#Glory Gold shoes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chlorinecake · 7 months

Text

⋆｡˚ ✈︎ love at first flight | N.RK

ft riki x fem!reader, nwjns hanni, enha jake | genre fluff, airport crush, strangers to lovers | cw language, flirting, kissing, dirty jokes, petty "arguments," possibly geographically incorrect | pt. 1, 2, and 3 here | wc 4894

synopsis. 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳…🗼

It was around 11:00pm as you struggled to find your passport.

"I could've sworn it was on my desk yesterday," you thought to yourself, searching through your messy bedroom.

After your morning cafe date with Riki, he dropped you off at your apartment so you could get started with packing as soon as possible, given that your flight was booked for take off the next day.

You're still not sure why you said yes to Riki's impulsive offer, though, part of you wanted to believe that saying "no" would've been an even riskier call.

Riki, in all of his handsome glory, had been a menace to your soul. You just couldn't put a finger on what is was about him that kept luring you in almost magnetically.

Ding, dong.

Your breath hitched at the sound of someone knocking outside your apartment door. Grabbing the purple ink pen from your dresser, conveniently sitting next to your diary, you gripped it like a weapon as you approached the door cautiously.

Knock, knock, knock.

Unlocking the latch and twisting the handle, you slung the door open to reveal none other than Riki, standing calmly with grocery bags in each hand.

"Good night! And yes, that can be a greeting… What's the pen for?" He shrugged, walking past you and straight into your apartment as if owning the place.

You flashed him an annoyed look before closing the door behind him, suddenly feeling embarrassed while dressed in your pjs.

"It's for self defense, night stalker. And how'd you even know where I live?" You asked accusingly.

"I drove you here earlier after the cafe, remember?" He said while placing the grocery bags on your study desk to unload the items.

Damn, you thought to yourself, It must be wayyy past my bedtime...

"Anyways, I brought you this neck pillow-thingy for the plane," Riki smiled, walking up to you and fastening the pillow around your neck, "Pretty cool, right?"

"Uhhh, sure," you mumbled, standing awkwardly as he welcomed himself to explore your bedroom.

"So...," he began with a grin, "this is where you keep your pretty little panties, huh?" Running a finger over the surface of your dresser, he stopped once he met your oh-so familiar diary.

"Hmm. I remember this little guy. How many pages have you written about me so far? My guess is at least 3."

"Jokes on you, Riki. I don't reminisce about people I haven't even known for a week," you said with a sigh, plopping on your bed, too tired to retaliate physically.

He parts his lips as if wanting to say something, but nothing came out. He only walked over to your bed, taking a seat beside you.

"Look, ____. If you wanna back out of this trip, it's not too late. I understand that this is a pretty big thing I'm asking of you."

"No, Riki, I really do wanna go. It's just that I lost my passport somewhere in this stupid apartment and now I can't find it," you pouted before suddenly feeling his weight escape your side.

He paced around your room as if an internal GPS was guiding him in the right direction.

"What're you doing?" You giggled, watching as he picked up a random toilet paper tube to use as a searching tool.

"Shh, I think I see it!" He whispered, reaching for a navy blue and gold envelope from under one of your shoe boxes, "Voici!"

You gazed in shock, not only at his use of French, but also at how he actually managed to find it, let alone that quickly.

"Holy shit, Riki! You're a lifesaver!" You beamed, running to give him a bear hug.

"I bet you've been dying to do that since I came in," he teased, trying to conceal his own blushing.

You were losing track of how many times he flirted with you in the past five minutes, but you were just glad that he found your passport in time.

All there was left to do now after packing was explain to your best friend Hanni where you'd be for the next 2-3 days.

The following morning came by quicker than you already expected it to.

Fortunately, y'all arrived at the airport just in time for boarding, going to your respectful seats on the aircraft according to your ticket numbers.

And finally, it was time for takeoff.

You and Riki hadn't even been on the plane for thirty minutes before you started bumping heads with each other.

“How come you get to sit by the window? You’re not even taking pictures,” You scolded him, crossing your arms in frustration.

“You see? That’s the problem with this generation. Always seeking technology to bring them happiness," He said, shaking his head.

“Riki, we’re literally depending on technology to carry us cross country. Welcome to our advanced society.”

“That’s not even a fair comparison, but go off.”

You scoffed, “Don’t ‘but go off’ me!”

“Or what?” He challenged, flashing you a smirk that made you internally curse him for being so effortlessly attractive.

“I said, or what?” He continued, putting an arm around the head of your seat and pulling your face towards his by your chin.

The way he peered into your eyes made you feel like kissing h—

OH GOD, NO! NOT AT ALL! NEVER, you thought to yourself.

He licked his lower lip, making you stutter as you answered, “O-or I’ll… I’ll tell your mom on you!”

He snorted at your empty threat, “Yeah, good luck with that. She doesn’t speak English for shit.”

“Well, whatever, I’ll just use google translate,” you snapped back.

“Oh, so you think fast?”

“Only when I-“

He interrupted your words with a kiss to your forehead, “Not fast enough, apparently,” he winked, sitting back in his seat.

Oh boy. This trip is already kicking off to an interesting start.

You sat frozen as if he’d just snatched your soul away, focusing on the moisture his lips left on your skin.

“And don’t even think about wiping that off,” he smirked, searching through his carrier bag before pulling out a pair of wired headphones.

You weren't gonna let him win that easily.

Exhaling your nerves, you thought of something catty to say back to him/

“Now look who’s a product of our e-generation, Mr. iPad Kid. Let me guess, is it time for Cocomelon?” You pouted facetiously, trying to conceal your nervousness from whatever the hell possessed him to kiss you.

“I’m just tired of hearing the air conditioner," he shrugged, "Sue me.”

Riki plugged the headphones into his phone port, opening the Spotify app (not sponsored lol) on his phone and selecting a random playlist. “Wanna listen?” He asked softly, meeting you with his dark brown eyes.

You took the left earbud from his hand, positioning it into your own ear as the sounds of lofi rhythms met your ears. After a few minutes, you drifted off to sleep, not even realizing that you were laying on his shoulder.

Riki eventually followed after you, leaning his head atop yours as he snored softly. Though, he’d likely never tell you that part of the story once you woke up.

A couple more hours in the plane passed, and you were officially landing at your final destination: Paris, France.

“I'm sorry, you’re WHERE? With WHO?!?!” Hanni yelled over the phone.

You didn’t mean to make it seem like you'd been keeping this big secret from her, but you simply never got around to telling her... that you were impulsivey traveling across country with a guy you met at the airport last week.

“Look, it’s only for a few days, I’ll be fine,” you replied, unpacking your luggage on the hotel room bed.

Riki was busy getting you an extra key card for the room, so you didn’t have to worry about him barging in on your conversation for a while.

“Tell me. Why did you think this was a good idea, ____. Honestly? Hell, did you even think before saying yes?”

“Of course I did, Hanni… but if you’re just gonna keep scolding me, I’d rather we talk about something else,” you whined, hating the way she started to make you feel.

"Ugh, I’m sorry, bestie! Please don’t misinterpret my concern for cruelty.”

“It’s okay, Hanni, I know you're just looking out for me... but, maybe this was a bad idea.”

“Omg, naur!! Forget I said anything! I want you to enjoy yourself in Paris! Just call me if you need anything, alright?…unless it’s love advice or—”

“Money, I know. Talk to you later, pigtails!”

“Later,” she giggled, ending the call with a ‘mwah’ from her end. You placed your phone down on the mattress, flinching at the sight of Riki walking out of the bathroom, tossing the extra key card on the bed.

“What the- I thought you were in the lobby?”

“Yeah, but I came back up not too long ago. Don’t worry, I didn’t eavesdrop… the entire time,” he teased, running a hand through his hair as he observed your luggage. “I hope you have a pretty outfit in there.”

“Mhm, and why’s that?”

“Because, we’re going out to dinner, silly,” he said, pulling out an ironing board from the closet to press his wrinkled pants.

You didn't expect for Riki to wanna go out so soon after just arriving.

Either way, you tried on a few outfits before finally choosing the beret and plaid pink skirt-suit you usually wore during business meetings, which ironically fit the chic Parisian aesthetic.

“Bonjour, and welcome to Le Goût! Do you need help navigating the menu or are you familiar with French dishes?” The waitress asked in a friendly accent.

“We actually already spoke to one of your waiters. He’s putting in our order right now,” Riki replied, handing her one of the extra menus from your table.

“Very well, then. I’ll pop back around once you’re ready to order dessert. Call for Ines if you need anything else,” she smiled, walking away.

You swirled the ice cubes in your glass, just as your previous waiter came out with your food.

“Velvety Escargots Bourguignonne for the gentleman, and Chicken Fricassee for the lady,” he said, placing down your plates and walking away.

Riki stared at his plate with disgust in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, folding a napkin over your lap to catch any spills or crumbs as you ate.

“Uhmmm, I didn’t order snails…,” he cringed, poking at the shelled creatures on his plate with a fork.

“You literally looked at the menu and told the waiter that’s what you wanted. I thought you spoke French!”

“I do, but that doesn’t mean I can read it,” he replied.

“What did you think ‘escargot bourguignonne’ meant anyways?”

“Dunno, sounds like a pasta dish to me.”

“Well… do you wanna trade plates?” You offered, not wanting to come off as silly foreigners for misreading the menu.

“Pfft, of course not, I’m getting my money back! Ines! Excusez-moi, madame Ines?!”

You reached for Riki’s hand, trying to redirect his attention, “Riki, please, let’s just enjoy our food. Paris is a culinary landmark, I’m sure we’ll run into some better places after this,” you pleaded, swapping the plates on the table.

He let out a sigh, unrolling his napkin and placing it on his lap as well, “Fine. Bon appétit and what not.”

After finishing up in Le Goût, you and Riki took a walk from the restaurant, exploring the streets of France.

You weren’t too worried about getting lost, because Riki hired a personal chauffeur to guide you two through the city if needed..

He hadn’t realized how much farther ahead of you he was walking until you grabbed onto his hand.

“Oh, so we’re making it a public thing, I see?” He winked, pulling you closer to him.

“No, you just walk fast as hell and I can’t keep up with your legs,” you corrected, giving him a look.

“Mhm, whatever you say, ____.”

That’s when you two stumbled upon a group of people, waiting at the edge of a dock to be boarded on for a boat ride.

“Please don’t say you’re afraid of water,” Riki looked at you with hopeful eyes.

You weren’t too fond of potentially getting your cute outfit soiled, but with the way Riki peered into your eyes, it was hard to say no... again.

“Okay, let’s go,” you smiled, following behind him as he led you by the hand.

It didn’t take long for the officials to load you and Riki on the raft, as he opted for the cheaper version that gave him control to row the boat.

You watched as he paddled across the Seine River with childlike glee, observing the antique buildings surrounding the Eiffel Tower.

If it wasn’t for the cool breeze pulling you back to reality, you would’ve believed you were dreaming at how beautiful the scenery was.

How beautiful this moment with Riki was—

Ugh, never mind, it’s probably the snails affecting the chemicals in your brain.

“This is incredible,” Riki exclaimed, his arms rotating at a constant circle as he maneuvered the boat paddles, soaking up the Parisian sun.

“Like how incredible it is that despite your amateurish being, you can somehow pull everything off,” you smirked, nudging his knee with your shoe.

“Amateurish being? I have a lot of tricks up my sleeve that you haven’t even seen yet, ____. Trust, biologically, I was BUILT to pull everything off.”

“Right, so what happened with those snails earlier?”

“Gosh, are you seriously bringing that up right now?”

“Yes, I am seriously, deadass, on God, for real am bringing this up.”

He tried to hide the smile that dared to show on his face at the way you mocked his previous use of slang.

“Don’t get shy now, Riki. I can see you blushing.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you, clicking his teeth with his tongue before throwing the paddles into the river.

“RIKI!”

“Whoops! Looks like my bashful little fingers slipped,” he giggled, not being able to contain his laughter from the shocked expression on your face.

“Guess we’re gonna have to swim back. Come on,” he beamed, talking off his turtleneck before diving into the lake, water splashing all over your lap.

“Oh my God, Riki, you’re such an imbecile!”

“And you’re such a baby! Now come on, the water feels great, I promise!”

You watched as the water rippled around his movements.

You couldn't see anything below the dark blue river, making you feel anxious about actually jumping in.

“W-w-what if there are alligators hiding in there?”

“Pfft,” he scoffed, “French alligators? I mean, if I’m still swimming, they must have a pretty low appetite… unless… they prefer breast meat,” he winked, treading in the water.

“Gosh, you’re such a weirdo,” you whined, watching as he made his way over to the other side of the lake, marching up the rocky land.

He shook his head like a puppy, trying to get rid of the access water in his hair.

You looked away from him shyly, trying not to peek at how the white t-shirt he wore clung to his toned abs.

“Are you coming over here today, or what?” He teased, putting his hands on his hips.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, leveling your nerves before jumping in the water, leaving your favorite beret behind in the now abandoned boat.

So much for being peaceable foreigners.

After making it to Riki, which wasn’t nearly as daunting as you expected, he applauded your performance. “Brava, ____! Brava!! You successfully swam across a 30ft deep river!”

“30?!” you shivered in disbelief, thankful that he shared the rivers depth with you after you already got across.

“Relax, ____, that’s like a kiddy pool. Anyways, let’s get back to the hotel before we get sick,” he said as the chilly winds hit both your wet bodies.

Under any other ordinary circumstances, you probably would’ve beaten the hell out of Riki for being so careless.

But it was something about the Parisian air that made you care less.

Riki phoned the chauffeur to bring you back to the resort, where he arranged a spa evening for you to be professionally pampered by French beauticians.

Meanwhile, he went to shower in the hotel room, saying that he’d meet you back at the spa when you were finished.

One of the hairdressers gave you a blow out and quick trim just to clean up your ends.

Then, conveniently after your finger nail polish finished drying, your phone beeped with a message from Hanni.

Riki tapped you on the shoulder, the scent of his sweet citrus cologne hitting your senses.

“You ready?” He asked, picking up one of the matcha macarons the spa staff gave you.

“Ready for what?”

“To eat. I know you’ve gotten all pretty, but I think it’s best we stay in since it’s dark out now.”

Did he just call you pretty?!?!

“Okay, we can hit up the French market and maybe make something for dinner," you suggested.

“Oh my gosh, great idea! We could make my mom’s gyoza recipe!”

“Oh, did she make the ones you let me try at the airport that day, too?”

“I can’t believe you still remember that," he said in shock.

“Well yeah, that was only a few days ago…”

“Hmm. I guess you just don’t seem like a stranger to me anymore,” He smiled, grabbing your hand and leading you from the resort spa.

After shopping at the market, where the prices were surprisingly affordable, you and Riki headed back to your hotel room to unpack the groceries.

“I hope you’re good at cooking,” Riki chimed, grabbing a large bowl to fill with all the French snacks you brought from the store.

“Why, exactly?”

“Because, I’m mostly gonna watch while you keep me entertained, Chef ____.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, grabbing a knife and chopping board as you started prepping the ingredients you’d need.

“Does ‘tsp’ mean tablespoon or teaspoon?” You asked, struggling to interpret his Mom’s recipe instructions.

“All I know is big spoon and little spoon,” he smirked, leaning closer over the counter.

You brushed off his flirting as you kept trying to figure out the recipe. That’s when Riki grabbed a handful of fondue flavored chips from the snack bowl, crunching them between his teeth.

“Gosh, would you stop chewing so freaking loud? I can’t think!”

“It’s not my fault you’re a babo,” he teased, poking you on the nose.

“Bet you can’t say that in French.”

“Pfft, why would I need to?”

“Because you said you speak French?”

“For the last time, I do! I’m just not a dictionary.”

“Sounds like another lame excuse, but whatever. Pass me the sesame oil… Oh, and one of those chips!”

Making the gyoza wasn’t nearly as hard as you anticipated. Though, your main struggle came with capturing the authentic flavors.

After steaming the doughy purses and tossing them in a dark chili sauce, you plated a few for Riki to try, even though you both were already stuffed from the snacks alone.

“Ugh, can you at least try them while they’re fresh?” You whined, bringing one of the saucy gyozas to Riki’s mouth with a pair of chopsticks.

He complied with a sigh, parting his lips as he hummed.

“What do you think?”

“Well, they don’t taste like my mom’s, but they’re not horrible. I’ll give it a 4/10.”

“Huh?!”

“Well, I didn’t expect you to do better than her, or even come close, so don’t feel too bad about it.”

You pouted, wrapping the remaining dumplings in plastic wrap before placing them in the hotel fridge.

“Alright, let’s freshen up and head to bed,” he suggested, wiping the kitchen counter and heading to the bathroom to wash up.

You went in after he finished, changing into your pajamas and meeting him on the kingsized bed.

“Ahh... I love Paris,” he smiled, adjusting his head on the pillow.

“Yeah. Me too, but why?”

“Because, the next time I visit, I’ll be reminded of you.”

“Aww, how cheesy,” you smiled, returning a poke to his nose.

“No, I’m serious. I’ve never had this much fun with someone before.”

“But we’ve been arguing the entire time.”

“I know, but… that’s just our way of…”

“Flirting?”

He blushed at your words, “Yea. Our way of flirting.”

You felt your own face heat up in the moment, fighting the urge to scoot closer to him on the mattress.

“So,” you began timidly, “what comes after this stage?”

“Depends,” he replied, resting his hands behind his head, “Where do you want it to go?”

“Riki…”

“What?”

“We just met—“

“That doesn’t answer my question, ____.”

You let out a breath, thinking on his words, “Hmm. I think we would make great fr-enemies.”

He giggled, “That’s it?”

“That's it. But maybe with time… we could—”

Buzz, buzz.

A notification from Riki’s phone lit up the dim hotel room. He reached for his phone, only to see a text from his friend Jake, who said he just arrived in Paris and wanted to meet up tomorrow.

“Was this planned?” You asked confused.

“No?… I don’t know why he’s here... or how he even knows I’m here.”

“Well. Looks like we better get some rest for tomorrow.”

“Ughh, but I wanted to spend our last day here together,” he pouted, rubbing his eyebrows.

“And we still can, Riki. It’ll probably be fun having your friend around, anyway.”

A moment of silence filled the air before he spoke.

“Fine. As long as you don’t mind, neither do I,” he smiled, turning off the night light before trying to get some sleep.

“Hanni. Pham. You sneaky salamander!”

"Bonjour, bestie! Turns out, Riki does have a cute and single friend. Meet Jake, my favorite Aussie boy!" She beamed, clinging onto him as if they've known each other for life.

You wondered if that's how you and Riki looked together.

"Nice to meet you, Jake," you forced a smile, shaking his hand.

"You too, Miss ____," he returned with an Australian accent that caught you off guard.

No wonder Hanni and him were already getting along so well.

"Jake-hyung, when you said you wanted to hang out at the amusement park, I didn't think you meant for a double-date," Riki said with an awkward smile, searching your face for an 'okay' sign.

"Aww, c'mon Nishi, it's not every day that you're granted with such convenient chances (😉) to hang out with friends," Jake began.

"Exactly. Let's make the most of this beautiful day, shall we?" Hanni encouraged, taking your hand in hers as you, Riki, and Jake went on to explore the park.

The four of you went on more rides than you could keep track of, ranging from ferris wheels, spinning teacups, and rollercoasters.

It was also fun watching Riki and Jake battle it out on an amusement park mini game to win a stuffed animal prize: Of course, Riki won, but you gave the plush to Hanni because you didn't feel like carrying it around.

You all planned to end the night with ice cream, but that was until Riki caught sight of a jewelry making station.

"____, we have to," Riki said in a serious tone.

You giggled, "Have to what? Make matching friendship bracelets?"

"Uh, YES!"

Hanni and Jake sat at a different table than you and Riki, hooking different charms to the silver bracelet chains provided by the staff.

You and Riki decided to make one for each other and then swap them once you finished.

"Are you guys almost done?" Jake asked, looking at the time which was running close to 7:30pm.

"Almost, I just need to make a few finishing touches," Riki smiled, adding on some beads.

Finally, you all payed for the bracelets and put them in velvet baby blue goody bags, bidding your farewells before heading back to your respective hotel rooms to pack.

"Today was so much fun," Riki exclaimed, sorting the clothes in his suitcase.

"I know, I'm already sad just thinking about how we go back to reality tomorrow."

"Yeah...but in the meantime, let's enjoy our last few hours in Paris," he smiled, closing his suitcase before putting on a French film for you both to fall asleep to.

The next morning came by faster than desired. On the flight back home, you reminisced about your fun weekend in Paris as though you might forget the moment you stopped thinking.

It was the simple things that started to effect you the most.

Riki's random Spotify playlist knitted memories with songs, faces to feelings.

You were falling hard for Riki, and the truth was, you had been since day one. It was obvious that he felt the same way about you, too.

The only thing holding you back was the fear of letting go.

The fear of letting love.

"All flight passengers, we have started our descent and will be landing shortly. Please remain seated after making sure your tray tables are in their upright positions and any other personal belongings are within your vicinity. Thank you," the pilot spoke from the head of the plane.

You and Riki were sharing a box of cream filled French cookies as you finished the last few minutes of the movie "Your Name" on his laptop.

"So you're telling me that this ends with Taki and Mitsuha not remembering each other?" You asked sadly, wishing the two characters could've had a happier ending.

"Not in this film, no. But the director mentioned something in an interview about them eventually reuniting and even getting married," Riki clarified, taking a sip from his carton of chocolate milk.

You sighed, looking out the window as the ending credits played silently in the background.

Riki tapped your shoulder, causing you to whip your head to face him.

"Here," he said, handing you the baby blue velvet sack he kept from Paris.

After making your bracelet, he said he wouldn't let you see it until y'all were in the plane. Turns out, that moment was now.

"Open it," he nearly whispered, his usual piercing eyes becoming more soft.

You took the bag in your hand, untying the string as you slid the silver bracelet in your palm. Riki didn't hesitate to fasten the hook around your wrist, a hue of pink rising to his cheeks at the sight.

You observed the rainbow heart beads and other cute charms that ran across the length of the bracelet.

One charm that stood out to you most was the shimmery blue airplane, dangling next to a cursive letter R.

The bracelet was so nice that it made you feel insecure about the one you made for him. He payed attention to so many little details, all apart of every moment that you shared together so far.

Even though the gesture was simple, you were left speechless.

"Riki, it's beautiful," you beamed, fighting the urge to hug him.

"Alright, alright, now where's mine," he teased, shaking with anticipation.

"Oh, right, I almost forgot," you giggled, reaching in your purse to hand him the velvet sack containing the bracelet you made him.

That's when a robotic voice emitted a series of beeps and tones from the ceiling speakers: a familiar chime that let you know the airplane had officially landed.

Riki was quick to grab your luggage and his, making his way to the airport base as you trailed behind him.

You knew after landing, the peaceful nature of your weekend would be bombarded with the busy world you knew best.

You still couldn't believe that you had just traveled cross-country with a complete stranger, and if given the opportunity, you wouldn't hesitate to do it again.

Riki took your hands in his just as your Uber ride pulled up outside the airport, since your usual chauffeur, Hanni, was still in Paris with her 'favorite Aussie boy.'

"I don't really know what to say, but... Paris was cool...with you, I mean," Riki admitted shyly, his usually dominant aura faltering before you.

"Yeah. Paris was cool with you, too, Riki," you smiled, stepping on your tip-toes and kissing him on the cheek.

You turned on your heel, walking towards the shiny glass doors with your polkadot suitcase clicking behind you.

Of course you looked back, and of course he was still there waiting for you to leave with a smile.

You made your way to the vehicle, loaded your things in the trunk before hopping in the backseat.

The quiet Uber driver made his way out of the parking lot while a certain thought meddled in the back of your mind: Riki and I will probably never see each other again.

Still, unlike Taki and Mitsuha, you could never forget the flirty TSA agent who stole your heart.

You looked at the bracelet on your wrist again, smiling at the recent memories that were already started to feel distant.

That's when you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach.

Buzz, buzz.

You pulled your phone from your purse, revealing a text on your screen from a number you hadn't made a contact for yet:

"Hey, it's Riki. I know you just left, but I might die if we don't hang out tomorrow. Coffee at Café Royale's? Again? Maybe?"

〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰

⋆｡˚ ✈︎ Thank you all so much for reading this ff! This concludes the finale for my long awaited "Flirty TSA Agent" Series. With that being said, feel free to check out my enhypen bookshelf for more fun reads!

⋆｡˚ ✈︎ Taglist: @fanficfactoryfoxxx @rickysblkgf @bambangan

355 notes · View notes

cheralith · 1 year

Text

if the shoe fits — 「 prince!vash x reader x prince!nai 」

content warnings ; gn!reader, they/them pronouns, reader wears a ball gown and mentions of makeup, mild violence, mention of a tri98 character, not much romance but more so tension from nai tbh whoops

contains ; royalty!au, cinderella-esque!au, gardener!reader, friends to lovers (?) (vash), enemies to lovers (?) (nai)

notes ; i can't stress enough how well rachmaninoff's symphony no. 2 in e minor: adagio, followed by largo suits this so much, please take a listen as you go!

The names of Nai and Vash Saverem of JuLai were no strangers to the townsfolk of their kingdom. Firstborn twins and only children to the late queen Rem Saverem, the two were notorious for sticking by each other’s side almost on the daily, but also for their contrasting personalities. In front of the people, Prince Nai is distant, only preferring to stare straight ahead when in an open carriage and seemingly ignoring his townsfolk. His lips would subtly purse at the sight of the crowd before drawing a breath and crossing his arms over his chest. He says that it’s the best way to make an impression on the townsfolk—their future king cannot be bothered with sillier antics, unlike a specific someone.

Prince!Vash cannot be any more different from his brother, who is to be crowned with the regal title of “king” when he is of age. He’s much more connected with the townsfolk, often waving excitedly to them while in the carriage and taking any gifts that are handed to him with a large smile on his face, cherishing and archiving them in his bedroom. The ladies love him, their babies too, and he loves them back. A natural charmer—he’s managed to easily win the popularity contest amongst him and Nai, since he prefers to frolic out of the castle without suspicion to spend time with his people.

Prince!Nai busies himself more with work-related matters, ruling the palace with an iron fist. Make one move out of line and your fate is already decided by him before you can even beg on your knees. It’s not to say he’s completely authoritarian, however, since if he could rule the way that he truly wanted to, the townsfolk would despise him and would demand his younger brother to usurp him, despite the fact that the younger twin has no interest in royal politics.

Prince!Vash brings joy and light to the palace, he makes the place much more lively. He prefers to dine in the boisterous servants’ quarters rather than with his brother and other boring royal officials in the quieter dining hall, enjoying their stories about what life was like in the village or their stories about his late mother. They often say he reminds them of her—the fondness in his eyes, his soft and playful voice, and his pacifistic, loving demeanor. It’s also there that they freely complain about his brother without fear, to which Vash can only laugh and excuse Nai to the best of his abilities.

Prince!Nai knows his place in the world. He belongs to the higher pedestal, like a true future king should be. White gold and royal blue adorn most of his clothing, signifying his importance and regal nature. He knows his place in the world—he just wishes that everyone else does, too.

Prince!Vash forgets he’s a prince half the time, just like how he “forgets” to wear his crown (he just merely doesn’t like the feeling of superiority it entitles to him, but he guises it under the complaint of it being too heavy). He’s intrigued more by the culture of his kingdom and what a “normal” person would do rather than the gleam and glory offered by his palace.

On an early Saturday afternoon, Prince!Nai frowns at the sight of his brother talking amongst a particular someone when he passes by the gardens with his royal court following behind him while they continue mumbling about incessant political meetings with other kingdoms. He can recognize those dirtied gardening boots and soiled apron that sit a little too close to Vash’s thigh for his liking anywhere, and his frown deepens when he watches as an amateur royal gardener hands the younger prince a red flower with its petals all bustled together, clicking his tongue when dirt-stained hands touches the pure white of Vash’s glove.

Prince!Vash is awe-stricken by the flower you hand to him, carefully twirling it around with his fingers. It was his mother’s favorite flower, according to the other gardeners. You give him a toothy smile and say he came to the garden at the right time—geranium season has just bloomed and the garden sprinkled with their beauty all over this spring in honor of the late queen.

“I hear your mother was a lot like you,” you murmur quietly, watching as the prince pets the petals tenderly when you change into your spare, cleaner shoes. “Do you have memories of what she was like?”

He looks at you with a glimmer of longing flashing through his cerulean eyes. You’re about to apologize for your hastiness when you see his lips thin momentarily before he gently smiles and leans back into the seat of the gazebo that protects you and him from the afternoon sun.

“Gentle,” is what slips past his lips, “is what I remember best. Kind and wise, too. She used to always tell me that there’s beauty everywhere, even in the harshest of places. All it really takes is for one to just simply,” he reaches over to you and gently nestles the flower neatly in between your hair and ear, not noticing you stiffen at his touch despite him looking at you straight in the eyes. “... look a little closer.”

Prince!Nai can only huff at the shared touch between a lowly gardener and the other branch of his royal blood before briefly excusing himself from the royal counsel to escort himself to the gardens, not wanting his brother to be in such close radius of you any longer. He calls out his name sternly, making you and him flinch at the sound of his voice. His nerves relax themselves when Vash pulls away from you, but his jaw clenches slightly when he sees a speck of dust on the fingertip of his glove that Vash scratches his cheek with, embarrassed.

“You should be getting ready for tonight’s ball,” Nai states flatly, not even acknowledging your existence when you bow and greet him. “There is much preparation to do.” His eyes fleet towards you, where you stand still, your head still bowed to show your respects to his majesty. “I expect the flowers for the ballroom to be set up by early evening,” is all he says to you before trotting away with his head held up high.

Prince!Vash makes sure that his brother is out of sights before he sighs and urges you to lift your head up. Apologizing for his brother’s rudeness, he can only sigh at the fact that he couldn’t sneak out of the palace tonight like he usually does, making you laugh when he pouts at the thought of entertaining boring old nobles and lords.

“I wish I could say that,” you mention as you smooth your pants out. “Balls seem like fun—dancing around in pretty clothing and eating all those tasty desserts the chefs make.”

Vash snorts. “Sure, they’re fun if you like talking awkwardly with people twice your age and having people step on your feet after not being able to sit down for almost three hours.”

“But still!” you exclaim. “Just the thought of being in a ballroom and being with everyone enjoying themselves would be such a delightful sight.”

As you sigh dreamily about your fantasies, Prince Vash can only stare at you incredulously, marveled at the two different worlds that sit side by side so close under a gazebo. He wonders if you fantasize about royal life a lot, wondering if you think like him but with his fantasies about being a commonfolk and not worrying about the societal pressures of living up to his brother. He finds it so fascinating that such two different people from two different worlds can be together under a single roof, bonding over miniscule things like flowers. It’s what he finds so amazing about human nature the most—the skill of connection.

He looks at you from the corner of his eye as you gaze longingly into the garden when all of a sudden, an idea pops into his head.

Prince!Nai carefully watches with contempt as you and the younger prince talk amongst each other from his office window that sits a few stories above the garden, sneering when Vash holds both of your speckled hands suddenly and nods excitedly, the sparkle in his eyes evident even from a hefty height. His eyes narrow in suspicion when you shake your head to his unknown words; your brows furrow in nervousness before Vash caresses the top of your hands with his thumbs, making Nai’s icy blue gaze harden.

Prince!Vash is about to beg on his knees at this point.

“You must come! You’d enjoy it, I promise,” Vash pleads as he grips your hands tighter. “I’ll be by your side the entire time, so you won’t feel too anxious.”

“Your majesty—” you attempt.

He pouts. “Please don’t call me that,” he says with a soft frown, not enjoying the sudden formality.

“—it would not be wise for a menial gardener such as I to attend such a regal event,” you whisper, your eyes darting over the place to avoid any eavesdroppers. The palace does enjoy its part-time gossip, after all. “I am not suited for it.”

“But I am inviting you!” he exclaims. “You would be coming on my behalf. I’m allowed to do that, I swear!”

Your lips purse in anxiousness, a thick swallow trailing down your dry throat. “It would not be deemed appropriate… and what if his majesty found out about one of his staff attending a royal ball and not tending to it?”

“Then that would be my problem to handle,” Prince Vash retorts. “Please come. It’d make me eternally happy.”

“I…” your words fail you, and you do consider giving in for a brief moment just to get the prince off your tail before your eyes deepen with disappointment one more time. “I’m sorry, my prince, but I must refuse your offer.”

Prince!Nai cocks a brow when he sees his younger brother’s smile disappear and morph into a saddened frown at your words that he can’t seem to articulate from the window above. He watches a little too intently when Vash heaves a great big sigh and finally stands up, his eyes rolling when he offers you his hand. Assuming that the conversation between a gardener and blue blooded prince is finally over, he moves his eyes to his royal secretary.

“Must this be a ball with the intention of finding me a spouse…?” Nai huffs, settling himself in his chair. “I can rule a kingdom perfectly fine without the nuisance of a marriage.”

Legato can only shake his head at his superior’s words. “Tradition goes as follows, your majesty. Your coronation cannot take place without a spouse by your side. At least you are able to choose them—your mother was not granted that option.”

The future king of JuLai knows that, and he also knows that he should be more grateful to what he is given. But he has always been alone and prefers to keep it that way, his younger counterpart being the only exception. Yes, his mother may have married to a more irrelevant royal, but after his death, she was able to rule JuLai properly by herself, so why couldn’t he? Nai only shakes his head before staring at the royal orb and scepter that sit in their glass box on the dresser, a reminder that he keeps close to remind him of his goals and his duties. He can feel the ghost of their coldness on his palms from practicing so much in the mirror. His hands twitch.

“Your outfit for the ball is in your quarter’s, my prince,” Legato says before excusing himself to make sure the preparations for the ball are in place.

Nai can only sigh in disappointment when he watches the doors of his office close before standing up again to face the window. His eyes graze around the garden again before sharply landing on the gazebo again, where nothing but soil-ridden boots stand under it

Prince!Vash looks into your eyes, where disappointment hides under a curtain of uncertainty. He sighs, releasing your hands from his grasp. He supposes that it does seem a little too risky to sneak in a commonfolk into the royal ballroom, and he wouldn’t want you to face any punishments if you were caught.

“Thank you for the invitation, though,” you retort. “I truly do admire your enthusiasm.”

“If I was able to invite the entire kingdom, I would,” the prince sighs, biting the inside of his cheek. “I’m sure everyone would enjoy it, especially the children.”

You smile softly at his words; he was always a man of the people and it never fails to show even during more private moments. “I have no doubt about that. Perhaps in another lifetime, when you are king, you’ll be able to do that.”

A haughty laugh escapes his lips. “If I am able to do that without being a king or leader of sorts, that’d be better. Honestly, if I’m able to just one day escape this life in general—I’d be satisfied.”

You shrug casually. “What’s stopping you? You could always just escape and go live under a fake name, I wouldn’t tell a soul.”

Prince Vash pauses suddenly. He snaps his head to look at you with a sudden idea lingering in his head at the mention of a fake name. Glassy eyes go to scan your figure up and down and slowly, an almost mischievous grin starts to etch onto his face.

“Fake name, huh?” he raises his eyebrows at your confused countenance. You exclaim out of surprise when he suddenly tugs you away from the gazebo and back into the castle. “I have an idea.”

The evening sun is beginning to rest its rays. Prince!Nai watches from the leveled floor as the guests begin to flock in numbers into the ballroom, occasionally bowing to greet those who greet him. Legato stays by his side closely, making sure no one would get too comfortable to the royal host, his eyes darting to eye any suspicious characters.

“Is there anyone that you find… interesting so far, your majesty?” Legato murmurs. Nai finds his attempt at loose matchmaking poor.

"Do not ask such foolish questions,” Nai scoffs quietly as he bows to a curtsied countess that bats her lashes at him. “Where is Vash? He should’ve been down by now.”

Prince!Vash waits outside an almost-never used dressing room, wincing occasionally as he hears you yelp from the pain of having your hair tugged in a certain direction or cough from the amount of powder dabbed onto your face. His plan was sure to work; have you be disguised under a fake name with a fake title from a fake kingdom and merely just have you accompany him the entire night under the impression that you and him fancied each other when in reality,it’d just be you helping him get through the night to avoid talking to other political figures and most importantly—let you have fun.

“Are they almost ready?” Vash asks the head seamstress that runs in and out of the corridor. He pulls out his inherited pocket watch from his mother, its hands ticking a little too fast for his liking. “I’d hate for us to be late.”

“Nearly, your majesty,” she replies, ribbon between her teeth as she shuffles back into the room. “Give us another moment—they do not seem to have a tolerance for a makeover, I’m afraid.”

He gives out an amused laugh when he hears you hiss through your teeth as your hair gets pulled back. “P-please be more gentle…” he hears you mumble.

“Work your magic however, Meryl,” Vash grins and says with a wink, “I’ll give you and your team double the pay if you manage to make my jaw drop.”

Prince!Nai anxiously taps his foot, his eyes flickering back and forth between the growing crowd of nobles and the large clock that screams Vash is quite late. The guests themselves have asked a number of times where the younger Saverem is, his presence already ghosting around the ballroom.

“Legato,” Nai calls. “Take Livio and Monev to search for Vash. I cannot have his tardiness stain our reputation like this,” he stresses.

“Prince!Vash!” Milly, a handmaiden, calls out worriedly. Distress floods her entire being, causing her to trip on the rug and fall towards him. His reflexes do not fail him (he can thank all the swordsmanship training for that one) and manages to break her fall with his arms. “Prince Vash! They’re looking for you! Prince Nai’s bodyguards are asking about your whereabouts—!”

Vash curses under his breath, knowing that your transformation wasn’t complete yet. “Meryl, how many more minutes do you need?” he calls aloud to the head seamstress, only for his face to pale when he receives a reply of a plentiful fifteen more minutes at minimum from the closed door. He turns back to the handmaiden, urging her to, “Tell them I’ll be down there shortly, and that I was just um… occupied in the bathroom!” he laughs unconvincingly before urging her to leave the corridor and forward the message.

He knocks on the door. “(Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

His heart lightens at the sound of your voice coming from all the commotion. “I, uh…”

He wanted a chance to at least look at you to see if you were properly fitted for the part before the ball. “I unfortunately have to go down to meet my brother, so I won’t be able to escort you like I promised… but I’ll meet you down there once you’re down!”

There’s a brief pause before you ask, “You’re not coming with me?”

He swears the mild disappointment in your voice is enough to break him whole. “I can’t, I’m so sorry. But both Milly and Meryl know what to do, I’m putting them in your care!”

Vash begins to dart out of the corridor before he pauses and quickly walks back up to Milly, and in a hushed tone, reminds her, “And please… do not forget about my gift to them.”

Prince!Nai hears his name being called aloud from the right side of the ballroom. His silver eyes meet deeper azure ones in sweet relief, before becoming unamused again at the sight of his brother’s hair all tousled, his sash not properly seated across his chest, and his crown sat improperly atop his head.

“Where were you?” Nai mutters to him before fixing the brooch on Vash’s collar. “Everyone was asking about your whereabouts?”

“Ouch!” Vash exclaims when Nai tightens his collar. “On the toilet. I think I had too much to eat for lunch, haha.”

Nai only looks at him with mild disgust. “No matter,” he waves off. “The fact is that you’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

Nai’s next few minutes are filled with him commemorating the ball to the currently present guests, thanking them for taking time out of their schedules to celebrate such a festivity with him and letting him host such a regal event. He etches on a fake smile to the people below him, making it subtly known of his position above them on the leveled flooring by refusing to greet them from down below and making them come to his feet.

The last few guests are still flocking in by the time the first couple of dances start, and Nai can’t help but eye Vash’s fidgeting and consistent scanning of the ballroom floor. He watches as Vash’s eyes go to dart at the clock while bouncing on his heels—biting his lip in what seems to be a foreign anticipation of sorts. Nai is about the question if he was alright, seeing as how nervousness was an extremely rare face that his brother would put on until when Vash’s eyes return to the dance floor. They no longer bounce about the crowd but instead, fixate on a specific sight that makes his jaw drop slightly. But when Nai attempts to share the same sight, Vash beelines down to the dance floor, Nai’s shouts of his name falling deaf to his ears.

He hesitates to follow him, but his foot stops in place and almost enables him to move. Before becoming paralyzed at the sound of his name being called by one of the royal advisors. Nai snaps at him to leave him be, glaring at the man and making the advisor stiffen and scurry away, but when he returns his eyes back to the dance floor, Nai almost loses sight of his twin just before he spots him weaving through the dancers thanks to his bold red suit.

“Vash!” His eyes follow him until Vash slows towards something—no, someone that Nai can’t see thanks to his brother’s broad build. He grits his teeth, almost losing his composure at his brother’s hyperactiveness.

His tension suddenly seems to ease itself when Vash finally moves out of view to reveal what had gotten him so worked up.

Prince!Vash looks at you breathlessly, eyes wide and an open-lipped smile gazing down upon you as you stare up at him.

“You look…” he scans your complete appearance ever so carefully, savoring every detail.

The flecks of the lights given by the chandelier embellish you in a soft spotlight. Adorned in a shimmering, celeste blue ball gown bespeckled with diamonds that had made everyone around gaze at you in wonder, Vash bit his lip—the color suited you a little too well for his liking. Elbow-length silk gloves snaked their away around arms that were usually shielded with soil-stained gardening gloves, and instead of a wide-brimmed sun hat like you usually wore that hid your face and hair from view, your hair was neatly done and atop your head settled not a sun hat, but a jeweled tiara with matching earrings and a choker that opened up your painted face.

Normally, you do not get a lot of eyes following during the daytime when you’re in your usual outerwear. But Vash can’t help but feel weary when he sees people eye you with curiosity and admiration in your current attire—some part of it wants to believe that it’s only because you’re talking with him, but all their attention is on you, like his own.

When Vash doesn’t finish his sentence, you worriedly fidget with the itchy material. “Do… Do I look weird?” you inquire with no self-security in your voice. “Is it too flashy—”

“No!” Vash shouts a little too loudly, gaining a couple of stares and raised eyebrows around him. “You look…” he swallows thickly, attempting to find better words to describe your appearance, but all that weakly chokes out is, “beautiful. Incredibly beautiful.”

A heat rushes to your face before you softly smile. “Thank you. You look just as dashing tonight, my prince. Oh and uh,” you lift the skirt of your ball gown up slightly, just enough to reveal the beauty of a pair of iridescent, sapphire-dusted glass slippers that sparkle just like the crystals in the chandelier above the ballroom. “Thank you for the gift. Your goodwill is valued greatly.”

He can’t help the bashful smile that creeps onto his lips; it feels like he was just complimented by a divinity themselves. “I-I hope it’s to your liking, and I tried my best to guess your shoe size. Are they too tight? Too large? I can quickly ask for a replacement pair if—”

You hold your gloved hand up to pause his rambling, lips curling into a soft smile. “They’re the perfect fit, my prince.”

Relief floods Vash, and he lets out a dramatic breath that makes you laugh from his antics. The young prince then reaches his hand out towards you, moving aside to let you take a better look at what you desired most—the elegance of a ballroom floor.

“Well then, shall we dance?”

Prince!Nai breathes in sharply as he sees a stranger take his brother’s hand—so sharply it stings his nose, not enjoying how the stranger touches Vash so unbelievably casually. It doesn’t help his case when he doesn’t recognize who the stranger was in the snowy blue ball gown despite him knowing nearly every single person in the ballroom. He first wonders why Vash knows them, then he second guesses himself and asks why they know Vash seeing as how the conversation between the two was friendly—a little too friendly.

He’s brushed with a sense of familiarity, almost. The air feels thinner.

He stares at the two as Vash helps them onto the dance floor, where the stranger seems to already be stumbling over their own two feet. Nai can recognize a face of worry anywhere, and it’s currently plastered on their visage—pursed lips, wide eyes, he’s seen every form of it from the palace’s workers when he’s around.

Another conversation busies itself between them and Vash… and it almost looks like he’s giving the stranger instructions on how to waltz properly. From the looks of it, the stranger seems to be some sort of a viscount or baron, judging from how particularly young they were… but what sort of noble doesn’t know the basics of a waltz? Nai’s brows furrow, his ears drowning out everyone else who tries to receive him in concentration between the two particular individuals on the dance floor.

“Legato,” he chants, his eyes not leaving the two when the stranger accidentally seems to step on Vash’s foot, making them both exclaim in surprise, a short burst of laughter between the two quickly following. “Who is that dancing with Vash? The one in blue.”

“Hm?” his royal secretary looks up from his clipboard and squints at the stranger stiffly dancing. He squints. “I’m not… too sure, your majesty… I don’t think I can recall them on the invitation list.”

“Perhaps a trespasser?” Nai mutters to himself, poorly attempting to hide his horror. It was not uncommon for those not under noble titles to attempt to sneak into festivities they were not allowed into, though they had never made it particularly far. How dare a lowlife commoner sneak onto royal property and seduce his brother?! What sort of things or favors could the stranger possibly want from the royal prince? The thought of his more naive sibling being taken advantage of by a mere villager makes Nai’s blood boil hastily. “Bring them to me at once.”

Prince!Vash looks at you with a partiality embedded into his eyes, watching as your own fleet over the beauty and articulation of the ballroom’s interior and marveling at the people decorated in fancy clothing. Joy is plastered all over your face, even though you’d never admit it.

“How do you take the ball so far?” Vash asks quietly as he gently picks you up on a strengthened beat, settling you down easily. He can hear the clink of your glass slippers being set on the dance floor softly, like two champagne flutes toasting together.

“It’s all I ever could’ve dreamed about,” you sigh happily. “Thank you again, I truly do appreciate it.”

“I thought I could use the company,” he laughs, “I haven’t run into any weird marquesses or dukes yet, so keep at—” Vash’s smile suddenly falls flat onto the floor at the sight of a familiar bluenette approaching your and his way, a sternness that replicates his elder brother’s on the royal secretary’s face. A nervous bob of his throat attempts to hide itself under his ascot. He can’t let his nerves get to him or you.

“Legato.”

“My prince,” Legato greets flatly, giving a poor bow that would be completely unacceptable under Nai’s eyes, “Your majesty requests you and your…” Legato’s narrow eyes trace your figure, his brow raising when you look away instead of greeting him. “... accompaniment at once. He would like to meet them properly.”

Vash’s spine freezes, and he can feel you stiffen as you grip his gloved hand a little tighter. “O-of course, we’ll be there in just a mo—.”

“He requests your presence, now.”

He and you can only anxiously follow Legato’s figure in the crowd, a worried glance from you meets his half-secured one, silently telling you, “Rest assured,”

Prince!Nai watches under stone-cold eyes as the mysterious stranger, Vash, and Legato come before him, all three of them bowing in respect to the future king.

“Vash,” Nai declares, making his younger brother look up, “Would you care to introduce me to… your companion?” he asks, not even attempting to acknowledge the stranger that stands idly beside him.

There’s a pregnant pause that skims through the thickened air between the three of them before Vash exclaims out in surprise and nods his head rapidly, a large smile (yet somehow doesn’t reach his eyes) plastered on his lips. “A-ah! Yes, of course!” Vash gestures to the person beside him.

Prince!Vash steps aside to introduce you properly, signaling to you that he will do most of the talking for you, giving Nai your given fake name. “They’re the child of a noble from the high court of the kingdom of Marche, and they’re coming on their father’s behalf since he has fallen ill.”

You curtsy to him out of respect, trying your absolute best to avoid the future king’s cold gaze looking down upon you. “It is such an honor to be invited to such a prestigious event, your majesty.”

Prince!Nai doesn’t reply to you, only letting out a soft grunt of semi-acknowledgement. His stare doesn’t break from you, though, still halfway convinced that you were who you said you were.

“Marche…” Nai mutters and tucks his chin in between his fingers. “Where is that on the map? I don’t recall such a kingdom.”

“It’s a rather small domain!” Vash exclaims hastily. “It’s up towards the northern hemisphere, so it’s almost entirely covered in snow—! All the way up to one’s knees!”

Nai’s eyes narrow. “And how exactly do you know that?”

Prince!Vash’s mouth suddenly pools with regret at what he said. Words get caught up in his throat and his mouth hangs open like a fish.

“Prince Vash was so kind enough to send food and supplies to our kingdom after we were hit with a sudden blizzard,” you interrupt. “Our kingdom thanks him charitably for such generosity.”

The older Saverem turns to look at Vash with a hardened look on his face. “When was this? Why was I not made aware of it?”

“You were too busy with leveling out the war between Augusta and Mei-City during the time,” Vash continues, “I didn’t want to make things worse since you were so stressed, so I decided to take matters into my own hands with Marche.”

Prince!Nai’s irritation seems to grow more and more with the passing seconds that he’s in close proximity with you. He finally takes a step down from the pedestal that sits viewing the ballroom and lifts your chin up with his gloved hand—examining your features. Something about you seems too… retrospective.

Nai thinks it’s too loose of a term.

His face scans your weary eyes, your painted, warbling lips, the slope of your nose, the crease of your eyes… he can’t quite place his finger on it, but your face doesn’t only look familiar, but feels familiar, as well, as if the shape and angles of it mimic someone else. It frustrates him that he just doesn’t know who. All he knows is that you are not worthy of the tiara placed atop your head because it looks too strange… too foreign on you.

“You remind me of someone,” he murmurs as he changes the angles of your face with his hand whilst brushing your bottom lip with his thumb. “Someone I know. Someone I’ve seen before.” His voice goes criminally soft, so quiet that only you’re able to detect the poison in his voice that stings you with disarray.

You step back a little too rashly. “I have… rather the common face, your majesty,” you excuse with a tight throat.

“I see.” The future king continues to study your features for a few more seconds before almost thrusting your face away from him—you draw a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding as you attempt to regain your balance. Returning his attention to Vash, he merely states, “I’d hate to spoil your fun for tonight, brother. I hope that you and… your company… enjoy yourselves,” before brisking off stiffly somewhere else, most likely somewhere he can quietly watch you two with watchful eyes.

Prince!Vash notices your shaken-up disposition and places a hand on the small of your back to let yourself breathe properly when you and him head back to the floor. “Are you okay?”

You nod, but your eyes warble with a curtain of glass over them. Vash thins his lips and briefly apologizes again, per usual, for his brother’s antics, attempting to ease you with excuses of how he’s always like that towards people he didn’t know and he’s just too overprotective of him.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come,” you choke out, pacing a bit forward. “I should probably leave before he really confirms something—”

“No! Don’t!” Vash abruptly grabs your hand and forcefully turns you around to face him before you can escort yourself out the ballroom you had been in for less than half an hour. He had done too much effort for you to be here, it’d be too much of a waste of time (and money!) if you left so early.

Your eyes widen at his rashness, blinking owlishly.

“I-I mean… there’s still a lot of time left… and I could really, reallyyy use the company,” Vash pleads and grips your hand a little tighter while he waltzes you onto the ballroom with him. “I promise I won’t let him near you without me,” he softly whispers before the large crescendo from the orchestra.

“Just follow my lead.”

Prince!Nai watches from the corner of his eye as he talks amongst different dukes and earls about the latest news regarding the seven kingdoms, not exactly picking up on their words like he usually does considering his mind was displaced somewhere else that needed his attention more desperately than political scandals.

He bounces about the ballroom, going from individual to individual in hopes to try and get a better glimpse of Vash and the seemingly uninvited guest from “Marche.” It wasn’t too difficult considering the blue gown you were wearing on the dance floor was eye-catching, but the other people in the crowd made it much too difficult to get an unblocked view of you. Vash doesn’t seem to be letting go of your side, either, unwilling to move more than a couple of meters away from you even as he talks amongst others.

“Livio, what do you know of a kingdom by the name of ‘Marche?’” Nai asks his bodyguard.

The half-masked man turns to him, confused. “I have never heard of such a nation, my prince.”

Nai is half-convinced. Livio had never been all the best at book smarts, let alone geography, so he turns to the embodiment of his second brain, asking the same question. Legato chuckles darkly, clutching something behind him. “I checked the historical archives a few minutes ago, and you would be quite intrigued as to what I had found, your highness.”

Legato shows him a torn-out, faded map of the seven cities, subcities still etched onto it…

… minus the addition of a particular northern region.

“There is no such nation under the title of ‘Marche’, your highness,” Legato says, a smirk sneaking onto his lips. “Your suspicions were right. That person besides Prince Vash… is a fraud.”

Prince!Vash happily dips you down just before the exuberant song played by the orchestra ends, making you yelp in surprise before laughing aloud with him at his sudden caper. He pulls you up again with ease and wipes the sweat of his brow. “Probably the best song they’ve played so far!”

“Indeed,” you sigh out as you fan yourself. You never expected a ballroom to become rather stuffy—or perhaps it was the constant dancing you had been doing for the past couple of hours that caused you to become so flushed. “I’m going to get some air outside before I pass out, is that okay?”

Vash, completely forgetting the vow he had made to you at the beginning, nods and tells you he’ll be close by to grab some refreshers and leaves you to your own accord. “Don’t take too long! The final dance is about to begin!”

A soft laugh escapes your lips, nodding before you whisk away to the chilled air of the garden. The night is young—you’ve never felt more alive than you did now. Perhaps you did make the right decision to tag along with the young prince this evening, since starting tomorrow, you would no longer be able to experience the joyous experience of tonight and would have to go back to tending to the garden that you walk about in. A statue honoring the late queen Rem sits in the center of it all, and it gazes upon you with a familiar gentleness. The moon is set high and it smiles down upon you as you breathe fresh air into your lungs again as you settle onto a stone bench that sits in front of the statue, watching as the nocturnal wildlife in the garden play and prance.

A rabbit peers at you from underneath a rose hedge curiously, mimicking your actions as you tilt your head at it. You fight the urge to let out a coo before you motion it towards you, you’ve always had somewhat of a knack with animals. It slowly reveals itself and prances toward you with its eyes mirroring the moonlight before it scurries away when a looming shadow approaches you from behind, obviously frightened.

“I take it you’re enjoying yourself quite well tonight,” Prince!Nai declares behind you.

Startled, you let out a soft cry of surprise before you turn around and face austere, glacial orbs that belong to the one and only future king of JuLai. Your heart pulses—already having a sneaking suspicion of why such a prestigious royal figure was isolated with you in the lone garden.

“Y-your highness,” you answer weakly, knees about to give out as you stand on weak legs. You aren’t sure whether the ache from your calves is because of all the dancing or because of the nerves.

“How is the ball?” Nai questions whilst he circles around you like a hawk around its prey. You can only stand so still as you look straight ahead, not daring to look into those eyes. “Is it to your liking? I hope the music fairs nicely, I picked it out myself.”

Clutching onto the fabric of your gown, you nod compliantly as you continue to avoid eye contact. “You have… great taste in music, my prince.”

“Why, thank you,” he replies, a confidence he exudes casually distinguished in his voice. “How is the food? The pastries are not too sweet?”

“Not at all, your highness…” Your nerves slowly begin to freeze over the more laps Nai does around you, caging you in an invisible rope as his eyes never leave your figure, the same eyes that were used to examine you much too closely.

“That’s good, that’s good,” he mumbles. “Tell me, what foods do you usually have in Marche? I have a particular sweet tooth, are there any desserts you’d recommend me if I were to… take a visit there?” he stops pacing and settles himself in front of you, his aura wading off nothing but dominance. “To just check up on how the state of it is, you know. That must’ve been a terrible blizzard, I’m sure.”

The inked sky hides your heated sweat, but doesn’t hide your chest rapidly going up and down and your breath betraying you. It falls too short. “There’s…” your words get mixed up, voice going soft. “There’s a cake th-that we eat annually during the celebration of the… the…”

Nai cocks a brow, tilting his head almost coyly to the side. “The…?”

“The… anniversary of the war against the neighboring kingdom we won a few decades ago,” you complete with little confidence.

“Oh?” Nai’s eyes narrow, a subtle smirk snaking on his lips. “Which kingdom?”

You can feel your voice begin to fail you. Eyes darting around for a familiar tuft of straw blonde hair and a dashing red suit, you don’t seem to spot anyone else in the garden except for you and the future king.“I… I can’t seem to recall, your highness, my apologies…”

He chuckles and comes to your aid all of a sudden and answers for you, instead. “I recall Augusta having conflict with a certain kingdom in my history books, perhaps it was them, then?”

A haughty laugh and nod sneaks their way past you without second thought. “Y-yes! Augusta—! I’m honored to say that we were able to triumph over them, despite a rather tough beating—”

“Liar.”

A thick pause goes through the garden before it’s broken by the sudden loud gong of the palace clock, alerting the stroke of midnight was upon you.

“P-pardon?” you hesitantly ask, turning your head up to the prince before your nerves completely freeze over and paralyze you in your spot at the sight of his ice cold eyes piercing straight into you.

Prince Nai slowly steps towards you, his sullen countenance never faltering. “Augusta… is located in the southwestern hemisphere, where there is nothing but dry land and deserts for iles. I do not think that such a land would be neighboring a kingdom where a blizzard devastated it.”

Your breath hitches. Vash is nowhere to be found, no matter how hard you look around you, and you are much too far away from the ballroom courtyard to see anyone else that can come to your rescue. Not even the animals of the night seemed to appease you with their presence, leaving you entirely to your own devices in the hands of the future king of one of the most powerful kingdoms on the planet.

“I—must’ve gotten my facts mixed up,” you choke out, feeling the air around you become thinner and thinner with each step Nai takes. “W-was it Augusta? Oh no… it was Dec—”

“December," he starts, his voice knowing. "was perished in an avalanche more than two centuries ago,” Nai interrupts, as he circles behind you. “Nothing, no one remains there except ruin,” he murmurs into your ear, his breath sending shrills up your spine.

His foot goes to step onto the fabric of your gown, making you fall over backwards and prey to his wrath. Your lip trembles as he looms over you with his broad build. You second-guess your thoughts from minutes earlier, the blood from your heart pumping into your ears all too loudly.

You should’ve never accepted Vash’s invitation.

You should’ve never put on those beautiful, gifted glass slippers.

You should’ve never given into temptation.

“So now, tell me why…” his voice drops to a poisonous whisper when he crouches beside you. “I also was not able to locate Marche on a recent map.”

His actions repeat from earlier, but this time, they have too much force and strength. Nai grabs your chin almost painfully and ignores your cries of pain when he squeezes your jaw between his hand, forcing you up on your feet to look up at him.

“Y-your highness—”

“You’re a fraud,” Nai declares venomously. “A fake, a trespasser, and a criminal who wants to squeeze every living cent out of my brother, yes? Tell me, you pest…” his grip on your jaw tightens so harshly, you’re frightened that your cheeks, now beginning to stain with pained tears, will bruise from his fingers and your attempt at prying his fingers off work to no avail. You’re frightened that your teeth will squeeze out of their cavings from the strength of his grip. “What did you want from Vash? Money? Jewels? Or did you wish to harm him in the work of another kingdom? Are you a spy? Answer me, snake.”

Your rapid shakes of your head do not convince Nai that you aren’t a threat at all, only making his hand that grips your jaw go to your throat. “I am none of th-those…”

“Liar!” Nai thunders, his voice booming throughout the garden as he draws his sword from his hip and places it aside your throat, the prick of the blade grazing your skin. Nai’s eyes wind with malice as your gaping ones that tangle with fear stare straight at him. “Tell me the truth or face a fate worse than death it—”

“Nai! Let go of them!”

Prince!Vash goes to sprint towards you from the entrance of the palace’s courtyard. Nai drops you out of shock and your fight or flight instincts finally begin to kick in when your nerves thaw from the shock.

You watch for another split, merciful second as Vash quickens in pace, but he’s still much too far to reach you in time. As you get up, your slippers barely supporting your weight, fatigue is beginning to kick in much too early. The muscles in your limbs ache and suddenly feel all too heavy for your liking, but with a final burst of strength given to you by an unknown will, you manage to get away from his grasp by shoving him. The strength shocks both you and him, however, and launches you straight backwards into the stone statue of the late queen. You can only watch in horror as it lands forward, shattering into little pebbles of cobblestone.

The impact of the statue of Rem Saverem knocks you down to your feet again, as well as Prince!Nai, and he uses your disposition to his advantage before you can start your getaway. His hand determinedly locks around the heel of your slipper as he hisses out, “You… are not going anywhere, trespasser.”

“Please—!” you cry out as you tug with all your strength from his grip, vision blurring from the tears that rim around your eyes. “I meant no harm!”

Another wave of strength fueled by adrenaline rushes through your body and through the fatigue, through the fear, through the horror of it all, you manage to slip your foot away from your slipper before finally sprinting away.

Prince!Nai begins to get up and chase after you until he’s tackled shockingly by Vash, forcing the two into a wrestling fight on the dirt. Nai shouts at him to let go and chase after the trespasser, with Vash retaliating with a firm decline and holding him down to the best of his abilities whilst taking in the kicks and punches and insults Nai forces upon him. Unwillingly, he blows a punch to Nai’s gut and Nai spits out a mixture of blood and saliva, doubling over on the garden floor that’s now littered with trashed petals of flowers and speckles of stone and marble because of two.

The head of Queen Rem Saverem’s eyes glisten up at them almost disappointingly in the moonlight.

Vash staggers up slowly, limping from the scratch marks his elder brother clawed into his leg. He glares at his brother through a black eye. “They said it themselves, they meant no harm!”

“Who were they, Vash?!” Nai cuts in, glaring up at him. “If they meant no harm… who were they?!”

Prince!Vash can only look at Nai almost pityingly as his chest rises and falls. If he were to admit who you truly were… he knew for a fact Nai would have you exiled from the kingdom… or worse, executed entirely. He couldn’t let that happen—even with his excuses that he was the one that dragged you into this mess. His brother’s bias towards him could never be swayed.

He licks his lips, his eyes glancing at your minimizing figure in the distance.

“I…”

“Your highnesses!”

Prince!Nai and Prince!Vash look behind them to see Livio, Monev, and Legato rushing toward the two, all three appalled at the scene in the now-ruined portion of the garden and the sight of two dirtied princes with dirt and blood soiling them.

They do not have time to ask what on earth had happened, as Nai has already devised a plan to capture and punish the trespasser accordingly. His eyes fleet over to the crystal slipper clenched firmly in his fist, tightening it in his grasp more at the sight of it as a reminder of his failure to properly protect his brother from the lowlife that call themselves commoners.

“Tomorrow…” he heaves with a steady breath, his eyes darkening as he stares at the slipper, “Get every single young person in the kingdom into the palace and force this upon their foot.

“This…” He raises up the glass slipper for all of them to see. “... shall help us catch our criminal and punish them accordingly.”

“Nai—” Vash pleads through a bleeding lip. “Don’t!”

“Once you do find who suits the slipper,” Nai continues, before turning to where you ran off. His eyes bleed into your disappearing figure venomously before he picks up his sword and throws it at Legato’s feet.

“Bring them to me at once. Alive. I want to see them beheaded with my own two eyes.”

(a/n): hi again! i recently just watched the 2015 live action version of cinderella, and my, was it gorgeous. as the main inspo for this piece, i hope that the cinderella aspects were clear enough in this with my own twists to the story, since that was my main aim. i may include another part to this, maybe even turning it into a miniseries as a whole for all the nai lovers out there (i did him dirty here, sorry!!) because i myself want to include something for him, but i'll see how this piece does first and if anyone would be interested in a part ii to this.

other than that, thank you for reading, and reblogs are always appreciated :] !!

856 notes · View notes

purrpletiger · 8 months

Text

FRESH DRAWING GUIDE:

Hello everybody, I've come to give you all this absurd reference guide for drawing Fresh. yep. I decided to spend hours slapping this together.

If I got anything wrong or should add anything PLEEEASE lemme know! All ideas welcome!

If you want to see my "research" on this character, let me know in the replies, because there's so much to talk about with him and I'd love to do a character analysis or two, I couldn't put much about his personality or source posts in this because it's just a drawing guide!

Link to all the full images

Transcript and close-ups of the text on the image: (May be in a strange order)

Fresh was created by @loverofpiggies (CQ)

Main Outfit:

YOLO sunglasses

Backwards propeller cap

Pink Polo shirt

Crayola Jacket

Gold Tooth

SWAG fannypack

Convertible Zip-off pants

White Heelie shoes

Pink socks

He has thick eyebrows to emote! (The eyebrows are usually depicted with black hair but one human design has eyebrows that match the pink hair color!)

The bag says SWAG on it

His glasses say YOLO by default, but the letters can magically change mid-scene...

this design for Fresh is Tall, we dunno how tall but taller than CQ's Sans characters (or just Geno since he's literally sans undertale with some added steps). But his height is just his host's height sooo it can vary.

those (cyan and yellow) shoe details are on the innerside but not outerside

HE HAS HEELIES!

Pink glove cuffs!

his skateboard is inconsistent dont worry about it

Glasses Off:

The host's soul shows up in their left eyesocket

- The soul tends to look unstable (cracks & a sortve stroboscopic effect.. i couldn't think of a better word.) but not in some cases...

It doesn't have to be a white upside-down heart, that's just a reference to an undertale monster soul.

He has a purple substance full of little RADs that emanate from his eyesockets (when his sunglasses are off)

"The soul in Fresh's eyes CAN be cracked. That soul isn't his. it belongs to his host. And.... after a while.... things go bad for the host, and he needs a new one." -CQ

(example of soul with unstable effect with no cracks) (example of soul with cracks but lacking the effect)

The purple aura(?) can glow and emanate from the eyes when his glasses are on too

i miss this one design specifically. the colors and the SK8 OR B SK8 shirt were peak

I miss the SWAG necklace...

Fresh leaves a rainbow cloud of smoke when he "poofs". Either teleporting him and his host body somewhere or leaving his host behind.

Human Designs:

Fresh can possess humans too.

They all look physically different because they're different people that he's possessing.

Fresh can possess pretty much any body, but I thought I'd show the varied examples of humans anyway

Don't forget the orange jacket flaps! or his hat propeller!

I dunno what's up with the multicolor tongue thing. I think it was extra parasites in the host's mouth? I feel like it was scrapped at some point... but I could be wrong

FURBIES!:

Oh yeah, he also does this: (no image for the bat tho)

"I mean when he fights he pulls Furbies out of his magical fanny pack. takes out a wiffle bat. and hits the furby at his enemies.

And then the furby explodes in a blaze of glory." -CQ

Despite using some furbies as explosives, he seems to 'care' about and treat these two like precious babies:

This one is potentially named McFreshby The Fresh Furbrah (Fresh is mentioned to have one named that, and this is the only other furby he's been depicted with)

It can also do THIS: (roll its eyes back into a spookier look)

This is DJ FurBs. that's all i know about him

The REAL Parasite:

Fresh is actually this little parasite controlling a host body. (if you didn't know that why are you reading this post rn!?! but nah I love new Fresh fans, welcome!)

The main parasite is this purple one with the eyemouth and four(?) tendrils, the other colored tentacles are prrrobably Fresh's offspring (freshmageddon moment?) (I'm not actually sure, I'm just pretty sure they're not part of the main parasite but are parasite tentacles)

You can also see Fresh's five or more purple tendrils here stretching out all over his host's body

All art from CrayonQueen/@loverofpiggies

Reference guide made by PurrpleParrasite/@purrpletiger

pls suggest changes or additions if u have ideas!

That's all!

375 notes · View notes

wordsvomit101 · 12 days

Text

That awkward moment when you realized that your big bro got laid with the person you tried to kill.

Author Notes: Credits to @eternal_auditor & @jazeswhbhaven, I got this idea for this shameless worldbuilding headcanons for Heaven and Angels thanks to both of them and the latter's "Angel Bros Headcanons: Michael Flips" post. I also just want to write the scenario in general. Warnings: Raphael is a caution flag himself, depictions of violence, thoughts of brutalizing and eating someone (being directed at MC) by Raphael, a lot of name-calling from Raphael directed at MC

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

(Heaven - Time of Councils and Assemblies)

In the tranquil embrace of Heaven, evening descends like a gentle caress, casting a soft golden hue upon the timeless realm. As the radiant sun dips below the horizon of ethereal clouds, the celestial landscape is bathed in hues of pink, orange, and purple, creating a breathtaking tapestry of colors that stretches across the vast expanse of the heavenly domain. The sky is like a canvas painted lovingly by the hands of God, with the colors of a thousand sunsets, each stroke a masterpiece of divine artistry. The clouds, like celestial brushstrokes, dance across the canvas, their forms ever-changing, their edges illuminated with an ethereal glow.

Amidst the celestial splendor, angelic beings gracefully glide through the sky upon the archways of purest gold span the thoroughfares of Heaven, their graceful curves reminiscent of angelic wings in flight. Beneath these archways lie crystal atriums, their transparent walls revealing the celestial wonders of Heaven in all their resplendent glory. Their iridescent wings shimmer with divine light, flying gracefully as if they dance and pirouette in ethereal ballets, painting radiant trails of luminescence across the sky.

The lower-ranking angels engage in celestial chorales, their melodious voices intertwining in harmonies that resonate throughout the Heaven. The soaring soprano of archangels blends seamlessly with the velvety alto of cherubim, weaving a symphony that would uplift the soul and transport the listener to realms of pure bliss. The music reverberates through the celestial expanse, like a cosmic symphony conducted to worship the Almighty.

For middle-ranking angels, their beloved duty during the Pilgrimage to the Mount of Revelation to commune with their dear creator has to be despairingly pushed to merely Contemplation of Sacred Texts and attending to the Halls of Eternal Wisdom, a lesser, but an honorable duty nonetheless.

Even higher above, amidst ethereal spires and resplendent palaces that grace the heavenly expanse, angelic artisans toil diligently within the Halls of Artistry. Their deft hands sculpt magnificent statues and weave intricate tapestries, each a testament to the wonders of creation. They yearn for the day when their divine creator will bestow upon them a glimpse of their artistry, even a millisecond of recognition for their unwavering dedication to him would be more than enough.

While other angels tend to the flourishing celestial flora in the Gardens of Eternal Bliss. Radiant blooms burst forth in a splendor of colors, their petals shimmering with an otherworldly luminescence. The angels nurture these heavenly gardens with love and care, a single damage to a petal of these beautiful flowers is enough to have their heads roll to the disgusting pit of Hell, however making a mistake in God's favorite garden is an even bigger sin.

It is a mundane day for all of them.

Bang!

"Sir-!"

Creak!

"AAAAAA-!"

Crunch!

"I have yet to finish my prayer-!"

Snap!

However, it wouldn't be a normal day if there wasn't a Raphael brutally tearing and eating fleshes of every angel on his path to the Chamber of Divine Counsel to meet with other Seraphs. His blood-caked shoes thundering over polished marble as he swaggers through the vaulted corridors of Heaven, his crimson-smeared wings unfurling like banners of carnage. Red marred his short blonde hair and white attire. With each wrathful step, he leaves a trail of dismembered angel carcasses, their alabaster feathers floating like ethereal snowflakes in his wake. His crimson eye fully emits an aura of violence and fury.

Thump!

Bursting into the Chamber of Divine Counsel with enough force to make the office tremble, the room was bathed in an ethereal glow, and the other Seraphs present, Gabriel and Michael, sat in their resplendent chairs, their expressions inscrutable. Raphael's form, however, drenched in the gore of his victims, stood in stark contrast to the pristine surroundings. He only has one thought of personally feasting upon that purple hair wench's flesh when she is still alive and making her watch herself being devoured alive and cut off her tongue so she couldn't even voice out her pain.

"Why... Why is it always her...! That bitch!"

The pure white chairs, crafted from the finest celestial ivory, bore the brunt of his rage, splintering and crumbling under his kicks. Yet Gabriel and Michael, their faces devoid of emotion, paid him little attention.

"If you insist on throwing a tantrum, I implore you to do so in a realm more suited to such sorrowful displays. Hell would accommodate your temperaments more appropriately."

Michael stood tall over the intricately designed long table with a mindmap and countless brainstorming notes. Standing in a place Brother Lucifer used to stand in each council meeting. His glare locked on the furious blonde seraph before him. A frown, as if carved in stone, creased his handsome face, adding an air of solemnity to his prideful demeanor. Around his neck, a regal purple choker, embellished with ornate gold rings and shimmering gemstones, encircled his throat. At its center, a prominent gold ring held a solemn cross pendant, its gentle clinking accompanying his every movement.

In a swift motion, Michael tilted his head to the left, displaying effortless grace as he dodged the flying chair hurtling towards him at high speed. The chair collided with the wall, its impact leaving a deep dent in the panel, a testament to the force behind the throw.

"Shut that shitty mouth of yours! Maybe try to go down there yourself to ask why our dear brother is entertaining trash!" As Raphael spoke, his voice trembled with anger and frustration, his words dripping with venomous accusation. A few veins already popped on his crazed, striking appearance. Filled with unrepressed anger that led him to kill his spies who reported to him and fly from the dungeon up here.

Yet Michael continued to look at his notes, his face blissfully indifferent. His right hand continued to write on many of his papers on the white table.

"He has simply strayed from the right path."

Brother Lucifer’s footstep-less feet headed for the vile tiny red devil.

'Stop it.'

However, he couldn't say the same about his head. Memories he had been trying to wipe from his mind for years served only to haunt him. Taunting him of the gut-wrenching event more than a hundred years ago.

In the silence, pure white hands pushed through the grass and preciously held up the rotten red thing.

'Don't dirty your hands.'

His brother stroked that thing's body so softly with his hands so similar to how he once did with Michael's face. Those strong, beautiful hands that once held his face so tenderly to wipe his tears away. As he placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

'Brother...'

"I remain confident in my ability to guide him back to the right path."

His brother's hand was holding Michael’s ray of light. The light in Brother Lucifer’s hand had stopped in front of the disgusting beast's chest, unable to advance further. He was again protecting worthless things that didn't deserve his grace.

'Why did you save it?!'

When his brother finally stood before Michael on his third step, black energy, not white, began to flow from his body.

'No-NononononoNONO-'

From his beloved brother’s head, the gorgeous head of the Morning Star, bright red horns that were the same color as the vile thing that tempted him began to grow.

'Brother- Brother Lucifer please!'

"You shall witness it in due time."

"I love you, my brother. Which is why I will give you one last chance. Return."

Crack!

The force of Michael's left hand left a massive crack in the opulent crystal marble table that trailed down to the other end of it. Effectively bringing clarity back to Raphael as the blonde gazes at Michael's hard knuckle gripping the table painfully, ignoring the blood pooling down to the marble floor and further dirtying the former pristine chamber.

Michael's abrupt actions were met with an air of knowing silence from the two. It wouldn't be far-fetched if they possessed a secret understanding of his motivations that would elude outsiders.

"Hmph," a scoff rang out and pierced the silence of the room, originating from the slender man with platinum blonde hair seated to Michael's right. His face, though classically handsome with a pale complexion, remained stoic and emotionless, belying the arrogance that dripped from the single syllable he uttered.

"Then you better live up to those words."

Gabriel's lean was a graceful movement, his body sinking into the chair as if it were a throne. His arms crossed over his chest, the crisp white of his shirt contrasting sharply with the gleam of the gold chain that adorned his white jabot ruffle shirt. The fabric of his sleeves rustled softly against the delicate filigree, creating a symphony of subtle sounds that echoed through the silent room. His eyes, deep and enigmatic, surveyed the scene before him, his expression a mixture of amusement and quiet contemplation.

"Furthermore, even in his current state, Brother Lucifer still demonstrates a reverence for God. It is conceivable that his actions are merely a symptom of his yearning for God's divine presence."

In this timeless realm, where Gabriel proudly proclaims to reign supreme as the epitome of seraphic obedience, there exists but one for whom he would willingly surrender his esteemed position: Brother Lucifer. The firstborn of God's creations, Brother Lucifer's devotion to his Maker surpassed all others, earning him the title of Morning Star. His brilliance illuminated the heavens, casting an unrivaled radiance that even Gabriel's wings could not obscure.

It was Brother Lucifer who instilled within the celestial choirs the rituals and observances that expressed their gratitude to the Almighty. Yet amidst his unwavering piety, Lucifer adhered to a solitary discipline known only to himself. Only a select few had glimpsed this secret regimen, elusive even to those who had followed his every step for countless eons.

Solitary would not be said without Brother Lucifer's name being attached to the word. He found solace in his own construction of hallowed sanctuaries. These Majestic Temples of Worship at odd places in Heaven served as his solitary refuge, where he could commune with the divine without the distractions of others. His devotion ignited a spark in other angels, who, inspired by his example, crafted Halls of Artistry. They sculpted countless colossal statues of the Almighty, their grandeur exceeding the limits of mortal imagination.

No one dared step one foot into his havens, they were for Brother Lucifer alone, and death would be upon those who broke that unspoken rule.

Yet there were times he allowed Gabriel to join him during Celestial Meditation in the secluded Garden of Eternal Reflection, a sacred sanctuary hidden deep within the heart of Heaven. Here, amidst the fragrant blossoms and tranquil pools, Brother Lucifer let Gabriel join his silent meditation and prayers. It was one of the highlights of Gabriel's day when his brother was still around.

"Not if he is messing with the descendant of Solomon."

Raphael's voice now had the former rage in it that reminded him of what he came here for, to be in these two insufferable presences. He could barely believe it when one of his spies uttered those words out of their useless mouth. That Lucifer? The Morning Star? His brother who despises Solomon as much as any other angel and the one that would bite another head off if they recklessly touched him even in the rendezvous night at the sacred Eternal Flame at the heart of Heaven where they allowed themselves to let loose for a bit?

It sounds fucking unbelievable, but when they show him a picture of that purple-haired vixen bumping parts with his brother, it sends him off the reels. He kills most of the spies and storms out of his favorite dungeon to here.

"Pardon?" Michael's mismatched eyes bulged, his neck creaking and twitching as he stared up at Raphael in a frenzy of incomprehension, his falsely composed display gone. The mere hint of the truth was liable to send the black-haired Seraph into a rampage and murder them all.

"Are you suggesting..." Gabriel's face, previously etched in stoicism, crumbled into a mask of horror. He couldn't believe the words that had escaped Raphael's lips, but he couldn't shake the realization that was slowly creeping upon him. He desperately wished that the words that came out of Raphael's mouth were nothing more than a cruel jest, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.

"I said, he's with the descendant of Solomon, that purple-haired harlot...that traitor....that cheat- That tempting trash!"

It pissed Raphael off even more as he raised his voice volume, veins now appearing on his throat, especially at the reminder of his text with that two-timer. The sheer self-satisfied energy radiating off his phone screen almost makes him fly down to Hell to choke that bitch until her brain pops out of her head himself.

"This is preposterous...impossible..." Michael's jaw hung slack, his eyes wide with disbelief as Raphael's accusations cut through the air like a madman who had just been cheated on. His normally steady stance faltered, replaced by a palpable sense of hysteria that made his body tremble. He stumbled backward, his back colliding with the cold, unforgiving wall as if seeking solace from the onslaught of emotions that threatened to consume him. The wall provided no comfort, its smooth surface a stark contrast to the turmoil raging through his body.

"I'm not joking. I heard her talking about Lucifer, his scar, his... 'thing'," The mere mention of his beloved brother's private part sends shivers down his spine as his voice quivered. The thought of that conniving bitch taking full advantage of the trust Brother Lucifer had placed in her made his blood boil with simmering rage. And that she dared to go against her promise to him as if those moments they shared in the poisonous sky of Hell meant nothing.

"She knows his exact measurements!- You know what, look at this shit yourself!" With a resounding slam that echoed through the room like a thunderclap, he unveiled the damning evidence: a collection of photographs frozen in time, capturing moments of intimate interaction between Lucifer and the individual in question.

The images fell upon the table with a heavy thud, causing the fragile surface to tremble under the weight of their revelation. Despite the force of impact that threatened to shatter the fragile table beneath them, the pictures remained intact, their unspoken truth radiating from their glossy surfaces like a painful revelation begging to be acknowledged.

Michael's face contorted with a ghastly twitch as if he were attempting to conjure laughter, but the sound that escaped his lips was more akin to a hollow echo in the thick, suffocating atmosphere. "Shut up," his mind struggled to piece together the unthinkable truth that lay sprawled before him like a macabre revelation. Denial, a feeble shield against the onslaught of evidence, crumbled before the weight of reality, leaving him quaking.

"I swear before Thrones of Heavenly Majesty I will make her rue the day she even touched him. She corrupted him and brought him over to the side of temptation. God would never-" As Gabriel's solemn vow echoed through the room, the air crackled with the intensity of his conviction, thick with the gravity of impending retribution for the sinner.

His words struck a nerve, exacerbating Michael's fraying composure. The gravity of the situation bore down upon him like a suffocating weight, his anger bubbling to the surface in fervor.

"FUCKING SHUT UP! IT'S NOT REAL! IT'S NOT REAL!" Michael's voice cracked with anguish and insanity, his outburst sending shockwaves through the chamber. In his distress, the chamber was engulfed in an inferno, casting eerie shadows that danced upon the walls. In the distance, the echo of Michael's despair mingled with the desperate prayers and curses of those trapped within the blazing office. The once-orderly chamber had become a scene of utter chaos and destruction.

"O, Almighty Creator," Gabriel's voice trembled with urgency, his words a fervent entreaty to the absent God above. "Grant us clarity in this hour of darkness, illuminate our path with Your divine light."

Meanwhile, Gabriel's attempts at prayer offered little solace as he grappled with the implications of Raphael's revelations.

His murmurs grew more frantic with each passing moment, a desperate attempt to find solace in the face of unsettling truths. "Guide us through this tempest, O Lord, for we are adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Let Your wisdom be our compass, and Your mercy our salvation."

But despite his fervent appeals, only shrieks and flames answer back, echoing throughout Heaven from the burning chamber they're in.

"She said she'd only do that with me..." Raphael’s voice cracked with bitterness, each word laced with venomous resentment. His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to contain the seething anger threatening to consume him whole. "...she lied...she lied..."

The weight of betrayal hung heavy in his heart, suffocating him with its oppressive presence. Raphael's chest heaved with each labored breath, his heart aching with the sting of betrayal. "Fucking cheater..." His words dripped with venom, the bitterness of betrayal poisoning his soul.

With a primal snarl, Raphael's control shattered like glass, shards of rage cutting deep into his consciousness. He lashed out blindly, his teeth sinking into the flesh of a passing stupidly brave angel that came to check on the three Seraphs, the taste of blood a bitter reminder of his own foolishness.

"I hate her..." The words escaped his lips in a guttural growl, each syllable dripping with raw fury. His grip tightened around the angel's trembling form, nails digging into flesh as he sought to vent his pent-up rage on an unwitting victim.

"I'm not sloppy seconds..." Raphael's voice cracked with rage, his crimson eyes ablaze like a firestorm. He tore into the angel's flesh with savage ferocity, his actions a grotesque display of his inner turmoil. "...I'm no side bitch!"

Boom!

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

"Hm?", in the dim recesses of his grandiose office, Lucifer, who was engrossed in his craftsmanship of carving the statue of the divine, lifted his gaze from his artistic endeavor by the sudden but subtle yet discernible disturbance in the island above the sky of Hell.

His pure white eyes shimmered with an otherworldly glow. Despite the plaster and pigments that adorned his once-pristine garments save for his bloody back that had his broken wings. His form radiated a timeless beauty, marred only by the grim expression on his handsome visage.

The sensation he felt was like a creeping up from above, like a ripple in the placid waters of a celestial lake.

'What are those three getting angry at right now?'

Raon, who was perched upon the plush velvet couch that adorned his office, her tall form immersed in the pages of an ancient tome, looked up swiftly at Lucifer's voice, a rare occurrence after hours of silence.

Once she raised her gaze from the text, her curious eyes meeting Lucifer's form with silent inquiry. Normally, she would wait until Lucifer is willing to tell her what is on his mind, but currently, she is bored and needs a break after reading several magic grimoires Lucifer gave her and practicing with them for almost a whole day.

'Let's just hope he will at least give me a short answer.'

"Um, Lucifer, is there something wrong?" Raon's voice, soft and tentative, carried a note of concern as she awaited his response, her gaze fixed unwaveringly upon him.

Lucifer's answer was measured, his words carrying the weight of foreboding. "I feel there's a disturbance. There would be a storm soon," he left out the part that it was most likely his brothers being angry about something again.

"Is it related to the angels?" Yet the young woman still managed to catch onto the hidden message, her question not directed at ordinary angels but at his brothers as she nervously tightened her grip on her grimoire.

Lucifer nodded solemnly. "Very likely," he confirmed. His gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon but his voice relaxed to ease the lady's tension as he contemplated the unfolding events in the celestial realm.

"Oh, then I will get back to my training-", with a subtle shift of his form, he turned his attention back to Raon, his gaze meeting hers with a serene intensity as he stood up to clean himself with a swipe of his finger. He tidied himself with a cleaning spell and put his tools and statues back into their orderly places without doing so himself physically—a casual display of his magic that Raon wishes to get to one day.

"It's fine," Lucifer assured her, his tone gentle yet authoritative. "Let's take a rest. Care to join me for a walk to the observatory room?" Quietly, he held out his right arm for her to hold on to if she wanted to accompany him.

Raon's heart fluttered at the invitation, her breath catching in her throat as she struggled to contain her excitement. "Really? I-I mean, of course! Please lead the way." Her words spilled forth in a rush of eagerness, her eyes shining with anticipation as she rose from her seat and she excitedly but carefully walked over to Lucifer's spot.

As Raon raised her gaze, a silent query lingering in her eyes, she studied the handsome devil's countenance for the slightest hint of unease. Finding none, she shyly reached out and clasped his arm, a silent agreement passing between them. Together, they embarked on a leisurely stroll, the pace unhurried yet purposeful.

Lucifer, typically swift in his movements, slowed his steps to accommodate Raon, pausing whenever she expressed a desire to linger and marvel at the exquisite white blossoms that adorned Paradise Lost, a sight reserved only for the privileged few. The air was filled with a sense of tranquility and reverence as they meandered through the garden, each step bringing them closer to their destination, yet allowing them to savor the beauty that surrounded them. Unbothered by the chaos that is currently exploding in Heaven.

#what in hell is bad #whb #whb worldbuilding #whb michael #whb gabriel #whb raphael #whb lucifer #whb mc #minors dni #these 3 are so silly/jk #i will act like the christmas event didn't happen and just let mc girlbossing in another way #let homegirl be magical #lucifer is literally God's first fan boi #guess who these three got there habits from #it would be funny if lucifer was the wild one that contain himself to be a role model to his brothers but it failed anyway #they still love him tho and that is all it matter

128 notes · View notes

fullmoonandstar · 2 months

Note

Raphael going to a noble party of some kind, disguised as a human, in order to find and schmooze with current and potential clients. While engaging with one such individual who seems particularly taken with him, from across the room he spots Tav, for once not dressed in adventurer's gear but decorated with finery. The Hero of Baldur's Gate is so radiant that, at a glance, one could be forgiven for mistaking the mortal as an angel in disguise. However, like the cambion, Tav also has noble-born partygoers vying for the adventurer's attention, asking (and more often than not being granted) a dance with the hero, and perhaps gossip of nobles approaching the hero with dowry proposals and attempts at wooing this illustrious guest begin to reach the fiend's ears.

*Drops this and runs away*

Evening among Wolves

Raphael x afab!Reader Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Rating: R Word count: 2.4 k CW: 2nd person pov, vaginal sex, desk sex, mentions of drinking

My Masterlist

The dress pinched in all the wrong places, and you shifted your weight with a stiff smile plastered on your face. How did noble women survive a whole evening in these shoes? They forced your toes into an unnatural position, and the pain was slowly giving way to numbness. The young man across from you blatantly stared at every centimetre of exposed skin, and you looked away, a ball of emotion forming in your gut. There were only three things that were good about now, the elegant way your hair was pinned up, the smell of the perfume you had put on and the drink in your hand.

The woman next to you was only marginally at hiding her stares than the other son of a noble across from you. You had been swarmed the moment word had spread that the hero of Baldur’s Gate had arrived, and you have been stuck in conversations for what felt like an eternity. Any battlefield would be preferable to this pit of vipers. This may look like a party, but in reality this was a minefield, and you had to survive until the end of the night without being stuck in an arranged marriage or having started an all out war between the factions of nobility. Both of which were very real possibilities.

A shadow passed in the periphery of your vision and a warm hand hovered over your exposed back so close you could feel the warmth but not touching. A velvety voice purred in your ear: "Good to see you again, little mouse."

Your head snapped in his direction, and your eyes confirmed your ears. Raphael hovered over your shoulder, and he flashed a smile at you before turning to the irritated nobles.

"I hope you don’t mind, dearest lords and ladies, but we have some urgent business to attend to."

The nobles in the circle grumbled, and all eyes were on you. What was he doing? You looked up into the devil’s handsome face, one eyebrow raised with the same question as everyone else. This was a way out. These nobles were irrational in their whims, at least with Raphael you knew what you had to expect.

"Yes, of course," you smiled stiffly. Raphael gestured to the left and you followed. He left the ballroom into the hallway where the crowd was noticeably thinner, and you took a deep breath. The atmosphere in there had been suffocating you.

You followed Raphael around a corner and up some stairs.

"I don’t think we’re supposed to be here." you warned.

"Since when has that stopped you?" he shot back but smirked.

"Fair enough."

He stopped in front of a door, and you heard a click before Raphael pushed the door open. It looked like a library, but Raphael didn’t stop in the room but opened the door to the balcony. The lights of Baldur’s Gate lay beneath, and the sound of the party downstairs wafted up. You just had to smile at the view over your home. The citizens had worked hard to rebuild in the past year, and soon the city would be back to former glory.

You glanced to the side where Raphael was leaning on the baluster looking out over the city. The black clothes were embroidered with gold and red, and he looked the more like nobility than all the people downstairs. You had never told anyone about the way your stomach twists when you look at his face, they would call you mad and they would be right. Raphael was in the business of charming people out of their souls, and given the status he had risen to despite being half mortal, he was exceptionally good at it.

"If you stare at me any longer, you might burn a hole in my face." he taunts softly.

Your face instantly burned with embarrassment, and you focus on the city again.

"Do you know why I’m so effective at what I do, pet?" he asked.

Because you bamboozle people with your charm? You thought, but out loud you said: "You talk a lot."

A soft laugh tickled your ear and you stiffened. Your whole body tingled with how close he was to you, and you felt stupid for the warmth that spread between your legs.

"I know exactly what everyone wants."

His fingers ghost over the exposed skin of your arms, and you hold your breath, waiting for his skin to make contact. It never comes. Raphael takes a step back and motions for you to follow.

The balcony leads to other rooms on this floor, and Raphael opens the door to one of them. A huge desk dominates the room and the high-backed chair rounded out the ensemble.

"Fielding's office." You breathed. "What are we doing here?"

Raphael stepped closer to the monstrosity of a desk and turned to you. In the faint light that fell in through the windows you could only make out his sharp ever so slightly lighter than the darkness behind him.

"I told you, little mouse, I know what you want."

You crossed your arms.

"And what’s that?"

"Let me paint you a picture." - you rolled your eyes, but Raphael continues -"Lord Fielding, one of the most influential people in Baldur’s Gate since Baldurean himself. He swayed the election of Gortash to become Archduke, he orchestrated the embargo 5 years ago that cost countless lives in and around the city. He does his best to keep the weak where they are, poor and dying, and widens the gap between them and his elite."

"Isn’t that right up your lane?"

A chuckle reached your ear.

"This is not about me." he said. "You hate him."

You didn’t argue with that.

"You want to get back at Lord Fielding, but doing anything drastic could make you plenty of enemies and plunge the city into chaos for the next decades."

"The evil you know," you said.

"Yes."

"So, what is your suggestion?" you ask.

"You can’t move against him, but that doesn’t stop you from doing something disrespectful." You could hear the smirk in his voice, even if you could not see it.

"And what has that to do with you?"

"I’m going to participate."

With a step, he entered your personal space, the smell of his perfume, sweet and spicy, tickled more than just your nose. You wished you could blame the drinks for the wetness that pooled in your underwear, but alas you could not. His fingertips ghosted over your cheek and leaving a trail of heat.

"What do you say?" he asked.

You didn’t understand what he was saying, you were too focused on the feeling of his hot skin against yours. Blood was rushing in your ears and your heart hammered in your chest as if you were an adolescent again. You swallowed heavy.

"What kind of disrespectful thing do you mean?"

His face was close enough that you could see his eyebrow creep up his forehead. Raphael pushed the chair to the side. His hand gently held on to your hip, and you followed as he manoeuvred you to stand between him and the desk. You yelped and grabbed the fabric at his chest as he lifted you up onto the free space on the desk and his hips touched your knees, but Raphael didn’t force himself between your legs. His hands rested on the sides of your thighs. Your heart beat in your throat and a warm wave rolled over you.

"I see." you said. His thumbs gently rubbed over the fabric that still covered your legs and waited for your answer. Fucking on Fielding’s desk was indeed disrespectful, but doing it with Raphael?

Every nerve in your body tingled with awareness, the heat from his skin sank into yours and boiled your blood with a need you only ever allowed yourself to feel at night when you were alone. Something had to be deeply wrong with you that you were so attracted to him, but your mind had no part in the decision your body made. You crossed your hands behind his neck and pulled him in, crashing your lips together. For a heartbeat, Raphael was frozen in place and a flash of anxiety and disappointment rushed through you. In the next moment, his hips pushed between your knees, and you spread your legs for him. The half hard erection pressed against your clothed core, and you gasped, the perfect opportunity for Raphael to slid his tongue into your mouth. He explored your mouth, mapping it out as if he wanted to commit it to memory. Heat was rising in your veins, and you tangled the fingers of one hand in his soft hair while the other slid down. Ever since the first time you had seen him, you had wondered how his body would feel like. The lines on his face made him look like a middle-aged human, and you had expected him to be a bit soft, but the chest under your palm was firm muscles.

A sharp pain in your lower lip drew a yelp out of your throat. Raphael had nipped at your lip while pulling back.

"You’re quite handsy, little mouse."

He took half a step back, and you managed not to whine in disappointment.

"I’m not leaving." The taunting tone could not cover up the reassurance in his words.

In the dim light you could not see what he was doing, and you wished you could light a candle in here, but if anyone saw the flame flicker under the door, your time alone with the devil of your dreams would be cut short.

His hands were back on your thighs and his hips between your legs. Your hands landed on his chest, but this time hot skin met your palms. Your legs twitched in response, and Raphael smiled against your cheek before his mouth moved along your jaw, leaving a trail of hot kisses.

His hips pressed into you and wrapped your legs around his waist.

"Someone’s eager."

His breath fanned over your pulse point and a shudder shook your body.

"Yes," you admitted, earning you a growl from Raphael. He pushed the skirt of your dress up your thighs, removing a barrier of fabric from between you two. His mouth moves along your collarbone, and for the first time that evening you were thankful for the low neckline. The biting and sucking only tightened the coil of your need, and you wanted nothing more than have him inside you. Your hands ran down the hard muscles of his body, reaching the ham of his trousers, and gingerly proceeded further. You held your breath as you traced the outline of him through the fabric, your mind spinning with the half moan, half growl that escaped his throat.

"I got the message." he pressed out between his teeth, his hip twitching into your palm once.

His hands found your underwear, you lifted your hips, and he pulled them down your legs. You hoped he didn’t just drop them on the floor for someone to find in the morning. He slid between your thighs again and your hands were on his trousers, ready to push them down. Raphael didn’t stop you.

His length was heavy and hot in your hands. The world shrank to the size of the space between you two, even the sounds of the party downstairs faded, and his rugged breaths were the only things you could hear. You could not think. The only thing you wanted was him inside of you, and it was within your power to make that a reality. You guided the tip to your entrance, and Raphael inhaled sharply.

His hand cupped your cheek, and he breathed: "Who knew you were so needy, pet?"

A flash of fear ran through you. What if he left you right now?

"I’m going to give you everything you want."

He pushed in with a single hard thrust, and you gasped at the sudden stretch. His hands grabbed your breasts and his hips set a slow, harsh rhythm. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you pressed your lips shut, trying not to make too much noise. Raphael’s hands kneaded your breasts just right, and you whimpered after a well-placed thrust, then his hands were gone. The thrusts cease coming, and he moves something behind you.

"What -?"

He pushed your back to the desk, and his strong hands loosened your legs from around his waist. His mouth left a trail of hot kisses from your knees to your ankles before holding, resting your legs against his body. The position made his length inside you feel even more of a tight fit, and he resumed his thrusts. Your nails scratched against the wood of the table, unable to do anything else while his hips collided with yours again and again. The pleasure in your body was like a kindling ready to ignite.

"Please." you breathed, not sure for what you were pleading.

Raphael chuckled and it sparked anger in you. You pushed your upper body up from the desk and snarled: "Don’t you dare laugh."

He planted a kiss on your ankle and let your legs fall open, leaning in until you felt his hot breath on your face.

"Don’t worry, my little mouse, I won’t tell anyone, you begged me to fuck you into oblivion."

You could only guess that there was a smirk on his face, and you let out a disapproving huff. He must have felt how close you were to just shoving him off you and leaving because his fingers slipped between your bodies and his lips caught yours in a heated kiss. His fingers stroked your sensitive clit in time with the stroke of his tongue, and his thrusts changed to a delicious angle. You moaned into his mouth, so close to breaking.

"You feel downright sinful, my dear, quivering around me."

His low voice made all the hairs on your body stand on edge. Your fingers grasp for him and your nails dig into his biceps. Your whole body tensed, so close.

"So strong, so powerful," he cooed, every thrust, every stroke of his fingers could be the one.

"But right now, you are mine, little mortal."

His breath fanned over your heated skin.

"Let go for me." he said, and you shattered.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #raphael x reader #raphael x tav #raphael the cambion #raphael bg3

113 notes · View notes

thesimline · 6 months

Text

It’s a dark and stormy October weekend, and the top crust of 1930s high society have gathered at the country manor of King Candy, a lauded and savvy business magnate. Alas, the high spirits of the weekend have been dashed - murder most foul, and this time it isn’t the butler who’s done it! In fact, he’s the unfortunate soul at the end of a gleaming gold dagger. Each suspect has their own clandestine motives, but which of their secrets was the sorry servant about to expose? The story continues under the cut…

URSULA

Once a highly regarded starlet of the theatrical stage, she longs for those bygone days of youth, beauty and fame. What depths would she be willing to plum in order to return to her glory?

GASTON

As a professional trophy hunter this playboy has the wealth, looks and notoriety that makes the ladies swoon. Even more so once they hear his seductive french accent. But will his bad boy image transform into a more beastly reputation once his violent past is exposed?

Hat | Hair (TSR) | Outfit | Socks (Base Game) | Shoes

JAFAR

With the latest fad for exotic home decor all the rage, his dealing in antiquities has created quite a kingdom of wealth. It’s even whispered among social circles that he promises to bring your dreams to life, but is he really just a snake in gentleman’s clothing?

MALEFICENT

With her snooty attitude and thorny personality, this old money socialite puts most people at ill ease, but will the 16 year long grudge against her nemesis be her ultimate downfall?

KING CANDY

Purveyor of fine confections and even sweeter business alliances, he has all his fingers in the preverbal pie. His eye is forever looking over his shoulder wondering which will catch up with him first - his passion for racing automobiles or his turbulent, mysterious past.

CRUELLA DE VIL

Rumours abound that her materials may come from nefarious sources, although that doesn’t stop the lauded designer’s fashions from flying off the racks. But is there a scandal just around the corner that threatens to dog her reputation?

With thanks to some amazing creators: @lamatisse @sentate @its-adrienpastel @jius-sims @hezzasims @softerhaze @serenity-cc @nucrests @qicc @candysims4 @delis-sims @madlensims

159 notes · View notes

annie-creates · 1 month

Text

What have I done

Pairing: Queen Ravenna x reader

Genre: angst

Words: 1200

Note: I'm back with some Ravenna angst, hope you'll enjoy it as much as I liked writing it.

For as long as you could remember you always lived at the castle of the king, your mother being one of his and his wife’s most trusted maids. You were still pretty young when the queen died, leaving the old man and his daughter Snow White in distress. You grew up in the happy kingdom of thrill and joy that started to slowly decay with every year you all mourned your late queen. But then, just as you turned into a lovely grown woman and got your own job at the castle, the king found a new wife, queen Ravenna. They all seemed so happy it felt unreal. Not long after however the old king joined his late wife in the gardens of Eden and all that was left was her majesty and the clueless princess, who ran away within the next year.

You could hardly understand it all and the land was unstable in times of such rapid changes. When you became the queen’s own maid, being young and freshly employed, Snow White was already wanted all over the country. To you, however, it wasn’t much concern. Your job was to make sure the queen’s comfortable in her clothes and shoes, massaging her feet and warming up her bed for the night. In the difficult times of doubt and uncertainty you slowly became her confidant. She could tell you anything, knowing you wouldn’t tell, and even if you did, no one would believe such unimportant being as her maid. From a confidant you became her friend and from a friend you build your way un to being her lover. You would never take any inappropriate step but when she invited you to her, how could you say no the most beautiful graceful being you have ever sat your eyes on?

You were still her servant willing to do anything and everything she ever asked for and giving her all you were, all you had and all you could ever get. You were completely and utterly taken by her glory, confidence and pride. It even made you a little proud yourself that the queen chose you over all the other men and women who fell at her feet every minute of the day. You took her joy and anger, anything she needed to release, all her good days and all the bad ones ended up with you being used in her bed. You could hardly ever stay, having to leave her warm cozy chambers to return to your cold and unwelcoming bed with a hard mattress and rat-gnawed pillow the moment she was satisfied with you.

With how fast and wholeheartedly you fell for the woman there was no stopping, no pleasure and no amount of kisses would be ever enough for you. You yearned for her presence and body as hard as the desert yearns for water. You needed her, longed for her at every second of the day. You could merge in the tightest hug on earth, eat each other in the most desperate of kisses and it still wouldn’t be enough. Yet lately it seemed her hunger exceeded yours, she needed release, assurances and the plain feeling of power. You became her most glorious possession, using you and savoring you at any moment she wanted to. With looking for more power and rule over the kingdom she became insatiable.

As you visited her in her throne room, she frantically walked around unable to sit still, her hair flying behind her with every turn like a veil of gold. To you she was still ethereal, the most beautiful of women on this earth. No matter how many worried wrinkles her forehead sported or the stressed pout on her lips. She was like a fairy with a flame that pulled in every moth around. It was obvious to you she was at her wits end, even if she’d never admit to it, being concerned with things you had no idea about.

“My queen.” You address her carefully. “May I help you?”

“Ugh, no. Leave me alone.” She hardly even spared you a glance.

“Maybe I can help you relieve some stress.” You tried again. “At least with a melissa tea?”

“I said get lost!” Ravenna angrily shouts at you and harshly slaps your face. “Now get out of my sight!”

“I’m sorry…” You whine holding your cheek with tears evident in your eyes.

“Oh don’t play that innocent little girl with me you spawn!” your emotional reaction infuriates her even more. “Your father never loved you and your mother rather died so that she didn’t have to be with you anymore. I don’t want to see you here again, you hear me!?”

You could hardly listen to her words anymore, running out of the room to not give her the satisfaction of seeing you cry. She liked hurting you, she liked having the dominant power over anyone. Yet never has she been so cruel and evil to you. At that moment, you believed her. You believed she wanted to get rid of you, to never see you again. So that’s what you did. You packed the few little things you owned and you left, your heart breaking into million little pieces as you left the only home you ever knew and the woman you loved so hard you could die for her. Yet you’d do anything to make her happy and if she desired you gone you’ll leave.

Ravenna on the other hand got her temper under control once again in a few days, establishing somewhat steady rule over her kingdom. All she wanted now was to enjoy a little piece of quiet, preferably with the tea you always made for her with the littlest bit of mint and honey and with your massage and presence. But after she ringed her bell to call you to her, a different girl came in your place, taking care of her with her gaze fixed on the ground.

“Where’s Y/n?” she barked at the girl, her mood immediately worsening.

“I don’t know madam, she left.” The maid answered fearfully.

“What do you mean she left?” no one had the audacity to leave her service on their own.

“She said you expelled her, so she left.” The girl shrugs looking at her queen this time.

“That is ridiculous! Bring me my guard.” She orders the girl who bows to her and leaves.

Not long after comes the commander of her guards, coming up with a plan for your search with her. The army turned every corner of the castle upside down to find you, and they rummage the whole city, but you’re nowhere to be found. Ravenna sends out unit after unit to travel to all the corners of her kingdom to find you, fearing what might happen to you in the wild and dangerous world. She wasn’t sure you were even still in her kingdom or alive, and that worried her infinitely. She didn’t realize how attached she grew to your presence and joyfulness, enjoying your mannerisms and easily pleased outgoing nature.

“What have I done.” She whispers into the darkness of her chambers feeling cold and unwelcoming without you in them.

#fanfiction #fanfic #queen ravenna #queen ravenna x reader #queen ravenna x you #queen ravenna angst #charlize theron x reader #charlize theron x you #charlize theron #snow white and the huntsman #snow white #ravenna #ravenna x reader #ravenna x you

73 notes · View notes

sweetestofchaos · 4 months

Text

you can stay | l.fl x reader

Emotion's running high My hands planted on your thighs You feel me going up and down And round and round and round

❅ felix x reader

❅ prompt: “I’ve decided we’re not leaving this bed.” “Okay but, what if I get hungry?” “Well, I’d feed you, then take you back to bed with me. Does that sound alright?”

❅ wc: 1k (90 words over)

❅ warnings: fluff - smut - kissing - dirty talk - pet name (doll) - riding - needy/whiny Felix - unprotected sex - romeo & juliet reference

❅ a/n: written for Merry Chaosdays 1K Follower Event, requested by @jjungkookislife. B!!! thank you for keeping me busy. I have enjoyed your requests so much. I hope you enjoy this new year and thank you for being a friend! also, please excuse my poor attempt at humor...i'm bad at it lol

❅ lyrics from makin' good love by avant

❅ fuzzy line, bows, mdni and support dividers made by @benkeibear

❅ send in your own requests here

It was late. A little after midnight when your phone chimed and lit up the darkness of your room. You had just turned off your laptop for the night and decided to head to bed but the chime was set for only one person. You couldn’t ignore a text from your loving boyfriend knowingly before bed. Rolling over to your side, you reached out and grabbed your phone from the nightstand beside you. As you lifted the phone, the screen lit up and you cursed as the brightness blinded you for a moment. Blinking a few times, you read the message.

Lix: U up?

You rolled your eyes and tapped the notification before you responded to his text, letting him know that you just got into bed.

Lix: Look out the window?

You raised an eyebrow at how quickly he texted you back. You were sure that Felix was out of town at an award show. Sighing, you glanced at the window in your room. You have a great view of the town you lived in and you could see rooftops all covered in snow. You shivered at the thought of the cold. You really didn’t want to get out of bed and you told Felix as much.

Lix: Please 🥺

Huffing you climbed out of bed and whined as your feet touched the plush carpet and not your house slippers. You must have left them over at your desk. Standing, you grabbed your phone and clutched it to your chest as you made your way over to the window. Peaking out, you saw nothing, just the vast whiteness of the snow and the large tree from your childhood that stood proud in the yard. You squinted and looked around, in the middle of your lawn, you saw something that wasn’t there before. A heart was carved into the snow and it made you smile for a second before you clicked your tongue. Pushing open the window, you hung halfway out as you scanned your yard.

“Ya! Get in the window, crazy!”

You looked right below your window and your eyes widened. Standing there in all his glory was your boyfriend, Felix. He looked like a prince with how he was dressed. A cream, white and gold outfit with a matching jacket thrown over his shoulders. His blond hair was parted down the middle and tucked behind his ears while his long bangs framed his face.

“O Felix, Felix! Wherefore art thou Felix?”

You heard his snickering from down below and giggled to yourself.

“Deny thy father and refuse thy name;

Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,

And I’ll no longer be a commoner.”

“Oi!” Felix shouted as you stared down at him from above. “I am in love with such a commoner!”

You watched unblinking as Felix started to scale the tree out front of your window. It was something he had done a million times before but you never saw him do it while dressed so nicely or in the snow. As he reached the tree branch that hung close to your window, Felix grinned as he sat on top of it.

“Fair maiden, are you gonna let me in or naur?”

You backed away from the window and held your breath and Felix climbed into your room. The moment his shoes touched the floor, the snow started to melt and form a small puddle on the floor. Felix shook his head, water droplets from the snow flying everywhere. You screamed and Felix giggled before he took his shoes and jacket off. You quickly closed the window and turned to face Felix with your arms crossed over your chest. Now standing before you in his socks, Felix wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close; his eyelashes dark against his beautiful freckles.

“Hey, love.”

Warmth sank into your heart as Felix rested his forehead against yours and stared into your eyes. You unfolded your arms and draped them over his shoulders, how could you ever be mad at this man? Felix grinned and brushed his nose lightly against yours before his lips captured yours in a tender kiss. Your hands found their way to his hair and Felix groaned as you pulled at his roots, taking steps backwards towards your bed. Layer after layer was peeled from Felix and your body. Your breath came out in pants, warm and hot as Felix’s fingers dug into your skin and held you close.

Felix let you push him onto the bed, his member flushed and hard against his stomach. He licked his lips and moaned as he watched you crawl onto the bed, your eyes darkened by the need to have him underneath you. Straddling his lap, you teased the head of his leaking cock, rolling your hips and letting it slide between your wet folds.

“Oi, don’t be a tease now doll.”

You smirked at Felix’s words and fisted the base of his cock, holding him in place as you sunk down.

“Fuuuuck!” Felix’s moan vibrated underneath you and his hands started to rub up and down your thighs, gripping your ass and squeezing your hips. “Look so pretty riding me.” He hissed as your walls tightened around him and threw his head back into the pillows. So much of his neck was exposed and your mouth started to water. What a nice canvas to work with. Leaning forward, you nipped at Felix’s throat and he smacked your ass in warning. You knew better than to leave visible marks, but it still was fun to tease him.

“I’ve decided we’re not leaving this bed.” You whispered in his ear, taking the lob between your teeth lightly.

Felix shuttered and turned his head to look at you with wide eyes. His face was flushed, his chest heaving as he tried to understand your words. Giggling, you pressed a sweet kiss to his lip and started to bounce on his dick.

“O-Okay but, what if -” Felix whimpered as your nails sunk into the skin of his chest. “I-I get hungry?”

The question caught you off guard and you stopped moving. Felix blinked up at you with wet eyes and you cooed, stroking his face with the back of your hand. “Well…” You tap your chin in mock thought. “I’d feed you, then take you back to bed with me. Does that sound alright?”

Felix nodded his head quickly and pulled you into a heated kiss, “Yes, doll. Sounds good. N-Now fuck yourself on my cock.”

#felix fic #felix x reader #felix smut #fic: you can stay #soc felix #1k follower event #merry chaosday event

81 notes · View notes

coleskingdom · 2 months

Text

Commonwealth Kingpin

Will Ospreay x female reader

Smut

"When can we leave?” I asked Will, I was tired of this party. We had been here for hours I smiled beside him and made small talk. Every time I excused myself from the conversation, his eyes followed me through the hotel ballroom.“ Do you have something you’d rather be doing?” his voice irritated. “Yes, you” I knew I was being a brat when I said it. He drew in a deep breath, and the smile on his face sent a shiver down my spine. “Careful my love” he said in a low voice facing me now, “You’re testing my patience . This is part of it now, this what I have to do.” His irritation not only with me, but at the situation. “I’m going to go find Zack, I’m sure his conversations are more fun.” I said turning, his hand caught my wrist and his eyes flashed, “ You’re my missus, you will not leave my side at my party.”his voice fighting to remain calm his thumb rubbing circles on my pulse point, he released my wrist and slid his hand into mine. The night continued, and I’d make little quips low enough for only him to hear. As the night drew to a close, we made our exit towards the door, he led me to the bank of elevators one already waiting on us.

“Where are we going? I don’t want to do an after hours party.” I whined “ I just want …” , he cut me off “ If you keep acting like a brat, I’m going to treat you like a brat. Don’t forget who I am and what I am especially to you sweetheart.” his voice hard and demanding. “ Yes Sir” I said knowing how much that pleases him. He smirks “ that’s right, I can tell you’re starting to remember.” His finger tips tracing the side of my jaw. He leans in “ I’ve known all night, sweetheart, exactly what you’ve wanted. You think that I don’t know your little stunt down there was because you didn’t get to have me right after the match. That I didn’t fill you to the brim, screaming my name in the locker room. That you didn’t get to fuck me one last time in that locker room, where you first realized why they called me the commonwealth kingpin. “

The elevator opened and Will led me down to the hall to our room. He pinned me against the door, his hands grabbing my wrists over my head kissing me deeply, knowing how much I needed to touch him, that I wanted him, I wanted to take care of him. He broke the kiss but not before biting my lip causing me to moan. “Will please….” My voice taking a desperate tone. His hand dropped my wrists and he tilted my chin , hand gripping my cheeks so that I was looking into his eyes. “Love, this could have been so much easier for you, you could be running your hands up my chest, pulling me against you, I’d have let you have control. Instead you had to act like a brat, so now I’m going to treat you like a brat. Follow me, and if you’re a good girl, then I’ll give you what you want.”

I followed him, taking my heels off and letting the dress drop as we walked. When he turned he saw, the emerald green, white and gold, lingerie that I had ordered just for him and tonight. He sucked in a breath, “fuck”he said as he exhaled. He took off the suit jacket, and unbuttoned the dress shirt,before he sat in the leather club chair. “ Get on your knees.” his eyes met mine, making sure we were on the same page, I nodded as I lowered myself to the ground. I took off his shoes. His hands undoing his pants, freeing his magnificent cock. He moved to the edge of chair giving me better access, “Put your bratty mouth to good use” I took my time, kissing and licking, before taking him in my mouth. His moans and groans, his hands tugging at my hair encouraging me, " You talk such a big game, when your mouth isn’t full of my cock.” I moaned at his words, I loved when he talked like this, he increased the speed of his thrusts I gag slightly, flattening my tongue, so I can take him all the way in my mouth. “ Fuck Sweetheart, I’m going to come if you keep going.” I nod sucking him in deeper as he unloads in my mouth and I swallow every drop, milking him through his release. “ You did so well, now go get on the bed.”. His voice husky, and full of lust.

I got on the bed I stretched my arms over my head, arching my back. “ I see you’re taking your victory lap, you still haven’t learned your lesson.” I turned my head to look at him, he had taken off his shirt and pants joining me on the bed. He straddled me, he reached for one arm, and brought it to my side, trapping it with his thigh, he did the same with the other with my arms completely trapped, he smirked. “Oh sweet girl, I’m going to show you what a victory lap is, don’t you dare cum until I tell you to. “ he said. “Yes sir” my only response. He kissed me, moving the hair out of my face, he dipped his head nibbled on my ear “so compliant, when I have you pinned to the bed. I think you like this though, a lot.”His hands came to the front clasp of the bra undoing it quickly. He kissed the top of my breasts before taking one of my nipples in his mouth sucking and nibbling, his hands skimming my torso while paying equal attention to my other breast. I moaned his name, his light touches along my torso lit fires everywhere.

“ I’m going to take my time love, and I’m not even to my favorite part yet.” his tone changing to a more mischievous one. He kisses down my torso stopping “ Now, if I let you have your hands back, you can only touch my head and yourself okay.”he said “ Yes Will I promise.” I said he widened his stance my arms free, I reach to kiss him. He meets me for a kiss a long deep kiss, that left me lifting my hips offering myself to him. “ My sweet girl, I know you’re trying to distract me but it’s not going to work.” He’s at the end of the bed, grabbing my legs and pulling me down to the end. I giggled at the unexpected move but quickly sighed as Will began to kiss up my thighs, sucking and biting on the inside of my thigh. I gasped as he his hands reached the panties “ Now lift your hips for me. If I didn’t like this set so much I’d have destroyed both pieces.” His voice muffled. I raised my hips and he threw them somewhere, laughing at how far they flew. Then he refocused his attention, he’s on his knees at the end of bed. He positioned my legs over his shoulders and his mouth was on me as his hands ran up and down my legs. His mouth went directly for my clit licking and sucking, his tongue doing this motion that was the most intense pleasure I’ve ever felt. He would pull back letting me get my breath back, then he was on back. “Oh God Will” I moaned, the other noises incoherent. He inserted two fingers, setting a rhythm, his tongue lightly flicking my clit now. “ More please” I moaned, he did the come hither motion and my back arched off the bed “No not yet, I know, I know but when I tap your thigh you can come for me. Just ride my fingers, I’ve got you” he said his mouth returning to my clit with the sucking licking I felt the pressure build in my abdomen, it was a more intense feeling than I had ever felt. I clinched my walls around his fingers trying to concentrate “ please will, please, will.” I moaned the last word cracking I was just focusing on breathing. He tapped my thigh my body took a second to realize my release flooded, through me and into his mouth and his fingers, my back came off the bed. “That’s it sweetheart. You’re so beautiful.” he said his tone soft. Kissing the inside of my thigh, my hand over my face knowing I made a mess.

I felt him over me, he kissed me softly, I felt him at my entrance, I was so wet that he was able to slide all the way in one fluid motion. I gasped at the fullness, his long strokes, hitting the deepest spot. My hands reached for his muscular ass , as I spread my legs even wider

“ My sweet girl isn’t so mouthy now that that she’s under me letting me fuck her.” his voice smug but there was love in his eyes. “ please will” he changed the angle, and his fingers finding my sensitive clit .i felt his cock twitch inside of me knowing we were both close, I clenched around him. “Will please I’m so close” , he thrusted in and put pressure on my clit and that was it I came around his cock the same intensity as my first orgasm.” He changed the position again and his thrusts became more erratic,his moans and whimper were just soft enough for my ears to hear I felt his release. I ran my hands up and down his back, he buried his face, in my shoulder. He pulled out of me and pulled me into him as he scooted up the bed.

I laid my head on his chest his arms holding me tightly. “Do you know why I asked when we could leave the party?” I asked, “This?” He said “ No, you hadn’t eaten all day, you had that look like there was to much going on and I was worried about you.” I said softly. “ Well now I feel like an ass, you just went along with this.”he smiled “I’m going to make it up to you, how about a bath and room service.” His voice low “ Yes sir” I laughed as he left the bed.

#Spotify #will ospreay x reader #will ospreay smut #will ospreay #aew fanfiction #njpw fanfiction

61 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 9 months

Text

Chapter 12 of Everybody Hates Having Human Bill Cipher As Their Prisoner, featuring: Pacifica doing beauty product commercials!

And she said "Harry's Hairy Fairy Formula" twice with a straight face. Also featuring: Mabel making the terrible decision that perhaps there's a sliver of hope for Bill.

####

Bill trudged into the living room doorway and said flatly, "Help." His gold paint/makeup/glitter had been scraped off his right cheek, leaving a swathe of bare skin; and one corner of his cardboard triangle mask had crumpled in.

Dipper and Mabel looked up from the TV. (They were watching a cartoon about an aggressively adorable anthropomorphic lion and wolf arguing over a rapidly-wilting flower.) Dipper took one look at Bill's damage and struggled to swallow down a laugh. Mabel grimaced. "Oooh. What happened?"

"The stairs. Again."

Dipper asked, "Have you tried sitting on the steps and scooting your butt down one step at a time? I think that's how toddlers do it." Mabel snorted and elbowed him.

Bill leaned over Dipper, grin disconcertingly widely. The sofa hadn't had seat cushions since Bill dragged them upstairs to serve as his makeshift bed, which just let Bill tower even higher over Dipper. "As a matter of fact, I have tried! It's too slow. I'd rather just fall." Now that Dipper was cringing back sufficiently for Bill's tastes, he turned the creepiness down a good 50% and refocused on Mabel. "So can you help?"

She sighed. "Yeah, come here."

Dipper slid off the sofa. "I'm... gonna go read something." He gestured at the screen. "This is one of Mabel's shows, anyway."

Bill glanced at the screen. The lion and wolf had just declared they didn't want to be friends anymore, and the flower between them promptly died. A watching unicorn shed a heart-shaped tear. Dryly, Bill said, "I'd never have guessed."

Mabel frowned at Dipper as he left—traitor—but Bill was quick to plop down on the spot he'd freed. "Here." He dumped an armload of tape and makeup on top of the folded sofa bed between them. "You've seen this episode before, right? You're not missing anything."

"Uh..." Mabel pulled off a strip of tape. "Yeah, how did you know?"

"Because this show looks about thirty years old."

"Oh. Ha! Yeah. Color Critters is a classic." All the same, she kept glancing over at the screen between strips of tape. (The unicorn was struggling to revive the flower with a beam of green light from her horn, and, when that didn't work, trying to convince the lion and wolf to apologize to each other.)

Not doing anything useful himself, Bill watched the cartoon out of the corner of his eye, too. "If their argument is killing the flowers, wouldn't Hornton here have better success if she kicked 'em out of her garden?"

"Her name's not Hornton, it's Glory. And then they'd just kill flowers somewhere else."

"She could slit one of their throats," Bill suggested. "It takes two people to argue."

Mabel couldn't tell if he was deliberately saying the most offensive thing he could think of, or if the way the Color Critters' narrative established a subtle metaphorical correlation between flourishing friendship and flourishing flowers had sailed right over his head. So she elected to ignore his comment and said, somewhat peevishly, "You really should start doing your own repairs, you know."

"I tried. How do you think this happened?" He pointed at the patch of missing makeup that had rubbed off his cheek. "Do you know how hard it is to repair your own face when you need to ask permission to use a mirror? I tried to get a spoon to use as a mirror—and then remembered I'm not allowed to use anything but the plastic baby spoons."

Mabel winced. "Oooh. Yeah. That's right." She supposed she couldn't resent him for asking for help. He'd done his due diligence. In his shoes, she probably wouldn't have even thought to use a spoon as a mirror.

Bill leaned forward, elbows on his knees, making it easier for Mabel to reach the damage. "So then I tried to use the glass on one of the family photos in the hall," he went on. "You can't imagine what it's like to try to tape your own face back together while the guys who imprisoned you are grinning at you through your 'mirror.' I'm living in worst conditions than death row inmates. At least they get mirrors."

"You've had such a hard time;" Mabel said sympathetically, then caught herself. "I mean—you deserve a hard time—but even then, you should at least have your own face."

"I'm glad you think so. I think everyone else here would rather keep kicking me while I'm down just to listen to me squeal."

Mabel grimaced, but couldn't honestly say he was wrong. She leaned back, inspecting her tape work. "Okay, that's the best I can do with your mask for now. I'll replace the torn part when we find some more cardboard boxes." It was amazing how quickly a household could run out of cardboard when you had a very clumsy prisoner using it as a substitute for his face.

"We're out of yellow paint, too," Bill said. "We'll have to fill in the gap with extra eyeshadow, I guess."

Mabel sighed, but picked up a makeup brush and started covering up the streaky patch on Bill's cheek. Color Critters had gone to commercial break with Glory running off to get fairy backup, and now that local anti-graffiti PSA that made graffiti look really cool was playing. Maybe if Mabel hurried, she could finish with Bill before the commercials ended and Glory got back with Prisma. (And maybe she could lure Dipper back downstairs. She thought he'd like Glory and Prisma's battle against Serpent Grey, it was how she'd wheedled him into watching this episode in the first place.)

"This eyeshadow palette won't last much longer," Mabel said. They'd already completely used up the best, yellowest shade of gold, and the other three weren't far behind. "And we're really burning through my allowance fast. No offense, Bill, but—I don't think this is a long-term solution." She inwardly braced herself, not sure what kind of reaction to expect out of him.

Bill's expression twisted in a grimace, and Mabel's stomach flipped. He said, "I hate to admit it, but I've been having the same thought."

Mabel quietly sighed in relief.

"Don't get me wrong—the visual results are phenomenal. Stunning! But the upkeep is very high maintenance, the tape is itchy enough it even distracts me, it cuts off my peripheral vision, it muffles sounds, it's hard to sleep and impossible to shower—"

"You haven't been taking it off when you sleep?"

Bill tipped his head back and pointed at the neck hole, big enough for his neck but not for his head. "You didn't design it to be taken off."

"Oh." She supposed she hadn't. No wonder he had a hard time fixing it himself.

"And besides all that, once the initial fun wears off—let's be frank, it's pretty grotesque-looking, isn't it?"

"WHAT? It's not grotesque, it's beautiful! I thought you liked it!"

"Whoa there, Shooting Star, it's not anything you did! It's everything else." He gestured at his body from the neck down.

Mabel gave the rest of Bill a dubious look. "What's wrong with... everything else?"

"Well—" Bill hesitated, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Think of it this way. Imagine you've been turned into a hypersphere—"

"What's a hypersphere?"

Bill paused again, found the English language woefully deficient of vocabulary to describe fourth-dimensional creatures, and said, "Imagine you've been turned into a giraffe."

"Okay." Sounded cool. Mabel visualized herself as a pink giraffe with star-shaped spots.

"And someone helps you look human again—by transforming your giraffe head into a human body. Just your head. And it's still attached to the giraffe neck by the butt."

Mabel snorted.

"And it's got no arms and legs," Bill added. "And if you look closely, you can still see that the human body is made out of a giraffe head. Its eyes and nostrils are visible through the skin of your torso."

"Ew." Mabel shuddered. But... she hadn't really considered what looking human must feel like to a person who had never been human. In some way, she'd always thought of Bill Cipher as essentially faceless. Like he was a symbol with an eyeball. Turning human just meant gaining something new he'd never had before. He had more face now.

But that wasn't how it looked to him, was it? Mabel should have realized that earlier, when he first said that all he wanted was to look like a triangle again. From his perspective, he hadn't gained a new face; he'd just had his real face mutilated with a bunch of lumps and holes that shouldn't be there.

Considered like that... the mask really was grotesque, wasn't it? "Yeah, I get the problem," Mabel said, subdued. "If you want, I could add pipe cleaner arms and legs—but that doesn't fix the real problem, does it?"

"Unfortunately, no. And they'd probably end up like my hat." Bill's construction paper top hat had been the fastest casualty of his clumsiness. "But I like that creative thinking! You're a problem-solver."

Problem-solver. Mabel supposed she was, wasn't she? She plopped her chin in her hand, trying to think of another way to solve this problem.

Bill almost copied the gesture, but realized just in time that would crush the cardboard over his chin and straightened up. He sighed. "As much as it sickens me, maybe you were on to something with the wig idea. I don't like it. It's ugly. But at least when I had hair, it got me vaguely the right silhouette," he made that finger triangle in front of one eye, "without all the upkeep. I think I underestimated how much low maintenance wins out over high fashion."

"Do you want a wig?" Mabel asked warily. They could have saved a lot of effort and allowance money if he'd just accepted her offer of a wig in the first place.

Bill turned over the question for several seconds, then sighed again. "No, I guess not. I'd have to keep taking it off and on to clean it." He shuddered, then quickly gripped his upper arm, as if he hadn't given his body permission to shudder and he needed to intimidate it out of any further misbehavior. "I'll just wait for the original stuff to grow back out. Maybe save the gold make-up for special occasions."

(Mabel wondered how many special occasions Bill expected to have before Ford figured out a way to kill him, and then wondered how much his hair would have a chance to grow out by then. And then she decided not to wonder about that anymore.)

"Not sure what I'll do in the meantime," Bill muttered. Mabel caught his gaze flicking past her, over her shoulder; he was looking at the spot on the wall where Soos's zodiac blanket used to hang. (Soos had hidden it in his bedroom after Mabel had reclaimed it from Bill.) "But, hey! Good effort, kid. I was impressed by the results—and I don't say that lightly! I think we made some real progress with this." Bill flashed Mabel a smile—too wide, as usual, but this time she thought there was something genuine in it.

Which made her feel all the worse that she'd only "made progress" but hadn't found a solution. "Are there any ways to make your hair grow back faster?"

"There's always lycanthropy. Induce it now and cure it after the next full moon—"

"Thaaat doesn't sound very safe."

"Well, I'd be fine." Bill laughed.

Mabel blew a raspberry at him. "Maybe we could just make you a sturdier mask out of plastic?" she ventured. "Or—or we could tattoo a pyramid on your face..."

Bill looked intrigued. "Keep talking."

From the TV, a familiar voice said, "Hey, everyone."

Mabel's head swiveled toward the TV—and sure enough. "Pacifica?"

Pacifica was positioning herself on a stool in a blank white studio, wearing the world's preppiest polo and a matching designer skirt. A small, stylish bottle of faceted green glass sat on a second stool. Bold text at the bottom of the screen read "REAL FOOTAGE - NOT A DRAMATIZATION." Lacing her hands casually over her crossed knees, Pacifica said, "You all know me—Pacifica Northwest, famous for being richer and better than you." She flashed a perfect smile.

"Alpaca's doing commercials now?" Bill said. "She's moving down in the world, good for her."

"Wh—? She's not 'alpaca,' it was a llama."

"No it's not."

"I think I'd know," Mabel said. "It was my sweater."

"And it's my zodiac, Shooting Star."

They shushed as a man wearing a suit that probably cost more than Mabel's entire sweater collection came up behind Pacifica with a pair of scissors, and started cutting her hair. Mabel gasped as Pacifica's beautiful blonde hair was reduced to an inch long. Pacifica didn't even look at the callous hair-slasher as she went on, "Ever since my parents lost most but not all of our family fortune, I've had to support my designer purse habit by selling my hair to underprivileged A-list celebrities who need Nordic blonde virgin hair wigs for blockbuster movie roles." She aimed a perfectly-practiced pout at the camera, lower lip pooched out and eyes large and watery. The faux angst lasted for barely a second before she went on, "But luckily, now I don't have to compromise my beautiful looks!"

Another extra in a luxury brand hazmat suit picked up the little green bottle, tipped a few drops into a gloved hand, and worked it into the ends of Pacifica's freshly-cut hair. "Thanks to Harry's Hairy Fairy Formula—a trusted hair-restoration brand for over a hundred and fifty years—I can look my best at all times!" She flipped her long, luxurious curtain of hair with one hand, showing off how it now, once more, hung as low as the seat of her stool. "Harry's Hairy Fairy Formula: for when you have a million bucks, and you want to look like it too." She winked, and an old-fashioned cursive logo reading "Hairy Fairy" filled the screen.

Mabel gaped at the screen. "Yeah, no, okay, that's gotta be fake. There's no way that's real. They must have done some kind of... weird camera tricks. Right?"

"Hairy Fairy's back?" Bill asked, and he sounded kind of impressed. He laughed. "Wow! Usually I have to pull some strings to arrange a contrived coincidence like that, but that fell right into our laps, didn't it!"

If Bill had heard of this brand... "Wait. Is this stuff like... actually magic?"

"There's no such thing as magic," said Bill, the magic triangle who'd magically come back to life in the magic-riddled town of Gravity "Magic Is Our Middle Name" Falls. "But yeah, it works!"

"Nuh-uh, no way. If it can really grow hair, how come I've never heard of it before?"

"Because they went out of business," Bill said. "The original formula was invented a century and change ago by Harold 'Harry' Haroldson, after he was run out of California for selling rotgut as a diet tonic. It did cause people to lose weight, but only because it literally rotted their guts. Hairy Fairy Formula's basically the same—it does exactly what it advertises, as long as you don't mind the side effects—buuut after getting really rich, really fast, Harry couldn't keep up with orders. He'd run out of pixie dust. Local population went extinct. So they haven't been on the market since the 1800s."

Mabel processed that. "Bill, how is pixie dust made?"

"Don't worry about it!" Bill waved a hand dismissively. "Anyway, by the looks of it, somebody with the formula found a fresh supply of their active ingredient! Isn't that... handy."

Against the side of her face, Mabel felt the full weight of the one-eyed gaze that had ravaged millions of minds and compelled thousands of humanity's best and brightest to erect interdimensional doorways to their own doom.

Mabel swallowed hard.

And Bill said, "You and Alpaca are friends, right?"

####

Dipper said, "You want to ask Pacifica what for who?"

"I know it's stupid," Mabel said, and wasn't encouraged by how enthusiastically Dipper nodded. "But—look. Until Grunkle Ford figures out how to get rid of him, we're stuck with him anyway! Him being miserable just makes the whole shack miserable. Even death row prisoners have rights! This is America!"

"He's not American."

"His species probably has prisoner rights."

"What if getting his self-esteem back makes him go back to trying to kill us all?" Dipper asked.

"It won't! Feeling good about yourself makes you nicer!" Mabel said. "Insecurity is the root of all bullying."

"Bill's a whole lot worse than a bully."

"That just makes him a jumbo bully."

"Fine. But he wasn't exactly nice back when he did like his body."

"O—okay, fair point. But."

But she still saw a sad ghost curled up beneath a blanket in the corner of the attic and remembered picture day.

Mabel paced a figure 8 at the foots of their beds. "Look, he was normal-miserable a few days ago, but he turned hyper-miserable when he cut off his hair. If I get him his hair back, he can go back to being normal-miserable, and he's said he's willing to put up with that, so it's not my problem anymore! I can be done with it."

"You know he's just using you because you're being nice to him, right?"

Mabel shrugged. "I mean, yeah? Duh? He's evil, that's what he does? The fact that he's being evil doesn't mean I'm gonna not do something good."

"But if you give him what he wants this time, you'll just train him to think you'll do anything he wants if he gets sulky about it. It'll make him worse."

Mabel stopped pacing to stare at Dipper. "Do you think Bill can be trained? Bill?"

Dipper actually paused to consider that, lips pursed thoughtfully. "I mean... yeah, I guess, maybe?"

Mabel considered that as well. "I don't know." She resumed pacing. "I... still kinda feel like I should take that chance?"

"Really? What did he say to you?"

"Nothing! Nothing. It's just..."

####

Mabel swallowed hard, staring up at Bill's white-hot, commanding eye. "I'm not doing anything until after this episode," she said.

"And then—?"

"I'll think about it."

Satisfied, Bill nodded. "All right!" Apparently not as satisfied as she'd assumed, he added, "But I'm telling you, that would immediately solve the whole problem. If you wanna get me out of your hair, pun unintended—"

"Nope!" Mabel held a finger over her lips. "Shush time. You don't get to use your con artist mind tricks on me."

Bill planted an offended hand on his hip. "'Con artist mind tricks'?"

"If you bring it up once before this episode is over, I won't even consider doing it. Don't test me!"

"All right, all right! Sheesh." Bill sat back on the sofa, criss-crossed his legs, and got comfortable. Was he planning to watch the episode with her?

He gestured at the screen as a heart-shaped rainbow announced that the show was back. "Okay, so catch me up on the plot." He was planning to watch the episode. So much for getting Dipper back in here. But, hey, as long as somebody was interested in the show...

By the time she'd explained that Leo Proud is in charge of life and playing and the color red—which are basically the same thing—and that Howell Wolf is in charge of creativity and stories, and also he's a wizard, which is why he's blue, which he's also in charge of, naturally—and that usually they're best friends, except Serpent Grey has tricked them into fighting, to kill the flower garden, because friendship is green, obviously—

(Bill nodded along, "Obviously.")

—and if the flowers don't bloom by the spring festival, it will basically mean the end of love and friendship everywhere, which is why Glory the Unicorn—

("What's she in charge of?" "Pink." "Big responsibility.")

—is going to look for Prisma, the Rainbow Fairy, who basically solves all the problems in the color jungle—

(Bill asked, "So who the heck's responsible for green in this organization? Isn't this their department? Why aren't theydealing with this crisis?")

—and Mabel had to pause to explain how busy Love Bunny is on the other side of the jungle with festival preparations which was why she asked Leo and Howell to help out in the first place...

Anyway, by the time she explained all that, Prisma and Glory were already back, and Prisma had spotted Serpent and was trying to chase him out with her rainbow light while Glory protected Leo and Howell, and Mabel thought it really was a very good action sequence, especially considering the show's age and budget, if you ignored the animation errors, but she hadn't had any time to explain Prisma's magic or Glory's role in it, which was a big theme in the show; but...

But even so, by the time of the fight scene, Bill was leaning forward, elbows on knees, creepy grin and intense gaze pointed at the screen—like he was actually paying attention to the cacophony of multicolor lasers. Like he was enjoying it.

Mabel was so surprised when he started laughing and heckling the characters like he was watching a wrestling match—"Yeah, get him! Skin him alive and tie him in knots! I wanna see if he bleeds grey!"—that it took her a moment to register that he was rooting for Prisma. The Rainbow Fairy. Defender of colors and all the goodness and happiness that spawned from them. Not the snake trying to destroy all those things. The good guy.

That didn't make Bill good. Mabel knew people far better than Bill who liked to root for the bad guys. But even so—all the same—she hadn't expected it.

With Serpent defeated, Leo and Howell reconciled, the garden flourishing, and the existence of friendship secured for another year, Bill sat back and said, "Quirky little cosmology they've thought up for this fantasy! And it's a better primer on sympathetic magic than I would've expected out of something aimed at humans who haven't learned to read yet. Especially considering what was going on in the eighties!"

Mabel had no idea what he was talking about. "Do you... like it?"

"I like the colors in the battle scene," Bill said. "This'd be fun to watch on peyote."

It was, Mabel conceded, the most positive response she'd received from anybody she'd shown Color Critters to.

"But I get now why killing the lion and wolf to save the garden wasn't an option," he added.

"Wait—you do?"

"Sure!" Bill gestured at the running credits. "This show operates on dream logic."

Mabel nodded. Mabel shook her head. "What?"

"The garden isn't real. None of this is real. The only thing that exists in this world is emotions and experiences. Fun, hatred, friendship, resentment, fear, justice—all of those are real, but they're abstract. Anything you can touch is just an illusion, the subconscious mind's metaphor for the things too abstract to see." Bill spoke with the authoritative confidence of a practiced carny explaining to his new assistant how the carnival games were rigged so customers could never win a grand prize without spending twice what the prize was worth. "The issue was never 'They're fighting, so the flowers are dying.' The flowers don't exist! They're just a tool to let you see what's going on in the other guys' heads. 'Save the flowers' is a metaphor for the only thing that really matters: saving the friendship."

Bill turned toward Mabel, the expert on dream logic checking in with the expert on Color Critters, and said, "So killing one of them would defeat the point! Right?"

He clearly thought he was just talking about the themes in a cartoon. He had no idea he'd just said the sappiest thing about friendship Mabel had ever heard a real person say.

####

"I... don't think he's all evil," Mabel said to Dipper. "He's still 99% evil! But there's one percent that still understands normal things. What if I can encourage it! Maybe we can get it to two percent. Maybe five!"

"Whoa. Oh no. Hold on. Tell me you're not trying to rehabilitate Bill Cipher."

"No! Of course not," said Mabel, so confidently that it almost sounded like she really meant it and hadn't already set her heart on reforming the most reviled figure in the multiverse.

And knowing Mabel well enough to know she'd already made up her mind, Dipper went on, "Mabel, we're talking about the worst person ever! He tried to destroy our entire universe, and Grunkle Ford says he's destroyed at least one other. He's been way too evil for way too long to change now."

"You're the one who said it might be possible to train him," Mabel pointed out. "That's what I'm talking about doing! Forget the good-and-evil stuff: think of it as... as a psychology experiment! If we're nice to him, will he be a little nicer back? Why not try—as long as we don't do anything dangerous?"

Dipper's resolve wavered. He looked away from Mabel's hopeful face, gaze skimming the room for something else to look at—and fell on Bartholomew. The doll had teleported onto Mabel's bed while they weren't paying attention. When they'd first gotten him out of the crane game, he'd hid in the shack's air conditioning vents and tried to murder them so he could take over their lives. He hadn't stopped trying to kill them until Mabel suggested he join their lives and offered to make him a cradle to sleep in. Now, he was peacefully cuddled up with a tie-dye plushie alien Mabel had bought in Roswell.

"Okay, fine—as long as we're not helping him do anything dangerous," Dipper said. "And if we're doing an experiment, I'm in the control group. I won't pretend to be nice to him."

A grin broke out across Mabel's face. "I'll text Pacifica!"

####

The door to Ford's study creaked open. "Hey, Grunkle Ford?"

Ford looked up from his calculations-covered desk. "Dipper! Yes?"

"Quick question," Dipper said. "To your knowledge, if Bill's hair grows back, is there any possible way he could use it to... I don't know, kill us all or end the world or something?"

Ford stared at Dipper. He blinked. "Er—short of shaving it back off and braiding it into a rope to strangle us? Not that I'm aware of." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "And I imagine it would be a lot easier to just rip a curtain to shreds and make that a rope." Maybe he should hide the curtains?

Dipper nodded. "Okay. Great. Follow-up question: have you ever heard of a brand called 'Hairy Fairy'?"

"Wh—you mean the hair tonic invented by Harold Haroldson? The one behind the Oregon Pixie Extinction of 1891?"

"The... what?"

Ford stood, rummaging through several books on a nearby bookcase. "It was a short-lived brand. I found some mentions of it in the Gravity Falls Library back when I was researching the history of the town—ah!" He pulled out an old binder he'd stuffed with copies of unusual newspaper clippings from the town's historical archives, and flipped through them until he found an advertisement for Harry's Hairy Fairy Formula. "Here."

Dipper accepted the advertisement and skimmed it. "It says 'for best results, do not apply directly to skin.' Is there anything dangerous about this stuff? Does it melt your face off, or...?"

"I'm afraid I don't know. Information on Hairy Fairy is sparse, considering the lengths the company went to to keep its main ingredient a secret. I've never even seen a surviving sample."

Dipper nodded. "Thanks, Grunkle Ford." He shut the study door. After a moment, Ford heard the elevator rising.

He shot a dark look toward the ceiling and muttered, "What are you up to this time?"

####

MABEL: Heyyyy Pacifica it's Mabel! 🌈🌟 I saw your commercial! You were sooo great! That thing about actors was REALLY funny lol

MABEL: So ANYWAY how does somebody get their hands on that hairy fairy stuff??? 👀

PACIFICA: Oh cool, I didn't know they were airing the commercial in Gravity Falls. I thought market research decided it was too poor to be worth the air time?

PACIFICA: No offense

MABEL: I'll pretend not to be offended!

PACIFICA: You totally can't afford it though lmao. It costs like $10k for 3 oz.

MABEL: 🙀

PACIFICA: But like if you want to LOOK at it, HF will have a booth at the country club tomorrow. I'm their model for the demonstration, so I could get you and Dipper in if you promise not to wear anything embarrassing.

MABEL: Do they have free samples?

PACIFICA: 😂😂😂 No

PACIFICA: But maybe smelling the fumes will give you shinier hair or something idk.

MABEL: Worth a shot!!! See you there!

#pacifica northwest #(for the art)#bill cipher #human bill cipher #(for the fic)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

151 notes · View notes

actual-bill-potts · 9 months

Text

Finarfin shifted anxiously, smoothing down the front of his robes. He adjusted his sash. His braid had fallen over one shoulder and he hastily flicked it back, shifting from foot to foot.

Findaráto would emerge, any moment now, his firstborn son firstborn again. Where was he? His eyes strained for any hint of gold against the great dark gates of Mandos.

He and Eärwen had planned carefully every detail of this reunion. Well they had remembered the confusion that had attended the first Returnings of slain Teleri: how a joyous crowd had waited singing outside the gates, and how the newly-emerged Falathrim had flinched and drawn back from the noise, wept at the onslaught of body pressing near to new-formed body. They had learned quickly to avoid large crowds, and keep the number of greeters to a quiet two or three.

Then there had been the confusion of the first euphoric rush upon the lifting of the Doom. The Great War over, loved ones coming home, and no decree from Finarfin could keep the Noldor who had waited for so long from gathering - until again Elf upon Elf flinched back from loud noises, from unexpected movements, from touch and from crowds. Then they had listened, and now only one or two at a time came to greet their child or parent, spouse or sibling.

When they had received the news, Finarfin and Eärwen had wrangled without rancor over every detail of this reunion. Should both go, or just one? Finarfin had wanted the former, afraid of giving his son offense; but Eärwen grimly recalled how many of those held by Gorthaur the Cruel flinched at first at familiar faces.

"You should go," she had said wearily, "for you departed from him in grief only, and I in deadly anger. I do not want to see my son afraid of me."

"Surely -" Finarfin had begun to protest. Then he stopped. He too had heard the stories from the prisoners they had rescued from Angband: prisoner upon prisoner, from tunnels that seemed to go on forever. He remembered how so many had fallen into despair at the sight of so many Elves, tall and shining: how many former thralls had cried out and begged for mercy at the touch of a friendly hand.

"Very well," he said; and then, tentatively: "are you still angry with him?"

Eärwen smiled at him, tired but there in all her silver glory. "I cannot be. This is a new Age, and one of my children is coming home. I have been angry for so long. I am weary of it."

Then there was the question of clothing. Should Finarfin wear his crown? Should he wear the style that had been the fashion in Findaráto’s youth, and which was now hopelessly out of date? Should they have new clothes made for Findaráto, or bring the old? Would he want to choose them himself? Would he be hungry?

The Returned, they had discovered, often came back full of the sensations they remembered most strongly, until their body reasserted its mastery over memory. Some wept unceasing and could not be comforted for days; some were overmastered by fear and flinched at every touch or motion; and some were simply - hungry, or in pain. And Findaráto, Finarfin and Eärwen remembered from the Lay of Leithian - how they had wept hearing it for the first time! - had been both before he died.

So Finarfin stood now, bareheaded and dressed in the softest robes he could find (he did not want to abrade Findaráto’s new-made skin, in case his son wanted an embrace), carrying a pack with food and water, miruvor and new clothing (soft as water within a tidepool), shoes if Findaráto wanted them, and the desperate hope he and Eärwen had felt when gathering the supplies, that their son would not feel the lack of anything.

There was a whisper, carried on a chill breeze. Finarfin shivered, then stilled as he heard the words: Thy son approaches. In mercy he is released. Live well and walk justly.

So many times he had heard those words spoken to others, presiding over reunions; and each time he had pushed down the desperate longing for his own children, brushed aside his grief-filled wondering: would his own sons come forth again? Would his daughter come home?

Then his mind was wiped clean of all as the shadows about the gate briefly grew lighter, and he caught the glint of gold hair to match his own for the first time in nearly eight hundred years.

All their careful preparations flew out of his head, the pack dropped from his hand with a clatter, and he stood rooted to the spot as first an elegant hand, then knee and foot, and finally Findaráto’s yellow-crowned head melted fully from the shadows and came together to form -

His son. His son! His first child, his beloved son who now stood blinking in the light of Anar, chest rising and falling, eyes falling upon Finarfin -

Finarfin held his breath as Findaráto’s brown eyes met his own. He kept every muscle perfectly still, for he knew if he did not exert the utmost control he would break and sprint for his son, and never let him go again - or else sink to the ground weeping. Findaráto, he thought, Findaráto Ingoldo, my firstborn, we love you, we have missed you so much; and from far away he could feel Eärwen’s spirit crying out the same.

Findaráto took a hesitant step forward, into the light, wavering as he found his balance. Then another. His eyes were very wide.

“Atya?” he said, in the Quenya of his childhood. “Thou art here?”

Finarfin felt his eyes fill, then overflow. Do not alarm him, he scolded himself, but he could not stop. Tears were running down into his cheeks, falling unheeded to the dirt.

“I am here, Findaranya,” he choked out. “Hinya - tyenya -”

Findaráto took another slow step forward. He was only an arm’s length away. This close, Finarfin could see the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. They had always sprung into full force whenever they visited Tirion and the light of Laurelin fell upon his son’s upturned face. Of course Findaráto would have had freckles in Beleriand, where Anar reigned, Finarfin thought, feeling oddly bereft. He reached out a trembling hand, slowly, ready to drop it back to his side in an instant at the slightest flinch.

Findaráto was still; then suddenly he fell to his knees in the dirt. The molten light of Anar lowering in the sky crowned him in fire.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I left thee. Thou wert grieving and alone, and I left thee.”

For an instant only Finarfin was stricken silent; then he knelt beside his son. “No,” he said. “Hinya, there is no - no debt between us, no grudge neither I nor thy mother bear thee, nothing - nothing thou needst apologize for, tyenya, hinya, Findaranya. Thou art -” he was weeping too hard to speak for an instant. He had to cover his face in his hands briefly; then he continued, through the tears. “Thou art here. Here, and alive.”

Findaráto turned to look at him. He was still so quiet within himself. Finarfin did not dare reach out and touch him, lest he dissolve into the lowering rays of fire and leave them again childless and bereft.

“I have missed thee, Atar,” he said, staring again at the road.

“And I have missed thee. Every day of thine absence.”

Findaráto looked up. “I have been - there is so much grief,” he said. “So much lost.”

“I know,” said Finarfin.

“But thou art here,” said Findaráto. His eyes flickered briefly up to meet Finarfin’s. “And Ammë?”

“She waits for thee,” said Finarfin. “I told thee she bears no grudge.”

“Thou art here,” repeated Findaráto.

“Yes,” said Finarfin, “and I shall not leave - thy mother and I - we shall not leave - and I will kneel upon the road with thee all the night if that is thy wish.”

He meant it, he found, with skin and bone, muscle and sinew. He would cast aside his crown in an instant and sit upon this dusty roadside for an Age, if it meant his son would not leave again.

Findaráto blinked, and blinked again; then he pitched forward. His arms wrapped about Finarfin’s shoulders as they had in his youth - smaller then, but still his - his tears were wetting Finarfin’s braid set all askew, his pulse was beating against Finarfin’s chest.

Finarfin gathered him close as he wept, tears coursing anew down his own cheeks. “Hinya,” he said again. He could not stop saying it. “My child. My child is home.”

#finarfin #finrod #earwen #silm fic #my writing #the silmarillion

172 notes · View notes

shybunnie20 · 7 months

Text

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

★Teaser ★My Masterlist

Summary: Eddie is catapulted into the world of fame and temptation as he pursues the opportunity of a lifetime. However, he underestimates the cost of stardom and subsequently pays the price, one that takes a toll on more than just his career.

Author's Note: It's time to sprinkle some dark tones with a dash of fluff into the mix. Enjoy!

AU with no Upside Down. No use of Y/N. Established relationship. Heavy angst with bittersweet ending. Eddie is 21.

Word count: 15.7k

Warnings: MDNI 18+, substance abuse/addiction, depictions of depression, analogies relating to death, mentions of sex and suggestive moments, includes swearing.

The Hideout, in all its historic glory. The booth seats are weathered and splintered, each having housed countless conversations for over a decade. Stubbornly sticky floors cling to every shoe sole, and exposed piping makes for a rusted, industrial web. Last but not least, the unmistakable pounding of live music seeps out onto the street.

The stage itself is a basic platform, constructed from wooden planks that’ve seen their fair share of acts. Positioned closest to the brick wall is Gareth’s drum kit, gleaming with a metallic sheen that contrasts the muted tones of the room. Center stage, a microphone stands tall with Eddie’s hand gripped around it. Jeff and Donny play nearby, their amps standing guard on stage left and right. Their amplifiers wear marks of use, covered in peeling stickers and the scars of reckless transportation.

Melodies are skillfully coaxed from the strings of Eddie’s guitar in the sweltering lights. They envelop him, casting a golden glow that glistens in the rivulets of sweat dripping from his temple. His hand-cut muscle shirt, once a light gray, now clings to his torso in dark-soaked patches.

His senses are attuned to every note strummed and the subtleties of his bandmates’ musicianship. From beneath his damp bangs, Eddie steals glances at his friends with a dancing smile. Their expressions mirror his, reflecting the visceral connection that was forged in the crucible of tiresome rehearsals.

The room is relatively empty apart from the bar stools inhabited by regular patrons who are three sheets to the wind. Only one solitary figure occupies a corner table. His face features a thick, meticulously groomed mustache; a throwback to an era where a well-defined stache symbolized nerve and authority. His balding crown and the strap of sparse hair framing the sides of his head pair fittingly with the bags beneath his deep-set, beady eyes. The dark circles act as badges of dedication, a reminder that success comes at a cost.

He stands out like a sore thumb among the hard-up regulars who are clad in their button-up plaids and tattered trucker hats. The man’s style of dress consists of a woven suit jacket, a black polo shirt, and dark slacks. An expensive designer belt completes the ensemble, marking the presence of professionalism.

He’s exuding an aura of casual arrogance as he watches the boys play their hearts out. He possesses an eye for discovering the next big thing, and his gold mine is diamonds in the rough. Eddie has a type of potential that, if adequately nurtured and harnessed, can rake in a lot of dough. Calculating the possibilities that lay ahead, he not only sees an amateur artist on this stage but a malleable asset that he can shape to fit the demands of the industry. It’s no walk in the park to whip a small-town boy into showbiz shape, but he’s capable.

Guys like Eddie are hungry for recognition and starving to make something of themselves. That’s all he requires to work his magic. At this moment, watching Eddie play like it’s the sole purpose of his existence, he can practically smell the crisp wads of cash Eddie will bring in.

As the final chords of Corroded Coffin's instruments dissipate into the dusty air, a lingering hum resonates. The room remains void of applause and the gentleman patiently bides his time in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to make a move.

Gareth is focused on disassembling his drum kit while his bandmates move their equipment into the back alleyway. He’s taken aback when a hairy hand extends toward him and he looks up at the man with a furrowed brow.

“Rodney Bellissimo, Bell Records,” he announces proudly. “But folks call me Mo.”

Gareth’s eyes widen as the words register. “Hi,” He shakes the man’s hand, forgetting to wipe his clammy palms on his jeans first.

Mo conceals his disgust from the soupy contact. "I've been on this scene for a while and I think what you guys have going on here is promising.”

“Holy shit, you think so?"

Mo rests his hands on his hips. "Absolutely. Do you got a way for me to reach you? I'd like to talk over some potential opportunities."

“Yeah, um-” Gareth scrambles, patting himself down. “One sec,” he hurries over to the bar, snags a napkin and ballpoint pen, and scribbles while striding back over to the stage. “Here’s all of our phone numbers.”

Mo accepts the napkin and tucks it in his inner breast pocket. “Thanks, I'll be in touch.”

Just as Mo turns to leave, Gareth shouts, “Wait!” he digs through his army green messenger bag. “We don’t have a demo or anything official like that, but this was a recent rehearsal,” he hands over a cassette tape.

Mo takes the tape and shakes it in the air, the reels rattling noisily. “I’ll be sure to give it a listen.”

As the man turns his back and leaves the bar, Gareth’s pulse spikes. He leaps off of the stage and bolts past the restrooms. His sneakers skid on the smooth floor, causing him to trip, but he recovers and carries onward. He bursts through the heavy metal door with a thud and the stiff hinges scream into the alleyway.

Jeff and Donny’s heads turn in unison. In the back of his van, Eddie is equally as startled and smacks his head on the roof. “Ow, Christ!” he exclaims, stepping onto the pebbled pavement and rubbing the tender spot on his skull. “Dude, what the hell?”

“Guys,” Gareth wheezes, his breath escaping in short bursts. "You’re not gonna believe what just happened.”

Eddie folds his arms across his chest. “Whatever it is, it better be worth the goddamn concussion you just gave me.”

“It is,” Gareth hops off of the steps. “Some record dude in a suit just said he liked our set.”

Among the group, Eddie alone received a call. Now his disbelief bleeding into reality as the plane rolls down the runway. He clutches your hand for dear life, anxious as hell due to the unfamiliar rumbling and vibrations. With your presence reassuring him, Eddie can manage until the turbulence subsides. Gradually, he relaxes.

Unable to resist the allure of the window seat, he pleads with you to switch places. “Holy shit,” he chuckles in amazement, watching the fluffy sky marshmallows pass by. “This is insane.”

The landing goes somewhat smoother for him, though it’s not without nervous moments. The plane becomes stationary and is fairly quiet, but his composure shatters when he startles at your fellow passengers bursting into spontaneous applause. Eddie scowls, embarrassed for being so jumpy over something ridiculous like clapping. In his defense, nobody told him that was a thing.

After being taxied to your destination, the two of you arrive at a sun-soaked building. The receptionist directs you down the hall to the left. Walking hand in hand, you marvel at the framed gold and platinum records that adorn the walls.

Finally reaching the door, Eddie turns to you. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he confesses. “I’m seriously about to meet the Poison Blade,” Eddie blinks rapidly. “Okay, yep! I can’t do this, I absolutely cannot do this.”

You reel him back by the hand when he turns to leave. “You can and you’re about to. If anybody can handle this it’s you.”

He has yet to grasp that he’s here, auditioning to fill in for Nick Karr, who recently left the band. Eddie read about it in various magazines, some speculating about what the lead guitarist’s substance of choice was. After the initial rumors spread, an inside source revealed that Nick was in rehab for using narcotics; happens to the best of ‘em.

Eddie sucks in a deep breath and blows with puffed cheeks and pursed lips. After summoning the courage to open the door, he steps into the dimly lit, windowless room. The knots in his stomach get impossibly tighter when the door slams closed.

A cigarette is pinched between the black-painted fingernails of the lead singer. He’s seated at the mixing desk while he chats with the shaggy-haired bassist who’s sitting a few feet away on a loveseat. The heavily tattooed drummer occupies the swivel chair beside the frontman, patting out a rhythm on his thighs. Mo stands nearby, attentively listening to the nicotine-fueled rant.

The bassist’s distant stare is the first to flit in your direction. Eddie squeezes your hand so tensely that your fingertips go numb. As dominoes of awareness fall one after another, a collective acknowledgment of your presence falls upon the room.

The singer spins around and takes a drag from his cigarette. “Which one is this?” he asks, looking you over and then doing the same to Eddie.

“This here is Ed Munson, Indiana’s best,” Mo offers a polite smile and strides across the room. He extends his hand to Eddie exactly as he did to Gareth just weeks ago.

Eddie stares at Mo’s sausage fingers and expensive wristwatch while returning the greeting. “Yeah, yes. I uh- go by Eddie actually,” he babbles. “But you can call me Ed if you want, that’s cool too. Whatever’s clever.”

The bassist shakes his head and snickers. Mo disregards the man’s reaction entirely, not batting an eye. “I’m glad you could make it,” his focus shifts to you. “I see you’ve brought a guest.”

“This is my girl,” Eddie nudges you, sending a small smile along with it. “Had to bring my muse along for the ride.”

“Right,” Mo says without a hint of intrigue and carries on. “As I'm sure you’re well aware, these are the guys,” he strides away and clamps his meaty hand on the drummer’s shoulder. “This here is Tommy,” Mo motions toward the other two members. “And that’s Bobby and Crash.”

With a forgotten breath, Eddie’s words pour out. "W-Wow, I mean I've been following your music for like ever and it's fucking unreal to be here right now. Listen, I don’t wanna be that guy, but can I just say that I’m such a huge fan. ‘Where Dreams Go to Die’ is the song that honestly changed my life. It’s the whole reason why I started playing in the first place. I’ve listened to it like a bajillion times. Seriously, Born 2B Wreckless is one of my top five favorite albums ever. I even have your tour posters on my-”

You turn your head toward him and whisper, “Baby, be cool.”

Eddie snaps his mouth shut, withholding any further details that could embarrass the shit out of him. “It’s an honor to be here.”

Crash smirks. “You’ve got good taste, my friend. Wrote most of that album myself.”

The flaking leather sofa creaks as Bobby leans forward. In a carelessly hushed tone, he sighs, “It feels like this is never gonna end. How many more are there?”

“Suck it up, Bobby Boy,” Todd snorts and glances at the list of crossed-out names resting on the mixing board. “Two more after this.”

The bassist groans and sinks back, propping his head up on his fist. Crash’s hands forcefully meet, sending a sharp clap through the room. “Alright, let's get this show on the road then. Do you know the chorus to ‘Too Far Gone’ or do you need sheet music?”

Eddie shakes his head enthusiastically. “No way, I could even play it blindfolded if you wanted me to.”

“Grand,” Crash gestures to the booth’s door. “Hop in and give it a go.” “Totally. Okay, yeah. Shit,” Eddie presses a swift kiss to your interlocked fingers, releases your hand, and steps into the recording booth.

Feeling a bit awkward as you remain standing by the door alone, you’re uncertain of where to park yourself. Ideally, you’d like to be as inconspicuous as possible. The last thing you need is to ruin everything by tripping over a cord or something.

Bobby senses that you’re uneasy judging by the look on your face. He brings his extended leg closer to the other, making room on the couch as a silent invitation for you to sit. You scurry over and take a seat, unable to squeak out a thanks or a mere hello. Your posture is rigid and demure, despite there being ample space for you to sit comfortably.

Under the weight of the headphones, Eddie’s plush curls are flattened. He beams at you through the large pane of glass and flashes a thumbs up. Crash instructs him to use the provided guitar. As the track’s beat floods Eddie’s ears, his anxiety overpowers his dexterity, causing him to fall behind the tempo.

Crash abruptly cuts the music, and Eddie’s eyes bulge as he looks out, terrified that he’s just screwed his only chance at making it big. However, with a whirl of Crash’s tattooed index finger, Eddie’s worry dissipates when the track is rewound and begins once more.

On the edge of your seat, literally and figuratively, you watch Eddie collect himself and keep up this time. The tension wracking your entire being is exacerbated by Mo loudly chewing his gum, but it seems that you’re the only one bothered by it. A smug smile splits his patchy stubble as he boasts to the men that this nobody he discovered is the real deal.

The guys are less than obvious about how impressed they are. Compared to the other chumps who have auditioned ahead of him, Eddie stands out. Sure, he’ll need to clean up his playing a bit and could more than likely use some vocal lessons, but these are doable things. After all, he’s already got the look and an undeniable eagerness to prove himself.

After they’ve heard all they need from him, he steps out of the booth. Mo pats him on the back, “You handled yourself well in there.”

“Oh, thanks,” Eddie grins bashfully, fiddling with his cross-shaped ring.

Todd says, “You’ve got some chops, man. You’re definitely someone I’d be down to jam with.”

A snort comes from the far end of the couch. Bobby crosses his arms, eyeballing Eddie’s flushed face. “Yeah, good job, kid. You’d make a fine addition,” the corner of his mouth quirks up. “If only we wouldn’t have to schedule our rehearsals around your bedtime,” he chuckles to himself. “Seriously, how old are you, anyway? 17?”

“Bobby, shut your yap,” Mo barks. “Ed, we’ve got some things to consider, but be sure to keep an ear on your telephone.”

You scramble to your feet as your boyfriend is ushered to the door. The polite side of you considers turning around to bid everyone farewell, but you decide against it, considering they never even bothered to say hello.

Mo did get in touch with Eddie and since then, he put pen to paper and sold his soul to the music industry. He’s been in LA for about a week now, familiarizing himself with the lay of the land and learning how to work a real crowd. His first show with the band is tonight and the pressure is on. Currently, he’s seated at the brightly lit vanity in his dressing room. Eddie fluffs his mane, admiring the bounce after having gotten a fancy schmancy conditioning treatment. “Baby,” he calls out.

“Hmm?” You finish folding the clothes that he just changed out of.

Eddie stretches a strand and watches it spring back into a coil. “Can you do my eyeliner for me?”

“What, worried you’ll look like a raccoon if you do it?” You approach the vanity, but Eddie slips out of his seat and moves to the armchair instead. Quirking your brow at him brings a devilish look to his face. “Is this necessary?”

Eddie pats his thigh, to which you sit on his lap with your legs off to one side. “Very much so,” he wraps his arms around your waist and smacks a wet kiss on your cheek. “You’ll get optimal lighting right here.”

“I’d confidently argue that it’s worse,” you counter, watching the chocolate puddles in his eyes swirl. Heat blooms across your skin as he rubs your hip with the comforting swipe of his thumb.

“Perhaps, but this view is way better for me so,” He hands over the jet-black pencil.

“Uh huh,” You run the liner across the back of your hand to warm the product. His lashes flutter closed in response to you tipping his chin up.

“Don’t go poking my eye out with that thing,” Eddie teases, peeking one eye open and smiling at your faux scowl.

“I don’t think I could ever forgive myself for committing such an atrocity,” you rest your wrist on his cheekbone and gently swipe the pencil across his lash line. “Not when you’ve got such pretty eyes.”

He forces air out of his nose. “Careful with the flattery, sweetheart. It’ll go straight to my head.”

“Believe me, I know,” You affirm, licking your thumb and smudging the product.

“Are you tryna get me all riled up before I have to go on stage?”

“It’s only fair.”

Eddie’s chest rumbles with curiosity. “How so?”

“Because,” you switch to his other eye, your wrist now resting across the bridge of his nose. “This look is really doing it for me,” your tone is playful, but the interlaced confession is clear as day. You finish by using the same thumb to smudge the liner.

Sensing the loss of your touch, Eddie looks into your eyes. “Oh, yeah?” he squeezes the dough of your hip and licks his lips. “Tell me what it’s doin’ for you, baby,” his right arm stays in place while the other finds its way to the top of your thigh. “Is it makin’ you feel needy?”

“Yeah,” The breath has been stolen from your lungs as you lean into his chest. You can’t help but squirm in his lap when his fingers grope your thigh. “Maybe a little.”

The friction causes a groan to rattle from his throat. “Fuck,” he sighs, sounding just as winded as you do. “You gotta be a good girl and wait,” Eddie presses his nose against yours. “Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll try,” you whine, your nails grazing the sensitive skin on the nape of his neck. “It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

A smile crawls onto his lips as Eddie slides his hand under your shirt and grasps at your waist.

“No! Your hands are freezing!” you cry out, instinctively trying to fight the shock. With a pained giggle, you pout at him. “You’re so mean.”

“Who, me?” he purrs, tugging you back against him.

“Yeah, you,” You smile shyly. His embrace is overwhelmingly gentle, yet secure all the same. Your lips hover over his, breaths dancing, and he seals the kiss; a promise for the passionate evening he’s going to treat you to as soon as he has the chance.

The way that you return the kiss just as hungrily tells him that you would let him take you right here, right now if he could. Your intensity only spurs him on, the exhale from his nose fanning hotter against your cheek. “Such a needy baby,” he fawns before stealing one more kiss, this one no less fervent than the last.

You nod in agreement and just then, the dressing room door is wrapped on and he’s being called to the stage. “Knock 'em dead,” You encourage while sliding off of his lap.

Eddie gets to his feet and caresses your cheeks with both of his hands. “Thank you for being here,” he brings you to his chest and kisses the top of your head. “It means the world to me.”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it,” you snuggle up to him, but when you realize that he’s not budging, you have to pry him off of you. “Go! You’re gonna be late.”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie walks to the door and turns around, pointing his ringed finger in your direction with a smirk. “Behave yourself, little missy. I mean it.”

The show goes well. Really well, in fact. Eddie commands the audience all while playing exceptionally. His energy encourages his bandmates to kick it up a notch, making for an electrifying performance. After they play their final song and step off of the stage, Eddie is immediately searching for you. When you lock eyes, he sprints over, scoops you up by your middle, and spins you around. The kiss is sticky, salty, and downright unforgettable. He’s so sweaty and sorry about it, but he’s never felt so much exhilaration in his life.

For the celebratory dinner to commemorate the evening, the guys opt for the area’s most expensive seafood restaurant. Eddie tries everything for the first time while wearing a paper bib with a large cartoon lobster on it.

When he sucks back an oyster, his face displays flat-out repulsion and offense. To wash the taste and its consistency from his mind, Eddie indulges in a few too many drinks. By the end of it, you’re more or less carrying him back to the hotel room.

Eddie is in a state of total bliss with his belly full and mind fuzzy. He flops down on the cushy bed and smiles goofily at you. “I could get used to this,” he snorts drunkenly.

The next morning, a chauffeur takes both of you to the airport. You wish you could have more time together, but Eddie is leaving for the next city in a few hours. He’s officially a part of the band now, and they’re embarking on a cross-country tour. You want to be excited for him, you’re trying your best to be. But it’s a bummer that you can’t tag along.

Standing on the cracked pavement, you watch as Eddie lugs your suitcase from the trunk of the shiny black car. The bustle of intercom announcements, car doors slamming, and engines roaring overhead, all sound distant. Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears as you dread the impending separation, readying yourself to convince him that you’ll be okay for as long as he’s gone.

“Here,” Eddie unclasps the ball chain from his neck and steps forward to latch it around yours. “So you’ll have a little piece of me,” It’s a reminder that you’re on this journey together, even if you’re in different places for it.

“I’ll never take it off,” you promise, flipping the tortoiseshell pick between your fingers. “I wish I had something to give you.”

Eddie shakes his head, sending his frizzy hair flying in the breeze. “You’ve given me so much just by believing in me. Without you, I probably never would’ve flown on an airplane, much less joined my favorite fucking band.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, his appreciation effectively drawing you closer to him. “Have fun and be safe,” your last word turns into a squeal when he pulls your body against his. It feels good to have his face buried in your shoulder, so good that it’s riding the line of painful.

“God, I’m gonna miss that laugh,” he mumbles, the material of your shirt effectively dampening his voice. Eddie smothers himself and groans dramatically. “Gonna miss you so much.”

Without being able to understand what he’s saying, you can feel the heat of his breath hitting your skin. “You’ll stay out of trouble?”

Eddie clings to you a bit longer, filling his lungs with your scent. “You know I will,” he mumbles again before pulling back. “I wanna make you proud,” He kisses the tip of your nose and flashes a smile, the deep lines around his mouth emphasizing his sincerity.

“I already am, I’ve always been proud of you.”

“Then I’m gonna make you even more proud,” Eddie doubles down. “I’m gonna send you flowers and chocolates and all that shit, ‘kay? That way you’ll never have the chance to forget how much I love you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you roll your eyes, though you adore that he’s a hopeless romantic beneath his leather and chain exterior. “Just call me whenever you can.”

Eddie chuckles with you, but he’s dead serious about the gifts. “If a chirping telephone is thy heart’s desire, then thou shalt have it, my dearest.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, and I’ll make them the best damn phone calls you’ve ever had,” Eddie reassures, stroking the side of your neck with his thumb.

“I’m holding you to that,” you slowly pull away.

“You better,” Eddie says with reluctance, releasing you and picking up your suitcase. “Because otherwise, I’ll have to write the sappiest ballad you’ve ever heard just to make up for it.”

Looking down, you take your suitcase and fixate on the zipper, unable to acknowledge his playful remark.

Eddie lifts your chin to bring your gaze back to his. “You know I’m gonna miss you like hell, right?”

You nod sheepishly, fighting with all your might for the tears to remain unshed. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

“Give Shadow lots of treats for me.”

“Not a chance! She’s going on a diet as soon as I get home. You know she’s only fat because you give her a treat any time she even looks at you, right?”

“Can you blame me? She’s the cutest fucking cat in the world,” Eddie’s eyes glisten, accompanied by a bittersweet smile. He takes a deep breath, the exhale sounding sadder than he means for it to. “You better get going.”

“I suppose so. Well, goodbye,” Your throat tightens as you hold your breath.

Eddie sucks his teeth. “Not ‘bye,’ sweetheart. See you soon.”

Not soon enough. You try to keep it together as Eddie kisses your knuckles, and your heart sinks when his hand lets go of yours. A gnawing need for one last glance overcomes you while you walk away. Looking back, you find Eddie where you left him. A veil of tears drapes over your vision as you raise your hand, offering a partial wave.

He mirrors your final farewell and waits for you to disappear inside the building. Only when he can no longer see you does he release a heavy-hearted sigh and get back into the car.

Meanwhile, you’re standing in the TSA line with guilt clawing at you. How could you even entertain the thought of wanting him to miss out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity just to stay home? It wasn’t fair for you to even imagine it. As you inch forward, the tears sting your eyes. You understand what your job is, that you must be patient and await his return while he introduces himself to the world. You’re just going to have to learn to share.

This is going to be the best summer of his life thus far, excluding the one where he fell for you. Nothing will ever top that.

He kept his word for a while, calling nightly as often as he could. The gifts arrived on your doorstep just like he said. There were two dozen roses last week, and Swiss chocolates this week. You’d never tasted anything that sweet but it was unbelievably bitter too, because every gift marked another seven days gone by without him.

Whenever Eddie called, you refrained from burdening him with your feelings. The elation was always present in his voice when he told you about what he’d been up to. Regardless if there was thumping music, blaring car horns, or his speech was slurred, it was always evident how great of a time Eddie was having. You were unwilling to take that away from him by giving him a reason to worry. Independence surely hasn’t treated you as kindly as him.

The cicadas' songs are sung on high and the days stretch on too much for your liking. You lie around and wilt alongside the shriveled petals falling from the vase on the dining table. The unraveling doesn’t stop until you’re nothing but a raw, exposed stem.

As Eddie sails the U.S.S. Poison Blade, riding an all-consuming sea of fans and fame, you feel like a woman whose husband may never return home. Sleeping has never felt so lonely. The clean bed, soft against your skin, offers no relief. The cotton sheets no longer bear his scent, having undergone numerous wash cycles without the return of his presence to refresh it.

You’ve been stress cleaning, channeling your woes into tidying up the apartment more than ever before. From floor to ceiling, your place is spick and span. But, you can only rearrange the Tupperware cupboard so many times. You’ve crossed off item after item on your to-do lists. The point has been reached where you’ve run out of tasks to keep yourself occupied.

In the evenings, Shadow perches herself expectantly on the arm of the couch, awaiting Eddie’s return from work. It’s a daily occurrence for him to come home, kick off his boots, and she curls up in his lap. Eddie has been her favorite since the day you brought her home. You can’t blame her, he’s your favorite too.

During one of the calls that have become few and far between, you ask Eddie about a tabloid headline that you saw. He brushes it off, claiming that they come up with absurd shit to make a quick buck. Eddie assures you that he’s behaving himself, despite the paparazzi photo suggesting otherwise.

You’ve been meaning to talk about what’s next, but you’re too afraid to ask. Is he expecting you to move to LA once the tour ends? Will you have to leave your friends and family behind to be there with him?

Eddie’s concerns align with yours. He didn’t take the time to think this through. Joining one of the most successful metal bands in the country isn’t a temporary gig where he does one tour for fun and then returns to his ordinary life. That’s not how it works.

Day after day, Eddie lives without the promise of having you in his arms anytime soon. His responsibilities yank him every which way, and the only thing keeping him from packing up and running home to you is the damn contract he signed.

Eddie knows you’d never leave him, but there’s that cynical little voice in his head that tries to convince him otherwise. There’s a chance that you could find another guy to keep you company while he’s gone, someone who knows how to steal you away from him. Just the thought of it makes him feel sick to his stomach.

Great things keep happening and he finds himself with the urge to tell you, but he can’t get to a phone. When he does, he’s going to have to break the news that the tour has been extended. Worse yet, the Indianapolis date was moved another three months out. But Eddie doesn’t care how complicated this gets; he tells you that he’s going to do whatever it takes. “I know it sucks, baby. But if you can just wait a little longer, I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

The moving tour bus sways Eddie with a bumpy rocking motion, an unrelenting reminder that he’s not with you. It’s not even the shaking walls that are keeping him awake, it’s his running mind. He’s lying in his cramped bunk in the pitch darkness. He longs to see you and all he has to look at are his memories. With his eyes wide open, the space is as black as the backs of his eyelids. He tries to envision your sweet face but it’s fading.

Eddie thinks about the time that he swatted your butt with a wet dish towel. You chased him into the bedroom, pinned him down, and threatened to tickle him to death. It was an adequate threat, considering how ticklish he is. Eddie hates the way that it feels, but the sheer delight it brings you makes it worthwhile.

He allowed you to do it just so he could see that sparkle in your eyes. Eddie thought he’d have to flip you on your back to get you to stop, but that wasn’t the case. You showed him mercy by running your nails along his tender sides to soothe his nerves. One kiss led to another.

Eddie chuckles sadly to himself, desperate for the showers you take together after rolling around in the sheets. You bathe each other with wholehearted tenderness, the raw arousal burned away through exertion, leaving behind the silk-soft adoration. Mute with delicate smiles, you put each other back together after a night of clawing and nipping.

Time and time again, exhaustion and bliss weigh heavily on your eyes while his palms cover you with foamy suds. The scent of the body wash is so clean and pure compared to the unholy things you do to each other. The fresh and sweet aroma invades Eddie’s oxytocin-flooded brain, putting him in seventh heaven.

It’s the way you lean into him like you can’t possibly stand on your own while he pampers you, that’s what’s getting him right now. He doesn’t mind when you do that, he never will. Eddie finds every second of that routine intoxicating and he’ll never get sick of it. He’s willing to hold you upright forever if that means he gets to hold you at all.

The throbbing in his chest swells as tears roll, imagining how you rake conditioner through his curls and kiss his newly cleansed back. You handle him with such care, something that he’d never felt until he met you. Eddie could go for a shower like that right now. Actually, scratch that. What he really needs is sleep, but he can’t. He’s struggled with insomnia since his early teen years, and it wasn’t until much later that he finally found a way to fall asleep without fail.

Before you came along, Eddie often stared at his bedroom walls for what felt like hours. He’d swear that they would start to drip the longer he went without blinking. The first night that you spent together was an innocent sleepover, born out of infatuation that had taken hold. Neither of you wanted to part for longer than necessary.

As you prepared for bed with your usual process, he observed every action. You placed a glass of milky tap water on the nightstand and washed your face. It was captivating and Eddie wondered if adopting such habits would help him. But he wasn’t sure if a little bit of self-care would put an end to the tossing and turning.

You looked tired but beautiful with your refreshed complexion. Crawling into bed beside him, you whispered goodnight, and that was all it took. The amount of envy and privilege he felt was overwhelming—jealous that you could fall asleep so easily in a bed that you’ve never slept in and privileged that you trusted him enough to do so.

For what felt like an eternity, his thoughts ran amok. His mind refused to power down.

Around one in the morning, you stirred and found Eddie lying on his side facing you, zoned out. “Baby?” you called to him in your partially conscious state.

His eyes met yours, but the frustration in them was well hidden in the dark. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Eddie whispered and gently stroked the side of your head.

“You need to rest too,” You yawned, being lulled by his soothing touch.

Eddie pressed a kiss to your forehead and murmured, “I’ll try.”

“Just can’t?” You perked up with concern brought about by his crystal-clear tone.

“Nope. Nothing helps, either,” he rolled his lips in. “I’ve tried everything. Warm milk, exercise, getting so high that I can’t sit up straight,” Eddie shrugged. “I guess I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

You chuckled softly. “Have you tried reading?”

“Yup, it didn't work. I’m convinced that I broke my sleep bone or something.”

“Want me to try? I’ll read to you.”

“No, no. You close those gorgeous eyes of yours and go back to sleep,” He kissed your joined hands, praying that you wouldn’t deprive yourself just because he was defective.

You sat up and fisted the sleepiness from your vision. “What page did you leave off on?”

Eddie wanted to rip the book from your grasp and chuck it across the room. But, the selfish part of him wanted to see if it would do the trick. “It’s bookmarked,” He sighed and watched as you propped yourself up and got situated. You held your arm out and Eddie crawled closer, wrapped his arm around your waist, and snuggled up to your tummy.

Your right hand held the book open and your left found the side of his head, gently scratching along his temple. He was instantly under your spell, his bones dense with comfort. Whenever your hand left his hair to turn the page, he involuntarily whined. When his breaths slowed, you knew that he was no longer awake. You smiled to yourself and closed your eyes, returning to your slumber with ease.

After that, Eddie no longer dreaded bedtime because you slept over regularly. That was the missing piece and there are no remedies that compare to the effect you have on him. This was something that Eddie overlooked while packing his bags for the tour. Now he’s sleep-deprived and half delirious while the nights flicker and bleed into each other. There’s not much that differentiates them but they’re all lawless.

You know what they say, distance makes the heart grow fonder. It’s true in this case, but it’s a tortuous fondness that he can’t alleviate. Maybe you’ll hear him if he sings loud enough during the show tomorrow.

Eddie is having the time of his life, don’t get it twisted. But he’s in dire need of the love that illuminates him in a way that no spotlight ever will.

It’s still strange to hear his name hollered without being followed by a paint-filled water balloon. In Hawkins, he was the chewing gum on the bottom of the town’s shoe. Eddie’s reputation didn’t align with his character. If people had bothered to get to know him, they’d have realized that he was never as much of a troublemaker as he was made out to be. While there were a few instances of shoplifting, it was merely a manifestation of youthful impulse.

The things that he’s doing now—frequenting strip clubs, drinking bars dry, kicking his feet up in VIP sections, attending mansion parties—are a stark departure from the tame acts of rebellion he’s committed in the past.

At a rowdy bar where the band was causing quite a bit of commotion, an officer was dispatched to address the situation and he gave them a hard time. In a wild turn of events, they managed to convince the cop to take shots with them. It wasn’t long until Crash and Todd yanked the baton from the man’s utility belt and were beating each other with it.

Too far gone to intervene with their antics, the cop could hardly speak. To make matters worse, the two knuckleheads wound up stealing his patrol car and drove it into a light post just yards down the street. That one wound up in the newspapers and magazines, though Eddie wasn’t named as being directly involved.

The people he’s around are the epitome of wild. They break bottles over each other’s heads, heave TV sets out of windows, and they’ve set their fair share of toilet bowls aflame.

Eddie isn’t even given the option to decline the time spent in titty bars. His bandmates usher him into the limo, leaving him no choice in the matter. That being said, resisting would jeopardize how they view him as a newcomer. Now that Eddie is rolling with the big hitters, he can’t take the bench just because his gut instinct is advising against the activities. Thanks to Todd’s signature potion called Diet T—tequila, grenadine, and lemonade with no sugar—Eddie’s inhibitions are fleeting.

Going to strip clubs didn’t sit right with him at first, especially when it came to getting private dances. But Crash offered a different angle that he hadn’t considered. They’re not strippers, they’re dancers whose instruments are their bodies. They’re just performers getting paid for putting on a show, much like the band. After it was painted in that light, Eddie started to feel less guilty about tucking bills into lycra g-strings and getting lap dances. It isn’t personal; it’s strictly business.

The best part of it all? He doesn’t have to be peer pressured anymore, he does it willingly. Todd told Eddie that he has nothing to feel bad about because he’s a rockstar now. He said that the normal relationship rules don’t apply here and there’s no way you’d even find out about any of it.

Eddie’s morals are taking consecutive sick days while he partakes in things he never imagined himself doing. Things he promised you he wouldn’t do and continues to deny having involvement in.

Abruptly awoken from his lifeless state, Eddie is startled by sloppy slaps delivered to his cheeks. He struggles to peel his eyes open, deterred by the pounding in his head. A brittle groan slips past his lips.

Bobby, frustrated by his unresponsive bandmate, vigorously shakes him by the shoulders. “Ed, we’ve gotta hit the road. Get your ass outta bed and put some clothes on.”

“No,” Eddie grunts in protest, yanking the spare pillow over his face. “Go away,” he exhales gravely.

Intervening swiftly, Bobby removes it. “I swear to god,” he implores, the irritation evident due to his hangover. “Quit fuckin’ around. I’m sick of gettin’ chewed out just ‘cause you get too messed up every night.”

“Don’t wanna,” Eddie croaks, clinging to the stale sheets. His movements are sluggish and his vision is bleary.

With the pillow still clutched in his fist, Bobby wails at Eddie’s gut with pitiful force. “Get- the- fuck- up-” He accentuates each word with a resounding smack.

Eddie reacts instinctively by jerking into the fetal position. “Alright, alright!” he flashes Bobby his palm, surrendering. “Lay off, Jesus Christ.”

The bashing ceases, and Bobby tosses the pillow onto the bed. “Mo is gonna lose his shit if we don’t land in Milwaukee on time,“ he scoops up a lone pair of pants and chucks them at Eddie.

“I could give two fucks about Milwaukee,” Eddie grumbles as he sits up at a snail’s pace. On the end table beside him sits a leftover glass of booze, a classic “hair of the dog” remedy. “And I could give a shit about being on schedule,” His words echo in the cup.

“You should give a shit. If we’re not actively flyin’ outta Indiana in 12 minutes-” Bobby gathers the scattered clothes from the floor and haphazardly throws them into the open suitcase. “We’ll never hear the fuckin’ end of it.”

Eddie’s brows furrow. “Hold up, we’re in Indiana?”

“Get up to speed, numb nuts,” Bobby huffs, slams the suitcase shut, and turns it right side up. “Put those fuckin’ pants on or so help me God.”

Eddie leans down and retrieves the jeans. He holds them out, struggling to orient them correctly. “Okay, Dad. Take a chill pill, will ya?”

“Hah! Not after seein’ what they do to you,” Bobby turns to leave, satisfied that Eddie is getting a move on.

“Wait,” Eddie forces his leg into his jeans, the material flapping noisily. “What do you remember from last night?”

Bobby snorts. “Dude, you took anythin’ that was offered to you. I lost track after two tabs and a coupla lines,” he mimics the act of snorting by pressing his finger to his nostril. “Your lady must notta been too happy ‘bout it ‘cause she looked like she was gonna lose her shit. And not in the ‘I wanna punch you but I still love you way.’ I mean, she was really cryin’.”

Eddie looks down in thought. He manages to grasp a fleeting image of his hazy recollection, and it’s akin to looking at you through a thick pane of fragmented glass. The jagged shards refract the overhead light, obscuring the heartbroken expression on your features.

Suddenly he feels nauseous. It’s hard to tell whether his queasiness stems from the emotional tidal wave or the combination of substances he consumed a few hours ago. Whichever, he’s doing his damndest to suppress it because he doesn’t want to blow chunks first thing in the morning.

“Ten minutes, fuck face. I’m serious,” Bobby flips the bird on his way out of the room.

Eddie spots a silver chain hanging out of the front pocket of his jeans. His twitching fingers take hold of the brownish-red pick. “Oh no,” his eyes widen and his heart plunges into his stomach. “Oh shit. Fuck!” Eddie blurts as he scrambles to his feet, his joints creaking from the awkward position in which he slept. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The room is in shambles. A lamp lays on its side and the busted bulb is ground into the salmon-colored carpet. Bed sheets are strewn across the floor, the comforter is missing, and the pillow he rested on bears a large bloodstain from his nosebleed. Where the landline used to be attached to the wall is now a gaping hole and the phone itself is nowhere to be seen.

His breathing is labored as he scans his surroundings, desperately searching for his wallet. He’s uncertain if there’s even any change in it, but he’s dead-set on finding out. Eddie drops to his knees, reaching shoulder-deep under the bed. Instead of his wallet, he finds one of his shoes. Potentially helpful, but not right this second. He then proceeds to tear the remaining sheets off of the bed and shakes them out, but nothing thuds against the floor.

Frustrated and still feeling the effects of the previous blackout, Eddie tries to think strategically about where his wallet might have ended up. In his disheveled state, he stumbles into the bathroom and slaps the light switch. The cloudy yellow light flickers to life like the blinking of a neon sign.

Quickly scanning the space, Eddie’s eyes dart over the sink and the toilet. He steps over to the stained clawfoot tub and jerks the patterned curtain aside. The rings scrape against the pole and his wallet is revealed, lying at the bottom of the tub.

With trembling fingers, Eddie digs into the coin pocket. The metal discs feel frigid against his searing skin. He shakes them out into his palm, tapping the coins with his finger to keep track. “Nickel, penny, dime, gum wrapper,” Eddie flicks the ball to the floor. “Dime, quarter, nickel-”

He pivots and rushes out into the hall, taking the long flight of stairs two steps at a time. Emerging in the lobby, Eddie’s bare feet tap as he crosses the polished floor. It’s one thing to be shirtless, but his jeans are unzipped too.

The receiver clatters when he yanks it off of the hook. Coins tumble and clank as he slots them, his breath coming in heavy gasps. Eddie rapidly punches in your phone number with practiced precision. He doesn’t even have to think about the digits, the pattern flows from muscle memory alone.

The line purrs and purrs. Eddie brings his thumbnail to his teeth and winces, having already bitten it bloody. He shakes his hand out and opts to gnaw on his pinky. The relentless ringing ripples through his eardrums and worsens the pounding in his head. A pool of tears gatherers at his lower lash line, making his eyes sting more.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Eddie mutters urgently. “Answer the phone, sweetheart. Please pick up,” The last ring reverberates and he promptly kills the line. Eddie hurriedly slots more coins and punches in your number again.

He calls you twice more, but the ringing remains unanswered. Out of change and out of time, he slams the receiver back on the hook with a growl. “Son of a bitch!”

“Kid,” Mo thunders from the center of the lobby, marching over to him with anger etched into his aged features. “Why aren’t you dressed?” He asks through gritted teeth, on edge after signing a hefty check to cover the cost of Eddie’s previous hotel room demolition. Of which was more than a shattered lightbulb and a stained pillowcase. “You were supposed to be ready 15 minutes ago,” he grabs Eddie and shoves him in the direction of the elevator, nearly causing him to collide with a woman. “And tell the guys that if they don’t get down here, I’m gonna shove my foot so far up their asses they’ll be able to taste the shoe polish.”

It took the entire day for him to sober up enough to realize that it wasn’t merely a bad trip or his imagination running wild. Eddie dwelled on his inability to recall as the hours ticked by. There are drinks and powders that make him forget things, but why can’t there be something for him to pop that’ll magically help him remember what happened? Somebody ought to get on that.

After landing in Milwaukee, the night wears on and his performance is less than stellar. Eddie is emotionally drained yet determined to try once more, but his call remains ignored.

Eddie continues to be unable to recollect what happened because you took it home with you, every single second of it.

The long-awaited midwestern tour dates had finally arrived. You were mailed a VIP pass, presumably by Mo because it didn’t come with a poetic note like the heartfelt gifts usually did. You went to the venue and watched from a reserved balcony suite, away from the hoards of sweaty denim-clad men and braless women who’d thrown their undergarments on the stage.

You knew it was Eddie up there, but he was performing like you’d never seen. The cockiness in his stage presence was unrecognizable. He’d improved immensely over the months spent on the road, and you were genuinely impressed.

After the show, you waited for the crowd to thin out, which gave you time to gather yourself. You hoped to god that he wouldn’t notice you’d put on ten pounds since you saw each other last. But he’s around models all the time, surely he’d notice.

You wandered around trying to find the entrance to the backstage area and finally stumbled upon a sturdy security guard. You explained that you had a pass but you didn’t know where to go. Luckily, he did. He escorted you behind the barricade and down a series of dark corridors.

A fast-paced beat accompanied by laughing and crashing poured from the open door down the hall. It only made you more nervous, realizing that there were quite a few people there. You imagined this moment of reuniting being private, so you tried to prepare yourself on such short notice.

Before you was the sight of a lively party. Red plastic cups and glass bottles littered the various surfaces and groupies lingered around in their tiny black leather skirts and skin-tight tops.

Todd appeared in front of you, seemingly out of nowhere. He was unbelievably inebriated and it took him a second to recognize you. Once he did, his expression shifted from disorientation to elatement. “Well, well, well. Look what we have here,” he said to you and then called out into the room. “Ed, come check this shit out!”

Todd disappeared after Eddie stumbled up behind him. You were taken aback by his ratty, knotted hair and the sleepy purple at the inner corners of his eyes. Straight away, the odors of alcohol, tobacco, and weed made their presence known. Just by the looks of him, there was no telling how long it had been since he slept last. It wasn’t recently, that was plain to see.

In a piss-poor posh accent, Eddie slurred, “Sweetheart! What a positively splendid surprise,” he harshly rubbed the underside of his nose with the back of his hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Surprise?” you assessed his wobbly stance. “Are you trashed right now?”

Eddie giggled like a mischievous child. “Who’s trashed? Not me,” he looked back into the party and watched as Todd jumped on the coffee table, banged his chest like a gorilla, and chugged a bottle of beer. Eddie cheered him on and then turned back to you. His laughter tapered off as he redirected his attention. “What’re we talkin’ about?”

“You forgot,” your voice cracked from the pressure that built in your throat. “You fucking forgot that I was coming.”

“I didn’t forget,” he defensively insisted. “It just slipped my mind,” Eddie blinked slowly and momentarily lost his balance, though he caught himself on the door frame. “Whoopsie daisy,” he snorted.

“What’s gotten into you?” you crossed your arms and gave yourself the hug that he failed to. “It’s like you’re a completely different person.”

“You’re damn right I am. I said sayonara to the old, lame-ass Eddie and I’m living the life I’ve always wanted. I’ve got all these people who actually get me, y’know? I’ve never had that before,” Eddie’s eyes closed entirely while he paused. “It’s awesome.”

“I don’t understand,” Tears trickled down your cheeks. “You’re making it sound like I’ve been holding you back,” It was the way that he was looking right through you and couldn’t see the comatose love in your eyes, that's what hurt the most.

“Eddd,” A woman sang out and appeared beside him. She hung off of his arm and nearly yanked him to the floor.

He steadied himself, his only priority was staying upright. “Ah, speaking of people. Babe, this is my friend…” Eddie looked over at her lazily.

“Cherry,” She grinned, equally as uncoordinated and woozy as he was. “I’m Cherry.”

“Right, yeah,” he sucked in a breath and looked back at you. “She’s cool. You should come in and talk makeup with her or something,” Eddie beamed as if that was the most brilliant idea he’d had all week.

It was then that you noticed the crimson wax smeared across the column of his throat. Identical in color to the one that was all over her lips, chin, and teeth. “It looks like you already have,” your stomach churned and the tears fell faster. “Try to listen closely, okay? Do not call me and don’t bother writing either,” With nimble fingers, you tore Eddie’s chain from around your neck, snapping the clasp, and threw it at his feet. “Fuck you.”

As you turned and made your way back down the dark tunnel, you could hear him calling your name as it echoed off of the walls. Once you rounded the corner, you couldn’t take it anymore. You coughed wetly and had to brace against the wall from your legs giving out. The weight of cinder blocks being stacked on your chest intensified while you sat on the cold concrete ground. It was as though he stomped your heart out like a singed cigarette thrown to pavement.

“What’s her problem?” Cherry squeaked, taking notice of how she was only wearing one heel and her skirt had ridden up to her waist somehow.

“Beats me,” Eddie shrugged.

If he was in his right mind, the sharp pieces of his shattered heart would have punctured his lungs; he wouldn’t have had a fighting chance at taking another breath. But Eddie was far from sober, and his organs were floating around like he was a human lava lamp. As you disappeared into the shadows, his mind was nothing short of blank and he went on with his evening like you’d never even shown.

The mention of Eddie’s name or the band no longer brings a smile to your face. It fills you with the sorrow that has replaced the pride you once felt for him. You long for the sound of pouring rain, hoping that it’ll drown out the repetitive radio hits that loop in your head. Even if your wishes are granted, you know it can’t rain forever and the clouds will disperse.

Just as you suspected, rainfall never sufficed. Thankfully, the much-awaited chill has finally arrived. Winter quietly falls, bringing icy roads and frozen windows with it. This season feels more appropriate, autumn was too vibrant with its spiced aromas and scenic landscapes. It was too full of life and you craved a desolate, bitter, unbearable distraction.

You’ve nearly mastered denying him access to your train of thought, but whether it be a song or otherwise, it all comes rushing back. Tonight is sleepless, and you find yourself wondering where it all went wrong.

The photo in your hands, of the two of you flashing your pair of plane tickets, makes you cry. Your emotion in the snapshot is genuine, but Eddie’s expression imitates enthusiasm. He used to be so camera-shy and he would resist your pleas until you successfully wore him down. These days, he’s doing half-naked photo shoots, sporting leather pants that leave little to the imagination.

Shadow appears to sense that you’re hurting and in contrast to her usual aloofness, she joins you on the bed. You watch her knead the blankets and curl up beside you. It only makes you cry harder and you’re afraid of driving her away with your pathetic wailing.

You had a rather eventful day, to say the least. Gareth came to collect your ex’s belongings. Gareth is the only person that he’s stayed in contact with since ditching Hawkins.

Not having his stuff around has significantly lightened the atmosphere, but the space feels emptier. Regardless, this is a fresh start. You don’t need Eddie, you have people who care about you. Gareth included because while he’s primarily Eddie’s friend, you’ve gotten to know each other over time. He offered a sympathetic hug before leaving with the backseat of his car packed with boxes.

Having some company, even briefly, was a welcome change from your day-to-day. Your social interactions have been limited. At most, it’s occasional small talk about the weather with coworkers and chatting with your elderly neighbor. Honestly, you prefer talking to Shadow because her meows are free of pity.

When you knocked on Mrs. Folley’s door to ask for a spare roll of paper towels, she took notice of your underfed and fatigued appearance. Without prying, she began preparing dinners for you. Every night at 6:10 PM there’s a faint knock on your front door. “375 degrees for 25 minutes,” she reminds you.

The casserole dishes are piling up in your kitchen sink, but you’re too apathetic to do as much as soak them. They’d soak forever. While you appreciate her selflessness, she’s making it awfully difficult for you to cut yourself off from the outside world. Leaving the house has become quite a daunting task because you have to go to great lengths to avoid places that remind you of him. You’ve even started shopping at a different grocery store. He has tainted just about everything, everywhere.

Eddie was only able to gather bits and pieces from his bandmates. None of their accounts were particularly reliable. Some recollections conflict, and some overlap. He’ll never know exactly what happened, but what he does know is that he fucked up severely.

Initially, he put on a mask of stoicism and attempted to channel his grief into the music-making process. The words just wouldn’t come to him. It was like Eddie had been zapped dry of any inspiration, understandably so, since he lost his muse. Plus, it proved to be far more agonizing than he anticipated. Eddie was tearing open a wound that hadn’t had the chance to heal. It was too late, the infection already spread and his sense of pride had long since eroded.

In defiance of how he truly feels, Eddie has been pretending that he’s on top of the world, in complete denial of how it’s engulfed in a blaze. He tries to convince himself that you were nothing but dead weight that would hold him back. But if that’s the case, why is he so willing to let you?

Just like an anchor, he’d beg you to pull him down, down, down. He’s willing to fill his lungs to the brim with salt water as you take him to the deepest depths. Eddie would much rather be in that darkness with you than be alone in this one. He’d rather drown than be freed of such a burden.

He’s been a walking Molotov with his vodka-soaked brain and a cigarette burning between his cracked lips. Salty teardrops saturate each puff of smoke, the haze carrying his remorse a brief distance before dissipating into the air. It’ll never travel far enough to reach you.

One might assume that he considers himself one lucky son of a bitch for the life that he’s leading. But, Eddie would vehemently dismiss such an assumption. The only thing he considers himself lucky for is having had the opportunity to experience what it felt like to be loved by you.

Your bodies moved in harmony, an irreproducible duet that was sung as you stroked one another’s chords. Together, you basked in the amorous afterglow. That glimmer in your eyes is a melody that replays in his mind, undeterred by the other tunes he attempts to distract himself with.

On occasion, there’s a nameless woman at the foot of his bed seductively undressing herself. They put on a show for a brick wall, a shell of a man. The distant wail of police sirens outside acts as a soundtrack for their musicless performances. He remains eerily still, looking past the sun-tanned demons that dance in hopes of earning his affection.

All it takes is hearing “I want you,” and he grants them access to his room. He never even looks at them and his thousand-yard stare is continuous. You were the closest thing to heaven that he’ll ever experience and the nearest he’ll get to those so-called golden gates. Eddie has been deemed unfit and here he lies, condemned to his personalized hell; a bottomless pit of sinful indulgence and temptation.

Haunted. You’re a bedroom ghost no matter where he rests his head. The sheets are icy regardless of how many femme figures are woven beneath them. He kisses strangers when he can’t feel his face, uncertain if his lips are even in motion.

Eddie will continue to feel utterly alone until he hears the familiar jingling of your keys as you get home from work. It’ll take the creak of the door hinges and Shadow leaping from his lap to greet you for Eddie to regain a scrap of sanity.

He used to bleed, but now all that his heart pumps is whatever earthy intoxicant he can find. Most of the time, he’s merely a pile of bones splayed out on a sunken mattress in his hotel room. The low-hanging night sky on the inside of his eyelids is moonless. The rise and fall of his chest are shallow like a lost tide.

Tonight he finds himself in room 918 and this one is just as stale as the last. The window is sealed tight, keeping the humid misery contained within the well-furnished jail cell. The blinds are closed and the damn clock won’t stop taunting him, it’s maddening. Eddie snatches it up, swings the door to his room open, chucks it down the hall, and slams the door shut.

He swallowed his pride four shots ago, toasting both his international success and being a colossal fuck up. Your absence always kills his buzz and it’s as though he can’t get drunk enough. On top of that, the memories burn worse than any liquor money can buy.

Your tender embrace used to keep him snug. Now, he’s chilled to the bone, shivering relentlessly. His only source of warmth stems from the alcohol streaming through his veins. Lying on his back, he stares at the stained ceiling. The faces in the plaster mock him mercilessly with insults and ill wishes. The pooling tears do nothing to quell his smoke-stung eyes.

Some might assume that given the quantity, Eddie is chasing numbness. That’s far from the truth. Numbness doesn’t cut it, because even though he can no longer feel the hollowness, the clouded guilt still looms over him. It’s not about defying gravity, it’s about strengthening it. Eddie wants the draw to be so strong that it sucks him beneath the Earth’s surface where he can rot like he deserves.

Down for the count and despite his best efforts, the memories remain vivid. Eddie remembers the manner in which you said his name early in the morning, well past bedtime, while you lament, and uttering between bouts of laughter. It was always the sweetest sound.

You saw each other as delectable and at times, you were insatiable. One night in particular, the two of you didn’t even make it past the kitchen. Eddie, behaving like a man starved, laid you out on the dining table. He devoured you with his face buried between your legs and you reminded him that it’s impolite to talk with his mouth full.

Eddie wishes he could roll over, nuzzle his face between your shoulder blades, and fall asleep forever. It’s quite the dream, even for a notorious dreamer. He doesn’t want to wake up tomorrow morning. What does it matter anyway?

Amid the ever-shifting cityscapes, it’s not like he can keep up. Eddie can’t tell dusk from dawn, even with the glare of the neon lights permeating his vision. The evenings are restless, and he wakes with a bloodied nose and hellish bruises.

He’s throwing back a glass at five to nine in the morning and resorting to the simultaneous ingestion of uppers and downers. A little bit of this, a lot of that. Eddie has become something of a mixologist with his experimental cocktails. You see, he’s on a quest to find a middle ground. One where he appears alive while remaining detached enough to elude the grasp of agony.

On the days when the sun shines just right and hope makes a rare appearance, Eddie attempts to go cold turkey. Shakes and sweats take hold and he can’t endure it for long. Detoxing leaves him high on misery, an unbearable feeling. Hours later, he finds himself at the bar, wetting his desert-dry tongue with the most expensive bottle he can get his greedy hands on.

Under the blazing stage lights, with blistering pyrotechnics threatening to engulf him, he stumbles through the setlist. Two weeks ago, they stopped having him play live. In lieu, a pre-recorded track is pumped through the speakers, creating the illusion of his pick striking the strings.

Throughout every performance, he scans the crowd for your radiant face. It proves fruitless in every city, but he continues to search. Eddie doesn't even have your last words to hold on to, only endless possibilities of what he can imagine you said to him.

During the sound check for the Portland show, Bobby warily approaches Eddie, who is already drunk and it isn’t even three o’clock yet. He means well, but his approach is less than nurturing. “You don’t have to go down this road, Ed,” he cautioned. “I’ve seen where it leads and it’s not pretty.”

Eddie sways slightly as he turns to face him. “Don't lecture me like you're some kind of saint,” he retorts with the scent of booze fiery on his breath. “I'll drink when I want, where I want, and however much I want. Got it?”

With his hand extended in concern, Bobby tries to remain level-headed. “I can get you in touch with somebody if need be, there’s no shame in gettin’ your shit together.”

Eddie throws his head back with a dismissive scoff. “Get my shit together? I lost my girl, okay? She left me. So if you could just mind your own fucking business that’d be great,” he turns away and takes a seat on an equipment case. “Besides, badasses don’t need shrinks.”

Bobby leans in and lowers his voice. "You're messin’ with the same demons that dragged Nick down. Don't think they'll treat you any differently."

“Don’t compare me to him. That dude was messing with heroin and shit. This is entirely different and I can hold my own, thank you very much.” “You gotta get that ego of yours in check, man. That’s what fucked you over in the first place. I know you think that you can handle it, but let me tell you somethin’,” Bobby stares at Eddie intensely. “Nick thought the same thing and look where that got him. Alls I’m tryna say is that you need to watch your step. You’re pissin’ away your potential and it’s startin’ to piss me off.”

“Last I checked, it’s not exactly difficult to push your buttons. Honest to god, you're blowing this way out of proportion. If I need advice, I'll ask for it. Until then, back the fuck off,” Eddie returns Bobby’s stare with a taut posture.

Nick Karr’s destructive coping mechanism landed him in the hospital and eventually in rehab. Eddie knows that some artists resort to heroin because it’s accessible and incredibly potent, which sounds magical to him. But, when it’s offered, he declines. Hearing Nikki Sixx recount his own experience from last year when he was pronounced dead for two minutes was enough to deter Eddie. It sent a shiver down his spine. The firsthand account effectively kept him from venturing that path.

He didn’t have to choose that road to get there, though. Nowadays, he’s so frail that the slightest gust of wind could pick him up and carry him away. His cheeks are sunken, his eyes puffy. Eddie has been taking it on the chin, earning himself a split lip, and the works. He’s been arrested three times and overdosed twice. The only thing he hasn’t done yet is die.

Eddie knows that he’ll never have the chance to see you again in this lifetime, he lost that privilege. However, he entertains the thought that if the drugs were to claim him, perhaps he might find you in another realm. In an alternate place, he’ll vow to wait patiently until he can finally give you his long-awaited apology. It’s always the legends who die young, right? There’s gotta be a sliver of honor in this for him.

Eddie’s flesh is devoid of its usual pinkness, as though he’s just crawled off of an embalming table. His skin is covered with chicken scratch tattoos that he has no recollection of getting and his brittle vertebrae can no longer support the weight of his heavy heart. He finds himself on a cliff and the edge is razor-thin, extending into oblivion in either direction. His legs are dangling over the abyss and there’s no breeze, only profound stillness.

Presently slumped against the wall of this room, his clothes are soaked with sweat. The shaggy carpet feels coarse and chillingly damp, like freshly unearthed sand between his toes. The room’s shadows are disjointed and they dance menacingly as he struggles to make sense of his surroundings. Each heartbeat feels like a sledgehammer striking his ribs, demolishing them one by one. In this moment, Eddie is confronting the harsh reality of the detrimental choices he’s made, the resulting consequences, and the impending end he now faces.

Thrash, shudder, collapse. His internal record player skips and cries out before coming to a halt. His somber soundtrack ceases and the cavern of his chest no longer has a tune to echo.

Prior to his admittance into Pacific Hills Recovery Center, Eddie’s contract was set in stone. Even so, Mo was able to pull some strings which allowed him to be excused from his legal obligations.

His initial impression of the place was far from favorable. Eddie felt like he was stepping into a looney bin, surrounded by people who were nothing like him. His self-esteem took a severe hit, but he still believed that he was above seeking professional help. Eddie was incredibly stubborn at first and fought himself tooth and nail.

It was a struggle to take accountability for his situation. He didn’t want to admit that he was the one responsible. But, Eddie could no longer claim that there was some curse that got him, nor could he blame the industry or the lifestyle. He couldn’t point his finger at Todd for showing him the ropes of the fast life or at Gareth for giving his contact information to Mo.

The first few weeks were unforgiving and the pale blue walls of the facility made him feel uneasy. All of it was off-putting, especially the sunlight pouring through the tall, squeegeed windows. Eddie’s bed was relatively comfortable, and his sheets were always clean. He started to put on weight thanks to a balanced diet, and he was eating the healthiest he ever had in his life.

With time, the dense fog in his head has significantly thinned. However, it’s difficult to resist the itch to stroll down the street and undo all of his progress. He hasn’t caved and he intends on keeping it that way, partly because he doesn’t want to stay here longer than absolutely necessary.

It’s as boring as white bread in a place like this, but he tries to convince himself that it’s good for him, that’s what he’s been sold. The monotony gives him a sense of stability and routine, things he lost the capability to form on his own. If this place were a food, it would be plain oatmeal. Speaking of which, Eddie is tired of eating old-fashioned oats for breakfast. Once he’s finished with treatment, he swears to never going to eat another spoonful again.

In addition to feeling incredibly out of place and out of sorts, he’s very strategic in keeping his guard up. He can’t risk having his vulnerability tampered with before he can suture himself. Whenever someone tries to talk to him, he doesn’t give them much to work with. Eddie has sworn off eye contact and he tries to escape conversations with whatever convincing excuse he can conjure.

The other patients are okay, all things considered. The worst ones are wealthy snobs who have god complexes and act like entitled pricks. Eddie steers clear of them and he hasn’t made any friends in the three months that he’s been here. Bobby calls sometimes, and Eddie occasionally reaches out to Gareth, but it’s never more than small talk.

Except for that one call where Gareth mentioned having boxes of his belongings, waiting to be claimed by their rightful owner. That was a conversation that brought Eddie to tears. It doesn’t take a genius to know that there’s a good reason why you’ve shut him out. But hearing that you packed up his things and removed those crumbs from your life just about killed him. Eddie skipped dinner that night, curled up in a chair beside the large stone fireplace, and wept silently.

Along with processing how much that hurt him, he realized that it meant he no longer had a home. In-patient care certainly isn’t permanent housing. He stressed himself out at the thought because even though Gareth was likely going to allow him to crash on his couch, Eddie was afraid to live near you again. What would he do if you ran into each other? Would you cuss him out and slap him? He’d take it if you did, he owed you that much.

Eddie surely doesn’t want to stay on the coast. As cool as LA can be, it’s not where his heart is. Sure, he figured out how to run the scene pretty easily, but he doesn’t belong here. Before all of this, Eddie could only dream of how tall the palm trees were, he tried to imagine what the ocean would smell like. Now he’s sick of it, he wants to go back to the forests of evergreen and sugar maple. Eddie misses the murky water of Lover’s Lake where the mosquitoes ate him alive.

Having been bled dry of the things that kept him sedated for so long, his state of mind is feeble. His counselor emphasized that he isn’t confined to a predetermined path and that he’s only destined to be what he makes of himself. Eddie was provided some coping mechanisms and he says that they aren’t helping, but that’s because he isn’t really trying.

As part of getting in touch with his feelings, Eddie is tasked with writing letters to his past, present, and future self. This exercise hasn’t been trouble-free because he finds himself wanting to write to you. One night, he gets so strung out after scribbling a particularly tense letter to himself that he can no longer resist the urge.

His wrist aches from scrapping draft after draft, his bedroom floor littered with crumpled balls of stationary paper. His sober mind cruelly insists that his actions are irreparable and that no words will bring you back. It tells him that he sounds desperate and you’d either burn the letters or return them entirely unopened. Perhaps you’d even find some hilarity in his sorry excuses.

I’ve grown for you, and for me too

I lost all sight of myself when it came to ambition, but I’m striving for realistic things now. I'm trying to right my wrongs

Are you still How have you been? I wish I could see you

I understand if you’re disappointed in me, I am too

Has Shadow caught any spiders lately?

I hope you’re doing well

Eddie misses you senselessly, but he knows that he’s unworthy. He’s homesick for arms that will never hold him again. It would’ve been wise to be careful what he wished for because he got every last bit and then some. He used to believe his name was meant to be in lights, but now he sees how naive that was. Life had to take a bite out of Eddie for him to realize that his true aspiration was to be an honorable man, one that put you above all else.

His sense of purpose is long gone. Eddie hopes that the universe might present him with the opportunity to see your beautiful face once more. It’s wishful thinking, but these days, it’s all he has. It’s okay to be unsure of what’s next, what matters is that he’s taking it one day at a time. He’s finally setting goals for himself and Eddie is committed to not wasting another day. The words he never got the chance to say have soured his tongue and he wants so badly to spit them out.

As It turns out, it’s just as easy to get hooked on making progress. The Westminster chimes play from the wooden clock in the sunroom, signaling the start of a new day. Eddie fills a plain mug with piping renewal, stirring in a dash of sugar.

Your days start similarly, relying on a cup of coffee to get you through. Lately, it feels like the bed was only ever yours and it never knew the weight of someone else. You stopped wondering what he was doing or where he was. It’s a beautiful thing, to be on your own. You chide yourself for being so childish in thinking that things would’ve worked out somehow.

The day he signed that contract, he was no longer yours.

The runaway leaves are toasting in the suspended autumn sunlight, readying to decompose at Mother Nature’s mercy. The trees stand bare, the sidewalks covered with a brittle quilt of orange, red, and brown. The pumpkin festival is a cherished annual event in town, serving as a fundraiser for the local food shelter.

The fair is known for its crop competition where impressive pumpkins are awarded ribbons for being monstrous in size. Hand-built shacks are selling hot cider and freshly fried cinnamon sugar donuts. With a few hundred attendees, the grinding amusement rides struggle to overpower the chatter.

The cozy outfit you’ve chosen is your favorite cotton crew neck sweater paired with jeans and sneakers that provide optimal comfort. Tonight is about savoring the weather and unwinding. You’re looking forward to seeing Gareth and the band play, even though they’ll be missing their former frontman.

Steve is equally as eager to get out and about, especially because he’s babysitting his spirited four-year-old nephew, Daniel, for the weekend. He’s always cranked up to a ten and this was something that Steve was not emotionally prepared to handle. He’s hoping that the lively atmosphere will tire the little one out and give him a chance to breathe.

The knit blanket is unrolled; its chestnut, fern, and sunflower-hued threads contrast the lush grass it’s draped upon. As you settle, the buried leaves crunch beneath your weight.

Steve looks over at you. “I swear I need a leash for this kid. I look away for two seconds and he disappears into thin air. Listen, I like a good magic trick as much as the next guy but this routine is getting real old, real fast,” he exhales exasperatedly.

“Leave him here with me, you go take a walk and cool off,” You chuckle at how frazzled he is over “losing” his nephew for a whole two and a half minutes.

Steve runs his hand through his bangs and sighs. “Okay, yeah, a walk,” He isn’t a rookie when it comes to babysitting, but Daniel isn’t exactly in the age demographic that Steve is used to looking after.

Daniel’s pudgy hand is released and he dramatically plops on the blanket beside you, immediately engrossed with his toy truck. He bumbles his lips, mimicking the sound of an engine.

“Go,” you shoo Steve. “I’ve got it handled.”

Steve nods and turns to leave.

“And get me some cocoa on your way back!” You call out.

Steve acknowledges your request with a quick thumbs-up and weaves out of the clusters of people both seated and standing. To keep the rugrat engaged enough to prevent him from wandering off, you ask him about his toy.

Meanwhile, Eddie is taking deep breaths, trying to ignore his fierce nerves. It’s been a long time since he last performed but he shouldn’t be this nervous. He’s played for hundreds of thousands of people, yet this is just as intimidating. Fireworks are sparking off in his fingertips and a surge of nausea rocks him. Eddie finds himself swatting away insecurity and self-doubt, the bothersome buzzing distracting him from having confidence in his abilities.

Corroded Coffin gathers in a circle behind the white tarp-roofed stage. They exchange words of support and appreciation for finally performing together again. They break from their huddle, scale the steps one by one, and take their positions. Eddie’s eyes are glued to the mic stand, unable to look out into the audience. He fidgets with it, making unnecessary adjustments to keep his hands busy. It doesn’t help that he’s out of his element with the setlist being pop hits that people of all ages can enjoy.

As Gareth begins to loosen up his wrists and Donny does some last-minute tuning, Eddie is transported back to The Hideout. Back when he was humble and small-town, playing his heart out with his closest friends. Recalling how fun those times were eases his nerves a bit, remembering that he’s been forgiven.

His playing and singing are hesitant as he finds his footing but as the song progresses, Eddie rides the rhythm and it vitalizes him. A shared smile with Jeff fills him with gratitude, his voice flowing as smooth as caramel. He still feels vulnerable, because even if the people here don’t give a shit about his reputation, there’s still plenty of room to make an ass of himself.

It takes him three songs to muster the courage to look out. Instead of appreciating the sight of the flowing river, he surrenders to an old habit that’s dying hard. He scours the crowd for that once-familiar face.

It’s as though he’s just landed on concrete, the wind knocked clean out of him. Eddie isn’t entirely sure that his eyes aren’t broken. He could be hallucinating, except even on his most intoxicated nights, he never so much as believed he’d seen you, much less had to convince himself that you weren’t there.

A kind expression graces your face, one that sends him to cloud nine. He can’t be certain from this distance, but it doesn’t appear to be a scowl or a frown. You’re somewhat concealed behind a large family which is making it challenging for him to get a clear view of you. Still, he strains his eyes in an attempt to do so.

His focus is diverted when an elderly couple gracefully strolls up to the gap in front of the stage and begins to dance together. Just a few verses later, a father and his young daughter join in and they jump to the beat.

It’s like he’s on top of the world again and this time it’s not on fire. His sense of purpose is back and stronger than ever. His passion is bringing people together, including the two of you. He can feel the music in his bones. Eddie avoids lingering for too long, not wanting to appear as if he’s staring. Rest assured, wherever his sight falls, you’re the only thing on his mind.

As soon as the set concludes, Eddie hugs each of his friends, though he keeps it brief. His sneakers crush the dry patches of grass as he navigates through the crowd. Most are getting up to stretch or leaving to get refreshments before the next act goes on. Eddie finds you exactly where he saw you, but to his surprise, you’re holding the hand of a small child.

Promptly, a pang immobilizes him, the center of his chest acting as the bullseye of an axe-throwing target. He tries to grapple with his conflicting emotions. Eddie wants so badly to reconnect with you but he’s paralyzed by the fact that you’ve moved on and started a family. Of course you have, you deserve someone who checks in on you and gives you the world. He can’t be mad at you when he failed to provide what little you asked of him back then.

Eddie carefully approaches as you rise to your feet, the child tugging you up from your spot on the ground. In his head, he practices a gentle voice all while morphing his expression into one that’s good-natured and approachable. Beneath his facade, his heart is lodged in his throat. “Hey,” he greets you softly, “Who’s this little guy?”

Steve appears and lifts Daniel into his arms, balancing the toddler on his hip. “I’m glad to see he didn’t rip your beautiful hair out while I was gone,” he smirks at you, but it falters when he feels his nephew driving the toy car along his shoulder and uncomfortably close to his jugular.

“Me too,” you laugh tensely. Clasping your hands together, you rock on your heels to soothe yourself. “He was good the whole time, thankfully. “Anyway, Steve, this is-”

“Ed Munson, right?” he adjusts his wiggling nephew. “From Poison Knife or whatever?” Steve isn’t familiar with their music, but he’s heard about Eddie’s escapades through the media.

“Poison Blade, yeah. That’s me,” he offers a handshake and Steve is quick to return it, a bit too firmly for Eddie’s liking. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Steve assesses Eddie and doesn’t bother to hide his scrutiny.

The air has cooled significantly now that the sun has dipped past the horizon. You stretch your sleeves over your fists and the sudden chattering of your teeth reminds you that you’re missing something. “You didn’t get me cocoa?”

When you pout at Steve, Eddie subconsciously flexes his fingers in frustration. He forgot how unfairly cute you are. He has an impulse to take matters into his own hands by wrapping his arms around you to provide the warmth you so preciously seek.

“Shit,” Steve’s eyes briefly close but they shoot back open when Daniel grabs a fistful of his roots. “Ouch, man. Ease up on the death grip, will ya?” Steve withdraws the sticky fingers from his hair. “My bad, I totally forgot.”

Eddie seizes the opportunity and blurts out a touch too eager, “I’ll get you some, if- if you want,” he offers.

Steve squints at Eddie, his dark brows furrowed at the strange vibe he’s getting; oblivious to your history. He doesn’t get the chance to question it further because Daniel begins to kick and squirm. “I’m gonna take him back over to the animals before he blows a fuse,” Steve leans in and asks under his breath, “You’ll be okay?”

You give him a reassuring look and squeeze his bicep in confirmation. Steve returns your nod, shoots Eddie a protective glance, and walks away with the now-hollering toddler.

With his eyes full of hope, Eddie grins invitingly and extends his offer, “How ‘bout it, hot cocoa on me?” He’s giving it his all to appear trustworthy and pleasant in the hopes of winning you over.

You look down at your shoes and release a visible breath. “Yes, please.”

Together, you walk toward the concession stands. Once you’ve got the foam cup of chocolatey goodness delightfully thawing your palms, the two of you find a bench along the river. It’s quieter here, away from the bustling noise. For a while, neither of you says a word. You just sip your beverage while the splashing current fills the silence.

Eddie looks over at you. “So, uh. You just got the one?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you just have the one kid, or…”

You make an effort not to spill your drink as you giggle.

“What’s so funny?” A thrum passes through him in the presence of your laughter, the sound he’s missed for so long.

You smile as you calm down to clarify, “Daniel isn’t mine. Thank God for that, ‘cause he's a royal pain in the ass.”

“I see,” Eddie chuckles airily, not out of humor but relief. “He does look like a handful.”

“Yeah, more like two,” You blow across the top of your cup, cautious not to burn your tongue while you take a swig.

Eddie looks down as he picks at his hangnails. “That being said, things are uh- good then, I hope?”

You focus on the darkening waters just feet away, contemplating whether you’d describe your life as ‘good.’ “I’d say so, nothing too eventful but it’s been comfortable. You?”

“Same here,” Eddie steals a glance at your fingers tapping against the styrofoam cup. “And I’m very much sober,” he adds pridefully. “11 months next week, actually.”

“Good for you!” you beam and nudge his knee with your own. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

Eddie hides his face behind his curls, concealing the blush and wide smile that are overtaking his features. He can’t blame the rosiness of his cheeks on the biting wind. “Thanks,” he returns the knee nudge. “It means a lot to hear that from you.”

“What exactly are you doing here? Don’t you have seats to fill?”

Eddie straightens his posture against the back of the bench. “Not anymore,” he weakly clears his throat, his voice faltering even though he’s talked this out in therapy numerous times. “I felt like it was time to come home, I needed to find myself,” Eddie’s voice wavers and he clears his throat harder this time. “It was really tough, y’know? I lost sight of what kept me sane. You were always this like, unshakeable foundation for me and I let you down.”

“Yeah, you did,” you exhale, “I was disappointed that you turned into everything that you said you wouldn’t. I can’t speak for you, but to me, what we had was real. I was willing to be with you forever, and you just- weren’t on the same page.”

That sour apology is burning a hole through Eddie’s tongue right now. He wants so badly to tell you that you’re wrong. But he chokes it down like he always has and listens to you express the things he’s dreaded yet dreamed of hearing.

“I tried so hard. Way harder than I should’ve, and now you’re here after I tried to forget everything. I wanted to forget you,” you confess and place your empty cup in the dirt at your feet. The loose gravel under your shoes shifts as you sit back.

Hearing those words nearly breaks Eddie’s dam, and he stifles a sob. Eddie faces away, appearing as though he’s watching the final moments of the sunset and not holding back tears. He twists his fingers, his knuckles cracking from the force.

You reach over to Eddie’s lap and take his hand into yours. He watches curiously through glassy vision while his ability to breathe normally has been disrupted. When you interlace your fingers, Eddie releases a shuddering breath that he’s held in for well over a year.

“It wasn’t worth it,” you use your free hand to trace the curves of his. “It was a waste of time trying to forget you.”

Somehow, Eddie finds himself looking into your stunning eyes and he feels like he’s melting for too many reasons to count. You’re softening him like butter to be used in making freshly baked pumpkin bread. When you reach up and wipe a stray tear from his cheek, he simply breaks. You welcome him into your embrace, wrapping your arms around him as he curls up into your shoulder.

The cry that escapes Eddie is rickety and long overdue. “I’m so s-sorry,” he stammers and inhales wetly. “I never meant to hurt you, but I did. I fucked everything up and-”

“Eddie,” you interrupt him, stroking his head and pushing the curtain of curls out of his face. He whimpers in response. “I’ll always be your number one fan, no matter what,” You guide him to meet your gaze.

When you cradle the side of his puffy face with your hand, Eddie leans into your touch. “Always?” He sniffles and his damp eyelashes tickle your thumb as you stroke his freckled cheeks.

Your promise is as rich as the devotion resurfacing in his hazelnut eyes. “Always.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

tags:@nj01@tlclick73

134 notes · View notes

firebloodanddragons · 1 year

Text

The Midnight Relief - Part 3 (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) NSFW

Summary: A knight of the King's Guard comes look for you in the middle of the night. Aemond is back from Storm's End and he requests your presence but nothing has prepared you for what you will find in his rooms.

Tags: SMUT, Porn with Plot (sort of), Vaginal Sex, Soft Aemond, Bottom Aemond, Breeding kink, Targcest (Reader is Daemon Targaryen’s bastard), Angst, Insecurity and Vulnerability, Mention of Underage Prostitution, Death, violence and murder.

Author’s Notes: I hoped you’ll enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. As I worked on this chapter, I wondered many times what would make Reader stand by Aemond after learning about Lucerys's death. So I developed her backstory and made it somewhat similar to Aemond's life. I wanted them relate to each other and to bond over death instead of letting it create a gap between them. I was also eager to write a Reader who was different from the goody-two-shoes pure girls we usually pair with characters like Aemond and let's not forget whose daughter she is. You can't be Daemon's daughter and be 100% angelic. Anyway, I can't wait to read your reaction and thank you again for your positive response. Happy New Year. Cee

(PART 1) (PART 2)

“Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath. Which side will it be, greatness or madness? It is a saying born from the mouth of the Targaryen lords that spread to the ears of the people back when Maegor The Cruel was still alive. People used to say that the second son of Aegon the Conqueror was the polar opposite of his half-brother, Aenys I. While Aenys was peaceful, loving and artistic, a weedy and fragile man as thin as a twig, Maegor was quarrelsome, heartless and brutal, a tall and strong man as large as a bull. Two completely different men yet two brothers born from the same father. Two sides of the same coin.”

You didn’t know how your mother could possibly know so much about the Targaryen dynasty or why she was so fascinated by their family history. For years, you had thought her interest for the house of the dragon was the obvious consequence of the heartbreak Daemon Targaryen had left her with, that unconsciously (or not) it had been her desperate way to keep her heart close to the Rogue Prince. But as you grew up you began to believe the opposite. It was her obsession for the Targaryens that had drawn her to Daemon for the dragonriders represented everything she had desired in life: glory, power and especially freedom.

Her sombre face – that only brightened when she would hear the name Targaryen - came back to you as you observed each side of the gold coin flipping between your fingers. The crowned head of late King Viserys The Peaceful shone in the moonlight while the three-headed dragon looked dull, certainly because it was the side that your mother had kissed for years back when the coin used to be hers. Even though you were no real Targaryen and merely a bastard of the Prince of the City, you wondered if she had tossed the coin at your birth and if she had, which side it had landed on.

The door to your dorm slammed open, waking up all the serving girls sleeping in their beds with a start. The crash made you jump with surprise and you quickly hid the gold coin under your pillow, fearing someone might steal it if they knew of its existence. A young and bearded knight of the King’s Guard entered the room. Silently, he had a look around, scanning all the women’s faces one after the other with unknown purpose. When his blue eyes landed on you and noticed your silver hair, he finally declared in a blunt tone of voice. “You! Prince Aemond requests your presence, immediately.” Nothing more, nothing less. It was the first time Aemond had sent a white cloak to find you. Usually, he would entrust an upright and meek servant he could easily intimidate with the task, menacing them to be discreet and sneaky if they wanted to keep their toil or their tongue. ‘Prince Aemond wishes for your service in his rooms at nightfall’ was the regular message since Aemond was determined to keep his nocturnal activities with you a secret and his reputation for decency intact. Something wasn’t right. Every girl stared at you as you got up, put on your red dress over your night gown and left the dorm with the guard in silence. Surely, they were wondering questions similar to yours considering their whispers and glances you chose to ignore but couldn’t help but despise. You blamed yourself for caring so much. You followed the knight down the stairs and he led you to Aemond’s door without a single word. You could see the tension eating at him. His jaw was clenched and there was a certain anxiety behind his harsh blue eyes. What the hell was going on? Arryk – that was the knight’s name (or was it Erryk?) – knocked and without opening, announced. “My prince, the serving girl is here.” He got no answer but he still gestured you to enter almost as if he was afraid to grab the handle himself. You furrowed your brow but you did as he said anyway, not because he had asked you to but because you wanted to know the reason behind the knight’s odd stiffness and Aemond’s reckless summoning.

The prince’s rooms were plunged into the darkness and cold. There was no flame burning in the fireplace that was as clean and empty as when Aemond had left for Storm’s End to obtain Borros Baratheon’s support and the hand of one of his daughters three days ago - a decision made by his family that had hurt you despite Aemond’s assurance that you would never leave his side.

“My prince?” You said, searching for him in the dim moonlight and in the obscurity but he was nowhere to be found. “It is I … Y/N.” You got no answer, just a terrifying gloomy silence that made you anxious and look around you for comfort. “Aemond?” You called his name, now too worried and fearful to care about etiquette.

Your informality managed to draw Aemond out of the shadow and he abruptly wrapped his arms around you as he slammed his hard chest against your back. Startled by his stealthy embrace, you immediately gasped and almost yelped, but as soon as you recognized your paramour’s strength and his perfume - which was a mix of leather and cologne drown in dragon musk - your fear immediately vanished and your body leant under his touch. “You scared me.” You chuckled; you heart still pounding in your chest but glad to finally be in his arms. You had missed him dearly. “You know, fear has never been arousing.” You joked as you put your hands over his to make him tighten his embrace around you. Aemond did not reply. Instead, he hugged you harder and almost with desperate need and he nestled his head in your neck to breathe hard. His behaviour sucked the little playfulness warming your heart out of your chest and the impression that something was wrong reappeared straight away. You slowly turned around to look at Aemond with worry. You could barely see his face in the darkness but the little you saw was enough to sadden you. His silver hair was wavy as if rain had poured over him and his purple look – that was avoiding eye contact - was swollen and reddened. Had he been crying? “Oh my sweet prince.” You cupped his cheek – he was freezing against your palm- and caressed it until he suddenly grabbed your hand to kiss your knuckles desperately. He was glad you were here. He needed you. “My midnight relief.” He whispered, almost chocking on his words.

Concerned for Aemond’s welfare, you hastened to light a fire and a few candles and you prepared a hot bath for him as fast as you could. You thought he would complain about your slowness but the look that he gave you as you did all those things to comfort him was not his usual glare of impatience. Standing in silence in the middle of the room, his head down and his face livid, he genuinely seemed confused. When the water was finally hot and steaming, you gently took his hands in yours and escorted him towards the tub. There, you removed his humid clothes one by one, his boots first, then his leather tunic and trousers and finally his undergarments. He let you do without any complain or any reaction, almost like a doll a little girl could dress and undress at will. But when you reached his eyepatch to unstrap it, he winced and grabbed your hand as swiftly as a snake, his sad young face wrinkled by fear and pain. You surrendered to his refusal but only for a brief moment. “It’s alright.” You whispered as you stroke his cheek to reassure him. He eventually leant in your palm like a fearful cat and you used his moment of docility to remove his eyepatch but as soon as the piece of leather loosened around his head, his purple eye tightly shut and he grimaced again. “What is it my prince? What happened to you?” You asked and he opened his eye again. No word came out of his mouth but the fear lingering in his purple iris sent shivers down your spine. What could terrorize a man as fearless as Aemond Targaryen? “Get in the bath. It will make you feel better … or at least warmer. You’re freezing.”

Again, he remained silent and gave you no sign of approval or disapproval. Instead, he just let you settle him down in the bath. Catatonic, he didn’t react when his body entered the hot water as if its comforting warmth had no effect on him. Knowing him, you were certain he was lost in the memory of whatever had happened to him, remembering each detail on a loop. He was an obsessional man after all. You knelt quietly by the tub and plunged a clean clothe into the water to carefully clean and warm the young prince, starting with his shoulders and the top of his back that were still cold as ice. Unsurprisingly, he barely shivered when you rubbed his skin. So, you untied his long hair hoping some water on his head would bring him back to reality, to you. His silver mane was very tangled and smelt like rain and wet dragon. Therefore, you thought it would be a good idea to grab a comb and a soap. Besides, Aemond enjoyed when you took care of his hair. But the second you tried to stand up, the prince held you back by the hand, his eye begging you to stay. You nodded and sat back on the floor beside him. It took him a while before he finally uttered his first sentence. “Am I a monster?” Your eyes widened at the question and you exclaimed, “What? No, of course not.” But you could tell that your words were not enough to convince Aemond. “Have the Four Storms insulted you, my prince?” If they had, they would hear from you when they visit the keep. Stupid cunts! “Is that why so you feel so down right now? Should I tell the Dowager Queen of your mistreatment in Storm’s End? I –” “Starlight” Aemond sighed, cutting you off almost to calm you down but specially to tell you you were wrong. And for a second, you expected him to talk to you, to confess the truth. But it didn’t come. “Just join me in the bath. Relieve me.” He wanted to sound commanding but his tone was begging.

You nodded and stood up to take off your clothes as Aemond watched. Normally, he would have gazed at you with boiling lust, his hands itching to rip your dress off, his purple eye burning with a dark impatience but not tonight. Tonight, the One-Eyed Prince was nothing but distress. You entered the bath in silence and cautiously sat down on Aemond, straddling his lap. The warm water made you tremble with relief as the temperature soothed your body that was so sore and tensed after three tiresome and intense days working and worrying for your Prince. But your newly-found comfort was of no importance. The only thing that matter was Aemond, as always. Gently, you brought your hands to his muscular chest and started massaging him from his pectorals down to his abs, rubbing circles on his smooth skin, thinking that a little tender devotion could pull Aemond out of his dark thoughts. You were wrong. He didn’t shiver or reacted to your strokes. Clinging to the edge of the tub, he didn’t even look at - or perhaps notice, which was worse - your hands going down towards his cock until he felt your fingers approaching his silver hairs crowning his sex. Then, he grabbed your wrists to forbid you to slide any further and kept them in a solid grip. “Not now… Sing a song for me first.” His unexpected demand confused you for a moment but you asked anyway. “Which song would you like to hear, my prince?” “Have I ever answered this question before?” No, he always let you decide, not because he had no idea of the song that he wished to listen to but because you had a real knack for finding the lyrics that resonated with him. Aemond hated merry melodies, finding them silly and only made to be sung by jesters and drunken bards in taverns. What he loved were tragic lyrics, stories of doomed love and sorrow that he would ask you to sing at night sitting by the fireplace as if they were lullabies. And each time, he would listen to you carefully like a child and emotionlessly like a knight, secretly feeling each line deep in his heart that wasn’t as dark as everyone thought.

Aemond let go of your wrists and watched your beautiful face as you began to sing for him, your hands now in his hair to tenderly – if not motherly- run your fingers through the tangled strands and soothe his agitated mind. “Oh, I am waiting for my boy, noble sailor. His hair is chestnut brown His voice sweet as a blanket He'd promised me he'd come back to me a saviour What is this thing that drowns? Is it my son’s casket?” Prince Aemond always thought you had the loveliest voice, enchanting as a mermaid and sweet as a mother. He could listen to it for hours. And yet tonight it sounded like the sharpest dagger, a blade made of Valyrian steel clinking unpleasantly in his ears and begging for an eye. It was also the teeth of a roaring dragon, tearing flesh apart and crushing bones, and the screams of a frightened boy who had never seen death before. “Enough!” He vociferated, refusing to handle the pain you unconsciously caused him any longer. Your mouth shut and your hands froze in his hair. Aemond was looking away, unable make visual contact, his jaw as tightened as his fists. Rage was eating him from within but not only. You thought about leaving him, believing you were useless, but the fact the prince had not dismissed you somehow made you stay. Perhaps, despite your inability to distract him and to relieve him tonight, he wanted you to remain by his side. Perhaps even the worst company was better than solitude.

“Be honest with me” He suddenly said. “You know I’m always honest with you, my prince.” “A few days ago, when you told me you feared I would abandon you after my betrothal, do you remember what I said?” You knew the answer. “That for you own sanity you can’t let me go.” But the mention of this moment made you rather uneasy and perplexed. Why was Aemond talking about this now? Did he change his mind? Did he come to the conclusion that kicking you out of his life was the right thing to do? Was this the reason why you couldn’t comfort him tonight, why he didn’t want you? You sensed fear growing inside of you, the questions echoing in your head like a hubbub. “Hmm… That is not what I should have said.” Your entire body shivered at his words and you instinctively hold on to his hair as one would hold on for dear life. Desperately. And you found yourself pathetic for reacting that way. You shouldn’t be surprised if Aemond had indeed come back to his dutiful senses, that he had decided to abandon you for his betrothed, a lady that certainly was way more beautiful than you and undoubtedly more educated. It was a reasonable choice, the choice any lord and or prince would make. And yet… “I should have said, for my own sanity don’t let me go.” The terror knotting your stomach slightly loosened the same way your fingers clung at his silver hair unclenched and then you realized Aemond had been holding you by the waist all along, his short nails dug in your soft flesh. Whether it was to comfort you or out of a fear similar to yours you didn’t know. “How can you believe I would ever let you go, my prince?” “Because soon perhaps even in the morrow you and everyone else in this damn kingdom will call me a monster. You will reject me just like my own family have been rejecting me for years, just like they rejected me earlier when they learnt…” He brutally stopped, unable to continue his sentence. “Have I not stood by you all these years, my prince?” You asked as you stroke his wet hair tenderly. “You have.” He had a faint but grateful smile that barely could be seen on his heart-shaped lips. “So why would I leave you now?”

Aemond found the courage to look at you deep in your eyes. He could tell you were waiting for an answer, that you were eager to know what had happened to him, what was the cause of his unusual behaviour. He was no fool. He was just scared. Behind his mask of unbreakable strength and austerity, he was just scared like a little boy, like the child he used to be when he had no dragon and no one as supporting and devoted as you by his side. He was scared to be abandoned, to be cast away once more. He was scared of the curse his kind were said to carry. He was scared but he spoke anyway. “Because I am a murderer… I killed Luke.” He saw your face change, the worry in your features turning into incomprehension, the way you stared at him and almost pulled yourself out of his arms that refused to let you go as you removed your hands from his hair. He saw all that and he couldn’t see more. “What? Why?” You asked in shock. “Because I wanted to.” He confessed the same way he had confessed to his mother and grandsire earlier, with a coldness that concealed his shame. “Aemond...” “It’s the truth!” He growled. “I wanted the bastard dead. I’ve always wished him dead, since the day he took my eye … No, since the day he humiliated me by offering me that fucking pig. In my mind, he always deserved to die and only the Gods know how many times I’ve dreamt to gauge his eyeballs and present them to his whore mother on a silver platter. I wanted Luke dead. And now he is.” He could feel your eyes on him but he couldn’t even glance at you, too terrified to face your disappointment but he still found the strength to admit something he had kept hidden from his family because he still believed that despite your probable disgust right now, you would never mock him. “But I didn’t mean to kill him. I … I tried to stop Vhagar, I did. But she …” The images of his nephew and his dragon being torn to pieces stopped him from talking again and he sighed before eventually pulling your body closer to him to nestle his head in your chest and beg you, his purple eye glistening with repressed tears. “You must believe me. Please believe me. Stand by me.” As a response, your fingers found their way back to Aemond’s hair and your caressed it to comfort him as you kissed the top of his head. He wrapped his arms around you with all the strength and despair he had and kissed your breasts with a heart-breaking gratefulness. You were still here and that’s all he wanted. But nothing had prepared him for your revelation.

“I killed my mother.” You declared, your voice barely louder than a whisper. This was your darkest secret, the atrocity you had never told anyone but yourself when at night you would remember the macabre scene. And tonight, you were telling it to the man you held against your breasts, not to unburden you but to tell him you understood him. “What I said to you, that she died of syphilis holding my hand … that’s not what really happened.” Aemond glanced up at you and slowly unclasped his embrace around you to let you tell your story, curious to know what it was and why it happened. There was no judgment in his eye because somehow, he could already relate. “When I was twelve, my mother got so sick she was forced to be confined to bed. So, it fell upon me to provide for her. I turned to Madam Chataya and she hired me to take my mother’s place in the pleasure house. I was the only dragonseed whore in the Street of Silk, a blessing for the owner of the brothel but a curse for me. Men who dreamt to know how it felt to ‘fuck the blood of the dragon’ paid huge amounts of coins for a moment with me while others who hated the crown came to fuck me hard thinking it would somehow make the royals pay for their misery. And I endured this treatment every day because it was the only way to help my mother. But I got no thank you for it. All I had was more stories about Daemon Targaryen.” A tear rolled down your cheek and you chuckled to let Aemond believe you were fine. But your smile was too miserable and bitter to fool him. The prince thought about catching your tear but afraid it would stop you in your story he did not. “One day, her sickness worsened and she got a terrible fever that made her hallucinate. For a week she thought my sire was by her side and she couldn’t stop calling his name over and over again while I was downstairs getting fucked by all the sons of bitches of King’s Landing. ‘Daemon, you’re here. Thank the gods!’” The rage and hatred you had never managed to erase made your jaw shake and your eyes darken. “It drove me mad. So, one night as she was screaming his name again, I wrapped my hands around her neck… I tried to resist. Trust me I did but I hated her so much and I hated Daemon and I hated all the men who paid to fuck me. I was just a child, seven hells!” You sobbed loudly and sensed Aemond’s fingers lightly brush the skin of your back. “She struggled, trying to gasp for air, begging me to stop but even as she did, she still yelled ‘Daemon, Daemon!’. I was crying, begging her to stop saying his name. I just wanted her notice me, to care about me, to just be my mother. She grabbed my hands to free herself from my grip but she was too weak to push me away. I felt her dying in my hands and when her body became still and she was finally silent… I think I felt more relieved than sad. I killed my own mother, Aemond. So yes, I’ll stand by you. Because people like you and me, we’re not monsters, we’re just survivors that life broke too many times.”

A new tear fell from your eyes and this time Aemond couldn’t resist the urge to wipe it from your face with his thumb. His sympathy and tenderness warmed your heart and you were grateful for them. It was possibly the first time in your entire life someone gave you pure and unconditional affection. And it felt nice.

“Thank you.” You whispered with a faint smile that Aemond immediately caught with his lips. You gasped in his mouth but eventually welcomed his kiss with the same softness he gave you. Your fingers woven in his silver locks, his roaming up and down your back, your mouths were brushing each other, enjoying the delicacy that was so needed after such emotional confessions when your bodies began to yearn more for one another. Your chests met harder, drawing a sharp breath out of both your parted lips and you used this moment to give the prince a passionate kiss. You pulled at his bottom lip and he moaned gutturally before he urged to smooch you, encouraged by your sudden eagerness, his hand holding the back of your neck firmly. You could feel his cock swelling between your thighs, close to your hole that would soon be aching to be filled. You tried to ignore the growing hardness and the knot that was tightening your lower belly more and more which each second passing. You refused to seem sexually depraved to the prince’s eyes, but as soon as Aemond pressed your core to his shaft you grunted lustfully and began to move against him. “I need you.” The words escaped your lips as you clung to his hair. “As I need you.” Your mouths couldn’t be separated. It was as if you needed the proximity and the mix of both your breaths to be and feel alive before the dreadful curse looming over you would make moments of intimacy like this one too rare.

Aemond grabbed his length now erected and ready for you and guided it towards your begging entrance waiting for him under the water. Remembering what you had taught him before leaving for Storm’s End, he teased your clit with his tip and watched you squirm in his arms with an amused smirk on his lips before entering you almost smoothly. You wriggled a bit as he slid inside you to take him deeper. “Always such a tight warm hole for me.” Aemond purred as he took hold of your hips to sheathe his long shaft to the hilt. Your wet walls fit so well around him, taking every inch of his length perfectly. “Do you like it?” You asked then winced a bit when Aemond pulled out and pushed back inside of you with strength. Your grimace brutally calmed the prince’s burning ardour and he froze. “Did I hurt you?” He worried with an apologetic tone when he understood he should have perhaps given you more time to adjust to his girthy presence before moving. His reaction moved you. Never a man had shown any concern for you. You had always been treated like a toy, a doll all men with enough gold or power – Aemond included - could use or abuse to their will. The prince’s sudden softness brought a single tear to your eye and you blinked to prevent it from rolling down your cheek. “No.” You whispered and your face beamed with gratefulness. You kissed Aemond again to reassure him and slowly adjusted yourself to his cock by undulating your hips, a necessity knowing Aemond’s tendency to be hard, rough and extremely passionate. But then he said something that caught you off guard. “Keep doing that.” It took you a solid second to understand what he meant and wanted from you and when you finally did, you stared at him confused. Did he want you on top? A part of you couldn’t believe this to be true. And he noticed. “Ride me.” He ordered, making his wish perfectly clear this time. “You sure? You never allowed me on top before, my prince.” “I’m your dragon, aren’t I? Dragons are meant to be ridden. So, do it.” His command sounded so sensual to your ears you suddenly clenched around him, feeling an arousal you had never felt before. Aemond hissed as he slammed his head back against the edge of the tub and he put his hand on your hips to silently tell you to move. You took a comfortable position on top of him, hands on his shoulders, your breasts close to his face, and slowly you lifted yourself up only to sink back on his hard cock as soon as his tip threatened to leave your hole. Aemond grunted as you welcomed him back inside inch by inch and he breathed hard. He seemed to enjoy it so much. So you did it again and again and again until he began to moan so desperately you decided to accelerate your pace. You took a hold of the edge of the tub right above the prince’s silver head and started to bounce on top of him, flooding the stone floor more and more each time your entrance eagerly met his balls. “Seven heavens, you feel so good.” Aemond managed to compliment between two growls and you beamed. “No, you feel so good, my dragon.” The position was indeed amazing, empowering even. The proximity, the intimacy, the sensation to be in charge and to have Aemond, a prince, all to yourself. You could get used to this. “Indeed, it seems you’re enjoying me quite a lot.” Aemond hissed under your frantic rhythm. You were so wet around him and he was sure that wasn’t the water. You nodded and chuckled as you kept your pace steady but passionate. But soon, your desires began to scream loudly inside of you, encouraging you to take more, more pleasure, more power, more of Aemond. You let them guide you and your movements turned into a furious riding, similar to a wild rodeo except that the beast you were straddling was no wild animal but a very docile dragon staring at you with a burning but calm adoration through his lidded eye, his hands worshipping your body but occasionally clawing at your skin. “Fuck I love riding you.” You admitted and Aemond smirked at your coarseness, definitely amused but proud to see you enjoy his cock so much. “Keep going then, my fierce rider.” He joked and submitted to you even more to observe you take what you so eagerly wanted. He loved dominating you but there was something truly satisfying in seeing you fervently enjoying yourself on top of him. He made him feel somewhat adored, a feeling that had been too rare in his young life.

“Touch me, please.” You asked and one of the prince’s big hands gladly left your waist to slide down to your fold, ready to find your throbbing clit and send you over the edge, a generous gesture he was happy to offer you. “Not here.” You stopped him, almost breathless. You took his hands in yours and abruptly brought them to your bouncing breasts that left unattended for too long to your taste. “There.” Aemond obediently cupped them as if he was holding two beautiful fruits and instantly started to toy with your sensitive perky nipples, pinching them and rolling them between his fingers. You grunted as he did and dug your nails in the wooden edge of the tub when you felt yourself almost fall on top of the Targaryen prince. Your breasts brushed Aemond’s face in your fall and, unable to resist their delicious shape, he claimed one by catching it with his mouth. He immediately started sucking it loudly, twirling his tongue around the nipple as his cock began to throb in your cunt. It was no secret he liked your breasts in his mouth but you never saw the prince adoring them like that. Usually, he would suck at them for comfort, not for lustful purposes. As he kept on devouring your teats, Aemond’s hand slid down your sides to find your waist again. He grabbed you firmly and you felt him adjust himself underneath you, forcing you to stop your eager bouncing on top of him. You clearly understood what he was trying to do. So, you bent on top of him even more, pressing your forehead to his, to help him a bit. “You don’t mind?” “Not if you bring me to the stars with you.” You whispered closed to his lips with a smile and he chuckled almost silently. “Hmm… I can do that.” “I’m sure you can, my dragon.” He took your words as a challenge anyway and rapidly became entranced. He thrusted his cock inside you hard and deep to make you mewl and then when he reached the end of your squelchy pit, he began hammering you from underneath. The water in the tub became agitated as you took each of Aemond’s mighty thrusts with loud lustful cries that only encouraged him to accelerate and soon your walls began to clench more and more around Aemond’s throbbing cock. You were aware of the power of a tightening cunt around an aching shaft and you could definitely tell by looking at Aemond’s face wrinkled with pleasure that he was very close to reach his high. So, you tried to warn him, afraid he was too lost in lust to realise he was very close to milk his cock inside you. “Aemond, careful. You will—” “Let me… let me.” He panted almost begging you.

You eyed at him with surprise but also seriousness. You did not want him to make a reckless decision that he would regret later. He sensed your state of mind and caught your look. His purple eye was lidded, reflecting the incoming burst growing inside him but he was still very conscious of his actions. “That’s alright. I truly want it. I want to know how it feels to breed a woman… to breed you.” Just as before, his words made you moan and shiver and you ultimately nodded and buried your face in his neck, offering him your body to do as he wished. Your submission set Aemond’s loins on fire and a solid hand wrapped around the back of your neck as he bit your shoulder like an animal in heat trying to breed his mate. He did not hurt you though. His hand and teeth were just merely to keep you in place as he kept chasing his release inside you with a rough and fervent pace. His need was bringing you closer to your climax. Seeing Aemond so desperate, so eager to cum inside of you was the most arousing thing in the world. And after a few perfect thrusts, your walls began to flutter and you finally came loudly, crying in his neck. Your cunt furiously clenched and unclenched around his cock as you went up and down your high. “Don’t muffle your screams, not tonight, not as I put my seed in you.” The Targaryen commanded as he felt you cum around him and push his aching cock towards its release. “Aemond!!” You shouted and he finally spurted his semen into you as he growled lewdly for long seconds, his voice following the rhythm of his manhood emptying itself in your comforting hole.

When there was nothing else that he could give you, the prince’s body became limp and he let himself sink in the tub, dragging you down with him. You laid against him, his cock still inside you keeping his seed as deeply as possible, your head on his beating chest, and you silently listened to his thundering heart. You were both tired and panting, unable to move and to talk. But even if you could, what would you do? What would you say that your silence and embrace couldn’t show already? You rubbed your face on Aemond, trembling but very satisfied and you wrapped your arms around him. He responded with his fingertips caressing your back and that’s all you both needed right now.

‘Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath. Which side will it be, greatness or madness.’ You didn’t know if your mother had tossed a coin for you and if she had, which side it had fallen on. But as your body was still united with Aemond’s, you began to think that if you tossed a coin right now it would show you madness because you were mad about your prince.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon #the midnight relief

344 notes · View notes