heels sitting on the floor beneath it. You’ve done your makeup and you put your earrings on already—pretty, dangly diamonds that are the most expensive thing you own, the last thing your brother gifted you before he cut you off entirely. You need to be getting dressed, Dazai will be up here any second to pick you up to leave for the event, but you just can’t bring yourself to put the dress on, anxiety eating away at you.

It’s not even because of the realization you’d come to yesterday, it’s because you think you’re about to make a fool out of yourself. Even if you’re wrong about the theory that you might be heading into an event hosted by the mafia and their associates, you’re still heading into an event that’s going to be attended by people who are much wealthier than you, and you already feel out of place and you’re not even there.

The dress is beautiful, but you think you’ll look like a clown in it, everyone will know that you’re not from the same sector of life as them with a single glance. Lippmann’s words from yesterday are in one ear out the other now that you’re closer to the actual time of the event.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even hear the bing of the elevator arriving at the penthouse, and you don’t notice Dazai until he pushes open the cracked door to step into the bedroom. And you feel like you should be embarrassed sitting half naked on his bed, rather than being dressed and waiting for him, but you can’t muster it, eyes dragging up from the wall to land on his concerned expression.

And he’s a sight, you think. He’s so handsome. Absently, you think he might be more handsome than the last time you saw him but you think that’s a bit ridiculous because he hasn’t changed at all. He’s wearing the same long black coat and burgundy scarf, but the sleek, dark suit he wears beneath it is different, more expensive than all of the others that he’s donned the past few months you’ve known him.

His lips are turned downward as he approaches you, placing a blue box down on his dresser, dark eye soft with concern, and you also can’t help but notice that he still wears the bandages around the upper left side of his face, covering his eye. You want to know what’s beneath them desperately, but you can’t bring yourself to ask, hoping that he’ll show you on his own terms.

He stands in front of you, and you rest your chin on your knees as you stare forward, staring at his abdomen instead of looking up at his face. But he doesn’t let your gaze linger there, bringing his right hand to cup your cheek so he can gently lift your face upward, forcing you to meet his eyes. You can feel the rough edges of his bandages scraping against your skin, and you instinctively lean into his touch. You try to remind yourself of all of the realizations you’d come to yesterday, tell yourself to not be as at ease with him, at least have some semblance of your guard up, but you fail.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you softly, letting you lean into his touch as he brings his other hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you okay?”

And you feel selfish, you realize, as you try to figure out what to tell him. You can’t even fathom the amount of money he spent on your dress and the shoes, and here you are being a baby because you’re self conscious. You don’t even want to reply to him, so you try to turn your face away but he doesn’t let you.

“Tell me,” he says quietly. “I’ll fix it, whatever it is.”

“It’s silly,” you finally breathe out, averting your gaze to the ground as you let your eyes flutter shut, turning your face in his hand to kiss his palm before leaning back into it. “I’m being a baby, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not silly if it has you upset,” Dazai tells you, and he kneels down in front of you to catch your gaze again and briefly, you think it’s absurd that you have such a powerful man at your whims like this, kneeling before you, willing to do anything to make sure that you’re content and happy. It makes your throat swell a bit, those inferior feelings rising back to your chest with a vengeance, because what the hell did you do to deserve this? There’s nothing special about you. “Tell me what’s wrong, let me help.”

“I just don’t understand.”

Oh my god, your voice cracks, you can feel your eyes go a bit misty, and instantly, Dazai’s concerned gaze is narrowing, as if trying to calculate what exactly is the source of your distress so he can remove it, and it only makes you want to cry more because what did you do to deserve all of this?

If you’re right about all of the assumptions you made the other day, and Dazai is bringing you to this event even though by all means he should not because there’s likely going to be a lot of shady business occurring that could incriminate him and all of the other people at this event, then why? Why would he risk that just for a girl he met a few months ago? You can’t fathom it.

God, you know better than anyone the effects imposter syndrome can have on a person in school, but the last thing you expected was to be dealing with it in love too.

Love, the word makes your stomach churn because you do love him, you realize, as he stares up at you desperately trying to figure out what’s wrong so he can fix it. And how scary is that, considering only twenty-four hours ago you came to the realization that he’s very likely involved in the underground, in some way or another, and you had to come to terms with the fact that you’d have to choose between your future and a man. But he’s not just a man, he’s a man that you love in spite of everything you’ve put together.

A tear spills over your cheek and Dazai’s gaze becomes alarmed as he instantly wipes it away with his thumb before caressing your cheek gently.

“What don’t you understand?” he presses quietly. “Talk to me.”

Where do you fucking start?

You want to cry even more but you force yourself not to, you can’t afford to let your makeup get anymore messed up than it already is. Instead you sniffle a bit and try to blink away the tears.

“This,” you finally say, and your voice cracks again, you take a wet breath. Dazai’s lips part a bit, as if he wants to speak but he’s not sure what to say, brows furrowing. “There’s nothing special about me, Dazai, and I don’t understand why you’ve gone to the lengths that you have for me. Meeting me at that club every Friday as if you’re not always swamped with work, indulging me whenever I want to do things. You gave me a place to stay after only knowing me for a few weeks, gave up your own room, your own bed, so I could be comfortable while you slept at your desk. You’ve made sure people are always with me so I never get bored or lonely. You’ve given me literally everything I could possibly ask for and I’ve just been freeloading off of you for two and a half weeks now. Now, I’m going to go with you to this event and end up embarrassing you because I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb compared to everyone else there. They’ll know I don’t belong there and I just-”

You cut yourself off, and you want to avert your gaze from Dazai’s but you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you watch as something akin to amusement flashes through his eye. He takes one of your hands into his and brings it up to his lips, eye sliding shut for a moment as he kisses your knuckles. You let out a shaky puff of air as his lips linger for a moment before he looks up at you again through his lashes.

“Let me help you get dressed,” he murmurs, and you look down at the ground now as you nod, letting him help you to your feet and lead you over to where the dress is hanging up on the closet door.

He pulls it off the hanger and guides you into it, pulling it up and adjusting it so that it covers you properly. He steps behind you, and you realize that he also has you standing in front of the floor length mirror set up on his closet door. You sniffle a bit again as you look at yourself in the mirror.

Your makeup looks a bit smudged beneath your eye from the tears gathering at your lash line, but somehow, you still look beautiful. You think it’s only because of the dress, the way it clings to your body so nicely and brightens all of your features. You take in another shuddered gulp of air when you feel Dazai begin to zip up the back of your dress slowly, each brush of his fingers against your skin lights your nerves on fire, and once he finally has it zipped to the top, he kisses the nape of your neck, hands falling to your hips to caress them gently. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean back against him, his comforting hold settling your turbulent emotions.

“I met you at the club every Friday because you were the only relief I had from reality,” he finally says, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he holds you. “I indulged your requests because I was indulging in you myself. Every moment I spent with you, I allowed myself to be Dazai Osamu, the person, and not the… Not what I’ve had to become to keep this organization running.”

Your breath catches, lips parting at his words but no sound escapes them. He kisses the nape of your neck one last time before he moves to stand in front of you, kneeling down again as he grabs one of your heels and undos the buckle. You watch with bated breath as he lifts your left foot from the ground to kiss your ankle before sliding the heel on, deft fingers fasting the clasp.

“I gave you a place to stay because I was selfish and I wanted you around more,” he sighs, resting his forehead against your knee now as he lingers there for a moment before moving on to repeat the process with your other foot, kissing your ankle and slipping the heel on. He continues, “Likewise, I have kept you surrounded by people because I have been desperately afraid that you’re going to get bored and want to leave because work leaves me little time to be around. Unfortunately, I’m not the generous person you’re making me out to be, I’m horribly self-serving and greedy, especially when it comes to you.”

He looks up at you now from where he’s kneeling in front of you, gaze searching your face. You want to reach out and cup his cheek, so you do, and immediately, he’s turning his face to kiss your palm just as you’d done to him before letting his eye slide shut as he leans into your touch, as if basking in it.

“I would give you anything you want,” he admits softly, keeping his gaze shut as he holds your palm against his face. “Anything. And if it was something outside of my reach, I would make it in my reach. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, no lengths I wouldn’t go to and no lines I wouldn’t cross.”

You think your lungs might be burning, you don’t think you can breathe as you stare down at him, heart thudding in your swelling chest, tears building in your eyes again but this time not out of insecurity. Dazai finally rises to his feet after placing one last kiss upon your knuckles, and he doesn’t say anything as he makes his way over to the dresser where he’d placed the blue box.

You don’t move, watching as he opens it and pulls something out before making his way back over to you, standing behind you. He looks at you through the mirror as he lifts his hands to place a glittering diamond necklace upon your collarbone. You can’t breathe again, you realize, it’s cool against your skin and you think it might be the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon, dozens upon dozens of white diamonds shimmering in the mirror in front of you. Your skin feels like it’s on fire as his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he clasps it onto you.

“You are beautiful,” he says, voice so raw that you almost shiver at the intensity of it. His fingers brush your hips as if he’s afraid to touch you. “You are beautiful, and intelligent, and everything I have ever wanted. You deserve so much more than me, more than you’ll ever be able to understand, and I’m sorry that I’m not a good enough man to do what’s right and let you go. The last thing you should ever be doubting is this.”

His eye slides shut again as he lets out a soft puff of air, the warmth fans across the back of your neck and you think you could spend forever in this moment with him, wishing that you could freeze time.

“You said that you thought it was fate that brought us together,” he finally finishes, voice quiet as he references what you told him the first time you met. “Don’t ever doubt your place with me. Wherever I am, you belong, whether it’s a club, or an apartment, or an event.”

“I thought you hate the idea of fate,” you say, voice a bit choked as you try to force the tears back again.

“I do,” he affirms, “but if fate brought us together, then far be it from me to deny the one thing in this world that has ever made me happy.”

You love him.

You feel sick to your stomach—be it from butterflies or the implications of the realization. The words threaten to burst from your lips but you swallow them, instead, another tear trails down your face and he sees it through the mirror, lifting his hand to wipe it away before leaning a bit over your shoulder to press his lips to your jaw.

“I’m ruining my makeup,” you rasp, letting out another shaky breath.

He smiles against your skin.

“You’ll be beautiful still,” he murmurs before pulling back, admiring you for a moment before he asks: “Are you ready to go?”

You nod. “Yeah,” you say, a bit breathless. “I’m ready.”

“Everyone is staring at us.”

You’re not wrong, exactly. As soon as the two of you had entered the room, all attention was sent your way, and though the music was loud enough to drown out most chatter (intentional, of course, so unsavory ears can’t overhear even more unsavory dealings), Dazai couldn’t help but notice the hush that spread through the room at the sight of you. The boss of the Port Mafia with a date on his arm was certainly a sight to behold to all of the rest of the occupants of the event hall,.

“Can you blame them? You look beautiful,” he says, voice laced with a teasing edge that is certainly not matched in his expression. Dazai knew people would be looking at you if he brought you here. Still, he wants to gouge their eyes out.

His arm tightens around you as he tucks you into his side, cold gaze sweeping across the massive event hall. At least two hundred people are attending Nabokov’s event—an even mixture of pharmaceutical tycoons, technology barons, politicians and mafiosos.

At first glance, he recognizes four different mafias in attendance.

Mishima Yukio of the Sun and Steel stands by one of his associates, the president of Mitsubishi Chemical Group; the man’s dark eyes card over Dazai with lazy interest, before his head tilts to the side as he studies you.

Dazai thinks that the Sun and Steel might be the Port Mafia’s only allies in attendance, and even then, allies might be taking it too far. The extent of Dazai’s dealing with Mishima was a general agreement to not encroach the Sun and Steel’s monopoly over the narcotics industry—which Dazai never intended on doing anyway because the industry is far more trouble than it's worth—and an unspoken promise to protect Japan’s underground from foreign mafias.

Dazai wonders if that unspoken promise still holds or if the Russians have cut a deal with him.

Nabokov’s Pale Flame, obviously, is in attendance, along with the remnants of Leo Tolstoy’s Three Deaths. Tolstoy himself is sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand as he leans back on the stool, gaze focused on you. Nabokov is off to the left, making his way across the room to greet Dazai, a curious expression on his face. Dazai recognizes Cao Xueqin of the Red Chamber sitting near Kitazawa Michihiro of Fuji Electric, one of the Port Mafia’s closest associates; and Dazai thinks that might be a bit foreboding, both because of the presence of the Chinese and the company he’s keeping.

Dostoevsky’s House of the Dead is nowhere to be seen, but Dazai knows that they’re here. Somewhere. He just has to find him—and he will.

More eyes are on you than him, and although that was to be expected, Dazai can’t fight the doubt that suddenly swirls in his chest, wondering if he’d made the right decision. If you hadn’t been on people’s radar already, you definitely are now, and the thought makes him a bit sick to his stomach. He tries to console himself with the fact that this was the lesser of two evils—the mere chance of you being on the radar of any of the mafias in this room, no matter how slim it might be, was not something he could gamble with. There was no way he could let you go out alone and unprotected. People like them, people like him, would jump on the chance to take advantage of the weakness and he couldn’t let that happen.

But is this really any better?

He’s thrown you into a pit of snakes, and you’re ignorant to all of the threats around you. His gaze drifts back down to you, catching the way your brows are knit together slightly, the way your lips are pressed in a thin line. There’s an indecipherable look in your eyes as your gaze shifts over the room, and Dazai wonders if you know more than you’re letting on. That’s another scary thought, but he can at least find comfort in it for now because it’ll have you keeping your guard up around these people. He’ll just have to deal with the consequences later.

He dips his head down to your ear, speaking quietly before Nabokov finally reaches him: “Just follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”

The look you shoot at him is nothing short of withering, and Dazai can’t help the smile that curves at the corners of his lips as he lifts his head back up to subtly brush his lips against your temple. He catches sight of movement from the corner of his eye and any softness that might’ve been visible in his expression washes away instantly.

“Dazai,” Nabokov greets, beady eyes flickering between you and Dazai, partially curious about you and partially nervous about Dazai. Dazai tilts his head to the side, becoming increasingly more unamused the longer Nabokov’s gaze lingers on you. “I’m glad you came. I wanted to apologize for not being able to attend our planned meeting a few months ago.”

“So I heard.” Dazai’s voice is short and distant, more focused on the feeling of you tucked into his side than the conversation at hand. He has to force himself to keep his gaze steady on Nabokov, wanting to look down at you, but he contents himself with letting his hand slide down to your hip, rubbing absent circles against the silky material of your dress.

Nabokov fumbles over Dazai’s clipped response, a bead of sweat gathering at the corner of his forehead. He wishes he could peer into your head and see what you’re thinking, about him, about this, about everything. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get through the night without you realizing who he is, what he is, and that thought scares him because he thinks that maybe he should have been the one to explain it to you, so he could at least try to paint himself in a better light. Although, he’s not sure what sort of light would make anything about him look better.

“Who is this?” Nabokov finally asks, turning his attention toward you. Dazai doesn’t like the way he looks at you, eyes raking over you like you’re a piece of meat.

“My partner.” To Dazai’s credit, his voice is much smoother than the turbulent emotions in his chest would suggest. “Where is your wife, Nabokov?”

Nabokov doesn’t even respond to the question, laughing loudly. “Never thought I’d see the day you found yourself a lover, Dazai,” he chuckles and then holds his hand out to you. “Vladimir Nabokov.”

You shift a bit to take his hand, but Dazai is faster, lithe fingers wrapping around Nabokov’s wrist in an agonizingly tight grip. Nabokov winces, Dazai’s face is cold as he stares down at the man.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” he warns, keeping his voice low.

Vladimir Nabokov. Invitation to a Beheading. An ability that grants its user to draw a target into an interdimensional space through physical touch—Dazai isn’t sure what the space entails because no one has ever left it alive.

Nabokov tries to laugh it off, weaker this time as he takes his hand back and shakes out his wrist. “My, Dazai, possessive, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Dazai agrees idly. “Be sure to remember that.”

Nabokov gives him another wavering smile, and Dazai can’t help but wonder how Dostoevsky could have possibly thought anyone would believe the man could head the tripartite alliance of the Pale Flame, Three Deaths, and the House of the Dead. Anyone with half of a brain would know that Dostoevsky is behind their union. Maybe that’s what he wanted, Dazai notes absently as he watches Nabokov’s gaze flicker to the upper left corner of the room. Dazai follows it to where a camera is positioned, encompassing most of the event hall.

The smile on his lips is nearly as chilly as the air-conditioned room around him.

There you are.

Dazai’s gaze cuts back to Kouyou, who’s standing a few feet behind you and Dazai with Chuuya, Ace and Piano Man. The woman inclines her head in recognition of his silent order as she fans her face lightly, taking a step away to make a call to Hirotsu, who should be stationed around the building with the rest of the Black Lizards by now, prepared to move in at the first sign of danger.

Nabokov looks as if he’s going to speak again, which inclines Dazai to believe that he’s seeking something out in particular for Dostoevsky, and from the way he keeps glancing at you, Dazai assumes it has to do with you. So as the man's lips waver, eyes darting as he tries to formulate another conversation opener, Dazai speaks before he can get the words out.

“If you don’t mind,” he says, voice cold and clipped as he all but dismisses Nabokov, who flushes a bit, nodding and apologizing before stepping away.

Dazai realizes that he probably has not prepped you enough for this event, but in his defense, he’s been swamped with his own preparations and how is he supposed to prepare you when he can’t even fully explain all of the dangers? But now, it’s making him anxious, because at some point tonight he’s going to have to step away from you to meet with Nabokov in one of the backrooms, likely with Tolstoy, Cao, and Mishima. Dazai’s executives will have to be there with him, and Tachihara is supposed to slip from the shadows to join you while you wait for his return, but there’s likely going to be at least a good two to three minutes where you’ll be alone until Tachihara can get to you. That’s assuming he doesn’t get caught up on the way over.

He needs to talk to you, at least warn you about the ability users attending the event so you don’t accidentally stumble into a potentially lethal situation without him around.

If he goes to the bar, Tolstoy will take advantage to try to sweep you into a conversation, picking up right where Nabokov left off. If he goes off to the left side of the room, Cao will make his way over to interrupt. If he goes off to the right side of the room, Mishima is there. The only place… Dazai inhales as his gaze focuses on the massive dance floor of the event hall, dozens of couples are spinning around already, and it will be loud enough there for the music to drown out his conversation with you from unwelcome listeners.

He turns his attention to you, holding his palm up and tucking one arm behind his back as he asks lightly, “May I have this dance?”

Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, seemingly hyper aware of all of the hungry, curious glances of the other attendants directed your way, but he’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes glitter beneath the chandelier’s lights, and the way your dress clings to your body, and the way a soft smile tugs at your lips. He thinks that even if you hadn’t entered the event on his arm, all of the room’s attention would be on you still, because you’re beautiful, and captivating, and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how he managed to pull you in one lifetime, much less all of them.

You place your hand in his and Dazai guides you across the floor, intent on finding the perfect space. It’s hardly obvious the way that the other people on the dance floor would inch away as the two of you passed by, intent on staying out of Dazai’s way and letting him have whatever space he wants, but you pick up on it, he thinks, seeing the curious look in your eyes as your gaze sweeps around the people around you. He bites back a sigh, because he’s sure that you’re tallying everything up in your head trying to put it all together, and once you get that final puzzle piece, everything will be over.

His chest sinks at the thought of losing you, but he forces it away. He has to focus on the situation at hand because even a single slip up could be fatal—not only for him, but for you too. As soon as he reaches a suitable spot on the dance floor, he tugs you a bit closer to him, hands sliding down to your waist. Your own arms instantly come up to loop around his neck as you look up at him through your lashes and Dazai suddenly feels breathless, vision tunneling and heartbeat stuttering at the way you look at him.

God, how is he supposed to focus with you around? He can hardly concentrate on anything but you. He’s flying too close to the sun. Has been since the moment he met you. Drawing you into his life and keeping you there, now bringing you here, so many gambles, too many gambles… the heat is scorching, and it’s only a matter of time before his wings burn. If he was smart, he’d let you go so that you don’t burn with him, but his fingers only bite deeper into your waist at the thought.

The music is slow, and the two of you sway in tune to it. The other couples give a wide berth, some casting wary looks at Dazai, ones that he’s sure you’re catching. He doesn’t know where to start, or how to start; what does he tell you that doesn’t condemn him? Luckily, he doesn’t have to start the conversation because you do, for better or for worse.

“Was that man the rival that Gin mentioned?” you ask curiously, and Dazai can’t help but notice there’s a strange look in your eyes as you ask it, one that he can’t place.

He hesitates, but then says, “No. He wasn’t. I haven’t seen him yet.”

You hum lightly, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck in a way that makes him shiver. But his eyes narrow when he realizes that you don’t look the slightest bit surprised by his answer.

“You knew that already,” he accuses lightly, and he forces himself to swallow the lump that suddenly forms in his throat because if you figured that out on your own already, what else have you figured out? God, he knew this was risky, you’ve always been ridiculously perceptive—he just needs to get through tonight without you putting everything together, then he’ll be fine.

“I suspected it,” you finally affirm his accusation, gaze searching his face. “He was nervous talking to you. If he was your rival, I’d expect him to be a bit more… assured. And he kept looking up toward a camera, like he knew someone was watching that he’d have to answer to.”

Oh, you did pick up on a lot more than he expected. He doesn’t think that the smile he gives you quite meets his eyes, if the way your brows furrow have anything to say about it, but he distracts you by bringing his hand up from your waist to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he murmurs, “That’s my girl, always so smart.”

Your lashes flutter as you avert your gaze, a tell tale sign of you being flustered. His lips quirk up into a more genuine smile, hand dropping back down to your waist. He can do this, he tells himself, he just has to be careful, tell you enough to make sure your guard is up and you know to at least some extent that the people in this room aren’t to be trusted.

“There are a lot of ability users in here,” he finally warns, careful to keep his voice low even with the music covering his words. “Do your best to keep your distance from people. I’ll stay with you as much as I can, but I’m going to get pulled away sooner or later. Chuuya or Piano Man will stay with you when they can, and if they’re pulled away, Tachihara is going to come down to stay with you.”

“... That’s why you didn’t let him shake my hand,” you say, realization flashing through your eyes, another puzzle piece fitting behind your eyes and Dazai has to be careful because it’s only a matter of time before you’re given that final piece and everything comes together. “What’s his ability?”

“... Nothing good,” he answers after a few moments of silence, but you’re not content with that, brows furrowing. He sighs. “No confirmation on it, we only know it’s lethal. Many are in here.”

Your eyes widen and then you look a bit skeptical. “And you think they would use it here? In public?” you ask slowly.

To Dazai’s horror, it is not skepticism tainting your tone, but rather, you’re fishing for information, trying to put more pieces together, and he doesn’t have much choice but to give you answers because he can’t risk you setting your guard down even for a second.

He chooses his words carefully. “... There is little they wouldn’t do to get ahead in our business.”

“Hm,” is all you say in response, something akin to understanding flashing through your eyes and Dazai dreads to know what his answer has just told you. He feels distinctly like he’s playing chess against an opponent he did not anticipate and he’s at a disadvantage because the opponent is you. He can feel your shoulders slump suddenly, an unfamiliar expression crossing over your face; you look tired, as if you’d aged twenty years in a matter of seconds. “What did you get me involved with, Dazai?”

You say it so softly that Dazai barely hears it himself, and he knows. He knows that you’ve figured something out, he doesn’t know what and he doesn’t want to know what. He wants to evade it as long as possible, because the moment he has to have this conversation with you, he knows he’ll lose you. He can’t think about that now, it’ll throw him off and this is the last place he can allow himself to be thrown off.

Instead, his grip on your waist tightens again, gaze averting down toward the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. The words weigh heavy on his tongue, not just an apology for tonight but an apology for accepting your offer for a drink two months ago, knowing he wouldn’t be strong enough to let it be a single night of indulgence; an apology for seeking you out again afterward, knowing that he would be sentencing you to death.

He feels sick.

What is he doing?

Why are you here?

What has he done?

“Dazai.”

You say his name but Dazai hardly hears you. God, he can feel it happening, where his fingers are pressed against your body, the skin suddenly goes cold and stiff, his surroundings are blurring, the people fading into the background. This isn’t the place. Nabokov. Tolstoy. Mishima. Cao. He can’t lose himself, not now, but his grip on reality is starting to waver, the pages pile around him.

“Dazai.”

What has he done?

Everything he’s planned for, seven years of careful calculations and planning gone down the drain. How does he even fix this? Can he fix this? His mind races, but he’s not even sure he’s thinking coherent thoughts, trying to ground himself to the present because he needs to stay here, he can figure out how to fix it later, when you’re not in danger but-

His vision swims. Not now. He can see it—he can see you. Still on the ground. Sometimes there’s blood, so much that he can hardly recognize you (but he can, of course, he can always recognize you, even when your body is littered with more gaping wounds than not). Sometimes it looks like you’re sleeping, so much so that Dazai kneels next to you, begging you to wake up (he knows in his heart that it’s futile. he can’t stop himself from trying). His head spins, he loses track of where he is and then-

“Osamu.”

His breath catches, gaze zeroing in on you. You. Alive. Your brows are furrowed in concern, searching his face to try to draw him back to reality. He thinks his grip on your waist must be painful but he can’t bring himself to loosen it at all. He stares at you, still desperately trying to keep himself grounded because although you’ve brought him back mostly, the corners of the pages still linger in the edge of his vision, threatening to consume him again.

“You can’t leave me,” you tell him quietly. “You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow.”

Oh.

He lets out a breath, slow and maybe a bit more shaky than he would’ve liked, but he tries to focus on the situation at hand. He loosens his grip on your waist, rubbing a gentle circle over your hip in an apology.

His gaze drifts around the room, Nabokov is in deep conversation with Cao, hardly paying attention to anything going on, but Cao’s sharp, dark eyes are pointed over Nabokov’s shoulder, scanning the dance floor. He’s looking for someone—not Dazai, which is a bit worrying, and he becomes all the more attentive to everyone in the vicinity, trying to make sure none of the Red Chamber’s assassins made it through the security. If any organization would be able to pull it off, it would be them.

Once he’s decided the coast is clear, he turns his gaze back to the bar. Tolstoy is looking at him—blue eyes sharp, blonde hair hanging in them, a curious expression on his face as he sips at his drink and watches as Dazai dances with you. As soon as Tolstoy notices Dazai has caught him, his lips curl up into a smirk and he raises his drink. Dazai’s expression is cold as he looks away, seeking out Mishima only to find the man nowhere to be found.

Hm.

Chuuya and Kouyou are entertaining idle conversation with two executives of the Sun and Steel, both keeping a sharp eye on where you and Dazai sway on the dance floor. Piano Man is entertaining several politicians, doing a good job at ensuring that none of the other foreign executives get any chance to get their ears. Ace, Dazai notes, is in deep conversation in the shadows with one of the executives of the Three Deaths.

Interesting.

He finally draws his attention back to you, a small smile on his lips as he recalls what you’d said to drag him from his spiral.

Osamu,

“You called me Osamu,” he murmurs, a warm feeling spreading through his chest as he focuses on that instead, trying to ease himself back into reality. Technically, he’s heard you say his given name before. Well. Not technically. It was never you and it was never him, rather it was vague memories of other yous and other hims, but it was nothing in comparison to hearing you actually say it.

You look embarrassed, averting your gaze. “I didn’t know how to get your attention, I’m s-”

“Say it again,” he whispers, lifting his hand back up to your chin to tilt your face back up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes search yours, watching the way you can hardly hold his gaze. You look hesitant, so he continues with, “Please.”

“... Osamu,” you say again, breathless, and god, Dazai wishes the two of you were anywhere but here. He wants to press you back against his bed, run his lips up and down your body, map out all of your curves with his hand. He wants to watch you come undone on his tongue and on his fingers—he wants you, he wants you more than anything else in the world. Every time he’s tried to take the next step with you the past few weeks, he either got interrupted by work or he ended up getting cold feet, nervous about making a mistake.

Before his thoughts can spiral even more, the music picks up to a faster paced waltz. Your eyes widen, watching as all of the other couples shift into the respective dance. You look up at him, a bit panicked, clearly not sure what to do, and his lips curl up in amusement, beckoning you to lace your fingers with his to take the stance the other couples were taking.

“I don’t know this da-” you begin, voice hushed.

“Just follow my lead,” he repeats the same words he spoke to you when they entered the hall. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

You exhale, studying his face for a moment before sighing and mimicking the stance the other women took with their partners. He can feel your fingers wavering against his as he interlocks your fingers and he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand soothingly.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he tells you, just as the music finally picks up for the dance to start.

He thinks you’re worried for nothing. You moved smoothly in line with him and in tune with the music, gliding across the dance floor as if you’ve danced with him hundreds of times before, your body so in sync with his that the two of you put all of the other couples to shame. Not that any of them matter, of course, you’re all that Dazai can focus on. Your eyes never leave his, not even for the sparest of moments, and Dazai feels like he’s caught in a trance, lost in your eyes and the feeling of your body so close to his, hyper aware of the way your your hand rests on his shoulder and the way your fingers are wrapped tight around his.

God, there’s something so otherworldly about you. Doesn’t know if it’s heavenly or supernatural, if you’re his angel sent to lead him to salvation or his very own siren singing a sweet melody to lead him to ruin. Doesn’t think he cares either way—salvation, damnation, none of it matters as long as he has you.

“Not so bad, hm?” he murmurs, sweeping you out into a spin before pulling you back to him, closer this time. He can feel your chest brush his and he prays you can’t feel the way he’s lost control of his heart, painfully cognizant of the erratic thumping. His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, holding you close to him. He could stay in this moment forever, surroundings drowning out; all he can see is you, all that matters is you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Not so bad.”

His lips part to respond but he’s interrupted when he sees movement from the corner of his eye, freezing.

“Dazai.”

Dazai stiffens as a familiar voice speaks from behind him, shifting to stand partially in front of you as his gaze cuts to the side to see Mishima’s familiar figure standing a few feet away. Turning to face him, he asks, “Do you need something?”

“I’d like to speak to you before we meet with Tolstoy, Nabokov and Cao.”

Mishima’s voice leaves no room for argument, dark eyes absent of any emotion as he waits for Dazai to follow him. Dazai’s jaw tightens, eyes drifting back to you as he tries to figure out what to do. He can’t leave you here, not with Cao’s hawk-like gaze trained on the dancefloor and Tolstoy waiting for the opportunity to make a move. But he does need to talk to Mishima, have some idea of where he stands with the Sun and Steel before facing all of the foreigners.

“May I have this dance?”

Dazai hadn’t even heard Chuuya approach, turning to the side to watch as he holds a hand out toward you expectantly, quick to step in to take Dazai’s place so that you’re not alone. You shoot Dazai a concerned glance, brows furrowing a bit, before you place your hand in Chuuya’s.

Chuuya leads you back onto the dance floor, Dazai’s gaze lingers for a few moments, a bitter feeling spreads through his chest because that should be him, and it’s wholly unfair that he has to deal with all of this unsavory business when he should be spending time with you.

He should just kill them all here and be done with it.

The words ring through his head, echoing, tempting. He inhales and forces himself to look away as you loop your arms around Chuuya’s shoulders, swaying in tune to the slow song playing. He turns his attention back to Mishima, voice cool and expression void of emotion:

“Speak.”

Dancing with Nakahara Chuuya is awkward. Awkward is even being generous. It’s not like he’s a bad dancer—in fact, it’s clear that he’s a very good one. He’s smooth on his feet as he spins you around the dance floor, but he’s so stiff. He’s careful to keep space between the two of you, hands never dipping lower than your sides, lips pressed together. He hardly even looks at you, his attention is more on where Dazai had stepped to the side to speak with the dark-haired man who’d interrupted the two of you, but you’re grateful for it, because it’s giving you a chance to gather your thoughts.

You think Dazai might’ve inadvertently confirmed your suspicions from yesterday. You don’t know who these people are, but there’s no way any ordinary business event would be dangerous enough for Dazai to genuinely worry that someone might kill you in a room crowded with two hundred people. A part of you wonders if it’s just different for ability users, that they’re not scared of committing crimes in public because they have an ability that prevents them from getting caught, but you know you’re just trying to make excuses at this point.

Your gaze drifts back over to the older, light-haired man with dark eyes who’d approached you and Dazai when you walked in. He’s off to the side talking with a Chinese man dressed in a red suit—your gaze lingers, trying to piece together the puzzle in your head desperately, but all of the edges are jagged and confusing, you can’t seem to figure out where they each fit with each other.

You’d thought maybe that Dazai and his business was somehow affiliated with the mafia, because no one with the amount of money and success that he has gets it cleanly, but now you can’t help but hesitate, reconsidering your original theory. Vladimir Nabokov had been scared of Dazai. And it’s not like you haven’t noticed the effect that Dazai has on people. Whenever you’re around people with him, they get tense and on edge, but it’s different seeing the effect he has on someone who doesn’t even work for him, a foreigner supposed to be one of Dazai’s associates if you understood what he meant about not showing up to a meeting.

Who are you, Dazai?

You don’t even know if you want to know. You love Dazai. You do. You knew it earlier in the night. You know it now. It’s something you can no longer hide or deny. You remember the concerned look on his face when he saw how upset you were. You can feel the way his lips brushed the nape of your neck as he explained why he kept meeting you at the club, the way he kissed your ankles as he knelt in front of you and told you how he was selfish for keeping you around, how he kissed your palm and leaned into your touch as he promised you anything you want. God, you love him, you don’t think anyone has ever looked at you the way he does; no one has ever spoken to you the way he does.

You love him, and it scares you because you’re realizing you still don’t know anything about him, not really, and you’re also realizing that there’s a high chance he’s been lying to you about what he does. It scares you even more that your first instinct isn’t to run. Because you should run. This should make you run. He brought you to an event with people so dangerous that he’s afraid they might try to hurt you, or worse, but you don’t want to run, because you’d be running from him and you don’t want to run from him.

Could you sacrifice everything for him though?

Fuck your morals—everything you’ve worked for, all of the years slaving away to put yourself on the path to success. You’ve told yourself your entire life that it would be all you would focus on, that it would all be worth it in the end. You convinced yourself that maybe if you proved yourself enough, your brother would return to your life; he’d be proud of you and he’d come back to you. You know he’s still out there somewhere, you get letters with no return address every month—the only thing in the envelope is a check with a dubious amount of money, but it’s in his hand writing, so you know it’s him.

A part of you wants to cry, frustration clawing at your chest: the future you’ve worked so hard for, or love? The question you’ve dreaded since your epiphany yesterday is finally thrown right in front of your face, and you need an answer. The two are mutually exclusive—you will not be able to pursue the career you want with Dazai Osamu, not in the way you want at least. And you don’t want to do all of this work to just end up being another shady politician.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Your gaze snaps up to Chuuya, who’s suddenly looking at you, and you don’t really know how to respond.

I’m pretty sure you guys are part of the fucking Mafia and you’re all hiding it from me, but also I don’t want to know if you are because that’s going to force me to make a decision that I don’t want to make so I’d rather live in ignorance.

“My thoughts are only worth a penny?” You deflect with a grin instead, hoping it meets your eyes.

It doesn’t, evidently, because Chuuya’s eyes narrow a bit, and then he tilts his head to the side and hits you with a more direct: “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just worried,” you finally say, not entirely lying but also not telling the truth.

“About?” Chuuya presses and you sigh, exhaling a bit.

“He mentioned that there were dangerous people here,” you tell him quietly. “I’m just nervous for when you guys go to your meeting… I’m guessing it’s going to be soon.”

Chuuya’s brows furrow and you can see the thoughts racing behind his eyes before he speaks again. “You’ll be fine,” he tells you. “We have people all over the event hall, and Tachihara is going to sit with you until you Dazai can get back. Dazai shouldn’t have worried you with all of this. He shouldn’t have even-”

He cuts himself off, jaw tightening, but you know what he’s going to say: he shouldn’t have even brought you here.

“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Chuuya says quietly, and you think he might be talking more to himself than anything else now, but you listen anyway. “He’s always been hard to read but this is…”

He stops speaking out loud, as if he’s realized that you’re there again, and instead he shakes his head. “You’ll be fine. Back at the headquarters before you know it.”

You aren’t so sure.

Your gaze drifts to the side as you watch Nabokov and the Chinese man make their way over to Dazai and the man he’s talking to. The blonde at the bar that Dazai kept looking at also stands up, drink in his hand as walks in the same direction.

Chuuya spits out a curse under his breath and gives you an apologetic look. Your heart sinks and your throat feels a bit tight—he doesn’t abandon you right away though, pressing his hand to the middle of your back as he guides you across the dancefloor to the bar, all the while keeping a keen eye on what’s happening on the other side of the room.

He pulls the barstool out for you, eyes still trained on where Dazai is standing with Kouyou, two men that work for him you haven’t met yet, and the four men you assume are business associates of his. Dazai is looking at you, an indecipherable expression on his face. You’re looking at him, suddenly anxious at the thought of being left alone, a bad feeling sweeping over you.

“Tachihara will be over here soon,” Chuuya finally says to you, tearing his gaze from his coworkers to look back down at you. He flags down the bartender to order a drink for you. “You’ll be fine. Knowing Dazai, the meeting won’t last long anyway.”

Your shoulders only slump a bit as you nod, thanking the bartender quietly for your drink as he hurries to bring it back to you, taking a sip of it. Chuuya doesn’t say much else—once you’re settled in your seat and have your drink, he squeezes your shoulder before making his way back over to the intimidating group of people standing on the opposite side of the room.

Your gaze meets Dazai’s conflicted one one last time before he’s forced to turn away and disappears down a side hall deeper into the building. You sigh as you twirl your drink around, the clear liquid sloshing dangerously close to the brim of your glass as your eyes twist around the event hall, seeking out Tachihara, or Atsushi, or anyone that works with Dazai because you’re feeling distinctly vulnerable alone. You find none of them. You can feel eyes on you—most you’re sure are harmless curiosity, wanting to know who exactly came in on the arm of Dazai Osamu, but you know some aren’t nearly as harmless, you can feel the hungry stares of vicious opportunists directed at your back and you don’t feel comfortable sitting alone.

You don’t even get five minutes to yourself.

“Is this seat taken?”

You’re startled by the unfamiliar voice, head snapping to the side. Your gaze focuses on a pretty man with soft features, shoulder-length black hair and gentle purple eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no words leave them, caught off-guard by his sudden appearance. He looks harmless enough, but there’s something about him that has you on edge—something simmering beneath the surface of his deceptive eyes that you can’t quite place but you know you don’t like.

“I mean no harm,” he says smoothly, lips curving up into an amiable smile. “I’m an old friend of Dazai’s. I only want to talk.”

An old friend. You don’t buy it, but you don’t want to risk antagonizing him, Dazai’s warning about the many lethal ability users prowling the event ringing through your head. You just hope that Tachihara shows up sooner rather than later as you finally shake your head.

“It’s not taken,” you say quietly, motioning to the stool as you take another generous sip of your drink.

The dark-haired man smiles at you as he takes a seat at the bar next to you, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the lighting of the chandelier. Instantly, you feel like you’ve made a mistake, a chill running down your spine as your eyes meet purple ones that are not quite so gentle anymore. Sharp and shrewd instead. Calculating. Dangerous.

“Fyodor Dostoevsky. A pleasure, truly.”

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

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seamsterslocal · 1 year

Photo

summer binder picture tutorial

this is the third binder ive made for myself recently and the first one i’m writing up. it’s designed to do a few things: 1) allow me to put it on by myself without dislocating my shoulders 2) allow me to breathe well enough to partake in normal activity 3) be cool enough to wear throughout a muggy 90-100F summer 4) not constrict my ribs in a way that aggravates my lack of connective tissue and causes intense pain.

this has become necessary even though i had top surgery many years ago, because when i had it i was extremely skinny and since then i’ve increased in size by about 50%. this has been really fucking good for my health in every single way* except that when my chest is squishy or moves at all it’s So Goddamn Triggering for me. but also since ive had top surgery ive developed and/or been made away of a plethora of chronic conditions that make every single commercially available binding option medically impossible. unbound, my chest is pretty much what you’d expect for a chubby cis guy but venturing out into the world in just a tshirt no longer works for me

*anyone who badmouths weight gain or fat bodies in the notes WILL be blocked

under the cut are a bunch of process pictures and explanations of what they all mean:

first i’ll give you a look at the pieces and measurements:

most of the seams are sewn in this picture and one half is turned inside out, allowing you to see both the finished dimensions (right) and the placement of the fusible horsehair canvas that gives this lil scrap of linen any structure at all (left)

to get your chest measurement, you’re gonna have to do some math:

first measure above and below what you want to bind. average these numbers. mine are something like 32 and 34, which average to 33. subtract a few inches--this is to allow the air movement between the laces at center front and back, critical in the summertime. i deleted 3 inches bc i like that number but you can go bigger if you want. the more inches you subtract here, the more youll be able to ratchet all your chest material down later, but at the same time you need to leave enough fabric for a sturdy garment. let’s say a range of 2-6 inches/5-15cm. by taking your measurements this way, you’re essentially measuring the chest you would like to have. that + the horsehair canvas work together to compress any squishy tissue/force anything that doesnt compress up and to the outside (basically into the armpit/lower shoulder--the chest might stick out but it will give a very puffed chest captain america pectoral silhouette)

you can also see how ive clipped my curves and pre-drilled my lacing holes. i used the marlin spike on my knife to open up the holes on the interfacing side, mainly as a way of marking them. this worked well bc the interfacing’s glue kept the linen from raveling

this is the same stage but looking at the non-interfaced grey linen/cotton blend (the black is some 100% linen from my cabbage stash). you can see ive broken the solar-plexus-to-back measurement up into a bunch of pieces to save on fabric but that’s not necessary. my original pattern was just two pieces (front and back) and chopping the straps into thirds on both sides was aesthetic

in the following picture you can really see how this is really just overgrown regency stays:

i thought about doing side lacing but didn’t think that would be comfortable for me. on the front, the side seam allowance was pressed inwards before turning to create a finished looking slot. on the back the side seam is left unfinished with an extra wide seam allowance, and is inserted into that slot.

here’s a closeup on it pinned in place (you can adjust the angle of the side seam and the fit during this pinning stage):

that side seam was just topstitched in place once i had the fit how i liked it, and the armhole was reinforced with more topstitching

alright, time for eyelets: first, you can see how well the marking worked:

next, two rows of basted eyelets (left), one row of eyelets sewn with a doubled and waxed cotton thread (center right), and one row of eyelets opened and stainless steel rings placed (right).

next time i’m going to mark the eyelets same as i did above, but do this step differently--i’ll mark and baste the steel rings in place BEFORE widening the eyelets. this is bc i had a lot of problems keeping the eyelets on center

eyelets half done on this one! on the left are eyelets sewn with doubled and waxed cotton thread and on the right eyelets sewn with quadrupled and waxed thread. the center is basting again. i was able to force the holes back in line while sewing the eyelets but it was kinda annoying. adding a second picture that doesnt have great focus but hopefully shows how that process worked and shows the spike clearly

i ended up using this white cotton thread because it’s stronger than my black cotton thread (which the rest of it is sewn with). [eta: after this was first posted, i pressed the whole thing heavily, which effectively de-waxed the thread, and i dyed the whole thing a medium charcoal grey, the thread blends in perfectly on the lighter side and isn’t such a sore thumb on the darker side]

bonus: the piecing layout for that little piece of strap. the whole light gray half of the binder was made from 1/2 of one of the legs i cut off some linen suit pants to make slutty camping shorts last year and i really really didn’t want to break into any of the other three halves for this garment--i have Plans for it

overall the fit of this is incredible. it DOESNT hurt my ribs which every zip-up garment ive been able to find (and it is difficult) does due to really thick elastic at the base. it doesnt aggravate my sensory issues with the synthetic fibers that every commercial option is made of. i can walk up a hill or stairs, or go to pt, without getting too out of breath. i can eat with it tight, or loosen the front easily and without taking it off to make eating easier and less nausea-inducing. it is reversible!

best of all the lacing at the back gives the garment enough movement for me to get it on without dislocating, and the interfacing and steel rings give it structure once it’s on. the shaping comes only from fusible horsehair linen canvas and stainless steel rings like youd use for chainmail, there’s no boning at all, which makes it very quick to sew (except the eyelets, but metal grommets would be sturdy and quick provided theyre of good quality)

there’s a small amount of gaping on the outside of the shoulder strap, which i plan on fixing with a tiny tiny dart in the armpit, i want to add pockets to tuck the laces into, and i need a better lace for the back, but it’s completely wearable in time for the 90 weather next week which is all i wanted. i’ll do a reblog when it’s perfectly finished with an update on the fit but for now it is done enough

the little ridge where it doesnt lay flat against the shoulder is most visible with just a single t shirt over it. with a flannel or a sweater, it disappears, and by itself, it’s hidden in movement

eta: after dyeing this, i relaced it a bit looser in the back and that gape mainly disappeared. ive decided to leave it in instead of smoothing it with a dart because the loose fabric gives space for my chest to expand when breathing and shapes my silhouette in a way that emphasizes my shoulders

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lovelybucky1 · 7 months

Text

Better Than Revenge

Kinktober Day 7- Fear Play

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT- noncon, kidnapping, violence, drugging, mentions of sexual assault, revenge porn, non-consensual picture taking, stalking, forced breeding, blackmail, AFAB!reader, bondage, humiliation, pain play, degradation, vaginal fingering, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, 18+ minors DNI

kinktober masterlist

main masterlist

You enjoyed your time at college. You made many new friends, partied, joined clubs, and learned a little along the way. It was fun for a freshly eighteen-year-old, but by the time the end of your senior year came, you were ready to move on to adult life. Since then, you don’t think about college much in your daily life. Your college friends are now just your friends, and your better days are still to come, not behind you.

That’s not to say you never think fondly back on a memory or two here and there, but you’re so busy with your job at the DA’s office that you don’t have time to be hung up on the past. Others, you’ve found, do still live in the past.

Dr. Jonathan Crane, the chief psychiatrist at Arkham took notice of you when you first started working for the DA. Crane was not well-liked by your boss, seeing as he always managed a way to get the criminals you were trying to put behind bars an insanity plea. While he was a frustrating legal enemy, you never had anything to do with the man outside of the courtroom, or so you thought.

After a long day of court and debating with Crane, you were walking home from the office late when a metal pipe cracked over your head and you fell to the wet pavement, out cold. When you woke, you found yourself in a damp, cold warehouse with Dr. Crane looking on from a chair, dressed in a lab coat. Fear spikes in your stomach when you see the man in front of you. Being in your position, there’s only one explanation for why he would be here as well, though you can’t imagine why.

You are bound and gagged; your arms are wrenched in an uncomfortable position above your head and your wrists are tied to a chain from the ceiling. Your mouth is covered with duct tape, effectively suppressing any screams. Your toes just barely touch the floor, which puts a horrible strain on your arms, but there is no use fighting against the bonds.

When Crane notices you regain consciousness, he stands from his chair and approaches you. He gets close to your face and looks into your slightly hazy and unfocused eyes, his own piercing ones making you tremble under his gaze.

“Don’t struggle, you’ll hurt yourself,” he says, voice eerily soothing for a kidnapper. “You know, it’s dangerous for a girl like you to walk alone at night. This city’s a dangerous place, you never know what kind of creeps could be lurking in the shadows.”

He grins a sick, vile grin that makes your skin crawl. Crane reaches out and tips your chin up with his cold pointer finger. He moves your face from side to side, examining you, checking for any damage he might have done. His thumb traces the duct tape over your mouth, finding the seam of your lips and touching you like a doll.

“I’m surprised you’ve kept your looks with how you used to party,” he says casually. You furrow your brows in confusion but you’re unable to question him. “Though I’m sure your liver isn’t what it used to be.”

Before you can ponder his words, Crane walks behind you and you can hear the sound of metal tools clattering together. When he reappears, he is holding a pair of sheers and wears a sadistic smirk. He roughly grabs the hem of your blouse and cuts it up the middle, exposing your bra. He then cuts the fabric of the sleeves so the garment falls to the floor, leaving you topless.

You want to fight back to get this sick creep off of you, but you figure it’s best not to provoke the man with scissors against your skin. Instead, you’re subjected to his eyes ogling you.

“What a thing to wear to work,” he says, amused. “I’m sure this can’t be comfortable. Were you wearing it for an occasion?” he asks, fingers tracing the delicate lace of the band. “Surely not a date. I know you don’t have a boyfriend, and I don’t think you’re the type of girl to put out on the first date.”

You wonder how he could know you don’t have a boyfriend when the realization hits you. He knew what path you took on your way home, he knew what time you’d be leaving the office, and he knew details of your private life that you haven’t shared with anyone but your friends. He’s been stalking you.

“Maybe you had other plans for lunch with your boss this afternoon. Dent is quite the looker, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you. What his poor wife doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” he asks with a smirk. “You really haven't changed.” You’re not sure what he means by that, but you’re not sure what any of this means.

Crane then moves the sheers to the hem of your skirt and makes a small cut. Instead of cutting all the way up like he did with your blouse, he drops the scissors, grasps the skirt, and starts to slowly tear it. The sound of the fabric ripping is deafening in the near-silent warehouse, and fear threatens to rise in your throat as he creeps up your thigh. His eyes watch the exposed skin intently as he undresses you, clearly gaining some kind of pleasure from this. When he reaches the top, he lets the skirt fall at your feet and now has an unobstructed view of your matching underwear set.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “what a surprise. I guess you did have big plans.”

He slips his finger underneath the elastic band of your panties and snaps them back against your hip, making you jump. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps from the cold air and you squirm as you try in vain to hide yourself.

“You don’t mind if I look under these, do you?” he asks, tugging on your panties again.

Up to this point, you haven’t protested, figuring it was better to cooperate, but you can’t let him violate you like this. You let out a muffled “no” and violently shake your head as you try to move away from his touch. Crane only laughs and moves closer to you. You kick him in the knee and he curses, but it doesn’t do much to deter him.

“You can’t fight me off. All you’re doing is making this worse for yourself,” he hisses. You try to scream, but with the duct tape sealing your lips, it’s no use. “Do you have something to say?”

You plead with your eyes and he reaches up to grasp the edge of the duct tape, but he takes it as an opportunity to be more cruel. He rips the tape from your lips, surely taking skin with it.

“Help!” you scream, “Somebody help me!”

Instead of ordering you to be quiet or suppressing your screams, Crane just laughs.

“Scream all you want, no one’s going to hear you. Not like anyone would care if the world was down one useless bimbo anyway.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you doing this to me?” you shout, your throat feeling raw from the strain.

Anger flashes in Crane’s eyes and his jaw clenches. You continue to thrash and scream, and despite what he said about no one caring, he tightly grabs your waist and steps on your foot to keep you from moving. His face is now only inches from yours and you get the idea to spit into his face. It won’t do much, but it’s the only thing you can do to deter him.

Crane hisses and lets go of your waist to wipe the spit out of his eyes, and when he looks back at you, his eyes are glassy and his dark eyelashes are clumped together.

“You fucking bitch,” he bites. “You’re lucky I haven’t hurt you yet.”

The vague threat does frighten you, but you have many questions that you demand answers to.

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me, Crane?” you ask again.

He laughs bitterly. “Of course you don’t know. You probably have no clue what you’ve done to me. The hell you put me through.”

He leans his weight on the foot crushing yours and when you wince, he grabs your jaw tightly, squishing your cheeks together and forcing your mouth open.

“I don’t know,” you say as best you can.

“You don’t remember college?” he asks. “Your sorority sisters and their fucking jock boyfriends tormenting me. How for years you made my life a living hell just for existing outside of your perfect little bubble.”

His face is twisted into a snarl now as he recounts the memories that drove him to his actions tonight. “I thought the bullying would be over when I got to college but it was so much worse. My door would get vandalized every fucking day with insults and crude images. You and your group of whores spread all kinds of rumors that I was crazy. You said I was a psychopath, a pervert, a sadistic killer who got off on seeing women in fear. Everyone believed it. Everyone.”

As he explained his story, your memory was jogged. You remember a short, skinny guy from college who wore thick-framed glasses and carried a satchel to class. He was awkward, made uncomfortable eye contact, and often made himself the target of ridicule. He had a vast knowledge of science and medicine and was very interested in the mind’s reaction to fear. You never knew his name, only ever referring to him as “Peeping Tom”, which was kind in comparison to some of your friends’ nicknames for him.

“I was an outcast for four fucking years. I couldn’t transfer, I couldn’t afford any other school. Not like you could ever understand that. I accepted that I was a social pariah, but then you went and ruined my fucking life even more,” he hisses.

You didn’t notice the knife in his hand until the point was against your chest, too lost in his rage-filled eyes. You now remember more of what he’s saying and you want to apologize and assure him that you’ve changed, but he seems past the point of reason.

“October 2nd, 1997. I was in my room studying for an exam when you showed up at my door. You were clearly drunk and you came onto me. You promised me all kinds of things and pushed me onto my bed and sat on my lap. You kissed me and took off my shirt, then put your hand down my pants and took my dick out. That’s when your hoard of sluts and every guy you’ve ever fucked barged into my room and took pictures. They spread them to everyone, and it was all because of you.” he hissed. “I was labeled the creep, the predator, the pathetic virgin who thought he could make it with a sorority girl and it was all your fault.”

The man in front of you was shaking with anger, his voice trembling slightly as he recounted the memory. The blade trembled in his hand and dug slightly into your skin, but the pain from the knife was overpowered by the icy feeling of fear.

“Jonathan,” you say meekly, “That was almost a decade ago. I-I’m so sorry I did that to you, I don’t even remember it. I promise I’ve changed.”

“You don’t remember it, that’s exactly why I have to do this. You’re never going to forget again.”

You whimper in fear as he brings the knife up to your neck. The blade bites at your skin, catching when you take a breath.

“Please don’t kill me,” you whisper with your eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you. That’d be such a waste of a warm hole.”

His words are disgusting and degrading. They make you want to shiver out of your own skin and run as far away from him as possible. Luckily, he removes the knife from your neck and takes a small step back.

Crane reaches into his pants pocket and takes out a small digital camera. Your eyes widen when you see it, immediately catching on to what he plans to do to you. He powers the camera on and points it at you, smiling when he sees your pixilated form on the display. He clicks the shutter and a light flashes.

He lowers the camera from his face to reveal a wicked smirk. "It doesn't feel too good, does it?" he asks. "Well it's about to get a lot worse for you."

He kicks your bare ankle with his foot, making you wince as your legs spread. He laughs cruelly and does the same to the other foot. Your legs are open uncomfortably, giving him easy access to what you're desperate to hide from him.

His fingers, long and cold, push through your folds and into your cunt without warning or preparation. He fingers you despite being dry to start, but you slowly get wetter in response to the intrusion.

"Still such a slut even after all this time," he says. "I'm not surprised you're so loose."

He fingers you roughly, seemingly unsure of how to do it, or maybe he just cares that little for your comfort. His nails catch on the ridges inside of you and the poking of his fingers scissoring make you wince. Thankfully he got his fill of that quickly, and pulled out his wet fingers.

He brings them to his nose to sniff, then wipes your wetness off on his pants. "Smells like whore," he says.

Without any further words, Crane reaches down and grabs you by your ankle and pulls it off the floor. You yelp as you lose your balance and your bonds tug on your shoulders. Crane then hooks your foot on a strap that also comes from the ceiling. He then does the same to your other leg.

Now you're suspended in the air, cunt on display for him and helpless. Crane takes out the camera again and takes more pictures of you spread out.

"I have waited so long for this."

Crane wears a sick, wicked grin that does not falter as stands between your spread legs. His hands work his fly open and quickly he frees his cock. It's already hard and the flushed tip is leaking, just from the torture he's inflicting onto you.

"I knew after that night that you would be my first," he says as he rubs his head through your folds. "Weather you wanted to be or not."

Your breath catches in your throat when he pushes into you bare. He goes slow, likely for his own sake so he doesn’t cum too soon, but whatever mercy he shows you doesn’t provide any comfort.

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he begins to rut. Erratic, inexperienced thrusts to chase his own pleasure inside of being conscientious of yours. His eyes are half lidded and laser-focused on your breasts.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

With each thrust, the makeshift sex swing he has you in rocks, making the chains that hold you creak. You worry that you’re going to fall, but you suppose that would be better than a knife in your gut.

Crane’s cock bumps against your cervix which makes you whimper from the discomfort, but he thinks it’s out of pleasure.

“You like that? You like taking my cock like a fucking fleshlight? Didn’t think you’d be so easy, but I guess all it took back then was a spot on the football team to get into your pants.”

Crane is indeed using you like a fleshlight. He alternates between thrusting into you and holding onto the chains to move you over his cock. It’s humiliating, painful, awful, but he’s no longer threatening you with a knife.

He pulls out the camera again and points the lens at your pussy where it’s stretched around him. Then he backs up the camera a bit to capture your full form, contorted by the chains.

“W-what are you gonna do with those?” you ask with your broken voice.

“Exactly what you did to me,” he growls.

“No! No, please, you can’t do that.”

He grabs the chains and slams you down onto him, sending him impossibly deeper.

“You ruined my life. Now it’s your turn.”

“My career will be over! Please, I’ll do anything, just don’t send those to anyone!”

You’re begging shamelessly, sobbing and snotty, but none of this seems to turn him off. In fact, he seems to enjoy it more.

“I’m sure Dent would be interested to see what you get up to after hours. Of course, your reputation would be ruined once the rest of the city sees your messy cunt.”

All you can do is cry and shake your head.

“I know you’re good friends with Bruce Wayne. Maybe I’ll tell everyone that he did this to you and ruin you both. Wouldn’t that be sweet,” he says.

His voice is raspy and low; he’s clearly very affected by the pleasure of using you and you doubt he can hold on for much longer.

“I-I’ll do anything, Dr. Crane. Please,” you say between sobs.

“Hmm,” he hums.

Crane grabs your breast roughly and squeezes, digging his nails into your soft skin. You hiss and your face screws up with pain. He then slaps it repeatedly until you show signs of more discomfort.

“Please,” you beg again.

“It might be nice to have a friend at the DA’s office,” he says with a smirk. “Especially one that would bid in my favor, lest some dirty pictures get out.”

Blackmail? Jesus, he’s fucking sick. Though you suppose the threat of releasing them is better than him actually doing it.

“Yes, yes, I’ll do it. I’ll help you out, just please don’t send them,” you say frantically.

He fucks you even more erratically now, like he can’t decide if he should edge or finish himself off.

“Are you scared?” he asks, voice frighteningly low. You nod in response. “You’re scared of me, the loser you tormented in college? Don’t you regret that?”

He’s speaking so quiet and slowly like he’s trying to hypnotize you. You nod along with what he’s saying, figuring it’s better just to agree.

“You’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Every time you look at our bastard child, you’ll see my face and regret what you did to me.”

That catches your attention. Our child?

“W-what?”

“You thought I kidnapped you just to cum in my hand? I’m gonna fill you up until you’re leaking with my fucking cum. Oh, and you know that little pill you take every day? I switched that out weeks ago. This little womb is as fertile as ever, and you’re going to give me a baby.”

Your stomach flips and you immediately feel nauseous. He tampered with your birth control? That means he was in your house. He could have put cameras up, bugged the place. You have no idea what he’s truly capable of.

Tears being to stream down your cheeks again. You feel so violated, so helpless. He doesn’t wipe away your tears or even tell you to stop crying. He just watches as he fucks you.

“I’m gonna cum,” he growls. “And you’re gonna take it all.”

He leans forward to press his forehead to yours, forcing you to look deep into his eyes as he fills you with his cum. The wet, hot feeling of it flooding your insides makes you feel sick, and he continues to fuck himself through his orgasm which makes the cum froth and leak down your holes.

He stays seated inside you, keeping you plugged so the sperm has time to take. Crane is breathing heavily but he doesn’t once look away from you.

"Good girl," he mutters. "Good pussy."

You sag in relief when he finally pulls out. Your cunt aches from his rough treatment, and not in the fun way. Your arms and legs hurt from the bonds, but that appears to be a pain you won't soon be free from.

Crane walks back over to the chair he was sitting in when you first woke up and takes a seat. "I'll keep you here for a couple days so you can't go off and take one of those pesky morning after pills," he says casually.

"Y-you can't. They'll notice when I don't show up for work," you try to reason with him.

"Oh, don't worry about that. I called on your behalf and told them you had a family emergency. Something about grandma and her heart," he says. "I've taken care of everything."

You don't doubt that he has, and that scares you. He rests his ankle on the opposite knee and looks at the pictures he took on the camera.

"Now all you have to do is stay out of my way in court, and no one will ever see these," he grins, letting the camera dangle from his wrist by the strap.

You nod in understanding. "Good girl."

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow #dc scarecrow #nolanverse #jonathan crane headcanon #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane fanfiction #jonathan crane smut #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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endeline · 20 days

Text

We'll Be Alright

Paring: Paige Bueckers x Reader Warnings: Angst with no comfort (sorry), closeted Paige, closeted reader, breakups, edited and written at 3 a.m. Words: 1,403 A/n: This is my first fic so feel free to critique the hell out of it! (The woman is making me write, send help.)

"I just can’t be seen with you for a while… I can’t be with you for a while," she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion. I watched as her face crumpled under the weight of her confession. She turned away, avoiding my gaze, and in that moment, I felt my world tilt on its axis.

‘I’ve heard her wrong,’ that’s my first reaction, the only rational explanation. ‘I had to have heard her wrong.’ And I almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, because there’s no way this is happening; it’s not possible.

Out of everything I’ve learned in this life, only one thing remains steadfast: Paige won’t leave me, not like this. We've been each other's anchors for too long, willingly entwined each other into every facet of our lives—school, family, friends, work; everything leads back to Paige. My life isn’t mine anymore, it’s ours.

She holds all of me within her grasp. I've given her everything, laid my heart bare at her feet and begged her to take it.

I’m not sure I can even remember how to function without her anymore, and I really don’t want to have to re-learn. At this, I have to take a breath. Unclenching my fists, the pain of my nails digging into my palms begins to fade into the background and I try to slow my pounding heart.

‘She isn’t doing this, you heard her wrong, just ask her to repeat herself, she isn’t doing this’—Is repeated like a mantra. I feel myself begin to open my mouth, but in my panic, I seem to have forgotten what to do next, how to speak, what to say.

I don’t have time to remember though; as I watch her bury her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, I know I've heard her correctly.

Time slows to a stop as I stare at her, the very fabric of our shared existence unraveling before my eyes. Paige sits there, trembling, her body completely hunched over, elbows resting heavily on her knees. I strain to hear her feet tapping against the floor, unsure if it's really her or my own heartbeat drowning out the world around me.

Everything goes numb, or at least I think I’m going numb; I might be dying.

'I think I’m dying.’

One week earlier:

KK has perched her phone precariously above the stove, making sure she'll still be in the frame as she dances behind me.

Her latest brainchild? A cooking show live, which is apparently just me awkwardly fumbling through a recipe in front of thousands of people, while KK assumes the role of my enthusiastic (if somewhat reckless) sous chef. She’s so busy scaring me half to death with her questionable knife skills and insistence upon jumping around the kitchen, requiring me to guard her away from the open flame and from knocking over everything on her chopping board (again), that we both miss Paige getting home.

I’m reaching to taste, and KK is preemptively handing me the salt as a familiar hand snakes its way around my waist. Paige leans over me to take my spoon in her mouth. "Tastes good, babe," she murmurs, kissing my cheek before resting her head on my shoulder.

I’m frozen under her touch, staring at our reflection on the livestream when KK bursts out in fake laughter. "Damn, all you gotta do to get Paige to simp is know how to cook.” I laugh too, now catching on to KK’s cover story, turning to Paige. "For real, Bueckers, if you wanted some all you had to do was ask." I say, removing her hands from my waist. Her brow is furrowed, and a confused look passes over her face briefly until she looks up from and sees the livestream, which is now blowing up. She steps away from me quickly, putting her hands in the air and forces out a laugh before she slips out of frame and disappears from view. KK wraps the live up soon after this, but the damage is done.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobs, wrenching me back into this harsh reality. “P?” I manage to choke out as I reach my arms out for her. I’m pretty sure I can feel my heart fall out of my chest as she pulls away, her head shaking in silent anguish as she stands.

But she doesn’t leave yet. Instead of heading for the door she’s kneeling by my bedside, where I’ve seen her praying so many nights before. But she’s not talking to her god now; she’s looking up at me, speaking to me, clutching my hands in hers.

“I love you, I’m so sorry,” she repeats, and yet even with her declaration of love, all I can do is shake my head in mute denial. “I can’t do it,” she gasps, desperation tingeing her words. “I can’t tell everyone yet. I’m not ready, and I can’t put you through this anymore. It’s not fair to you.”

I want to scream at her, I want to be mad, but I love her and she's scared and I can't bring myself to do anything but cry. I can't help but flinch away from her now too, curling up into the corner of my bed.

“I’m so sorry.”

Even as I cower away, her outstretched hand reaches for me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Summoning what little strength remained within me, I unfurl myself from the corner of my bed and reach for her again, ‘maybe for the last time.’ I brushed away the tears that stained her cheeks, my heart aching. “What does me not being seen with you mean?" My voice tinged with a desperation I could scarcely contain. Paige finally looks up at me; her gaze met mine, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I can’t handle the talking anymore," she cries, her words a plea for understanding. "I love you so much, I'm so sorry I can't be stronger for you but I'm just so damn scared."

It’s my turn to look away now, unable to bear the weight of her gaze any longer, staring into my lap. It's over, all I can do now is try to make her hurt less, and so for the first time in my life, I shake my head and lie to Paige Bueckers, gently shushing her I reach for her hands, “everything's going to be okay, we'll be alright.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #kk arnold #womens basketball #angst #paige bueckers fic #paige buckets #wcbb #final four

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boneblushed · 11 months

Text

Untouchable

part 1 | part 2

synopsis it is crucial that the head boy and girl of Kildare Academy work together. Too bad the head girl is you and the head boy is Rafe Cameron.

wc 2K

Rafe Cameron likes to do this thing where he pretends that he's hopelessly in love with you.

Every morning, when you walk past him in the Academy carpark, he says, “Good morning, sweetheart.” Easy on the morning, rolling the sweet over his tongue so heart sounds thick as brown molasses. He always has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the emblem on his breast-pocket hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. Sometimes you humour him. Often you avoid acknowledging him altogether.

He has a tendency to call you every pretty noun under the sun except your actual name. Though he has a certain predilection for sweetheart, he’ll always follow up your carpark rendezvous—if you could even call it that—with a, “Wait up, beautiful!” Gorgeous if you’re particularly unlucky. You’re pretty sure he does this because it’s more convenient than remembering your name; that, or he’s covering his ass in case he mixes you up with the other girls on his roster.

“C’mon,” he adds, catching you up with ease, “think you can give me a smile today, birdie?”

That’s a new one. You frown hard, conveying your disapproval at being branded by yet another nickname against your will.

“Think you can show me you deserve it, Cameron?”

Rafe slaps his hand against his chest, faux-affronted. “Oof, I’m wounded.” He grins fondly. “You know that it’s bad luck to ice out the Head Boy on the first day, right?”

“Don’t remind me,” you mutter grimly, quickening your pace in an attempt to create some distance from him. It’s a futile attempt at hostility; he’s heading to the same handsome office that you are, home to the Academy’s once imposing headmaster.

He’s gotten soft over the years. It’s the only explanation, really, for why he’s chosen such a diametrically opposed duo to be the Head Boy and Girl respectively. Where you’re serious, unsmiling, easy on the eyes and hard on the ego, Rafe Cameron is this cocky, deceptively charming wall of solid muscle. He’s attractive in that way that’s made him every girl’s default love interest, and even worse, he enjoys the attention as much as you absolutely hate it.

“Remind you?” Rafe echoes, feigning bemusement. “Of what? That we’re partners now, partner?”

You force a breath of air out through your nose, halting in your tracks and turning to face him. He doesn’t think you look nearly as formidable as you want to, especially with that sweet, little furrow between your eyebrows. He tries to look earnest, as if proving his maturity is going to make you hate him any less than you do.

He’s to blame for the animosity, of course — callow, sophomore year him who called you “seriously fucking hot” in the boy’s locker room, and then in the gym, within earshot, added, “shame she’s such a frigid bitch, huh?” He didn’t mean it, and he was very clearly wounded; if you could’ve seen his face as he’d said it, maybe the cracks in his armour of indifference would’ve been more obvious. Maybe you would’ve realised he was deflecting from the fact that your rejection had really hurt him.

But then again, maybe you wouldn’t have. Because in what world was yelling “Go out with me?”—crudely, callously, you might add—from across the classroom meant to be taken for real? You’d assumed that sophomore year him was making fun of you. When you said no, he assumed that sophomore year you just wasn’t interested.

Fast forward two years, to now, it’s clear that neither of those assumptions were wholly true. You walk past the front reception and toward the headmaster’s office in tandem, halting just short of his closed door, a polished knocker hanging directly above eye-level.

As you reach up and press it against the smooth mahogany, you send him a wayward glance. “Just because we have to work together this year,” you say evenly, “doesn’t mean we have to be friends. Alright?”

“Yes ma’am.” He nods, sending you a mock salute.

This just makes you frown harder than before, as if that’s fucking possible. He’s going to get a smile out of you if it fucking kills him. “I mean it, Cameron.” You let go of the knocker to punch your forefinger into his chest, eyes narrowed sternly. “No more sweetheart, beautiful, gorgeous, honey, whatever. If there’s one thing I deserve, as your,” you raise your fingers in air-quotes, “‘partner’, it’s a bit of respect. That clear?”

He’s never once called you honey. He raises his eyebrows. “Darling?”

You let out this sigh that’s more disappointment than frustration, like you didn’t want to deal with this, like you almost expected more from him. It makes his mouth go dry. “You know what?” you say, shaking your head defeatedly. “Never mind. I thought... I don't know, I thought that if Cromwell’d chosen you to be the Head Boy, maybe you’d done some growing up since sophomore year. But clearly he's getting old, because —”

“Who’s getting old?” A pleasant voice interrupts, the mahogany door in front of you jolting open abruptly. “Miss Y/L/N,” Headmaster Cromwell adds, mock-austere. “I sure hope you aren’t talking about me.”

“Headmaster Cromwell,” you answer, eyes widening sheepishly. “I didn’t mean —”

“She was talking about me, Crom-dog,” Rafe pipes up, throwing him arm around your shoulder genially. When he pulls you into his side, the smell of his vetiver and musk cologne grows ever present. “Us. How we’re no longer the scrawny little freshmen we were when we first met you.”

He pauses, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. “Women, am I right? Always so sentimental.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, shaking him off in a hurry. “Anyway.”

“Anyway,” Rafe agrees with a grin, shoving his hands into his pockets. For the price you pay for a uniform blouse, he privately thinks it should be made of thicker fabric. He can still feel your soft skin pressing into all his finger calluses. “You wanted to see us, sir?”

He nods significantly, beckoning the two of you into his office. “Yes, yes, come in,” he says, taking a seat in his brown leather chair, the headrest cracking with age. “First day of senior year, eh? How are the two of you feeling?”

“Apprehensive,” you say, sending Rafe a glare.

He meets your gaze with something akin to amusement, his blue eyes full of mirth. “Sentimental.”

“Ah.” Cromwell raises his eyebrows, regarding the pair of you with interest. “And you’ll be conveying these emotions at your address this Friday, I imagine?”

Your head whips back to his desk, bottom lip pulling between your teeth. “Oh. Um —”

“Because of course,” he adds, clasping his hands together on his desk, “the start of year speech isn’t just tradition, it’s a collaborative effort. As head students, leading the fortnightly school assemblies is going to be one of your biggest responsibilities.”

“Right,” you agree, nodding vigorously. “I assure you, Headmaster Cromwell, it’s all under control.”

Rafe turns to face you, surprised. “It is?”

“Of course it is, Cameron,” you answer tiredly, not bothering to meet his gaze.

Cromwell frowns. “A collaborative effort, Miss Y/L/N.”

You swallow a sigh, plastering on a smile before turning in tandem and nodding. Fake though it may be, being on the receiving end of one of your smiles makes Rafe unusually pleased. He grins back handsomely, his head cocked toward you in a way that accents his stubbled jawline.

“All I’m saying is,” you say carefully, the smile becoming more gritted teeth than anything remotely amicable, “I’ve… made a start on it. I know that you’ve got football trials to organise, so I thought —”

“Successfully delegated,” Rafe interjects. “Got Ollie organising them this year.” He pauses, leaning toward you and clearing his throat. “You know… to free up time for this partnership.”

“Excellent!” Cromwell exclaims before you’re able to protest, clapping his hands together approvingly. “Already taking initiative. Excellent, excellent…”

He reaches for the hefty stack of papers to his left, plucking off the two forms at the top of the pile. “Here,” he says, handing one to each of you. “A suggested programme for your first meeting with this year’s prefects.”

You accept it with a nod, scanning over the template before folding it once, twice, careful. Beside you, Rafe throws his into his bag callously, threatening a migraine.

“As you know, alongside the school assemblies, you’ll be in charge of timetabling prefect duties and maintaining order. Of course, we’ll meet every fortnight or so so I can check in — ensure everything’s running as smoothly as possible.” He pauses here, looking between you through assessing grey eyes. “Being the face of this institution is a massive undertaking, you two. You’re responsible for more than just the student body… you’re responsible for Kildare Academy’s legacy.” Another pause. “It can be quite the burden. It’s important that you trust each other… know that you can rely on one another.”

You clear your throat gauchely. Rafe feels this strange jolt in his chest as Cromwell’s words wash over him.

You’re saved the awkwardness of having to respectfully disagree with him by the peal of the bell, signalling the start of first period. Cromwell springs up and nods in dismissal, the lapels of his suit jacket quivering like jowls. “Alright then!” He exclaims, smiling jovially. “I look forward to hearing your address this Friday!”

You return his smile, albeit reluctantly, avoiding eye contact with Rafe as you turn around and exit. Though you’re determined to make it to class without having to engage in any more conversation, it appears Rafe Cameron’s more determined to do the opposite.

Scratch unnecessary though. He’s pretty sure every precious second that he’s trying for more receiving-end smile is another that shows him time is of the essence.

“What did you reckon?” He asks, messing with his dirty-blonde locks absentmindedly.

The side of his elbow brushes your blouse, and you begin to walk faster, incensed by his closeness. Despite this, he refuses to back down, “Think it’s true? Him retiring this year? Cause shit, it’d explain all that crap about responsibility and legacy.”

You frown at your feet and continue to soldier forward. Rafe tries again, “Remember when Jake was head boy? Kelce’s older brother? Swear to God he didn’t get speeches like that from Crommy… I mean, shit, he was doing all this and organising football practice, not to mention all the parties he—”

“Look,” you interrupt abruptly, letting out a tired sigh. “Yeah, whatever, I won’t tell Cromwell, alright? As long as you just… just do everything you’re scheduled to do.”

Rafe turns toward you, frowning bemusedly. “Huh?”

“That’s what you’re getting at, right?” You ask impatiently, because you’re late and the second bell is about to ring and you really don’t have time for this, not with Rafe Cameron. “Doing the bare minimum just like Jake Smith did? Because yeah, whatever, that’s fine — in fact, I’d almost prefer it to trying to work together.”

Rafe draws back slightly, regarding you for a moment. “Huh.” A pause. “You think I don’t deserve it.”

You balk at his expression, something dejected behind blue irises. “Well, I,” you hesitate, “no. I just… I don’t want to work with someone who doesn’t consider this a priority.”

“You’re a priority to me,” he says, referring to the guy sophomore year you had once rejected.

“Not me,” you mutter irritatedly, cheeks warming. “Head student stuff. You know — all those things Jake Smith got away with not doing?”

“As I seem to recall,” Rafe replies matter-of-factly, unperturbed, “I’ve already delegated football trials to Ollie to free up time.”

“For the speech,” you say slowly, unsure.

For you. “For the speech,” Rafe affirms, looking down at you in this sincere way that makes your head hurt.

You swallow. “Alright then. We’ll do it Wednesday after school.”

Rafe grins triumphantly, nudging your chin with the hook of his forefinger. “Your place or mine, sweetheart?”

“Cameron,” you warn, ducking out of his reach with a frown.

“Sorry.” He nods faux-apologetically. “You prefer honey, yeah?”

“If you call me anything other than my name, I’ll murder you in your sleep.”

“In my sleep?” He asks, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “So you’ll be on my bed, huh? Knew it. Knew you had a secret thing for me.”

“School library, Cameron,” you say grimly, beginning to walk away. “4pm on Wednesday. Don’t be late.”

Rafe nods again, sending you a mock salute. “Oh don’t worry,” he calls after you. “I never keep a lady waiting.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron fanfiction

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calaisreno · 8 days

Text

An Arrangement

1200 words / Prompt: Hobby

Summary: Mycroft finds an ally

Mycroft Holmes regards the police officer who is sitting on the other side of the desk. Dark eyes, prematurely greying hair. Good at his job, recent promotion. A sense of humour (laugh lines), and an uncompromising commitment to honour. Maybe that’s not quite what it is. Honourable, yes, but it’s an inner sense of rightness, a gut feeling about people. Not impressed by power.

He wonders what DI Lestrade is thinking about the man he’s come to see without an appointment.

“You’re here about my brother,” he says, sparing him the explanation.

Lestrade nods. “I’ve seen him around, talked with him a few times. Last night—”

“Thank you.” Mycroft isn’t good at thanking people, not when thanks seem so inadequate. “I am truly grateful that you found him before… well, before more serious harm was done.”

Lestrade looks at him directly, openly, and Mycroft imagines this is the face he uses when interrogating a suspect. “You don’t know what to do with him.”

Surprised at the deduction, he responds. “I have taken some measures. It seems what I’ve attempted has not been successful, but I have the means to try other things.”

“What about your parents?”

“Our parents are not able to fully grasp the problem. Sherlock has always been… difficult. They have never understood him, and blame themselves for his problems. The matter elicits a great deal of emotion, and I have elected to be my brother’s keeper, so to speak, in order to spare them that ordeal.”

“Mr Holmes, I can’t claim to know Sherlock as well as you do, but I know a thing or two about addiction. The measures you’ve taken… well, nothing’s going to work until he’s ready to work on himself.”

Mycroft smiles grimly. “Mr Lestrade, I’m sure you’ve met many junkies in your line of work, but I’m equally sure you’ve never met anyone like Sherlock.”

“True enough. First time I met him he was high, stumbled on a crime scene I was investigating. It was like he had x-ray vision or something. Described exactly what had happened, pointed out where the murder weapon was, even suggested that the murderer was left-handed and had a limp. I didn’t dismiss him as a nut job because I could see it all— he was right.”

Mycroft’s smile is more genuine now. “My brother is several levels above any junkie you’ve met, Mr Lestrade. His problem is one he could solve, if he turned his mind to it. He resents my interference, however, and resists the measures I’ve taken. I will not give up on him, however long it takes. You need not feel responsible for Sherlock.”

Lestrade stares down at his hands, which he holds clenched in his lap. When he speaks, his voice has lost something of the policeman.

“Forgive me for speaking so freely. I know what it’s like to talk to someone on the phone, to say see you later, knowing that it might be the last thing you say to them. Guarding your words so you won’t sound bitter, won’t drive him away, when all you want to do is shake some sense into him, scream at him, lock him up until you can make him right.”

“Ah.” Mycroft leans back. “Your own brother.”

Lestrade smiles. “Five years younger than me, baby of the family. Our parents worked hard, and we did all right. All of us but Andy. I don’t know why. He was bright enough to do anything, be anything. We loved him, but something made him feel unloveable. It was never enough.”

“I’m sorry.” There really isn’t anything else to say when someone admits something so personal. This conversation is far more personal than he wants it to be.

“I always take an interest in the addicts because of Andy. Maybe I can figure it out, save someone when I couldn’t do anything for him. Last time Sherlock and I spoke, I made him an offer, said I’d be willing to talk to him about homicide cases I’m working on, if he stays clean. He seemed to like that idea, said he might be a ‘consulting detective,’ the one I come to when I’m in over my head.”

Mycroft shakes his head slightly. “Sherlock is meant for something greater than police work, Mr Lestrade. I’m afraid you’ll find he quickly loses interest.”

“I don’t know, Mr Holmes. What police do matters. I’m not suggesting that Sherlock would make a good policeman. I saw a spark in him, though, one I hadn’t seen the other times we talked. Even if solving a crime is just an intellectual exercise to him, it might be the thing that keeps him from needing his next dose. That’s how you solve addiction, I think, one dose at a time.”

“That’s very simplistic.” Mycroft frowns now. “Believe me, I understand what rehab entails. And I know the success rates of most programmes.”

“True, there are a lot of failures. I don’t mean to suggest that I can cure him. You can’t cure an addict. But you can give them something else, something that absorbs them, even for a while. And maybe over time they’ll learn that there is something they want more than drugs.”

“You’re asking my permission,” Mycroft says. “I give it to you with conditions. First, you must not let him in simply to let him down. If you invite him to solve things, you will need to keep giving him things to solve. I’m not sure that’s feasible, but it is my condition. Do not treat him like a hobby.”

“I wouldn’t.” Lestrade looks at him solemnly. “I’m doing this because I think I can help him, and it would go against everything in me not to try.”

“I have another condition. You must check in with me and let me know if you see him slipping. Sherlock doesn’t see me often, doesn’t answer my calls. As I’ve said, he resents my efforts to help. You will recognise the signs. If he’s doing poorly, I want to know. I don’t care about confidences and trust between you and my brother. I must know if he is in danger.”

“I’m willing to do that.”

“Even if it involves lying to him?”

This gives the detective pause. “I want him to trust me, and lying to him would break that. I don’t want him to think I’m working for you. At the same time, I won’t pass along anything you say to me; our conversations will remain confidential.”

“In addition.” He sighs. “I am appalled that I must say this, but I would be remiss not to mention it. Do not use my brother. People have used him before, taken advantage of him. I’m not suggesting that you are the type of person who would do that. I don’t know you, Detective Inspector Lestrade. But if I ever learn that you have done such a thing—” He breaks off, giving him the humourless smile that explains more than words. “It would be very unfortunate.”

“Of course.” Lestrade looks sad. “I would never.”

“Very well, then.”

He extends his hand. Lestrade takes it, gives it one shake, and nods. “You’ll be hearing from me.”

---

Shoutouts to everyone who is writing these! I'm so impressed 💕 Please keep writing your mini-epics, fluffy/angsty one-shots, hilarious AUs, limericks, and whatever else your brain comes up with. Please do tag people, and if you're posting on AO3 as well, consider adding to my MayPrompts2024 Collection. Much love to you all 💕

#mayprompts2024 #my fics #bbc sherlock #mycroft holmes

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lincolndjarin · 8 months

Text

Oh Honey. ✩ Chapter 2

chapter two : beware the jabberwock

series masterlist ao3 kofi main masterlist

a/n : took a while to get out but here is chapter two !!! i have a lot of fun writing this fic bc the pacing is so much different than bks but i'm excited to get this chapter out bc i loved writing it so much and i'm so happy that people enjoy this fic so far !!

pairing : monster!joel miller x mortician!reader

rating : 18+ mdni - explicit content, read all warnings

word count : 15.1k (i'm so sorry idk what happened)

summary : new relationships are tricky, especially when your boyfriend likes to disappear for several days with no explanation.

warnings, etc. : dub con?? i'm gonna tag this with that because the sex is like weird in this?? a lot of it is angry or reluctant from one participant at times so i'm gonna tag it just in case, soulmates au, no outbreak au, language, graphic descriptions of violence, gore, fear, feeling of being stalked, feeling of being watched, me making up things regarding the embalming process, animal death, graphic description of the mortuary process, menstruation, derealization (sort of), smut, oral f!recieving, p in v, biting, just like a lot of mouth stuff lmao, cum eating, rough sex, degradation, sort of dumbification, joel is a bit beastly, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, praise, use of the pet name bunny, nightmares, periods, menstruation, joel is a terrible boyfriend, angry sex, injury, blood, blood drinking, manipulation, not a/b/o but something i made up that is sort of along those lines??, body horror, monsters, predator & prey dynamic, a lot of stuff happens this chap so i might have missed some sorry!!, no physical description of reader but joel is described as being abnormally strong and does pick reader up, there is no actual fucking of a monster yet we can't just do that right out the gate it's a thriller it destroys the thrill if they fuck immediately, that being said; this is a monster fucker fic - proceed accordingly

comments and reblogs are appreciated!

You don’t sleep well after your dream.

Just staring up at the ceiling until the sun is starting to shine through the windows.

Not that you’ve been sleeping well recently to begin with. And Joel suddenly feels less safe, the grip of his arms around you feels more like it’s trapping you rather than protecting you.

It’s Joel.

Just take a deep breath.

It’s Joel. Joel Miller. Sweet, handsome, kind, Joel Miller. Joel who came back, even though you assumed you’d never hear from him again.

It was nothing more than a dream.

Stop making up monsters.

You slip out of his arms, quietly making your way over to the fridge to try and find something to make for breakfast. You haven’t gone shopping in a while, all you’ve got is half a loaf of bread and a few eggs. Good enough. Clicking the stove on you set a pan down, cracking the eggs with a small sizzle as they hit the metal.

“Up already?” You didn’t hear him wake but when you turn he’s propped up on an elbow watching you.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Not technically a lie.

“Are you okay?” He sits up a bit and you can feel him sizing you up.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

You aren’t really.

But you can’t really tell him why, so why bother.

He stretches his arms above his head as he gets up, making his way over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and resting his head on your shoulder as you flip the eggs.

“Hungry?” You’re desperate to think about anything but your dreams, as you speak his grip around your waist tightens.

“I could eat.” You shudder for several reasons as his teeth graze your neck before nipping at you.

“These should be done in a few minutes, I just gotta make the toast.” You laugh softly as the scruff of his beard brushes against you.

He makes it too easy to forget your fears.

“Mhmm.” The vibrations from his humming make you gasp, nearly dropping the spatula in your hand as he squeezes you for a moment. You work around his advances, putting the bread in the toaster as one of his hands slips under your shirt.

“How many do you want?” You hold up the bread in front of him, trying to get him to pay attention but it’s getting difficult to stay focused on your task when something is currently pressing against your ass.

“I think I’m fine with just this.” He squeezes the bare flesh of your torso making you yelp a bit as his hand drifts further up.

“What happened to your third date rule?” He groans as you reach over to the stove, turning the burner off to keep the eggs from burning before turning around in his arms, your back pressed against the counter.

“We should go to dinner tonight.” He smiles before leaning forward to kiss you but you put a hand between his mouth and yours.

“What makes you think I’ve forgiven you enough to warrant another date?”

He pouts. His bottom lip sticking out a bit as he frowns.

“Wouldn’t matter if I did anyway, it would only be the second date.” You shrug.

“Last night was the second date.” He says rather matter of factly.

“That didn’t count.” You can’t help the smile that threatens to form on your as his frown deepens.

“So you wanna wait for two more dates.”

Definitely not.

“Tonight?” For a brief moment you try and think of anything else you might be doing but you don’t exactly have a social life here in Honey.

“S’gotta be, I’m spending tomorrow with Ellie and then I’ll be busy with work, gotta catch up on some things.”

Why would he need to catch up if he’s been busy all week?

“Tonight works.” Even after what he put you through you still feel the strangest pull towards him, dragging him to the table with you as you set down a couple plates.

“I’ll be here at eight?” He sits, an accomplished look on his face.

“Works for me.”

You have an uneventful breakfast.

Neither one of you talks about his disappearing act. And eventually he has to leave for work and so do you, so he gets his things together once you eat.

“Get dressed, I’ll drive you to Maria’s, I gotta pick up Tommy anyway.” He takes a sip of whatever juice you had left over in the fridge as you nod, finding something clean to wear before following him out to the truck.

He makes it too easy.

He smiles like everything is fine and he holds your hand as he drives.

“Have a good day at work.” You return his smile and he leans across the truck cab to kiss your forehead.

“You too, I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you tonight.” You wave at him as you walk up to the house, Tommy’s just leaving, giving you a pat on the back as he passes you before jumping in the truck with his brother. With a weak smile you watch them go.

There are no bodies today.

It’s a paperwork day for both of you. You know Maria’s dying to ask about what happened but she never does, just staring up at you every once in a while, always looking like she’s about to say something before choosing not to.

You decide to throw her a bone.

“I’m having dinner with Joel tonight.” You can’t ignore the surprised smile on her face.

“I’m glad you two seem to be getting along.”

“Yeah, apparently he got caught up in his work for a few days.” You try and get a reaction out of her but she goes emotionless, giving you only a hum in response.

You don’t try to start another conversation after that until you say good night at the end of your shift. Giving her a small wave before stepping into the misty evening air.

You keep your eyes on the trees the entire walk home but nothing seems out of sorts and before you know it you’re safe in the camper.

You’re dressed and ready to go when the truck pulls up. You aren’t sure where exactly you’re supposed to be going but you’re ready nonetheless, deciding on just jeans and a plain tshirt. What you aren’t expecting is when Joel steps out of the truck with grocery bags and a grin plastered on his face.

“I thought we could cook together.” He says as he makes his way up the steps inside.

“You know how to cook?” You try not to sound as surprised as you are but he just laughs.

“I have two kids. I know how to cook.” He sets the bag on the counter and you open it, he’s brought bread, cheese, and cans of tomato soup.

“What exactly do you plan on cooking?”

“Grilled cheese.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and any worries you had about tonight go out the window.

“You really went all out for tonight.” You raise your eyebrows at him.

He nods, searching through the cabinets for a pan and a pot.

“When you said cook together you meant you cook and I watch, right?” You lift yourself up onto the counter as he lights the stove.

“Obviously.” He sets everything down and you watch him fish around the top of the fridge for a few seconds before pulling down a rather dusty old radio. “I knew she had one somewhere.” He grins as he sets it down beside you, plugging it in and fidgeting with the knobs until the static turns into music.

You don’t recognize the song that plays but he does, as he hums along, opening the two cans, emptying them into the pot.

You had been so nervous about tonight, nightmares aside, you had expected a totally different Joel, the kind of person who ignores you for a week and expects immediate forgiveness. But instead he continues to be just Joel. Joel, who’s very presence lulls you into an overpowering sense of comfort. The moment he stepped inside the camper the entire space became heavy with his cologne, everything smells like the forest, as if you’re surrounded by pine trees and not the four walls around you.

“We should do something this week.” He turns to you as he butters the bread, setting it in the pan with a quiet sizzle.

“Don’t you have work, and Ellie?” You tear open the plastic wrapper on the cheese, handing him a few slices.

“I do, but I can get Tommy to watch her for a night.” He tosses them down onto the bread before opening a drawer, riffling around until he finds a spatula.

You hum along to the music with him when the song changes to something familiar, watching him cook.

He looks at home with you, like he belongs right here.

You both laugh your way through dinner, it’s outrageous how charming he can be, he tells you about the house he’s building, and how his brother ordered the wrong kind of cement. (You didn’t know there was a wrong kind.) And he tells you about how Ellie’s picked up some curse words, apparently there’s quite an argument happening between the Millers regarding who she learned them from.

You’ve always been hesitant to talk about work, especially on dates because you never know how people are going to react. Not everyone has the same relationship with death that you have. So when he says, how has working for Maria been? You aren’t exactly sure what to say.

“It’s good.”

“That’s it? It’s good?” He looks up at you, giving you that lopsided fucking smirk and you can’t help but just melt at the sight of it.

“We’ve been… busy, lots of work the last few days, now we’re just funeral planning, this week we’ve got a funeral pretty much everyday, Maria’s swamped.”

“What made you choose this line of work?”

You never really know how to answer that question.

“Because I like to play with dead things.” Never gets the laugh you hope for, and the real answer just makes you sad.

“I like to fix things.” You instinctively break eye contact, staring down at an uneven floor board you’d never noticed before under the table. “I like knowing that I can help people in that way, to fix them one last time.”

For a moment he doesn’t speak, when you look back up at him he simply looks at you with something that resembles yearning.

“That’s nice.”

You’re glad he thinks so.

He takes the dishes, rinsing them in the sink despite your protests.

Your palms are getting clammy.

This is, by his count, your third date.

Is it weird that this feels scheduled? It was different when you’d brought him home after your first date, that felt natural, your body innately wanted to be with him. How do you even start this kind of thing when it feels so planned? You both know what you want but it feels strange to just outright say, so is this the part where we have sex?

He dries his hands on his jeans and clears his throat as he turns back to you, holding his hand out, you aren’t really sure what he’s doing until he pulls you up from your seat, wrapping his other arm around your waist.

It isn’t the kind of song you can slow dance to, it’s fast and upbeat.

But as far as you can tell, Joel isn’t the kind of guy who dances in the first place, so you bring your free hand up to his shoulder and join him in his attempts to dance.

I heat up, I can't cool down

You got me spinning

There isn’t a lot of floor space in the camper but he makes it work by holding you close and mostly just spinning you as he nods along to the music.

'Round and 'round

'Round and 'round and 'round it goes

If his goal was to put you at ease then it’s working, any remaining nerves you have fizzled out completely. You laugh in earnest, not out of fear, as he bumps his nose against yours.

Where it stops nobody knows

Every time you call my name

I heat up like a burning flame

Burning flame full of desire

Kiss me baby, let the fire get higher

He keeps his forehead flush with yours as you continue to sway your hips back and forth to the beat, the both of you laughing and spinning, you watch curiously as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply.

Abra abracadabra

I wanna reach out and grab ya

Abra abracadabra

Abracadabra

With a satisfied sigh he opens his eyes, his gaze going from simple infatuation to something darker. When the song ends he pulls you close, so you’re chest to chest and reaches over, turning down the radio.

“So…” You can’t stop smiling as you stare at him through your lashes.

“So.” He gently guides you, his hands on your hips as he walks you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

“I’ve got a long day tomorrow, I should probably get some sleep.” You give him an exaggerated yawn and point at the bed, plastering a mock apologetic look on your face.

“You’re really funny.” He leans down to give you a chaste kiss before picking you up. His strength is still a wonder to you.

The way he throws you down onto your bed makes you erupt into a fit of giggles but he certainly isn’t laughing anymore as he drags you by your ankles to the edge of the mattress, a look of concentration on his face now.

“Joel!” You shriek as you hear the tearing of the zipper on your jeans.

“M’sorry.” He grumbles, making no effort to slow down as he tugs them down.

He doesn’t sound sorry.

“It’s a zipper, just unzip it for Christ's sake.” His sudden change in demeanor leaves you a little breathless, in the blink of an eye he’s gone from remarkably gentle to practically unhinged.

“S’too late for that.” He groans softly as he kneels on the camper floor, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

“You owe me a new pair-” Your voice trails off into a stuttered moan as his mouth latches onto the front of your panties, dragging his tongue over the wet spot that’s been forming all night.

“We can go to the mall sometime this week.” He mumbles against your cunt before you feel his teeth grazing the fabric before tearing it apart completely.

“Jesus, Joel!” Instinctively your hands grip his hair as he buries his face between your legs.

How sharp are his teeth?

He’s all consuming. Like he’s trying to lay claim to every single part of you. And he’s loud, it’s a good thing you don’t have neighbors. Lewd slurping noises as he laps at your dripping hole like it’s his fucking job.

He flattens his tongue, dragging it through your folds, for a moment you aren’t sure what he’s doing, but it feels fucking amazing. The way his tongue moves in and out of you, occasionally drawing a lazy circle around your clit, it isn’t like anything anyones ever done before. It takes you a moment to realize that he isn’t necessarily trying to make you feel good (despite the effect it may be having on you,) you’re pretty sure he’s tasting you.

Drinking you in. If he’s trying to get you off it’s only because he wants more.

“S’ so sweet.” He mumbles against your thigh, biting the meat there making you cry out a bit before he returns to his work between your legs.

“Joel- fuck, Joel please.” You manage to stutter out between gasps, when did he become so gruff? You never could have predicted that he would be like this in bed, his grip on you is certain to leave bruises and you can barely think straight after just a few minutes with his head between your thighs. The noises he makes as his lips wrap around your clit are down right pornagraphic. Your vision is starting to go white around the edges as he does the first gentle thing since he started, sucking that bundle of nerves almost lazily. Through shuttered breaths you manage to mumble out his name a few more times your vision whites out completely.

You’re a little surprised at how quickly he manages to pull an orgasm from you, your skin coated in a thin sheen of sweat as you sit up, pulling him up by his hair as you crash your lips against his, tasting your own slick on his tongue. He moves so feverishly as you feel his hands spreading you again, teasing your entrance with two fingers before slowly pushing them in.

“Joel- oh my god-” He silences your rambling with his mouth again, swallowing your groan once he’s knuckle deep inside you. His brows furrow in concentration as he starts to pump them in and out of you. “P-please.” You stammer out.

It’s such a sharp contrast to the Joel you’re used to, he’s so… unruly.

“So fucking tight.” He mutters before grinding his palm against your clit, pulling another series of gasps from your throat. “Such a pretty, tight, wet cunt.” He whispers against your jaw and you feel a third finger pushing into you.

You hadn’t expected him to be so vulgar, turns out he’s only all southern manners outside of the bedroom. You’re starting to see stars all over again as you feel the stretch of his thick fingers, he nips at your jaw before pressing them in deep, focusing on grinding the heel of his palm into your clit until you’re soaking his hand, hands tugging at his hair as a second orgasm is ripped out of you with a shudder. Your head falls back with a noisy whine, you can’t decide if you want more or less, his touch burns your skin but you feel so cold without it.

“Please, please Joel.” You exhale the words, scratching lightly at his shoulders with a whine.

“Tell me what you want.” His voice is lower than ever and you watch as he unzips his jeans, shoving them off and taking his cock in between his fingers, still slick with your release. Your eyes go wide as he strokes himself a few times, he’s thick, hefty, you’re trying not to stare slack-jawed at the way he fills his own hand. You grab the bottom of his shirt, pulling it off in an attempt to feel more of his skin against you.

“Fuck me… please.” You tack on the please at the end hoping he doesn’t make you wait much longer as you gawk at his pretty tan skin. You don’t even know where to look, you run your fingers through the coarse sprinkle of black and gray hair on his chest as he crawls further up the bed to hover above you.

He takes your thighs, pushing them up against your stomach, his eyes dark with something reminiscent of hunger. You hook your own arms around your knees to keep yourself in that position as he takes hold of his cock once more, guiding himself into you with a strangled groan.

“Christ…” He mumbles under his breath as he slides just the tip of himself in, your own breath hitching at the size of him. He tilts head town, pressing a soft kiss to your chin.

He splays his palms out on your thighs, leveraging himself as he carefully rocks his hips back and forth, slowly working himself into you. The camper fills with the sounds of your collective noises. Joel is loud. Grunting and growling as he fully buries himself in your heat.

He scans your face for signs of distress, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, the tiniest sting from the stretch pulls a whine out of you but you only nod as he stares into your eyes.

“More, Joel.”

Once he has your approval he starts moving, setting a pace that for a few thrusts is slow before picking up. Quickly becoming downright brutal, every slam of his pelvis against yours drives his cock deeper into you. He feels as if he was made for this, he’s just big enough that it doesn’t hurt, simply an overwhelming feeling of fullness.

Your body begins to tense up all over again, you wrap your arms around his torso as much as you can in this position, scratching at his back. He leans forward, going in for a kiss before moving around your face, kissing your jaw, forehead, nose, and temples. When he kisses the apples of your cheeks you feel his tongue darting out.

Did he just lick up a tear?

He snaps his hips forward, disrupting your train of thought, his teeth barred as he does so, eyes fixed on every one of your reactions. He’s practically snarling as you let your head fall back against the mattress, the head of his cock driving into your g-spot.

“Wanna come again already, bunny?” You make a real spectacle of yourself, hooking your legs around his waist, trying to pull him in deeper. “Greedy little thing…”

“Joel please-”

“Joel please.” He mocks. “Is that all you can say now?” You keen softly but he only grins as you tighten around him.

“P-please…” You squeak out as he snaps hips forward once more.

“Come again, I wanna feel this pretty cunt come.” He snarls against your neck, leaving a trail of bites until he reaches your shoulder, a particularly harsh bite has you crying out.

“Joel!” You grit your teeth, a wave of heat washes over you as you come one last time, you feel his tongue dragging across the bite mark.

It’s all so close to being painful.

Your stomach aches from the overstimulation, and you register a faint stinging feeling when he laps at the bite. Your walls clench around him, strangling his cock, and his hands instantly leave your legs, gripping the sheets instead.

“Fuck, fuck.” He barely pulls out in time, coming on your stomach. You reach down in your haze, scooping some of his load onto your finger before sliding them between your lips.

Fucking salted caramel.

Sweet and sticky on your tongue.

He pants above you, watching with an intoxicated look as you dip your fingers into his cum over and over again until your stomach is bare.

He nudges his nose against yours, rubbing every part of his face against you for a few minutes. It’s wildly intimate and you're once again a little taken aback by his sudden tone shift.

“Was that okay?” He drawls, once again searching your face for any indication that you might not be.

You nod, beaming up at him and letting him rest the bridge of his nose on yours for a few moments more before you slip out of his arms, stepping into the bathroom. You relieve yourself before going to sort yourself out in the mirror.

You’re bleeding.

Where he bit you, two mirroring crescents, red and angry on your shoulder, leaking blood.

“Shit.” You grab a handful of toilet paper, wiping it clean before rinsing it in the sink and returning to him.

“Everything okay?” He’s pulled his boxers on, tossing you his shirt which you’re eager to put on. You don’t want him to see the bite.

“Everything’s fine.” You crawl back up into the bed beside him.

He stays the night, pulling you to his chest and caging you in with his arms.

And you aren’t haunted by dreams.

In the morning a part of you worries he’ll disappear all over again, you’re a little surprised when he texts you just a few minutes after he drives off. [ can’t wait to see you again soon bunny ]

Joel follows through on his promise.

A few days later he picks you up from work and drives you to the outlet mall about an hour away, saying he needs to get some stuff for Ellie as well. Apparently she likes to throw plates so he wants to find the kind that suction onto the table. As he drives the radio plays a country song you don’t recognize which he hums along to as you watch the trees outside the window.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you about my aunt.” He turns the music down once you start speaking.

“Darlene? You probably know her better than I do.” He doesn’t seem very eager to talk about her but it only makes you want to know more.

“Doubt it. All I know about her is that she wasn’t close with anyone in my family.”

“You weren’t close? But she left you her camper.”

“That’s why I need to know anything you might know about her, I know nothing.” He seems hesitant and you’re worried if you keep pushing it he won’t tell you anything at all.

“She was a lonely old woman, had me fix things for her often, I honestly think she just wanted company.” His voice softens a bit as he says it.

“She didn’t have friends here in Honey?”

“Not that I know of, she was a bit of a shut in, sweetest woman I’ve ever met, just a bit… skittish. She worked from home and I’m pretty sure someone delivered her groceries. The only time I ever saw her outside was when I was fixing her roof and she sat in a lawn chair to talk to me while I did.”

“She worked from home?”

“Yeah, something on her laptop, I’m not entirely sure.” You’ve never seen a laptop.

You’ve been living in the camper for nearly six months and you’ve never seen a laptop.

But that’s not what interests you the most right now.

“What do you mean by skittish?” You’re trying to gauge his reaction but he doesn’t seem to have one.

“Maybe skittish isn’t the right word. Eccentric? Some of the kids in town called her ditzy Darlene.” His expression sours as he says it.

“That’s horrible.”

“It was.”

“Why?” He seems more reluctant than ever but now you’re just upset on behalf of the woman who left you everything.

“She fed into a lot of the legends around town, and didn't seem to have any hobbies outside of monster hunting.”

“Monster hunting?”

“She was the only local who went to the gift shops, searching for a monster she swears she saw.”

Sounds familiar.

“Did she ever find any?”

“Monsters?” He laughs. “Not that I know of.”

“Did you think she was crazy?”

“I think she was lonely, and I think when you spend that much time alone your mind can wander.”

“But did you think she was crazy?”

“No.” He puts an end to the conversation by putting the truck in park. You hadn’t even realized you were there, the outlet mall is so small. His southern manners remain persistent as he jogs around the truck to open your door for you, holding onto you to provide balance as you hop out.

You aren’t sure where anything is so you just follow him, taking his hand in yours as you walk. He takes you into a clothing store you don’t recognize the name of and waits patiently as you try on a few different pairs of jeans. It’s been quite some time since you’ve bought new clothes so you get a few pairs, you’re worried it’s boring for him to just wait outside the changing room but when you walk out with three pairs slung over your arm he still looks happy as can be. When you go to pay he opens his wallet, silencing your protests with a reminder that it’s his fault you needed new jeans in the first place.

After that he takes his time, the two of you walk hand in hand through each store, he doesn’t even look around most of them, seemingly content with just spending time with you.

He manages to find a few rubber bowls with suction cup bottoms for Ellie as well as some spanish flashcards and you decide to get a pair of blue hiking boots, if you’re gonna be walking everywhere you might as well be comfortable.

At the last store you stop at you find a nice perfume, spraying a bit into the air and inhaling. It reminds you of springtime, it’s light, floral, but when Joel catches a whiff of it he scrunches his nose up.

“You don’t like it?” You set the bottle back down.

“I like the way you smell now.” You frown, trying to remember what shampoo and body wash you’ve been using. If you recall correctly it’s just some generic brand you’d bought ages ago.

“I didn’t know you spoke spanish?” You remark, pointing at the bag containing the cards, opting to just change the subject rather than give yourself a headache trying to remember.

“I don’t, but Sarah does and she’s been insisting I teach Ellie while she’s gone, something about it being better if she’s bilingual.”

“I think that’s sweet.” You swing your arms a bit, keeping his hand in yours as he walks you out of the store and in the direction of the truck.

“Of course you think it’s sweet, you're not the one with two daughters who will be using their secret language against you.” He takes his keys from his pocket, clicking the unlock button.

“It’s not a secret language, if your baby can learn it then I’m sure you can.” He helps you up into the truck once more, shutting the door behind you.

It’s almost comically difficult to keep your hands off him when you’re alone, especially now that you have a taste for him. Even just being in the truck with the windows up is suffocating, the smell of his aftershave or his laundry detergent drives you mad the moment you’re stuck in an enclosed space with him.

You slide across the truck so you’re in the middle seat as he pulls out of the parking lot. It’s like you feel sick when you aren’t touching him, like you’re suffering from this barely noticeable nausea and you don’t realize you were even dealing with it until it’s gone.

You watch curiously as he keeps one hand on the wheel and brings the other to rest on your thigh. His shoulders relax the moment he does, his frown lines smooth themselves out a bit.

He’s just so warm, and he’s so nice to be near. Today he smells like a candle you used to have, something you lit around Christmas time. He smells like cookies and peppermint.

You can’t help but turn your head a bit, trying to discreetly inhale the scent of his jacket.

To say that Joel Miller becomes the perfect boyfriend would be an understatement.

He drives you to work, he sends you flowers, (which gets confusing in a funeral home.) he holds open doors, and he always texts you back.

Quite literally everything gets better once he’s back in your life.

You don’t get anymore mangled bodies, only a few from the nursing home and one from a nearby hospital, it’s mostly just funeral planning these days. You see Joel daily, Maria and Tommy seem a little surprised every time he dotes on you and you can’t help but wonder what he’s done to earn such a reaction, but he’s so sweet you hardly care. Between both of you working and him having a toddler you’re shocked he makes as much time for you as he does. You see him every morning when he takes you into work but he also insists on seeing you twice a week, whether it’s going out, or ordering in, or just dragging him into your bed, he always makes time for you.

You even spend a little time with Ellie. Joel spends a lot of time with her at the funeral home so you often see her in little doses, she seems indifferent towards you which worries you until you realize she acts that way towards everyone but her father. It’s remarkable to watch him with her, he’s soft with you but with her it’s something else entirely. She sticks to him like glue and you’ve never once seen him look bothered by that fact, you assume she’d get bored just sitting in his arms but she never does. He likes to tell her jokes and you aren’t even sure she understands them but without fail she bursts into a fit of giggles every time he gets to the punchline.

It’s good with him, everything is easier. Everything just sort of makes sense with Joel and for the first time in a long time everything feels right.

Until the morning you wake up, a sticky feeling between your legs and an ache in your belly.

“Shit.” You roll out of bed, quickly shedding your clothes, tossing them into the laundry bin before texting Joel.

[ hot date idea for us, you drive me to the laundromat and then watch me do my laundry ]

Setting your phone down you hop into the shower, washing away the blood with a groan, you spend far too long under the water, when you finally step out and check your phone you’re running late, you pull open the curtains a bit to see if Joel’s already waiting for you but much to your confusion you aren’t met with the familiar sight of the truck.

You had never really discussed him driving you to work; it was just something he’d started doing, you probably shouldn’t have expected it to be a permanent thing.

You haphazardly pull yourself together, tossing on whatever looks clean before grabbing your phone and bag, rushing out the door.

The cool morning air stings your face as you quickly walk down the familiar gravel driveway towards the home, you’re already preparing your excuse for why you’re so late but Maria doesn’t even notice as you step into the office, she’s busy on a call.

You recognize the look on her face, she’s talking to a family. You step inside, taking a seat in one of the chairs across from her desk as you wait. She seems to be at the end of the conversation.

You couldn’t be more grateful that she takes care of telling the families. You’ve never been good at that kind of thing. She hangs up with a gentle, goodbye, smiling up at you as you try and imagine a situation in which your job was to deliver such terrible news.

The ache in your stomach snaps you back to reality.

Fuck. You forgot to bring anything.

“Any chance you have a pad?” You give her an apologetic look.

Based on her expression you’d think you’d just asked her for a lung. Several emotions flash across her face in an instant, but mostly she looks like someone who just solved a riddle that had been plaguing them for quite some time. She snaps out of it quickly though, giving you a curt nod.

“Of course, let me just run upstairs.”

It’s an older man, graying and wearing what is obviously hiking gear.

Poor guy.

He’s torn apart, the worst you’ve seen so far, his limbs have all been individually torn off, they lay, separated from the rest of him on the table.

It’s an open casket so you’re gonna be down here all day.

You text Joel one last time before setting your phone down.

[ gonna be pretty busy all day, got another bear attack, i’ll call you when i’m on my way home. ]

With that you get to work, putting on your gown and gloves, and starting at the torn clothes. It’s hard to figure out where his clothes start and his skin ends with the condition his body is in but you manage to cut him out of everything so you can properly assess the damage.

You’re getting used to seeing these messy wounds, the sight of torn flesh. It should be a pretty easy job all things considered. He’ll be in a suit so you’ll just reattach everything and no one will ever have to see the extent of his wounds.

You check everything twice, making sure that you’ve got the left and right correct before you start sewing things back up. You try to mimic the way you saw Maria do it, careful and practiced stitches.

You finish the legs easily enough, both had been ripped off just above the knee, you’re about to start on the arms when you drop the needle in surprise.

How didn’t you realize this before?

You’ve been preparing these bodies for weeks now and you’ve never once noticed one harrowing detail. You’re used to tending to bodies that have already seen a pathologist. Bodies with their organs in a bag, with their blood drained, ready to be prepared for a funeral or cremation. And you’ve been so focused on doing a good job to impress Maria that you’ve failed to take note of the most obvious thing before you.

There’s no blood.

None of the bodies you’ve tended to from the bear attacks have blood, all of their organs remain intact but because Maria declares cause of death you know she doesn’t drain them. You’ve drained everyone who hasn’t been sent in from a bear attack.

Maybe Maria drained them before you got in.

But that isn’t possible, you know that, you’d have seen the equipment, and you’ve gotten bodies straight from the scene, already drained.

You reach over to grab a scalpel off the table.

You shouldn’t do this. You could probably be fired for it, but as long as no one finds out you’ll be fine. All the damage to this cadaver has been done to its limbs, so hypothetically, if you were to slice open his chest you would see blood, dried or otherwise.

So you do just that.

You carve out a small, clean, incision vertically on his sternum.

Nothing.

You’ve got a pen flashlight that you shine into his chest cavity only to find his organs. Dry.

He’s been completely drained of his blood.

You stitch him up quickly, finishing the job as swiftly as possible before running up the stairs, mumbling a rushed excuse to Maria before running the entire way home.

Joel doesn’t text you back.

This isn’t happening, not again, he wouldn’t do this again.

You feel like you’re gonna be sick.

An image flashes through your mind.

Joel.

Lips curled back in a snarl.

No. That wasn’t real, it was just a dream. Although the line between the two has been getting blurrier.

Joel isn’t out there draining people of their blood, that’s absurd, even if he goes missing and those dates happen to coincide with the days that you get bloodless corpses.

It’s a coincidence.

Or it isn’t.

Maybe for one second you should just let yourself consider the possibility that something is terribly wrong.

You thoroughly check the two bodies you get the next day.

They come in together, a couple from out of state hiking in the park. Neither one of them bleeds.

The day after that you wake up early and walk to the funeral home as the sun rises. You watch the hearse wheel in the body, and you make sure you’re the first person to see her.

A tragically beautiful woman who appears to be in her late forties, maybe early fifties.

None of her wounds are bloody, and when you open her chest cavity it’s like someone drank her insides with a straw.

You’re nearly at your breaking point, nothing you’re looking at makes any sense.

You spend that night in bed, unable to sleep as you try and figure out what the hell is going on.

Joel doesn’t answer your calls.

He doesn’t respond to your several angry texts.

And something deep down within you tells you that asking Maria would be a mistake.

You’re completely alone on this.

So you call Maria and you tell her that you’re sick and won’t be in tomorrow. Then you look up the bus schedule in and out of town.

The bus comes in and out of Honey twice, every other day. Lucky for you, today is one of the days the bus will be there in the morning, and return in the evening.

The bus stop is empty when you arrive, the misty morning air clings to your skin as you stare out into the surrounding forest.

Something is out there.

And you’re gonna find out what it is.

You can’t keep being afraid, this is your home now, and you won’t be driven away by some imaginary monster.

It starts to drizzle when you look out the window of the bus, watching Honey disappear behind you.

You have a plan.

Well sort of.

You’re going to find some literature on the subject. You’re sick of feeling crazy so you’re going to prove yourself right. Something is very wrong in Honey, and monster or not, you’re going to figure it out.

You don’t catch the name of the town you end up in, you just get off at the stop that looks the most tourist friendly, assuming that there has to be a book store somewhere in town.

You only have to walk main street for a few minutes before you find it.

It’s a quaint little shop tucked in between an attorney's office and a gift shop.

Betty’s Books

Dimly lit and jam packed wall to wall with books, a small elderly woman sits behind the counter, reading a Stephen King novel.

“Excuse me?” You clear your throat as she looks up at you over her wiry glasses.

“How can I help you?” Her smile is warm, it fills the entire shop with an aura of comfort.

You’re going to sound ridiculous. And the moment you do this you’ll be speaking it into existence.

You don’t have any other options.

“Do you have anything on local urban legends?” You try not to sound too ashamed but her smile never falters as she points.

“Back left corner, dear.”

“Thank you.”

“Let me know if you need anything else.” She’s already buried her nose back in her book before you turn towards the rest of the shop.

You begin searching the shelves for anything that could possibly help you, there’s several different books on bigfoot and the loch ness monster. There are a lot of empty spaces between books and you have to assume that this is what most tourists are buying.

People in search of ghosts and myths.

Are you any better than them?

Running out into the darkness, looking for a monster you very well may have made up.

You look through a few more options before finally settling on a thick, leather bound book, you pull it from its place and stare down at the embossed cover.

A Beginners Guide to Cryptozoology : West Virginian Monsters

You aren’t going to find a better place to start.

You move back towards the front, stopping in front of the children's section.

Lullabies & Poems for Bedtime

A rabbit with a pocket watch, asleep under a tree, adorns the cover.

Ellie might like that.

Even if you’re madder than hell at her father.

You grab the little white book, setting both onto the counter, paying before stepping out into the rain. You’ve got hours until the bus back to Honey returns so you quickly make your way to a diner across the street, keeping the books tucked into your jacket.

A little bell chimes as you push the door open, sitting yourself at one of the free booths you set the books down on the table.

The waitress brings you coffee and water as you set your jacket aside, you order a plate of fries just to give you something to do as you watch the rain on the diner windows for a bit.

Eventually you know you can’t put it off anymore so you open up the book and sit back, taking care to read every single page, not wanting to miss a thing.

The first thing you learn is that there are a startling number of unnamed monsters.

It covers the basics in the first few chapters, mothman, bigfoot, chupacabra, and werewolves, but the second half of the book is entirely monsters with no names, only ink drawing accompanying the descriptions. For a while you find nothing, eventually ordering a milkshake which you sip as you skim the pages.

After two hours you’re about to give up when you stumble across a page that finally shows something familiar.

A drawing of a body, mangled, with wounds you recognize.

Five slashes across the chest, both arms completely torn off.

This creature is thought to reside only in heavily wooded areas, it was speculated to be located in the southern United States for several decades before disappearing completely.

Since then people have claimed to have seen this creature in many different locations although the majority seem to be centralized to the east coast of North America, resembling a lich, or a wendigo.

When you turn the page the illustration of the monster stares back at you.

It’s hard to make out what’s what and it looks mostly like inky scribbles but within those lines you see the creature you’ve been imagining. Long, sharp limbs, massive shoulders, and a face almost reminiscent of a humans, everything is just… distorted.

While technically unnamed, there are many unique pieces of folklore attached to this specific creature. Witnesses claim to have seen this monster transform from human to creature and vice versa, as if they walk among us in their free time.

What sets the creature apart from many other creatures of this variety is their affinity for humans. More often than not we’ve gotten reports of these creatures seeking out human mates.

We have several different claims from people saying they’ve seen the transformation happen right before their very eyes. One man claimed to have watched his sister in law turn at Thanksgiving dinner. Another says that he saw a cousin's boyfriend disappear into the woods during a wedding, transforming into a beast as he did.

According to old legends there is thought to be a connection between these creatures and their mates, quite literally bonding them in blood. The males are believed to be linked to their human mates menstrual cycles; if they have one, the females are linked to their own. There are many different descriptions of what this means for human mates. Some believe that when this creature comes in contact with their mate that they permanently revert to their human forms. Others believe they’re hunger for flesh only grows after coming in contact with them.

But most believe that they eat their mate. Plain and simple. That their blood is more potent to them than anyone else’s, so much so that any love they may harbor for them is irrelevant, they are simply blinded by their bloodlust.

Its victims often resemble that of an animal attack. Bodies torn apart, mangled, often believers of this legend are ‘disproven’ because of this fact, but there is always one thing that separates this creature's kills from that of an animal. Animals who eat their victims will do exactly that, eat them, this creature does no such thing, while it does massacre its victims it will rarely consume its flesh, preferring the taste of blood.

There have been no confirmed sightings of these creatures and we have been unable to trace its origins or obtain any photographic evidence, maybe it really is just an animal.

Monster or bear? It’s up to you.

It’s up to you.

You slam the book shut.

It’s nonsense.

Joel isn’t some blood drinking, period monster. But you came all this way, looking for a monster, and seemingly you’ve found it.

You pick up the little book for Ellie, taking a sip of your coffee.

Maybe it’ll make you feel better.

You open it to find a familiar little song on the inside of the cover.

I know you,

I walked with you once upon a dream.

You flip through it, mostly admiring the beautiful illustrations, they look like watercolors. There’s a frog with a crown, princesses with flowing gowns and witches grinning up at you from the pages. It isn’t until some random page in the middle that you actually stop to read the poem. The drawing accompanying this one isn’t colorful, only black ink, a drastic change from everything so far.

Jabberwocky

By: Lewis Carroll

It unsettles you to look at so you focus on the words instead. You know this creature, it’s from Alice in Wonderland. The poem is whimsical, you can imagine a child finding it rather entertaining should a parent read it with enthusiasm. You don’t have a parent reading it to you though, you’re alone, staring at the lines that have caught your eye.

Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

No more books today.

When you check your phone there are no new notifications. So Joel is either a terrible boyfriend or a potential murderer.

How comforting.

Fuck it.

You click on his contact.

[ TEXT ME BACK RIGHT NOW. OR WE’RE THROUGH. ]

Monsters aren’t real.

Joel Miller is just the worst boyfriend (soon to be ex-boyfriend) on the planet.

It doesn’t help that you catch a glimpse of a tampon wrapper in your bag when you throw your phone back into it.

It’s a coincidence.

You can’t say anything to anyone about this, how would it look if ditzy Darlene’s niece showed up and started spinning stories of her own? You can’t do it, you know exactly what people would say. They’d say it ran in the family and they’d find a reason to be cruel to her even in death.

So you take the bus home in silence.

For the next few days barely speak to Maria other than polite greetings, you’re certain she doesn’t notice, both of you are swamped. You’ve got a body everyday the rest of the week and she’s up to her neck in paperwork.

And Joel never texts.

Maria’s juggling Ellie and trying to fill out papers when you get in the next morning.

“Thank god you’re here, can you run upstairs and grab something for me, there’s a little makeup bag on the counter in the bathroom, I forgot it earlier and I’m waiting on a phone call regarding the couple we had.”

“Of course.” You set your things down before reaching for Ellie. “Here, let me take her so you can do that.”

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you.” Almost as if on cue the phone rings the moment she says it. You head towards the stairs, the toddler in your arms scrunches up her face as if trying to recall your identity.

“You know me, silly, I’m friends with your daddy.” At the mention of her father she seems to relax and you open the door at the top of the stairs.

You’ve never actually been in this part of the house before, you’ve always stayed in the business section. You don’t get a chance to look around, the bathroom is the first door on your left. A bag the size of a pencil box is on the counter, you hand it to Ellie, her little hands play with the bag as you carefully bounce her in your arms.

“Do you know where your daddy is?” You poke her in the belly making her smile at you for the first time. “Not gonna snitch?” You tickle her side, earning a tiny giggle. You let her play with the zipper as you bring her back downstairs. “Any bodies today?” You yell as you descend the stairs.

“Had a cremation from the home this morning, I’ve just got a lot of papers, I’m planning six funerals simultaneously right now.”

Six massacred corpses in six days.

“Where’s Tommy?” Ellie puts up a bit of a fight for the bag but you set it down on the desk just in time to watch Marias grip on her pen tighten.

Yikes. Must be a sore spot right now.

“He’s got a work thing, left me with that little monster.” She uses the pen to point at the toddler who’s already starting to get antsy in your arms.

If you’ve got no bodies today you might as well offer to help.

“I can watch Ellie if you’d like.”

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“Of course not, want me to keep her upstairs? I’m sure you don’t want me watching her in the basement.” You laugh a little as she nods.

“You really are a lifesaver, I don’t know how I managed without you.”

“Oh stop, you clearly did just fine before I came along.” Your face gets a bit hot at the compliment.

“I’ll be up in a few hours once I finish up here, you two have fun.” She doesn’t give any instruction beyond that so you just take Ellie back upstairs. You haven’t spent much time with her beyond the small interactions in passing but you know she doesn’t like doing nothing unless it’s with Joel. She’s trying to get out of your arms the second you’re at the top of the stairs. You set her down in the entryway and she’s already running into the kitchen.

You don’t want to snoop but you actually get to take a good look around as Ellie settles in front of a pile of notebooks and a mess of crayons on the kitchen floor. It’s a pretty open floor plan, the kitchen and living room are all one big room and from the looks of it they must watch Ellie often, an outsider would assume they have a child of their own. A play pen is set up on the floor of the living room and toys are scattered everywhere.

“Are you hungry, sweetie? Do you want something to eat?” There’s different snacks on the counter as you walk over to where she’s playing.

“Yes please.” Her voice is clear and high pitched, you’re actually a little surprised, you didn’t even know she could talk, she’s always silent when you’re around. There’s an assortment of different things on the counter so you just find something that’s already open. Handing her a little container of apple puffs, she doesn’t look up from her drawings, just blindly reaching over and grabbing a handful as you sit at the counter to watch over her.

She’s a very well behaved baby all things considered.

You have to stop her from drawing on the walls a few times and at one point she stuffed a handful of food between the couch cushions but other than that she’s rather relaxed. She sits and draws mostly, only occasionally getting up and doing a few laps around the room before returning to her papers.

At one point she makes her way to where you’re sitting, slapping your leg to get your attention until you pick her up, she points to the window above the sink and when you take her there she simply stares out at the trees.

She’s focused on the woods as you watch her expression, her face is oddly serious.

After a few minutes you set her down, unease filling your body. She doesn’t seem to mind though as she runs back to her drawings, you return to the counter, checking your phone for a few minutes until she appears in your peripherals once more, tapping your leg again, handing you one of her drawings.

At several different moments this week you’ve thought that you’ve reached your breaking point.

None of those compare to how you feel when you pick up the paper Ellie had been scribbling on.

It’s crude and mostly indiscernible but you know exactly what you’re looking at.

A monster.

A broad shouldered, sharp toothed, crayon monster.

You stare at the little girl, trying to keep your composure as you pick her up, setting her in your lap and pointing at the mess of scribbles on the page.

You feel crazier than ever, asking a toddler for help but no one else is around and you’re running out of options.

“Can you tell me what that is, sweetie? What did you draw?” You hand her the drawing back which she crumples a bit in her fist before setting it on the counter, you point again at the creature. “Ellie, honey, can you tell me what this is please?” You’re doing your best to keep calm as she kicks her legs a bit before staring up at you with a frown.

“Daddy?” For someone so small she speaks so loudly and clearly, but you just shake your head.

“I know, honey, you want your daddy, I wish I knew where he was but you’re stuck with me today.” You smooth out her hair a bit as she scrunches up her face, looking rather upset.

“Tío.” She points down at the drawing before looking back at you for approval, you just smile. You feel like an idiot. Asking a child for help. A child who can barely speak.

“It’s okay, you’re too little to understand.” You hold her under one arm as you walk around the counter to the fridge. “How about I get you some juice.”

You find a clean sippy cup, pouring her some apple juice before setting her back down, handing her the cup and searching through your bag.

“I almost forgot, I got you a present.” She perks up immediately, setting her cup down as you hold the little white book out towards her.

“Thanks!” Her eyes light up as she takes it from you, it’s one of the few times you’ve seen her smile without her father being in the room, sitting on the floor before looking back up at you, tapping the spot next to her until you sit as well.

“Do you want me to read it to you?” You watch as she sets it down in front of her, she’s surprisingly gentle as she flips open the cover.

“No thank you.” She’s enraptured by the illustrations, not caring for the text, laying down on her stomach, and sitting up on her elbows as she slowly flips through the pages, her eyes wide as she points out everything she sees to you. You rub her back, nodding along, you’re mostly just happy that she’s excited.

She kicks her feet as she explains the big red bird on the page to you. After a few more minutes of her babbling she turns the page again.

Jabberwocky

She giggles wildly as she points at the page and suddenly you’re filled with dread all over again. She’s positively captivated by the drawing, refusing to turn to a different page when you urge her to move on.

You don’t speak again until Maria comes upstairs to check on her, when you do it’s to tell her you aren’t feeling well, and you’re going home.

You’re going on a monster hunt.

There’s nothing left to do. You need to soothe your fears before you lose it completely and you aren’t going to stare at the trees and wonder for the rest of your life.

You stop at one of the tourist traps in town, you need supplies for tonight.

A camera.

It’s an easy in and out stop. You buy a polaroid camera, and several packs of film.

No one will believe you otherwise, you’ll be ridiculed the same way they did Darlene. You think of her as you walk back home, what if she was right about everything? She spent her life in fear of a monster no one believed in and they mocked her for it, and at the end of the day she might have been right.

Maybe the monster is real and it isn’t Joel.

Either way you’re going into the woods tonight. Your backpack is packed with the essentials, your water bottle, camera, an extra film pack, one of the knives from the kitchen (wrapped in a towel,) and a flashlight.

Once you’re packed you put your boots and jacket on and head out.

It’s like everything quiets down the moment you step outside. The forest hums, beckoning you in, and how could you refuse such an offer?

You manage to keep your hands steady as you flip the switch on your flashlight, stepping into the trees. It feels so much colder now than it did when you were walking home.

With dusk settling the sun is no longer there to keep you warm or to guide your way. You haven’t actually seen much of the forest, so you decide to walk in a straight line to avoid getting lost as you carefully step over a tangle of roots. As a child you loved nothing more than playing in the woods behind your house. But after just half an hour in these woods you suddenly resent the trees, they no longer bring you any comfort as you carry on into the cold dark night. You’re just about to give up and turn back around when suddenly something changes.

Without warning and with seemingly no cause you feel a chill rush through your body, your hair standing on end. Your blood runs cold and you hear a sound you’re all too familiar with at this point.

The tearing sound rips through the air.

Your instincts tell you that you’ve become prey rather suddenly in this situation but you can’t turn back now, not when you can prove to yourself that you aren’t losing it.

As quietly as possible you reach back into your pack, grabbing the camera already loaded with film and holding it in your free hand. The beam coming from your flashlight trembles slightly as you carry on towards the noise.

It’s louder than it ever was in the dreams. In the dreams it was subdued, almost as if you subconsciously knew that it couldn’t hurt you. As you carry onward you can’t help but wonder if you’re just imagining it at this point. It doesn’t seem to get louder as you walk. It simply fills the air completely, you’re being directed purely by your instincts. You know it’s this way as you move forward a few more steps.

You scan the trees with your light, seeing nothing out of the ordinary until you finally see it. Your finger instinctively flips off your flashlight.

You almost didn’t catch it.

But your legs keep moving and you get closer and closer to the hunched figure.

It’s hard to describe, like your eyes don’t want to accept what you’re seeing. A voice in the back of your mind tells you that you’re getting too close but you can’t seem to stop yourself as you carry on until you can get a good look at it.

You can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as you realize it isn’t Joel. But that relief only lasts a moment as you see what you’re actually dealing with.

You aren’t sure how big it is. It’s big. That much is clear but it’s crouched down, it’s almost human, it may have once been human. You’re having trouble making out most of it in only the moonlight. It’s less broad than the illustrations you’ve seen, almost slim, with how close you are now you can see that it’s eating.

A buck, one of the biggest ones you’ve ever seen is splayed out across some rocks. It’s stomach has been ripped open. You watch, with morbid fascination as it digs its maw deeper into the gore.

How curious, it’s wearing clothes. Or at least the remains of some clothing, a bit of fabric clings to its crooked spine, it wears the tattered collar of a shirt like a necklace. Navy blue sweatpants stretch around the creature's waist, the fabric pulled taut, it looks like they make it just past its knees. The elastic around the ankles has snapped.

The funniest part of all of this is that you feel nothing but fear for the creature. You aren’t disgusted and you certainly don’t hate it. You’re just afraid, so afraid that before you can slap your hand over your mouth you burst into a peal of laughter.

Fuck.

It all happens so fast, you aren’t ready in the slightest to be face to face with it and suddenly you are, purely on instinct your hand twitches and with the flash of the camera you get a single moment to stare at it.

It’s so close to being human.

It’s mouth is too big, a blood soaked tongue falling past a row of jagged, pointed teeth. It’s almost like someone stretched out a person's face like it was made of clay. And it’s male. Intricate branching horns stretch out from under the hair crowning its head.

“The doe’s don’t have antlers.”

Your dad was a hunter, you know your antlers, you aren’t exactly sure but if it was a deer it would be a thirteen pointer. You should run, you’re about to but then you finally look it in the eye, just as the final remnants of the camera flash flicker out.

There is something worse than hunger, or thirst, or rage in its eyes, if that was all there was you could scream or cry. But this leaves you frozen in place.

Recognition.

Like it knows you.

And the moment it recognizes you it snarls, an ear-piercing sound that rips through the quiet of the forest, blood spewing from its maw at you, flecks of crimson tint your clothes and hands as your eyes go wide.

It’s a good thing your legs move faster than your brain, you’re already sprinting away from the creature.

You lose your flashlight almost immediately but you know where you’re going, you couldn’t be more thankful for your decision to go in a straight line. You don’t stop moving, running blindly back the way you came, never once daring to look behind you.

You know it’s there, you can hear it, and you can feel it.

Its breath is hot on your heels, you can hear the branches splintering directly behind you. Everything is a blur, stray branches sting your exposed skin but you don’t stop, you can’t, your muscles ache as you push onward, keeping your hands out in front of you to guide you through the darkness until you finally see the road up ahead.

You’re nearly there, almost feeling relief, almost.

An icy hand wraps around your ankle, you’re yanked backwards before you can process what’s going on, your back dragging across the forest floor and in an instant you’re beneath it.

This is it.

You wanted a monster, you got one. And now you’re going to die for it. It snarls as its maw falls open, you’re face to face with a row of shimmering, gore smeared teeth. This is it.

He smells like cinnamon.

It tilts its head ninety degrees, its jaw closing in on your throat as you close your eyes, tears now flow freely down your face and finally you can’t contain your terror anymore.

You scream.

A trembling shriek falling from your lips and much to your confusion a killing blow never comes. After one more shuddering breath you open your eyes only to find you’re just staring up at the trees. You sit up, still out of breath.

He’s a few feet away now.

Thrashing around frantically as he stumbles backwards. As if your scream had upset him. He bellows, his twisted hands clutching his skull like he’s angry with himself. You cover your ears instinctively when it snarls in pain.

He can’t help it.

You’re scrambling to your feet once more, giving him one final glance, you look into each other's eyes.

“Run.”

It speaks.

You break into a sprint once more, not daring to stop until your feet touch pavement. You don’t get the sense that you’re being followed anymore but you’re still in shambles. The adrenaline is slowly starting to fizzle out and you’re painfully aware of the wound you sustained during that encounter. Your ankle is torn up, two deep gashes from where it grabbed you are bleeding an alarming amount. You stumble, the sight of it making you nauseous.

You get a moment's respite and you manage to compose yourself enough to retrieve your phone from your pocket. Walking backwards, keeping your eyes on the forest as you slowly continue to back away. In your desperation your blood stained fingertips frantically swipe across your phone screen, you don’t realize until it’s too late that you’re calling the only person who isn’t going to answer.

Yet when you bring the phone to your ear you hear a click.

“Joel?” You can’t fucking believe it. He actually picked up.

“Sweetheart? Are you okay?” He can definitely hear the panic in your voice.

You just break down.

“I’m by the road, on the way from Maria’s to my camper, I- I need you to come get me, please, it’s- it’s following me, but I think I lost it please, Joel.” You’re in hysterics as you catch a glimpse of one of the few streetlights down the road. You hear the sound of keys and you swear you hear Maria saying something in the background but you’re too frenzied to focus on that.

“Who’s following you? Stay right there m’on my way.” You can hear the truck starting in the background as you keep running, not daring to stop even though it doesn’t feel like you’re being pursued anymore.

“The monster… in the woods… it’s not a bear Joel.” You’re out of breath when you finally stop, standing in the middle of the road underneath the street lamp, spinning around to try and somehow keep an eye on all of the darkness around you.

“Stay where you are, I’ll be there in two minutes, okay? Stay right where you are.” You’re about to beg him to hurry when the line goes dead.

You must look like a mad woman. Standing in the middle of the street, covered in blood, and spinning in circles to try and keep an eye on every single direction as you listen for any signs of movement.

Your heartbeat never slows, you can hear it pounding in the crushing silence that surrounds you.

It only takes a few minutes before you see headlights approaching in the distance. You don’t even let the truck come to a full stop as you open the door and jump in, closing it behind you as you scramble towards Joel as if he could protect you from the goliath you saw in the darkness.

“Drive! Now Joel, go!” You yell as he accelerates just to the point of following the speed limit as he heads towards your camper.

“Bunny, please, calm down.” He wraps the hand that isn’t on the steering wheel around you but you shove him off, sliding back to the other side of the truck.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Joel, not after what I just went through, I saw it, a real monster grabbed me.” You’re stumbling over your words, trying to get them out as quickly as possible.

“Slow down, just tell me what happened.”

“I told you on the phone, I just found a fucking monster, Joel, that’s what happened.”

He’s gone silent now.

He probably thinks you’re crazy.

That’s fine. You know you aren’t, you saw it, watched it feed. There’s deer blood on your boots.

“You didn’t see a monster.” When you look he’s shaking worse than you are. You don’t dare turn your head further but you watch in your peripheral as he grips the steering wheel, his knuckles going white.

He’s lying.

Why would he lie?

“I did, I took a-.” You reach into your bag and your stomach fills with dread as you realize you dropped the camera.

“You didn’t. You’ve been spending too much time alone, and you shouldn’t be going out in the woods by yourself to begin with.”

“And who’s fault is it that I’ve been alone?” You snap.

He doesn’t have a response to that. And you don’t have anything else to say, not like he’d believe you if you did. You should probably break up with him, for several reasons.

Except you can’t.

If you do, how will you stop people from being needlessly murdered? He may not be the monster, but he knows something, and you need to find out what it is.

So you’ll ‘forgive’ him. Again. Because you need to get to the bottom of this.

And maybe, despite it all, you’re still terribly attached to him. He keeps disappearing, without warning and with halfhearted excuses as to why and all you can think about right now is how badly you missed him, and how badly you need him.

“Does Tommy have Ellie tonight?” You mumble, trying not to sound too irritated.

“I was stopping in to see her before leaving her with Maria for the night when you called.”

“Why?”

“I was gonna come over here and apologize.” He sounds just as sincere as he did last time but you still scoff.

“What’s the excuse this time?” When you turn to scowl at him he looks guilty.

“I was out of town on a work trip.”

“And you couldn’t answer your phone.”

“I forgot my charger at home.”

It’s a preconceived lie. You’re certain of it based on how quick he replies, and it’s not even a good one. He could have borrowed a coworker's phone or bought a new charger; it wouldn't have been difficult. But he doesn’t want you to know where he really was.

Every bit of this confuses you.

You saw something in the woods, but it wasn’t Joel? Joel was with Ellie and then he was with you, he couldn’t have been slaughtering lost hikers. It doesn’t make sense. One thing is for certain though, and it’s that you can’t break up with Joel until you know what's going on or more people are going to be killed by that thing you saw in the woods. You aren’t really sure what to call it, but you know that you found the thing that’s been killing.

And he knows something about it.

He had no reason to get as rattled as he did if he didn't know something about what you saw. So you can’t break up with him, not until you figure this all out. Until then you just have to play the part of a clueless, loving girlfriend. Which shouldn’t be too hard considering the fact that for some reason there is still a sick and twisted attraction to him despite everything you know, settling in your stomach. You bite your tongue, going the rest of the short drive in silence. When he finally pulls up to the camper the engine goes quiet as he turns the key. You had no intention of inviting him in but you won’t stop him if he follows.

You slam the truck door shut, stomping up to the door, his footsteps following close behind.

“Let’s talk about this.” He reaches for your arm as you’re unlocking the door but you just shove him off. You leave it open, kicking your shoes off as you slip out of your jacket as you flip on the lights.

“I don’t want to talk.” He shuts the door behind him, you note that he locks it behind him.

How presumptuous.

Correct, but presumptuous.

“You’re clearly upset, bunny.” He kneels down, untying his own boots before kicking them off. You glare down at him until he stands, trying to pull you into his arms but you just shove him away again. His eyes go wide as he takes you in.

Based on his reaction you really must be quite a sight.

“Jesus, you’re a mess.” He looks genuinely concerned but you brush it off.

“Thanks.” You scoff but when you look down you realize you’ve been leaving a trail of blood in your wake.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” You should send him away. Tend to yourself and go to bed, but instead you just point to the cabinet containing the kit, sitting on the table as he retrieves it, tossing it down beside you. He doesn’t ask what happened, grimacing as he lifts your leg to examine your ankle.

He doesn’t need to ask, he knows what happened.

He tends to your wounds in silence. You wince as he wipes the lacerations on your ankle, they look bad enough that you consider just going to the hospital but he doesn’t seem too worried. They’re just shallow enough that you don’t think you’ll need stitches.

You don’t watch as he sprays it with antiseptic, quickly wrapping it in a layer of gauze and then bandages.

When he’s finished you’re ready to get angry with him all over again but the moment you open your mouth to yell at him he grabs you by the chin, taking a clean piece of gauze and gently dabbing the thin cuts that litter your face.

You stare up at the ceiling light, refusing to meet his gaze.

He tends to every one of them, taking extra care as he smears ointment on each one. When he’s finished he takes anything bloodied and gathers it in his hand, standing to toss them into the bin under the sink. You don’t turn, but out of the corner of your eye you see him bring his hand to his mouth.

Your blood.

He tasted your blood.

You can feel the bile rising in your throat but you just swallow it back down.

“Now we can talk.” He makes his way back over to you but you just shake your head.

“I already told you, I don’t wanna talk.”

“Bunny-” He takes another step towards you.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t be like that.” There’s real remorse in his eyes, you might even feel bad if you didn’t know that he was lying to you.

“Shut. Up.” You push him so he stumbles back onto the bed. “I’m not crazy.” He props himself up on his elbows to look at you as you say it.

“I know.” He sounds almost apologetic.

“Take your clothes off.” You mumble, already tossing your shirt to the side.

“Are you sure?”

You’re sure that he knows what’s out there in the woods and he isn’t telling you.

“I am.” You kick your jeans off to emphasize your point. You know he won’t deny you this. Whatever sick, unexplainable force pulls you into his arms affects him as it does you. You don’t just want him, you need him.

You hadn’t realized it until he’d disappeared again, but now you couldn’t be more aware. It’s as if your entire life you’ve felt wrong. You’ve been in a state of discomfort for as long as you can remember, like a vital part of you was missing. But you got used to it, and you learned to live with the odd sensation of never feeling like you're in the right place, nowhere ever felt like home.

Joel feels like home, in a sort of twisted way.

From the moment you first saw him everything cleared up. It was like you had finally found your center of balance, and when he disappeared he took all of that with him.

This is more than just attraction.

With that he tugs his flannel off, you grab the bottom of his shirt, impatiently pulling it up over his head, not wanting to look him in the eyes, you stare at his shoulders as you climb up onto the bed, straddling his lap.

“I really think we should talk-” He starts again so you reach behind yourself, unclasping your bra, glaring at him as you let it drop.

“Then talk.”

He looks at you like you’re something to eat.

“That’s not fair.” He finally manages to pull his gaze off of your chest, looking you in the eyes, his pupils swallowing his irises leaving you to stare into the darkness of his eyes.

“There’s nothing to talk about, you went away for work and you forgot your phone charger.” You reach between the two of you to remove his belt, tossing it behind him on the bed before trying to unzip his jeans. “It was just an unfortunate series of circumstances.” You grumble before lifting yourself off his lap so he can shove his jeans off.

He’s glaring at you now. Good. He should know that you’re challenging him. Everything from this point on is a game, you just have to catch him in a lie. You grind down against the straining fabric of his boxers, hands on his shoulders to balance yourself as you rub yourself against his clothed erection, drawing a hiss from between his teeth. Before you know it his hands are gripping the hem of your panties.

“Go on Joel, rip them off. I know you’re plenty capable.” You say it like the accusation it is. He’s strong enough to do a lot of things, you aren’t sure if tearing a person in half is one of those things but you’re determined to find out. He knows what you’re implying but he does it anyway, grabbing the fabric on either side of your hips and easily tearing them to shreds.

“You don’t know what you do to me.” He murmurs, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours.

You do.

He does the same to you. A carnal desire, your most basic human instincts are reduced to nothing the moment your skin is against his.

You don’t waste any time, slipping your hand under the waistband of his underwear, watching his cock spring free, slapping against his stomach. You unceremoniously spit in your hand before taking him in your fist, watching his jaw go slack as you rake your nails against the underside of his cock, feeling him twitch in your hand. You keep your eyes trained on his face as you notch him at your entrance, tilting your head to the side as you hesitate.

The veins in his neck jut out as you slide the head of his cock over your clit, hissing softly as you do.

He’s purposefully showing restraint.

He clutches the sheets, his knuckles go pale and you can’t help but wonder if he isn’t touching you because he’s worried he’ll hurt you.

“Fuck me, Joel.” You lean forward, biting his stupidly plush bottom lip. He doesn’t move his hands from where they are and you can’t help but scowl against his mouth.

He’s holding back.

He knows exactly what you’re doing and he’s trying to prove you wrong. How long has he been holding back?

In one sharp motion you slide down on his cock, forcing an obscene moan out of yourself, but it isn’t loud enough to cover the ripping sound. Your eyes wander downward, his are rolled back but all you can focus on now is your torn bed sheets in his clenched fist.

Holy hell.

“Fuck. Me.” You rasp out, lifting your hips again before dropping them back down. His head falls forward this time, his mouth latching onto your shoulder, muffling his growl.

You know that growl.

“Fuck me or leave, Joel.” You take his face in your hand, roughly pulling him back so he’s eye to eye with you.

You heard that growl in the woods less than an hour ago.

“You’re playing with fire, bunny.” He glares at you but you just stare right back.

“I won’t say it again.” You give him one last warning and he finally brings his hands to your hips, with a grunt he lifts you up, slamming you back down on his cock, you can feel him brushing against your cervix as you cry out.

At his age he shouldn’t be able to do that.

He does it again, moving you like a ragdoll up and down on his length, a lewd squelching fills the air, egging him on. He tilts his head down, his teeth scrape against your breast, and you can hear a roar building in his throat. He fucks you like a fleshlight, moving you effortlessly up and down on his cock, your chest bouncing with each thrust.

He shouldn’t be able to do any of this.

Neither one of you speaks, you can feel the camper swaying ever so slightly as he slams into you, thrusting his hips up to meet yours as he pulls you down onto him.

He makes it look effortless.

Another growl rips through the air and you know neither one of you is gonna last long if he keeps going at this pace. He hammers into your sensitive spots with every thrust, your clit rubbing against the dark curls along his pelvis.

He’s merciless with the force at which he moves you, he’s started nipping at your shoulder and you know he’s close as they get harder and harder. You finally feel him break the skin and just like that he’s lifting you off of him, his mouth clamped down on your flesh, you feel his cum between your legs as he finishes on your folds. The sensation of him slipping out of you sends you over the edge right along with him, your stomach tightening as you groan, letting your head fall forward onto him.

You feel better already.

Not good, just better.

He manages to keep you both upright for a few more moments before collapsing down on the mattress with you in his arms.

And then it’s just quiet.

Until the mattress squeaks as you get up. Wiping yourself off with a towel and turning the lights off before returning to bed without a word. He’s the one who finally breaks the silence.

“If you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”

“You can stay.” You mumble, rolling over to face away from him.

It’s better if you know where he is.

That’s what you tell yourself.

It’s easier to swallow that excuse than the truth, that you can’t shake the terror from your encounter with the creature and now amount of fucking is going to change that. You don’t want to be alone, no matter how angry you are. He doesn’t seem to take the hint though, snaking his arm under yours and pulling you to his chest.

You start to push him away but you feel a wave of calm wash over you when he does so you just settle back against him. You close your eyes, praying sleep might come but all you see in the darkness is that open maw closing in on you.

You know that growl.

It isn’t Joel. It can’t be Joel, he was with Ellie and then he was with you.

It wasn’t Joel.

You’re more than used to waking up in the woods at this point. Monsters and men torment you in your dreams whenever they get the chance to.

But tonight is different.

You don’t feel the cold, wetness of the forest floor on your back before you open your eyes. Instead you only feel steel, you make an attempt to sit up on instinct but you can’t. In a panic you open your eyes to find yourself cuffed to the cadaver carrier from Marias basement.

This can’t be happening.

This is the kind of dream you get after your first body.

You’ve had this dream, years ago when you’d just started studying mortuary sciences. Although now it feels worse, more ominous than it had previously.

That probably has to do with the fact that you can’t move.

In response to that petrifying thought you begin to uselessly tug on the cuffs, your ankles and wrists attached to the cold unforgiving steel of the table you’ve sewn countless bodies back together on.

You don’t strap cadavers down, there’s no need to.

The door swings open and you’re thankfully able to sit up enough to watch Maria and Joel walk in, solemn looks on both of their faces.

You open your mouth to call for help but something stops you.

No.

No, no, no.

Your jaw is wired shut.

The sudden realization makes you gag as you shake the table with the force of your panic.

Maria is always thorough, your mouth is full of cotton.

They act as if you’re as lifeless as any other corpse as they stand beside you, despite your muffled screaming, tears immediately flowing from your eyes as you feel your throat constrict around the cotton.

“What happened to her?” He sounds so far gone even though he only stands a few feet away.

“You know what happened to her.” Marias sorrow turns to a look of resentment as she turns to Joel.

“Bear attack.” He says it more to himself than to her.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“You never do.” Her voice is full of a hatred you haven’t ever heard in reality.

She looks at you with a pity you’ve had on your own face before. It’s the same look you give every corpse on a table.

You follow Maria’s gaze down at your body and find your chest sliced open, the inside dry.

And then you wake up.

Of course Joel is there when you sit up in bed with a strangled cry, a fresh flood of tears falling down your face.

“Bunny?” His groggy, sleep ridden voice resembles a growl, sending you backwards away from him, your back hitting where the mattress meets the camper wall. He’s already up, he moves towards you but the moment you flinch away from he stops. “Are you okay? What hap-“

“Don’t come any closer.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Thankfully he doesn’t move towards you, he holds his hands up ever so slowly. He’s acting like you’re a cornered animal.

You can’t seem to find your voice. Every single logical and rational part of your body and mind tell you to get as far away from him as possible. To fight tooth and nail to get past him, to run away and never look back. You’d never get away with that though, he’s too deeply rooted in you already. He’s made for you. Sculpted by the gods to be everything you’ve ever wanted all in one neat little salt and pepper package, served up to you on a silver platter.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay, you’re okay.” He inches forward a bit but the way you pull your legs up against your chest, trying to make yourself smaller makes him move back. “It’s okay, it’s just me.”

Yeah Joel, that's the problem.

a/n : i have such mixed feeling abt this chap but whatever i really like it so ?? idk

I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!

#lincolndjarin #joel miller #tlou #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou hbo #joel tlou #the last of us hbo #monster fucker #monster lover #monster romance #oh honey #fic : oh honey

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moumouton4 · 11 months

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first time with shikamaru 🥲🌸 i’m obsessed with this man

First Time || Shikamaru Nara x fem!reader

A/n : Hiiii Iris ! 🌷 I really hope you'll like it ! I'm obesessed with this man as well lmao so it was a real pleasure to write for him. Thank you for the opportunity 🔥

Warnings : Nsfw, penetrative sex, grinding, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Words count : 1433

First of all, you need to know that this guy is too relaxed to have ever thought about it in his life

"What ? Sex ? Ughh such a drag "It's almost what he thinks when he hears the word

And that's even after he's met you and been in a relationship for several years

He's just there chilling

Even when you're sitting on his lap or wrapped in a towel coming out of the shower

I think that's just the way he is, he doesn't give a damn about anything and unfortunately for you that's just the way it also is

I wouldn't be surprised if he was a virgin. I can't see him having sex with someone he hardly knows or who isn't linked to him by a real bond of feeling and trust

Coming back to you, you're going to have to trigger the lust in him if you want something to happen. And trying to make him jealous wouldn't work either - he trusts you too much for that :')

Maybe grind on him when you're sitting on his lap or let the towel drop in front of him when you're out of the shower

Though you're not safe from him asking you to stop and rest or pretending nothing's happened as he glance the other way

It'll take some persuading, and seriously, if it was up to his dick he'd currently be deep inside you during his naps - maybe even thrusting from time to time

However, his brain is lazy. Like working up a sweat and having to shower afterwards no thanks, napping sounds much better

That's what you have to put up with. So like the big girl you are, you took the matter in your own hands… literally

So one day around snack time, you bought him a lemon cake or a strong iced coffee... to give him a boost so he wouldn't feel tired when the real business you had planned will begin.

Of course, he'd noticed your little maneuver and asked you "What was this for Y/n ? What are you trying to achieve with that big brain of yours ?" he said leaning on his hand

Of course he was going to try and take the piss out of you

You suddenly turned bashful and your was flushed bright red like the bolder of the lipsticks. As your explanation progressed, the same hue spread to his own cheeks

He cleared his throat before resuming "You could have just asked me. I wouldn't have said no"

You mouth hung agape at his simple answer, as if his demeanor might have helped you to guess it

Seeing your astonishment, he added, "What I do and what I want to do don't always match up" he held out a hand towards you, "Come on, come over there"

And you did and came to straddle him on the chair where he was sitting and where you had just had your snack

As you sat, you couldn't help but widen your eyes at the bulge you could feel in his pants beneath you

"What ? I told you sometimes what I do doesn't coincide with what I want to do. And that shirt looks great on you" he said, kissing the hollow of your breasts above the scalloped collar of your t-shirt

"You know I expect a little more than that. Come on don't be a drag Shika" you teased - you used the word quite often since it was something he usually says a lot in a day

He rolled his eyes and carried you to his room

Once there you saw him differently from what you'd been used to seeing. His hands shook a little as he undressed you. You could tell he didn't want to mess up at any point

You leaned back on your elbows to straighten up a little. You reached for his hair and gently loosened it before massaging his scalp "Would you like me to take things in hand ?"

He nodded gently, the pink of his cheeks turning bright red as you removed your bra. His usually semi-closed eyes opened wide as his mouth hung open "Gorgeous" he breathlessly said

He caught one of your nipples in his mouth before sucking gently on it. You let out a breathy moan as he continued his gentle torture, your hips grinding against his during the whole process.

After that you made sure to undress both of you completely. You could see he liked being taken care of

You ran your hand down his torso, your nails grazing his smooth skin before your hand grabbed his hard cock and jerked it languidly slow - I like to think that's the way he does it lmao

He looked so cute like this squirming in your hand trying to clench his teeth to muffle any moan that would escape his mouth. You waited until there was pre coming out of the rosy tip before stopping. Leaving a tingling sensation on his cock

He anticipated exactly what you were going to do next "Second drawer of the bedside table" he told you in a voice filled with lust. You smirked as you followed his indication and took one. Continuing in the same spirit, you opened it and slipped it onto his hard cock

As you were about to impale yourself on him he grabbed your hips before flipping you over "Do you really think I'm going to let you do all the work for me. That wouldn't be very gentlemen-like of me, don't you think?"

You wrapped your arms around his head before pulling him towards you and whispering into his ear "Go on then be my guest"

"Consider it done" he said before taking his cock in hand and rubbing your folds with the tip. What a tease ! And when he decided to finally slip it in he put that the tip, living off the way your face contorted at his actions

"Now I get it you're the real drag here- oh" your sentence was cut off as he sank a little deeper into you. He was careful not to make you uncomfortable at any time. Even if he took the liberty of teasing you a little, your well-being was his priority

Once he was balls deep, he stopped short, giving you time to adjust to his size. He rested his head on your shoulders, and he closed his eyes as his hair tickled your face

"Hey don't go falling asleep there" you chuckled

"Don't worry there's not the slightest risk"

Once you gave him permission to move, he reopened his eyes before gently starting to roll his hips against yours. It was incredible, the way he did it allowed the pleasure to build slowly. On the other hand, you secretly hoped he'd speed up at some point

He's not the best with praises, so he stuck to the facts "You're so warm.... and so tight"

He sensed he probably wasn't going to last long enough to make you cum with his cock only so he anticipated and slid his hand between your bodies. Once there he began to rub your clit in a circular motion. Of course bro knew were it was

The more he did it, the tighter you got, making him twitch involuntarily inside of you. He ended up speeding up his rhythm, matching it with the rhythm of his fingers

Your nails were scratching his back as you felt the knot inside you about to snap. He took his hand away from your clit for a second to grab one of your legs and wrap it around him so as to fuck you deeper

"Oh gosh Shikamaru !"

"Keep saying my name" he replied, his voice husky "It's never been so beautiful coming out of someone's mouth" he said before placing his lips on yours

You felt the knot in your stomach snap as he drank in the moans coming from your mouth. The new wetness allowed him to slide in and out of you with greater ease, knocking him off the edge

He slumped over your body, his energy totally spent. The motion caused him to re-enter you a little making you both shudder in the process

You pushed back a few strands of hair sticking to his forehead before saying mischievously, "So, did it pass the drag radar ?

"Yes" he said still trying to catch his breath after his orgasm. He kissed your forehead and added "Not a chance for this to ever be a drag"

A/n : I hope you guys liked it ! 🍗🧀 Again my requests are open 🍝🍰

Taglist : @foxxymunson, @cl0vr, @ilovemanypeople, @glossy1pearl, @jane57sstuff

#naruto #naruto imagine #naruto smut #naruto shippuden #naruto shippuden imagine #naruto shippuden smut #shikamaru nara #shikamaru nara x reader #shikamaru nara x reader smut #shikamaru nara smut #shikamaru nara imagine #shikamaru smut #shikamaru imagine #shikamaru x reader #smut #request #miri-writes

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blindbeta · 2 months

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hi there! i have an idea for a character with albinism who’s visually impaired as a result, and i’m writing in a medieval setting. i know photophobia is common with albinism - i have photophobia myself and am very mildly visually impaired, to give some form of context to who is asking this question. in this setting, tinted sunglasses very likely do not exist. i was wondering if them wearing something like a black veil over their eyes to shield themself from sunlight would be offensive as it could be seen as falling into the absolutely dreadful “blind person with a blindfold / with their eyes covered” trope. obviously, i would make it clear that the veil is to block sunlight, and they would not wear it at all during the night, which is when the majority of the story takes place anyhow. i’m wondering if i should still avoid this or find an alternative way for them to protect their eyes without breaking the setting’s time period?

Photophobia and Covering Eyes to Block Sun

The post that the asker references is this one I made about the trope of blind characters covering their eyes. Other blind people may think differently, but this sounds fine to me.

In real life, people with photophobia use things like sunglasses or hats. The veil is similar to those options. Perhaps a hat might be another option if you wanted to explore something that might work for the time period? The hat might also help in avoiding covering the character’s face entirely, which allows you to sidestep this problem.

My only concern with the veil in particular is that it may obscure residual vision, which can be irritating to some blind people. Conversely, I can see a veil being a good device for eye protection that may not be provided by a hat, such as avoiding wind-blown sand, dirt, or other debris.

Also, you mentioned the character would not wear it at night. It might also be possible to have the character remove the veil when indoors or in shaded areas, provided they come across any in your story.

I think it would help if other characters use veils for a similar purpose as well, much like with sunglasses. Sunglasses aren’t exclusive to blind people. Having your blind character refrain from wearing it all the time is also good, too, just as I suggested in the post linked above.

Importantly, your character isn’t wearing it just because. They’re wearing it because of photophobia. You can make this clear in the writing. Having sighted characters who wear veils and having blind characters who don’t wear them would be great, if you can do that. Showing variety is important with challenging widely accepted stereotypes.

I don’t like it when blind people are expected to cover our eyes because it makes abled people uncomfortable. I also feel frustrated when blind characters just happen to cover their eyes without any explanation as to why, as if it is required.

It sounds like you are doing what you can to avoid these issues so far.

A sensitivity reader would also be helpful, especially if you can find people with albinism, photophobia, and other similar experiences to your character. @sensitivityreaders may be a good start.

Other blind folks, what do you think?

#blind #blind characters #writing blind characters #blind characters covering their eyes

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bridenore · 3 months

Text

HD fic recs : Career - Aurors (part 2)

Here are a few recs where both Harry and Draco are Aurors. This is part two of three and focuses on 20k to 50k words fics. Listed in alphabetical order, as always.

Agnus Dei by SilentAuror [20k]

Post-Hogwarts. Mystery abounds in the Auror Department, and two of the Aurors find themselves experiencing a friendship more intense than it should be.

Boiling Point by @goldentruth813 [42k]

Ferveret - n. boiling point After an Auror raid gone wrong, Draco ends up trapped in a dodgy safehouse with nothing but Harry Potter’s dubious company and a dwindling supply of food. With only each other and the walls surrounding them, they’re forced to confront their past and their feelings which have long been threatening to boil over.

Draco Malfoy, Bloodsucking Fiend by @kbrick [23k]

There are two things that Draco’s Auror partner, Harry Potter, must never know about him. One is that he’s a vampire. The other is that he’s been completely, pathetically, head-over-heels in love with Harry for years. But when the duo is trapped inside an old shop on Diagon Alley with no means of escape, Draco finds himself fiending for blood and unable to put even a modicum of distance between himself and the man he can’t stop lusting after.

Eye of the Storm by Mx_Maneater [25k]

A storm rages blindly around a cabin with no doors. Without magic, Draco and Harry are trapped inside.

Nothing But You On My Mind by @moonflower-rose [29k]

Potter has been in Australia on an internship for almost a year, and Draco cannot wait for him to get back home. They’ll finally have a chance to talk about their feelings for each other. What could possibly go wrong? Loads, as it turns out.

The Partner, The Rival and The Very Big Case by oceaxe [24k]

When Harry and Nott are paired up to go undercover as fake boyfriends, Draco is disappointed not to get the assignment. It’s just professional jealousy that’s making him feel so upset. Obviously. He’s engaged to be married to Astoria, after all. But when he walks in on Nott kissing Harry for ‘practice’ and has a wild magic outbreak, he starts to think that something else might be going on. Is Nott right? Is Draco a homophobe? Or is there… just possibly… another explanation?

Poppiholla by @moonflower-rose [12k]

Harry had accepted that he would pine silently for Malfoy forever, but one, humid summer might change that. Hoppípolla by @moonflower-rose [20k] Falling in love was as easy as jumping in puddles, and Draco Malfoy was completely drenched.

Potential Gravity by @lol-zeitgeistic [32k]

Draco is not good at Cards Against Humanity, but Harry’s not good at being human, so it all works out. Except for the explosions. And Harry’s inability to live when Draco’s not around.

Resistance by SilentAuror [25k]

Everyone but Harry seems to have forgiven Malfoy his past, and tensions are thick in the Auror Department.

Stop All the Clocks (This Is the Last Time I’m Leaving Without You) by @firethesound [44k]

Living with Draco was difficult; living without him is unbearable. But if there’s one thing Harry learned from the war, it’s that even when one life ends, the rest of the world goes right on living.

Take These Lies by white_serpent [34k]

Repeatedly rejected by the Auror training programme, Draco Malfoy attempts an unorthodox method of gaining admission.

Trust In A Broken Thing by SqueekaCuomo [23k]

If the ring was broken, that could only mean one thing… Harry Potter was dead.

Two Weeks by @shiftylinguini [21k]

If Harry had to guess which out of he or his Auror Partner, and tentative new friend, Draco Malfoy, would turn out to have Veela ancestry, his answer would be: neither, because that is ridiculous. Finding out the answer is actually him, and that his Veela heritage is wreaking havoc on his ability to work, sleep, and above all be in the same room as Malfoy, is a surprise to say the least. But this is fine. Harry’s been through worse, and he can just sit this one out, regardless of how much his body is screaming for the one person he doesn’t want to ask for help. Can’t he?

Waiting For A Song by @korlaena [49k]

After a couple years spent avoiding Draco in the Auror Department, Harry gets assigned to one of Draco’s strange cases. They investigate the mysterious disappearances of a witch and wizard, but in their search for the missing persons they find a lot more than they were looking for.

You Send Me (Honest You Do) by @firethesound [37k]

As far as potion accidents go in general, and deaging incidents go in particular, Draco knew this could have been so much worse. Harry only lost about ten years, and all his memories are still intact. But the sight of him looking as if he’s stepped straight out of Draco’s Hogwarts memories has dredged up a whole mess of complicated feelings Draco thought he’d buried years ago, and Draco really doesn’t know what to do with any of it.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

#my recs #drarry #drarry recs #theme rec

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borderlinereminders · 2 years

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I screwed up and now have to apologize/make it right. Now what?

Okay, first of all, take a breath. When we mess up, it can be really hard on us and send us into a guilt spiral. Take a moment and remind yourself that you are human and humans make mistakes. Remind yourself that you are not a bad person. If you are having urges, please check out my post on urge surfing. If you are feeling in crisis, a skill like TIPP may help ground you.

If you are in the middle of a situation with someone, it's still okay to walk away. “I need to take some space to get control of my thoughts. I’m not trying to avoid this or walk away but I want to have a clear head.”

When you're feeling more calm, move on to the next step.

Apologizing

Apologies can be really hard. We're often told not to "ruin an apology" with excuses, but it can be so much more complicated than that. One of the first things I keep in mind about apologies is that explanations and excuses are not the same thing. Here is an example post I wrote of a personal situation where you can see an "explanation" apology instead of an "excuse" one.

It's not okay to say "I'm sorry I screamed at you and insulted you but I wouldn't have if you hadn't done -insert reason here-." This is not a real apology, and it puts the blame on the other person for being screamed at or upset they were screamed at. It's valid to talk about your feelings that led to the situation, but they shouldn't be conveyed in your apology like that.

What you could say is "I'm sorry I screamed at you and insulted you." But you could also say "I'm sorry I screamed at you and insulted you. I was feeling frustrated but it wasn't right to scream at you and insult you." While a lot of people say the first one is "right", I do think the second one is also okay because sometimes an explanation can make it easier to apologize, or sometimes open the door for a bigger conversation (if the other person is in a headspace for it) or can be crucial to not disregarding your own feelings (which are valid, even if the way you responded to them wasn't.)

A lot of this depends on the relationship itself as well. The latter one works for my partner and me, as seen in the example post I shared above. It doesn't mean it will work with everyone, in fact, it could make some people feel dismissed or invalidated. It's good to communicate when you're both calm about what some of the best ways to navigate situations like apologies are.

Some other things to remember about apologies are while a lot of people say that it's okay to express how badly you feel, there is a fine line. Sometimes, even though we do genuinely feel torn up about something we've said/done, it's not good to convey that in a way that can lead to the other person needing to comfort us or feeling they need to put their feelings aside for our well-being. Saying things like "I'm sorry I screamed at you and insulted you. I feel really bad that I did that because you didn't deserve it" are okay. But saying something like "I'm sorry I screamed at you. I feel so bad. I'm so sorry. I don't know how to handle this because I feel so guilty. I'm a terrible person and don't deserve your forgiveness" isn't really okay.

The feelings can be really overwhelming, and I get that and see how those guilt spiral apologies can happen but they end up pushing the other person to accept your apology even if they're not ready just to make sure you're okay.

After the apology

Okay, you've apologized. Now what? Well, it largely depends on what the other person is feeling. If they want some space to think, calm down or just breathe, then you should give them that. (Please note that there is a difference between someone needing space to process vs someone wanting space to avoid accountability for their part in things.)

Phrases like “It’s not fair of me to say what I said/do what I did and expect things to just be fine. I’m here when you want to discuss this further.” might be helpful

The other person is not obligated to accept your apology or offer forgiveness, but please note that this doesn't mean you should continue to beat yourself up.

When the other person is ready to talk to you, it's your turn to listen and hear them out (as long as they are talking to you in a calm manner. Regardless of what you did, they still shouldn't be attacking you.). Even if you don't agree with what they're saying, hear them out. Let them talk about their feelings. Sticking with our example, maybe they felt afraid when you screamed at them. Allow them the space to talk about that.

When they're done talking, now is the time where it might be time to communicate about things as a whole on how you can both do better in the future.

Maybe you screamed at them because they ate your food out of the fridge without asking, again. While your feelings are valid, you can still apologize for the hurtful things you said (like the insults in our example) but still communicate about the larger issue. In a case like this, using the DEAR MAN method might be helpful.

If this is a situation where you recognize you are completely at fault like say for example, you took out a bad mood/day on them, then this might be the point where you talk about working on things to do better. This might include talking about some coping skills you plan to use in the future, or even talking to them about ways they could support you if they're able to.

While you can't promise to never do it again, making an effort and plan to change and do better is important.

At the end of the day, remember it’s okay to make mistakes. You aren’t a bad person for them. Please don’t continue to beat yourself up.

#apologies #please note this is all my personal opinion #like none of this is fact #so take it with a grain of salt #i'm not a professional #this is just how i handle apologies #relationship advice #communication tips #conflict resolution

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feyreswaterybowels · 2 months

Text

Falling Star🌠

Azriel x Rhys’ Sister

Word Count: 4.4k

Tags/Warnings: Angst. Death. Love Confessions. Friends with benefits to fated mates. Hurt/Comfort. Not Y/N. Third Person. Probably grammatical errors.

Summary: Stella is Rhys’ little sister. Her and Azriel are best friends with benefits on the down low. The bond snapped into place and things didn’t work out the way Stella wished they had.

Stella stood outside the heavy wooden doors of the High Lord's study. They were preparing for battle, the battle against Hybern. Tensions were high and things would either work in their favor or change life completely as they knew it.

Her hand was half raised—ready to knock but she had stopped herself twice, debating if now was the proper time for this conversation. Her heart ached in her chest at the decision she was about to make.

Just come in, little star.

The words echoed in her head. She wasn’t surprised he knew she was standing out there, she and her brother had always been in tune with one another.

She sighed, reaching out to push the door open. Rhysand was already standing to greet her as she walked in. He didn’t bother with a smile or greeting to cover the frown on his face. He could read her better than anyone even without entering her head. All it took was one look at her face and he knew something wasn’t right.

What is it? What’s wrong, Stella?

She fiddled with her hands for a moment, leaning against his desk. Thinking. Trying to find the right words. Decide how much she wanted to give away. If she wanted to tell her brother that she found her mate—that said mate did not want her and she was heartbroken because she had been in love with him for years before the bond snapped into place. That she had wrongfully assumed he felt the same way.

She was wrong about a lot.

“When the war is over,” she started, pausing to choose her words, “I want you to send me…away.”

“Away?” Rhys asks, arms folded, dark brows rising high above his violet eyes.

“Yes.” She nodded. “After the war. Assuming everything goes to plan—works in our favor. I want you to send me away.”

“Why?” He asked, confusion etched all over his face.

“I can’t be…here,” she breathed, the pain in her chest tightening. That string that connected her to her mate pulled taunt as if he was pulling away as hard as he could hoping it would snap in two.

“Why?” It was more of a demand than a question. She knew that tone. He wasn’t going to let her go on a half-assed explanation. He wanted details. A reason. The truth.

She felt her eyes water, it would be easier to just let him in her mind. Show him what was wrong but then he would see too much. See things that might make him hate her fated mate, someone he loved dearly and she couldn’t allow that.

“Azriel’s my mate…” She whispered, unsure if he heard her.

“What?” Fuck, don’t make me say it again.

Her violet eyes met his, brimmed with tears and pleading.

“Azriel’s my mate,” she whispered again, her voice breaking into a sob.

Then she was being scooped into her brother's arms. Wrapped up like she was a little girl again and cradled against his chest. She didn’t know how long they stood there. She heard the faintest click of the door closing but didn’t bother to check if he used his magic or if someone else had done it. But her cries turned into soft sniffles before dying out.

Rhys pulled back, grabbed her face, and wiped away her tears. His eyes met hers, violet searching violet.

“Did he reject it?” He asks, eyes flashing with anger, Stella shakes her head.

“No. He didn’t reject it. But he made it very clear he doesn’t want it either,” she shrugs, sniffing.

“And this is why you wish to leave?” Rhys asks, hands still holding her face as she nodded.

“Where would you go?” He asked, emotions lacing through his voice.

“Tarquin has told me I’m welcome in his court. I haven’t talked to him in some time but I—I think that’s where I could go. If not, maybe Helion would be willing to let me go there…” She trails off. She had thought that far ahead. She could stay in Velaris…but to see him every day? Work with him? Just the thought was painful. Painful enough to make her gasp and clutch at her chest.

Rhys growled, taking a step away and heading for the study’s doors. Stella’s eyes widened and she stumbled reaching for him.

“Where are you going?” She asked, panicked.

“To knock some sense into his stubborn ass,” Rhys had the door half opened before she slammed herself against it to stop him.

“You can’t,” she shook her head. He looked at her skeptically as if to say, yeah he absolutely could do that. But she shook her head again. “Not with this, Rhys. Please. He has to choose or reject it on his own—you can’t make him.”

Rhys hung his head with a sigh. He knew she was right. She was forever grateful for her brother's love, his protection but not with this. It wouldn’t be real if he fought Azriel into the mating bond. She didn’t want that. She wanted it to be real.

She thought what they had was real.

“Don’t hate him, please,” Stella begged. “He’s your brother as much as I’m your sister. You know blood has never mattered. So don’t hate him. But…but when this war is over I need you to let me go. Please, Rhys.”

Rhys looked up, their eyes meeting again and he nodded.

“Okay, sweetheart.”

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

That night Stella was in her room. Packing away the last of her things. Her entire life was packed away in boxes and luggage. At this point, she and everyone she loved would die in this war or they would win and she would leave the only home she’d ever known behind. It hurt to think about.

A knock on the door sounded and opened before she could answer whether to come in or not. She wasn’t completely surprised to see Feyre entering, she knew Rhys would tell her, they didn’t keep things from one another.

“So, it’s true? You’re planning on leaving?” Feyre asks, walking over, her dark dress dragging the floor silently as she takes a seat by the open windows. Stella nodded her head in answer.

“I’m sure Rhys told you why,” She said softly, taking a seat next to her.

“He did. I could tell he was upset and demanded to know why, I couldn’t imagine it was anything like this,” She says, a frown tugging at her lips. “Does he know you and Azriel were sleeping together?”

Stella’s eyes burned with tears as she looked away from her friend. Fuck. She shook her head. If she had shared that with Rhys there would have been no stopping him, he would have hunted Azriel down.

“No. I don’t want him to hate his brother,” Stella said, swiping at her cheeks quickly.

“Are you going to tell him you’re leaving?” the High Lady asks, waving a hand for a tray of steaming tea to appear. “Azriel, I mean.”

Stella bit her lip as Feyre handed her a mug. She hadn’t thought about whether she would tell him or not. She didn’t want to just disappear but she didn’t want him to blame himself either.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged with a sigh, letting the steam from the tea waft up into her nostrils. Something floral with a hint of sweet honey. “Would you?”

“I kind of did leave, remember? I mean I was the one who wasn’t sure of the mating bond at first but that time alone helped me…process. So maybe the distance could help? I don’t know,” Feyre frowns before continuing, “Whatever you decide will be the right decision. Don't second-guess yourself. Only you know what’s right for you.”

“I—I thought he loved me,” she admitted softly. “As more than a friend. As more than family. I thought he loved me, he said—”

Stella hiccuped on a cry trying to find it’s way from her mouth, taking a sip of tea and letting it burn its way down her throat.

“He said he wanted me. We shared a bed almost every night. The way he touched me, kissed me, made love to me…was it all a lie?” I cried, my eyes meeting hers, gray-blue pools brimmed with tears.

“I’m sorry,” Was Feyre’s answering whisper, her hand reaching out to rest on Stella’s knee.

The rest of our visit was spent in silence.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Today was the day. Stella braided her hair back, dressed in her leathers adorned with three purple siphons, and strapped her weapons to her body. She looked in the mirror, wings arching behind her. She turned around, the room now so empty, only the corner filled with boxes and luggage was occupied. The shelves and bed were stripped bare, ready for her departure.

The bed she shared with Azriel so many nights. Secret meetings, dinner and fucks. Various nights where he showed up bloody from combat and she patched him up. Drunken nights after too many drinks at Rita—stumbling into this room to undress one another. Or on the occasion one or the other had a nightmare, as they plagued them all, would lead to cuddling until the sunrise.

Stella nearly jumped as a shadow slithered up her thigh. She hadn’t noticed it, only giving her a second before Azriel appeared, dressed in his leathers, all seven blue siphons faintly glowing. She’d always loved those siphons.

“What’s all this?” Is the first thing he asks looking around the room. No hello or greeting of any kind.

She shrugs in answer. Maybe now was as good a time as any to tell him. But would her decision matter enough to distract him in the battle? She couldn’t live with herself if she was the reason he got hurt. “Are you leaving?” He asks.

“After the battle,” she nodded in answer.

“Where?” He asks, with what seems to be a concern—or was the worry?

“I don’t know yet, why do you care?” Stella snapped. Azriel’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You’re leaving because of me.” It’s not a question. She clenched her jaw looking down at the shadow still wrapped around her thigh. “You don’t have to—”

“I can’t be here. I can’t be around you,” She snarled, watching him and his shadows cringe at it. “Do you have any idea how painful it is to see you every day, Azriel?”

A look of guilt and shame passes over his features.

“Because I won’t accept the mating bond?” He says in disbelieving shock.

“Are you kidding me? You know as much about mating bonds as I do. You know how painful it can be. Why are you pretending like we’re any different? I feel you pulling away from it every day and it feels like my heart is being ripped from my chest every time you do,” She said, voice shaking and emotional. She shook her head and blinked away the tears. “After the war, you can reject the bond formally and then I’ll leave.”

They stood there in silence. Staring at one another. His shadow squeezed around her thigh as the rest swirled and whispered around him. She stood tall, batting his shadow away, she would not break down in front of him. Not today, not now.

“I made it clear how I felt from the beginning…” He begins, trailing off and she could swear she heard his shadows hiss as if offended for her.

“Yeah, I know what you said. Just sex,” She rolled her eyes, fists clenching at her sides. “But then everything you did, every action after that said something else. The way you touched me, fucked me, spoke to me all screamed more than sex. But that was my mistake, I guess. So, you have no reason to feel guilty when I leave. It was just sex for you and I—I fell in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for years and I foolishly thought…” She stopped herself.

Azriel stepped forward, opening his mouth but a knock on the door echoed through the empty room.

“We’re all ready,” Feyre’s voice calls.

“Coming,” Stella called back. Her eyes caught Azriel’s before she stepped forward and walked around him.

Are you okay? Feyre asked once she was out of the room.

No. She shook her head, letting Feyre hug her tightly.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

EARLIER

“Az,” Cassian greeted, stepping out onto the training level.

“Morning,” Azriel said from where he was seated on the ledge, overlooking the city below.

Cassian walked over, surveying his brother, leaning against the edge and crossing his arms.

“Everything okay?” He asked, watching the storming shadows slow a bit.

Azriel’s quiet for a minute before sighing, and hung his head. Cassian stayed quiet too, waiting for his brother to say whatever he needed to. It’s a long minute before he lifts his head, looking out over the expanse in Velaris.

“I fucked up,” He confessed.

Cassian’s brow raised as his spine straightened. “How so?”

“Stella’s my mate,” He breathed, the first time he’s said it out loud to anyone.

Cassian let out a low whistle. “And how exactly did you fuck up?”

“I told her I didn’t want it,” He admitted, swallowing thickly, looking over at his brother.

“I thought you two…” Cassian trails off with a vague hand gesture and an eyebrow raise. Azriel shrugs.

“We were sleeping together. But that’s it, that’s all it was,” Azriel explained, but the look Cassian gave him made him cringe away. “We agreed—”

“That girl has been in love with you for years, at least a decade, there’s no way you didn’t know that, Az,” Cassian said, remembering how those two were a couple without actually being a couple. They were more in love than anyone else he’d ever known, or at least he thought they were. “How did she react when the bond snapped?”

“She was excited,” Azriel answered, a thickness taking over his throat. “She made a big dinner. I thought it was just dinner. She kept asking questions, I guess trying to figure out if it snapped for me too, it hadn’t. Not at that time. She eventually just said we were mates, that the bond snapped for her that morning when we were in bed together—during our fucking. She was so happy. And I completely shut her down. Told her I didn’t want it, that we weren’t together, that I didn’t want to be together, and that we needed to figure out what to do about it.”

Cassian's eyes are wide. He wasn’t one to judge but he would never expect that kind of harshness from his brother directed to someone he knew the shadowsinger loved.

“Fuck, Az. That’s rough…” Cassian eventually said. “Fuck. I know that hurt her badly.”

Azriel nodded, dropping his head to his hands.

“Yeah. She cried a lot. Begged me not to leave when I got up to go. I can feel her pain all the time through the bond even with it not being accepted. I can feel her happiness when she sees me before it turns to dread. What we had was good, so good, but what if…what if the bond changes that?” Azriel’s voice broke. “I love her. Of course, I love her. But I don’t know if the bond is right for us.”

“Az, man, you’re overthinking this shit,” Cassian shook his head. “Of course the mating bond is right. The mother doesn’t make mistakes. I know you’ve always felt unworthy of love but man, that girl loves you more than anyone. You deserve love and happiness. You and Stella deserve it, together.”

“I don’t know how to fix it,” Azriel whispersed.

“Just talk to her man. Tell her how you feel. The bond doesn’t have to be accepted right now, maybe tell her you need to think about it not that you don’t want it,” Cassian offered, reaching out to grab his brother's shoulder, squeezing it.

“I—I’ll talk to her before we leave…”

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

The next time Stella saw Azriel was in the midst of battle. High in the sky. After meetings and marching onto the field were done. It was nothing but fighting after that. It had been a long time. Many soldiers are dead or injured already. More would be too.

Stella knew Rhys and Feyre had something up their sleeve with talk of the Bonecarver. They needed any help they could get. They didn’t have as many men as Hybern.

Little Star? Echoes in her head as she shoved a Hybern warrior away, slashing at him with her sword.

I’m fine. You? Is her answer, plunging straight through his heart.

Me too. Then her head is silent again. Turning her attention to the next warrior to approach her. They came quick enough, when one fell, another was immediately there to take its place.

She looked around, there were many warriors in the sky but it wasn’t hard to spot Azriel. Something felt wrong as she watched Azriel, not with him but with the Hybern warriors around him. She wanted to tug the bond and alert him to something being wrong but that could distract him and put him in a dangerous situation.

Stella slit the throat of the warrior approaching her and shot through the sky before the next one could approach. She had to dodge and swerve around fighting pairs, missing swords and fists landing in all directions.

She was closer to Az, there are fewer warriors around him now. She stopped where she was, with no immediate danger around them, and tugged on the bond. She saw him freeze and tugged again. He whirled around searching for her.

She could see the panic on his face as he scanned the sky for her. He spins around and their eyes meet. She tugged the bond, trying to gauge if he’s okay, something still felt wrong, but he must have understood because he nodded—and for the first time he tugs back.

Her heart leaps in her chest and if she was standing her knees would have gone weak. But something was still wrong. Instead of a warm feeling spreading through her at that tug it was something cold and icy. Worry? No, not worry. Warning.

Their eyes met again, hazel orbs wide and his shadows storming violently. She swore the bond tugging in her chest felt like it was trying to pull her forward. Just as she was about to follow it she stopped.

Azriel’s face is one of pure pain when she fely a force behind her and then everything went numb. She felt a heavy weight in her stomach. She drop her eyes from Azriel’s to her stomach and there sticking from her stomach was…a sword?

Stella’s eyes meet Azriel’s again, a sob tearing from her throat as the sword ripped from her stomach.

“NO!” Azriel’s voice rips through the space and she felt the world around her shake. She felt the warmth spreading over her abdomen and the wetness there when she touched it.

She heard a pained sound behind her but before she could turn to see what happened her wings gave out. She knew she was falling but she couldn’t do anything to stop it. She saw Cassian shove a body off his sword, a panicked-pained look on his face when their eyes met.

Her eyes find Azriel again, flying to her. She tried to reach for him but he was too far away. Then he was gone, nowhere in her sight. She squeezed her eyes shut, and felt the tears leak down her temples. Not like this. I don’t want to go like this.

Stell’s body smashes into something hard and she knew it had to be the ground. Dead. Am I dead? She sobbed and pain radiated from her wound all over her body.

“Sh.” A voice rumbled into her hair and she realized she hadn’t smashed into the ground. She smashed into a body, into Azriel who had her wrapped tightly in his arms, flying faster than she had ever felt.

His shadows wrapped around her tightly as they flew before everything disappeared as he winnowed. She grabbed him tightly, shoving her face against his neck and praying to the Mother to just let her stay in the warmth of his arms a little longer.

Another body quaking shake wracked through her as they landed harshly on the ground.

“Rhysand!”

“Feyre!”

“Thesan!” Azriel’s voice thunders around her. Screaming desperately for someone, anyone to heal her.

Stella heard voices around them but couldn’t make out what they were saying. The sunlight is gone but as she’s laid down she realized they’ve been brought to a tent. She tried to grab Azriel, sobbing for him not to leave her.

Sh, little star we have to heal you. Rhys coos in her head but she can hear the emotion that he tries to cover.

“I need these leathers removed,” An older voice said, Madja. It’s got to be Madja. A pain radiated from her stomach and she sobbed again.

Hands worked to remove her leathers, she opened my eyes. Feyre and Rhys stand above her, unbuckling armor and removing layers to allow Madja to work.

She yanked the bond hard. Azriel. She wanted Azriel. And then he’s there crouching next to her head, hazel eyes wet and pained, a hand stroking through her hair.

“Az…”

“Sh, don’t speak,” He strokes her hair. “I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you.”

Stella felt Madja’s hands on her stomach, the warmth of her magic and it hurt. She screamed over the hushed hurried speaking around her.

And then there’s nothing but black darkness.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

When Stella opened her eyes she was at the river house, curled up in her favorite chair. Her eyebrows pulled together in confusion and nearly sobbed when she realize what this was.

“Hey, little star,” Rhy’s voice echoed around the room before he appears on the couch across from her.

“How bad is it?” She breathes, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Don’t lie, please.”

“It’s bad,” Rhys breathed quietly after a moment. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. A heavy sigh leaves him. “Madja couldn’t heal you. You aren’t healing on your own. Feyre and I both tried and nothing.”

“Thesan?”

“Madja’s gone to retrieve him but there’s a chance even his power may not heal you,” He said, and she could hear the emotion in his voice.

“Is it faebane?” She asked, chin wobbling, he nodded. “I took the antidote, I don’t understand.”

“Neither do we, we’ve asked Thesan but he doesn’t understand either. No one else has been affected by the faebane,” Rhys explained, eyes flashing to her.

“So…I’m going to die?” Her voice cracked.

“I’m going to do everything in my power to save you—”

“I don’t think you can,” She whisper, holding his gaze. She could see it in his eyes, he knows as much as she doesn’t three powerful healers can’t save her there’s not much hope. “Wake me up, I need to say goodbye to him.”

Rhys looks at her and nodded. He stood and she followed. She couldn’t stop herself from throwing her arms around him. Hugging him tighter than she ever had before.

“Tell everyone I love them,” she whispered against his shoulder. “I love you, Rhys.”

His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her tight, his body shaking with silent cries. “I love you, Little Star.”

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Warmth. That’s the first thing Stella noticed. She was warm and comfortable. She blinked her eyes open with a soft groan. She turned her head and saw Azriel, eyes shut and forehead pressed to his hands clasping hers.

“Hey there,” She whispered, squeezing his hand. Reaching out through the bond relieved when it was open and welcoming. She melted into the cot, not in much pain. She was sure her brother was to thank for that.

Stella looked down over myself, covered in a thin blanket up to her waist, eyes landing on her bandaged abdomen—on the blood-soaked bandage.

“Hey back,” He whispered, keeping a grip on her hand with one of his while the other reached out to stroke her hair. She let herself relax into the touch, nuzzling against his hand.

“Rhys says I’m not healing,” She breathed, voice cracking.

“I know, baby,” Azriel answered softly with a nod. Eyes wet and lips bloody red from being bitten. “Come here.”

He lifted her easily, placing her in his lap and cradling her. She could vaguely feel his shadows curling over her skin, through her hair, trying to comfort her as much as he was.

“I’m gonna die,” She cried, pressing her face to his chest.

Azriel shushed her, continuing to stroke her hair as he rocked them back and forth. “I’m sorry,” he cried, looking down at her. “I was wrong. I was so wrong to tell you I didn’t want the mating bond. It had nothing to do with you, my love. You are the perfect mate. I was trying to deny it, thinking I didn’t deserve the love of such a perfect mate. I’ve been in love with you for years, fighting it as hard as I could. And I was afraid. Afraid I would love you and it wouldn’t be enough. Please, forgive me my love, my mate. Please. I love you.”

His broken sobs were painful. His body was shaking hard. All Stella wanted to do was kiss him. So she did. She grabbed his face, pulled him down, and kissed him. Her lips were dry but she didn’t care.

“I forgive you,” She whispered against his lips. “Reject the bond.”

“What?” He asked, eyes squinted in confusion.

“Reject the bond, it—it will hurt less when I go,” She said, she wanted to save him from that heartache.

“No,” He shakes his. “No, I won’t put you through that pain. I won’t let you die like that.”

“It’s okay, Az—”

“It’s not,” He growled, sobbing when she touched his face. “You’re my mate, I won’t reject it.”

He leaned down to kiss her again, his lips were soft but tasted like blood. The kiss was a mere pressing of lips, she was too weak to fully kiss back.

When Azriel pulled away her eyes stayed closed, breath slow and shallow. He could feel her life slipping from her body. But it’s not when she’s limp in his arms and chest no longer moving that he knows she’s gone. It’s when he feels the emptiness in his chest. When that place in his chest that connects them is no longer there

“No,” he whispered. Shaking his head. Tears falling onto her beautiful pale face. He held her tighter to his chest. “Stella, please. No, please come back to me, baby. Please, come back.”

But her eyes stayed closed. Her chest stayed still. And that space stayed empty. It hurt. It hurt so fucking back.

And all he could do was scream.

#I hurt my own feelings writing this #azriel #azriel fanfic #acotar #angst #hurt comfort #love confessions #sadness #heartbreak #imagine Azriel’s scream #absolutely gut wrenching #anyway might write a smutty prequel to this if anyone’s interested 😘

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