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kentopedia · 6 months

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it's been decades since you've last seen dazai; your lover & your maker. now that you're finally happy, he's haunting you again with a thousand buried memories.

overall contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, exes to lover, gothic romance, blood drinking, vampire!reader, vampire!dazai, smut, cheating reader, complicated relationships, blood, gore, jealousy, manipulation, religious symbolism, betrayal, reunions — currently at 21k words

PART III ♰ MASTERLIST

Night after night, you returned to the bar to indulge in the taste of Dazai, the single ambrosia from Heaven that your ill-forgotten God had bestowed upon the earth. How lucky you were, you believed, to be the sole being that he would share himself with completely; no one else would know such bliss.

The conversation started out as little, but as the days and nights continued, you found yourself seeping into his presence, remembering just how easy it was and would always be. Osamu was your sole addiction, and like any weak person would, you continued to return to your vice.

Each moment you spent with him was like a beginning and end. A longing for a time that you could never return to and a fresh start all at once. Unlike the man from your old memories, he never turned to smirk at the women that were leering at him, brown irises focused only on the small quip of your lips as he drew an exhale of a laugh from you.

His humor was dry, and Dazai teased you often, but he wasn’t unkind—he wasn’t the evil monster that you remembered him being, even in the moments that you loved him with every ounce of your body and soul.

For the first time in his life, he opened up to you, told you things that he had never told anyone before. His life had been a mystery to you for decades; he’d kept it sheltered inside of him, a vulnerability that he would never let any enemy capitalize on. Now, though, he trusted you, perhaps in a way that he didn’t think he could until you’d spent time apart.

If you hadn’t turned on him in his darkest moments, sought to end him in a way that he’d always claimed to want, then certainly, at least a fraction of your love was true.

Despite all of that, though, you kept everything about your relationship transactional. You met up with him, gave him an ear and shared some of your own trials from the times you were apart. At the end of it all, you considered him nothing more than the man you once loved, the one that had turned you when you’d been at the lowest point of your life.

The relationship you shared could never be explained by a singular word. It was years of tragedy and misery and a love so deep that it consumed you from the inside out until it destroyed you.

That love would always be there. You’d always love him, but you were resolved to letting him go. This time, you could close this chapter of your life, could end things with Dazai on a note that didn’t leave a bitter taste in your mouth. You could become a person outside of him, could love Atsushi and learn what your new immortal life would be like with a man that had a silver heart, instead of one encased in iron.

Every night, when you left the bar and crawled back into bed with Atsushi, that’s what you reminded yourself of. If he ever grew suspicious of your activity, he never made note of it, and he stopped mentioning the deaths that had increased tenfold, the ones that were bleeding him dry and exhausting him to the point of collapse.

When three weeks had passed, and things had continued in the same vein, Atsushi reached his breaking point. His eyes were red, dark circles around them, his cheeks hollow. Somehow, you hadn’t noticed how much weight he’d lost until then, how pale his skin had become.

Atsushi had waited up for you, his knees curled up in his chest as he sat against the headboard. There was something vacant about his eyes, the life that lingered there had nearly disappeared.

Guilt clawed its way up your body until it tasted like nausea, and you wanted to vomit from the horrid emotion that took control. In every possible way, you’d neglected the man that was supposed to be the love of your life, turned a blind eye to spend time with the vampire that had once broken you so completely. It was a sickening twist of fate, and you had no idea how to even begin apologizing.

“Atsushi,” you said, the syllables tumbling out of your dry lips.

Though, you didn’t get far with whatever miserable statement you were attempting to make. Atsushi sighed, and looked up at the ceiling, tipping his head back as he rang his fingers together. “They’re sending me away for a week. Starting tomorrow.”

It took you a moment to process his words. You stared back at him, before rushing towards the bed, not bothering to kick off your shoes. “What?” you asked, aghast. “For more work? Atsushi, look at you. Some days, you can hardly stand.”

He shook his head, smiling softly as you came into his orbit. Atsushi’s hands were soft on your thigh, even though you couldn’t feel a thing under the thick layers of your dress. His purple eyes were full of an intense love, but so different than the predatory, desperate affection that Dazai had always shared.

You stiffened under his palm, hating that Dazai even crossed your mind. Atsushi retracted his hand, eyebrows narrowing together.

“It’s not for more work,” he said, yawning, despite himself. “They want me to take a break. Get out of the city and away from the murders for a while.” Atsushi laughed, though it was bitter and self-deprecating. “I don’t blame them. I’m a detective, and I can’t handle—”

“Atsushi, they’re gruesome. They’re vile. That doesn’t make you weak, that means you’re caring.” You deflated, crawling over to him to hold his cheek gently. “Any normal person would vomit at the sight of that. You shouldn’t be criticizing yourself for something like that.”

His frown deepened, but he said nothing.

“Can I come too?” you asked, even though you knew it would be difficult. There wasn’t enough time to plan, enough time to figure out an alternative to Dazai’s blood while you were in proximity to Atsushi.

Something that, you began to realize, would quickly become an issue. As long as Atsushi was human, you would always run the risk of hurting him.

Atsushi shook his head, finally, lacing his fingers in with yours against his cheek. “I think it’s best if I go alone. I need some time to process everything, and I think I’ll rest more this way.”

“But I don’t want you to be alone with all those horrible thoughts,” you frowned. “You’ll ruminate on them, and I don’t want you to come back feeling even worse than before.”

“I’ll be fine,” he promised. “I love you, but I want to worry about this on my own. Can you understand that?”

You were silent, a part of you secretly relieved, but evenly concerned. It seemed like the first step Atsushi might take in pushing you away, even if you had been the one to topple the first domino.

“Alright,” you finally said, standing once again to change into your night clothes. “Come back immediately if you don’t think you’re okay. Can you promise me that, at least?”

Atsushi nodded.

He left the next day.

You arrived at the bar earlier than Dazai, this time, your usual barstools occupied by two old men smoking new cigars. Instead, you sat at the table by the piano, with the woman that had long since learned Dazai wasn’t interested.

The bartender made you a drink you hadn’t asked for, finally taking his shot in the dark now that Dazai wasn’t around. Although you took it, you politely refused conversation, staring ahead at the wall instead, in the hopes that your once lifelong companion would hurry.

It had been two days since Atsushi had gone away, and you’d avoided Dazai in the meantime. An unwise decision, considering that your hunger had only increased tenfold in the hours that you were holed up in your apartment. There was nothing to occupy you there but a collection of books you’d already read and a piano that Atsushi hadn’t tuned in ages.

You tapped your fingers against the table impatiently. The door chimed again. This time, when you looked up, a pair of dark eyes were staring back, feet already dragging him across the room to greet you.

Dazai pulled out the chair, raising his eyebrows at your sour expression. “I take it something’s wrong?”

“Atsushi left,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned back in the chair. “He’s been overworking himself, trying to figure out who this mass murderer is that’s roaming the streets. I have to sit there with a pretty smile and pretend I have no idea what’s happening at all.”

“You don’t have to. You could tell him everything, turn me over to him and spill every secret I’ve ever told you to the vampire hunters that will certainly come after me.” Dazai smiled lazily, leaning over the table. “You could do that. Why don’t you?”

You made a face at him. As if it wasn’t obvious that if you hadn’t turned him over already, then you wouldn’t do it now. Perhaps it was for the sake of all the good memories that you’d shared over the century. Perhaps it was only the fact that his blood had turned you into something immortal, and that part of your soul would never let you turn him over.

It didn’t really matter. That just wasn’t an option.

“You promised you’d cover your tracks better,” you said, ignoring his previous question to lean further over the table. “You’ve killed more people than live in my neighborhood, all in the span of a month. How can you sit there and pretend like—” you stopped, hushing as someone from two tables over began to listen in. “Osamu…”

“I’ve hidden my tracks better than you realize. I have centuries of experience, and I don’t need you to worry about that.” He shook his head, reaching for you across the table.

For once, you let him. Dazai gave a small smile as he took your hand, caressing the crease between your thumb and index finger.

“I can’t keep up with your increasing appetite on my usual diet,” he said, squeezing your palm once more before releasing it. “You cannot continue living with this human on a diet of animal blood, and I cannot continue feeding you without feeding off twice as many people.” He pinned you with his steely gaze, and, against every rational part of your being, you pressed your thighs together, shifting uncomfortably.

“You don’t have to drain them, Osamu. Let them live.”

He laughed, leaning away from you. “Well, I certainly haven’t been killing everyone, sweetheart. Just enough to keep your precious little pet busy. That way, he’ll never notice that his lovely fiancé is sneaking off to see her much more charming lover.”

You clenched your jaw, digging your nails so sharply into your thighs that blood dribbled down your legs. None of that should’ve come as a shock to you. That Dazai would plan something so elaborate, that he would lure you away from Atsushi; it was exactly the kind of plot that he would weave.

“You’re such a fool,” you spat, shaking your head as you turned away to face the door once more. It chimed as people came in and out, leaving the bar only by stumbling over their feet. It was too early; much too early for anyone to be such a mess. “I’m never going to love you again, Osamu. You lie, and you lie, and you lie.”

Dazai’s eyes flashed. “Is that the case?” He peered into every crevice of your face, into your soul, into the truths of your heart that were stripped bare by understanding. “From where I’m sitting, you’re the liar. You don’t tell the human where you’re going, and you pretend that you don’t have to tear yourself away from me every time you have a taste of my blood.”

He seemed far too proud of himself for you to be anything but irritated.

“We aren’t friends, Osamu. This is nothing more than a way for me to survive. Don’t pretend to know otherwise.”

“No, we never really have been friends, have we?” he laughed. “Yet, I never ran out of reasons to love you. Even more, I find something about you that I adore, something that I didn’t already know.”

You set your jaw, finally turning back to him. There was an openness to his features, a small smile that sent you whirling.

Every time he reminded you of his pure adoration, you tripped back over yourself, stumbling into a person that you haven’t been in half a century, one that lost all her senses when it came to an ancient vampire with those burning eyes.

“You don’t mean anything to me,” you said, and though Dazai was grinning at you, knowing too well that you were lying, you kept your voice steady. “We’ve both agreed to keep this relationship as it is, so don’t push your luck.”

“If that’s the case, then come back to my hotel with me,” he whispered, almost like a command, like he could twist your mind the same way that he could a human’s. “You can have as much as you want without worrying that someone will walk around the corner.”

“No,” you shook your head fiercely, not allowing your mind to wander into that territory. You thought of all the times you’d had Dazai laid out on your bed, ripping into his throat as he came inside of you. Heat rose to your cheeks, and you dug your fingers harder into your thigh. “It doesn’t matter if anyone sees, you and I both know that you can just erase their memories.”

He huffed. “But it’s so much more enjoyable in private, isn’t it?”

“No.”

He drew your name out on his lips, teasing and lighthearted. You denied one more time, clenching your jaw.

Dazai was silent. You’d thought that you’d won, that you could get your way with him once and for all. You made your way to your feet, ready to walk out in the alley and launch yourself at him. Perhaps this time, you would finally bleed him dry. Then, he’d be weak enough for you to kill, and you’d never have to put up with him again.

Though, none of that happened. Dazai’s expression shifted at the drop of a pin, turning into one of flat stoicism. His tone was no longer playful, and it instead became deep and serious, one that he saved for so few occasions because he knew what it did to you.

“Sit back down.”

You glared, feeling the annoyance twist into something different. “And if I don’t?”

“You’ll do what I say, or you won’t get any of my blood, sweetheart.” Though you nearly snapped the chair at the sound of his deepened voice, you followed his directions. Something had been set aflame deep within you, and he was a cheating bastard, cruel and conniving and everything that you’d once held dear. “Good girl,” he said in a whisper that only your vampiric hearing could translate.

You stared at him, too afraid that if you moved a muscle, you would lose every ounce of your composure.

His eyes raked over you, eyelashes fluttering over his cheekbones before settling on your flushed cheeks, the way you shifted uncomfortably, repeating Atsushi’s name over in your head, even though it started to sound suspiciously like Osamu.

“You’ll come back with me now, won’t you?”

Dazai watched for a moment longer as you squirmed under his steely gaze, and then his lips broke into a smile, like he’d just won a game and you were his prize for the taking.

“Nothing more,” you said, your words far too weak and wispy to come from your own throat. “I want your blood and nothing more.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning over the table two get close to your ear. “Don’t lie to me. I can smell how wet you’re getting.”

You flew out of the chair, taking two steps backward before you crashed into the waitress, who dropped the tray of drinks all over the floor, cursing at you as the glasses shattered.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, flustered as you remembered the last time something like that had happened, and it all seemed too familiar that you wondered if you had already died and this was your own brand of personal hell.

Resisting Dazai seemed more of a feat than braving the seven circles.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, and you backed up once more, crashing into Dazai’s chest, the smell of him all so overwhelming that you were salivating, desperate. He held you tightly to him, snaking a possessive arm around your waist.

“I’m sorry about my darling wife. She’s had a very stressful week.”

Something about that word made you weak in the knees, and you were only held up by Dazai’s strong embrace, forced to let his strength carry you. For decades, you’d lived in marriage, and he’d never referred to you as such. Never had Atsushi muttered the word so lyrically, had never drawn it out on his tongue in a way that made you desperate for him.

It was special when it came from Dazai. You could only melt from it.

The woman said nothing as Dazai dragged you away, forced you to gain control of yourself before you were out of the bar. Just a few steps and you would be outside, free to take what you wanted, the drink of ambrosia just inches from your lips.

“Let me, ‘samu,” you said, your voice small as soon as you reached the cool, evening air. “I’m so hungry.”

Though, he wouldn’t let you indulge, kept your lips from his vein as he smiled, brushing your hair away from your face. “Not yet, sweetheart. Be patient.”

You were buzzing, vibrating under your skin with anticipation, and if it wasn’t for Dazai’s strong grip on your arm, you would’ve lunged after one of the passersby. The scent of him so near to you drove you to the brink of insanity. Yet, he refused to let you so much as kiss his dark vein, keeping you at a distance as he waited for a carriage.

Neither of you spoke until you got to his hotel, one of the finest in the city, paid for by the centuries of wealth he had accumulated.

Dazai greeted those who walked out the door like they were old friends, a sideways smile at the man who stood behind the desk. They let him pass with nothing more than cheerful grins, already adoring the beautiful vampire with the sensual air that never seemed to leave him.

“Almost there, my darling,” he whispered under his breath, hushed and sultry. “Then, I promise you can take as much as you want.”

You ached, clutching onto his arm, your lust, hunger, and undying love all hitting you at once. It was like you were drowning in it, swallowed whole by the man that you wanted so deeply, so passionately. You needed him like a mortal needed air, even if you refused to let yourself accept it.

Dazai shut the door, locked it. You barely had time to register your surroundings, the finest linens and carpets that were draped across the room.

Instead, all you could stare at were his lips—the perfect shape of them, the perfect curve. How soft they appeared in the dark light of the evening, and how much you wanted to kiss them.

One time.

That would be all. It would be enough to get him out of your system, and then you’d never have to see him again.

With a speed that would have been imperceptible to a human, Dazai was upon you, his hands on your jaw tightly as he backed you into a wall, kissing you with every ounce of passion within him. His nails drew blood from your cheeks, seeping between the cracks in his fingers as you kissed him so hard that his lips bruised.

You weren’t sure what to do with your hands, so you touched him all over, his jaw, his shoulders, the lean expanse of his chest. He pressed himself closer, and you could feel him straining against his pants, the bulge so prominent that it had only been hidden by his coat before.

“Do you understand what you do to me? How badly I crave you?” He was kissing you over and over, across your jaw, down your neck, licking a long stripe from your ear to your collarbone before nuzzling his nose just below your ear. “Let me,” he said, digging his nails into your hips as he held you against the wall. “Fuck. I need to taste you.”

“No,” you said, but it was weak, and you were slowly falling apart under him. “No, Osamu.”

“I’ve stopped myself so many times.” He pressed open-mouthed kisses against your neck, and you could feel his fangs slip out, so smooth and white. “The blood of a fallen angel, stripped of her grace by the man she loves so dearly. Such a beautiful resolution to this show you’re putting on.”

You were hot from the tips of your toes all the way to your forehead, and though Dazai didn’t bite you, you were too close to giving in, to letting him take from every part of you.

Before he could act on his urges, you gripped his hair, yanked him away from your neck and sank your teeth into his own vein instead.

Dazai let out a moan as his blood flooded into your mouth, his fingers tracing your spine. As you drank, your grip on Dazai slackened, before you were falling, losing yourself in him.

You were so dazed from the blood, you weren’t sure when you moved, when he had gotten you across the room into his lap. He set you on his thigh, his hands guiding your hips along the lean muscles there, dragging your clit along the ridges of his slacks.

“‘samu,” you gasped into his mouth, aching with need and want and everything in between. His pupils had dilated, eyes darkening with mischief as he bumped his leg against you once more, sending a jolt through you that had you tearing at his skin, spilling more blood into your mouth. “I shouldn’t want you.” Your breath caught. “I hate you.”

“I love you.” He said just as quickly, and smiled, petting your hair as you latched onto his vein, guiding your hips so you were riding his thigh. The friction was just enough for you to need more, for your arousal to seep through your panties, the cloth already wet. “Take what you need from me. Everything.”

You tore yourself away from his throat and kissed him, letting him taste his own blood as you pressed one of his hands to your breast.

His eyes flashed, and he cupped the outside of your dress, tearing right down the middle of the garment to expose your chest. Dazai kissed down your clavicle, swirling his tongue around the place where your heart no longer beat, before sucking your nipple into his mouth.

You moaned, throwing your head back while Dazai kissed you, curling his tongue in a practiced manner—he’d always known you from the inside out.

“Such beautiful noises,” he muttered, the words from his lips vibrating against your breast. “It makes me sick to know that another man has heard you like this. That someone can think their devotion to you is even a fraction of everything I’ve ever felt about you.”

Tears sprung to your eyes, bloody and red as Dazai rocked you against his thigh, pressed your aching cunt into his strong muscle. “Your love for me is unhealthy. It’s twisted.”

“I may not love you in the way that you want, but to the very deepest part of your soul, you know that I love you the way you need.” Dazai’s eyes were blown wide with lust, the irises a shade so dark they were nearly black. He looked every bit the true predator that he was, the absolute devil that had been put on this earth to destroy.

You threaded your fingers through his hair as Dazai kissed between your breasts, right below your neck, worshiping every bit of your body. “You tear me to pieces, Osamu.”

“Doesn’t matter. Every last piece of you belongs to me,” he said, bouncing his thigh just enough that you were gasping, tearing his skin as your clit caught on the fabric between you.

You were close, so close to your release, and you’d nearly forgotten how easily Dazai could make a mess of you.

“Your little human pet doesn’t take care of you, does he?” Dazai asked, cupping the soft skin of your breast, squeezing delicately before flicking the nipple with his thumb. “Didn’t even get to put my mouth on that pretty pussy and you’ve already ruined my pants.”

You flushed, hot as you sped the strokes of your hip, your grip so tight that your nails had claimed a home in Dazai’s bicep. The breaths that left your lips were so ragged it was almost shameful, that so little had happened, and you were already his for the taking.

“Osamu,” you said, the word barely a sound at all. “Osamu.”

“I know.” He shifted his head to reveal the bite mark that hadn’t quite healed, the vein that you hadn’t quite finished drinking from. “You need to cum so bad, don’t you, sweetheart? Haven’t been fucked properly since you left me.” Dazai smiled, dropping your head to his neck so you could smell his sweet aroma once more, could indulge in the taste of him. “My beautiful girl sleeps in another man’s bed every night, and he can’t even take care of her.”

You contemplated arguing, telling him that it wasn’t true, that Atsushi had always pleased you, had always made sure that your own pleasure came before his. But it was nothing compared to Dazai, nothing compared to the bright lights that flashed behind your eyes as he touched you, the gates of heaven opening up for two monsters that didn’t deserve something so holy.

“I’m so close,” you said, your teeth just barely breaking his skin. “Please, Osamu.”

“You don’t know how badly I want you right now. How much I missed sinking into you, feeling you so tight around me.” Dazai gripped your own thighs harder, his voice raspy and hoarse. “I promised you I wouldn’t kill him, but, god, I want to.”

You felt the sharp snap of something within you, and you bit down hard on Dazai’s neck, his sweet blood too much when it was mixed with the orgasm that hit you all at once. There was a fog in your mind, nothing there besides his name, his voice, his scent, and you started to wonder why you’d ever wanted anyone but him.

How much you wanted to love him, how badly you craved to indulge in it had, really, never been the question. You’d always been painfully in love with Osamu Dazai, hadn’t you? — and you were certain it had started the moment you met him, decades ago.

Tears fell down your lashes, and Dazai brushed them away, pulled you tight in his arms as you finally unlatch from his skin. All over, you buzzed from the feeling that only his blood could make you feel.

Dazai held you so close, shielding you from something you couldn’t discern, and you felt so lost, so confused, dazed from the man who wasn’t quite yours, but who had never belonged to anyone else.

He kissed your forehead and your cheeks with a gentleness you’d forgotten he was capable of. Without straining a muscle, he carried you across the room, his fingers leaving tiny little marks on your skin. Still, the sadness, the guilt wouldn’t leave you, your eyes burning with perplexity, even through the haze that his blood always induced in you.

“I only have one coffin, my love, and the room isn’t sun-proofed,” Dazai said, leading into the other room to open the coffin he’d made a bed.

“samu, I need to go home.” Your eyes fluttered shut as you yawned, dropping your head on his shoulder. “I can’t stay here with you.”

“There’s no one there.” Dazai’s fingers were gentle as they carded through your hair, scratched at your scalp. “And it’s not safe. The sun is about to rise.”

“I need to leave.”

You drew back to look at his face, surprised by the raw emotion that you saw there. For once, he seemed desperate, wanting to keep you near him, the heart that he held in the palm of his hand, even if you hadn’t realized it until now.

“Please,” he said, stroking your cheek gently. “I want you here.”

The hazy fog still lingered. It was no use trying to rationalize your thoughts. There was no reason to try and wash yourself of your sins, not when you’d already done something that you wouldn’t forgive yourself for after. “This can’t happen again. I won’t let it happen again.”

Dazai climbed into the coffin and held out a hand, glowing in the moonlight, a creature of the night straight from the stories that you’d heard as a child. “We’ll see if that stands true tomorrow.”

tag list: @cerberels @thateldribitch @hauntedsol @hannzai @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @sukiischaotic @hinata7346 @scinclaitnoir @mimimimiminanana @yolkyuyi @xxoolii @zephoncocaine @sookisaurus @angelsdemonsandhumans @kouyoumarryme @avocate-assia-dazai @mort-froggoo @fyodorisbbg @iluv-ace@kemis-world @pe4rl-diver @lacunaanonymoused @wilbur-the-hottie @zbriia

notes: mmmkay so my editing on this is not that great, please let me know if there's any glaring errors HSDHSHDf. there was another scene written, but i felt like this was a better stopping point (and i didn't get the next scene quite finished)

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thatone-brightstar · 1 year

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The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 4: Bring a fox to a bear fight

Words: 8.7k (wft?!?)

Summary: Tensions with Carmy finally snap.

a/n: In honor of a new poster and release date for season 2, here's chapter 4! Hope you enjoy! xx P.S. There will be some spanish in this but if you're a 'no sabo kid' you can shamelessly use google translate❤️

WARNING: Smut ahead, masturbation, p in v unprotected sex (birth control is mentioned), minors DNI but you'll do what you want so don't say I didn't warn you

You felt it before even opening your eyes. The growing migraine had settled camp between your brows while you slept and his companion, an uneasy stomach, had you crawling out of bed and into the nearest bathroom to dispose of the undigested contents of last night. You ungracefully swatted your hair out of the way with half your head inside the bowl when a shadow stood by the door you had forgotten to close in the rush of the moment.

“Ay, mira que bonito!” You heard your mother’s taunting voice above you. “You had fun last night, mija?” She said in a fake sweetness, one hand rubbing over your heaving back as your stomach spewed itself into the porcelain.

The torture stopped long enough for you to look up at her through narrow slits, then feeling the acid crawl its way back up again.

“Isn’t this punishment enough?” You managed to say through a sore throat, spitting the last bit of red saliva inside and flushing. ‘Fuckin’ daiquiris’

You stood on wobbly knees from the cold tiled floor and rested your face against the wall by the door, your mother staring amused.

“No, those are just consequences, mi amor.” She smirked, reaching to caress your cheek, but stopped midway in distaste when she saw little remains of spit across it. “Maybe when you're clean.”

A soft sneer curled on your lips and you made a kiss motion at her.

“C’mon mami, gimme a kiss” You teased, leaning forward.

She took a step back as you took one towards her, reaching to pull at her hands. Her head shook in laughter as she stepped deeper in your room and tossed the towel hanging on the wall directly to your head. It fell with a ‘thunk’ to the ground and your vision blurred slightly while leaning down to pick it up.

“Take a shower, you smell like shit.” Your mother said on her way out the door. “And grandpa made breakfast!” She yelled from the hallway and the volume had your head pounding with heavy fists at your temples.

With sluggish movements, trying to not upset your already ruined digestion, you moved to your closet for a fresh set of clothes, then to your bed to wake up Syd. You found the space empty and wondered how she had gotten up without waking you, considering you were a light sleeper, but too much thinking made your head hurt so you left it to a mystery.

The bright rays of sunshine filtering through the open bathroom window usually appealed as lovely to your houseplant soul, however as you undressed to shower with a permanent scowl, the soft light burnt a hole through your tired retinas. You dragged yourself inside and as soon as the warm water hit your skin, you sighed in relief. There was nothing a warm shower couldn’t cure.

As you mechanically went through your routine, you assessed the events of the night before and the crater in your chest hollowed all over again. A few salty tears that mixed with the rosemary and lavender shampoo ran down the drain. Despite coming to terms with yourself that you’d solve everything that same day, the small voice in the back of your head nagged that ‘he probably didn’t even wanna see you, anyway’. You took a few calming breaths under the stream and pictured the perfect scenario to counter rest the dark thoughts swarming your unprotected psyche.

You’d show up to work as always, hopefully less hungover than you were feeling, and ask him to talk in his office. You’d tell him you were an asshole for hurting him and that you wanted nothing more than exactly what he was offering. You’d bicker back and forth for a while, but ultimately it would end precisely how it should have the night before, in a sweet sweet overdue kiss. You’d maybe even get to fulfill one of the many fantasies that flooded your head when he caressed your face in the small barely lit room.

Your breath hitched at the sudden change in direction your mind was taking you in. Behind closed lids, your consciousness had painted a promising picture of blown irises and tangled locks moving in a rhythmic tempo against you. His pearly skin was tainted carmine from the effort it took to contain himself as he slammed repeatedly into you; trained fingers digging into the sensitive skin of your upper thighs while he held you in place over the disheveled desk. Only the sound of shaky breaths and whispered praises filled the room while he confessed just how good you felt panting underneath him.

The vision in your head felt so real to your body, that your pulse had started racing and it had your cunt squeezing around nothing in frustration. A delicate hand slid down past your navel and a sigh of relief left your shaky lips at the sudden contact of your cold finger tips. You used the clear image in your head to aid the pulsing in between your folds, massaging at an equal pace to your vision. You pictured the veins in his arms, tensed with force, one hand holding you down while the other wrapped around your fragile throat and pulled you into a heated kiss. You felt the vibration from his groan travel down your trachea and straight into the speed of your fingers. Your knees quivered at the thought of his messy kisses down your neck, followed by shaky breaths of barely contained moans, your hands clawing at the skin of his back trying to press his chest closer to yours. All it took was the image of Carmy pulling your legs around his waist with force and burying his face in your neck, pounding ruthlessly against your skin before a strangled sigh left his mouth as he came, painting your insides white.

The force of a relieving orgasm knocked the strength off your knees and you used your other hand to lean on the chill tile, the stark contrast in temperature running chills along your sensitive skin. You took a couple calming breaths until your thighs recovered their strength and the once persistent headache had finally subsided. You finished showering with newfound energy.

Dressed and feeling surprisingly less shitty than expected, you walked out into the kitchen drying your hair and enticed by the smell of sausages. You rounded the island where your grandpa stood wearing a ‘kiss the chef’ apron and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. He handed you a plate of food with a smile and you thanked him then served yourself from the half empty coffee pot. Syd and your mom were having a lively conversation about where she had learned her great spanish as you silently finished your eggs and sausage, not wanting to add to the already noisy ambiance in the small area. Soft guitar strings played from somewhere in the living room, merging with the soft chirping of birds outside the tall windows that illuminated the room in a golden hue.

As you took a sip of your coffee leaning on the bar, your mother asked Syd if you had already invited the guys from work to your grandpa's 76th birthday next week. Your eyes grew wide in realization, only then did you remember that she had asked you to do it at least two weeks ago and you had not thought about it since. When she said no, your mother turned to you with a glare hidden behind a smile. You swallowed the bitter liquid and lowered your cup.

“I.. was getting around to it.” You confessed turning slowly and taking your empty plate to the sink behind you.

“What did I tell you, eh?” She began scolding you, “I told you ‘do it today before you forget’ and see? You forgot!”

You finished washing your dirty plate with your back to her and rolled your eyes.

“I’ll tell them today, I promise!” You told her, drying your hands on the gingerbread man dishcloth that had been out since last Christmas.

She gave you a long ‘Mhmm’ with crossed arms, eyed you with a scowl then rolled her eyes. “You better! I already told your tia Angie to add an extra ten people for the food, I don’t want anything to go to waste, okay?!” She continued as you rounded up your work bag from the couch and signaled for Sydney to hurry up.

She swallowed the last of her breakfast, slid from the stool and walked to the sink where she was about to wash her plate, but your grandfather took it from her hands and shook his head ‘Guest’ he said and pointed to her. She smiled with a ‘Gracias’ then ran to your room to get her things.

“Yes, I know. I’ll do it today.” You finished, walking over to both of them and giving them a goodbye kiss on the cheek.

Your mother grunted slightly but turned her cheek towards you.

“Oh! And invite that Carmy boy,” She said and your stomach churned. “He seems nice, no?” She whispered and scrunched up her nose at you.

“Syd let’s go!” You yelled ignoring her and walked into the hallway where your jacket hung.

“Thank you for breakfast, bye!” She called out to your family and followed you out the door. “Your mom told me that was your setup in the living room?”

You looked at her confused then remembered the half finished painting surrounded by empty paint tubes and drying brushes. The events from the day before made it seem like it had spent an eternity sitting to dry.

“Yeah, I like painting. Helps with my anxiety” You shrugged.

Sydney answered with a simple nod as you kept walking down the stairs. She reached up to massage her chin at the memory of tripping over the same steps a couple hours ago and a wave of laughter invaded you both as you made the rest of the way down.

You reached The Beef with a building worry. The plan to solve things with Carmy wasn’t as much a plan as it was an idea, and a vague one at that. You figured you had the whole train ride to come up with something, but it was mostly spent controlling your breath and trying not to puke all over the already sticky floors. So as Syd and you walked through the back entrance, unprepared and slightly nauseous, a stabbing sensation pierced your chest at the sight of an unruly head lifting up to meet your eyes.

The knot in your throat obstructed any possible passage of air and you stayed locked in place, grounded by the weight of his gaze.

“I think I’m gonna be sick again.” You whispered to Syd when you were no longer being observed by heavy pools of aquamarine.

He brought his attention back to mixing the dry ingredients for the rub on the beef, but you could tell his back had grown slightly more tense than usual. You passed beside him to the check in clock, muttering a ‘Mornin’ that he answered with a ‘G’Mornin’ chefs’, plural. Sydney shot a sympathetic look at you before moving to her area, lacking motivation. You debated whether to rip the band aid off now or wait until the end of the day, but knowing your impatient nature you knew the shift would be worse if you did nothing now.

“Uhm, Carmy?” Your voice sounded unsure, his fingers twitched slightly at the sound of it.

“Yes, chef.” He answered, mixing all the ingredients thoroughly in a bowl.

“Do you think we can talk?” You cracked your knuckles at your sides, waiting impatiently for his answer.

He looked at you for a millisecond, without bothering to raise his head completely, then moved to the hallway that led to the walk in.

“There’s nothin’ to talk about chef, we're good.” ‘Okay, so not even on a first name basis’ you thought.

You followed close behind and carelessly threw your things into the office floor, then catched the heavy metal door before it slammed shut behind him.

“Yeah you said that, but I feel like we’re not.” The force of the door shutting behind you pushed you fully inside and you were thankful for the cold climate drying your sweaty hands.

He had his back towards you as he rummaged through the stock long enough for it to be obvious that he was trying to avoid you. You fiddled with your fingers in anticipation, waiting for a word or a look, anything that signaled the start of a conversation.

“We are.” He answered, shooting you a brief over the shoulder glance then back to the rack.

You took in a deep breath and began. “Look, I’m sorry for what I said last nig-” He interrupted with a stern call of your name, hands leaning heavily against the shelf.

“-Chef, please,” He corrected, as if the simple syllables of your name physically hurt him to pronounce. His voice was low but authoritative. “If I say we’re good, then we’re good. Alright?”

“Yes.” You muttered, doing your best to swallow your heart back south into your chest.

“Yes, what?” He paused halfway in a turn, pulling a metal escoffier with the day's beef.

“Yes, chef.” You said through gritted teeth, irritated eyes locked into his.

His stare lingered on you for a moment longer, the tendon on the side on his neck tensed, then he lifted the heavy container and walked right past you, out the small room. You stayed a few moments longer inside, letting the chill air from the vents hit your overheated face and regulate your breath. With a final inhale, you pushed your way out to face the long day with an upset stomach and a beaten up chest.

**********

“I already fuckin’ told you how, Richard,” You spat angerly at him, the migraine in your head growing by the minute. “It’s not rocket science!”

It was the third time that day that he asked you for help because the tablet would go all crazy on him, that was two more than any regular day and you would be happy to explain how his grease covered fingers were the fucking problem, if it weren't for the massive headache that had you on a chokehold since the moment Tina opened the front door.

“Alright, geez! No need to throw in the government names!” He yelled back, throwing his arms up in desperation.

You sighed and dropped the empty dishes you were carrying on the lower counter beside him, then took one of the clean napkins and placed it in his hand. You moved his limp arm like you would a little kid and wiped the screen in demonstration.

“Okay, okay I get it, get off!” He said before swatting your hand away and continuing the task himself.

He kept mumbling under his breath how you were ‘insufferable when you’re hungover ’ and how ‘Carmy should’ve done a better job last night’ as you rounded up the dishes again and walked into the kitchen, not before painfully jamming your elbow into his side.

The hangover wasn’t the only problem, you had spent most of the morning throwing up and were sure you had gotten rid of most of the alcohol in your system. Having Carmy ignore you most of the day was the bigger issue. He had managed to avoid you all through morning prep and even hid in his office during family. You had maybe seen him two or three times during lunch service, but not once did he look up at you. Between having him act as if you weren’t even there and the constant guilt for how the conversation had gone, you were still trying to debate whether you wanted to try and talk things again. If there was anything left to solve.

You kept yourself busy during the break, setting the new tablecloths around the dining room, making sure they fell correctly and tried to ignore the pooling memories of his soft touches with every fabric you pulled out. Once they were set up to your liking, you took the empty cloth bag and walked back inside to save it with your remaining stuff. When you turned the corner towards the office, your sneakers squeaked at your sudden stop and your brow furrowed at the closed door. It was normally always open and you were sure you had left it that way twenty minutes ago when you had gone in to retrieve your things. You shrugged and kept walking to it, assuming it could have been a draft.

The last thing you expected to find inside was a tall blonde standing in the middle of the room beside Carmy. They both turned startled at the sudden intrusion while you stopped abruptly half way in. Your eyes danced between them for less than a second, a growing warmth of embarrassment holding your cheeks hostage. Carmy averted his gaze as the women scanned you expectantly.

“Uh… so-sorry.” You managed to blurt out, throw the fabric by the floor with the rest of your things and quickly shut the door behind you.

A dense huff left your chest when the door finally clicked shut. You moved back as if it were to combust instantaneously and still somewhat disoriented, traveled to the back for a breath of fresh air.

The soft crunch of gravel under your shoes grew therapeutic after the long day, as the smoke from a nearby cigarette floated to your nose and seemed appealing in the moment. Richie sat on one of the stacked up crates digging on the little stones by his feet, cig in between his fingers as he typed energetically on his phone. He looked up long enough to see you walk towards him with an extended hand to bum out a drag. He did so doubtful because he had never seen you smoke before, but didn’t care enough to ask and offered it anyway.

The numbing sensation spread to your head after the second drag, the voices in the back asking why you had quit in the first place. You handed the shorter tube back to Richie and leaned against the brick wall, still faintly warm from the early spring sun. You played with your bottom lip in concentration, racking your brain for ways you could ask him about the woman you saw Carmy with, without sounding too intrusive. ‘Fuck it, he already thought you were fucking, might as well ask.’ you thought.

You cleared your throat with a small cough and he turned to you with raised brows.

“Hey Richie,” You began, picking at the loose skin around your nails. “D-do you know who that blonde woman is? The one in the office?”

“Blonde woman.. Who, Sugar?” He asked leaning back to get a better look at you, smoke between his curled lips.

You shrugged trying to seem as nonchalant as it was possible, with your anxious brain throwing thousands of scenarios per second.

He took another drag, blew the smoke then spoke. “Oh, that’s uhm… that’s Carmy’s wife.” Richie spoke flatly, scratching above his bottom lip to hide an upcoming smirk.

Are you fucking kidding me?!

The blood underneath your skin began to boil, you felt hot and cold at the same time and your vision blurred with the threat of unsuspecting tears. Your breaths began to grow shorter but heavier as the acid in your stomach tried to claw its way up for the fifth time. You swallowed hard and snatched the cig from his offering hand, inhaling as much of the toxic fumes as it took to settle your boiling anger back into a simmer.

“Oh. She’s pretty.” Was all you were able to say, though it didn’t reflect the indescribable rage you were feeling.

At who, you weren’t sure. Yourself firstly, for being so foolishly naive to assume that he was different from any other tattooed, apron wearing son of a bitch you had met before. For thinking that he was actually interested in you as a human being and didn’t see you as another gold medal to receive as price for fucking the new girl. You were obviously extremely pissed at Carmen because what the actual fuck?! Who fucking does that?! Of course you knew of one fucking person, but did Carmen really think you were never going to find out? Why had Sydney not told you or did she not know either?

A million questions raced through your mind as you took another long inhale of smoke, eyes fixated on the rocky ground. You were so lost in the whirlpool of rage, you didn’t notice how Richie had pulled another cigarette for himself, leaving you the half finished one.

“Guess you didn’t know then, huh?” He asked, flicking the lighter on and burning the herby tip.

You shook your head slowly, thumbnail in between your teeth, the floating smoke from the ember tip between your fingers reached your eyes and made them water. ‘Yeah, that's what it is’, you thought. You sniffed heavily and regained composure because Richie was the last person who you’d let see you have a breakdown.

The dense metal door opened with a creek and the person you dreaded to see the most stepped out into the empty space. He walked towards you and Richie with his own unlit cig between his lips, brow creased when he eyed yours.

“Didn’t you quit?” He asked, nodding his head towards the short tube between your lips.

Pushing yourself off the brick with a last inhale of smoke, you flicked the end into the nearby garbage and walked past him without a single glance in his direction. You didn’t trust your voice or anything that would come out of it if you decided to answer, so you pushed your way inside and let the broth of your heated emotions simmer in your chest for what was left of the day.

You did what you do best when pissed, suppress everything in a little dark corner in your head and focus on the task at hand, the task now being getting through the dinner rush alive. It seemed like people knew you had a shitty day and could use the distraction because they had not stopped coming in since the doors were reopened at five. Between orders and clearing tables, you had only looked at your watch twice all afternoon, the last being twenty minutes ago when it read 8:30pm.

Carrying the last of the empty dishes into the back, you spotted Angel leaning lazily against the rack holding the clean kitchenware. You placed the plates lightly on the empty space beside the sink and he groaned in response to seeing them.

“I take it ‘adventure’ was fun, then?” You said teasingly then patted him on the back. “Those are my last ones!” You let him know, walking back out to finish cleaning your station.

A few customers lingered around, only two or three sat on the counter while they waited for their to-go orders, but other than that the dining room had grown empty. It was only then that you felt the weight of the day's events fall hefty on your overworked back. You placed your cool fingertips over your tired eyelids, taking a few long breaths as the dam you had kept all your anger behind began to crack. All you could see were flashes of swaying blues and golden brows as the choir in your brain listed all the reasons you were an idiot for putting your trust in someone again.

‘Please don’t ever think for a second that I would do anything to hurt you.’ The once sweet words now ran like bitter sap down your throat, the stickiness gluing it shut and leaving everything inside to brew until it reached a break point. You didn’t know if you were angrier at him or yourself. You tried to search your memories for any indication or mention of a partner, a ring or maybe even a tan line across his finger, but they all hit a dead end.

Frustration and sadness were a dangerous cocktail mixing at the back of your eyes and picking at your tear ducts, you rubbed hard until you saw stars to try to get the sensation out, but it only seemed to make it worse.

‘No, you are not gonna break now’ you reminded yourself, pulling the tears back into your eyes with a loud sniff. ‘You’re going to finish your shift, tell Carmy where he can stick his stupid fuckin’ spoon and never come back again’.

You had made that clear in your head while running orders. Every time you picked a new one from the expo and saw his inked hand push it towards you, the annoyance grew uncomfortable in your chest and you had to bite your tongue to the point of injury. You couldn’t stay like this, not when only a couple hours ago you were ready to break your most personal foundation for him, not when some fucked up part of your brain had made you believe that you could even get to love him, and he you.

It seemed of little value now, to think of this place as your safe haven when now you were afraid to catch him around every corner. Afraid of whether you’d want to slap him or kiss him because that’s how confusing your head was starting to feel. An almost inaudible voice in the back had planted the doubt that ‘Maybe this was Richie’s way of getting back at you for being a bitch all day and none of it is true’ but even if it was right, that didn’t take away the fact that things were never going to go back to how they used to.

If it weren’t true and you stayed, that still left the guilt of rejecting him looming above you both, persistent, dark and never ending. And if it were and you still stayed, knowing that he had consciously tried something with you while having someone waiting for him at home would rip you from the inside out. The last time that happened, you almost didn’t make it out… and nothing promised that this time would be any different.

With the new found heaviness of old wounds, you cleared your throat from the asphyxiating knot and continued to clean the mess left on the table, for what felt like the last time. You thoroughly scanned the room for remaining garbage, then took the last bags out to the back dumpster. One last swipe of the counters and there was nothing more left to do. You wanted to keep looking for things to do, things to clean or rearrange. Anything to delay the inevitable. But as you turned off the light inside the closed space, you knew you had to do it.

The kitchen was empty as you made your way slowly through the hallway, everyone had gone home at least twenty minutes before. Syd had even asked if you wanted company, but you denied it politely, knowing it was something you had to do alone; besides you didn’t know how rude you were gonna get and were in no need of an audience.

A growing anxiety took a hold of your chest as you reached the small office door and you spotted Carmy sitting with his back towards the entrance. Your step faltered when your legs grew weak at the thought of confrontation and as if he could feel your presence, the chair turned in your direction. He swallowed at the sight of you, brows raised in surprise, weighing heavy on your heart. You forced yourself inside and leaned down by the foot of the door that had become a foster home for your bag during the last month and a half.

He cleared his throat with a cough and you looked up at him expectantly.

“You headin’ home?” He asked, playing with the pen in his hand.

Swallowing the knot back down, you nodded and stood straight. “Yeah.. and I won’t be back.” His expression changed to one of worry. “So… thank you and fuck you.”

With the strap held like a lifeline, you turned in place and tried to make your way out of the small space before he had a chance to react.

“Wait, wait, wait-” He said loudly following behind you.

He quickly rounded the station through the other side and reached the hallway that led to the steward area and the backdoor before you, extending a strong arm against the rack and locking you in. You stopped abruptly, almost knocking face first into his bicep, then took two steps back for space.

“Can you please, tell me what the fuck is going on?”

This is exactly what you wanted to avoid, almost as much as you were avoiding his intense stare. He took a step forwards, lightly leaning down to your eye level and that made you glare at him instantly, because was he fucking squaring up at you? You stood your ground and raised your brows in defiance. You could see the muscles in his jaw tense up, eyes swirling with a hurricane.

“I don’t want to work here anymore… with you.” You answered with difficulty. Your voice was betraying your stand.

“Why?” He asked with a blank stare.

“Because I don’t think it’s ethical.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like you.”

“Why?”

“Because I think you’re a son of a bitch.” This began to frustrate you.

“Why?”

“Because how fuckin’ dare you hit on me when you’re fuckin’ married!” You finally exploded.

“Is that all this is about?!” He finally answered clearly.

“What do you mean ‘Is that all’! That “all” is a big fuckin’ deal!”

“Who told you that shit, anyway?!” Carmy asked frustrated, the tint on his skin rising up his neck.

“I saw her in your office, what? You thought I was never gonna find out?!”

“Who, Sugar?!”

“Yes, Sugar!” You shouted exasperated, had he always been this irritating?

He breathed out a humorless laugh, one hand rubbing his mouth, the other on his hip as he stared down at you.

“Sugar… is my fuckin’ sister. Wh-who told you that married shit?!” He asked, waving his hand angrily in the air.

“Doesn’t matter, the fuck was I supposed to know that?!” You shouted back, too deep in now to swallow down the contents of your mistake, scattered all over the floor.

“I don’t know, maybe you could have asked me!”

“Oh, like you would tell me shit.” You responded, rolling your eyes at him and crossing your arms over your chest. It was a lost fight but you were too stubborn to admit you were wrong now.

“Seriously? That’s fuckin’ rich coming from you. You wanted me to believe I scared you into leaving!” He takes another step towards you and this one has you sliding a couple inches back.

“I said I was sorry, okay?” The heavy pounding vibrated inside your ears as adrenaline mixed blood traveled faster into your head.

“Yeah well, you say that a lot lately.” He answered sarcastically, the pain hidden behind thin humor had your arms lose their grip and fall flaccid beside you.

“Look, that’s not the point,okay? The point is I can’t stay here.” You reply defeated, a pang of guilt hitting your stomach.

“Why?! Cause of some made up wife that turned out to be my sister?!”

You turned to the metal table behind you and dropped your bag on top with a loud clang of what you assumed were your keys inside. Sweaty palms rested on top of the cool surface and you let your head hang low while you tried to calm your anger down. Maybe you did go a bit too far by not asking him first, but in your defense, being hot headed was part of your nature.

“No Carmy- because I can’t stand seeing you every second of every day and not being able t-to touch you or-or kiss or do anything about all these stupid feelings inside! ” You finally confessed when you could no longer see his intense stare. The words stumbled out like the alcohol contents of that morning, heavy, fast and unstoppable.

Your heavy breaths and the running motor of the walk in are the only sounds audible in the reduced space. But if you could take a peek in either of your heads, you’d be surprised at the amount of swarming voices trying to decipher a million thoughts per second. Your eyes were fixated on the carefully organized spices resting on the second level of the table.

“So that’s your plan, then? Leavin’ cause you like me too much, but you can’t do anything while you’re here.” He whispered and you heard the light squeak of his kitchen shoes as he moved closer to you.

As the cloud of anger slowly dissipated, giving pathway to clear thoughts, the undertones of his words appeared unobstructed in front of you. You blinked continuously as you played out the idea in your head.

“Yeah… I-I guess.” You mumbled.

A soft breath escaped your lips when you felt a warm touch contrast to the chill surface. You looked down to your left hand, a bigger one placed carefully on top, skilled fingers inching close to the free space between yours, a tickling feeling erupting at the touch. Your fingers rounded softly around his and that was the sign of reassurance he needed to step closer to you, chest pressing fully to the length of your back and caging you to the table.

He held your palm like delicate glass under his rough hand, both of your eyes trained on the curved limbs, afraid the eye contact would strip your souls too bare. Carmy whispered your name like a prayer, voice soft enough only for you to hear in the empty space, a wisp of sultry air hit the base of your neck and erupting chills around the sensitive skin.

“You are amazingly smart, really fuckin’ funny and it would be a lie if I said I wouldn’t miss you… but if having you with me means not seeing you here every day, then I will gladly fire you myself.”

A breathy laugh left your lips, soon replaced by a sharp intake when you felt his fingertips brush gently at the base of your neck, moving your hair out of the way then leaning down to place a tender kiss to the skin. Your vision blurred at the edges from the simple touch and the hand holding his, locked tight around tattooed fingers. He kept planting small kisses to your rising skin, stealing small gasps from your chest, finding it adorable and amusing all at once. You felt a shy smile against your neck as his right digits skimmed over the soft velvet of your other arm.

It was ridiculous how his effortless touch had you almost losing grasp of your self control so easily. You tried to regain your composure, or at least concentrate on what would leave your mouth next, other than shameful gasps. Your mouth fell dry when his right hand curled at your waist and when he pressed himself closer to you, your lips parted open like a fish praying for a drop of water outside the ocean.

“Want me to stop?” He whispered in between pecks. He knew your answer from the way your body was reacting to him, but the never ending voice in the back of his head made him doubtful.

You shook your head no, not trusting the words in your mouth, swallowing dryly, and took the chance to turn around as best you could in the limited space. With heaving breaths and a thumping heart you finally looked up into the cloudless sky trapped in his eyes. Your brows furrowed at the marvelous change they reflected from the tired man you had grown to care for.

Now with a clear head, a different answer manifested in your mind as the one you had given the night before. If it meant you had to lose one thing to gain another even better, then so be it. You weren’t breaking any self imposed rule, only finding a loophole around it. There was no doubt in your mind that you wanted this. No angry voices in your head alarming you of what a terrible idea this was. It was only you, him and the prospect of a future together, however long it may be.

You stood on your toes and at last, closed the little distance left between your lips, He kissed back almost immediately, like he had been waiting for this exact moment, soft hungry lips dancing gracefully against each other. His hands moved to wrap around your waist again, pulling you closer as yours curled hard around the flimsy material of the white shirt on his torso. You bit lightly on his bottom lip and a small groan vibrated from his throat into yours and directly in between your thighs.

Without an inch of hesitation, he parted from your kiss and strong arms lifted you up to sit on the chill metal. Your legs opened for him to step in between and your cheeks would have gone crimson at the way they parted instantly if he would have given you a chance, but immediately after moving into the welcoming space, his hand circled the back of your neck and crashed your lips to his again with new found passion. The view was parallel to your imagination and a soft moan escaped your lips at the sweet memory, one he swallowed gladly. His other hand massaged your upper thigh, thumb brushing tenderly over the inside of your jeans, very close to the pulsing center where you needed him most.

You held on to his shoulder in support and threaded your fingers through his hair, just like you had imagined many times before. His hand squeezed your thigh deliciously at a pull to his roots and the vibration that escaped his throat allowed you to deepen the kiss, slipping your tongue to caress his own. Your lungs burned from the lack of air but you would rather die by asphyxiation than lose the rhythm you had carefully cultivated with him.

The hand on your thigh traveled back slowly, both meeting at the base of your spine. Still in your cloudy haze, you expected him to continue his exploration down, but his fingers stayed spread out at the bottom of your back, unable to move. With hands still knotted in golden strands, you circled your legs around what you could reach of his hips and pulled him closer than before. An involuntary snap of his pelvis against your core ripped a surprised whimper from your mouth and the sound seemed to be enough of a push for his hands to reach down to your ass, pulling you to the edge of the metal and kneading the tender flesh.

You could feel the straining bulge against his jeans as he continued to grind persistently, a strong grasp on your body. Short gasps escaped your lips at the friction, just enough to get you riled up but not to reach the high you were chasing. Peeling your lips from his to take a heavy breath, you pecked down his jaw and up to his ear where you rolled his lobe between your teeth. He shivered under your touch, a shaky laugh leaving his lips as his head fell on your shoulder and his movements faltered.

“Carmy… ” You pleaded into his ear.

It didn’t matter if you sounded pitiful, the only thing you needed at the moment was for him to take you hard on that table. You let go from his hair and dropped your hands to the buttons of his black jeans while you worked his ear between licks and tiny bites. His hands mirrored yours, fluidly popping the buttons open and sliding the thick material down your legs. Your sneakers fell to the ground with an empty noise when you kicked them off as he discarded your jeans somewhere on the kitchen floor, then pushed your hand down the loose waistband of his jeans and boxers to his welcoming hard cock.

His breath got caught in his throat from the sudden touch of your ever-cold hands, a heavy moan leaving his lips and tickling the inside of your neck. You stroked the surprising length with slow movements. You didn’t expect him to be so… gifted, at least he didn’t carry himself like it. It was a nice shock, one that had you grinding against nothing on the cool metal.

He must have sensed your desperation as a struggling whine left your mouth, because he placed a trail of soft kisses back up to your face. One of his hands rubbed your cheek tenderly, softly shushing you while his thumb brushed over your bottom lip.

“Shh, it’s okay” Carmy muttered with a low raspy voice. “I got you… I got you.” He placed soft kisses over your whimpering lips. The change in his tone from what you were used to made the movements of your hand waver inside his jeans and you squeezed lightly around his cock.

With no warning, skilled fingers rubbed at your folds through the fabric of your damp underwear, forcing a guttural moan to escape the deepest part of your being. He repeated the circular motion whilst peppering around your heaving lips with wet kisses. Using your thighs for support, you grind your hips to his palm, looking for release and speeding up your movements carefully on your other hand. He answered your actions by pushing your underwear to the side and massaging the tender area at a torturous pace.

A shock wave traveled up your spine at the contact, your hips chasing after his touch. He teased your entrance with his middle finger, rubbing around it but not quite going all the way.

“Fuck… Carmy, please” You managed to say between gasps, pushing your hips towards him to stimulate the friction.

“Please what?” He asked through gritted teeth, screwed brows betraying the blankness in his voice.

You tried following his movements, but the hand on your cheek quickly snapped down to your soft thighs, pressing you down with strength onto the counter top, a small smack rippling through your skin and vibrating tight down to your core.

“C’om on, chef… use your words for me.” He whispered near your ear and the simple sentence had your cunt gripping around nothing. “D'you want me to fuck you?” He asked, middle finger dipping halfway into you with a torturing pace. “To fill you up here, in the middle of my kitchen?”

Oh. Oh.

This was new. As well as the bubble of excitement growing in the valley between your legs. You had never been a fan of dirty talk, but the way your body was reacting to his words made you believe that no one had done it correctly until now. Gone was the stuttering man who couldn’t hold eye contact with you at the start, now replaced by some smooth motherfucker who could make you come with just his words.

“Yes… please” Short gasps followed your words.

“Yes what?” He pulled his mouth from your neck and stared down at you through hooded eyelids.

You could feel his pulse vibrate through his heavy dick in your hand as short breaths left your kiss swollen lips. The words fell thick in your throat, trapped between a whine and a gasp. Your thoughts streamed rapidly in your head and you knew that no future scenario would ever live up to this moment. You knew it wasn’t just about the sex he was asking approval for, it was about the whole conversation. The fight, the confession, the plated tray with his heart atop it that you had left untouched the night before. He needed the reassurance that this was not a goodbye or a one and done.

“Yes chef” You whispered with no doubts.

You pulled your hand from inside his jeans, then used your legs to pull them further down and finally free his erection from its confined space. And without taking your eyes off his, you reached up to your mouth, stuck out your tongue and swiped a thick coat of saliva to your digits. His lips parted in a daze, dark eyes flickering to your lips then back to your glossy stare.

The moment your hand made contact with his pulsing girth, he knew he was done for.

He pulled your hips to the edge, then carelessly removed your underwear and his shirt. Your eyes caught on dark designs decorating his hard abdomen and rib cage, and your mouth watered at the idea of tracing your tongue on each individual line, but the velvet tip of his cock sliding between your opening knocked all the thoughts inside your head.

“Shit..”He said under a shaky breath “D-do you have one?”

His forehead pressed to yours, both sets of eyes fixed on the view below them.

“No but, uhm.. I got an IUD. I-I’m all set.”

“Yeah, no..uhm, I mean cool, t-that’s great.” He responded with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah..” You answered amused.

You held his cock in your lubricated hand as his tip found your entrance, then slowly disappeared past your folds. A shared groan vibrated in the closeness of your chest when a delicious ache tingled along your cunt at the sudden stretch. Carmy dropped his head to place a kiss against your clothed shoulder and circled his hands under your thighs for a better grip. He stayed immobile for a couple long seconds, basking in the tight hold your pussy had around him, so much better than what he had ever imagined.

You shuttered beside his ear when he unsteadily pulled back almost to the tip and a small smile curled on his lips. Carmy took a calming breath to ease his racing heart, and without warning slammed his hips deep into your own, thick fingers kneading at the underskin of your thighs. The force of his pace pulled the last puffs of air from your lungs, leaving you a panting mess underneath his touch. One of your hands gripped the slick surface behind you for support while the other clawed against Carmy’s back, pressing him impossibly closer to you.

A thread of ‘Fuckfuckfuck’ and ‘Oh god’ spilled from your mouth with each strong thrust assaulting your body. Your senses were overwhelmed by his actions, every individual pound against you was followed by the obscene sound of slapping skin and blurred vision. His hips snapped repeatedly into you, pushing everything out of the way and filling you up with only him. You could feel him so deep in you that the taste of his cock lingered on your tongue.

The force of his movements rattled the legs of the table and a few spice containers fell around you, but that didn’t seem important enough for him to stop his brutal force.

A long fuck shaped groan left his throat, the dirty noise making your grip on his dick tighten.

“Fuck C-Carmy” You breathed out with wavering strength.

He separated from your neck long enough to admire how beautiful you looked under him. Baby hairs stuck to your sweaty forehead and rubies decorated your freckled cheeks. Your eyes were blown wide and brows knit together as you took in every of his firm thrusts. He could see the soft bounce of your breasts under your thin shit and he could only dream of what he would do with them when you had more time.

“W-what” You asked him when you caught him staring longingly at you.

His movements slowed down but didn’t stop fully, only enough to take in the full view of your glowing skin and panting chest.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect.” He sighed and a breathy laugh vibrated softly against your joined bodies.

He pulled you into a soft kiss, savoring the taste of the heated moment and categorizing it under one of the best things he had placed upon his tongue. A sharp gasp ripped from your chest when he snapped his pelvis deep into you, hitting a specific spot that left you a mumbling mess under his tips. He did it again, just to see you fall apart at his touch, head falling back and gasping for air.

Carmy found the whole experience extra corporeal and as if something had gained total control of his body, his hands carried your thighs higher up and pressed them to your chest, each socked foot resting on his broad shoulders. You took your nails from his back and rested both pals behind you, keeping you upright. Then he angled himself to where he felt a soft stop inside you and began to snap his hips against it.

The sensation was so strong you could barely mutter his name. You felt him everywhere, so deep you could feel him up your throat, in your bloodstream and every individual cell in your body. Your skin burned to the touch and nothing other than him pounding ruthlessly against you made sense in your mind. He was fucking you stupid, pulse beating in your navel and eyes covered in blinding stars.

You tried to let him know, warn him even, but nothing other than his name fell like prayer beads from your heaving lips. You squeezed your cunt around him and a small falter in his actions gave you some room to breathe.

“Fuck I-I can’t, Car-Carmy I'm gonn-” You struggled, waiting for the air to reach your lungs, but it was all tainted by the smell of sex and him.

“Let go, baby, let go” He cooed between moans.

And it was all you needed to hear to finally lose yourself completely to his touch. The smacking noise grew louder as he gripped your thighs with one arm around them, then the other traveled between you, placing his thumb above your swollen clit and pushing down in insistent circles.

The pressure in the base of your belly ultimately broke with a snap and an uncontained moan painted the walls of the empty kitchen in a lilac hue. Your vision blurred as tears of bliss gathered under your eyelids and your body floated into nothingness. Your walls pulsed around his dick with two more thrusts and that was enough for him to follow you down the rabbit hole of your joined orgasm. A choked growl vibrated in his chest and streaks of red crawled their way up his neck and buried at his cheeks with his release.

His grip on your legs loosened when he used his hands to steady his weight against the table, and let them fall carefully around his waist as he catched his breath. With his head hanging low, he pecked small kisses to your exposed skin. Your head hanging back with eyes shut, trying to enjoy the last ripples of pleasure turning into shallow waves. One of your hands caressed up his sweaty skin and buried into the tangled mess of his hair lovingly.

A soft pleased smile covered his features, closed eyelashes feathering lightly against yours. His large palm rested beside your still trembling thigh, soft thumb rubbing calming circles and a small chuckle left his lips.

“It was fuckin’ Richie, wasn’t it?” He asked, breaking the pleasant blissful silence you had sat in for however long it took to settle your raging heartbeats.

You nodded in response with your own small laugh and heard him mumble a ‘Fuckin’ Richie’, raising his head and looking lovingly into your glossed over eyes.

“It’s okay, I’ll just tell everyone he’s the reason I quit so they hate him for a little while.” You whispered and a beautiful sound left his lips.

It was a soft relaxed sighed laugh, the kind you don’t have to force and that vibrates directly from your chest out, brightening the space around you. Your chest tightened at the melodious sound and your brows scrunched up in awe when he finally opened his eyes again. The ever present line of worry above his brows was gone, leaving behind only the tint of rich aquamarine and sapphire blues.

Chapter 5.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne and that’s it lmao

#carmen berzatto x reader #the bear & the fox #carmen berzatto x you #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmy smut #the bear tv #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy x poc reader

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cryptidtyping · 7 months

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I want to go back

Summary: It's not easy coming face-to-face with your own dead body. You wish the demons you live with would even pretend to care. Lesson 16 spoilers

Content Warnings: Suicide attempt.

This is angst, all hurt, little/no comfort.

As the brothers rejoiced at the reappearance of the youngest, Belphegor (the same brother you went out of your way to help, the same brother you endured Lucifers threats and suspicion for, the same brother who took your trust and broke it and threw it in your face, the same brother who had just killed you), you felt… empty.

Over the past few months, as you watched movies with Mammon, or played games with Levi, or ate at Hell’s kitchen with Beel, or did skincare with Asmo, or read with Satan, the hollow little crack where your soul would be had filled up. With joy, with content, maybe even with love… there was nothing, all of it evaporating into dust.

You watched Mammon needle Belphegor, hiding his smile as he did, and you felt cold. Did your first demon not remember holding your corpse, only moments ago? Crying for you, yelling at the same brother he laughed with now?

You’d never be able to forget looking at your own dead body, how limp it was, the vivid bruises encircling your throat like a necklace. How it had simply faded away before your eyes. (you remembered clawing at unrepentant, unmoving hands and gasping for breath and fighting and fighting because you thought happiness resided with this literally damned family)

Looking at the happy family, you felt a chasm opening between you and them.

How silly you feel, now, thinking you could ever be a part of their family.

They’ve already forgotten you existed.

Empty. You felt so empty.

Why hadn’t you just stayed dead?

….

The front door clicks shut, but they don’t notice.

‘I want to go back.’

How often had you ended up at this same bridge during your stay in the Devildom, the one that overlooked the city with the palace a striking silhouette against the sky? Too often, perhaps, when you needed space and quiet.

‘I want to go back.’

You’d stepped over the guardrail, toes dangling over the abyss. Your hands were firmly gripping the bars, head tilted down to stare at the serpentine river far, far, far below.

‘I want to go back.’

Tears slipped down your nose.

You wanted to hate Belphegor, and you do, but you couldn’t help but also be grateful. Never before had you known the peace, the quiet, the warmth, that he’d helped you discover on the other side.

‘I want to go back.’

Head tilting back, you stare at the twinkling stars in the sky. Suicide was a sin, so you’d probably be right back here, but…

Maybe God would take pity on your poor soul, and you’d get to go to Heaven.

‘I want to go back.’

No one was coming to stop you. A sob rips itself from your throat.

Your fingers begin to relax, and you let go.

…

But someone was holding onto you.

Your savior hauled you back over the guardrail, your body splaying across rough cobblestone and scraping any unlucky bit of exposed flesh. The hand around your wrist had disappeared, and the unknown person did not remain a mystery much longer.

“____, what happened?” Simeon asked gently, softly, hands fluttering around you nervously but never landing for fear of triggering your haphephobia. He was knelt before you, smelling of baked sweets and honey and mint, and he was looking at you.

He saw you.

(Finally, finally someone saw you and your pain and and-)

You throw yourself into his arms and sob.

Death had nothing on the peace and warmth you found when the angels arms hesitantly wrap around you.

#obey me x reader #reader insert #obey me angst #obey me belphegor #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me simeon #simeon x reader #simeon x mc #tw suicide attempt #obey me fanfic #angst #hurt no comfort

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thebramblewood · 7 months

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Lilith and Caleb Vatore's lineage can be traced to Tartosa, from where their forebears emigrated in the early 1800s to establish Willow Creek's first and finest vineyard and winery. The future heirs to the Vatore Family Vineyard (and fortune) were born scarcely two years apart on the cusp of the 20th century. Although lauded and adored by polite society, they quietly resisted cultural norms by declining to pursue courtship well into their young adulthood. Before either could marry, both siblings disappeared under mysterious circumstances, leaving the fate of the family's accumulated wealth (which grew exponentially during Prohibition when underground operations continued alongside the legitimate production of medicinal spirits) to be hotly contested by long-time employees and distant relations alike. More than three decades later, two curious individuals came forward claiming to be their children. Apparently, the missing Vatores (long presumed dead) had assumed new identities, started families, and gone on to lead private yet unexceptional lives. No one could make sense of why the siblings left their inheritance behind, but the strong family resemblance was difficult to deny. Some even thought the resemblance too strong, but the conspiracy theories that arose from these suspicions were simply too preposterous to consider. The new Vatores promptly sold their ancestral estate and business, instead choosing to purchase a neglected Victorian manor in Forgotten Hollow, a strangely secluded and perpetually gloomy village where reported sightings of the same pair (having purportedly not aged a day) continue. Perhaps the old rumors hold some truth after all. Did they discover the fountain of youth, become initiated into a cult of immortality, or unknowingly stumble upon the dark knowledge of vampirism? Or are the Vatore genes simply so powerful that they persist through generations? The truth may never be known. (But some may say certain conclusions can be drawn from the spate of unsolved murders in the area that seemingly only started upon their arrival.)

- Introduction to Tangled Vines: A Complete Investigation of the Vatore Disappearances

Ran these through ArcaneGAN to make them look more like paintings, and I'm a bit obsessed with the results. Originals for comparison below. Special thanks to @sims4thehoes and @smok3inm1rrors for giving me the vineyard idea!

#ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 story #sims 4 story #ts4 edit #sims 4 edit #simblr #story: hzid #LORE DROP #just to whet your appetite a little :)#this has cracked open my third eye #i can see the entire vatore universe now #lilith vatore #caleb vatore

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rpgsandbox · 7 months

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kickstarter

The Crooked Moon is a 400+ page tome that brings Folk Horror to 5E, drawing inspiration from eerie Folklore, legendary Horror Films, classic Halloween Aesthetics, and more. Evoke true terror with malevolent Monsters and Mechanics in a Campaign Setting of eternal night, or equip yourself with numerous Player Options to brave the dark wood.

Weave Your Own Dreadful Folktale

The perfect supplement to craft an Unforgettable Folk Horror Adventure with your friends.

Sinister Campaign Setting

Explore Druskenvald, a mysterious realm trapped between dusk and the witching hour. Investigate the isolated valley of Wickermoor Hollow, where Superstitious Locals adhere to “The Old Ways” and Long-Forgotten Horrors stalk the deepest woods.

Terrifying Adventure for Levels 1-13

Send shivers down your friends' spines with this chilling Folk Horror Story, where a party of Wayward Souls must journey through the shroud aboard the Ghostlight Express to uncover the dark machinations of the Crooked Man.

All-New "Fateweaving" System

Enthrall your friends with brand-new tools to Intertwine Player Character Backstories and Motivations into the main narrative. With this easy-to-use system, players will be More Invested Than Ever Before knowing that the fate of their characters is personally connected to the major plot of the adventure from the very start.

Brave the Dark Wood

All the player options you need to become the protagonist of your own Damnable Tale.

Dreadful Subclasses

Become an omen of doom with the Grim Harbinger Ranger, harness the power of witchcraft with the Horned King Patron Warlock, roll the bones and twist fate with the Sinner Rogue, or dive into horror with any of the other 13+ Subclass Options for all core 5E classes.

Halloween-Themed Races

Rise again as one of 13+ Lineages of Druskenvald, mortal souls reborn in the land of endless night and changed forever. Choose between the pumpkin-headed Harvestborn, the rat-like Plagueborn, the murk-dwelling Deepborn, or any of the other Race Options inspired by Halloween pop culture.

Upgrading Artifact Items

Equip yourself with 25+ Artifacts of Anathema, powerful Magical Items ranging from weapons to armor to trinkets and more that Level Up With You and unlock Powerful New Abilities, perfect for every tier of play.

Beware the Witching Hour

Unique features sure to add Thrills and Chills to any game, no matter your setting.

Folklore-Inspired Monsters

Face off against creatures of the night with 66+ Folkloric Monsters that require more than basic combat to defeat. Investigate local Myths and Legends, discover Secrets and Superstitions, and Perform Rituals in thrilling encounters beyond just rolling for initiative.

Legendary Boss Battles

Charge into brutal battles with 11+ Epic Boss Fights, each with Multiple Phases and unique mechanics for Minions, Terrain, and More that will test your party’s courage, tactics, and will to survive.

Chaotic Curses

Torment your friends by cursing them with 120+ Twists of Dread, random effects that range from Horrifying to Hilarious, keeping any tabletop session Totally Unpredictable and endlessly entertaining.

Kickstarter campaign ends: Thu, November 2 2023 4:00 AM UTC +00:00

Website: [Legends of Avantris] [facebook] [twitter] [instagram]

#RPG #kickstarter #Dungeons and Dragons #The Crooked Moon #Legends of Avantris

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hunn1e-bunn1e · 13 days

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神話 - "Ardent Dragon Rests Upon Resplendent Cliffs"

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

In which the Traveler and Paimon unknowingly come across a mysterious adeptus by the name of Sky Weaver while the two are exploring near the sparsely populated cliffsides of Mt. Mingyuan. Or; In which the long-forgotten tale of the adeptus Sky Weaver is uncovered by Aether from the lips of the various Adepti of the Nation of Liyue and the people who know them.

🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞

The cliffs of Mt. Mingyuan were a dangerous place for any person to fool around on, but even more so for a child. Yet it made for the perfect place for tuning into nature and taking in the sights of the surrounding terrain, such as a magnificent view of Yilong Wharf, Mt. Lingmeng, river Jademouth, and the distant silhouette of Chiwang Terrace, the ruins of Fort Charybdis and Lumidouce Harbor in Fontaine. The most notable sight that one could witness upon the cliffs of Mt. Mingyuan however, was a breathtaking view of the sky that suffered no light pollution despite the proximity to Yilong Wharf.

Although, for a certain ochre-eyed child, Mt. Mingyuan was the perfect place to sneak off whenever he wanted some distance from his family or to practice his passion for wushu dancing.

Gaming had once again climbed up the mountain, carrying with him the hollow costume lion head that was many sizes too large for him at his current age. The costume head is held over his own to prevent it from collecting stains by being dragged along the damp mud and grass as he walks. Occasionally it tips forward and obstructs his view, causing him to stumble to regain his footing and tip the object back to its original position.

Today was particularly different from other times he had come up the mountain. This time, instead of grinning with excitement and running up the familiar path to reach the grassy plateau-like area he usually practiced at, he frowned with tears collecting on his lower lashes as he glumly dragged his feet along as he walked. Earlier, not even an hour ago, Gaming had gotten into an argument with his father; the older man telling him that his dream was foolish and that he should focus on continuing the family tradition of being a tea farmer.

Now, here he was, curled up around the costume lion head with his back to the trunk of a tree. The dew that rested on the grass beneath him soaked into his shorts but he couldn't bring himself to care. The fur of the costume head was damp with his tears, the wetness causing the faugh fur to clump together in places.

“...Mortal child, it is dangerous to dwell upon this mountain unaccompanied is it not…?”

A soft but masculine voice just to his left gently called out to him.

Gaming flinches in shock as he whips his head in the direction of the voice. His red teary eyes widened in shock and confusion at the abrupt appearance of another person. Once the ochre-eyed boy really took in this person's features, however, his jaw dropped in awe.

A man, likely in his late twenties, who had long h/c hair with streaks of misty blue that were braided in certain places and seemed to reach his knees, long, thick lashes that hung over beautiful e/c eyes, and a peculiar blue symbol on his forehead. The man was draped in an elegant four-layered silk robe; the outermost layer being white with a navy blue and desaturated green bamboo leaf pattern. He was possibly the most beautiful person that the aspiring wushu dancer had ever seen before.

An amused chuckle from the mysterious and handsome man pulled the ochre-eyed child. from his thorough observation and reminded him of the question that was asked of him.

“Well, I'm not alone since uncle is with me now.”

Gaming answers, shyly averting his eyes from the stranger's face with pinkened cheeks at the embarrassment of being caught staring.

The man tensed for a moment –from what the brunette child could tell from the other's body language– at the word uncle, but quickly regained his relaxed but regal posture. It seemed that this enigmatic stranger wasn't too fond of strangers, how ironic.

“Uncle, you called this one? Is that not a term reserved solely for those that one trusts?”

The long-haired man asks with apprehension, worried that the child in front of him would find himself in trouble due to being too trusting.

Gaming giggled at the man's contorted expression, it was rare to see an adult become shy around him, so he couldn't help but find it a bit funny. He grinned at the stranger, his previous sadness momentarily forgotten as he focused all his attention on the man to his left.

“Well yeah, you're older than me and I don't know your name. Plus, you seem really nice. You wouldn't have asked if I was alone if you were a bad person. So, you're uncle.”

The ochre-eyed child chirped, giving the man a close-eyed smile so bright it could put the sun to shame. He pauses, however, eyes opening with curiosity as he asks the stranger a question.

“Actually, what is your name, uncle?”

The e/c-eyed man, still registering the child's first and very worrying statement, doesn't answer. He heard the question, but his mind was preoccupied with his increasing worry for the previously crying boy, so he paid it no mind.

“Mortal child, this one's name is not of importance at the moment. What this one concerns one's self with is that you trust far too swiftly.”

The robe-clad man expresses his worries, his face holding a mix of pity and concern as he takes a step closer to the boy; his posture growing more protective.

Straightening his back and stretching his arms above, causing the costume lion head to roll off his lap, Gaming stands from the damp ground. He sends a quick glance to the low-hanging sun to the west, letting him know that he should probably make his way back home within the hour lest he worry his mother. Picking up the costume head off of the grass, he turns to the beautiful stranger as he pulls the costume head over his own.

“I'll think about what you said, Uncle Měilì. I have to start heading back though, or mom will get worried about me.”

The brunette child smiles warmly as he balances the lion's head properly.

The man, now dubbed ‘Uncle Měilì’ raises a brow at the boy in confusion. That certainly wasn't his name. By reflex, he sweeps his gaze around to check if there are any other people present, but, of course, there aren't.

“Měilì? Is it this one that you are referring to, mortal child?”

‘Uncle Měilì’ asks the boy as he points at himself with an air of disbelief and amusement.

Gaming turns to him with a pout, annoyed at the robed man's question. The ochre-eyed boy had already asked for his name, only for the inquiry to be ignored. He huffed and turned away from the man as he began to walk back the way he came.

“You said your name wasn't important, so I gave you a nickname instead. I can't just keep calling you Uncle, y'know. Also, my name is Gaming, remember it, okay?”

He called out as he continued walking down the mountain, the costume lion head held up above his own with his little arms.

Stopping when he doesn't hear a reply, the child looks behind him to see no one there. Only a retreating spectral-like mist could be seen, sweeping through the sky in majestic arcs and swirls as it climbed up the mountain.

The cliffs of Mt. Mingyuan were a dangerous place for any person to fool around on, but even more so for a child. However, for a certain ochre-eyed child, Mt. Mingyuan was the perfect place to sneak off whenever he wanted some distance from his family or to practice his passion for wushu dancing. It also served as a wonderful place where the boy met someone who would be a shoulder to lean on in his time of need.

Mt. Mingyuan is where a young Gaming first met that mysterious adeptus known as Sky Weaver.

🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞

Footnotes:

Sky Weaver's appearance is heavily based upon the character Chuyi Flower Cake from ‘The Tale of Food’. I was actually going to add Cloud Retainer in at the very end, but changed my mind since this half chapter was already twice as long as the previous one. The word Měilì or 美麗 means Beauty, it's a simple nickname that I just grabbed on the fly.

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Genshin Masterlist and Series Masterlist!

If you want to be added to the tag list, please let me know! #thetaleofskyweaver @itztaki @sassy-cat-in-town @xharisrealm @lupicalbestwolf @pjmsies @just-here-reading @chibiduck @dellalyra @kiiyoooo @heavenlysilence0vx @2nd-number @yourfavoritefreakyhan @mshope16 @paastaboi

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queeniecook · 2 years

Text

March 9

It’s late evening in Forgotten Hollow as James chases after his wife, who is swiftly moving towards the foyer of the Straud Mansion.

“Where are you off to?” James questions, he feels something has been up with his bride. She’s been even more antsy about him revealing her to the Vatores. He’s not ready quite yet for that step.

The female vampire can feel irritation flooding through her body, the black veins popping up on her cheeks as she briefly shifts to her dark form. Not only due to her husbands question but at the sight of Asa. She hates how he treated her sister and wishes to stake him herself.

“I’m going around the grounds for a walk. That’s the only place I’m allowed to go, after all.” She bites out.

“Look, dear, I know you want to get your revenge on Caleb and Lilith but timing is everything.” James reminds her.

“I know, James.” Is her reply, she says this calmly. She doesn’t want to argue with him too much, he’s already been watching her like a hawk for some reason.

“I like your new earrings.” James compliments her, he notices them peeking out through her hair. In reality – he wants to know where she got them. He didn’t buy them for her.

“Thank you.” She replies poiletly before making her exit from the mansion.

James turns to Asa after his wife leaves the room. “Did you buy her earrings?!”

Asa, who had been practicing making drinks at the bar, almost dropped a bottle of very expensive liquor in response to James’ sudden question.

“I bought them for her!” The count declares, thoroughly annoyed. He just wants to play his haunting pipe organ music in peace. He’s lying of course. He knows who bought them. Annalise Blake.

James turns to Vladislaus in total shock. “Why would you buy MY wife earrings?”

The count doesn’t bother to even look at the warlock “A pretty female deserves pretty things. You should remember that and loosen your purse strings once in a full moon.”

Pipe organ music resumes as James stands there, thinking over the situation.

The woman actually does make one small lap around the estate, just in case James looks out a window. When she feels it’s safe, she pauses at the exit of the estate. She does something very human – she breathes in the crisp night air. She can almost remember how it felt to do that as a mortal. It no longer feels the same. This just fuels her hatred even more.

She feels better once she’s inside Annalise’s home, chatting with her sister. Annalise went back to practicing medicine full time today. She had stopped when she became a vampire, not feeling she could safely treat humans.

“It was amazing to be back! Now that my blood lust is under control I think being a vampire will actually help me in treating people.” Annalise raves excitedly. She feels she’s reclaimed something she had to give up. Something she thought she might never get back, outside of helping Vera and Caleb months ago.

Annalise’s older sister smiles at her. “I’m truly happy for you, Annalise.”

“Do you ever think you’ll go back to being in the space program?” She asks the vampire beside her. There’s a huge pause in the conversation.

“It’s been so long….I loved it. I really did. The science of it. The wonder. Seeing the stars.” The older sister sadly reminisces. “But I was a different person then. I was human then. At least with your profession, not as much time has passed.”

Annalise quietly nods her head. She feels incredibly sad for her half sister. Pretty much everything was taken away from her. Her career, her family and friends – her life.

The topic gets changed to an upcoming medical convention Annalise has to attend out of town. Way too soon for both women, it’s time for the older sister to leave.

“Your bath has been ran, Madame. May I get you anything else?” Lurch asks the beauty before him. He’s always had a crush on Annalise from the moment he met her. Originally, he was Asa’s butler. Naturally when Asa showed what a weasel he is, he pledged his loyalty to Miss Annalise.

“No thank you.” She pauses “Mr. Lurch, I don’t think my sister has told me the whole truth.”

#the grant legacy #annalise blake #mystery woman #james #asa blake #frances lurch #vladislaus straud #ts4 legacy #generation 2 #ts 4 #sims 4 #ts4 story #sims4 story #sims4 storytelling #forgotten hollow #Vlad hates organ blockers

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cloudshuffle · 2 months

Text

a bubble of memory. yan!childe

index / prev / next

That night, you stand on the deck of one of the Fatui’s many ships. It has a name, one that you’d forgotten as soon as the captain had ceased his boasting and left you alone.

You shake yourself. It’s just your nerves talking. The salty sea air might have been fire water to these Fatui sailors, invigorating and life-giving, but it feels more like poison to your lungs, infecting you and spreading like a disease.

The deck swarms with activity, bodies perspiring from the hard work despite the chill. So you don’t notice Nadia, sneaking up behind you like a cheeky little cat to give you a little surprise.

“Boo!” she exclaims. You jump slightly, but return her friendly embrace.

“I could see you from the dock. I thought you were an alabaster statue at first, so moody and mysterious staring out like that,” she teases. “What’s got you thinking so hard?”

You turn back landward, towards the glimmering lights. You’d already said goodbye to your parents, who hugged you deeply and wished you safe travels. Why did the lanterns mimic the glittering moon on the ocean so closely? You stare, waiting patiently for a stirring in your heart that never comes.

“Oh, everything.” You wave a hand to encompass ‘everything’. “Liyue, a new branch for the bank, a new people and their culture. There’s a lot on the horizon for us.”

“I know!” she squeals, and grips your arm tightly. “So, listen. Just now Vlad dropped his hat, and I helped him pick it up, and he said ‘thank you, Nadia’!”

“That’s great. At least he knows who you are.” You give her a smile.

Nadia opens her mouth to speak, but a shout interrupts her.

“Form up!”

The activity had gradually ceased while the two of you were talking, and now Ajax… Tartaglia, pardon, was coming on board to carry out final inspections.

The two of you take your places in two lines, standing face to face. You stand opposite one of your colleagues, a young man slightly more senior than yourself whose name you’d never learnt. You saw each other often, but never exchanged words any further than cordial greetings. You doubted he knew your name either.

A shifting ripples down the line. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Tartaglia stride up the gangplank onto the deck. His expression is set and cold, vastly different from the curious, piercing look he’d had during your earlier encounter. You can feel each of his footsteps resonate through the wood, into your own heart.

He takes his time, prowling past with the laziness of a predatory cat. Each soldier tenses under his gaze, and you can feel each of their prayers to Tsaritsa evaporate into the cold air as he passes them by.

Tartaglia pauses by you. You can feel him radiating heat like a small star, carrying a curious sweetness with him on the air.

You can almost feel each cell in your body alight where his gaze passes over you. It lingers on the hollow of your neck, where your necklace rests, and you return his appraisal, holding his gaze steadfastly.

He moves on. The whole interaction had taken but a brief heartbeat.

“Move out!” he commands, the cry coming from the unfamiliar part of him that had been moulded into a harbinger. You obey on instinct, filing into the cabins and out of the way as the sailors scatter to prepare for your trip.

This is the part of the journey you most hate - the waiting, the stillness, the uselessness. You duck into a cabin, lined by bunk beds that you share with Nadia and two other women. It’s just small enough to be stifling, with all four of you awake and active.

You haul yourself up to one of the top bunks, earning a dirty look cast by one of the women whose names you don’t know. You turn your back on her, curling up on top of the blankets.

Above you, the clomping of boots reverberates through the wooden deck, the shouts of men crying into the clear night, the unfurling and whipping of great fabric sails. Archons. What you would give to be up there breathing the open air, rather than trapped down here in a small cabin with people who may or may not be enjoying your company.

There’s a small circular window set into the wall, but looking through it would mean turning over to face the others, and you don’t quite feel like it yet. Instead, you slot a finger underneath your mask, prying it off and laying it next to your pillow.

It’s a simple affair, a piece of cool metal accented by a red stripe over the left eye. It’s been on for long that you run a hand down your own face, having to remind yourself of what you truly look like underneath it.

Running your thumb along the blunt edge of the mask, enjoying the serene rocking of the ship, you close your eyes.

────────────

The sunlight flickers, dim and wet, high above you. You can feel yourself sinking, feel the darkness reaching out with welcoming tendrils, shielding you from the cold.

A few bubbles escape your lips, but you can feel nothing but a calm acceptance. This is the end. I never knew the end could be so peaceful.

By the fire, your babushka liked to tell you tales of the old heroes. Battling ancient giants of lore, facing down hordes of barbarians, wrestling with the sun itself to make it stay in the sky longer and fend off the darkness. In your dreams, you were standing right by those heroes, slaying foes.

No more stories. No more fires. I hope I go to heaven. I shouldn’t have stolen the last herring from Papa.

Something thuds against the ice. You shudder in the otherwise still water.

Another thud, and the light splinters into a million crystal shards. You can feel a pounding at your chest. It’s the darkness, already inside you.

A small shape plunges into the water, trailing bubbles behind their little feet. You close your eyes.

— word count: 1026. thank you for reading!

#cloud writes #genshin impact #yandere genshin #genshin #childe #yandere childe #genshin childe #yandere x reader #yandere #yanblr #yan #yan!childe

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writers-potion · 1 month

Note

Do you have any tips on how to name a story/book? Bc I’m really struggling to come up with something good

Book Title Ideas!!

Fantasy Book Titles

"The Chronicles of Eldoria"

"Realm of the Shadow King"

"Echoes of the Lost Kingdom"

"The Crystal Throne"

"Legends of the Eternal Dragon"

"The Hitman's Apprentice"

"Sorcery of the Silver Moon"

"Beyond the Enchanted Forest"

"Tales of the Arcane Isles"

"The Last Guardian of Light"

"Crown of the Winter Realm"

"The Fireborn Chronicles"

"Winds of the Wandering Mage"

"Secrets of the Starlit Citadel"

"The Frost Queen's Curse"

"Whispers from the Ancient Tome"

"Sword of the Celestial Knight"

"The Phoenix's Prophecy"

"Echoes of Eternity"

"The Shadow's Embrace"

Romance Book Titles

"Swiping Right"

"Romantic Vibes Only"

"Coffee Shop Confessions"

"The Social Media Sweetheart"

"Chasing Sunsets"

"Love Notes and Lattes"

"Lost in Translation"

"The Dating App Dilemma"

"Love in the Fast Lane"

"City Lights and Romance"

"Instant Chemistry"

"The Modern Love Story"

"Love in the Clouds"

"Swipe Left for Heartache"

"Heartstrings and Harmony"

Mystery Novel Titles

"The Enigma of Midnight Manor"

"Murder on the Moors"

"Whispers in the Shadows"

"The Secret of Willow Creek"

"Death at Darkwater Bay"

"The Puzzle of the Poisoned Pen"

"Ghosts of Greyhill Mansion"

"Vanishing at Verona Villa"

"The Mystery of Moonstone Manor"

"Murder in the Misty Woods"

"The Case of the Crimson Cipher"

"The Secret of Sapphire Springs"

"The Silent Suspect"

"Echoes of the Old Mill"

"A Lethal Legacy"

"The Mystery of Midnight Hollow"

"Murder Among the Magnolias"

"The Cryptic Conundrum"

"The Haunting of Hawthorn House"

"Deadly Deception in Dahlia Valley"

YA Novel Titles

"The Echoes Between Us"

"Invisible Constellations"

"Catching Shadows"

"Threads of Serendipity"

"Bloom and Blossom"

"Growing Pains and Paper Planes"

"Dandelions in the Wind"

"Whispers in the Quiet Hours"

"Crossroads of Everlasting Echoes"

"Forgotten Names"

"The Color of Tomorrow"

"Redefining Normal"

"Footprints in the Sand"

"The Art of Glowing Up"

Paranormal Book Titles

"Mystic Bonds"

"Wolfblood Chronicles"

"Twilight's Enchantment"

"Soulbound Serenade"

"Nightfall Destiny"

"Nightshade Kisses"

"The Crimson Courtship"

"Bloodbound: A Tale of Moonlit Passion"

"Witchcraft and Whispers"

"Enchantress' Embrace"

"Heartbeat Hex"

"Welcome to the Coven of Desire"

"A Moonlit Affair"

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

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separatist-apologist · 4 months

Text

A Lost Princess of Sunlight

Summary: Lady Elain has spent her life in the idyllic countryside wanting for nothing, so when her adopted sister Vassa begs her to accompany her to court, how can Elain say no? The roguish prince is in need of a wife and Elain, certain she'd make a terrible princess, has no interest in such theatrics.

But something about the palace brings back memories lost to the sea ten years before. Memories Elain had been certain she'd never get back…memories that speak of a colder place, and sisters long forgotten. Amid the tumultuous politics and the looming war, Elain finds herself embroiled in a mystery to find out who she really is.

And where she really comes from.

Note: HAPPY HOLIDAYS @writtenonreceipts! I hope you like this- I tried so hard to give it TOG vibes AND to incorporate nessian and feysand because you said you love them (and I in turn love you).

@acotargiftexchange

Major thanks to @velidewrites and @wilde-knight for the moodboard + beta-ing this fic when I was laying face down in a puddle of my own tears.

Prologue:

“Go,” Feyre whispered, hands pushing against Elain’s back. It was frigid outside, their boots cracking the ice crusted over the cobblestone streets. It should have smelled like pine and snow, should have been utterly silent as everyone waited for the coming Solstice and the gifts that so often accompanied it.

War had shattered the once idyllic peace, inching closer and closer to the capital of Ellesmere until Elain and her family were forced to flee in the night. Just ahead, her mother grasped Nesta’s hand, weaving through alleyways unfamiliar to the ransacking soldiers.

She knew where they were going. They had practiced this before. One more left, ducking beneath a half-ruined awning, and then a sprint to the docks where a ship was waiting. Her father was nowhere to be seen, though Elain supposed he had a head start on them.

“Go,” her mother urged, pushing Nesta, then Elain, and finally Feyre into the little vessel. A man was waiting, hoisting them beneath with hurried, impatient fingers. “Get down—”

A flaming arrow screamed through the night, missing Feyre by mere inches. It took Elain a minute to realize what had happened—the shield that had saved her youngest sister’s life. Their mother stared, blue eyes like glassy mirrors against her ashen face. Golden brown hair graying at the temples was set aflame. Nesta began screaming, the words ringing in Elain’s ears.

“Go,” their mother mouthed, hitting her knees before she pitched forward. Hands pulled the three of them roughly back into the boat as orders were given to pull up the anchor. Was she crying? It seemed as if she must be given how frozen her face felt.

The world was moving too slow for Elain, making it impossible for her racing thoughts to process. Even as the ship pulled away, dragged by roaring wind, Elain was certain their mother was going to get up.

She didn’t.

“Princess,” the captain was yelling at Nesta, unsteady against the choppy northern sea. “Princess, we need—”

Elain never heard what they needed. The wind drowned out the command which Elain didn’t care much about, anyway. Was Nesta Queen, now? The few sailors moving about eyed her fourteen-year-old sister warily and though Elain couldn’t hear what Nesta said, she recognized the sharpness of her eyes. Nesta was used to giving out such commands. Feyre was gripping the railing of their ship, staring at the water below with a hollow gaze. Elain knew what she needed to do—put on a brave face and take Feyre into the interior of the ship where they could get some sleep, if only to forget what was happening to their home.

Everything was going to be okay. They’d get to the safehouse where relatives would be waiting to usher them to safety. Everyone was okay. A healer would attend to their mother who would be bedridden but otherwise safe.

Deep, deep down Elain knew it was a lie. She needed those lies, at least for now. As the ship rocked, Elain made her way toward Feyre who was still looking outward. The once beautiful city she’d spent her life in was a mere haze of smoke and fire in the distance, half lost to the fog of sea.

“Feyre,” Elain began, though that was all she was able to say before the ship violently lurched to one side. The gods were moody that night, unwilling to offer safe passage despite the circumstances. Elain lost Feyre, hitting her back against the wet wood so roughly it robbed her of breath.

Please, she thought just as water rushed over her. It was shockingly cold, leaving her paralyzed like a rag doll, flung from one end to the other. She could hear nothing, could do nothing, utterly helpless to even draw breath though she desperately wanted to.

Get up get up get up! Her mind screamed with panic. Elain did try to grasp at something when the ship tilted sickeningly again, though her fingers were utterly stiff and unwilling to bend. The world was upside down, a swirl of dark hues of navy and gray.

And then it was silent and salt and made entirely of water. Elain’s body constricted, lungs demanding air though none arrived when she opened her mouth. More water, more fear. She could feel nothing, could see nothing. Just a blur of her own hazy fear and the terrible fear she was going to die.

Elain did try, though it amounted to nothing. There was nothing to cling to, no light to tell her which way was up and which way was down. And as the cold seeped in, somehow driving out the horrible chill, she thought that maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was better to be without fear.

Maybe this was a mercy.

In the end, it was nothing at all.

[ten years later]

Lucien Vanserra stretched out his legs, neck stiff. “Bastard,” he spat, tossing his sword to the muddy ground beneath him. Behind him, the boisterous laugh of his best friend and second-in-command Jurian followed him out of the training pits.

“You’re a sore loser,” Jurian crooned, likely catching the way Lucien’s fists curled and uncurled. “I have half a mind to tell your father you were bested in training again.”

“And I have half a mind to punch you in the face ahead of Lady Vassa’s visit,” Lucien retorted hotly, wiping the smile off Jurian’s face. “Oh. Did you not hear she was coming to court?”

It was Jurian’s turn to look as though he’d like to hit Lucien. Lucien had intended to tell Jurian though it had slipped his awareness given all the other things happening. Now was as good a time as any, besides.

“Why?”

“Why do you suppose? Now that mother and father insist I marry, every lord with a daughter under the age of forty will descend upon us hoping to secure a match.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Lucien snapped, wiping his sweaty brow against his bare forearm. “And Lady Vassa is hardly on mothers shortlist besides. This little ball of hers is not in good faith.”

“Ah, but it will be one last night of debauchery and fun,” Jurian teased, elbowing Lucien in the ribs. “This is every firstborn son’s duty, is it not? Get married, carry on the family line, etcetera and so forth?”

Lucien’s mood only darkened at the prospect. It wasn’t that he minded the thought of one day having a son, of becoming king and ruling the empire his father had so strategically built. It was the manner in which he was expected to do it. His own father had been allowed to choose his wife, however ill-advised it had been at the time. Lucien had no intention of stealing another man's wife as his father had done, sweeping her away and leaving six furious sons behind.

He merely wanted the ability to say who he wanted when he wanted.

And, perhaps, he was still a little burned by Jesminda’s rather abrupt dismissal of their courtship. She was gone, left to the countryside with her new husband she loved. Lucien told himself he ought to be happy for her. It had been nearly two years since she’d left, married and beaming—practically glowing, now that he thought about it. He’d been too bitter at the time to notice. He didn’t begrudge her that.

Lucien merely wished she had felt that way about him. He was convinced there was no one else in the world for him and perhaps he’d told his mother so drunkenly a few months earlier. If he’d only kept his big mouth shut, he’d have been allowed to carouse as he liked for at least another year.

Possibly two if he was careful about it.

Now he’d be married by solstice—just in time to parade his new wife around the summit in Velaris while making not-so-veiled threats to Archeron, the utter bastard. He was in the process of marrying off his eldest daughter so he, too, might have a successor to the throne, looking west toward Lucien’s half brother which was a threat in and of itself.

Everyone knew the Vanserras would love to see the southern empire laid to ruin. It was important Lucien married more than ever—ideally into a family with deep pockets to fight the war they all knew was coming. Peace was tentative, brokered when the northern royals lost their queen and a princess all in the same day. Ellesmere ceded territory laden with gold, enriching Lucien’s family and in exchange his father returned their remaining two daughters, rescued at sea.

He still remembered Nesta Archeron. They’d been allowed to live in the palace rather than as prisoners and while Feyre had been mostly mute, glassy eyed and silent, Nesta had raged like a wild animal.

If she still harbored even a lick of resentment, Lucien knew she’d be the driving force behind Eris Vanserra’s throne and her father's bid for revenge. Eris was coming on a diplomatic mission, too, which was the polite way of saying Lucien’s mother was going to throw herself at his feet and hope she forgave her for leaving, while offering up all the same women she was pushing at Lucien, too.

As if Eris were the type for a love match.

Shaking his head, Lucien pushed through the wooden gate to make his way back toward the city. It was unseasonably hot even for summer, the humidity drawing sweat even when he was sitting in the shade. It was miserable just then, boots hitting the sunstone streets with a loud thwack. Behind them, the sounds of clanging metal and groaning soldiers were half drowned by the cheerful white sands and foaming ocean, while ahead of them the bustling city created a chorus of voices. It was Lucien’s favorite sound.

And his favorite sight. The looming palace on the hill made of ivory and gold and the multicolored buildings that circled around, built on a sloping mountainside. Purple flowers dotted along spiky grass while towering palm trees occasionally dropped coconuts to the streets. As a child, Lucien had collected them, begging his father to puncture them so he could drink the milk inside as he strutted about, a pretend sword strapped to his hip.

Now when he stepped onto the main road people lowered their eyes and bowed their heads. He wasn’t a boy anymore, but a man they might one day call king. Lucien missed being the former, though—missed the way they’d reach for a strand of his auburn hair or how they’d sneak him little treats when they thought his parents weren’t looking.

Jurian straightened, his expression shifting from Lucien’s friend to Captain of the Guard. One day Jurian would be his General, but for now, this was enough. Jurian was one of them—just another man from Rhodes who had risen through the ranks while making Lucien feel less isolated when he, too, had been shoved into the army. Everyone else treated Lucien with respect.

Jurian had shoved his face into the dirt.

“There’s a way out of immediate marriage,” Jurian began, reminding Lucien once again why he was both Lucien’s best friend and closest advisor.

“Go on,” Lucien murmured, inhaling the smell of grilled meat.

“Velaris is filled with beautiful women. Tell your mother you’re interested in a more political marriage.”

“And when she realizes I’m not interested in a more political marriage?” Lucien asked dryly, trying to think of the last time he’d been inside Velaris. Had he ever? Maybe once when he’d been a boy, the memory eluding him.

“It’ll be winter and half the ladies who visited will be married to other lords. It’s not forever, but maybe another year or two. Nothing will save you from the marriage bed forever.”

“It’s better than anything I considered,” Lucien agreed, dodging a donkey hauling a cart filled with sunmelons.

“And who knows. Maybe the love of your life is up in the mountains,” Jurian added, elbowing Lucien once again.

“I doubt that,” Lucien grumbled, his thoughts once again turning toward Jesminda. How long before she was pregnant, he wondered? How long before she brought her firstborn to court for his father’s blessing, forcing Lucien to see the man and family she’d wanted over him?

Why not me?

Knowing full well Jesminda had never wanted to be a princess and had never wanted to be queen.

He couldn’t shake the thought from his mind even as he entered the opulent palace to a loud argument between two of the philosophers his father insisted be allowed to live at court. Sidestepping them and mumbling a goodbye to Jurian, Lucien took the steps two at a time toward his bedroom. He needed just a little silence and a chance to clear his head.

Flopping onto his bed, still sticky from heat and sweat, Lucien closed his eyes, intending to find a way through the tangled mess that was his mind.

All he found was sleep.

“Come with me,” Vassa urged, reaching for Elain’s hands. “Please. Please. Pleasepleaseplease—”

“I don’t belong at court,” Elain interrupted, looking up from her book. Vassa plopped beside her, spreading her hands over the cerulean blue of her skirts. “And you’ll have more fun without me.”

“I won’t. I never do,” Vassa protested, pretty face twisted into a scowl. “The prince is a bore and his court is far too self-satisfied to be of any amusement.”

“Stop, you’re making it sound too fun—”

“Come with me anyway. Rhodes is a wonderful city filled with libraries and museums and amusements beyond your wildest imagination. Plus there will be parties and dancing and you love parties and dancing.”

“Yes, and there will be all these well-bred ladies–”

“You’re a well-bred lady, and my sister to boot.”

Elain offered Vassa a look of exasperation. They were sisters in name only, but not by blood. Elain’s family was yet another casualty in the brutality the north inflicted upon them, razing her village to the ground and tossing her body into the western sea. Had she not been found by Lord Koshington, Elain might have succumbed to exposure. Her life before Vassa was lost to her and in some ways, she knew she was quite fortunate. She’d been given the education of a lady and one day a marriage would be arranged on her behalf.

It was far better than whatever she’d been expecting before the raid, she supposed. But just because Lord Koshington had taken her in didn’t make her an actual lady. Elain had never been brave enough to go to court either, choosing to remain behind rather than be reminded of her inadequacies.

She wanted to see it all, if only once.

“I should stay–”

“I won’t take no for an answer. Please. I’ll do your latin homework for a week if you agree. Or…I’ll give you my gold dress—”

“You wouldn’t,” Elain replied, facing the book in her lap to fully look at Vassa. “You love that gown.”

“I love you more. Is that an agreement, then? You’ll spend a month in Rhodes with me in exchange for my gold dress?”

“And my latin homework. And you’ll work harder on the piano when we return as well. I’m tired of being the only one asked to play when guests come over.”

“Done,” Vassa agreed, blue eyes as bright as the sun itself. “Lucky you agreed because I may have told father this morning you’d agreed to accompany me. We’ll serve as each other's chaperones so he can waste his time droning on and on with the king about politics.”

“Chaperones? Who are you hoping to see?”

Vassa’s bronzed cheeks darkened, her freckles lost beneath the wash of color. Elain forgot her book entirely, surging forward until their faces were mere inches apart. “Tell me his name at once!”

“Swear to keep it between us. I would die if he ever learned the depth of my affection. He thinks I loathe him and I would prefer to keep it that way.”

“You’re cruel, Vassa.”

“Men prefer to work for our affection and this man is no different. Worse, I suspect, which is why I like him. The prince’s mother is hoping to match someone with her son but I am far more interested in the Captain of the Guard.”

“Is he handsome?” Elain asked, resting the back of her head against the rough bark of the tree behind her.

“Terribly handsome. And horribly stupid, but in an endearing sort of way. I’m certain he’s good at many things…just not winning an argument.”

“Well, no one can win an argument against the likes of you,” Elain said with a laugh. “What will the lord say about it?”

Vassa’s smile dipped a bit. “No, I’m sure. He has no title, no money and will always serve the prince. Still. It’s fun to imagine a world in which we could select our own husbands, don’t you think?”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Elain admitted. “It seems risky.”

“That’s just what men want you to think. But we’re perfectly capable of knowing our own minds and deciding for ourselves. We’re not as helpless and brainless as they imagine.”

“What are you planning?”

“Me? Oh, I wouldn’t dream of planning or plotting.”

Elain rolled her eyes, wondering for the first time just how much Vassa actually liked this man and how far she might be willing to go. Elain pondered it all evening, wondering if she shouldn’t tell someone that sending the two of them mostly alone to Rhodes was a bad idea.

But Vassa’s words lingered in her mind.

We’re not as helpless and brainless as they imagine.

Because Vassa was right. She’d been educated within an inch of her life just for men to waltz around her acting as if she were as new as a freshly born baby. Treated as though it were cute she had opinions when she was supposed to be nothing more than ornamentation while Elain brushed it off because what else could she do?

But Vassa was right, just like she always was. They weren’t stupid—men wanted it both ways. They wanted a wife smart enough to one day oversee the education of their sons, but stupid enough they were always the unchallenged authority. It didn’t mean Elain wouldn’t acquiesce when her time came—she had no other option and no other skills but to be married—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t help Vassa escape the expectations.

That was what Elain told herself, anyway. And it helped her sleep at night for the following week as preparations were made to leave the idyllic countryside estate they resided on and make their way further south toward the coast. Lord Koschington was still accompanying them and would be the one to introduce Elain to court—as his niece rather than his daughter. That was the more believable lie without besmirching Elain’s reputation right from the start.

With the gold gown packed in a trunk and the promise of being allowed to coast in her lessons when she returned—assuming Vassa returned with her at all. Elain was dreading the carriage ride not because the journey was long and it was already oppressively hot, even at dawn, but because Lord Koshington loved to hear himself talk.

And in the carriage he had a captive audience.

For five miserable hours, Vassa and Elain sat straight backed and silent while Lord Koschington droned on and on about King Helion’s feud with the King of the North, Archeron. Elain loathed the name like any good southerner, having learned to fear those silver armored warriors that often ducked across the border to raze whole villages to the ground.

He had two daughters and Koschington was fascinated with the oldest, said to be unparalleled in her beauty and destined for the prince to the west, Eris Vanserra. For five hours, all he talked about was the disaster it would be if those two territories united and how Lucien would be the last Spell-Cleaver to ever sit on the sunlit throne. It was the sort of conundrum that kept men like Lord Koshington awake at night but to Elain, who couldn’t remember the war and had been living in nothing but peace for the last decade, it felt more like unwarranted anxiety.

Who cared about a princess’ marriage? Why wouldn’t she marry a prince, besides? Elain had heard rumors that Eris Vanserra was the most handsome prince in the realm, still unmarried as his ancient father crept toward the grave. She imagined there was a line from his bedroom door to the edge of his coast hoping to secure him as a husband.

As for herself, well. She was glad to not be in such a position. Elain didn’t think she cared for that kind of responsibility.

Eventually, even Lord Koschington was silenced by the heat, sweat sliding down the temples of his face. His once onyx hair was threaded with silver and his face lined with age though he was easily a good-looking man. Elain sometimes wondered why he’d never remarried after the passing of his wife though she’d never had the guts to ask him. That was private—personal.

He wasn’t her father, either. He’d cared for her, taken her in when that had never been his obligation and treated her as well as his own daughter.

Elain knew better than to upset him. Though he’d never given her a reason to believe otherwise, some part of her suspected that if she acted outside of his will, he might withdraw his support. Better to be above reproach in all things so he felt his investment was worth it.

Elain had never been more grateful in her life to stumble out of a carriage. At first glance, she saw the women in the capitol wore far fewer layers than they had been out in the country. No laces, no petticoats, no sleeves. Gods above, but Elain was desperate to update her wardrobe with the breezy fabrics and shorter sleeves, even if some part of her felt slightly scandalized by the scooping backs and the clingy bodices.

She noticed the palace itself next. Set atop a rather steep hill and half-carved into a mountain overlooking the southern sea, the sprawling structure was made of ivory and gold, lined with swaying green palms, while purple flowers dotted against the lawn.

Rows of carriages circled to the front of the drive spilling ladies in all manner of garb toward the towering pillars where they were greeted by an elderly man draped in white. Elain and Vassa both dipped into curtseys when it was their turn as Lord Koshington announced, “My daughters, Vassa and Elain.” Elain’s pulse hammered.

My daughter.

He’d told her she would be introduced as a cousin. Daughter? Blinking rapidly lest she burst into tears, Elain grasped Vassa’s hand so hard she was certain there was no blood flow. Putting aside his kind words and his willingness to pretend she was wholly his, Elain and Vassa stepped into the palace. She’d expected more of the miserable, oppressive heat but somehow it was cool. Not cold, but chilly enough a shiver raced up her spine the moment the air hit her skin.

They were hardly the most anticipated guests—no royals to greet them, no decadent rooms. Lord Koshington had his own while the girls were given a suite of interconnected bedrooms that were larger than anything Elain had ever seen. Draped in cream and gold, her bedroom had the good fortune of overlooking the sea and the gardens just below.

Elain was living in a dream.

She didn’t want to wake up.

Nesta Archeron took the spiraling, stone steps two at a time, navy skirts gathered in one hand to keep her from plummeting right back down. Chilly hair nipped at her cheeks, drawing color that wouldn’t otherwise exist. The air itself stung her eyes, making them seem glassy like she’d been crying.

Nesta Archeron never cried.

Hiding at the top of the tower stood her younger sister Feyre, fingers bright red from the cold. “Have they arrived?” Nesta asked, shouldering beside Feyre to peer out of the little arched window overlooking the whole of the city.

“There,” Feyre said, nodding toward the black and silver banners marching toward the palace gates. Nesta’s eyes were drawn to the man sitting atop a black steed, his matching cape fluttering in the wind. She couldn’t see him well, but every ounce him screamed warrior king.

King Rhysand of the East.They called him the King of Nightmares for his reputation for being ruthless—he didn’t kill those who slipped over his border looking to destabilize his regime. Rhysand had them tortured, broke their minds, and sent them back home.

He was flanked on either side by two men who might have been brothers. The distance obscured their features, though Nesta could make out the broad shoulders and lethal sword hilt of the one on the left and the slimmer build of the one on the right. She supposed the one on the left was the terrifying Lord of Bloodshed, Rhysand’s general, and the other was the torture master himself, Azriel.

For the first time in living memory, the North was welcoming the East into their borders. Nesta wasn’t foolish enough to think it was mere diplomacy, though she’d already promised the prince of the west her home, her throne, and her body, too, if he returned with a way into the south.

But should he fail, she’d do what her father was hoping and she’d marry Rhysand if he could offer her the revenge she was so desperate for.

Nesta’s nightmares were still plagued of Elain, wide-eyed and shivering as she made her way toward Feyre in the dark. She still dreamt of the ricocheting canon that slammed into their ship and how she and Feyre were whisked into a lifeboat. How they’d been kept political prisoners by Helion himself, their lives used to forge the treaty that now bound both nations.

While Elain had never been found, her body still haunting the sea bed.

And Nesta might have been able to forgive the death of her mother. But she’d sworn her life to protecting Elain the very night she’d failed. It was the only way to convince Elain to leave.

I’ll protect you. Please. Come with me.

How she’d failed.

Nesta was old enough to inherit her father’s throne though law dictated she needed a husband and so Nesta had begun a campaign of finding the right man. She didn’t need love—didn’t want love. She wanted vengeance and none of the men at court were equipped to give her that.

Eris Vanserra wanted it nearly as badly as she did, and was just as practical. He’d told her he wasn’t looking for a love match and would look the other way if she chose to take a lover so long as she was discreet about it—and he had no question regarding any future offspring.

Fine.

He would be there now, poking through Helion’s secrets. Looking for weaknesses, mapping out their borders, the walls of Rhodes, and anything else he could glean. Nesta would give him everything, ruining her father’s careful legacy in favor of turning her family into Vanserras, giving her husband total control her territory, her wealth, her armies.

And she’d be the one to drive the blade straight through Helion’s blackened heart.

Rhysand was her backup plan and her father’s first choice. Eris Vanserra was a snake in the grass, untrustworthy and perhaps more damning, a Vanserra. Their family had ruled longer than any other on the continent, with a legacy that predated the oldest written record.

But for all Eris’ faults, Nesta knew vengeance was personal for him. Helion had stolen his mother away in the night, forced her into marriage, and made her his wife. Those kinds of scars lingered, lasted. Rhysand wasn’t that sort of man from what she’d gathered.

He was a shadowed mystery, his motivations unclear. She didn’t know if he even wanted conquest, or if he was merely interested in seeing her home. She’d sent several letters which he’d returned with short, polite answers. Nothing helpful, no hidden message she could read between the lines. Only a gentleman’s words that were utterly banal and uninteresting to her.

Gentleman be damned.

She needed someone bloodthirsty and cruel.

Beside her, Feyre turned her head, chestnut hair whipping against her face. She knew, even if Nesta had never once explicitly said what she planned. Feyre knew, watchful as she was. Whether she approved or not didn’t matter, though Nesta had never known Feyre to be terribly soft-hearted. And she suspected she carried the same weighty guilt over Elain’s death, held the same deep-seated need to see someone pay for it.

“We should be ready to greet them,” Nesta said, well aware Feyre would slip up into the rafters to listen without anyone watching.

“You go, then. I have no interest in any more princes or kings,” she replied, blue eyes flashing with defiance. “Nor do I wish to assist father in selling us off like livestock.”

“Not us. Me. You are safe—and once I’m married, you can pick whatever lovely northern gentleman is hounding your steps. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I don’t want a husband. We don’t need any of these horrible men to get what we want, Nesta. Take the throne, rewrite the laws—”

“The nobility would revolt. They’d throw me in prison or worse, force a marriage on me, wait until I gave them a son, and then stage some timely yet tragic accident. It’s better to have a say in it. To decide for myself and direct it as best I can.”

“None of them are trustworthy and I fear this king—Rhysand— is the worst of them.”

“Worse than Vanserra?” Nesta replied, genuinely curious which Feyre would prefer ruling their home.

Feyre glanced back out the window, eyes narrowing. “He looks like a liar.”

“That’s because he’s a man.”

Feyre blew out a breath, crossing her arms over the rosy pink dress she wore. Neither of them would acknowledge what they were both thinking—Lord Tamlin Rosewood, who’d asked for Feyre’s hand in marriage and then struck her in a fit of frustration over some problem with the dowry. It had been, he claimed, an accident.

He had been expelled from court, banished to the countryside and Feyre locked in her room until the bruising on her face faded. Everyone wanted to pretend it had never happened but to Nesta, it merely highlighted that she needed to be the one to secure their family so Feyre could have a small sliver of peace.

Love was for the lower classes, besides. Perhaps Ferye understood that, now.

“Come on,” Nesta said, hoping she wouldn’t have to go alone. She would, but she would feel less anxiety if she weren’t by herself.

For once, Feyre didn’t put up a fight. Perhaps she recognized Nesta’s own vulnerability. Or maybe she wanted to stare the foreign king down with that lethal gaze of hers that made men wither to dust. Nesta thought it would be something to see them cower before her petite sister rethinking whatever strategy she was certain they must have.

The halls were utterly emptied, leaving only the watchful sentries posted by windows and doors, none of whom were allowed to meet their gaze. She still remembered Elain trying so hard to get the ones at the throne room door to smile and how she’d nearly always succeeded.

Feyre and Nesta didn’t bother.

Their father was waiting, sitting on his icy, iron throne crowned in the blue diamonds that could be found only in the ancient mountains of the Spine, the natural border between their home and Rhysand’s. Nesta wondered if Rhysand would come wearing them, too. Nesta was wearing them around her neck, so heavy it made her spine ache. She’d carefully braided her hair off her face and put on a rather sumptuous, though conservative, gown.

She was beautiful and she knew it. Nesta also knew that men liked a woman who presented herself well—Eris Vanserra had certainly been taken with her presentation, and she assumed Rhysand would be, too. There was no harm in letting him see what he wanted. A wellbred, obedient wife was the expectation. It wasn’t the reality, but that was a problem for another day.

Nesta and Feyre took their place on either side of their father, staring across the room lined with nobility as the sounds of heavy footsteps began echoing louder and louder. For one moment, something in Nesta quaked with fear, blood icy as though death itself was making its way for her.

It was only a man—a man she didn’t want, didn’t like, and would never love. Rhysand and his right hands were the only ones who came in, strangely unadorned.

He was, objectively, attractive enough. High cheekbones set in a symmetrical face, with eyes so blue they were nearly violet and dark hair styled to look as though the wind had merely tousled it. A silver circlet of stars adorned his brow and one heavy ring was perched on his middle finger while the rest of him was rather bare in comparison to her father.

He looked like a warrior king in his dark black leathers and the heavy cape hanging from his shoulders. He lacked all the pomp and circumstance Eris had brought with him along with the warmth, too. His whole presence exuded ice and instinctively, Nesta took a step back.

His eyes were on her, and then her father as he swept into a bow. Nesta watched, as he came back up, how his gaze slid to Feyre.

And remained there.

“Rhysand,” her father began, his voice sharp and clear. “I hope the journey didn’t give you too much trouble.”

A cat’s smile slid across his features, eyes flicking back to their father. “None at all.”

Nesta didn’t hear her father’s response, buzzing filling her ears as she took a moment to survey the other men who’d come to join their king. The tallest one had removed the heavy helmet he wore, tucking it beneath one muscular arm and oh, Nesta wished he hadn’t. His face, scarred just at the eyebrow and again across full lips, was perhaps the most beautiful face she’d ever laid eyes on. Not classically, of course—for one, he was far too large. The sconce on the wall across the room was, perhaps, as tall as this man was and the muscle packed on his body spoke to an active life, never mind the twin, curved swords looming over his shoulders.

A light layer of dark stubble graced a perfect jaw while strange, whirling black inked tattoos peeked from beneath the neckline of his armor. She wondered what they meant, what their purpose was. Nesta drank in his slightly crooked nose, likely broken in some battle he’d won and the curved scar across his throat that must have been brutal when he’d first received it. He had his large hands clasped in front of him and when she looked up to take in the color of his eyes—hazel, more green than brown—she found he was grinning at her.

He’d caught her looking at him and wanted her to know it. Nesta immediately looked away, unable to hide the damning flush creeping up her own neck.

Nesta swore he’d never catch her looking at him again.

Hands in his pockets, Rhys allowed Archeron to show him around the palace. These visits never failed to bore him. Look at this painting, survey my wealth. Did you see my daughters? Aren’t they lovely?

Usually the answer was covert eyerolls and shared smirks with Cassian and Azriel. Today, though, Rhys felt moody. Unsettled. Disturbed, even, by the younger daughter he hadn’t known existed and hadn’t expected to see.

Rumors swirled about Nesta Archeron and the possible marriage her father was considering with heir apparent Eris Vanserra. His father was on death’s door and a marriage between North and West almost certainly promised a brutal and bloody war.

When Helion had learned, he’d sent word to Rhysand. What is going on in the Spine?

Nothing smart. Rhysand intended to do what he did best—lie. Pretend he had interest in Nesta, jerk her around for a year while he drew up marriage contracts that had to be written and rewritten and written again, wasting her time while Eris inevitably moved on to some nice noble in his own court.

And then Rhys could withdraw, free to continue philandering until his advisors put their foot down. His presence was purely nefarious—two months freezing his balls off in the frigid north while Cassian inspected the army and Azriel devoured secrets.

And yet…and yet.

Rhysand’s mind slipped toward the younger daughter and those eyes. They looked like the same stars that hung over the Illyrian Mountains, silvery and bright and so very alive. Rhys had spent his entire life gazing up at them—he would have recognized them anywhere. Even in the face of that woman, who spared only a passing glance before she fixed her stare on the wall behind him, clearly underwhelmed by their presence.

He wanted to talk to her. He’d seen beautiful women before, though perhaps this was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and that beauty was often exhausted the moment they opened their mouth to speak to him.

Easier said than done. Rhys tried, but Nesta Archeron became the ambassador for the Archerons, silently watching him without ever speaking a word. He found that unnerving all through dinner and wasn’t the only one. The moment he, Azriel, and Cassian were locked away in the suite of rooms, Azriel was the first to speak.

“This place feels like a tomb,” he said, looking around the dark interior.

“Why don’t the princesses speak?” Cassian added, pulling open the heavy velvet curtains blocking out the dim light. “Are they allowed?”

“We should have brought Morrigan,” Azriel grumbled, flopping gracelessly onto a floral sofa.

“She doesn’t deserve the archaic practices of Archeron,” Rhys replied, running a finger over the marble mantle of the fireplace. A thin layer of dust came with it, proving the North rarely hosted guests.

They were far too untrusting.

He supposed he didn’t blame Archeron given the horror of that final invasion. Rhysand couldn’t imagine losing both a wife and a daughter, no matter how, frankly, deserved Rhysand still found the entire thing. After all—Archeron had marched into a neutral city, the third largest in the West, blocked all routes in and out, and burned it entirely to the ground in the matter of a week.

War was hell and there were no heroes. Helion’s father had retaliated, breaking into the capital city and sacking it over the course of a night. In the aftermath, he’d taken the two surviving daughters hostage and only agreed to return them when a peace treaty had been brokered, redefining old borders and returning both stolen land and land long contested.

Oh, but it was all such a mess even a decade later. Those wounds had been left to fester and no matter how Rhysand looked at it, he could see no path forward that didn’t explode into utter disaster. Maybe if Lucien Spell-Cleaver married an Archeron they could avoid war, but he’d heard the prince was far too spoiled and sheltered to be offered up like a political pawn.

And having seen Nesta, he doubted she was willing to subject herself to another hurt at the hands of the West.

“What did you think of Nesta?” Cassian asked, his words carrying a strange ribbon of curiosity. Rhys opened his mouth before closing it again, trying to find words that were both honest without being cruel.

“I doubt a marriage is in our collective futures. Still—maybe she’ll surprise me.”

“With a dagger to your throat,” Azriel commented lightly, causing Cassian to grin at the thought.

“We don’t need to worry about them other than distracting them. Any one of us can accomplish that,” Rhys declared, wondering why the image of Azriel and Feyre annoyed him so much.

“Let's get what we came for and let’s get out of this miserable city.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Azriel murmured, stretching out his legs.

“I can already tell you their military is weak in compared to our own,” Cassian half whispered, his gaze sharp. “I’m going to ask to train with them tomorrow—”

“Trotting out the dumb brute act?” Azriel questioned, a gleam in his eyes.

“My favorite,” Cassian agreed. “I just love swinging a sword and no one ever taught me to read.”

“There must be more of them. Up in the mountains?” Azriel suggested, glancing toward the windows. “Archeron wouldn’t be so stupid to leave his entire kingdom undefended just to protect one city.”

“Helion decimated them a decade ago. Men don’t grow up so quickly,” Rhys reminded them both. “The north has gold, and diamonds from the Spine. Vanserra has manpower and a navy none of us could fend off should he bring it to our shores. It makes sense that Nesta would go to Eris first if she lacked manpower.”

“Then why are we here?” Cassian asked, drumming his fingers against his knee.

“Perhaps Vanserra isn’t sold on the idea?” Rhys suggested, uncertain himself. “Or her father wants to explore all his options? We’re here to prevent another war that would almost certainly drag us into it,” he added, looking at his general and spymaster.

“We’re just waiting out the summer, then?” Azriel questioned.

Rhys nodded. “We can give them all a little taste of what war might mean for them this time.”

Knowing his objective didn’t do much for Rhys’s restless mind, though. While his brothers got ready for the evening, making jokes and generally amused by the entire situation, Rhys slipped from the suite of rooms they shared to walk the halls. It unnerved him how many people were watching under the guise of not watching at all. The sentries and guards never looked at him and he knew his steps would be reported to the king before breakfast.

Getting around undetected was Azriel’s domain. Rhys had never tried, commanded too much attention. He was always the distraction, besides. No one gave Azriel and Cassian much thought, certain he must be the knife in the dark. Slick smiles and double entendre made everyone assume he was far more clever than he was.

Cassian was the dumb brute, Azriel obsessed with cruelty which left Rhys as the one worth watching. He just seemed like a two-faced bastard. And to be fair…he was. But he had help, had chosen his inner circle carefully.

His feet took him to a set of stone steps that spiraled upward into a tower. It was a decent vantage point over the dreary city. Fog hung like a curtain, floating from the mountains that kept the warmer air Velaris received from reaching them. Rhys heard there were years where Ellesmere experienced nothing but rain every single day.

No wonder they liked war so much. What else was there for them?

At the top of this tower, rather than more oppressive fog, sat the younger princess. Rhys hesitated, drinking in the sight of her propped up in that window, one leg dangling precariously over the edge. Her hair was braided over one shoulder and propped on the wall beside her, a bow with a quiver of arrows.

Another sentry, far prettier than any of the others he’d seen. Rhys couldn’t help himself, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.

“Keeping watch?”

She turned her head to look, those starry blue eyes narrowing. “You shouldn’t be up here.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” she replied, causing Rhys to take a step into the candle lit, chilly room.

“Oh, but you seem like such fine company,” he crooned, holding her gaze. “Maybe you could give me a tour—”

“I’ll leave that to Nesta,” Feyre snapped. It was a dismissal given she turned back to looking out at the city and any rational man would have turned around and left.

But Rhys was famously stupid, if his cousin Mor was to be believed so he came closer, desperate for anything to say to her. He was a fool to have any interest in this woman at all, to want a moment of her time when he’d come here to betray her.

“Why are you here?” she asked when Rhys couldn’t think of anything eloquent to say.

“I’m looking for a wife, darling,” he heard himself say. Heart thudding, Rhys recalled telling his advisors not a week earlier he had no interest in a wife and to stop pushing him on it. What absurdity to say it while looking at her, knowing damn well she wasn’t for the likes of him.

He barely knew her at all.

“It's strange how many men suddenly find themselves desperate to be married,” Feyre commented, swinging her legs over the edge of the window before righting herself. “We came of age years ago. Surely you’re not interested in women as old as we are.”

“You think me so shallow? I like a conversation partner—”

“You don’t worry we’ve been ruined?”

Oh, what man touched her he wondered? What man would Rhys have to murder? The urge washed over him stronger than any other emotion he’d felt in recent months. It wasn’t that she had potentially been with another man but the defiant way she asked him if that somehow diminished her worth.

“A lot of things keep me awake at night, Feyre darling,” Rhys purred, taking a measured step toward the princess. “Your activities in the bedroom are not one of them.”

“That’s good, given you’re here to court my sister.”

“I’m here for the princess of the North. You are a princess, are you not?”

“I am a princess, I live in the North,” she agreed, those eyes of hers flashing. And Rhys knew whatever words came out of her mouth next were about to wreck him. His whole body went tight at the prospect.

“And I will never be your wife,” she added with that same, light tone. “I am not interested in a husband, especially one who looks like he lies as easily as he breathes.”

Rhys flashed a smile. He wanted her. What a revelation. “We’ll see,” he replied as she sauntered past him, shouldering her bow with ease.

Feyre only shook her head, eyes rolling upward in her skull. “That wasn’t a challenge. You repulse me.”

Rhys only laughed.

They’d see about that, too.

#im gonna upload on a tues/thurs schedule until its done (i only have 5 chapters written)#elucien #feysand #nessian #DID YOU KNOW IT WAS ME OR WAS I SUBTLE?

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