#The world is burning and throwing lightning | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sweet-pea-channie · 2 months ago

Text

Yours, Elsewhere

Azriel x female!reader

Summary: A mission gone wrong hurls Azriel into a parallel Velaris. There, he meets a woman who knew him intimately in her world. As they search for a way to send him back, grief tangles with growing affection. He teaches her how to breathe again; she shows him a version of himself he never knew could exist. But the Cauldron is cracking, time unraveling. He must leave—or risk destroying everything.

Warnings: grief, past death of a loved one, emotional angst, mentions of trauma, memory loss, canon divergence. Bittersweet but healing.

Word count: 11.6k

A/N: I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of soul-deep connection, something that survives even across worlds. Writing this fic was a journey of emotion, comfort, and quiet hope, and I truly hope it resonates with you. Also, English is my third language, so thank you for your patience with any little mistakes along the way. I’m always learning, and I’m just grateful to be able to share this story with you. Thank you for reading 💙

The spell left her fingertips just as he vanished.

The witch’s lips moved in a frantic whisper, the ancient incantation torn from her throat like a last breath, desperate and reckless. Magic sparked blue at her hands, arcing like lightning across the broken altar stones. It twisted into the air, weightless and burning, then launched toward the night sky.

But Azriel was already gone.

He didn’t see the light flare behind him. Didn’t hear the way the wind screamed as it bent around the surge of power.

His wings beat once, powerful and sure, and then the shadows took him.

Velaris.

His destination shaped itself in his mind, rooftops glistening with dew, the scent of citrus and moonflower in the air. The shadows wrapped around him like silk, folding the world inward and then outward until the mountains welcomed him home.

His boots touched stone.

He exhaled slowly, the winnow sliding off his skin like a second breath. Easy. Clean. Just like always.

The balcony beneath him was familiar, high above the Sidra, at the top of the House of Wind. The air was sharp with pine and river mist, a spring breeze curling over the tiles.

He glanced up. And paused.

The stars were wrong.

Only slightly. Barely noticeable. But Azriel had flown these skies long enough to know every constellation, every shift in the heavens, they were old friends, silent sentries. And now, the stars blinked like strangers.

Frowning, he stepped forward, shadows curling idly at his heels. The door was unlocked. Odd. He stepped inside. The House was quiet. Too quiet.

Not in the peaceful way it usually was but empty. Hollow. As if no one had passed through in days. No scent of food, no lingering traces of Cassian’s boisterous laughter or Feyre’s paint-streaked energy. Just silence.

Azriel reached for the bond. Rhysand.

No answer. He stilled.

He pressed harder, pushing through the mental link, summoning the familiar pulse of his High Lord's mind.

Rhys. Come in.

Nothing. Like throwing a stone into water that didn’t ripple.

He tried again Cassian? Mor? but each attempt came back with the same flat silence.

A cold unease began to thread through his chest. The shadows responded immediately, rising like smoke along his shoulders, alert and watchful.

Something was off.

He launched into the skies again, this time gliding silently over Velaris. It looked... untouched.

The buildings were the same. The Sidra still shimmered like liquid silver beneath him. People walked the streets below. But when he dipped lower, he saw the way they looked up.

Saw the expressions that bloomed across their faces. Not awe. Not fear. Shock.

One woman clutched her child tighter to her side, eyes wide as she watched him pass. A group of males at a café stopped mid-conversation, staring. One stood abruptly, knocking over his chair, his mouth falling open.

Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter. He landed in an alleyway behind the familiar stretch of the Rainbow, his feet hitting cobblestone with barely a sound.

He turned toward the street, and froze. A shop window reflected him.

His armor, his blades, his shadows, all exactly as they should be. But behind him, in the glass, Velaris was... different. Too bright. Too sharp. Like the color had been turned up just a little too high.

He blinked. Turned. The illusion held.

No, he thought. Not illusion. Not glamour. This is real.

The truth whispered through him like a crack in the foundation. He was home. But something was wrong with home. The streets felt narrower here.

Or maybe it was the way people kept staring, some openly, some with barely concealed glances over shoulders, as if they’d seen a ghost and didn’t want to be rude about it.

Azriel kept to the shadows. He’d just rounded the edge of the Rainbow when he heard the gasp. A sharp inhale, half-shocked, half-sucked through clenched teeth.

He turned.

She stood beneath the awning of a flower stall, a spray of wild violets clutched in one hand, her other frozen mid-reach.

Human. Or maybe half-Fae. Familiar enough to recognize the expression on her face: recognition slammed into disbelief, then sank quickly into pale, careful confusion.

She didn’t speak at first.

Azriel gave her a cautious nod, not slowing his stride.

She took a step toward him. "That’s not funny."

He stopped. "I beg your pardon?"

She stared. “Who put you up to this?”

Azriel tilted his head, shadows coiling tighter around his boots. “No one put me up to anything.”

Her hand trembled, still gripping the stems. “You shouldn’t wear his, I mean, your armor. That’s... sick. Even for Cassian.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said evenly. “Who are you?”

Her brows drew together, uncertain now, brittle. “This isn’t funny,” she said again, softer this time. “Is this some sort of cruel Solstice prank?”

“I don’t play pranks.”

“No, he didn’t either,” she whispered. “Not like this.”

Something in her eyes shifted. The anger cracked, just a hairline fracture and beneath it, something raw flickered into view. Fear. Or maybe hope.

She dropped the violets.

Azriel stepped forward instinctively, but she flinched, then shook her head, waving him off like she couldn’t bear to be helped.

“This has to be a mistake,” she muttered. “Or... or a glamour. Are you-? No. You can’t be...”

She looked up at him again, really looked, and he watched her decide something.

“You need to come with me.”

Azriel hesitated. “Why?”

She didn’t answer, just turned on her heel.

“I don’t follow strangers,” he called after her.

She paused at the corner. “You’re not following a stranger.”

She looked back. And for a moment, her expression softened not quite fond, not quite grief-stricken, but edged in something that made his stomach twist.

“You’re following a friend of hers.”

Azriel’s wings rustled. “Her?”

“She’ll know what to do with you.” A beat. “Or... what’s left of her will.”

He didn’t like the sound of that.

But the shadows, ever attuned to unspoken truths, whispered go.

So he followed.

────────────

The children were covered in paint.

It wasn’t entirely her fault. The sun was warm, the breeze soft, and after a long week of rain and restlessness, she had promised them something fun. So the easels were out, brushes flying, water cups sloshing precariously on the garden stones.

Y/N knelt beside a little girl with wild curls and green streaks on her cheeks, helping her mix blue and white into a swirl of sky.

"Like this?" the girl asked, tongue between her teeth in concentration.

"Perfect," Y/N murmured, smiling. "That looks just like a cloud before it rains."

Laughter bubbled nearby. The world, for once, felt light enough to hold.

So she didn’t notice the footsteps at first. Or the quiet tension just beyond the garden gate. Not until a shadow crossed her canvas.

She looked up.

Her friend stood there, a strange expression on her face. Breathless, like she’d been running, though the walk from town wasn’t far. And behind her, half in the sun and half in the shade, stood a male Y/N hadn’t seen in a very long time.

Everything stopped.

The paintbrush slipped from her fingers. Her breath caught on the edge of his name, but she didn’t say it. Couldn’t.

He looked the same.

The armor, the blades, the face she’d memorized long ago. The face she still saw in dreams, the one she sometimes whispered to when sleep clung too tightly. But there was something missing. No recognition in his eyes. No quiet pull between them. Just… calm. Measured wariness. And then there were these things... shadows?

He wasn’t hers.

Not really.

Her friend stepped aside, watching her carefully.

Y/N rose slowly, brushing her hands against her apron out of habit, though streaks of dried paint still clung to her palms.

Azriel’s eyes followed the motion.

She didn’t speak. Not at first. She just stared.

And he stared back.

One of the children tugged on her sleeve. “Miss Y/N? Is that the scary man you told us stories about?”

A huff of laughter slipped from her friend, almost hysterical. Y/N managed a breath.

"No, sweetheart," she said quietly. "He’s not scary at all."

Azriel tilted his head. “You know me.”

She swallowed, forcing her eyes to stay dry. “Not you, exactly.”

He looked down for a moment, then back at her, something almost apologetic in the tilt of his brow.

"I'm not supposed to be here, am I?"

She took a step closer, heart pounding, unsure what to do with it all. The sight of him. The voice. The way her body recognized him even if he didn’t recognize her.

"No," she said. "But you're here all the same."

The breeze picked up, rustling through the garden. The scent of lilac and paint and spring.

She didn’t cry. Not yet.

But the world felt suddenly too full, and too empty, all at once. "Come inside," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "We need to talk."

And he followed her, just like he used to. Even if he didn’t know why.

Y/N kept her voice steady as she called over to the other caretaker, a soft-spoken male named Tarian who’d been helping with the younger ones that day.

“Arios, would you mind staying a little longer? I need to step away for a bit.”

He glanced up from where he was braiding daisies into a toddler’s hair, his expression gentle but curious. His eyes flicked briefly to the male standing behind her, then back. He didn’t ask questions. Just nodded once.

“Of course. Take all the time you need.”

She offered a grateful smile she didn’t feel, touched a child’s shoulder in passing, and turned.

“Follow me,” she said without looking back.

Azriel obeyed in silence.

The garden gave way to the winding path toward the cottage she used for art and quiet reading. It was set apart from the others, tucked between climbing roses and silver-barked trees. Each step she took seemed more uncertain than the last, but her posture stayed rigid, collected. Just enough to keep from unraveling.

Azriel’s eyes moved over everything as they walked.

The cobblestones here weren’t the same. Laid in a different pattern, slightly darker in hue, almost as if the rain had never stopped soaking into them. The flowering vines on the archway above them curled in unfamiliar directions, lavender in color where they should have been white. And the House of Wind, though distant, didn’t quite look like itself either. The cliffs cradled it too tightly. As if the mountains had shifted just enough to close their grip.

Velaris. But wrong.

Beautiful still, but subtly off. A painting that someone had copied from memory rather than life. Familiar and foreign in the same breath.

He could feel the magic in the air too. Not buzzing. Not screaming. Just trembling softly at the edges of everything, like a note held too long on a string.

His shadows had quieted, uncertain of what to guard against.

He studied the woman in front of him. She moved like she was trying not to feel. Like her heart had shattered and she'd pressed the pieces back in place with nothing but breath and willpower. She wasn’t crying. But the tension in her shoulders said she could, at any moment.

“Are you alright?” he asked, voice low but clear.

She didn’t stop walking.

“Absolutely not,” she said.

Her voice didn’t shake. It didn’t need to. The words landed like a stone in his chest.

Azriel let the silence stretch. Not empty. Not awkward. Just necessary. He understood grief. He lived in the shadows of it.

But this was something else. This was her past colliding with his present. And whatever version of himself had once belonged to this world, it was obvious that he had belonged to her.

And now, somehow, so did the weight of his absence.

They reached the door to the cottage. She paused with her hand on the knob, inhaling slowly, the breath catching like a thread snagged on glass.

She looked at him, truly looked. Not at the armor or the blades or the shadows, but at his face. Like she was trying to find something in it. Or make peace with the fact that she wouldn't.

Then she pushed the door open, stepped inside, and let the light swallow her.

Azriel followed.

And for the first time since arriving, he felt the world shift slightly again. Not the magic. Not the timeline. Just his own heart. Something had cracked open.

And he didn’t know yet whether it was meant to be sealed again, or stepped through.

The door clicked softly shut behind them.

Inside, the air was warm with the faint scent of paint and clay and something citrus-sweet, orange peel maybe, left out in a little bowl on the windowsill. Children’s drawings lined the walls, some framed with pressed flowers, others curling at the corners from age or love.

Azriel stood just inside, uncertain of the space but unwilling to impose.

Y/N moved slowly. Not towards him, but toward the shelf where the water pitcher sat. She poured herself a glass with steady hands. Didn’t offer one. Didn’t look at him. Just needed something to do.

Azriel let the silence hold for a moment before speaking.

“I don’t think this is my world,” he said quietly.

She glanced at him, then back at her glass.

“I figured.”

He nodded, stepping forward. The wooden floor creaked faintly beneath his boots. He stopped a few paces from her, careful not to cross whatever invisible line she needed right now.

“There was a mission,” he said. “We were tracking a rogue spell-weaver. A witch who’d been bending too many old laws. I...” He exhaled slowly. “I might’ve said the wrong thing at the wrong time. I made her angry.”

Y/N set her glass down but didn’t drink from it. “And?”

“She was casting something. Ancient magic. I interrupted her. I thought I’d stopped her in time.” He gave a small shake of his head. “But something must have hit me. Something�� twisted.”

She finally looked at him then, brows slightly furrowed. “You’re saying she sent you here?”

“I think so,” he said. “Not on purpose, maybe. But the spell left her hands just as I winnowed. I landed in Velaris. But not mine.”

He looked toward the window, out at the sky that wasn’t quite the right shade, at the garden path that curved too gently.

“I knew the moment I saw the stars. They’re wrong here. Familiar, but rearranged. Like someone shuffled the sky when I wasn’t looking.”

She said nothing for a long beat. Then, softly, “You’re a Shadowsinger there?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“And who… who do you work for?”

Azriel’s mouth twitched slightly. “Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court. I’m his spymaster.”

Her breath caught. He could hear it, even with the distance between them. She looked down at her hands, fingers curling in against her palms.

He took a half-step closer. “I didn’t catch your name,” he said, his voice gentler now. “May I ask?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Swallowed.

Then, almost to herself, she said, “Your voice is exactly the same.”

Azriel went still.

Her eyes flicked up to his. “The way you speak. It’s like… like he’s standing here.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t know how to.

She closed her eyes briefly, as if the air itself had become too heavy.

“My name is Y/N,” she said finally. Quiet, but clear. “I used to mean something to you. I mean, to him. In this world.”

Azriel let the weight of it settle between them.

“I believe that,” he said.

Azriel’s eyes lingered on Y/N’s face, on the way she held herself just a little too still, like one wrong move might shatter the fragile calm she’d built around her.

“If you don’t mind,” he said carefully, “could you tell me more about this place? This version of Velaris. Is Rhysand the High Lord here too?”

Something shifted in her expression. Not shock. Just quiet confusion.

“Rhysand,” she repeated, as if tasting the name for the first time. “I’ve never heard that name before.”

That struck deeper than he expected. He kept his face impassive, but inside, a slow ripple of unease moved through him. Rhysand had ruled for centuries. If no one here knew his name…

“Then who rules the Night Court?” he asked.

“Lord Tharanis,” she said. “He’s been High Lord since before I was born.”

The name meant nothing to him. Not even a whisper of familiarity. Another piece of the puzzle that proved it beyond doubt, this world wasn’t just a copy. It was a divergence. A different thread entirely.

Y/N must have seen something in his face, because she stepped away from the table and crossed to one of the nearby shelves, tracing her fingers over the spines of a row of books without reading any of them.

“There’s a witch who lives near the cliffs on the eastern side of the city,” she said. “She studies old magic. Real old. Quiet about it, but good. We could ask her to help. Maybe she’ll know how to get you back.”

Azriel caught the way she said it. We. But the tone didn’t hold warmth. It was kindness, not invitation. She wanted him to leave.

He watched her closely now, the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her hand paused over a small ceramic sculpture on the shelf but didn’t pick it up. She didn’t want to look at him again.

He took a step closer, his voice soft. “Are you afraid of what might happen if I stay?”

Her gaze stayed fixed on the shelf. “No.”

“Then what is it?”

Silence.

Then she turned, slowly. Her eyes met his, clear and unwavering.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said. “But you’re not supposed to be here. And… part of me keeps waiting for him to walk in.” She didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. “And he won’t.”

Azriel didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Her voice was steady now. Empty of drama, full of weight.

“My Azriel died,” she said. “Years ago. Not in battle. Not in glory. Just a quiet thing. Magic sickness. He didn’t even tell me until it was too far gone. He thought he could protect me from it.”

Her breath shivered at the edges.

“And he’s been gone long enough that I stopped dreaming of him. Until today.”

Azriel exhaled, low and slow. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Y/N gave the smallest nod, then sat down on the edge of a low bench, hands resting on her knees.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” she admitted. “You’re not him. But every time I look at you, my chest forgets that.”

Azriel lowered himself into the chair across from her. No armor between them now, no title. Just two people caught in something too large to name.

“I’ll help you find a way home,” she said again, quieter this time.

But Azriel wasn’t sure if she meant it for his sake, or hers. Maybe both. And maybe neither of them knew what it would cost when the way opened.

────────────

The room was small but clean. Simple linens on the bed, a chipped blue vase on the windowsill with a few sprigs of dried lavender tucked inside. The shutters creaked faintly in the wind as Azriel stood at the window, arms folded, staring out at the river.

The Sidra glittered under the early evening light, silver and shadowed, the current moving slow as syrup. In his Velaris, it danced faster. The curve of it was a touch different too, this one bent around a cluster of buildings that shouldn't exist. The skyline was off by inches, by centuries. He couldn’t stop cataloging it.

His shadows whispered around him, brushing the walls, curling through the corners of the room like restless thoughts. They brought him details he hadn’t asked for. The smell of something baking three floors below. The hushed footsteps of a couple arguing in the hallway. The flick of a candle being snuffed out in a room across the street. And whispers — always whispers — carrying scraps of names, old magic, things his mind could barely catch before they slipped away.

But he couldn’t focus.

He watched the light shift on the water, caught between the golden pull of sunset and the first hints of stars above. Stars that didn’t belong to him.

How many versions of Velaris were out there? How many Azriels? In this one, he had lived. Loved. And died.

He turned away from the window, ran a hand through his hair, let his fingers drag over his jaw.

He’d seen grief in Y/N’s eyes, coiled tight under her calm. But what haunted him more was the way she looked at him, like her heart didn’t know how to tell the difference yet.

He wanted to ask her. Everything. What he had been like. What he’d done. What they’d been.

But some part of him worried that asking would crack her open, and he wasn’t sure she’d ever put herself back together again.

Still, the questions clawed at him.

He needed to know. If not from her, then from someone who hadn’t loved that version of him with their whole chest.

His mind returned to the woman from earlier, the friend who’d brought him to Y/N in the first place. Sharp-eyed. Suspicious. Protective. She knew more than she’d said.

And if he and Y/N were going to visit the witch tomorrow afternoon, then this was his only chance to find answers before everything shifted again.

Azriel strapped his knives back onto his belt, out of habit more than necessity, and cast one last glance toward the Sidra.

The sky was deepening, thick with color. A world of strangers, and one familiar soul. He slipped into the shadows. And went looking for the truth.

Azriel found her near the edge of the old market, tucked behind a row of shuttered stalls. She stood alone by a railing that overlooked the Sidra, arms crossed tightly as she watched the river move in silence. The lanterns from the lower paths cast flickers of gold against her dark coat.

He didn’t try to be stealthy. He wanted her to see him coming.

She did.

“You’re not exactly subtle,” she muttered, her gaze flicking to his armor, his shadows, the stillness in the way he moved.

“I wasn’t trying to be,” Azriel said, stopping a few steps away.

She exhaled, jaw set. “If you’re looking for Y/N, she’s not here.”

“I came to talk to you.”

She hesitated. “Why?”

“Because I need to understand what this place is. What he was.”

The muscles in her arms tightened where they crossed. “You don’t get to dig through his life like it’s a map back to yours. He wasn’t a version of you. He was someone… And that someone was married to her.”

The moment the word left her mouth, her expression shifted, a slight widening of her eyes, as if she’d only just realized what she’d said.

Azriel’s voice was quiet. “Married?”

She flinched but didn’t deny it. Didn’t backtrack.

“Yes,” she said. “Since they were hundred-twenty-four.”

His breath caught. The word sat in his chest like a stone, unfamiliar and too big to ignore.

She watched him carefully. Noticing, perhaps for the first time, the way he didn’t quite stand like the Azriel she knew. How he held tension in his body like it was armor. How the shadows around him didn’t just cling — they listened.

“You really don’t know anything about this world, do you?” she said, softer now.

“No,” Azriel admitted.

And then, slowly, like the weight of his surprise had unlocked something in her, she began to speak.

“They grew up together. Their fathers were old friends, your father was a smith, hers a spice merchant. They were just… always around each other. Always in each other’s orbit. You used to tease her for stealing fruit off your plate. She used to braid flowers into your hair when you fell asleep in the fields behind her house.”

Azriel listened in silence, the image unfolding before him like a story written in a hand he almost recognized.

“He became a soldier,” she said. “Not a Shadowsinger, he didn't have those shadows. Just a fighter. Loyal. Brave. A little reckless, when it came to her.”

Azriel’s hands were still at his sides, but his knuckles had gone pale.

“He loved her,” she went on. “More than anything. He was quieter than most of the other males we grew up with. Thoughtful. Steady. But gods, when he looked at her…”

She trailed off, blinking fast.

Azriel said nothing. There was something raw sitting in his throat, but he didn’t know what name to give it.

“They were married under the spring cherry trees,” she added after a moment. “I stood beside her. I watched him shake when he kissed her.”

He closed his eyes briefly. The breeze off the Sidra caught the edge of his coat, pulling it slightly. His shadows stayed close, hushed, as if mourning someone they’d never met.

“He died nine years ago,” the friend said finally. “It wasn’t his fault. But it didn’t matter. She hasn’t been the same since.”

Azriel’s voice was barely above a whisper. “And now I’m here.”

She looked at him again, really looked, and for the first time, her eyes softened. “You’re not him,” she said. “But you’re not nothing either.”

Silence stretched between them, and Azriel breathed through the ache of it.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” he said.

“I know,” she answered.

And they stood together at the edge of a world where two lives had almost, impossibly, collided.

Y/N shut the door behind her, turned the lock with trembling fingers, and let her back fall against the wood.

For a long time, she didn’t move.

Velaris was quiet beyond the window, the kind of stillness that always came after the children's laughter faded and the lanterns blinked to life across the Sidra. But the city felt foreign now. Tilted somehow. Too sharp in its familiarity. Like someone had redrawn the lines of everything she'd learned to live with.

She pressed a hand to her cheek and felt the tears that had dried there. She hadn't even noticed when they'd fallen.

Slowly, her feet carried her into the room that used to be theirs.

The walls were warm with the same soft blue he used to say reminded him of summer skies. Her fingers brushed the edge of the dresser, skimming over the old glass bottles and the cluster of pressed flowers still sealed in a frame.

She reached for the drawer beneath the bed. It groaned softly in protest. And there it was. The painting.

A small canvas, edges frayed from being held too many times. A portrait, clumsy, rough-edged, painted on a spring afternoon years ago when the breeze kept stealing her brush and he wouldn’t stop laughing. She’d made him sit still for it, half-scowling, half-grinning. His hand was on hers in the picture, even though she’d never meant to paint that part.

She cradled it in both hands now, sinking slowly to the floor, her back against the side of the bed. Her forehead pressed to the edge of the frame.

He looked so young in it. And now he was standing in her world again. Breathing again. Looking at her with the same eyes but none of the memory.

She had told herself she was fine. That she could handle this. That helping him find his way home was the right thing to do.

But the truth hit her like a blow to the ribs. He wasn’t her Azriel. Her Azriel was gone.

Gone in a way that left the world quieter. In a way that had hollowed out parts of her she’d never been able to refill. And now this new one, this stranger who wore his face and spoke with his voice, had stepped into her life like the echo of a dream she’d spent years trying to forget.

It was too much.

Her hand curled around the bottom of the frame, and her breath hitched.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I don’t know how to breathe around you.”

A shadow slipped through the crack beneath the door.

She didn’t see it. Didn’t feel the gentle shift in air as it moved, curious, cautious. It hovered in the corner of the room, keeping its distance like it understood grief by instinct alone.

She pressed her face into her knees, shoulders shaking.

“I miss you,” she whispered. “I miss you every day.”

The shadow watched, then slipped back through the wood and stone, weaving between alleys and eaves, past flower boxes and lit windows, all the way across Velaris.

It found him at the inn, standing at the window again, still staring at the stars that didn’t belong to him. And when it reached him, it didn’t speak. It didn’t have to.

He felt the truth curl against his ribs as the shadow touched his shoulder, cold with the ache of her.

She was crying.

And somehow, the sound of it broke something open in him too.

────────────

The sun was warm where it filtered through the trees, casting soft shadows across the cobblestone walk. Azriel stood near the gate of the care station, wings tucked in, hands clasped loosely behind his back as he waited.

He didn’t have to turn when he felt her approach. The shadows told him before her footsteps ever reached the stone.

Y/N’s pace was steady, but her shoulders were a little higher than usual, her chin set with quiet resolve. Her eyes met his as she stopped beside him, and for a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.

Then Azriel offered a soft, “How are you doing today?”

She looked at him for a long moment, then gave a small, honest smile. “Coping,” she said. “But… it’s hard. Seeing you like this. Every time I look at you, my heart forgets, for just a second, and then it remembers all over again.”

Azriel nodded, gently. “That makes sense. I'm sorry you have to go through this all."

She glanced at him sideways, searching. “And you? How are you doing in a world that doesn’t quite know you?”

His mouth lifted slightly. “Figuring it out as I go. Trying not to get too attached to the wrong sky.”

That surprised a breath of laughter out of her, small, but real.

“I thought maybe,” he said, “you’d feel better if I distracted you a little.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” she admitted, her voice softer now.

They fell into step, walking side by side down the shaded street that led toward the edge of the city.

“You mentioned a High Lady,” she prompted after a pause. “You really have one in your world?”

Azriel nodded. “Feyre. She’s my High Lady, and Rhysand’s mate.”

Y/N blinked, eyes wide. “You have a mated High Lady?”

“We do,” he said. “And she earned it. She was mortal once. Human. Fought through war and death to save our kind. Rhysand gave her the title because she earned her place beside him. Not behind. Not beneath. Beside.”

Y/N shook her head slowly, clearly captivated. “I’ve never even heard of a female high ruler. In our court, the males still hold the bloodlines. Always have.”

“Feyre shattered that,” Azriel said with quiet pride. “And she didn’t do it alone. Mor helped guide her. Amren too. Powerful females, each in their own way.”

Y/N’s brows lifted. “You’re surrounded by strong women.”

He gave a faint, rueful smile. “That’s an understatement.”

The wind stirred as they turned onto a narrower path lined with stone lanterns.

“I think I would’ve liked your Feyre,” she said after a moment.

“She would’ve liked you too,” he said. “She sees people. The quiet strength in them. The ache they carry. She would’ve seen yours right away.”

Y/N looked at him then, really looked, and for a brief moment, the weight behind her eyes eased.

Ahead, the path curved upward toward the rise of a mossy hill. At the top stood a narrow building nestled in wisteria vines, its windows darkened with age, a carved raven perched over the lintel.

“She’s in there?” Y/N asked.

Azriel nodded. “I can feel the wards already.”

They stopped at the base of the hill.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Are you?”

She took a breath that trembled slightly. Then nodded.

And together, they climbed toward the witch who might hold the answers, and the thread that would lead him home, or unravel everything they’d just begun to hold.

The climb slowed as they reached the top of the hill. The weight of the city seemed to fall away behind them, replaced by the heavy scent of moss and wildflowers. The air was cooler here, still enough that the faint rustle of leaves sounded like a secret waiting to be shared.

Azriel glanced at Y/N. She stood a few steps ahead, shoulders squared but tension visible in the tight set of her jaw, the way her fingers curled lightly at her sides.

He shifted, shadows flickering softly around his ankles, a quiet reminder of the darkness he carried and the light she tried to protect.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly.

She looked back, surprise flickering in her eyes, but her voice was steady. “I don’t know any other way forward.”

He nodded, stepping closer, feeling the subtle tremor in her breath. “Whatever happens in there, I want you to know...”

She cut him off with a small, sad smile. “You already know. It’s not the witch I’m afraid of. It’s what comes after.”

Azriel’s fingers itched to reach for hers, but he held back. “Then we face it together.”

She swallowed, eyes drifting to the carved raven above the door. “I’m not sure if I’m brave enough.”

“You’re braver than you think,” he said, voice low enough that only she could hear.

They stood side by side, the silence stretching between them like a fragile thread. Azriel’s shadows curled protectively, sensing her fear, her hope, and the impossible bond that held them here, tangled between loss and the chance at something new.

Y/N took a shaky breath, and without another word, she lifted her hand and knocked.

The door creaked open slowly, revealing a dim interior that smelled of damp stone, dried herbs, and something older, the scent of magic that had been rooted there long before Velaris rose around it.

The witch was already waiting.

She stood at the center of the room, pale hair swept into a thick braid, her eyes the color of moonstone. Everything about her felt quiet and vast, like a pond with no surface ripple — but Azriel felt the power gathered beneath her skin like coiled smoke.

“You’re not from here,” she said before they even stepped inside.

Azriel inclined his head. “No.”

She gestured them in, and the door shut behind them with a breathless hush. Y/N hovered just behind him, silent, wary.

“Explain,” the witch said, voice like frost curling up a windowpane.

Azriel took his time. He told her about the mission. The witch he’d cornered. The way she screamed in an old tongue as she’d vanished into shadow. The spell that had struck as he was winnowing away. And the moment he landed in Velaris only to find that the stars were wrong and nothing quite fit.

The witch listened without interrupting. When he finished, she moved to the shelves lining the curved wall, fingers gliding over jars and scrolls like she already knew what she’d find.

“That’s weaving magic,” she murmured. “Time-threading. Ancient. Nearly extinct.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed. “You recognize it?”

“Barely,” she replied. “It’s old enough that even most witches have only read about it in theory. Which means the one you angered was exceptionally trained… or dangerous beyond sense. Or both.”

Y/N swallowed, watching the way the witch’s shoulders tightened.

“So what does that mean?” she asked quietly. “Is there a way to undo it?”

The witch turned, scroll in hand. “Maybe. But not quickly. This kind of casting unravels space around it, rips a hole through layered time. You’re not just misplaced, Shadowsinger. You’re displaced. And you’ve dragged the thread of your world with you.”

Azriel stilled. “What are you saying?”

The witch looked at him like a storm just waiting to form. “The Cauldron can only bear so much. When a being slips through timelines like this, especially one bound to another world, another rhythm, the strain begins to tear at the core of everything. Realms blur. Boundaries weaken. If you stay much longer, the damage could become… irreversible.”

Y/N’s breath left her in a slow, unsteady exhale.

The witch's voice dropped lower. “One wrong soul in the wrong timeline is a ripple that doesn’t end. Eventually, the Cauldron cracks. And if that happens, it won’t be just you or this world that falls. The entire weave could collapse, all timelines, all lives. Every version of you. Every version of you and her.”

She didn’t have to gesture toward Y/N for the words to land like a blade.

Azriel’s voice was quiet. “Can you fix it?”

The witch hesitated. “I can try. I’ll need time. And help. I’ll reach out to every coven that still remembers the old languages. But we’re not talking about days. You have to be ready when the moment comes, and it will come suddenly. We may only get one chance.”

Azriel nodded once. “Understood.”

The witch gave him a long, unreadable look. Then turned her gaze to Y/N.

“I don’t need to ask how much it hurts to see him,” she said. “But I do need you to understand that if you keep trying to hold him here, even with your heart, the cost might not stop with you.”

The silence that followed was heavy. The kind that broke bones.

Y/N didn’t speak as they left the witch’s house. Not at first.

But when they reached the edge of the hill, with Velaris spread beneath them like a world pretending to be whole, she finally whispered, “You really do have to go.”

And Azriel, who had watched the edges of her tremble and steel themselves with quiet dignity, didn’t argue.

He simply said, “I know.”

The sun had shifted lower by the time they made their way down the hill, painting Velaris in a watercolor haze of lilac and pale gold. The path was narrow, flanked by wild heather and whispering grass, the city glittering below like a dream waiting to be remembered.

Y/N walked beside him in silence, gaze flicking to the horizon, her jaw tight with thought.

Azriel didn’t speak. He could feel the tension in her steps, the storm moving behind her quiet eyes. It was a familiar silence, but not a comfortable one. This wasn’t the silence they’d shared in the witch’s house, filled with fear and consequence. This one was quieter. Raw. Human.

“I know it’s dangerous,” she said suddenly, voice low, like she wasn’t quite ready to admit it out loud. “I know you shouldn’t be here. I understand what’s at stake, what could break because of this.”

He glanced at her, but she kept her eyes forward.

“And still,” she breathed, “some part of me was hoping you could stay. Just a little while longer.”

Azriel’s heart thudded against his ribs. He said nothing, waiting.

Y/N shook her head, her voice thinning with guilt. “It’s selfish. I didn’t even think about… Oh gods...” she stopped walking and turned to him, wide-eyed. “Is someone waiting for you back home?”

Azriel blinked. Then slowly, gently, he said, “No. No one like that.”

She looked away, swallowing hard, but not before he saw the flicker of relief that passed through her features. Relief and shame.

“My family,” he added, softer, “my court. They’ll be worried. But they can wait a bit longer… if staying here means I might help you heal.”

Y/N’s lips parted, but the words didn’t come. Her throat bobbed with the effort to speak.

“I won’t force anything,” Azriel went on. “While we wait for the witch to find a way back, it’s your choice. If you want me to stay away, I will. If it’s easier to forget I’m here, I’ll disappear into the city and you won’t see me again until it’s time.”

She looked at him now. Fully. The grief in her eyes shimmered, but so did something else. Something fragile and reaching.

“But,” he said, the barest trace of a smile curling at the edge of his mouth, “if you think maybe… maybe we could spend some time together, even just as strangers, I’d like that too.”

Y/N stared at him, and then, slowly, her lips curved into a faint, wistful smile.

“There were things,” she whispered, “my Azriel never had time for. Little things. I always told him we had forever.”

Azriel took a breath, feeling the tightness in his chest ease.

“Then let me do them with you,” he said. “I have time.”

The city glowed warmer below them now, the river catching the last light of day.

Y/N nodded once, more to herself than him. “He never got to learn how to paint. Or dance without armor on. Or ruin a cake recipe just because he always wanted to.”

Azriel chuckled, a low, quiet sound that made her eyes brighten.

“I’m excellent at ruining recipes,” he said. “That one I’ve already mastered.”

Y/N laughed — and it cracked something open.

They kept walking.

This time, they walked slower.

────────────

The next day dawned pale and bright, the kind of morning that smelled like clean air and promise. Velaris stirred gently to life as Azriel made his way to the care station, a small satchel slung over one shoulder, shadows curling lazily along his collar like drowsy cats.

The children spotted him first.

Cries of delight broke out across the garden as a handful of small figures dashed toward the fence, little hands waving, eyes wide. Y/N stood under the canvas awning that shaded the painting tables, her apron already dotted with a dozen different colors. She looked up, and despite everything — the pain, the weight of yesterday — her smile came easily.

“You came,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“I said I would,” Azriel replied, glancing around. “Besides, I’m here to ruin your art supplies.”

“You’re about to be in a lot of trouble,” she warned playfully, already handing him a paintbrush.

The table was covered in bright pots of color, paper curling in the corners from the morning breeze, little hands dipping brushes into everything at once. Azriel found himself seated between two wide-eyed children, both whispering about how tall he was.

“Are you a warrior?” one of them asked.

“Sometimes,” he said, lips twitching.

“He’s going to paint with us today,” Y/N said from across the table. “Be nice.”

Azriel dipped his brush into something bright pink and started dragging uneven strokes across his page. Purposefully clumsy, exaggeratedly bad. The kids giggled with delight as his “painting” became a lopsided blob with what might’ve been wings.

“This is terrible,” Y/N said, leaning over his shoulder.

“I warned you.”

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

He didn’t reply.

Her voice lowered. “You’re better than this, aren’t you?”

He looked up, surprised to find her gaze already waiting for him. Calm. Patient. A little amused.

Azriel sighed. “A little.”

“Then paint something real.”

He blinked. “Real?”

“Something that reminds you of home.”

The children were still lost in their own work, but Y/N had settled across from him now, eyes steady, hands stained blue at the knuckles.

Azriel picked up a clean sheet, silent for a long moment. Then he began.

His brush moved slowly, deliberately this time. Thin strokes forming shadows first, not harsh, not frightening, but soft, layered darkness like the kind that gathered under quiet trees. Then came the mountains, sharp and proud, painted in indigo and deep green, rising in the distance.

A sky filled in next. Not just blue, but dotted with constellations, each one placed with careful reverence.

At the center, a single stone balcony, draped in ivy and overlooking a silver river. There were no people. Only light. Stillness.

Y/N didn’t say a word while he worked. She watched, hands folded in her lap.

When he was done, Azriel set the brush down and sat back.

“That’s the House of Wind,” she said quietly.

He nodded once. “It’s where I feel most like myself.”

She looked at the painting for a long time. “It’s beautiful.”

His voice was soft. “Thank you.”

There was a quiet between them, warm and full, not the silence of absence, but of something being gently built. In the background, a child was explaining to another that Azriel’s first painting was definitely a dragon.

Y/N smiled. “Tomorrow, you’re baking.”

Azriel raised a brow. “I’m what?”

“Ruining a recipe,” she said, eyes sparkling. “Like you promised.”

He chuckled, a low sound that stirred something in her chest.

“All right,” he murmured. “But only if you help me clean up the disaster.”

Y/N leaned her chin on her hand, watching him.

“Deal.”

Azriel wiped his hands on the edge of his tunic, smirking faintly at the streaks of paint across his skin. Most of it was probably from the children, but some, he admitted, was definitely from him.

“Should I help clean this up?” he asked, glancing at the mess of paper, drying brushes, and tipped-over jars of color.

Y/N had already started stacking the unused paper. She looked up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“No, you don’t have to. You’re a guest.”

“I insist,” he said simply.

She hesitated, then laughed under her breath. “You’re very stubborn, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

With a small shake of her head, she handed him a cloth. “Fine. Wipe the brushes gently. We try to save them as long as possible.”

Azriel took the cloth, his hands deft and steady as he followed her instructions. They moved quietly beside each other, the easy rhythm of shared work wrapping around them. For a while, it felt almost ordinary. Light spilling in through the awning, soft laughter still trailing across the yard.

Then, suddenly-

“Miss Y/N!”

A small voice broke across the space.

One of the children, a little boy with untied boots and paint on his chin, came barreling up to them. His eyes were wide, worried.

“It’s Lyla,” he panted. “She fell. Her knee’s bleeding. She’s behind the swings.”

Y/N’s face changed instantly — concern replacing ease. She set down the brushes and knelt to the boy’s level, brushing his curls back gently.

“Is she crying?”

He nodded. “A little.”

“Good job coming to get me,” she said, squeezing his shoulder before rising and heading off across the garden.

Azriel watched her go. The way she crouched beside the small, crumpled shape near the swings, her hands soft as she checked the child’s knee, her voice low and steady. The boy hovered near them the whole time, guilt in every line of his little frame. She pulled him close too, one arm wrapping around each sibling as she whispered something only they could hear.

Azriel didn’t know what it was, but both children clung to her like roots to soil.

He didn’t look away.

Not when she kissed the girl’s forehead. Not when she helped them both stand. Not when she walked back across the grass with her braid loose and her cheeks a little flushed from the sun.

“She’ll be all right,” Y/N said as she reached him again. “Nothing serious. A scrape and a fright.”

“You’re good with them.”

She gave him a small smile. “They’re easy to love.”

Azriel’s mouth twitched. “So are you.”

She froze just slightly. He looked away, but the words lingered between them, soft and unthreatening. Like a truth neither of them needed to acknowledge yet.

“I should let you go,” she said gently. “You’ve spent enough of your day here.”

Azriel’s brows lifted. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

Y/N tilted her head. “You really don’t?”

He shook his head once. “Not until the witches find a way home. And even then…” He looked around at the garden, the half-dry paintings, the swing swaying slightly in the breeze. “I don’t mind being here. Not at all.”

Something in her chest eased. Not everything. But something.

“I could tell them a story,” Azriel said then. “If they’re tired. Something from my world. I could… make it sound like a fairy tale.”

Y/N studied him for a long moment. “You know any stories with dragons and starlight?”

He gave her a rare, small smile. “I know one with a High Lady who turned a battlefield into a blooming field of moonflowers.”

The surprise in her eyes turned to delight. “Go on, then. They’ll love that.”

Azriel turned toward the group of children now gathering under the big tree near the edge of the garden. The sun had shifted again, dappling light through the leaves, and as he sat down in the grass, a dozen eager faces leaned closer.

He looked back once, just briefly.

Y/N stood nearby, arms crossed loosely, watching him.

For the first time in a long time, in either world, Azriel let himself settle.

────────────

The wind howled low through the canyons of Velaris, carrying with it something strange, a pulse beneath the air, as if the city had drawn breath and forgotten how to exhale.

In a dim, windowless chamber beneath her ivy-covered cottage, the witch worked.

Scrolls lined every surface. Spellbooks lay open to pages so brittle they nearly crumbled beneath her hands. Runes flickered along the floor in fading gold, ancient symbols drawn in circles of salt and powdered quartz. Candles burned with sickly blue flames, their wax dripping sideways, as if gravity itself was beginning to tilt.

Her fingertips trembled. She had felt it again. The Cauldron.

Not in a dream, not in a vision, but in her own bones, a thunderous crack of power, distant but real. Like a ripple through the ocean of time itself. One timeline brushing too close to another, dragging its weight behind it.

She dropped the crystal she had been scrying with. It shattered.

“Damn it,” she hissed, rising to pace the circle.

Magic swirled in the corners of the room, uneasy. The Cauldron did not like to be tampered with. It hated interference, especially from mortals who meddled with the delicate weave of fates not meant to cross.

And yet… someone had done just that.

A witch. Skilled enough to rip one Azriel from his thread and toss him into the wrong tapestry.

And now, the Cauldron was fraying. Not yet breaking. But it would. Soon.

She raised her hands again, whispering the tracing spell. The map of timelines floated before her, glowing strings dancing in the air. One line flickered, silver and pulsing. Azriel’s.

It crossed where it should not.

“I need more time,” she murmured, eyes scanning a dozen different volumes, trying to remember where she had last seen the binding rite. “Just a little more…”

Outside, the wind shifted again, dry and sharp with something like heat. Magic was unraveling. And if she couldn’t fix it… The worlds would bleed.

In the meantime, Velaris held its breath in quieter ways.

The sun filtered through clouds like gold poured from a pitcher, softening the sharp edges of the city. Along the Sidra, the river murmured to itself, weaving through stone bridges and glass-lit walkways as if it had never heard of timelines or cracking Cauldrons.

At a quiet corner café by the water’s edge, Y/N sat across from Azriel, a half-eaten slice of honeyed pear tart on the plate between them.

Azriel had no idea how she’d convinced him to try it, only that the moment she wrinkled her nose and said, “You’ve never had this before?” he’d already agreed. Her smile had done most of the work.

Now, he sipped warm tea from a delicate mug far too small for his hands, letting the sweetness linger on his tongue. The sun caught in his hair, in the curve of her cheek as she laughed at something he didn’t know he’d said quite that funny.

He didn’t think about the witch’s warning. Or the ripple he felt in his shadows earlier that morning. Not right now.

“You’re staring,” Y/N said, her voice light but not teasing.

Azriel blinked, caught. “Just listening,” he said softly, and her expression flickered with something warmer than the sun.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly shy. “To what?”

“The river. Your laugh. Everything.”

That earned a softer smile. Not the kind she gave the children or her friend or even the strangers in the market. This one was quieter. More uncertain. Like she didn’t quite know where to put it.

Their plates sat between them, a shared little mess of tart crust and berry stains.

Azriel leaned back slightly, watching the boats drift past on the Sidra, their sails bright against the water. His wings were folded, his shadows quiet.

“How do you do it?” he asked after a pause.

“Do what?”

“Live like this. After everything.”

Y/N stirred her tea, eyes on the rippling water. “Some days I don’t. Not fully. But then… the sun still rises. The children still laugh. And someone has to be there to hear it.”

Azriel looked at her for a long time. Then, with a faint smile, he said, “I’m glad it’s you.”

Her gaze met his, steady and unsure at once. “And I’m glad you’re here.”

Azriel set his mug down, fingers brushing the rim once before he leaned forward slightly, voice soft in the lull between river sounds and city life.

“You know, back home,” he said, “Feyre, the High Lady, she painted stars on the ceiling of her house. Said they reminded her of hope. I never really understood that until I saw them in the dark once. Alone.”

Y/N smiled faintly, resting her chin in one hand. “And do they remind you of hope?”

Azriel’s gaze lifted to the river, to the way the light danced like silver thread along the surface. “They did,” he said. “Still do.”

But her eyes weren’t on the river.

They had fallen to his hands, gloved as always, even in the warm air. The fabric was worn, the seams faintly frayed at the knuckles. But where the glove slipped back from his wrist, she could just make out the beginning of raised skin. Scars. Twisting like old fire, etched deep and permanent.

Her Azriel didn’t have those scars.

She wondered how far they went. Up to his knuckles? His fingers? Were they from a battle? A punishment? A childhood that had taken more than it ever gave?

She didn’t ask. It wasn’t hers to know, not yet. And maybe not ever.

But something in her chest ached anyway, because she could feel how heavy it must be. Whatever weight those gloves hid, it pressed into the silence between them like an old bruise.

Azriel had noticed her glance. He always noticed.

But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift to hide. He only lifted the cup again, held it steady between those gloved hands.

Y/N looked up quickly, catching his gaze.

“I won’t ask,” she said, the words barely above a whisper. “But… I see you.”

Azriel stilled.

And then, with a quiet breath, like the softest exhale of his shadows, he nodded. “Thank you.”

They didn’t speak again for a while. Not because there was nothing to say, but because something deeper was already being understood.

Y/N sat with her legs tucked beneath her on the bench seat, a smile playing at her lips as she watched a little boy toddle past with a string tied to a stick, his makeshift dragon clattering behind him across the cobblestones.

“He reminds me of my brother,” she said suddenly, gaze drifting.

Azriel looked over from where he was peeling apart a croissant. “You have a brother?”

“I do,” she said, still smiling, though there was a soft melancholy to it. “He's in another court now. Duty called him. But before that, he was a terror. In the best way.”

She turned toward him, chin resting on her hand. “We used to sneak honey cakes from the summer festivals. Hide them in the garden under the old peach tree and pretend we were squirrels storing food for winter. Of course, we’d eat them all by sunset. I always had the crumbs on my face, and he never took the blame. Not once.”

Azriel chuckled quietly. “Did you get caught?”

“Every time. My father pretended not to know, but he’d bring out extra sweets at dinner. Said something about growing appetites.” She paused, her eyes twinkling. “That peach tree is still there. Overgrown and wild, but every year, it blooms just the same.”

Azriel watched her as she spoke — the way her hands moved, how the sunlight caught in her hair, how her voice lightened as the story unfolded. There was something brighter in her now. A part of her that had been submerged in grief when he first arrived, now slowly surfacing.

She didn’t look fragile anymore. She looked real. Whole, in a new way.

He smiled, quiet and genuine. “You loved him.”

“With everything,” she said. Then, after a breath, “Like I loved him.”

Azriel’s expression shifted, softening even more. “You’ve been smiling more,” he said.

Y/N glanced at him, caught off guard. “I have?”

He nodded, his shadows curling lazily along the floor beneath the table. “You laugh more too. The children said so yesterday.”

She leaned back, exhaling slowly. “I didn’t think I would, again. Not like this.”

Azriel didn’t say anything, but his gaze stayed steady on her.

She looked down at the tea in her hands, fingers tracing the rim of the cup. “It’s strange, isn’t it? That you could come here by accident and still... somehow bring light back with you.”

Azriel swallowed, the words landing like a weight and a gift all at once. “Maybe it wasn’t an accident.”

Y/N looked up at him and for a moment, the world around them slowed. The rustle of leaves. The breeze off the water. The soft laughter of someone nearby. It all hushed.

“Maybe not,” she whispered.

They sat in that quiet together, the sun warming their skin, and the scent of fresh bread and citrus between them.

And though neither of them said it aloud, they both knew, something was shifting. Not just timelines. But hearts, too.

The moment the breeze shifted, Y/N knew. It was as if the day exhaled, soft and cool, suddenly too still. The scent of citrus faded, replaced by something ancient and electric, like a storm not yet seen but already felt in the bones.

Azriel noticed it too. His shadows straightened, alert. Then, without warning, she was there.

The witch stepped out of the air beside their table, her robes dark and shimmering faintly with threads of starlight. Her face was as calm as the Sidra behind them, but her presence brought with it something colder. Final.

Y/N’s heart clenched.

She stood quickly, nearly knocking her tea. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

The witch nodded once. “Yes. I’ve found a way.”

Azriel rose more slowly, his jaw tightening as he faced her. “You’re sure it will work?”

The witch’s eyes glinted, old magic whispering in her voice. “As sure as I can be. But there’s no room for delay. The threads of your presence here have begun to fray the structure of this realm. I can feel the Cauldron straining, one more crack, and it won’t be this world that breaks.”

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat.

It was happening.

It had always been coming, but hearing it aloud, seeing the truth in the witch’s steady gaze, it tore the air from her lungs.

Azriel said nothing for a long moment. Then he looked at Y/N.

He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t need to. The look in his eyes was enough. She tried to hold herself steady. Tried to breathe. But the witch’s words echoed inside her.

It’s time.

He was leaving.

Azriel turned back to the witch, voice rough but steady. “How long do we have?”

The witch considered. “A few hours. Sunset.”

Sunset.

That left so little, and somehow, far too much.

Y/N forced herself to nod. Her fingers trembled slightly at her sides, but her voice was level. “Where do we need to go?”

“I’ll find you again,” the witch said. “I just needed to give you warning. You’ll know when.”

She stepped back into the wind, and with a rustle of her robes and a flicker of violet magic, she was gone.

Silence fell again over the café.

The world kept moving. People still passed by, unaware that anything had changed. But for Azriel and Y/N, the day had shifted on its axis.

The end had a shape now. And it was coming fast.

The sun had begun its slow descent, casting the Sidra in liquid gold. The river flowed gently beside them, quiet and endless, its surface glittering like stardust.

Y/N walked beside Azriel in silence, her fingers brushing occasionally against the edge of his cloak. The breeze tugged at her hair, and for a while, all they did was walk, as if they could outpace time itself, if they didn’t speak, if they just kept moving.

But Azriel felt it in her. The way her shoulders curled inward just slightly. The soft tension in her breath. Her sadness folded itself neatly around her like a second skin.

And he felt it in himself, too. That ache.

Not the sharp pain of battle wounds or the burn of shadows in his blood, but something quieter, heavier. A kind of loss that hadn’t happened yet but had already taken root.

He glanced at her, then away. “You’ve helped me more than I ever expected.”

She looked up at him, lips parted as if to protest, but he kept going, voice low. “I came here thinking I’d just disrupted something. That I’d landed somewhere I didn’t belong. And I did. But it’s not just that.”

The shadows at his back stirred gently, like they, too, were listening.

“You’ve reminded me what gentleness looks like,” he said, his voice a near whisper. “You reminded me that healing isn’t just survival. It’s... softness. It’s letting yourself laugh again.”

Y/N’s eyes shimmered, but she kept walking.

Azriel stopped. She did too, a step later, turning toward him slowly.

“If there was a way,” he said, voice barely above the hush of the river, “I’d take you with me.”

The words hung between them, fragile and impossible.

His gaze dropped, and he exhaled softly. “But I know it wouldn’t work. It’s not that kind of magic. It’s not that kind of story.”

Y/N smiled. Not because she was happy, but because she wanted to give him something kind. Her eyes, though, they told the truth. They ached. They mourned.

Still, she stepped in close. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

Her arms came around him, quiet and certain, and she pressed her cheek to his chest. Her hands flattened against his back, holding him there, like maybe she could memorize the feel of him before he was gone.

She inhaled, deeply, taking in his scent, the leather and pine, the faint trace of wind and steel and something only he carried.

Azriel hesitated only a moment before his arms wrapped around her too. Firm, steady, as if he could hold this second in place forever.

Neither of them spoke.

The Sidra flowed beside them, patient and unknowing. The sun dipped lower. And the minutes they had left slipped quietly by, wrapped in silence and warmth and the weight of everything that would never be said.

The witch emerged from the dusk, her presence silent but heavy with ancient power. Her eyes, gleaming with stars and secrets, settled on them both. There was no urgency in her voice, only a steady certainty as she said, “It is time. You must return.”

Azriel’s gaze shifted slowly to Y/N, searching her face as though trying to etch every curve, every unspoken word into memory. The shadows curled protectively around him, but the strength in his eyes softened with something almost like sorrow.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward, his fingers trembling just slightly as they traced the gentle line of her cheek. The skin was warm beneath his touch, grounding him in this impossible moment.

He leaned in slowly, closing the space between them with a kiss oh her cheek, soft and reverent, a whisper against her skin. The kiss spoke of gratitude and regret, of all the stolen moments and all the things left unsaid.

“Thank you,” he breathed, voice raw with feeling. “For everything. For this.”

Y/N’s breath caught, and for a moment the world seemed to hold its breath with them. Her hands twined in the fabric of his cloak, reluctant to let go, desperate to keep hold of this fragment of a life she never thought she’d have.

His eyes searched hers once more, filled with a fierce tenderness, before he stepped back, shadows rising like dark wings around him, cloaking him from the world.

The witch raised her hand, fingers weaving a silent spell, and a pulse of violet light rippled outward, wrapping Azriel in its glow. The air thrummed with the power of the Cauldron itself, fragile and fierce.

In the blink of an eye, Azriel was gone.

Left behind was the fading warmth of his kiss, the faint scent of leather and pine hanging in the quiet evening air, and Y/N — standing alone by the Sidra, holding onto the echo of a goodbye that still felt impossibly too soon.

────────────

The familiar hum of Velaris pulsed all around him—the distant laughter of street performers, the soft murmur of the Sidra’s waters, the gentle clinking of glasses from nearby taverns—but Azriel felt strangely untethered, like a ghost wandering through his own city. The days since his return blurred together, a fog swallowing his memories whole. Rhys and Cassian had told him he’d been gone for over a week, vanished without a trace, only to reappear as if nothing had happened. He couldn't remember what happened. But inside, Azriel knew something had changed.

There was a quiet, steady warmth beneath the surface, something healing, gentle, like a balm on old wounds he hadn’t realized were still raw.

Today, he was helping Feyre move canvases and crates into her art studio, the smell of fresh paint mingling with the scent of spring rain drifting through open windows. Feyre’s laughter was bright and easy, her presence grounding him even as a restless pull tugged at his chest.

His gaze drifted across the bustling town square just as he set down a heavy crate. And there, among the crowd, he saw her.

A fae, standing with an effortless grace that made the sunlight catch in her hair, turning it to molten gold. She was looking not quite at him, but through him, as if glimpsing into places only shadows could reach… a spark of recognition he couldn’t place, like a forgotten song playing just beyond hearing.

Azriel didn’t understand why his heart quickened, why his hand lifted almost instinctively in a hesitant wave.

The fae’s eyes widened, and then a soft, almost knowing smile curved her lips. She returned his wave before slipping quietly into a nearby shop, disappearing before he could reach her.

His hand dropped slowly, confusion settling over him like a shadow.

He didn’t know who she was. He couldn’t remember her.

But the pull, the silent thread connecting them, was undeniable, aching beneath his skin like a promise he couldn’t yet understand.

"You've been quiet all day," she said, her voice low and knowing. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Azriel blinked, distracted. Across the square, he could see her through the glasses of that shop.

Feyre followed his gaze, then looked back at him, her brow furrowed. "Az?"

"I... I don’t know," he murmured, almost to himself.

"You don’t know what?" she asked.

But he couldn’t answer. The feeling was too strange, too sharp. His heart thudded in his chest, and before he could stop himself, the words left him like a breath, half-formed and distant.

"I need to go."

"Go where?"

But he was already walking away, crossing the street without looking back, the hum of Feyre’s concern fading behind him.

She had disappeared into a shop moments before, but he knew. He didn’t know why. Didn’t know how. But he knew.

The bell above the door chimed softly as he stepped inside. The world quieted, holding its breath.

And then, there she was.

Closer now. Real. Solid. Her eyes widened, the same as before, but now with something else behind them. Something fragile, something infinite.

Azriel felt it again, deep in his chest. That pull. That thread. It trembled between them like spun gold.

She tilted her head, voice tentative, soft. “Do I... know you?”

He hesitated for a breath, then offered a small smile, one that felt strange and familiar all at once.

"I’m Azriel."

A beat of silence. Then she returned his smile, something in her gaze breaking open.

"I’m Y/N."

Their names, shared again for the first time. A beginning carved into the end.

And somewhere, just beneath the surface, the thread between them tightened.

Not remembering. Not yet.

But knowing, somehow, all the same.

#azriel #azriel acomaf #azriel acotar #azriel acotar series #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #acotar #acotar series #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand acotar #rhysand #feyre archeron #rhys acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #cassian acotar #shadowsinger #azriel fic

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girlinterupptedsblog · 24 days ago

Note

rafe walking in on reader humping her pillow

Don't stop now bunny

Pairing: bf!rafe cameron x bunny!reader

It was hot in your room, the kind of heat that came from restless energy and being too wrapped up in your own thoughts. The afternoon sun poured through the sheer curtains, casting golden light across the bed where you laid sprawled out, tangled in your sheets with nothing but a tank top and panties on. You didn’t think twice about locking the door. Rafe was supposed to be out all day. Some Kook thing with Topper and Kelce. Something about boats and beer and acting like assholes.

And you’d been stuck in your head all day. Wanting, needing, restless in a way that made your skin feel electric. You tried reading, watching a movie, scrolling through your phone, but nothing cut through the fog of desire sitting low and heavy in your body.

So you gave in.

It started slow. Just the press of your thighs together, rocking ever so slightly as you laid on your stomach, your face buried in the pillow. But soon, your hips moved on instinct. More pressure. A rhythm. You grabbed one of the softer pillows—your favorite one, the one that had just the right give—and slid it between your legs, your breath catching as you started grinding against it in slow, desperate movements.

You didn’t even say anything. Just quiet little gasps into the sheets. Embarrassingly needy. The kind of thing you’d never let anyone see. Especially not Rafe. You knew how he was. Rough around the edges. A little dangerous. Way too cocky for his own good. But God, the way he touched you when he wanted to it made your head spin.

You were so lost in the friction, in chasing that edge, that you didn’t even hear the door open.

“...The fuck?”

You froze. Blood rushing in your ears. Your whole body went rigid like you’d been struck by lightning. You turned your head just slightly to look over your shoulder.

There he was.

Rafe. Standing in the doorway. Shirt half-unbuttoned, backwards hat, that smug little smile spreading across his face slowly like a wolf seeing prey. His eyes dragged over your body—your hips, the way your thighs hugged the pillow, the tension in your arms as you pushed yourself up slightly in panic.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, your voice high and mortified. “Rafe, get out—!”

You scrambled to move, to throw the pillow away, to bury yourself in the covers like maybe if you moved fast enough it would erase what he saw.

But he didn’t leave.

He just leaned against the doorframe and cocked his head, biting the inside of his cheek like he was enjoying this way too much.

“Why’d you stop, bunny?”

His voice was low. Dangerous. Curious. That nickname made your face burn hotter.

“Don’t get all shy now,” he said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him with a soft click. “I mean… you were putting on a show.”

You shook your head, completely flustered, pulling the covers up to your chest like they could protect your dignity. “I didn’t know you were home! Jesus, Rafe, just—go!”

But he was already at the edge of the bed.

He reached forward, grabbed the blanket, and peeled it down slowly—like he had all the time in the world. You tried to resist, but he gave you that look. The one that said he wasn’t asking.

“Let me see you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I wanna see you pleasure yourself,” he murmured, brushing his fingers along your hip, over the hem of your panties. “You looked so fuckin’ pretty grinding like that. So needy for it. C’mon, bunny. Don’t be shy now.”

You swallowed hard. Your heart was pounding, equal parts fear and anticipation. This wasn’t how you ever imagined him finding out. But now that he had…

You hesitated. And he must’ve seen the conflict in your eyes, because he smiled again—this time, slower, more deliberate. He sat at the foot of the bed and leaned back on his elbows.

“I won’t touch you,” he said, voice low and velvet-smooth. “Not unless you beg me to. I just wanna watch. Watch my good girl make herself feel good.”

The words melted something in you.

You turned your face away, hiding in your hair for a second as your fingers crept down to grab the pillow again. He didn’t say anything—just watched, his breath shallow as you pulled it between your thighs again and slowly settled against it.

You felt so exposed. More than if you were naked.

But at the same time… it sent a thrill through your veins. The way his eyes were glued to you. The way you could hear the quiet hitch in his breathing when you rolled your hips again. Just once. Then twice.

“Fuck…” he whispered. “That’s it. Just like that, bunny.”

Your cheeks were burning, but your body was betraying you. Grinding slowly against the pillow again, feeling that friction, your hands clutching the sheets as you started building your rhythm again—this time, for him.

You felt his gaze like a physical thing. It made everything more intense. You whimpered softly into the mattress, unable to stop the way your hips moved or the warmth building in your core.

“Look at you,” Rafe groaned, leaning forward slightly now, his pupils blown wide. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy when you’re like this. All desperate. Just needing it so bad, you’ll hump your pillow like a little bunny in heat.”

You gasped, half in embarrassment and half in pleasure. His words were dirty and sharp—but they worked. They made your skin tingle and your muscles tighten.

You pressed harder, your thighs clenching, grinding faster now, panting softly. You could feel it coming—so close, the edge right there.

“Don’t stop now,” he murmured, almost like he was hypnotized. “I wanna see you come just like this. Come for me, baby. Show me how pretty you are when you lose control.”

That was it.

You moaned, legs trembling, burying your face in the sheets as the climax hit—intense, drawn out, full-body. You ground against the pillow one last time, riding it out, gasping through the waves of pleasure that overtook you. Your body arched and twitched, every nerve lit up.

When it finally passed, you collapsed onto the mattress, utterly spent and shaking.

There was a pause. Just breathing. Yours, ragged and shallow. His, heavy and slow.

You peeked up at him.

Rafe was still at the foot of the bed, but now he looked like he was the one barely holding it together. Jaw clenched. Hands tight. A very obvious bulge pressing against his jeans.

“My pretty bunny” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, voice hoarse.

Then, after a moment, he smirked.

“You’re mine now, bunny. You know that, right?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really. You just nodded, still catching your breath as he reached for you, finally pulling you into his lap.

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theveryworstthing · 10 months ago

Text

time to learn a little bit about the Yells. i've been writing a few lore posts for a while and instead of continuing to let they grow and fretting over them, i think i'm just going to throw a few out there and try to finish up the rest this week.

The Yells

Despite their imposing size, strange behaviors, and mysterious keepers, the Signallusc (or The Yells as most rabbits call them) are considered just another part of the island landscape. These towering faux trees serve as the island version of radio towers, and make all radio communication above and below ground possible.

Though the 2 largest of the naturally formed Yells are still upright and active (and heavily protected so that their natural life cycle can be properly studied), these days rabbits prefer to cultivate the towers so that they don’t grow in problematic areas or do…other things.

Wild or free growth Yells make their homes in dead rotting wood as natural decomposers, and many live out their lives as simple slime molds (or as simple as any slime mold can be). Certain conditions must be met to trigger the drastic color change and vertical growth that make them viable for communication use, and so wild Yells are usually found growing in small clusters in or around the resources they need to sustain their new forms. Dead trees or stumps with roots still in the ground are prime hosts for these slime molds and they’re actually seen as beneficial since they stabilize potentially dangerous dead trees and kill diseases or especially destructive insects that might harm surrounding living trees. Once inside these dead trees the slime mold eats them from the inside out, taking the branches first, and then devouring the mass from the top down.

Compared to other slime molds they can handle direct sunlight quite well, but wild yells still tend to favor hosts in shady areas and from the way these trees are devoured they seem to try and keep some sort of shell around them for as long as possible. This wooden shell not only serves as food, but also gives the growing Yell a moist, dark, home until its outer membrane is thick and strong enough to handle being constantly exposed. When wild Yells “die”, it’s usually because they’ve run out of host tree long ago, and have stiffened into a rigid structure that eventually cracks (usually due to being struck by lightning) and crumbles, releasing clouds of spores. The remains of a Yell dissolve in the first rain after they fall and tend to leave the area around the strange lotus pod-ish pit in the ground where “roots” used to be spotless, but smelling very metallic with a hint of foulness. Almost like not so fresh blood.

Through the observations recorded by island botanists and the specific botanical sect known as the Antenna, rabbits (and hares, as they were the first to investigate and made great strides in understanding the process before they left the island en masse) have learned exactly what triggers Yell vertical growth and have used this knowledge to cultivate Yells quite successfully. A combination of owl feathers, metal ore (mainly bog iron), charcoal sticks and or ash (best if created by lightning strike, wood preferred but animal remains like burned out hawks are perfectly acceptable), and a little starter wood are fed to the slime mold, and after it’s broken everything down it begins its transformation. It is then introduced to a host plant sprout, a type of fast growing, woody, creeping vine in the Grasp family bred specifically for this purpose (wild cultivars work fine but they’re half as hardy and the bond has a greater chance of triggering very upsetting mutations. These are different from the upsetting mutations, which are fine and harmless). From then on the slime mold seems to guide the host plant’s growth, forming a shell from the vines that is constantly growing and shedding. This serves as both a home and an ample food source.

The botany world is torn on whether this forms a mutualistic symbiotic relationship or whether it’s straight up parasitism. And yes, plant nerd blood has been spilled over this argument. Not a ton of blood, it’s not like this is the great lichen wars, but still.

The Antenna

All yell care-taking is done by the Antenna sect. This is a mysterious group of witchy botanists and engineers who, like the previously referred to upsetting mutations, are harmless despite their entire vibe. Well. Harmless enough for botanists anyway.

Not a lot is known about them by the general public but they keep things working smoothly and show up quickly when something isn’t.

Members of this sect haven’t had a set “look” or uniform for about a generation and a half due to the ending of a lot of the the founding member’s bloodlines, but each Yell site has it’s own culture that attracts certain kinds of people. Despite their differences, there are a few things that make Antennae easier to pick out of a crowd if you know what to look for. The skin of their inner ears develop thin branching markings or wave-like ripples depending on how they interact with Yells. Some have obvious hare ancestry and sport roughly branching horns that grow quite long and shed every year (these shed horns are fed to the Yells). Newer members wear a lot of lightweight ear jewelry to help pick up important signals and behavioral quirks from the Yells, but the longer they stay in the Antenna the less tolerant they are of this. Things get…loud. Behind their eyes. Inside their teeth. Seasoned members usually can’t stand wearing any metal jewelry at all. The head botanist of one of the most remote Yells wears ear plugs almost 24/7 because of left behind shrapnel from an accident in his youth.

He is deaf.

He says he’s not really blocking anything out, just sorting it properly.

No one really knows what he means. It’s fine.

#rabbits of downtrodden #long post #the yells #downtrodden #radio tower #rabbits

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fromrory · 1 month ago

Text

You Should've Just Told Him !

POV:Wally West Pairing: Wally West x GN!Reader (with a fem!reader in mind tho) Tags: secret relationship, best friend’s sister, oblivious Dick Grayson, chaos upon discovery, fluff, established relationship Word count: ~1.2k Requested by: @simpingmyassoff Taglist🏷️: @simpingmyassoff , @shootingstargirl2001 (if you want to be added,comment down below!) A/N: English isn't my first lenguage,enjoy! ! ! A/N 2: This is my frist time writing for Wally. . . Hope y'all like it (don't crucify me pls)

To be fair, it wasn’t Wally’s fault.

Things with you had just… happened. One night he stayed too long at the manor, the two of you talking into the early hours of the morning, laughing over mutual secondhand Bat Trauma™. Then another night. Then lunch. Then coffee. Then somehow you were in his hoodie and in his arms and he couldn’t imagine going a day without you.

It was supposed to be temporary. Quiet. Harmless.

But you were Dick Grayson’s sibling. And if Wally knew anything, it was that Dick would absolutely lose his mind if he found out.

So he kept it to himself.

Too bad Wally sucked at secrets.

“Dude, you’ve been smiling at your phone like an idiot for ten minutes,” Dick said, tossing a batarang into the air while they waited for burgers. “Who is she?”

Wally froze mid-scroll, then slowly locked his phone.

“No one.”

Dick raised a brow. “No one makes you text back that fast and grin like that.”

“She’s just…” Wally scratched his neck, avoiding eye contact. “She’s cool. Super smart. Funny. Gorgeous. I like her.”

Dick leaned in, suspicious. “You’re dating someone?”

“Maybe.”

“WHO?”

“Okay but like, you’re gonna freak out.”

“Why would I freak out?”

“Because... it’s... complicated.”

“Wally. You say that like I’m gonna find out it’s Harley Quinn or something.”

Wally snorted. “Definitely not Harley.”

Still, Wally refused to name you. And that drove Dick insane.

The next few days were a blur of detective-level obsession. Dick had names, theories, red string. He watched Wally’s every move, hacked into the Titans’ camera logs, tried to trace who he was texting so much. But your phone was under an alias and Wally had clearly learned something from hanging around the Bat-Family: no traces.

You, of course, were delighted.

“I’m just saying,” you said casually while painting your nails, “if this mystery girl is real, I think she deserves the world.”

“Don’t take his side,” Dick grumbled. “He’s hiding her. He’s hiding her from me.”

You just smiled into your cup.

A few days later, Wally and Dick were back at the manor, lounging on the couch mid-video game battle. Dick was winning. Wally was complaining.

“Your character’s rigged.”

“You chose him.”

“I thought he had lightning powers! This guy just throws knives.”

“You’re literally The Flash—”

Wally’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. Dick only glanced down by accident. But what he saw made his brain stall.

The lock screen lit up with:

✨My Perfect Problem💋 miss your face. also i stole your star wars shirt again. . . 💕

Dick blinked. Recognized the contact photo instantly. The name. The nickname.

That was you.

“...Wally.”

“Hmm?” Wally didn’t look up, busy button-mashing.

“WALLY.”

“WHAT?!”

Dick snatched the phone and held it up like it burned. “My sister?!”

Wally froze. The game was forgotten.

“I can explain—”

“YOU’RE DATING MY SISTER?”

“Technically—okay yes—but also, we were gonna tell you!”

“WHEN? ON YOUR WEDDING DAY?!”

You chose that moment to casually stroll into the room, eating a cookie.

“Oh,” you said with zero shame, “did he find out?”

“YOU KNEW?!”

“I’m in the relationship, Dick.”

Wally stood up, hands raised like he was dealing with a hostage negotiation. “Look, man, I wasn’t trying to hurt you! It just… happened. And she’s amazing, and it’s real, and I didn’t want to mess up our friendship—”

“By dating my sister?!”

“Dude! She’s your cool sister!”

“I only have one!!”

You sat on the arm of the couch, entirely unbothered.

“I mean, if it makes you feel better, I’m the one who kissed him first.”

“That makes it worse!”

“I also kicked his ass at Mario Kart on our first date.”

Wally pointed, proud. “She really did. Blue shelled me at the finish line. It was kind of hot.”

“WALLY.”

Dick looked between the two of you—Wally, flushed and trying to appear calm, and you, smugly sipping your drink like you hadn’t just detonated a bomb in his world.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“This is... so much worse than when Damian found a girlfriend.”

Wally tried again, gently. “Dick. Look. I love her. I really do.”

Dick narrowed his eyes.

“You’d better.”

A beat.

“Also if you hurt her I will break both your kneecaps.”

“That’s fair.”

“And if I hear you’ve done anything weird in my house—”

“We haven’t! Except for that one time—”

“WALLY.”

“Right! Shutting up now.”

Later that night, after Dick stormed off to “go train until I forget this conversation ever happened,” Wally turned to you, exhausted but grinning.

“Well,” he said, pulling you into his lap, “that went... about as well as expected.”

You laughed into his neck. “Told you he’d scream.”

“I thought I’d get more than five words in before he threatened to maim me.”

“To be fair, that was restraint. For Dick.”

Wally pressed a kiss to your temple and sighed. “So… you still think we should’ve soft-launched?”

You snorted. “Wally, we hid this for three months. At this point, that was the soft launch.”

He smiled, holding you close.

“Guess we’re hard launched now.”

#— rory ! 🐚#— rory’s request ! 🐚#— Rory’s fics! 🐚#— rory's fics 🐚!#— requested ! 🐚#MY SWEET BOYFRIEND WALLACE RUDOLPH WEST #w. west #wally west x reader #Wally west smut #wally west x you #wally west x y/n #Wally west x fem!reader

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multifandomficsx · 4 months ago

Text

Blame it on the Rain

Summary: Your dad is away on a week-long business trip leaving the house all to yourself. Only one problem, he’s asked his best friend to keep an eye on the house, which practically means having a babysitter at the ripe age of 21. This particular best friend has been one that you’ve harbored an attraction to for years, and now you’re finally old enough and alone enough to act on it.

W.C: 6.2k

Content Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT (porn without much plot okay maybe a little plot), possessive!hotch if you squint, strong language, p in v sex (use a condom please for the love of god), thigh riding, bratty vibes from you also if you squint, no use of Y/N

MINORS DNI!!!!

You couldn’t understand for the life of you why your father had you under the careful surveillance of his best friend. You were grown, you could handle yourself, so why was Aaron here? Your father said something along the lines of, “He’s just here to check up on the house and make sure nothing burns down.”, which you know is code for, he doesn’t trust you.

Whatever, it’s not like you were about to throw a major rager at your cozy suburban home. It was summer vacation from college, all of your friends lived in different states. But there you sat in the living room, cozied up on the couch watching some random rom-com that was on tv, a hot chocolate and popcorn bucket on the coffee table in front of you.

The weather outside was horrendous. It had been storming all day with no signs of letting up. In fact, it appeared to only be getting worse. The sound of rain pelted the windows and the house creaked from the wind. Lightning cracked and streams of water flowed down the windows, blurring the world outside, so you didn’t notice the headlights pulling into your driveway.

And then you hear the lock on the front door jiggle, and in walks the man of your late night fantasies. You’ve had your eyes on Aaron since the day he walked into your home. You remember the day so clearly.

It was a hot summer day in August, you had just turned 18 and your dad decided to throw a backyard barbecue, you know, typical dad behavior. The sun was relentless, the kind of summer day that sticks to your skin, wishing for the slightest breeze. But nothing - nothing is more distracting than the man that just walked through the gate to your backyard. The first thing you noticed was how tight his button up was. The way it hugged his broad chest and shoulders, his biceps seemed to want to bust out of the rolled up sleeves. The top two buttons undone so his chest hair peeked out over the sharp line of his collarbone. A stark contrast to how you would eventually see him, stuffy suit and tie over for a late night drink with your dad.

The heat had started to get to everyone outside, Aaron was no exception, though he would never show any signs he was uncomfortable. Remembering the way you, him and your dad stood at the grill watching the food sizzle on the hot iron. The way a bead of sweat traveled down the side of Aaron’s face. The way he lifted his arm to wipe away the sweat. The way his shirt traveled up so slowly and you couldn’t help but peek at the exposed, minorly tanned skin on his hip and the lines that disappeared into the dark wash jeans he happened to be wearing.

Ever since that day you couldn’t get enough of seeing him, you lit up everytime dad mentioned that he would be coming over and made an effort to make sure you were hanging around the house that night.

You had thought it was a one sided schoolgirl crush you would eventually get over but you couldn’t miss the quick stolen glances and his efforts to hide them. The tight jaw and clench of his fingers on his drink when you would “accidentally” touch his arm and laugh at something that definitely wasn’t as funny as you made it out to be.

So when he walked in this night it was a problem. It didn’t help that he was soaked from the rain, water dripping from his dark hair, his shirt clinging to every inch of his sculpted chest and shoulders.

You freeze, your breath hitched as he walks inside, the storm still raging behind him as he turns to close the door and lock it. His shoulders rise and fall in sharp, measured breaths, clearly he jogged in here from the car. The sharp cut of his cheekbones even more defined in the only light emitted from the tv. Strands of wet hair clung to his forehead, beads of rainwater trailing down his face, catching in the hollow of his throat before disappearing under the button down.

And god that shirt, completely useless, his body barely concealed under the now transparent white cotton. You watch, transfixed, as he runs a hand through his hand, scattering droplets across the floor, down his forearm, over the veins that standout from the skin.

He exhales sharply, shaking off the cold and finally makes eye contact with you. You feel it everywhere, the dark, smoldering heat, the long unspoken tension that simmers between you waiting to ignite.

His gaze lingers for a moment, seeing the way you were dressed. A tight cami, no bra and little shorts that barely covered anything. Your legs tucked to the side of you. You do nothing but sit still as his eyes flicker over you before returning to your own.

“It’s really coming down out there.” He mutters, voice low.

You swallow dryly, averting your eyes back to the tv, forcing yourself to look anywhere but at Aaron. You couldn’t give yourself away fully, even though you were well aware of the fact that you were practically eye fucking him in your doorway.

“ I’ll be right back.” He said before disappearing down the hallway, no doubt to the bathroom.

This was not good. He shouldn’t be here, not like this, not when the barrier normally between the two of you was away for work. You knew he would show up eventually, but you were hoping for a day with decent weather so you could escape the house if need be. Your mind flooded with scenarios to get him to leave, but none of them seemed feasible. Before you could actually think something up, he walks around the corner in a new pair of clothes, hair towel dried and messy.

“You know, you don’t need to be here. I can take care of the house.” You say turning your body around to face Aaron, forearms up on the back of the couch. You lay your cheek on your right arm and watched as he made his way into the kitchen.

“Your dad asked me for a favor. Plus it’s nasty outside.” He paused, thinking for a moment, “ Let’s cut a deal.”

This made your stomach flip, the possibility of the offer he’s about to make got you excited. He shuffled through the wine cabinet and picked out a red. The way his biceps tensed as he screwed the cork out of the narrow bottle top made your lips part ever so slightly.

As he spoke he grabbed two glasses, “I stay for the night. Just tonight, I let your dad know everything is fine, and you won’t see me again after that.”

You studied the way his fingers gripped the dark green bottle as he poured what is obviously a drink for the both of you. While this seemed like a good deal, a part of you was upset that you wouldn’t be getting to see Aaron throughout the week. You pretended to think about it, putting on a show of tapping your finger on your cheek and scrunching up your face.

“Sounds like a good deal to me.” You smirked and shifted so you were sitting on your knees to face him.

The living room is dimly lit, the soft glow of the kitchen light that was left on by Aaron casting shadows across the walls. The storm outside has settled into a steady rhythm, raindrops tapping against the windows like a quiet metronome.

You stretch lazily on the couch, legs outstretched, a pout on your lips as he hands you your glass of wine. Aaron settled into the far end of the couch, sleeves rolled up, the top button of his shirt undone, looking far too serious for someone who’s supposed to be relaxing.

"You know," you begin, tilting your head with a playful smirk, "I really don’t need a babysitter."

Aaron exhales, something between a sigh and the hint of a chuckle. God his laugh was music to your ears. And you wanted to do anything to draw out more. Before taking a sip of his own drink. "I’m not babysitting."

"You are," you tease, drawing out the words as you lean forward slightly. "My dad asked you to stay, just to keep an eye on me. That’s textbook babysitting, Aaron."

His gaze flicks to you, dark and unreadable, but there’s a trace of amusement there. "You’re twenty-one," he points out, as if that makes a difference. In his eyes it does.

"Exactly." You raise your glass in mock celebration. "Perfectly capable of being home alone without adult supervision."

He hums in response, setting his glass down on the table beside him. "Then I suppose I’m just here for the company."

You grin, leaning back against the cushions. "That I don’t mind."

His lips twitch, just slightly, but he doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze lingers, something unutterable flickering beneath his carefully composed expression.

The air shifts, the playful energy between you suddenly carrying something else beneath it. Something neither of you are willing to name just yet.

You take another sip of your wine, holding his gaze. "If you’re staying, at least make yourself comfortable. I won’t report you to my dad for unprofessionalism if you actually relax for once."

Hotch exhales, shaking his head, but this time, there’s definitely a smirk. "I’ll take that under advisement."

“Good.” You decide to start pushing boundaries, if he’s going to stay, you might as well have fun. "I bet you hate this, don’t you? Being stuck here instead of doing… whatever it is you do for fun."

Hotch raises a brow, and something about the slow, deliberate way he regards you sends a flicker of heat down your spine. "And what exactly do you think I do for fun?"

You hum, tapping a finger against your glass. "Let’s see… paperwork? Running background checks? Oh! I bet you go home and unwind with a nice, thick case file."

This time, he actually huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. " Incredibly inaccurate."

"Oh?" You lean forward slightly, your grin teasing. "So what do you do to unwind, Agent Hotchner?"

His gaze turns to your legs for only a moment before moving to your eyes, like he caught himself slipping. He takes another sip of his drink before answering.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Your stomach flips at the quiet rasp of his voice, the weight of his words hanging between you, heavier than before. Your teasing falters for just a second—long enough for something else to settle in the space between you. Something warmer, something charged.

The air shifts, a current running beneath the conversation, unspoken but felt.

You bite your lip, watching him over the rim of your glass. "Maybe I would"

His jaw tics, his fingers flexing against his knee, but he doesn’t look away.

And just like that, the game changes.

The air is thick with something neither of you are willing to name, but it’s there. It hums between you, sparking in the space where teasing had once been, shifting into something slower, heavier.

Aaron doesn’t move, doesn’t break eye contact, but you see the way his fingers tighten just slightly around the glass in his hand, the way his lips tighten into a thin line as if he’s considering what to say next.

You take another sip of wine, keeping your gaze steady, your lips curving into something just shy of a smirk. "Cat got your tongue, Aaron?"

His exhale is slow, measured and his gaze sharpens. "You’re playing a dangerous game."

Your stomach twists, heat curling low in your spine at the way his voice dips, quiet but firm. A warning. An invitation. Both.

"Am I?" you muse, tilting your head, studying him the way he’s been studying you.

His eyes shift to your mouth for half a second—so fast you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching him so closely.

You set your glass on the coffee table, your movements slow, deliberate. "You don’t have to stay, you know," you say lightly, watching for his reaction. "I’ll be fine on my own. You can go back to whatever it is you’d rather be doing."

For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, without breaking eye contact, he leans forward, placing his own glass beside yours.

His voice is lower when he speaks. Steady. Certain.

"I don’t think I will."

Your breath catches.

You hadn’t expected that.

You had expected him to deflect, to brush off your teasing with another exasperated sigh, to remind you—yet again—that he was only here because of your father.

But instead, he stays. Instead, he watches you with a gaze that lingers, that burns, that tells you he’s thought about crossing this line just as much as you have.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, but you don’t back down.

Neither does he.

You’re both still playing.

I don’t think I will.

Your pulse thrums, Aaron’s unwavering gaze hot on your skin, but before you can say anything, before you can test the boundaries of whatever is crackling between you—

The lights falter.

For half a second, everything wavers. The lamp beside you dims, then flares, then—

Darkness.

The storm outside howls against the house, rain hammering against the windows, wind rattling through the trees. The sudden loss of power leaves the room bathed in shadows, nothing but the faint glow of the storm outside casting fractured light into the space.

Your breath stutters in the unexpected silence, the hum of electricity gone, the air around you somehow even heavier than before.

You feel, more than see, the shift of his presence as he stands, his body a shadowed silhouette against the storm-lit windows. There’s no hesitation in his movements, just quiet, controlled awareness as he checks the space around you, listening to the world outside.

It’s instinctual, the way he moves. The way he protects and instantly hovers over you.

You pull in a slow breath, trying to steady your heart as you push up from the couch. "Well," you say lightly, but your voice comes out softer than you intend. "That’s one way to kill the mood."

You can’t quite see his expression, but you feel the way his attention shifts back to you, the weight of it lingering even in the darkness. "Are you all right?" He places his hands on your shoulders. It’s not lost on you the way his hands blanket your shoulders, imposing in a way.

Your lips curve, even as a shiver runs down your spine. "Are you?"

He exhales softly, and you think—just maybe—that it’s a quiet huff of amusement.

But the energy between you hasn’t faded. Not entirely. If anything, the darkness amplifies it, makes you hyper-aware of the way your bodies are so close, the way his presence fills the space, steady and unwavering. The way you can feel his body heat and the clean woodsy cologne flooding your senses makes you dizzy.

“I’m not the one who’s house just lost power. Should have expected that.” He says, his hands slowly making their way down your arms.

A shiver rolls down your spine, must be the wine. “Just wasn’t expecting to be stuck in the dark with you, Mr. Hotchner.” The last part of that sentence came out more breathlessly than you anticipated.

There’s a shift in him, you couldn’t see it, eyes still adjusting to the dark, but you could feel it. His voice, lower this time, as if he was going to get caught, “You’re a big girl, you think you can handle it?”

You shouldn’t be reacting to him like this. He’s older, way older. He’s just here to make you feel safe. And yet-

“Guess I’ll find out.” You say softly, placing your hands on his chest, lifting your chin up to look at him.

Lightning flashes, illuminating the man in front of you. The quick second of light reveals everything. The need written on both of your faces, but still a hesitation.

And in the dark, you wait. You both wait. He doesn’t move, not at first, like he’s giving you a choice. An out to back away and realize this is a bad idea.

When you stand your ground, he finally moves, his hand leaving your arm, up to your chin, stretching over your cheek, resting on your jaw. You lean into the warmth of his palm on your face and he exhales like he’s losing a battle with himself. You pull him closer, balling your fists into his shirt, no doubt wrinkling it.

Your breaths mingle in the darkness and your noses graze each other. His tone was rough, barely above a murmur, “We shouldn’t.”

Your heart is still racing. “I know.” Your voice, soft and begging.

“You don’t know what you’re doing.” His voice isn’t a warning anymore, it's a promise.

“Yes I do”

And then, Aaron breaks.

He moves fast, his hand going from resting on your face to gripping your jaw. And his mouth is on yours. Hot. Desperate. Starved in a way that makes your knees falter.

He kisses you like he’s been holding back for far too long. Like you’re something he shouldn’t want but cant help himself from taking.

His hand slips from your arm to your hip, pulling you flush against his body. The firm press of his chest against you makes your head spin.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his hand tightening on the flesh of your hip like he wanted to memorize every feeling of you.

Just as quickly as it started, he pulled away, his forehead resting on yours.

“This is a bad idea,” he rasps, with no intention of following through with trying to convince you to stop.

A breathless laugh escapes you, “Terrible idea.”

You don’t let the moment apart linger.

You grab the front of his shirt, yanking him back toward you, crashing your lips against his in a kiss that’s all heat, all hunger, all the tension that’s been simmering between you finally snapping like a live wire.

He groans into your mouth, and it’s the only warning you get before his hand moves from your hip to your ass, strong and commanding, somehow pulling you closer. There’s no hesitation this time, no restraint—just raw, unfiltered need.

You barely register moving before the back of your calves hits the couch. In a practiced motion, he flips the two of you and sits on the couch, bringing you down with him, onto his lap. His hands slide beneath your shirt, palms rough, warm, everywhere, mapping out every inch of you.

"Tell me to stop," he rasps against your lips, but you can feel the way his body reacts to you, the way he’s barely holding himself together.

You arch into him, rolling your hips, pressing against the heat of him, and he curses, his grip tightening on your hips as he grinds back up against you. The sensation sends a full-body shiver through you, your head tilting back as a breathless moan escapes before you can stop it.

"Don’t stop," you whimper

That’s all it takes for whatever last shred of restraint he had to fully disappear.

His mouth is on your neck, your collarbone, your jaw, kissing, nipping, devouring as his hips roll into yours, slow and calculating, making you feel everything. The pressure, the friction—it’s overwhelming, making your fingers claw at his back, desperate for more.

"Fuck," he grits out, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he ruts against you, the muscles in his back flexing beneath your hands. He’s unraveling just as much as you are, lost in the feeling.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, his teeth grazing your skin in retaliation. His breath is ragged, his movements bordering on desperate now, like he’s been deprived of this for centuries.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown, lips kiss-swollen. "You have no idea what you do to me," he murmurs, his voice wrecked.

You smirk, tilting your hips up to meet his. "I think I do."

He growls low in his throat, crushing his mouth back to yours, his hands gripping you like he never wants to let go.

Aaron grabs your shirt, fingers curling around the fabric before he tugs it upward. You lift your arms without hesitation, letting him lift it off and toss it somewhere on the floor, his eyes hungry as they rake over your newly exposed skin.

"You’re so pretty baby" he mutters under his breath, his hands immediately returning to you—hot, rough palms skimming up your sides, over your ribs, his thumbs brushing the curve of your exposed breasts.

Your breath stutters, your nails digging into his back, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you. His mouth finds your neck again, lips hot and open-mouthed, sucking, biting, marking you as his hands slide lower—down your stomach, over your hips, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.

A soft sigh escapes your lips, the deliberate way his fingertips tease the skin beneath them, but before he can go any further, you grab the hem of his shirt, tugging at it impatiently. "Off," you demand breathlessly.

He obeys without question, making quick work of the buttons and tossing it aside before pressing his body back against yours. The heat of his skin, the solid weight of him against you—it sends a fresh wave of arousal pooling in your stomach.

Your hands roam over the broad planes of his back, the sharp lines of his shoulders, down to his soft yet still firm abdomen, where he flexes beneath your touch.

He growls low in his throat, pressing his hips harder against yours, and you gasp at the feeling of him — hard, thick, needing — through the fabric of his pants. “Fuck, Aaron.” His name falling sweetly from your lips.

"Jesus Christ," he grits out, rolling his hips against you again, slow and deliberate, making you feel everything. His hands hold tightly to the flesh of your ass as he guides your heat against his own desire.

He groans, his hands moving fast—pushing your shorts down, until there’s nothing left but your heat and skin and desperation against his slacks.

“ I want you to ride my thigh.”

Your mouth hangs open and a blush spreads across your cheeks, embarrassed at the request. Unsure of how to proceed, your hips slowed to a stop. The feeling of your clit against the fabric of his pants was undeniably good. You begin to stutter, unable to form an intelligent sentence.

“Shh. It’s okay, pretty girl. I’ll help you.” His hands which haven’t left your body begin to rock you back and forth on his thigh.

The first roll of your hips, you dropped your head to the crook for his shoulder with a whimper. His head leaned into yours, getting an eyeful of the wet patch you had started to leave on his slacks.

“That feels good right? You’re doing so good for me.” He whispers in your ear and slowly eases up on guiding you physically, letting you find your own pace.

He was letting you take what you needed, but you knew in an instant he could take over if he wanted to. As you grinded into him, his hands slid up your sides to your waist. Another whimper, louder this time, left your lips before you could stop it. You swear you could feel him smirk against your ear.

“Keep going,” he said, a quiet command, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “Use me.”

Your movements quicken, chasing the friction, your dripping core over the thick muscle of his thigh and the sharp press of your clit at just the right spot makes your body jolt back. Pleasure you’ve never known sends a flood of arousal to every zone of your body. Your head rolls back and eyes flutter shut.

One of Aaron's hands came up to where your throat meets your collarbone, gently resting there, a silent reminder of who is in control.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl.” You barely muster a look at him before losing your composure. He shifts his thigh just right, the friction making your breath stutter and your eyes squeeze shut again.

“Look. At. Me.” The hand that's on your neck travels to your jaw to force you to face him. Your eyes open, jaw tight, keeping your sounds to yourself. “That’s better. Show me how much you’ve wanted this.”

“Aaron… please,” You moan out, picking up your pace, body shaking. You’re close and both of you know it. His hand leaves your jaw and tangles in your hair.

“You wanna cum, sweetheart?” He asks, his grip on your hip slowing you to a stop, making you whine in frustration. “Beg for it.”

Your breath comes out in ragged gasps, hands clutching at his shoulders as he holds you still, just when you were about to tip over the edge.

"Aaron," you whisper, but he just tilts his head, watching you squirm in his grip.

"That's not begging," he murmurs, his thumb brushing dangerously slow over your thigh, trailing just close enough to make you ache for more. “You had so much to say earlier. Cat got your tongue?" He teased, repeating what you had said less than 30 minutes ago.

You shift in his lap, trying to move, but his hands are unyielding. The hand in your hair moves quickly back to your hip, both hands gripping tight enough to bruise.

"Aaron, please," you try, swallowing thickly, unable to get your words out.

"You're going to have to do better than that," he whispers, his thigh flexing just enough to make you moan. "Or maybe I’ll just keep you like this — needy, wet, and begging for me. Maybe you don’t deserve to come yet."

Your eyes flash to his, wide and desperate, and his smirk softens for a brief second — but there's still that dangerous glint in his gaze.

"Say it," he commands, lips brushing yours but refusing to close the distance. "Tell me how much you want to come for me. How much you need me to let you fall apart."

You suck in a breath, cheeks flushed, as your hands slide down to his chest. "Please, Aaron… I need it. Need you to let me come. I want to fall apart for you. Please."

That’s when his smirk shifts into something darker, more possessive — and without another word, he guides your hips down hard against his thigh, rolling it up into you.

"That's my girl," he growls, watching you unravel under his hands. "Come for me. Now."

You break with a moan, body trembling as he holds you through it, his hands steady, possessive, controlling every second of your release.

When you collapse against him, spent and breathless, he finally lets you rest, his fingers stroking your spine in slow, calming circles.

Your body is still trembling when his hand slides up your back, steady and warm — grounding you after everything he just pulled from you.

"Shh," he soothes, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, "You did so well for me."

His hands never stop touching you — stroking, gripping, like he needs the contact as much as you do. But when you shift to climb off his thigh, thinking maybe he’ll let you rest, his fingers tighten just enough to keep you right where you are.

"Did I say we were finished?" he murmurs, voice low and sharp like a blade wrapped in silk.

Your breath hitches as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"No," you whisper, cheeks flushed, heart racing.

Without breaking eye contact, he shifts beneath you, his hand undoing the latches on his belt, like he isn't already wrecking you with just his presence.

"I've let you have your fun," he says, voice calm but filled with heat, "but now it's my turn."

Before you can react, he lifts you off his thigh, standing in one fluid motion and carrying you easily to the nearest surface — the kitchen counter. He sets you down, stepping between your legs, hands running up your thighs as he leans in. You gasp from the sudden cold surface beneath you.

His mouth finally crashes into yours, rough and hungry, tongue sweeping in to take what he’s been holding back.

"You’re mine tonight," he growls against your mouth. "And you’re going to get everything you’ve asked for."

As he kisses down your jaw, his fingers slip between your legs again, teasing you — already knowing you're still sensitive from what just happened. You gasp, hips bucking.

"Sensitive already?" he teases, nipping at your neck. " Good. I want you shaking for me by the time I’m done."

His hand tightens in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat. A loud moan rips from your throat and you jolt as his thumb finds your clit. Rubbing slow deliberate circles, his other fingers run through your slick folds.

“I need you.” You whisper, leaning forward grasping on to him for dear life, “I need you inside.”

And that’s all he needed to plunge both fingers inside of you. You suck in a breath getting settled into the sudden intrusion. Pumping slow, his eyes watched as his fingers disappeared inside of you and reappearing covered in your cream. Aaron emits a low moan at the sight, “ You’re so wet for me. Is this what you wanted? Wanted daddy’s best friend to ruin you?”

You nod, breathless, “Yes, god yes.”

Without another word, he makes quick work of the slacks he’s managed to keep on, the sound of them hitting the floor loud in the quiet room. The briefs follow and he pulls himself free, thick and hard. He lets go of your hair and his free hand strokes at his cock, his thumb smearing precum over the head.

Your pussy clenches around nothing at the sight, you wanted nothing more than to wrap your lips around his cock, have him make you cry as he fucks your mouth. But it seems that would have to wait.

Aaron lines himself up with your folds, rubbing the tip in between them, teasing your entrance as his hands grip your thighs, holding you open for him.

“Tell me what you want.” Eyes on you, waiting for permission.

“ Fuck me. Please fuck me, Aaron.”

With a low growl, he thrusts into you in one deep, hard motion, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch burns in the best way, stealing the air from your lungs as you cry out, your hands scrambling for purchase on his shoulders.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, hips already snapping forward, pounding into you like a man starved. “You feel even better than I dreamed about.”

His fingers dig into your hips, holding you still as he fucks you hard and deep, but you don’t care — you want it to hurt, want to feel him for days.

“Aaron—” you whimper, nails raking down his back, “harder, please—”

He grits his teeth, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back so you’re forced to meet his eyes. Lightning strikes outside and for a moment you can see everything, the sweat beading on his forehead, his bicep flexed to hold you in place, and the deep possession buried deep behind his eyes.

“You want it harder, baby? You want me to fuck you so good you’ll be dripping down your thighs whenever I come over?”

“Yes—”

That’s all he needs.

He slams into you harder, each thrust hitting deep, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer. His muscles tense, pulling you back in with each thrust, leaving no room for hesitation, setting an almost punishing rhythm if it didn’t feel so goddamn good.

“You’re mine now,” he growls, voice thick and possessive, his mouth finding yours in a bruising kiss. “You understand me? Mine. No one else will ever touch you like this.”

You moan into his mouth, clinging to him, lost in the overwhelming pleasure, knowing there’s no going back now.

“Say it,” he demands, thrusting deeper. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” you gasp, head falling back, eyes glazed with lust. “I’m yours, Aaron—only yours.”

His mouth crashes onto yours again, swallowing your moans as he fucks you right there on the kitchen counter, like he’s claiming every inch of you, like he wants to make sure you’ll never forget the way he feels inside you.

“Fuck, baby,” Hotch groans against your neck, thrusts growing rougher, deeper, more desperate. His fingers dig into your hips like he’s trying to own you, like if he holds tight enough, you’ll never leave.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the kitchen, filthy and loud, mixing with your whimpers and gasps as he drives into you over and over.

“You feel so good,” he pants, voice raw and low in your ear. “So fucking tight—been dreaming about this. About ruining you.”

His hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and circling it fast and rough, determined to drag you over the edge before he loses it.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he growls, thrusting harder, deeper. “Want you to come all over my cock. Want to feel you when I fill you up.”

The filthy promise, that possessive growl, him—it’s all too much.

You cry out, breaking apart around him, body clenching tight as you come hard, shaking and breathless.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, watching your body unravel for him, and then he’s slamming into you a few more brutal, deep thrusts before he buries himself to the hilt and lets go.

His head drops to your shoulder, panting harshly as he fills you, hot and deep, holding you tight like he never wants to let go.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. His chest heaves against yours, heart pounding. Your fingers tangle weakly in his hair as you catch your breath, still trembling from how hard he made you come.

But then reality starts to creep back in.

Hotch’s hands soften on your thighs, but he doesn’t pull away. Just stays there, still buried inside you, like if he doesn’t move, the rest of the world won’t catch up.

“Shit,” he mutters after a moment, lifting his head to look at you, eyes searching your face, something softer now under the intensity. “We shouldn’t have—”

You flinch, and his jaw tenses immediately when he sees it, cupping your cheek gently.

“Hey,” he says quietly, fingers brushing your skin, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You swallow, still breathless. “Then how did you mean it?”

He lets out a shaky breath, leaning his forehead against yours. “I meant… I don’t regret this. I regret that I’m gonna have to look your dad in the eye knowing I just fucked his daughter on his kitchen counter.”

Your lips twitch in a small smirk. “You didn’t just fuck me.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “ You’re right,” His thumb brushes over your lip, eyes serious now. “ I don’t think I can give this up.”

The weight of his words makes your stomach twist, but in the best way.

“Then don’t,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” he murmurs. “You want that?”

You nod, breath catching as you whisper, “I’ve always wanted this.”

Hotch groans softly, kissing you slower this time, like he’s savoring it. Like it’s more than just lust, even though you know it’s not

When he finally pulls back, he presses one last kiss to your forehead before glancing down at the absolute mess between your thighs, still inside you.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” He says, finally pulling out of you. You whine at the feeling of being empty.

He laughs at the neediness of your vocalization. “ Round two is always on the table. We have all week.”

“What happened to the deal?” You asked slyly, back to teasing even though, the man of your midnight dreams just fucked you senseless.

“I never intended on keeping it.”

#aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch smut #smut #one shot

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rcmclachlan · 3 months ago

Text

Joining the 8x16 spec fic party. MCD warning!

Red Over Red

Buck/Tommy

Summary: Ships not under command identify themselves by showing two all-around red lights, one above the other.

Read on AO3

It takes Tommy maybe two minutes tops to do a post-flight check. It's so routine at this point in his career that he could do it in his sleep if someone would let him, but ever since Nico accidentally trafficked elephant tusks to Sacramento two years ago, napping in the cockpit has been strictly forbidden.

He's just about to take a look at the alignment of the skids when he hears his name. He turns to see Dana coming over. The blankness to her expression isn't what gives him pause, because that's just her face, but the fact that she's jogging.

Tommy's worked with Dana for eight years now and she has never moved at anything but a deliberate, sedate glide, no matter the situation. He once saw her stroll through the collapsing hallway of a building that was being actively consumed by a five-alarm fire like she was taking a leisurely hike through the Cucamonga.

As she hauls ass across the tarmac, he sees Dana's normally perfect finger waves are completely disheveled, and that fills him with more dread than anything this job or Afghanistan could possibly throw at him. She has her phone in her hand.

The moment she comes to a stop in front of him, her expression shifts to something resembling mild distress, which means that either half of L.A. was just sucked into an open fault line, or—

For a second, he thinks the klaxons are going off, or someone set off the fire alarm in the main hangar, because there's a high-pitched ringing in his ears that is trying to worm its way down into his vagus nerve and make him puke. Everything goes fuzzy, then slowly the knob turns until clarity comes back. He's bent at the waist, hands gripping his thighs, and Dana's the only thing keeping him from toppling over. Dizziness has him in a half nelson.

"Head between your knees, Kinard," she instructs quietly. "That's it."

He thinks about standing in line at DJ's Smoke Shop & Market weeks ago, bouncing on his heels while waiting for the guy in front of him to finish picking his lottery tickets, and trying to remember his nonna's recipe for home fries. The bottle of Prosecco he'd grabbed on a whim had been burning a hole through the basket and was probably cooking the eggs he was going to drop $13 on, but he couldn't stop looking at it. All he wanted to do was pop the cork and pour it into a pair of flute glasses he'd probably have to locate and unpack. Which sounded like a lot of work when it would be so much easier to simply pour the champagne into Evan's mouth and drink it off his tongue.

He thinks about Evan looking him in the eye and declaring he didn't need to feel anything for the people he slept with.

He thinks about living in a world where Evan Buckley isn't.

"Say it," Tommy chokes out, clenching his jaw against the sour crackle deep in the bone. He's going to be sick. He's going to— "You have to say it."

Dana places a gentle hand on his back. "It wasn't him, Kinard. Not him. Buckley's fine."

Sinuses burning, Tommy drops his head back down and takes a shuddering breath, nodding. Not him. Not him.

The thought of Evan dying, of Evan being dead and gone and higher than even Tommy can fly, slips every time it tries to catch a foothold in his brain. He refuses to even entertain it. This is a man who's survived being crushed by a rig, a tsunami, a pulmonary embolism, a lightning strike, among other things, and is still hungry for anything the universe might throw at him. And despite its best efforts, the universe is never going to get Evan to flinch first.

Clearing his throat, he ducks away from Dana and wipes his cheek with his shoulder. Their flight suits are polyester, so the evidence of this will dry fast. She won't say a word to anyone else.

"Who was it?" It comes out like it's being dragged over broken glass and he coughs to try and clear out the clog. "Oh god, it wasn't—it wasn't Howie, was it? Hen?"

When Dana doesn't answer, he looks up to find she's just holding out her phone to him.

Edmundo Diaz 03:51

He watches the duration of the call tick on, then squints at Dana. "Why do you have Eddie's number?"

"Is that the question you want to ask right now?" she asks, like she didn't politely goad Eddie into nearly putting his fist through a wall the last time they were in the same room.

Off kilter and still a bit dizzy, Tommy straightens up and takes the phone.

"Eddie? Who was it?"

He takes a deep breath in and holds it.

Despite the AirOps hangar being at least three times its size, the 118 station has always been larger than life. When Gerrard was in charge, every day it felt like walking into the gaping maw of some primordial beast, swallowed whole to be slowly digested, burned away over the course of a shift, until it spat him out just so he could do it again the next day. That he kept going back says more about him than it does about Gerrard.

The slew of interim captains they were saddled with after Gerrard felt like intermission, like they were just waiting for the second act to start. From the moment he stepped out of the rig and slapped a twenty into the pot to bank on his own odds, Captain Nash was there to stay. And he tamed that hateful creature enough that Tommy was able to leave every shift completely intact.

Tommy stands on the sidewalk outside the bay and stares at the closed doors. When Tommy had been there, Bobby refused to close them.

"I don't like the look of a closed door. I don't like what it implies," Bobby had said when Tommy awkwardly asked about it. "I want everyone to know they're welcome here, day or night. I want them to know it's safe for them to be here. The doors stay open. Captain's orders."

Swallowing, he walks over to the regular entrance and lets himself in.

Normally you can hear the crew shouting and laughing from half a block away, and there are always people milling about, doing chores, fixing things, coming outside to shoot the shit with passersby. Tommy always loved the sound of it. He loved how tight-knit they all were, but also how willing they were to bring someone new into the fold. The handful of times he picked Evan up after his shift, Tommy would end up talking to at least four different people, which would always eat into their date nights. They had to cancel a reservation once, but it felt worth it just to be able to walk back to his truck with that warmth in his chest, with his cheeks aching from smiling and laughing so much. Evan never complained. If anything, he was happy to stay there a little longer himself.

Now the bay is so silent that Tommy can hear the racing of his own heart. Anyone else would think the place had been deserted.

As he walks past the parked rigs, he spies a few people from B-shift. Ravi has Moore wrapped up in his arms and is resting his chin on top of her head. Hoang is wiping down a hose coupling with jerky, inefficient movements, breaking away to dab at her cheeks with the cloth.

Ravi looks up and his soft gaze sharpens the second it lands on Tommy. This must be what a deer feels like right before the truck hits.

After a moment, he gives him a nod, which makes Moore's head bob a little, then tilts his chin toward the administrative offices.

Shaky, Tommy nods in thanks and heads in that direction.

With every step, the world gets a little grayer, a little darker, and he feels a bit like the prince in Sleeping Beauty, hacking away at endless, twisting brambles that are doing everything they can to slow his momentum.

It feels like he's been fighting for a year without a single moment's rest by the time he makes it to the admin section. When he sees who's hanging outside the office with NASH on the door like a guard dog, texting on his phone, Tommy wishes he'd taken a moment to catch his breath.

He must make a noise or something, because Eddie jerks like he's been startled awake and claps eyes on Tommy. Pocketing his phone, Eddie peels away from the wall he'd been trying to sink into to offer his hand to Tommy like nothing's changed between them.

"Thanks for coming," Eddie says, quiet, almost choked. It sounds like he even means it. "I wasn't sure—"

Tommy can't bear to hear the rest of that, so he takes Eddie's hand in his own and pulls him in for a quick hug. "Of course I came. Of course. Don't thank me for—there was never..." He takes a breath, steps back, and tries again. "H-How are you holding up, man?"

"About as well as you'd expect," Eddie says with a damp chuckle. He drops his head and heaves a sigh that Tommy can feel in his own lungs. "I'm grateful I was already here. The way I feel and probably look right now? They'd never have let me on the plane."

Tommy doesn't remember how he navigated Sea-Tac after his dad died. He honestly can't believe Jet Blue let him board, either.

"Has anyone heard...?" He doesn't know how to finish the thought, but luckily Eddie's always been perceptive. He was always on Tommy's wavelength.

"Not yet. Athena ID'd the b—" Eddie bites off the sentence suddenly and swallows the rest of it down. Tommy can taste the rot in the word anyway. "She confirmed it was him."

Tommy closes his eyes and tries not to think about the unshakeable Athena Grant pulling the white sheet off the love of her life.

He clears his throat. "Where are... where are Hen and Howie?"

"Hen went with Athena," Eddie says. "She left hours ago, so who knows. Chim's... Chim couldn't stay. He couldn't... it's worse for him, you know? He's been here the longest."

The idea of the 118 without Bobby is almost too much to bear, but the 118 without Howie Han makes Tommy want to rip his own throat out.

"And... and where's..." Tommy clenches his jaw, then relaxes it deliberately. "Where is he, Eddie?"

Eddie answers by rapping a gentle fist against the wall he'd been standing against. Bobby's office.

"He's been in there for a while," Eddie murmurs, blinking rapidly at the ceiling. "Athena called him a while ago and he's been in there ever since. He won't come out. I tried to get him to eat something, but..."

Eddie shakes his head, then shrugs. His shoulders drop like someone cut his strings.

"And you think I...?" Tommy hates himself for even asking, because this isn't about him. He wishes he could grab the words out of the air and stuff them back down his throat, but they float away like clouds.

Thankfully, Eddie doesn't call him a selfish fuck. Instead, he musters up a little smile as he mockingly says, "I don't think, I know. So try to forget you're a fucking idiot and just get in there, would you?"

Huffing a laugh, because damn. Despite everything, including the low-grade jealousy that he can't seem to treat no matter how much he tries, he really missed this asshole.

Tommy reaches out to squeeze Eddie's shoulder, then he steps around him to get to the door.

It brings him up short. The door is closed. The bay doors are one thing, but Bobby's office door was never shut. It makes him a little nauseated just looking at the way it doesn't quite line up with the frame.

Through the window, he sees Evan, and his heart breaks at the way his body curves in on itself, hunched over Bobby's desk like an animal trying to hide a wound. A renaissance painter couldn't have captured such despair. Heartbreak of the Favored Son, oil on canvas.

Tommy has no idea what kind of reception is waiting for him on the other side of this door, but Eddie seems sure Tommy won't be turned away. He wouldn't have called Tommy if he thought it'd be for nothing.

"He needs you, man," Eddie had said on the phone.

He takes a deep breath in and holds it, and opens the door.

Almost immediately, Evan lifts his head, like he can tell who it is by the way the knob turns, and his expression is such a miserable mix of relief and devastation that Tommy doesn't stop to second guess himself. He doesn't need to. By the time he gets around the desk, Evan's already throwing himself into Tommy's arms.

"You're here," Evan sobs, clutching at him like he's afraid Tommy might disappear. There will be bruises everywhere he touches Tommy come morning. "Oh thank god, you're here. T-Tommy—"

"I'm here and I'm not going anywhere," Tommy whispers frantically into his hair, tightening his arms. "I've got you. Evan, baby, I've got you."

A tiny voice in the back of his mind hisses at him to close the door so no one else can see this, but he ignores it in favor of holding Evan tight enough that their bodies might soon start to merge together.

There are only open doors here. Captain's orders.

#bucktommy #tevan #911 spec fic #911 spoilers #911 8x16 spoilers #(maybe!)#for the record i am team fakeout until the credits roll on the season finale #rc's 911 fics #rc's harbor ocs

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stagtorccio · 12 days ago

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tongues and teeth

natalie scatorccio x gn!reader

request: vampire!nat x reader? summary: she lets him buy her another drink. doesn’t touch it. she’s not stupid. she wasn’t stupid. she wouldn’t be so stupid. or: when something horrible happens to her, nat goes to the first person she trusts. warnings: vampirism as a metaphor for assault, non-consensual themes, body horror, canon typical blood and gore, angst (you know it) word count: 2.4k author's note: if you have ever experienced themes explored in this work, here is a resource for you. stay safe, readers! also credit to the discord server for giving me the plot (spoons...) I love my fellow angsters

[AO3]

𓃢𓃦𐂂 ── .✦

Natalie’s drunk. Not the fun kind.

The bar is greasy, everything jaundiced in low light, the kind that make everyone look fuzzy. Polaroids half unfocused, lens flare swallowing the importants in the wash of a halo’s purifying ring.

She’s already four shots in, maybe five. Lips numb, tongue more than that. Her face and body are concepts now, abstract ideas— not something she can feel.

She doesn’t know much, not really. Not where she came from, not where she’s going.

What she does know is that there’s a man.

He’s tall. Just the wrong side of pale. Nice mouth. The kind of man who watches more than he talks. Leers more than he watches. So she lets him buy her another drink. Doesn’t touch it. She’s not stupid.

She wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t be so stupid.

But she doesn’t remember leaving the bar. Just the nip of the air and the thump of her boots on cement sounding far away, like her head was submerged underwater. She remembers how the alley swallowed them whole. Remembers his mouth was on her neck before she could even tell if she wanted it there.

She remembers laughing. Then choking. Then nothing.

The next part comes in flashes. The taste of iron. Something slick in her throat. A scream, maybe. Hands on her face, holding her still. Something warm trickling down her chin.

Then everything. Like a switch being thrown inside her head. Like someone poured lightning down her spine and forced every nerve awake at once.

Her eyes snap open.

The world is loud. Too loud. Her heartbeat– no, not hers, someone else’s– thunders in her ears. Her skin stings like it’s been peeled back to let the air in.

She can see everything. Not like before. Not shapes and outlines, not colors, not even lights. She can see the heat of things, the warmth in them, like her irises have fractured into spiraling kaleidescopes and she can’t find her way right-side-up again. Like the world is singing and she can’t stand the frequency.

Her teeth ache. She’s starving.

She doubles over, mouth open, gasping like she’s drowning in oxygen itself. Her throat burns like it’s trying to birth something new.

The man crouches beside her, too calm. Bloody at the mouth, but with his hands clean.

“It hurts at first,” he says soothingly. “You’ll get used to it.”

Natalie lurches away, crawling backward on shaking limbs.

“What the fuck did you do to me–”

Her fingers reach up to her mouth, press against the new shape of her teeth.

She sobs once, ragged and animal, then runs.

The first knock isn’t so much a knock as a slam.

Wood splintering. Metal hinges whining. You’re halfway to the door when the second one hits. Harder, louder– and then a voice shatters through it, hoarse and broken:

“Please– please, it’s me– just– fuck, I don’t know where else to go–”

The chain’s still on, and that’s what saves your door from tearing out of its frame when something throws itself against it–

Natalie. Messy, bleeding, wild-eyed Natalie.

You haven’t seen her in weeks. Maybe months. The kind of absence that feels tender as a bruise, silence you both know how to weaponize.

Last time, she’d left your bed at 4 AM without saying goodbye.

She’d been curled against your side just hours earlier, one arm thrown across your stomach like she was claiming territory. And you, foolishly, had thought maybe, maybe, she'd stay that time. That she'd wake up and make coffee and tell you she’d try. That she’d get better.

But when you woke, she was gone.

No note. No goodbye. Just a half-empty pack of Reds on the nightstand and an old scratched-up Bic that didn’t even work anymore. The sheets were still warm where she’d been.

You didn’t call. She didn’t either. That was your pattern: you always hurt each other in silence, like it meant less that way. Like the unspoken didn’t dig just as much as any old knife.

And now she’s here. Why the fuck is she here?

You try to ponder this clear universal anomaly, but then she slams the door again, the wood creaking in protest under the sheer force of impact. Her next words are a snarl, visceral and vile:

“Open the fucking door!”

You fumble the lock, unhook the chain. The second the latch clicks free, she falls through. Literally, like her body gave up the second she felt the door give. She stumbles in, catching herself on the wall, smearing something dark across the plaster.

Her hair’s soaked, clinging to her face. Her shirt is ripped at the collar. Her mouth is red, but not lipstick red. She smells like iron. Like animal. Like death.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes, staggering past you. “I didn’t know where else– I couldn’t go back, I couldn’t go back, I think I– I think I–”

She doubles over on your floor and gags. Nothing comes up. Just the gut-wrenching sound. You stand frozen, heart pounding, watching her press her forehead to the tile with choked sobs.

“Natalie?”

She flinches at her name. Doesn’t lift her head.

“I didn’t—” she whispers, raw and fraying. “I didn’t— he—”

The words fizzle out mid-sentence. She swallows and her throat works overtime, bobbing like a buoy. She wipes her mouth with the back of her shaking hand and it comes away wet, slick with spit and blood.

“I said no,” she chokes. It isn’t a TV sob. Not the kind they write into melodrama. It’s quieter. Her whole body folds in like paper left out in the rain too long.

You kneel beside her carefully. She looks like a cornered animal. Like any sudden movement might make her bolt. Or worse, attack. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, wide and wild and red-rimmed. And for a moment, you can’t tell if she’s afraid of you or for you.

“It’s in me,” she gasps. “It’s fucking in me– I can feel it moving–”

She digs her fingers into the fabric over her chest, like she could tear it out with her own hands. Her nails leave red crescents in the skin.

“I don’t know what happened,” she says, almost hysterical now, “I don’t– I don’t–”

You reach for her. Slow, with both hands open, showing her it’s safe. That you’re safe.

“Nat,” you say, soft and steady. “Hey. Nat. Look at me.”

She does, eyes glassy and huge. Her pupils nearly swallow her irises now– an unnaturally dazzling green in the darkness of your apartment. Her lip is trembling.

“You’re okay,” you say. “Whatever happened, it’s over now, okay?”

She lets out a breath, almost a laugh, almost a sob. She presses her fists into her eyes.

“You don’t get it,” she whispers. “Fuck, I don’t even–”

You touch her knee. Light. Just enough to ground her. She makes a sound, hoarse and low, like the beginnings of a scream. And then, without warning, she crashes into you.

Her body's trembling, her hands clutching at the back of your shirt like she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. You hold her careful at first, then tighter. Her breath hitches again and again against your neck. The blood on her mouth smears against your skin.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she mumbles.

You lean back enough to look at her. Her eyes are huge, flooded with fear, face blotched red and pale in streaks.

“What do you mean?”

Her jaw trembles. Her mouth opens, closes. “I don't know,” she croaks. “Something's wrong, really wrong, I don't want to—”

It breaks into a sob again, bitten off and desperate as she gasps for air. You shush her gently, reach up and brush the hair from her face, wipe a streak of blood from her jaw with your sleeve.

“Breathe, Nat.”

You’re surprised by how fast it happens. How easily it comes back, the urge to comfort her, to soften your voice. You thought you’d buried that instinct months ago, somewhere between the fourth unanswered call and the voicemail she left that ended with her hanging up without saying so much as sorry.

But here you are. Cupping her face like it’s muscle memory. It’s almost pathetic, how easy it is. Like your body never got the memo that she shouldn’t belong here anymore. You don’t know if it’s habit or hope or just some leftover softness, but the caretaker inside– folded up and shoved into the back of your ribs– is already crawling out.

“You’re drunk,” you soothe, just like so many other nights. “And I know you’re scared. But you’ve gotta breathe.”

Natalie flinches at that. She wants it to be that simple. A bad night, too much whiskey, a hallucination she’ll forget in the morning. Her lip wobbles. She won’t meet your eyes, even after her breathing steadies to shallow wheezes.

“I feel wrong. Everything’s wrong,” she whispers, voice hoarse.

“I know,” you murmur, and maybe you don’t know. Not really. But you say it like you do, and that seems to be enough.

“Come on.”

You help her up slowly, letting her lean on you, her whole body trembling with every step toward the bathroom. The lights are too bright when you flip the switch, and she flinches again, as if it burns.

The blood on her mouth is starting to dry, flaking at the corners. Her hands shake so badly that she can’t grip the edge of the sink.

“It’s okay,” you say. “Let me.”

You run a washcloth under warm water, check the temperature against your wrist. She watches you in the mirror, eyes wide and glassy. She’s not talking anymore. It’s like she’s slipped into some other space behind her own reflection.

You clean her face gently, carefully. The blood comes away in streaks, pink and diluted. Her skin is cold and clammy to the touch. You can see goosebumps prickling along her arms. She looks hollowed out, drained dry.

When you move to her hands, she stiffens again.

You pause. “Do you want to stop?”

She shakes her head, barely a twitch. “No. Just… be careful.”

You are. You take each of her hands in yours like you’re handling glass. You don’t scrub, just hold the cloth to them, warm and firm, until the red fades, then disappears entirely.

“There,” you say softly. “See? All clean.”

She doesn’t answer, but her shoulders sag. You lead her out again, to the bed. She resists at first, stands stiff by the frame like the mattress is a threat.

“Just lie down,” you coax. “I’ll stay right here.”

She blinks. Her mouth opens. No words come out. Then, after a long second, she lies gingerly. You pull the blanket up around her, touch her hair again. Softer this time. Her eyes flutter shut.

Finally, you slide in beside her, careful not to crowd. She shifts toward you anyway, burrows her face into your shoulder with a soft breath. You stay awake long after she drifts off, her body curled against yours.

You try to ignore that even under the blanket, clinging to your side, she’s still freezing cold.

The clock reads a blinking 3:15 when you wake up to the distant sound of something wet.

You blink, disoriented, head fogged with sleep and the faint outline of a dream you’ve already lost. It’s still dark out, but not fully. That colorless hour just before sunrise. The shadows haven’t gone yet, but they’re getting softer at the edges.

The bed beside you is empty. Sheets twisted, a faint indent where she was. The bathroom light’s off. So is the one in the hall.

You sit up, pulse already picking up before your brain kickstarts. You pad out barefoot, rubbing your eyes, calling her name under your breath.

“Nat?”

No answer.

A thin line of pale light cuts across the kitchen tile like a wound. The fridge is open. Just a crack. She’s crouched in front of it. At first, you don’t register what you’re seeing. Your brain tries to protect you, offers other options. Maybe she was restless. Maybe she’s getting a drink. Then you see the blood. It coats her hands. Her mouth. One of those shrink-wrapped steaks you bought two days ago is splattered on the floor, torn open like roadkill. She’s got the other half in her fist, raw and dripping.

You freeze.

“Natalie, what the– what the fuck are you doing?”

She turns her head slow. Her pupils are pinprick sharp now, irises a sliver of feral green slicing through the dark. Her lips glisten wet. Her jaw works, throat bobbing as she swallows the chunk whole.

She blinks at you once. Then drops the meat with a squelch and lunges.

You scream.

She moves like nothing human. You don’t even make it past the living room before she’s on you, knocking over a chair, teeth bared, breath coming in ragged gasps. You manage to shove her off, just barely, scrambling toward the front door.

She hits the wall, snarls like an animal.

“Nat– Nat, what the fuck!”

She doesn't respond— just bares her teeth, rushing forward. You throw a lamp. It explodes behind her. Doesn’t slow her down, but it gives you enough time to shove open the door and make a break for it down the apartment building hallway.

You’re running blind now, heartbeat splitting your skull, every step a prayer you don’t trip as you skid to the staircase and take it two at a time.

You can hear her thudding behind you– fast, barefoot– and then you turn to see her, mouth open in a growl, spit frothing around monstrous teeth, eyes hollowed out and catching on you like a crosshair.

You make it halfway down the stairs when the sun rises.

It starts with a soft gleam. Just enough to creep through an overhead window, a streak of gold splitting the dark. It doesn’t register to you at first.

Not until Natalie shrieks like she’s being burned alive.

She slams into the wall hard enough to crack plaster, clawing at her face. Her skin smokes wherever the light touches it. She reels back, shielding herself, stumbling for a hiding place– anywhere with shadow.

You’re too stunned to move. The whole stairwell reeks of blood and sweat and something fouler, like burned sugar.

She meets your eyes one last time, and it’s not Natalie looking back. It’s something wearing her.

When she jumps the railing, you rush to look over it, expecting to see her mangled at the bottom, but she’s just gone.

Vanished. Not even a speck of dirt left behind. You stand there, barefoot, bleeding, panting in the quiet.

You should've known. Natalie never stays for the morning after.

#yellowjackets x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x you #this kept getting longer and longer the more i worked on it until it became like a whole universe in my head. so im forcing it out #writing 🪶

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astroa3h · 26 days ago

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pluto through the houses ✨

Congratulations, you didn’t come here for a peaceful life. Pluto is the planet of destruction, obsession, power, and rebirth. It doesn’t whisper. It kicks the door down, throws your illusions into a bonfire, and hands you a mirror like, “Fix it.”

Wherever Pluto lands in your chart, that area of life is getting dragged into the underworld, over and over...until you stop pretending and start transforming. Think: phoenix vibes, but with more screaming and less glitter.

This isn’t cute. It’s not soft. But it is where your deepest power lives.

Let’s get into what it means when Pluto sets up camp in each house, and yeah, it’s gonna get intense. But so are you.

Pluto in the 1st House ✨ Your aura screams don’t mess with me, even when you're smiling. You’ve been dismantled by life more times than you can count and came back sharper every time. People either want to become you or run from you. That’s not a personality, that’s a warning label.

Pluto in the 2nd House ✨ You’ve been broke, bought, sold, and reborn through it all. Attachment issues? Try possession exorcisms. You’ve had to burn down your self-worth just to find it wasn’t tied to things or people. You don’t just earn value, you resurrect it.

Pluto in the 3rd House ✨ You speak like you’ve swallowed every dark truth the world’s too scared to name. Childhood was a psychological thriller, and now your brain is a crime scene and a megaphone. You don’t have conversations, you have interrogations with eye contact.

Pluto in the 4th House ✨ Home was haunted, and not in the cute ghost way. You carry secrets in your bloodline that could write horror novels. Family drama? Try ancestral demolition. But here you are, building emotional security from wreckage like a one-person renovation crew with a grudge and a blueprint.

Pluto in the 5th House ✨ Your love life could be banned in 12 countries. You date like every relationship is your last, because half of them nearly were. Pleasure comes with power dynamics and maybe a few police reports. You create like a lightning strike, beautiful, blinding, and potentially lethal.

Pluto in the 6th House ✨ Work and health aren’t routines for you, they’re battlegrounds. You’ve probably had a complete body-mind reboot more than once, and if your job isn’t soul-altering, you quit or combust. Productivity becomes a religion, until you learn: you can’t control your way out of transformation.

Pluto in the 7th House ✨ You don’t attract lovers, you summon karmic assassins. Partnerships for you are spiritual surgeries. Every relationship rips open the exact thing you swore you’d healed. Love is a mirror, and you keep smashing it until you see something worth keeping.

Pluto in the 8th House ✨ You’ve probably made peace with death more times than most people floss. You’re magnetic, terrifying, and uncomfortably intuitive. Sex isn’t fun, it’s a séance. Secrets find you. You are the walking embodiment of “don’t go poking around unless you’re ready to know.”

Pluto in the 9th House ✨ You took belief systems, set them on fire, and then smoked the ashes for insight. You don’t travel to escape, you travel to dismantle your soul. Gurus fear you. You don’t follow paths, you bulldoze through them and build temples on the ruins.

Pluto in the 10th House ✨ Your career path looks like a controlled demolition site. You were never meant for mediocrity, you’re here to dominate.Authority figures either obsess over you or try to break you. Spoiler: they fail. You climb, fall, and rise again with a vengeance that rewrites the industry standard.

Pluto in the 11th House ✨ You’re the cult leader, the outcast, or the revolution. Groups either empower you or betray you in biblical ways. You don’t do “community” unless it’s forged in fire. Friendships are either ride-or-die, or dead on arrival. You change the world by tearing it a new one.

Pluto in the 12th House ✨ You’ve been to hell, and left a Yelp review. You feel things no one else can name. Your dreams could qualify as horror films, and your healing is a secret war. But behind your quiet exterior is an exorcist with a PhD in the unseen. The final boss of your life? Already met them. It was you.

With cosmic love and a little tough truth, ✨

Astro Ash

Helping you navigate the stars, and yourself.

Get your own astrology reading @ astroash.net

TikTok - astroa3h 💞

#astrology #astrology readings #astrology aspects #natal chart #astrologer #pop culture #celebrity #astro observations #astro community #astrology degrees #pluto #astrology houses #learn astrology #astrology facts

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fuji-sen · 10 months ago

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the 'evil imposter' just wants to be a baker!

Prologue: The Foodie turned Imposter?!

Part 3: Mint Tea

[ part 2 ] || [ masterlist ] || [ part 4 ]

divider is made by @/saradika-graphics

After that bone chilling scream, what happened next was a blur. Vaguely you remembering forcing yourself to run to the windows, crashing through it as you landed outside and behind the headquarters of the knights of Favonious, you stared in fear when a purple hue shone above you, Lisa was ready to hurt you again with her electro powers but-

Thawk!

A flying chair was hurled towards her and hit her straight in the face! you would have laughed but the pain from being electrocuted made you cry, your body was shaking from the immense pain, Lisa was powerful despite what you saw in-game.

The next thing you knew, you heard footsteps and yells from approaching knights, you had nowhere else to go but. .

As Jean ran to the window, the last thing she saw was you, meeting your gaze for a moment and then. . you hurled yourself off the wall and into the lake that had surrounded mondstadt.

The winds that Stormterror brew was stronger than before, as if he was irked more than usual. Perhaps that was the cause of the presence of the imposter, someone so villainous to even try and imitate the divine. .

Still. .

terrified [color] eyes and cold gray blue eyes met only for a moment, the acting grandmaster faltered, hesitated for a moment to yell out orders when she felt something pierce her heart.

she clenched the fabric just above her chest, the pain lessened but it still lingered. . .

𓂃 ོ𓂃𓅩𓂃 ོ𓂃

Burning,

then drowning,

and last, darkness.

Those were the last things your body experienced before finally giving in.

Afraid, Sadness, Confusion. . betrayal.

Those were the feelings that haunted you in your final waking moments.

As you were unconscious, you were susceptible to the nightmares that formed from your experience, like you were trapped in that same scenario in that damned office.

Labelled as an imposter, your life almost being taken, and being struck by powerful lightning, or rather electro. The feeling of being struck by such. . otherworldly power, it felt like being burned and drowning all together at the same time. It left your muscles sore and stiff, you were sure the librarian's attacks would leave scars on your skin.

Stirring awake you sat up, you hadn't been unconscious for long as your clothes were still very much wet. In the struggle of fighting the waters to not drown, your cinnamoroll slippers were lost, perhaps now at the bottom of the lake. The only thing you had left was the same sword Jean pointed at you, the same sword she had almost used to take your life.

A part of you wanted to throw it, discard it some place she'd never be able to find. But you couldn't, not out of guilty but out of exhaustion and the need for a weapon to defend yourself with.

The winds caressed you gently, letting the tears that left your eyes be carried away by the wind.

What hope and respect you had for those characters seemed to slowly die, your comfort game now felt like a prison, it felt like you were in a survival game with all these odds stacked against you.

What crime did you commit to warrant your life to be targeted and taken away from your grasps?

You stomach growled, ah. . "I'm hungry. ." you hugged yourself as you sobbed, the overwhelming feelings you tried to hold back and bottle up were now surging from the broken damn that was your hope. That same hope that was shattered by the knights of favonious, by Jean and Lisa. You wondered if the other characters will treat you in a similar fashion, or maybe even worse.

You ended up falling asleep once again, from the hunger and exhaustion you felt from your very first day in the world you once felt comfort from. . what a pity.

In your tired and frantic state you had never noticed you were in the ruins of Stormterror's lair. The said dragon returning from who knows where, landing near your sleeping form, his neck craned as his head neared your body.

Eyes blinking every so often as he sniffed, although it was faint he could smell it. The smell of warmth and compassion the diving creator had for its land, weak, but it was there. And for Dvalin that was enough, he opened his mouth, and from it dozens of fish fell from it, forming a pile right beside you.

Your nose scrunched up at the smell of fish but you did not wake.

Satisfied Dvalin rested near you, head facing in your direction.

However numerous days and nights had past and you did not stir or wake from your slumber, Dvalin who had already been in a bad state as it is, lost control of his emotions and flew in a fury towards Mondstadt.

For they were the ones that caused you to fallen into such a depressive state. It was well with-in his rights as the dragon of the east to protect your honor as the [redacted]. So please, wake up, if you do not, you may end up dying once more. . .

𓂃 ོ𓂃𓅩𓂃 ོ𓂃

When you awoke Dvalin was gone, in the distance you could see the storms brewing from a far, in the direction you assumed that lead to mondstadt.

"Why. . why is there a pile of rotting fish beside me?" you wondered, fingers pinching your nose at the disgusting scent. The fish seemed to have been out for a few days already hence it was in a very undesirable state.

"There's not even a body of water in this ruins. ." you realized when the fish were salt water fish of all things. "God. ." your hand reached to brush through your greasy looks "how did I get here?" you wondered aloud, and of course nobody answered. You'd be more scared if there was.

Your stomach painfully twisted, your body was reaching it's breaking point due to the hunger. Eying the fish, you decided it was best to not risk it and so you began your descent from the ruins of the Dragon's lair. It was harder said than done due to the wind barriers and the lack of a wind glider meant that you had to climb down the infrastracture.

Which was a pain considering you woke up at the very top.

You were only halfway there when you stared at your bruised hand, [color] eyes squint at the shimmering liquid in your hands, barely noticeably, was it glitter? it was hard to tell with all the sweat that accumulated from your rock climbing.

You wiped your hands on your pajamas, as something caught your eyes from your peripheral vision. A statue of the seven. .

Cautiously you walked towards it, hands outstretched, hovering but never quite touching. What if touching it alerts Venti of your presence. . was he an ally or a foe. .

your arm fell limp on your side, you couldn't risk your life.

So in the end you turned your back to the statue as you began walking to a pillar you could easily climb done from. Your hands were aching, part of you screamed to touch the Statue so it could heal you if possible but you ignored it, choosing to endure it.

"Ah!-" you screamed as your grip loosened and you began to fall. You were headed towards the wind barriers, you shut your eyes tight as you brought your arms up to protect you face, fearing the worse!

Instead of getting cut by the fierce winds or being pushed back like what you had seen in game, all you felt was a gentle embrace. You opened your eyes slightly to find yourself floating down to the ground.

". . ."

without even questioning it, you dusted off your clothes and smile in relief. "Thank you to whoever is looking out for me. ." And, not wanting to waste anymore time, you looked around to scavenge for some ingredients, there you found an abandoned cooking station which you made sure to remember its location as you tried to find ingredients otherwise, what was the point of a cooking station if you didn't have any things to cook with?

you found some old utensils, mint, a pot, and calla lilies. Finding nothing else and being unable to kill birds for fowl and the fishes had been scared away you went back to the abandoned cooking station. You filled the pot with water from a nearby pond and boiled some mint in the water (the fire being provided by a nearby fire slime that had been nothing but accommodating for her strangely enough- and stuck beside you).

Sitting pretty on a crate you patiently waited for the tea to brew.

meanwhile. . .

"So there is an imposter that has defiled the lands. I see, this is very serious." Amber nodded in understanding as she, Kaeya and the traveller, Aether and their companion Paimon, had returned to the city after dealing with the temples that had been powering Dvalin.

Jean continued "Yes, although her status is unknown we must make sure to see to it with our very own eyes that the imposter has been dealt with." The blond haired traveller knew that 'dealth with' meant 'killed.' He felt a shiver, was Jean always this. . cruel? merciless?

"This will take precedence above all else. So Stormterror will have to wait." The acting grandmaster decided with shocked him.

Aether looked confused at the situation, an imposter? a creator? as far as he knew, this was a case of identity theft, did that constitute being killed on sight in this land? also, how was that more important than the crazy dragon that had been terrorizing the city for months?

Someone make it make sense for him.

Seeing his confused looks, Kaeya, who had been silent up until now, quietly explained to him the situation.

"In Teyvat, there is a being higher than the seven Archons. They are the divine creator. The origin of everything in this world, it is through them we exist, and it is to them we return in death." he explained in simpler terms.

Ah so the ultimate God, wait. . was that the unknown God that trapped him here?! and took his sister?!

"What do they look like?" Aether asked, trying to remain calm. It seemed that disrespecting this creator would end with him getting killed so he tried to act as neutral as possible. However if the divine creator was the one responsible for him being separated from his sister. .

not even the knights of Favonious will stop him.

"Let me show you," the captain offered "there is a statue made in the exact likeness of her excellency, or so I heard." he chuckled and guided him and Paimon out of the office. As he exited last, he glanced at the three that remained at the office, scheming and planning of ways to catch the so called imposter.

The Statue was located in an intimate area, it was smaller than the Anemo Archon's statue which towered over all in the city, just in front of the cathedral but the statue of the Great Creator made up for what it lacked in size with quality.

Aether stared at the statue that was erected behind the cathedral, he studied the well defined features of the statue and breath a sigh of relief upon realizing that the Great Creator and the Unknown God were not the same person.

And yet, "she seems. . familiar. I know this person." he frowned, facing morphing into a look of hopelessness and confusion until his eyes lit up with recognition. "Care to share traveler?" Kaeya patiently waited for his response.

"I saw her. When I was falling to Teyvat, I saw and heard her voice. ." Aether placed a hand on his chest, closing his eyes as he reminisced that distant memory. "She talked to me with so much sweetness and warmth. When I was in the beach, first waking up alone, I felt a presence, I'm sure it's her."

*He winced, clutching his head as unfamiliar yet familiar at the same time, memories flooded his mind. Memories of soaring through the skies, of falling to the ravenous oceans and being caught by a green haired warrior. . the feeling of being struck by lightning, holding someone in his arms as they drew his final breath-

"Aether!" Paimon floated beside her partner, small hands trying their best to comfort the traveller by rubbing his back or patting it. "are you okay?"

He did not answer, brows scrunching up as he panted, 'what was that?'

"I see." Kaeya's eyes shifted to the statue made in the Creator's image, he paid no heed to the fact that the traveler fell to the floor in a state of disarray.

"Why. . " Aether stood up, not entirely offended at the man's lack of care "why did they label them quickly as an imposter though? Wouldn't they first think it is the creator?" It was a reasonable point to brought up.

The blue haired knight hummed "it is because of an old prophecy that foretold the end of Teyvat, when an evil being that wears the face of the creator descends to bring chaos and trick the loyal followers of the Great Mother."

"How are you sure the prophecy is real or it is fulfilling though. . I mean, not all prohpecies are fulfilled. ." Paimon cautiously asked with a frown.

"True" the cavalier captain chuckled, yet it was humorless "but the fact that they showed up in Mondstadt, during the Stormterror's crisis. . when the city and its people is in a state of unrest. You can see why it led to this conclusion, right?"

Aether frowned at that, "it could have just been a coincidence." he defended.

"It could be, but it doesn't change how uneasy the people feel, they'll seek answers to why this whole situation is happening, for them it is easier to blame an 'imposter' of the divine Creator, which is an omen of destruction and misfortune."

Meanwhile you were sipping the improvised mint tea straight from the pot. It tasted spicy and bitter, a weird description but it worked well enough as you felt the burden on your stomach ease up. **

"This is going to be hard."

The Pyro slime that stayed by your side seemed to agree as it sorta nodded.

*Although when you were playing genshin impact, you progressed pass mondstadt and other nations, but upon returning to teyvat or getting 'isekai'd' time seemed to turn back to the starting point of the game. The memories of the residents of Teyvat were changed, yet the vision holders could remember your presence, your gifts (artifacts, weapons) and the strength you gave them. There will be characters who remember though, or partly so. **Funfact: there is a type of mint that specifically helps with staving off / delaying hunger (peppermint oil iirc), [name] applied that knowledge in this chapter because she couldn't find anything to fully help with her hunger.

also Teyvat is trying to keep you alive, hence when you were about to hit the wind barriers in stormterror's ruins you were able to pass through it without it hurting you and it (the wind barriers) helped break your fall.

Please pet Dvalin, and tell him he's a good boy (and don't mention how the fish had rot and you ended up disposing it. .)

taglist: @fantasyhopperhea

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cressidagrey · 11 months ago

Text

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 4

Summary:

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings:

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Amren bashing, KITTENS!, Accidental Forest Burning?, Kinda a panic attack or the fae equivalent, Mention of Wing Clipping (kinda) and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Eira was having a bad day.

She was having a really, really bad day.

After the war…they had been more often.

After the war…there hadn’t been a week without her having one of those bad days.

A day, where everything felt like it was too much. Where everything seemingly scratched at her skin, everything was too much, too loud.

Today was another one of those days.

It was one of those days where everything was too much, too loud, too much, too bright. Where the walls suddenly seemed to grow too close, the ceiling too low, the world too large, too noisy, too….everything.

It was one of those days and Eira didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.

She was curled up in her room, the windows covered and the curtains drawn closed, plunging the room into deep shadows.

She couldn’t stand it when the world was too much, too loud.

And yet she could still hear it all. Still hear every little sound, every little noise.

The voices of the others, the birds or the animals outside, the people on the streets, everything.

It was too much and she didn’t like it.

She was curled up on the bed, her hands pressed against her ears as she tried to block out as much of the noise as possible.

It was too much, everything was too much, too loud, too bright..

She just wanted the noise to stop.

But she couldn't. And as much as she wanted to throw herself a pity party...it wouldn't result in anything.

She wanted to cry and complain and have something in the form of a tantrum, like a child.

But that wouldn’t get her anywhere, would it?

She was an adult, she couldn’t just sit and sob about everything being too much. About her bad day.

It wouldn't give her anything...wouldn't result in anything. And so she forced herself to get up...she forced herself to have breakfast...to smile at Nyx when he upended his porridge bowl all over Rhys.

It was hard, getting up when all she wanted to do was to stay under the covers.

She was exhausted, her bad day and the lack of sleep leaving her feeling like walking dead.

At least she was left alone.

Rhys was in a meeting with the governors, Feyre had taken Nyx with her to some painting classes…

She knew she shouldn’t have been feeling as relieved as she did when she realised that every one was gone, leaving her alone in the River House.

But there was a part of her that was immensely relieved, almost desperate.

It was only her, with her bad day and the silence of the house, for once without the constant bustle of the others.

She ended up tending to her gardening patch that day...ignoring the hovering shadows that tried to get her to stop.

But she didn’t listen. The hard work of tending the garden and the feeling of the dirt against her skin was enough to distract her, if only for a little.

It was better than sitting in her room, alone and curled up and trying to muffle every single sound.

She could still remember the smell and the sounds of the war.

Of blood and mud and smoke, of the sound of steel on steel.

Of the screams of soldiers, of the soldiers calling out for their friends, for their family.

Of the sounds of swords being pulled from flesh and mud, and of bodies crumpling to the ground.

She could still remember those days.

And sometimes it was all she could think of.

The war. The bad days. The pain.

Eira finished her planting, having harvested enough carrots for the day, and then walked back through the door, dusting some dirt off her hands.

She paused when she saw Amren standing just inside, leaning against a wall with her arms crossed over her chest.

She froze, suddenly feeling the urge to turn back and out of the door again.

There was something about the other female’s stare, the almost calculating look in her eyes, that always made her feel like prey.

And Eira didn’t like it.

She could see the other woman’s gaze dart over her, noting all the messy and unkempt aspects of her current appearance, and suppressed the urge to shrink and cower.

“Amren,” she greeted politely, as she tried to push down the rising feeling of dread.

The other female simply tilted her head, eyeing her almost lazily.

You look...” Amren drawled quietly, before trailing off.

Eira’s skin was crawling with the feeling of being judged, to be judged and found....found lacking.

“You look like you’ve been digging through mud,” Amren continued, her voice still quiet.

Eira swallowed a little, feeling herself start to hunch in on herself.

She suddenly didn’t know what to do with her hands, the feeling of Amren’s intense gaze almost making her fingers start to twitch.

"I have been gardening," Eira said quietly. Her own vegetable plot...and she needed to think of how to prepare the garden for autumn, given that Elain was not going to do anything like that.

"You would have been better off honing that lightning power of yours, Girl," Amren drawled. Eira couldn't help but flinch.

She tried to ignore...what was slumbering under her skin. She tried to...she tried not to think of what...what she was capable of. What she had proven herself to be capable of.

“Your power is wasted on gardening,” Amren went on, her eyes still fixed on her. She was still studying her in that intense, almost predatory way. “You should be training, honing your abilities….not digging in the mud like some ordinary farmer.”

Eira felt herself bristle slightly, a spark of anger cutting through the almost debilitating terror of the intense stare.

The other female made it sound so….insulting. Like working in the garden was an insult to her power, something she was too good to do.

"I like gardening," Eira answered quietly.

“You like gardening,” Amren repeated, raising an eyebrow. She pushed off the wall, taking a couple of steps towards her.

“You like it, or is it an excuse to avoid using your power?” she inquired, her voice dropping to a low murmur. "Ignoring your power isn't going to make it disappear," Amren said quietly. "You are cauldron made, girl. You already showed how deadly you can be."

Eira flinched again, unable to stop herself. Amren’s words hit her like a blow.

It was something she'd tried so hard to avoid thinking about.

She was cauldron-made, cursed by the powers she'd been given, by the very strength that was in her blood.

“You have an entire arsenal at the tip of your fingertips. You’re powerful. You’re stronger than most of them. You have the power of the damn lightning running in your veins. You have a natural gift for destruction. And yet you choose to ignore it all , to dig in the dirt like some common peasant instead of actually learning how to use it?”

She flinched again.

"What's wrong, girl?" Amren asked, her voice still low and quiet. "Have I struck a nerve?"

She stalked closer, circling around her like a predator.

"You have power at your fingertips, enough to level a city and yet you choose to waste it on…gardening. Or on sewing or on baking or on whatever other useless little hobbies you find time for.”

The words cut deep, cut deeper than any blade ever could. Amren's voice was cold, almost mocking, but there was a touch of something else in it. Something almost like…irritation.

It was like she was disappointed, that she wanted Eira to...to be more. To be…a weapon.

"I don't want to be a weapon," Eira whispered. She didn’t want to fight.

She wanted peace. That was all she wanted.

Amren stopped, so close that Eira could taste the almost metallic smell of her power, like a sharp tang on the back of her tongue.

The other female was silent for a moment, studying her in that intense, almost calculating way of hers.

A beat passed before she spoke again, a low murmur.

“What you want...is irrelevant. You are a weapon. You are a living weapon...and that is never going to change. What about your sister? She spent years keeping you alive in that cottage. This is your thanks to your High Lady?" Amren hissed at her.

Eira flinched at the sharp tone, her eyes wide as she stared at Amren.

The other female was looking at her with a cold expression, her gaze sharp.

And yet…there was something else in her eyes, a cold kind of fury. Rage.

Amren’s voice dropped to a low murmur again, a dangerous undertone to it. “What about Feyre?“

Her words were like a lash, flaying the skin of her soul.

Of course. Of course, this was about Feyre.

Amren was furious with her. She was furious with how Eira tried to push her power away, how she tried to bury it and hide and avoid using it.

Amren’s eyes flashed with irritation. “She spent years keeping you alive in that cottage, all so you can waste your power on something as trivial as gardening ?”

The faelights flickered, flickered and started to dim.

Eira could suddenly feel a spark of anger at the back of her throat, a sharp feeling of irritation, as if something was scratching at the inside of her skin.

Too much. Too much.

Too much.

Everything was too much.

It all crowded her mind, everything so sharp and intense it almost cut her from the inside.

A rumble somewhere…outside.

There was a part of her that wanted to scream, to yell and kick something and make the sharp feelings stop.

Another part that wanted to curl up on the floor and cry.

She wasn't sure what she did...she wasn't sure what she was...what...

Eira wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, or what she was even supposed to be.

She didn’t want to be a living weapon, a cursed creature with power she didn’t want.

She didn’t want to be that. She couldn’t be that.

She exploded.

It was like the world started to spin, a dizzying rush like a tempest, like a storm rushing through her body.

Her skin felt tight, almost stretched too thin. She felt like she was on fire, sparks crawling through her skin like little thorns digging into her soul.

It was anger. It was fury. It was a roaring sound in her ears like rain, like a thunderstorm.

She exploded. Or at least it felt that way to Eira. The only thing she knew was that she wanted to be far, far away.

Everything was blurry, like a red veil had been dropped over her eyes.

The only thing she knew was that she needed to get away.

She needed to escape, to be somewhere else, far, far away.

She needed…

She hit the floor.

The first thing she knew was the feel of loose dirt beneath her fingertips as her fingers clawed into the ground beneath her.

Not the polished marble of the River House hallway, but cool dirt and grass.

Outside. She was outside.

She was suddenly aware of that fact.

Aware of how her knees and palms were pressed into dirt. That her heart was beating like a battle drum in her chest.

There was a feeling of lightning crawling over her skin, and as she looked down on her hands she saw it. Saw the lightning arcing over her skin, her whole body trembling.

No. No, no, no, no….

She closed her eyes, as a ragged breath left her throat whimper.

She tried to hold it back, everything inside of her.

The anger, the power, everything swirling in her soul, scratching at her heart.

She tried to keep it all from spilling out, but it was like trying to contain a hurricane.

She failed, miserably.

Even with her eyes closed she could see the lightning. Could see the bluish silver colour of it a it sparked all over her skin, as it enveloped her…as it…as it poured into the ground like water.

It was like a tempest was roaring through her veins, like the very lightning was snapping at her skin.

It was too much.

The power. The feeling.

It was all too much.

It was like a living current, like a thousand burning tendrils tracing over her skin, igniting every nerve ending like wildfire.

Every muscle felt like it was twitching, every nerve like it was screaming.

It was almost painful, the lightning dancing like little claws over her skin.

She tried to hold it back, wanted it all to stop.

But it was like a dam had burst.

All her anger, all her rage, all the things that had been brewing in her soul were now pouring out like a tsunami.

The ground around her was torn up, little pieces of grass and dirt thrown about by the currents of her power.

It was like an ocean of energy, like a storm in miniature, and it felt like it was tearing her apart from the inside. Everything felt raw and exposed, like every nerve ending was on fire, and the lightning just wouldn’t stop.

She wanted to curl up, desperately wanted it to end and just wanted to stop feeling all at the same time. And then...then it was over.

Then it was over.

Her heart was still thundering in her chest, the sound deafening in her ears, the electricity leaving her skin feeling oversensitive and raw. Her body felt exhausted, every muscle screaming and every nerve like a live wire of pain.

And then, as suddenly as it had all started, it was over.

Eira was aware of a sudden moment of silence. And then she was aware of her own ragged breathing, how her heart was beating so hard in her chest she was sure it was going to break through her ribs.

Eira sat there, feeling the cold air biting into her skin.

She was alone.

Completely alone.

She was at the edge of a forest, sitting on the ground. Her hair was a mess, dirt and grass sticking to the strands, and her hands and clothes were stained with it.

She was cold, and her body felt almost numb, but she still couldn’t move.

You need to get up the shadows whispered suddenly.

She heard them, the shadows whispering to her.

It was like a voice in her ear, a quiet and almost urgent murmur.

You need to get up.

They sounded almost...concerned.

She forced herself to speak, to get the words past the lump in her throat.

“Where... where am I?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The shadows remained silent for a moment, before she heard them reply, a quiet murmur.

Illyria. You winnowed. You need to get somewhere safe.

She froze slightly at the words.

Not at the idea of being in Illyria, but at the last part.

You winnowed.

She had...winnowed.

She had somehow managed to winnow in her anger, in her fury, to land in the middle of godforsaken Illyria.

She swallowed, trying to get through the fog of her mind.

You need to get somewhere safe.

The shadows were right, and the rational part of her knew she needed to get somewhere safe, somewhere away from the dangers of being right there.

Eira didn’t know what kind of display she had just made, but she could imagine it. And if some rogue Illyrian was going to find her…some rogue Illyrian who hated the High Lord…she was going to die. She somehow didn’t doubt that for one moment.

But she was also…tired. So tired it felt like her bones were made of lead, and she wasn’t sure if she could even move.

The shadows started pulling at her, like invisible hands gripping her and carefully lifting her to her feet.

She staggered a little, trying to keep her balance, her body still shaky from the aftermath of her outburst.

The forest seemed even more ominous in the faint light, the trees like shadowy sentinels surrounding her with their silent vigil…the smell of smoke in the air. She stared to find some of the trees being nothing but smoking black carcasses.

Her trembling intensified.

She had done that. She had…Today it hadn’t been people. Today it had only been trees. Somehow that did nothing to calm her.

But the shadows still held her, guiding her forward, almost like they were trying to lead her somewhere.

One tendril wrapped around her wrist, like an invisible tether, pulling her forward with each stumbling step.

She wasn't sure how long she stumbled after it...every movement sluggish and shaky.

She wasn’t sure how long it went on, how long she stumbled and tripped through the shadows of the forest.

She was tired, so tired she felt like she could go to sleep and stay there on the cold forest floor. But the shadows still pulled her on, their grasp a gentle but firm pressure around her wrist, guiding her ever forward.

Safe. We’ll get you somewhere safe, the shadows whispered. Safe. Safe.

Azriel. Azriel was safe. She needed Azriel. She needed…

For just one second she could have sworn that she smelt him…smelt cedars and mist, just as the shadows dragged her through…something. Something sticky like honey, like the very air had just hardened around her.

The shadows whispered in her ear, a quiet murmur.

Nearly there.

She still felt tired, still felt like her body was made of lead, but the words from the shadows gave her the strength to keep going.

Nearly there.

She was blinking, and then she wasn’t.

And suddenly... suddenly a cottage appeared before her, like it had just sprung up from thin air.

She stumbled with surprise, her eyes wide as she stared at the cottage before her.

A simple dark grey stone cottage. It looked old, but well kept, sturdy and solid enough to withstand the harshness of Illyria.

There was a thin trail of smoke curling up from the chimney, and a warm light shining from the windows.

It was clearly lived in, clearly a home .

Esmeray will take care of you.

Eira was bewildered, and confused, and her mind was sluggish and slow.

The shadows had brought her here, to this cottage, and now they were whispering about this...Esmeray.

She didn’t know who Esmeray was, and had never heard of her, but the shadows trusted her.

Still, she stumbled up to that cottage door, hand grabbling against the door, clawing against the door frame to hold herself up.

And then she heard a sound, a voice coming from inside.

"Who in the Mother's name...?"The sound of footsteps came padding hastily nearer, the door opened…and Eira would have nearly fallen into the house if she hadn’t caught herself.

The owner of the voice appeared in the doorway.

Illyrian. A pair of ruined wings hanging from her back. Dark hair braided back into a long braid that fell down her back. She was beautiful. Hazel-green eyes, sharp eyebrows...She froze as she saw Eira, her eyes widened in surprise as she took in the battered, ragged appearance of the female on her threshold.

"Great Mother alive....What happened to you?" The Illyrian exclaimed, her eyes widening as she saw the state Eira was in.

She took a few quick steps forward, reaching out like she was to grab Eira from the doorway.

Eira didn’t have time to protest before the Illyrian grabbed her arm, pulling her all the way through the door and into the cottage. The inside of the cottage was warm, a fire crackling in the fireplace, and a faint, homey scent of smoke and herbs lingered in the air.

She was surprised, speechless at the quick movement, and her legs all but gave out underneath her.

The female caught her before she hit the floor, quickly steadying her and practically dragging her to where a chair was set by the fire.

The shadows swirled around her, dancing and flitting in the air like a little cyclone. The female noticed them, an eyebrow raising at the strange phenomenon, and turned a questioning gaze towards Eira. "Did Azriel send you here?" she asked, her voice calm but edged with something like alarm.

Eira struggled to find her voice, her throat dry and her mind fogged. Trying to speak was like trying to pull the words from the thick fog that filled her mind, but she managed to give a vague shake of her head, gesturing towards the dancing shadows.

The female tilted her head, seeming to understand her silent meaning.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked towards the shadows swirling around her.

"The shadows...did they bring you here?" she asked, her eyes flickering between Eira and the dark tendrils of air.

Eira nodded weakly, unable to summon the strength to speak.

Yes. The shadows had brought her here. They were still spinning and flitting around her, their presence a strangely comforting one.

The female’s brows furrowed more, as she took in Eira’s battered appearance, the exhaustion in her eyes, and the dancing shadows.

"What exactly happened to you?" she asked, her voice sharp and urgent, as she examined Eira for any more injuries. She was checking her over as she spoke, her hands gently but firmly moving over Eira's arms, chest and back. The female’s voice was quiet and gentle, like she was trying to soothe a spooked animal.

“Can you tell me your name?” she asked, her eyes flicking up to meet Eira’s.

Eira thought for a moment, trying to force her mind to work, to pull the words and her own name from the corners of her mind.

It took a moment, but she finally managed to rasp the words out.

“...Eira.”

The female nodded, seeming satisfied with her answer.

"Eira. That's a nice name." she said softly, before pausing. A moment of silence, as the female seemed to study her. And then… "Eira Archeron?" Surprise coloured her voice, and her eyes widened as she took in Eira's face, studying her features.

She was looking at Eira, her hazel-green eyes searching her face, like she was trying to find some resemblance, a small smile appearing on her face.

"My son mentioned you before," she said quietly. “My son mentioned you before,” she repeated again, her voice still quiet and soft.

It took a moment for her words to register.

Her son… mentioned her?

"Your... son?" she managed to croak out.

The female chuckled.

"Azriel," she said quietly, her voice holding an undeniable note of pride.

Eira's mind went quiet, her heart skipping a beat at the sound of his name. Her mind was like a sluggish, muddy mess, but something clicked as the words sank into her mind.

Her son. Azriel.

Esmeray was Azriel’s mother .

He...he had mentioned her? To his mother?!

To his mother.

The words circled her mind, repeating again and again.

To his mother, to his mother, to h-

The female seemed to recognize her shock, her surprise. And her words came softly, as her eyes never left Eira’s face.

"My son always was a quiet one. But he has a habit of mentioning the things that are important to him. You and your sisters clearly are considered important to him. Elain is your twin sister, isn't she?" The words seemed like they were spoken through a fog. Eira’s mind was in shambles, still reeling from the fact that Azriel might have mentioned her to his mother. But her mind caught on the other words.

Elain. Her twin sister.

She could only give a jerky nod in response, the movement making the world spin for a moment.

"My name is Esmeray," Azriel's mother introduced herself. Esmeray. "Welcome to Rosehall, Eira."

Rosehall.The word echoed in Eira’s head.

She was at Azriel’s mother’s home, a place called...Rosehall.

And the female before her...was Azriel’s mother.

Esmeray. Her name matched the warmth of her voice, and there was a kindness to her face that made Eira trust her instinctively.

Esmeray’s voice was soft as she spoke, a kind and gentle tone.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

The words rang through the buzzing mess that was Eira’s mind, and she almost wanted to cringe with frustration. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t remember.

But Esmeray’s voice was so gentle, so...motherly. It made her just want to spill all her troubles, to lay down her head and just...rest.

The words fumbled out of her mouth, stumbling over her tongue as she forced them out one by one.

"I...I was gardening,” she said, her voice soft, “back home...Amren came...we had words...I...I got angry...”

She paused a moment, hesitating, before forcing herself to continue.

“I winnowed...I ended up next to a forest...I think…I think I killed the trees..."

Esmeray was watching her, her eyes not leaving her face for a second. There was concern in her face, surprise and alarm, but none of the judgment Eira had expected to find there.

She could only swallow, feeling all at once like a little child again. A frightened, exhausted and weary little child, all but collapsing in the presence of a caring adult.

Esmeray didn’t move, but there was a quiet pause before she spoke again.

"The shadows led you here," Esmeray said, her voice still soft and gentle.

The shadows wrapped around Eira’s wrist tighter, another tendril moving and twirling around her like they were acknowledging what Esmeray had said.

Esmeray seemed to blink twice at the shadow’s behaviour. "I imagine my son is already aware of what happened then," she said, her voice quiet.

True. The shadows would have told Azriel what was going on, right? So why hadn’t he come?

Master will be there as soon as he can, the shadows whispered to her. It's alright. They were trying to soothe her, in their own quiet, strange way.

Esmeray was watching her, studying her like a worried mother.

“Let’s clean you up,” she said, her voice still soft and gentle, "Are you hungry? Thirsty? You are in shock, you are shaking.”

It was only then that Eira realized she was shivering and quaking. Like her body was trying to tremble apart.

The female stepped closer but didn't touch her yet, her eyes still studying Eira like she was trying to decide what to do with her. "And what happened to your clothes, sweetheart?" she asked softly, almost to herself, as her eyes raked over the torn, ragged state of Eira’s gown.

It was only then that Eira remembered the sorry state of her own attire. Torn, stained, dirty, ragged, burnt in some places, ripped in others… she must have looked like she had stumbled right out of a nightmare.

And then Esmeray reached for her, gently taking her arms in her hands.

Eira could have pulled away. Her body told her to pull away. She didn’t know this female, had never even met her. And yet…

"Come," Esmeray said quietly, "Let's get you washed and into some clean clothes."

She seemingly blinked and Esmeray had her bundled into a thick nightgown and had chivied her back into the kitchen...herbs drying over the the stove, as she put the kettle on and then sat across from Eira to carefully clean the scrapes on her hands. Her hands were spread out on the tabletop, and Esmeray was bent over them, carefully cleaning the scrapes and cuts there with some sort of ointment. The female seemed to be an expert when it came to tending wounds, her movements swift, yet gentle.

The silence in the cabin was so absolute, the only sounds that could be heard were the soft tap tap of the kettle on the stove, the steady hum of the pot, and the occasional stirring of the herbs above.

It was comforting, in an odd way. Like for the first time in a long time, Eira could draw in a deep breath without worrying about what would come next.

Her mind was still so sluggish, but the steam rolling off the kettle, and the clean scent of the herbs all seemed to be slowly coaxing her out of the fog that filled her head.

Perhaps even her body was beginning to relax. Eira felt...more grounded now, like she was less on the verge of collapsing than before.

The kettle started to whistle, and Esmeray looked up. Her movements were swift, as she took it off the boil and poured the hot water into a teapot. “Here, drink something,” she said, pushing the tea towards Eira, her voice not leaving much room for arguments.

It was a command, not a suggestion. Though Esmeray’s tone was still quiet, kind. Yet there was a hint of a mother’s steel in it. Eira tried to remember her own mother ever cleaning her scrapes and making her tea. She came up empty.

Her own mother had been more of the opinion that children should be seen not heard.

Eira couldn’t even remember her mother ever having hugged her, now that she thought of it.

Esmeray pushed the steaming teacup towards her, raising an expectant, dark eyebrow.

Eira took it, hesitantly wrapping her fingers around the warm cup, and raised it to her lips, hesitating to take a sip. Esmeray was watching her, studying her even now, even in these simple moments. Eira drank, swallowing the bitter, sweet tea.

It burned slightly on the way down, but it seemed to help, as the fog in her mind receded ever so slightly.

“You have three sisters, don’t you? Nesta, Elain and Feyre? Azriel mentioned that.”

And there it was again. Azriel’s name. Again. He had mentioned her. He’d...spoken about her to his mother.

And somehow Eira still couldn’t wrap her head around it, even as the words echoed in her mind. Azriel mentioned it.

She nodded quietly, a jerky movement that made her head hurt. “Yes.”

Her voice was dry and rasping, and she winced slightly, as she forced the words out.

Esmeray nodded, looking pleased at her answer.

“He’s quite fond of you,” she said simply.

Her words slammed into Eira like a punch to the stomach. He was fond of her. Azriel...He was fond of her.

The words seemed to send a strange sort of shudder through her entire body. He was fond of her. Her mind was still so fuzzy and messy, but the words kept ringing in her head, like a bell someone was tolling over and over again.

He was fond of her.

Esmeray was watching her, her gaze unwavering, and it made Eira realize that the female must have noticed her reaction.

But if she had, she didn’t make any move to mention it. Instead, she just kept looking at Eira, like she was waiting for some sort of reaction.

And so Eira forced herself to speak. “How….how do you know?”

Her words were a bit steadier now, the bitter, yet warm tea working its magic.

“My son may be skilled with the shadows,” Esmeray said with a wry smile, “But he still has the same tell he had from when he was a child. You can tell he’s fond of someone, if you know where to look, even if he doesn’t say it out loud. And he is quite fond of you…though he may be fonder of that twin sister of yours,” she said with a laugh. Elain.

Eira swallowed. She understood what Esmeray was hinting at in a roundabout way without her needing to say another word. "Too bad she turned out to be mated to another," Esmeray said with a sigh.

And just like that, it felt like somebody put a knife straight into her heart and twisted.

Elain.

Azriel may was fond of her…but he was fonder of Elain. Elain was the one who Azriel had been in love with. The one he couldn’t have.

Eira…Eira was just a replacement, wasn’t she? A consolation prize.

It stung, like a thousand needles stabbing into her skin. A replacement.

She looked down into her teacup, trying to will the stinging in her eyes away.

Esmeray was watching her still, taking note of her reaction again."Why do I feel like I just said something I shouldn’t have, sweetheart?” Esmeray asked softly.

Eira shook her head, tears stinging into her eyes.

It wasn't her place to tell Azriel's mother about their mating bond. That should be something that should be coming from him. But Esmeray was watching her and Eira felt like she was seeing everything that was going on in her life. Esmeray was watching her, her eyes sharp and shrewd, as they studied Eira in quiet silence.

And then, all of a sudden, her face softened, and her voice was even softer as she asked quietly, “Did something between you and my son...happen?”

The words seemed to freeze Eira’s lungs.

How had she known? How had she known?

She swallowed, and then opened her mouth, ready to deny the fact...her words dying in her throat.

She couldn’t lie to that face, not the softness in it, not the motherly concern.

The tears came so suddenly they made Eira gasp. They were hot, sliding down her face, and she couldn’t seem to wipe them away, no matter how hard she tried.

Esmeray’s face softened even more, and before Eira knew what was happening, the female was crouched in front of her, her hand reaching up to gently wipe away a stray tear.

“Oh sweetheart...” Esmeray’s voice was soft, almost motherly. “Oh, what’s wrong?”

The tenderness in the mother’s voice made Eira’s chest ache even through the tears, and a quiet sob escaped her.

What was wrong ? Where to even start? Her powers, the bond, Elain, Azriel, the guilt....

It was all too much.

And yet, Esmeray was there. Her voice soft yet stern, her dark eyes kind and concerned as she sat across from Eira, with no sign of budging.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” she said gently. “What happened? What did my idiot of a son do to you?”

“He didn’t do anything,” she protested weakly. “He didn’t…”

“Then what happened?” Esmeray pushed gently. “What happened to you, sweetheart? You don’t just start winnowing accidentally if everything is well, Eira.”

She wasn’t even sure where she was supposed to start.

“She….Elain is a seer,” she said weakly, her voice broken.

Esmeray nodded slowly, as understanding seemed to flicker on her features, even as she gestured for Eira to keep talking. "She...she had a vision. Of...Of...Azriel and me," Eira managed to bring out, brokenly. "She tried to make sure that it wouldn't come true....Tried to...He...the mating bond...snapped for him two weeks or so ago."

The tears wouldn't stop now. They kept falling, as Eira struggled to get the words out through her tears.

Her voice was a broken mess, and her throat felt so dry, like each word was scratching her already abused vocal cords. But Esmeray stayed quiet, only nodded.

The tears wouldn't stop now. They kept falling, as Eira struggled to get the words out through her tears. "The bond….the bond snapped for Azriel around two weeks ago," Eira finally managed, and then she couldn't stop the words from coming out of her mouth, each one more choked and broken than the last. "She...tried so hard to keep the vision from coming true but...it still happened. It happened. I...I am his...mate"

The words broke off, as the tears came again, the sobs now choking her, "I am his…his mate," she repeated, and just saying the word out loud made the tears flow again, her heart aching almost painfully in her chest.

She was his mate. And yet, he had been…he had been in love with Elain. The one he couldn’t have. She was just the replacement.

The tears were still falling, and the sobs were still wracking her body, as she heard Esmeray’s soft, yet quiet words. “And you….how do you feel about my son?”

"I met him when I was...I was still human," she forced out. "I looked at him and...it was just...I...I fell in love. He was...he was so gentle. Kind. And the shadows…the shadows were so beautiful. I fell in love…before I knew what a mating bond even was.” She felt her tears starting to flow harder once more, despite her efforts to keep them at bay.

She had loved him before the bond. Even before their magic had intertwined and made them mates, she had loved him. Loved him and all his quiet, dark, beautiful glory. And the fact that he had been in love with someone else….it just made everything hurt worse.

Her tears were now falling more steadily, and no matter how hard she tried to blink them back they wouldn’t stop.

Esmeray was still watching her, her dark eyes fixed on Eira’s quivering form, but she was quiet now, her features thoughtful. There was a weight in the room now as the both of them remained silent.

The only sounds that could be heard were the soft tap tap of the kettle, and the low hum of the pot above the stove, and Eira’s shuddering breaths.

"Drink your tea, sweetheart," Esmeray finally said quietly. "It seems like I need to have a talk with my son about actually writing me more often than monthly."

Eira managed a small, if a bit shaky, snort, even as she brought the mug of tea up to her lips again. As the warm liquid slid down her throat, she slowly, gradually, managed to get her breathing under control again and her tears dried up.

There was nothing she could change about it, could she?

She had always known that she probably wasn’t going to marry for love. She had just thought that…maybe…maybe becoming Fae would at least grant her that.

“At least tell me my son didn’t react badly to the news?” It was a quiet question, but Eira could hear the sharp, motherly tone to the it. It was a quiet yet clear demand to know just how exactly her son had taken the news of them being mated.

"He wants to try. He's trying to court me the human way," Eira’s voice was weak…tired. She heard the sharp intake of breath from Esmeray.

" Human way?” There was a small note of surprise to her voice, but Eira chose to ignore it.

"I used to be human," Eira said weakly. "Then I got thrown into the cauldron." Esmeray just inclined her head in a mute nod, indicating she had understood.

There was a small note of melancholy in her voice, as her dark eyes seemed to study Eira's before her lips curled into a small smile. “Then I suppose I have plenty to talk to my son about,” she murmured softly. “Are you hungry? I was going to make dinner soon,” she said with a smile.

Eira opened her mouth to answer and was then interrupted by a white cat that padded into the room, meowing loudly. The cat took one look at Eira, meowed happily, and then hopped into her lap, purring loudly.

“That’s just Flora,” Esmeray said with a fond smile, "She's probably trying to get away from her babies for a bit. They have turned into little terrors these days."

Eira let out a small, choked laugh, trying and mostly failing to resist the urge to immediately begin rubbing the purring cat behind the ears.

She had always loved cats. It was a small comfort, as the creature rubbed its head against her hand, purring loudly. Just as Esmeray had said, 3 kittens were not far behind their mother.

The three kittens hopped into the room and immediately began climbing up onto the nearest piece of furniture. One managed to scale a nearby bookcase, and another made their way onto the table near the window, while the third decisively scaled Eira’s skirts to curl up on her leg together with its mother. They were adorable, all three of them, small and white fluff balls, stumbling about as they scrambled after their mother.

The kitten immediately nuzzled against Eira’s hand, purring loudly, clearly looking for more pats from her, looking at her with sapphire blue eyes.

Eira couldn’t help her small smile, as she began to gently rub the kitten behind it’s small ears. The cat seemed to enjoy the attention, as it began purring louder, its little back arching every now and then.

The shadows tightened around her wrist, and she would have laughed at their display of jealousy any other time, but right now it just got a weak smile from her as the kitten curled up on her lap to take a nap.

“She seems to have taken a liking to you,” Esmeray commented with a smile, watching the kitten rub its head against Eira’s hand, clearly demanding more pats.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #the prophecy #Looked to the sky

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hatsbuckets · 4 months ago

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Sunday Softies: CoD MW Characters and Hands

My little take. Cod Head Canons

Price: His hands are big—strong, steady. The kind of hands that settle on your shoulder and make the world feel a little more manageable. Rough, calloused, worn, but clean, always clean. His nails are short, neatly kept, a small indulgence. When the air turns cold, his knuckles crack, and he rubs in lotion with a quiet sigh. There's an old scar across the top of his right hand, a silly accident from long ago. They carry weight, and when they land on a shoulder—solid, grounding—it feels like safety.

Ghost: His hands are huge, warm in a way you wouldn’t expect. Scarred, yes—rough and brutal in places, fingertips ruined by a life spent gripping weapons—but there’s a care to them, a quiet consideration. His nails are kept short, trimmed neatly, because anything else is a liability. His hands don’t fidget, don’t wander. When he moves, there’s always purpose, even when his fingers card through a certain mohawk, absent but intentional. He doesn’t like people staring at them, doesn’t like people noticing him, but if someone's lucky enough, if he lets you 'em close, they'll find that his hands are softer than they should be. Capable of violence, but warm against the back of a neck, against a wrist, against the small of a back in the dark.

Gaz: His hands know work, but they also know grace. Strong, lean, capable—the kind of hands that belong to someone who moves, who acts. Always steady, always precise. He keeps them clean, nails trimmed just so, but not out of vanity. Just habit. Just necessity. There’s a scar along his trigger finger, a strange, scattered thing that throws off the swirl of his fingerprint. His hands know where to be, when to touch, when to hold on tight and not let go. They tremble, sometimes, after a close call, after the rush has faded and the weight of survival settles deep. When that happens, he clenches them tight—around his gear, around a railing, around a hand offered without question—and waits for the shaking to stop.

Soap: Smaller hands than some of the others, but God, they are strong. Rough palms, thick callouses, a collection of burn scars dusting his fingers—each one with a story he’d happily tell if you asked. His favorite stretches up his left middle finger, jagged, sharp, like a bolt of lightning frozen in his skin. His nails are short, neat, but his cuticles? A disaster. Picked raw when he’s not paying attention, worrying at them until they bleed. His hands never stop moving—tapping, fiddling, reaching. They’re good for steadying himself against someone’s shoulder, for nudging into a certain Lieutenant's ribs with a teasing poke, for gripping tight in the quiet when he thinks no one’s looking.

Farah: Her hands are small, but every inch of them is earned. Scars, old and new, weave across her knuckles, her palms, the delicate bones of her fingers. Her grip is firm, her movements efficient—nothing wasted, nothing unnecessary. There was softness there once, long ago, but duty demanded more. She keeps them clean, but not obsessively so; there’s always a little dust beneath her nails, a reminder. When her hands touch, they touch deliberately. When they hold, they mean it.

Alex: Pretty hands. That’s the first thought, always. Long fingers, well-proportioned, calloused where they need to be but never rough. He takes care of them, rubs in lotion whenever he has the chance, lets himself enjoy the softness while he can. Not many scars—he’s lucky that way—but there’s a strength in them, a quiet steadiness. His hands know how to touch, how to soothe, how to hold without taking, how to grip without clutching. Warm hands, warm in the way that makes someone want to reach for them in the cold, just to see if they’d allow it.

Laswell: Hands that don’t shake, no matter how much pressure she’s under. Trimmed nails, always clean, always practical, no room for indulgence. There’s a small scar on her thumb, almost invisible, but it’s there—an old kitchen accident from back when she had time for hobbies like cooking. Her fingertips are calloused from years of pressing against desks, tapping against phones, gripping the edge of a chair as she listens to intel roll in. When she reaches out, she does it with intention—a brief press to an arm, a squeeze to the shoulder, an anchor.

Alejandro: Warm hands, hands that hold. Big, strong, sun-browned, worn from years of hard work but gentle in the ways that matter. He clasps a shoulder like he means it, grips tight when he pulls someone in close, runs a thumb over the back of a hand without thinking. There’s an old scar running across his palm, a memory from a blade fight long ago. When he touches, he touches with everything.

Rudy: Steady, quiet hands. The kind you’d trust, no questions asked. Rough in places, smoothed in others, as if time itself can’t decide what to do with them. His knuckles are scarred, his fingertips burned in small patches. His hands aren’t fast, aren’t impatient—they wait, they assess, they understand. Alejandro’s hands pull—Rudy’s keep safe.

Nikolai: Broad hands, hands that know both work and finesse. Rough palms, thick fingers, nails that are never quite clean of grease no matter how much he scrubs. His knuckles are scarred, his grip firm, but when he touches, it’s with a careful kind of certainty. He holds a gun, a wrench, a bottle of vodka with the same natural ease, but there’s something different in the way his hands linger when they settle on a friend’s shoulder, when they grip tight in the quiet moments between battles.

Graves: Strong hands, confident hands, hands that never hesitate. Always clean, always controlled, nails trimmed just enough to show he cares. A scar crosses his index finger, an old story he rarely tells. His hands move when he talks, expressive, animated. He’s the type to clap friends and foes on the back a little too hard, to grip too tight when the stakes are high.

Valeria: Elegant hands, but make no mistake—they’re dangerous. Rings glint on her fingers, hiding the scars beneath, a distraction, a deception. Her nails are painted, sharp, perfectly maintained. They are capable. Deadly. She touches lightly, absentmindedly—her pistol, the rim of a glass, the hollow of a throat. She doesn’t hold—she possesses.

Roach: (yes, he's here too) Quick hands, clever hands. Hands that talk for him when words won’t do. Compact, efficient, built for movement. His fingertips are rough, his nails bitten a little too short, like he’s always thinking, always processing. His hands know things—how to grip, how to steady, how to hold on. They linger when they touch, like they’re memorizing. Like they want to remember.

Makarov: (oops he made it too.) Cold hands, but not in the way that means poor circulation—cold in the way that means absence. His fingers are long, precise, his grip calculated rather than careless. Scars scatter across his knuckles, faint but deep. His nails are well-kept, but not out of vanity—just another detail controlled, another thing made to look effortless. His hands move like they were made for command, for taking. He touches lightly, almost delicately, as if savoring the sensation, as if indulging in the quiet power of it. And when his fingers close around something—someone—they do not tremble.

Sunday Softies first edition. I'm doing this because this is how I wanna start my week from now on. Soft, thoughtful, etc. etc.

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hyewka · 2 years ago

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soobin + humiliation kink + hes such a perv

priorities, you perv | c.sb ࿐

⭑ synopsis. a blind date? oh thats immediately pushed aside just for the addictive high you get off messing with your roommate, who seems to be more pouty than usual tonight for whatever reason.

⭑ warnings. sub perv soobin, panty sniffing, underwear used as ball gag kinda, handjob, fuck buddy roommate au, humiliation kink sortaa, dacryphilia, vibrator, bunny/pup petname, not proofread, use of goddess

Soobin’s been intent on following you around like a puppy this evening, all around the house, but the longer he keeps it up, the less it becomes cute and funny and the more it crosses into the ‘overbearing jealous boyfriend who isn’t actually your boyfriend’ territory. Because really, why the hell has he been acting like a pet with abandonment anxiety the day you have your blind date scheduled?

“You can’t come in my bedroom with me.” you finally say, flashing him a superficial wide smile, behind your door.

He abruptly stops, stumbling back like his mind really was on autopilot following you—then his face falls, brows knitting together. “What, why?”

“Because I don’t want your cooties all over my bed.” He isn’t amused, clearly, with a brow raised. You groan, it could be life or death and your roommate would still not choose to humor you. “I’m going to change idiot.”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before?”

You click your tongue at him—he might have an amazing track record with academics, but sometimes it really is rocks for brains in there. “You’re not coming in Soobin, tough luck!”

In lightning speed he sticks his arm between the crack before you shut your door. “Wait, no, I wanna—I wanna help you pick something out!”

Now its your turn to raise a brow. Soobin? Help you get ready? He’d rather die of boredom.

You knew you weren’t crazy.

All day, hes been acting extremely out of character. Throwing you pouts during the one lecture you shared, feeling his eyes bore into you like he’s trying to burn a hole in your face, yet still spending money to buy you your favorite tiramisu even when he’s been sulking like you’ve wronged his entire bloodline.

The craziest thing is that you truly do not know a bigger cheapskate than Soobin. He’d chase a quarter in a crowd of people even if it took him all the way to Japan. So the tiramisu was a mind boggling investment. For you, let alone. It’s like he was bribing you.

He couldn’t have magically fell head over heels, it has to have something to do with the one thing different today. Your blind date.

You reach out to pat his head, mock pouting. He takes the bait anyway, lowering his head a little, looking so cute confused. It’s adorable actually, how quick he is to go with whatever you do.

“Aww Soobie, it’s okay, I promise you’ll always be my number one good boy. You really don’t have to be jealous and act out.” you tease, intentionally using baby talk to agitate him a lot more than it would’ve.

He scoffs loudly snapping his head to the side, bewildered this is the direction you decided to take things. “What? Jealous? Jealous? Jealous of what? I’m not jealous.” You stand there wearing a skeptic look on your face and a cross of your arms over your chest.

He wags his finger at your face like he can’t believe your audacity, dryly laughing (which really just sounds like a bunch of scoffs stringed together). “You’re funny, I—I gotta give it to you Y/N, you should really try your luck with Hueningkai’s comedy group again. Is it a crime to want to support your roommate after being all too aware of her notorious losing streak with the dating world? I don’t think so!”

Ouch, the all too real call out. “Damn, okay asshole you can help.” you faux hurt, not missing the chance to flip him off before walking inside and leaving your bedroom door wide open behind you. Maybe his input will have you get to your date earlier. “By the way, I do not have a losing streak.”

————-

There are outfits you just think you’d never wear to a first date—your black bodycon with cuts at the waist was an absolute no-go, especially with it’s length. Then there was the crimson red shoulder-off that had your tits looking too full—that was a big no. You don’t even know how your blind date looks, you wouldn’t want to have a man you find sexually unappealing to find you sexually appealing. That’s always a cause for a migraine.

But the problem you’re facing right now is far greater than any migraine you’ll experience. Soobin seems to think every outfit you wound up coming out with is, in his own words, “too much”.

This one’s the worst of all. “It’s literally just ripped jeans and a crop top!”

“That’s the problem! It doesn’t even look pretty!” he splutters, eyes wide and a large pout on his lips.

“You want me to wear something pretty?”

He looks to the side, mumbling, “Whatever.”

It’s raining, you hear it pouring and you’re like, fifteen minutes late already. All for Soobin’s useless input. It’s not worth it, and you’re proven even more correct when you come out the bathroom with the outfit you picked out. White, tight, but flowy at the ends of the dress. Girly and especially tight at the chest, just like you know he likes it.

Soobins eyes don’t fail to shamelessly rake over your body, stunned, looking like a deer in headlights. He clears his throat, snapping out of it. “No, absolutely not.”

You feign innocence, tilting your head. “Why not? It’s pretty.” You make it more of a point when you turn around, acting like you’re just checking your outfit through your wall mirror, knowing damn well the horndogs probably salivating at your ass barely being covered.

“It’s too much.” he parrots again lamely, chewing slightly on his lips. “Change, you can’t go out like this.”

Okay, that sort of pisses you off, turning around with your arms crossed again to the boy sitting at the edge of your bed. He doesn’t have the right to order you around. “Yes I can, I very much can.”

Suddenly, there’s a switch—he cowers like a kicked dog. “You can wear whatever you want I didn’t mean to-”

You break into a grin all of a sudden walking towards him, shutting him up.

He gulps, sitting there, avoiding eye contact when you’re close. You prop his chin up, and he just lets you, forcing him to look you in the eye. God, he already looks stupidly entranced. “You’d hate for me to wear this, huh?”

“Yeah..” he admits way too easily, a little whine in his voice, brows knitting up. Cute.

“But you love the dress, don’t you?” you purr, caressing his face with your thumb.

Your phone suddenly rings and you’re pulled out of the moment for a second, glaring at it then back to your roommate who looks like he’s under some love spell. Yeah no, this is much more fun.

You ignore the call, letting it ring as you drag your thumb down his bottom lip and god how obedient he is just sitting there and looking up like you’re his deity.

“What?” you giggle at the way his breath hitches the further you trail your finger down his body. The switch right before your eyes, oh that transformation’s worth more than anything else in the world. Bunny’s horny.

“You’d love to take this off me, right? You’d love me tease you bit by bit, have my tits bouncing in the restrictions of them, just struggling to keep your hands from ripping it apart...” you trail off, finally getting your hand on his half erect clothed dick.

You can see him holding back, holding back from humping your hand, the one you just purposefully let rest on his growing boner. “Your date.” he reminds.

You quirk a brow, taken aback. “Want me to go?”

Suddenly, he vigorously shakes his head, “No, no, don’t. I want you, please.” The strain of his voice when he pleads—god it’s the sexiest, most sinful thing ever.

Shameless. Just the way you like him.

“Hm? You do? Don’t you always?” you tease, walking away to get something out of your drawer.

“What are you looking for?” he mumbles skeptically.

You gleam, pulling out the vibrator and turning it on, showing it to your unsuspecting roommate. “Let’s play with this.”

He frowns. “You know I can make you feel ten times better than that toy, you don’t need it.”

“Who says its for me?”

You enjoy the blush that trickles his cheeks, and how easily the tips of his ear turn red as he blinks rapidly to collect himself. His adam apple bobs up and down again, stumbling over his words. “God, you’re such a himbo.”

“W-wait!” he shrieks, suddenly covering the tent in his pants.

You halt, the vibrator only a few inches from his crotch. “Can—can you…” he sighs frustratedly, looking away from you, the steam coming his red ears has you curious, what’s he so hesitant for? “Can you take off your underwear?” Oh.

Of course.

Your lips form into a smirk, knowing exactly what he wants to do with them. Slowly, with one hand you pull down your panties and let them drop to the floor. His eyes are, despite having a hard time telling you what he wants, eagerly fixed on the black lace, you could see the bead of sweat that breaks from his forehead. Pervert.

You bend down to grab it, purposefully making a show of it and he just huffs. “Get with it already.”

You laugh, “You’re being so bratty today. Think you’re owed a fuck?”

He whimpers dejectedly, shaking his head. Mockingly, you wave your panties in front of his face like an owner wagging a bone in front of their dog. He’s so indecent he has the audacity to take a whiff when the garment is close enough. God, he really is absolutely shameless.

And you really need to relieve yourself. You’re trying to not rub your thighs too much.

You crumble the underwear in your hand, and coo. “Open your mouth wide baby.”

Soobin’s mouth falls open almost immediately, tongue lolling out, looking up at you expectantly so much so it would be endearing if not for the situation you’re currently in. You shove it in his mouth, cringing at the saliva that wets your fingers.

“This is how it started huh?” you near the vibrator on his inner thighs enjoying the way he sighs through his nose, shuddering. “Fooling your roommate into thinking you were a studious, innocent good boy but in reality you just snuck in the laundry room every night to jerk off with her panties. Disgusting.”

He moans wantonly around the fabric, his hair brushing over his eyes as you near the vibrator to where he actually wants it. His dick. Poor him, its probably weeping in his pants.

“Violating me like that without my knowledge— you’ll always be a bad boy.”

Again, he shakes his head hard, to the point your panties fall out of his mouth already. “No, good boy. I’m your good boy.” he pants, face flushed. How’s he so easily worked up?

You giggle, pressing the vibrator against his cock, having Soobin’s jaw fall slack. “Couldn’t even keep the underwear in your mouth for more than two seconds. You’d make a really good camboy, always wanting people to hear you moan and whine like a slut.”

“No, no, just want you. Just want you to hear me.”

That affects you more than you’d like, and you try to fight the blush that warms your cheeks. God damn Soobin.

But he isn’t even aware, if his babbles were any indication. He dips his head back, big hands digging onto your sheets as you run the vibrator up and down. “Fuck.” he groans, still keeping his eyes open to watch your chest. You know he’s trying hard to keep up the good boy act for you, so you throw him a bone.

He gasps when your hand goes down his pants to wrap around his cock, and it’s the cutest thing ever how he immediately melts. You’re sitting next to him, twisting and jerking off his dick with his head leaning on your shoulder when you’re supposed to be under an umbrella with a future dating prospect instead.

Who cares, that man you’re sure wouldn’t give you what he’s giving you.

“Don’t wanna cum yet, wanna fuck you f-first.” he breathes into your neck. “Please goddess, please. Want your pussy.” he begs dumbly, starting to lay wet kisses to your neck— hes just not leaving room for you to really hold back.

“Holy shit, you’re good.” you realize in awe, probably wetting your bed with how aroused you are right now.

“Then take me baby, take me how you want. You’ve been good, so good.” you slur, and he practically jumps onto you like an oversized bunny, having your back on the mattress and him hovering, pulling you into an open mouth kiss almost immedietely.

“You’re so hot, fuck, you drive me crazy.” he says rushed, kissing you again, melting his mewls and pants into it.

You feel the roughness of his hands playing with your tits already, kneading so desperately you think he must’ve been itching to do just that this entire time. You like it with him, how it’s so dirty and quick, but still passionate enough to keep you wanting more.

“Fuck, wanna see them, please, please.” he whines as he salivates even more, playing with your nipples through the fabric, cheeks red and flushed, pathetically humping your cunt with his boner. “No, be a good bunny and fuck me good.”

He’s sniffling and tears stain his lashes, yet he still nods obediently, humping your cunt like he’s just restless enough to not pull out his dick and put it in—it’s the hottest thing ever.

But eventually the fabric feels rough against your skin, and you hiss, taking it upon yourself to pull out his cock from his pants.

God, his tip is red, leaky— it’s gross, a testament to how he gets with you and you love it. “Come on baby—bunny, fuck me.” you look up at him with wide, doe eyes and it immediately has him nodding frantically, missing your entrance once before he completely bottoms out, suffocatingly filling you up in one push—you’ll just never get used to his size.

“Always so mean, you’re always so mean to me.” he dumbly babbles, tongue out as he fucks into you maniacally, getting lost in your pussy.

“But you’re in my cunt right now aren’t you?” you mock, knowing that’s always his end goal with you, his end prize.

You’re breathless, curling your toes the harder he snaps his hips. You’re used to how it is with Soobin, he’s always animalistic and unrhythmic, rubbing your clit like he has no idea what he’s doing. But that’s the fun in it, how inexperienced and pathetic he is.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, are you? Are you?” he’s out of it, kissing your neck, biting, panicky as he nears his orgasm, that before you could respond, you’re already feeling his seed fill your cunt.

He can tell, he can tell when you didn’t get there so he’s already pulling your dress up over your tits, attaching his mouth on one of your nipples, pulling the other through his hands, playing with them till they become puffy and have you withering under him. “Fuck, fuck Soobie…just like that,” you moan, feeling his long fingers squeeze into your pussy, speeding up, trying to rip an orgasm out of you.

The tense of his arms, veins showing, cease once you arch your back and cum at getting a good look of his face— lips raw and red as he bit onto them for majority of the time, eyes wet and big, just silently begging you to cum on his fingers, you let yourself go, the tightening band finally snapping.

—————-

note. lol im not super duper confident but let me know how you guys feel about this one, feedback keeps me going

#txt smut #soobin smut #soobin fanfic #sub!soobin #perv!soobin #sub!idol #sub idol #sub txt #txt hard hours #yeonjun smut

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feistyvirghoe · 1 year ago

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𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 1 - you guys have such bright, very infectious because i’m just so giddy right now, yalls energy just shines bright like the sun omg, so full of positivity and love, happy as a child fr. i feel like people just like to consume your energy, has them all over the place, like pleading, there’s a push and pull effect you have, like you can be the most positive, optimistic person full of fucking light but then you have that other side to you that has people on their knees, like they can’t hold it in with you, the focus is on you guys, you’re hardworking and when you’re ready to fucking commit to something and go you just do it and get it started but you also know how to be inclusive and make others feel welcomed. i feel like people just want you to look at them, acknowledge them, you guys can adapt easily and may be spread out everywhere, you can’t just stay stuck to one thing and even within relationships im not saying you’re non-committal but you know your worth and some people and things just aren’t worth your time, you’re like a temptation, watch out for users and takers that may want to swindle you for whatever reason. you’re in tune with your femme side, you truly don’t need anyone to validate you and that’s a flex babe…it’s all you, something about the way you love and care for others, never dim that part of yourself, it’s so beautiful, the way you can own your mfkn power is by not letting bozos or losers come in and try to knock u off ur damn throne, standing up for yourself, believing that you’re fucking powerful just by being your true authentic self, confidently strutting your stuff, not giving away too much of yourself as well, connecting with your innermost self, reminding yourself who you are deep down inside, not being swayed the outside opinions of others, you may be a lil homebody and that’s okay..you’re sure of yourself and you don’t need anyone up in your face trying to fucking control you and make u feel small, by continuing to protect yourself in a healthy way, strong fucking boundaries is what needs to be set, don’t let these weirdos try to come in and fucking knock down your walls with their hateration and disgusting jealousy, show yourself off, embrace that fire within you, dont second guess yourself or make yourself small to fit in, burn bright baby boo. an affirmation for u - “i am a badass warrior and i conquer self doubt like it’s my fucking job!”

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 2 - your gentleness makes u fucking strike like lightning and i know you’re like “how?” babe we need more kind people like you on this planet, this world is so full of hatred and evil people, you’re kindness and compassion and just love for others makes you fucking strike babe, you’re a giver, very generous individual but i can see that you protect your heart as well, you know not to let shady people come and try to steal your energy, yeah that’s a thing, and you may need to be careful of that too, giving yourself away to undeserving people. you’re so content and just emotionally fulfilled on your own, u truly do not need someone else to fill your cup but im betting there’s a lot of people that would love to if you’d let them, you’re allowed be taken care of and poured into. but with how abundant your energy is and just how rich you are in spirit, of course it’d attract a bunch of energy vampires, just people with weird intentions. very emotionally mature and also vulnerable as well, well with the right people of course but you don’t hide how you’re feeling, and thats literally okay, you’re allowed to fucking let yourself feel free expressing what and how you’re feeling if that makes sense haha. you may throw people off, it’s like they dont expect YOU, like literally just you, your compassionate self. you don’t chase after people bc you know you’re already secure inside so don’t doubt that. maybe you really second guess yourself and how you’re coming off to others but i feel like people just see such a pure genuine soul, not just a nice person but a very kindhearted soul. you make others feel calm, like just content and chill haha. i feel like yall just make people smile, like smirking to themselves just thinking about you, omg admiring you and adoring you, u could be all up in people’s heads, unforgettable, maybe some just want to indulge themselves in you, just be cautious and aware of snakes hidden in the grass. i feel like i could go on and on about you guys, i dont want to make it too long though ;) your sweetness dude, you’re just like a lil fucking teddy bear ahhhh, someone who loves to help others, doesn’t matter what it may be just serving, wanting to be useful to others? maybe ppl have made u feel worthless bc of how kind you are like as if that’s boring or some shit, ignore those ppl, we need more kindness and love, don’t hide that side of yourself idc, let others who want to appreciate you show you their love. you’re also very in tune with your spiritual side and i feel you may dim that down too as if you’re not gifted i mean you’re here right?? embrace that side of yourself, you don’t even know how helpful you are to others, i feel like your generosity and just your pure loving soul is what puts a smile on others faces, so balanced, you’re just an unforgettable nurturer, a whole sweetie pie, a cutie pie ahhh, just such a sweet soul okay here’s an affirmation for you <3 “success is my middle name; watch me fucking conquer.” “i choose to surround myself with people who fucking respect me” and to own your power i feel like you just need to see you more, like you’re the one who can stay calm during the stormy weather, a shield for others, very protective over your loved ones and self, stay true to that boo! <33

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 3 - i feel like y’all are my glamorous pile, the ones ready to put their feet on the fucking ground and nobody ain’t going to fucking get in your way and stop you lmfao i’m hearing under the influence by chris brown, i feel like you guys got people feeling like they on drugs around you, your energy is intoxicating and addicting, some may even wanna knock u up to keep you as theirs wtf okay anyways hahahaha okay i feel like the way yall strike is like you’re in that empress energy very strong minded, in touch with your feminine side and you know when to cut a bitch off but then with that, the same people you cut off may try to come back and slither their way back into your life omg what the hell, so you guys are like the “heartbreakers” but not really because you just know your fucking worth more than what lames can give to you and not just that how they’re with you as well, goes for any relationship, you know when to fucking walk away and you’re not taking weird bullshit from anyone, you don’t play, i feel like your anger plays a part in making you fucking powerful, when you’re done you’re done and you can easily see through people’s bullshit, their facade, in hearing shit you up, lol u piss people off, idk what you’re truly doing, it could honestly just be you and your awareness, you’re not going to stand down and make yourself a tiny purse dog lmfao, very sassy as well, like no one can fucking control you, even if they wanted to, you guys make people uncomfortable but that’s there own issue, you may the wrong people for you uncomfortable haha, they try to fucking go and go at you relentlessly attacking you for no reason, so i can see why you’re protective of yourself and u don’t stand down, i mean with weird people like this honestly weird energy like this coming for y’all i understand why, it’s like you’re power makes others want to overthrow you and try and like one up you, just weird, got people competing for u and against you, i feel like they’re jealous of your fucking success and not just material success but your ambition, your drive, your resilience, never giving up on yourself no matter how hard it gets, you’re your own positive light in your life, you know how to make yourself happy, still shining, blowing out your candles, celebrating your fucking self like you should! yeah your fucking power just makes others despise you lmfao weird as hell, you live life on your own goddamn terms and you’re not sitting around waiting for anyone, a leader on your own, it’s like a natural quality of yours, you just know how to be up in front exuding dominance, like a lion, your walk may just give off CONFIDENCE i mean you have the emperor here, you’re just a fucking natural at it, it comes easily to you so i can see why others may feel offended by your power but they’re just projecting and not seeing their own power within themself, you look ahead, you don’t look for others, they look for you, goddamn lmfao! affirmations for you guys - “i’m letting go of negative bullshit, toxic people, and self doubt. i’m creating a fucking epic life on my own terms!” & “i am enough, i have enough, and damn right im fucking worth it!”

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 4 - i can see you guys regenerating in hermit mode, like taking some time to be alone with yourself building your power back up and cleansing yourself of all the weird energies you may have encountered, you like your solitude, my loners here, the ones who don’t mind leaving the party early, ready to go home and chill the fuck out or going on adventures by yourself and taking some time to just connect with your higher self if u wanna say that, just going within and seeing that light within yourself, you blossom on your own, you know how to make sure busy, it’s like when quarantine was around heavy, it didn’t phase this group, maybe it was even like a fuck yeah moment, nobody outside to bother you hahaha, like you guys may love to work out and get back to yourself that way, doing yoga, stretching, moving your body, but you may also be very cautious of the outside world, like you just jumped off the boat into uncharted territory taking time to feel out the place/environment/energy just watching where you’re stepping, or what you’re stepping into, making your way as you go along whatever journey you may be on, weighing out your options, not making hasty decisions, a thinker, maybe even a realist too. calm, balanced people here, like a lot of introspection, a very nostalgic person too. embracing the old memories, in tune with your childhood self, doing things that fuel your soul and what makes you feel the most peaceful, maybe you guys struggle with the mind so grounding yourself and staying away from the crowd is what helps you to stay sane and sharp, for you to be your most powerful self i feel like you just need that time away from everyone. yep it’s like you can’t really count on other people, do people make you second guess yourself, it’s like you’re there for everyone but they couldn’t even be bothered to hear you out, don’t give so much of yourself away to ungrateful people. you matter a lot and i can see this may be draining you as well, probably why you’re very cautious, but remember don’t keep yourself stuck on others weird projections and how they may try to take from you, it’s okay to be alone and regroup, if some one is offended by that then that’s there issue. the way u, my group four babies can uplift yourself and own your power is by letting yourself fucking shine and put yourself out there, confidently, i feel like people like making you guys feel small and quiet like a mouse, but you’re not a goddamn mouse you’re the fucking cat, and cats do whatever the hell they want to do, use your voice and own that fucking power, your words hold weight, speak more positively over your life and your self, unbiased opinions and being straightforward with your communication, don’t close yourself off from true unconditional love too..you deserve to be recognized and appreciated for all you do!!! keep fucking going, don’t give up on love, that goes for loving yourself too!! every fucking part of you and yes even the ugly bc the ugly is actually beautiful and makes you see the parts of you that you want to grow from and evolve beautifully into a better version of yourself! affirmations for y’all - “i’m unstoppable and nothing can hold me back, not even my fucking fears.” “my uniqueness shines like a freaking diamond! confidence? it’s my middle name, baby!” “i’m a badass boss babe and i don’t give a damn about what anyone thinks. i rock my confidence like a boss!”

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐀𝐂, 𝐢 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢’𝐦 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐡𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐮𝐩, 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐟𝐫, 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭!! 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞, 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐧𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐌𝐖𝐀𝐇 (^з^)-☆

#tarot readings #pick a card #pac #pick a pile #feistyvirghoe #black tarot readers #tarotblr #lifting u up #power #strength #you r a badass!

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acidsoju · 1 year ago

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LOST IN NEVERLAND

read part one here genre: fantasy au, royalty au, multidimentional au, romance, angst, fiction, action, smut, slow burn. pairing: prince! soobin x reader warnings: this is a second part!!, not proofread yet, cursing, sex scenes, mentions of weird vomit, love triangle, a little bit of second male lead syndrom from my part. word count: 22.7k summary: after being dropped into the han river, you wake up in another dimension― soobin's dimension, in which he the crown prince of a kingdom you have yet to get to know.

IMAGINE BEOMGYU’S SURPRISE WHEN THE FIRST THING HE FELT GOING THROUGHT THE PORTAL WAS YOU; you, floating unconsciously from the bottom of the lake, being swiftly pulled by a few water nymphs that the mage had convinced to help him with his little not-too-big-of-a-deal task about getting the crown prince of the Kingdom’s ass back home. You who were completely pale, a painful expression on your face even though you were knocked out as you emerged out of the water and reached the edges of the lake just where Beomgyu was waiting, arms crossing over his chest as he eyes you with little interest.

He was about to order you being discarded but instead scoffed and rolled his eyes at the accusatory stares of the nymphs who seemed to have taken a like to your unconscious-self, protecting your figure with their arms.

“Ha! Fine, whatever. Guards, warm her up and watch over her” he ordered; his command being obliged immediately.

Imagine Beomgyu’s surprise when the second thing he felt going through the portal was the most annoying pain in his ass, even overthrowing the prince himself from the throne. He watched with bored eyes as the forbidden mage flew out of the water with a harsh and dramatic splash and behind him, being dragged by a pair of tentacles, was the prince fighting to not lose consciousness too.

Kai snarled as he sensed the magic barrier capsulating over him; it wasn’t enough to stop him but it was about enough to stop the prince from crossing it. The forbidden mage knew immediately he was surrounded and outnumbered by the palace’s allies, so if he wanted to get out of there alive or at all, he had to drop the prince.

And that’s exactly what he did, with a little too much force into it, as the tentacle on his legs effortlessly threw him back to the lake; Soobin’s body crashing into the water with another dramatic splash before the water nymphs were hurrying to his rescue. Cold blue eyes met with a pair of burning brown eyes, staring defiantly back. Not over is what Kai’s lips mumbles to Beomgyu who just arches an eyebrow in his direction, and then the forbidden mage is gone after a flash of violet lightning.

“Assist the crown prince immediately” orders the mage looking at his friend being dragged to the edge of the lake by the nymphs, guards and maids immediately rushing in to help the drenched prince, whose consciousness seemed to slip through his fingers for a second before coming back to his senses. His lips were barely moving inches as he was stripped out of his clothes and changed into a dry attire yet Beomgyu caught on his words perfectly fine.

“Her… where is she?”

Then just in time, a loud gasp was heard. Your eyes flew open and closed immediately a second after, the bright light of the day making your head hurt like living hell; your mouth opened as well as you took in rush breaths in and out, in and out, in and out, scared air was going to abandoned your body once again. Then your rushed breath got stuck in your throat as you felt something disgusting down in your guts and before you could even think, you were rolling over your own body on the floor and throwing up; the loud gasps of horror never reaching your ears as tears picked in your eyes and a sharp whistle rung in your head.

Wasn’t that just a lovely first impression?

An exhausted sigh escapes the mage’s lips as he takes lazy steps in your direction, lips curling down in disgust at the sight; even if he was from a world where magic existed and coexisted perfectly fine with non-magical humans, he was sure black vomit wasn’t an ideal sign.

You blinked a few times, the warm tears rolling down your cheeks, finally adjusting to the bright light around you, swollen lips darting open as you stared down at your vomit― colored black vomit on the ground, merely inches from your face as you pushed against the floor with your hands enough for not be face-falling into it. Then you looked up, meeting eyes with a tall man whose eyes lingered on you without any kind of interest.

Beomgyu knew you were that little rude brat he’d had the pleasure to have a conversation with days ago just by the arrogant look flashing in your eyes as you stared back at him, directly in the eyes, even in your poor state; wet hair sticking to your back and forehead, lips with a faint tint of black after throwing up, eyes puffed and red from the tears, some dirt on you after being dragged out of the lake by the guards; all of that and yet you stared directly into his eyes.

Your eyebrows knitted as the man stood frozen in front of your eyes; judgy eyes staring at you― then your eyes trailed around taking in the figure of every person staring back at you, eyes wide open and shocked expressions on their faces making you feel like some kind of animal trapped in a zoo, and then you saw him― his eyes were already on you, trying to reach you even through a stare.

Completely ignoring the strange attires everyone wore or the pretty, almost transparent girls waving at you from the lake, you tried to get up, legs shaking uncontrollably at your own weight turning the steps you tried to take into clumsy deer-like stumbles; fuck was all you mumbled under your breath, throat sore and dry, before your legs were giving up after just a second; grunting as you fell to the ground on your butt, your eyes flicked up when you heard the clear sound of steps stopping in front of you.

“Such a nuisance” was what Beomgyu spat in your face before a faux smile was draw on his face and his hand hovered before your eyes, your mind going immediately blank as you fell unconscious to the floor. Beomgyu hmphed, satisfied as he nodded his head proud of himself. “Much better.”

Soobin huffed in annoyance as he watched the whole scene― if he could, he would’ve already been by your side, carrying you instead of letting yourself get even dirtier on the floor, but he couldn’t; crown prince and all of that, he was surrounded by the teary servants of the castle, words of relief, even some people falling on their knees in front of the prince. With a polite smile on his face, Soobin’s eyes flicked to the head maid in front of him, the one who had watched over him all of his life, who was trying to wipe away her tears and asked:

“May I ask for a small favor?” Soobin watched as the old lady hurried in wipe her tears with her handkerchief, nodding once to the prince as a sign of listening. “The miss over there… she is a guest of mine, a very important person to me who has proved her loyalty to the crown as she succeeded in protecting me when I was in despair, therefore I expect nothing but the best of the cares for her.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

“Ready to go back home, Your Highness?” inquired Beomgyu walking closer to his friend, head following the figure of the maid rushing and walking pass him, in your direction, being followed by a few more maids. Soobin arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you looking at me like that? Aren’t you super grateful at me for rescuing you? What about a hug to celebrate a moving reunion?”

“You could have helped her” accused the prince; Beomgyu rolled his eyes and pushed the frames over the bridge of his nose up to his eyes.

“I am not a nanny.” “We will see about that.”

Well, fucking hell did your body hurt, was the first thing you thought as you fell out of your slumber, hands moving against the soft covers underneath you, soft groans of pain coming out of you as to tried to stretch your body. Taking a whole long minute to recall everything on your mind― coming out of water and throwing up basically petrol, that must have been a dream, right? Last thing you remember was a tall man with long hair falling over his shoulders and the open palm of his hand towering over your eyes, and then nothing.

First thing you saw as you opened your eyes was the very tall ceiling, very beautiful Renaissance’s paintings on it; a few seconds went by as you understood that you, in fact, didn’t have any Renaissance-like ceiling in your room, not a bed as big as the one you were laying on and, hell, the living room of your place didn’t even have a ceiling anymore.

Whines in pain came out of your lips as you turned your body on the bed, stomach against mattress and dragged yourself up to sit down on your knees; eyes scanning the unfamiliar room you were in― just where the fuck where you?

You pushed yourself to crawl out of the big-ass king size bed, bare feet touching the cold floor as you walked over to the window almost as tall as the whole ceiling, opening the soft white silk curtain that fell from the very top, your eyes scanning beyond the balcony outside the window to the immense garden displaying on sight.

“I see you are awake at last” flinching at the sudden voice booming in the bedroom, you turned around quickly, your eyes immediately spotting the standing figure of a man wearing a maroon cloak in the middle of the room; bored brown eyes staring into yours from behind his round-shaped glasses, long brown hair pulled away from his face into a ponytail. You recognized him immediately― the one you saw before passing out. “Took you three days, I guess you are a lot weaker than I first thought.”

Frowning, you squeezed your eyes in his direction― oh, how familiar did the tone of his voice sound to you. It didn’t take you too long to realize, once again, that the man in the room was the same man who had magically appeared that one day on the arcade. Beomgyu huffed under your stare and let himself fall over one of the couches displayed around in the bedroom. The mage on the couch seemed to read your mind as his lips stretched into a sly smile as you put the pieces together about his identity.

“Not so smart either, uh?” you rolled your eyes and tried to speak, aiming to take a step to the front but the words never came out of your mouth, instead a pathetic gasp escaped from you as you had to press your back against the window to avoid falling to the floor once your legs started trembling weakly. “You certainly are not compatible with magic, Bambi.”

Huffing as you forced yourself to stand up properly, trying to ignore the wince of pain incrementing on your extensions, you look up from your feet to meet his gaze again. “Don’t call me that” yet to your despair, your legs shook with a little more force as seconds went by.

To Beomgyu it only took him a snap of his fingers to have a chair being dragged in your direction and swiftly pushing you over it as it moved back into his direction, only coming to a stop when the chair was in front of him. The cocky smile on his face only grew wider as he analyzed the bewildered look on your face while you shoved some strands of hair out of your face― the mage decided to have some fun as he snapped his fingers twice, caughting your attention; the tea table from the other side of the room moved immediately by his command and was dragged by his magic stopping in between your chair and the couch. The set of tea over the table started doing its job only that, of course, there was no one actually serving the tea.

Your mouth fell open as you watched the sight in front of you; the levitating cups of tea being filled by the big kettle pouring down the steaming drink. You didn’t even catch the quiet laugh coming from the mage’s mouth at your sincere amused reaction, Beomgyu only leaning back on the couch as the teacup moved his way.

“H-how…” you mumbled, picking up the teacup that patiently waited in the air for you to grab. Your eyes moved back to the mage who sipped his tea before answering:

“Magic.”

“Don’t fuck with me right now” you replied looking around as if you were to find any kind of invisible string pulling the furniture around; Beomgyu’s eyes widened at your choice of words and almost spilled the tea on his mouth, choking on it instead.

“Don’t what now?”

“This is some kind of joke, right?” you asked turning back to look at Beomgyu with a lot of confusion on your face. “Look, I don’t know how did you pull that little trick earlier but-

“Trick?” Beomgyu interrupted you, a single eyebrow raising as his gaze hardened; within a second, the boy opened both of his palms looking upwards, flames coming out of them as your mouth fell open again. “You dare to say my abilities are false?”

“… Okay, okay! Fine!” you exclaimed, raising up your palms in the air for him to cease whatever the hell was going on; snarling, Beomgyu put down the fire of his hands. “Geez, it’s just so weird.”

“Watch your tone, little girl, if I weren’t so merciful right now, you’d already be ashes” he stated before grabbing again the cup of tip to sip from it. “And you should refrain from using poor vocabulary while you are around.”

“Around?” you questioned, eyebrows knitting in your face as you leaned closer to the table. “Where exactly is around?” your question seemed to take Beomgyu a little off guard.

“You must actually be quite dense- this is the Fifth Kingdom of the Choi Dynasty, of course.”

“… Of course, yeah, haha!” you smiled yet Beomgyu saw the panicked flowing in your eyes and the corners of your lips trembling as you tried to maintain the façade. “And… my place, how far is it?”

“Like… five thousand dimensions away?” “Riiight…” Beomgyu watched over his cup of tea at you, studying every expression; from the way you looked around yet seemed lost in your own thoughts, how your eyebrows moved in concern in unison with whatever you were thinking, to the way your lips curled down before sighing and flicking your eyes back at him. “What about Soobin? Is he okay? Where is he?”

“It’s ‘Your Highness’ for you, little girl” Beomgyu replied in a scoff, parting his lips away from his cup of tea almost empty already. “And to answer your question; yes, he is okay. He was recovered almost immediately, as expected of a royal

“Is he… really-“ “Crown prince?” “Yeah.” “Of course, he was born with the title.” “I see.”

Taking a little sip from the teacup to avoid any more words coming out of your mouth, your mind revolted in thoughts about him and the supposed world you were. You were glad he was okay after everything that had happened to the both of you, but words weren’t enoug; you needed to see him actually doing fine, but were you to ask the quite intimidating mage to let you pay a friendly visit to the prince? Of course not; just from taking a little glimpse at him you already knew that he knew what you wanted to ask.

“He is a very busy person.” “Of course.”

You downed the rest of the tea at once, tilting your head backwards for it and licked your lips once the cup was empty; as you placed it down over the table your eyes met again with the mage’s, whose eyes always seemed to be judging you.

“You need to learn some manners while you are here” he stated, nodding to himself and fixing the pair of glasses up on his face.

“How long I’m supposed to stay here?” you asked, looking straight into his eyes; the mage gulped down, making the Adam’s apple on his neck move at the action. “When can I go back? How can I go back?”

“Well, hahah, it’s a little complicated” he laughed nervously which put you a little on edge; leaning even closer to the table as you knitted your eyebrows, he only avoided your intense eyes.

“What exactly is complicated?” you insisted, hands gripping on the seat edges to avoid falling of it. Beomgyu shifted uncomfortably on his seat.

“What isn’t complicated in life, little girl?” “Don’t try to avoid it, explain.”

Beomgyu huffed his air abruptly at your insistence, a little annoyed; his own eyebrows frowning as he decided to meet your eyes before speaking. “It takes a lot of energy to travel through dimensions and we don’t need only mine to open the portal but yours as well if you want to even think about surviving the little trip back home- not only that but I am running a little bit out of my usual energy thanks to someone falling into the portal so suddenly.”

“Not my fault, I was fucking dropped” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest with a pronounced frown on your face; Beomgyu twitching at your language. “And weren’t you supposed to be the Blessed One or something like that, greatest magician of the Kingdom?”

“I am” he cleared. “But even if I were to regain my normal state of energy after a few days of rest, we have a problem with you.”

“What? Why am I the problem?”

“For starters, you can’t even walk properly.” “Of course I can w-“ With a snap of his fingers, the chair underneath you completely vanished into thin air and even if you were fast enough to stand, your legs still failed you and you fell down on your knees. “Fuck.”

“See, Bambi?” remarked the mage twirling in index finger in the air to have you levitating on the air and sitting you back on the chair that magically appeared back on its previous place behind you. “Do not worry, this little thing with your legs is just a side effect of the impact of magic on a body that hasn’t ever come in touch with it, it shall be gone soon. However, you still need to make your soul more resistant to magic.”

“And how I’m supposed to do that?”

“Training, of course” Beomgyu’s lips spread into a big grin. “Lucky for you, you have been assigned to the best one all over the Kingdom, me” your eyebrows jumped in surprise at his words “We shall discuss this matter into detail later over lunch… for now, how about doing something about this?” his brown eyes trailed up and down at you, again, judging you.

“What is wrong with…” you mumbled looking down at yourself; well, you kinda got what he meant as you looked the extremely old-fashion white tunic falling down to your ankles. You cleared your throat and looked away feeling the mocking stare of the mage in front of you.

“I shall call the maids to help you get ready for lunch” he spoke as he got up; with a quick snap of his fingers the table went back to its original spot. “Once you are done I will come and pick you up to take you to the dining room” you watched how the man walked over to the entrance of the bedroom, stopping before they closed to remind you that you ‘should wait for me here until I come, understood?’.

You didn’t have enough time to panic after the news he so kindly had shared with you when the doors opened just a few seconds after Beomgyu left; a trio of women coming in with cordial smiles on their faces and stopping in front of you, lowering their heads before looking at you again.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, miss y/n” said one of the women, the one looking older and who seemed to lead the other two ones. “We have received orders from the crown prince himself to watch properly over you so if we may help you, I was informed that you are to have lunch with Sir Beomgyu?” you only nodded, feeling a little calmer at the soft tone the maid used to speak. “Wonderful miss, excuse us while we assist you to the bathroom then.”

You mumbled a soft thank you to them as the younger pair approached you and help you support yourself when you got up, walking beside you to the bathroom with the third woman walking before you. The bathroom was equally beautiful as the bedroom and big enough to throw a party inside; in its center was a big bathtub that was soon filled with warm, steaming water by the maid.

“I can do this myself” you said tugging down at the tunic covering your body when the maids tried to help you get undressed; they simply nodded and watched over you if you were to fall. Strangely enough you didn’t feel uncomfortable as they helped you get into the tub, your exposed body soon sinking in the water that relaxed your muscles instantly. For sure, you felt way more relaxed around the three women than the mage; maybe it was the fact that their hands weren’t on fire, you thought.

The pair sat down on a wooden tool on each side of the tub, slowly scrubbing down some soap to help you clean yourself while the third one stood behind you, scrunching down on your scalp, displaying the top tier massaging skills you had ever received in your life. You found yourself leaning your head back, tirelessly, as your eyes closed on their own.

The nice scent of flowers reached your smelling senses once the maids on your sides started rubbing on you some lotion, soothing up your skin. After your hair was washed up, the maid behind you curled up your hair in a towel to absorb the excess of water on it and the maids quickly covered you in a bathtub when you got up.

“That was nice, thank you” you mumbled, suddenly feeling a little kid who was being taken care of. The maids smiled as they walked you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom again, helping you take a seat on the same couch Beomgyu had been before. You watched how they rushed around picking stuff from a big closet on the corner of the bedroom, beautiful silk coming in display in front of your eyes. “These are… my clothes?”

“Personally picked by the crown prince, miss” nodded the maid. You were handed some clean underwear and you couldn’t avoid thinking if Soobin had picked it too, feeling a little embarrassed all of a sudden. The maids helped you put on the dress; Yeonjun would go insane if he saw this, you thought as you run the palm of your hand against the soft silk hugging your body till your waist, then falling freely to your ankles, almost touching the floor.

“Miss, would you let us do your hair?” asked one of the young maids, a little excitement in her voice as she waited for your approval, her eyes shining when you nodded, she rushed in your direction to help you sit down in front of a vanity, a big mirror setting in front of you. You observed for a little while how the maid started untangling your hair and braiding it up with the most care, soft eyes focused on your strands; then your vision was blocked by the other maid who started applying some make up on your face.

“You are very pretty, miss” she mumbled as she was too focused on her task, putting on some blush on your cheeks. “Barely need anything.”

“Done, miss” they informed as the three of them put down their stuff on the vanity and took a step back to let you take a look at yourself in the mirror; feeling a little awkward at first, you leaned in closer to observe the delicate braids falling on each side of your face, very Romeo and Juliet’s style, as the rest of your long hair falling lose on your back. “Is it to your liking?”

You nodded, soft smile displaying on your face as you turned around on the chair to look at the three of them, they looking proud looking at you. “Thank you very much for your help.”

They walked out of the room after lowering their heads once more, leaving you alone with your reflection and your thoughts.

Well, what were you supposed to do now?

Beomgyu had said something about having lunch but just when was he supposed to be back? Hesitantly, you decided to stand up, hands clenching on the air as you tried your best to stop the uncomfortably tremble in your legs, giving short and paused steps to the doors. You rested the palm of your hands against them, pushing forward to open them and taking a peek around, long halls displaying on each side and no sight of Beomgyu around.

Little by little, step by step you noticed the tremble starting to fade away, even though the pain seemed to increase; your knees shook a little but at least you could move around, painfully slow and with a type of support, which you found in the walls around you. Too excited at the thought of walking again, you started moving further and further down the hall, almost glued to the wall as you leaned the side of your body against it. Not so long after you learnt that this way took a little too much of effort when you started feeling extremely tired; fortunately, you spotted a door in the middle of the hall to what it seemed the outside so you rushed, how much you could, to it and stepped out, clear air filling your lungs immediately.

As you leaned over a balustrade, letting most of your weight fall on it, you looked before you to what it seemed to be a training ground filled with dozens of men and women in battle uniforms and wielding their weapons, each of a kind displaying for you to observe; fucking hell, you thought as you observed two of them fighting their blood, sweat and tears in the middle of the ground, it looks like a movie.

You stood there for a while, in part taking a little rest and in part too caught up in the scene unfolding in front of your eyes, something you have never had the chance to witness in your normal day life; it didn’t take too much for the match to end, one of the two people overpowering the other and winning the match. The defeated part walked away and in the ring in the middle walked in a tall figure, his persona shining brighter than the rest, making your breath hitch as you recognized him as soon as he appeared in your vision.

Soobin stood in front of the previous winner, sharp eyes analyzing his opponent as his hand moved to the belt hanging around his hips and draw a long and threatening sword. Your heart beat loudly when you saw how the other person launched at him to attack first, nerve-wrecking scythe-looking weapon slashing in his direction and it had been him if Soobin hadn’t moved to avoid it; you gawked as you observed him moving around the ring, fast and comfortable, sword crashing against the scythe with force, clanking sounds booming around.

Soobin huffed as he received a punch on his ribs but managed to clasp his opponent arm in his free hand, snaking one of his long legs in between theirs, pushing them down to the ground on a strong motion, kicking their weapon off of their hold and pointing his sharp sword at their neck, the match coming to an end with a new winner.

“Flies will get in your mouth, Bambi.”

You flinched at the sudden voice coming from behind you. Beomgyu took a step to your side and rested himself over the balustrade like you were doing, eyebrows raised accusatory at you. “I thought I told you to wait for me so how did you end up all the way here, mhm?”

A soft, nervous laugh came from you as you squirmed under his intense brown stare, you could almost see the fire coming out of them; you smiled apologetically to the mage, looking away from the prince to the man on your side. “… Sorry, it just happened” you mumbled, earning a scoff from him.

As you looked over at Beomgyu, you didn’t realize Soobin’s dark eyes spotting you immediately after he stepped out of the ring, his training session finished as he wiped his sweat with a handy towel. He didn’t think twice before dropping the towel and jogged in your direction, his heart doing martial jumps in excitement and anxiousness; Beomgyu noticed his friend moving your way, so when the mage pointed out at something and you looked that way your guts twirled. Soobin’s eyes shone brightly as they were fixed on you, big smile spreading on his face as he got closer.

Soobin practically skipped the little steps up to where you where, jumping over them with his legs and stopping in front of you, head tilting down to look properly at you. He didn’t give you a minute to speak before you were tugged by him, his arms closing around your frame and hugging you tightly, a sigh of relief leaving his lips as he rested his chin on top of your head, eyes shutting close as he stood there, just embracing you.

“I am so glad you are safe” he spoke softly, finally letting go of the worry that consumed over him the days you were asleep. You felt your heart beating fast and loud on your chest, your hands shyly caressing his torso and rounding his waist to embrace him back, your eyes closing just as his, enjoying the touch and warmth of someone you knew, completely oblivious to the centenar pair of eyes on the both of you.

The little bubble the prince and you were went pop when Beomgyu started clearing his throat excessively with the intention of catching your attention, reminding you both he was still there as well as the rest of the knights watching curiously at their prince embracing a woman. You huffed and rolled your eyes when the mage started practically coughing dramatically trying to take a step back and away from the prince yet you couldn’t seem to move further as his arms around you only pressed you closer, back into his embrace.

Lifting you head from his chest to look up, you only found the tenderness flowing out of his eyes while looking at you in his arms, soft smile on his pretty naturally pouted lips.

“Your Highness” spoke Beomgyu walking into your bubble and hugging Soobin’s shoulders while looking at him with a forced, big smile on his face. “Do I need to remind you there is a whole castle watching right now?”

Irritation appears on Soobin’s features as the hold on you loosened a little, hands caressing your waist before pulling away reluctantly, face turning to a side to look at his friend. “I do not need to mind the prying eyes, mage, this is my castle” he said, arching a dark eyebrow at his friend who only rolled his eyes and pulled his arm away from the prince.

“It’s your parent’s actually, but of course” Beomgyu’s eyes flicked back to you, judging as your soft smile wiped away under his gaze. “And you, next time be sure to do as I say and wait. What could it have happened if you were just fell somewhere around in the castle?”

“Well, someone would have found me eventually” you mumbled, not really liking the whole scolding thing the mage did, your lips curling down in a grimace that had Beomgyu scowling back at you and Soobin’s smile widening. “See? You did find me right now, yoo-hoo!” the obvious irony in your voice made the men in front of you accentuate their previous reactions; Beomgyu’s eyes widening at your rudeness, trailing down at your legs while Soobin’s dimple makes its appearance in his cheek.

“Well, don’t you look better now, Bambi?” questioned the mage as you were standing perfectly fine now, only that he didn’t see your wobbling legs underneath the long silk of the dress.

“You look really beautiful, y/n” said Soobin, again reaching out his hand to grab yours but being prevented by Beomgyu who caught his hand in the air and pulled it back to its place, earning a scowl from the prince. “You are so annoying.”

“And you are talking informally again” refuted the mage; both of them rolling their eyes at each other made you scoff a soft laugh, which quickly switched to a wince as your legs felt weaker by the second you spent stand up, forcing yourself to lean over the balustrade again. Beomgyu’s eyebrows furrowed at you understanding immediately what was happening, while Soobin face twisted in worry, his hands flying to your waist as he towered closer to you.

“Are you okay? What is wrong?” he asked, whether to you or Beomgyu you don’t know.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine” you said, turning around while leaning your back against the balustrade, smiling reassuringly at the prince whose worried eyes scanned you over and over.

“She’s having a little aftereffect to magic” explained his friend as he peeked his heat to look at you over the prince’s shoulder. “Her body isn’t used to it so it reacts this way, reminds me of that Bambi fairy tale you used to like reading to when we were little.”

Soobin hummed as he listened to the explanation, his eyes never leaving you and his hold on your waist only tighten to try and help you keep on your feet, thumbs drawing circles in a way to try to give you some kind of comfort, only making you get goosebumps all over your body.

“And you are supposed to be training her?” questioned Soobin, arching an eyebrow even though he didn’t turn to look at his face. You, otherwise, caught the way the mage’s lips stretched in to a cocky smile behind the prince.

“Who else would?” he said, clearly proud. “It was a direct order from the Queen.”

“Do you need me to carry you?” asked you Soobin, ignoring Beomgyu’s nonsense, taking a step closer to you, one of his hands circling the back of your waist while the other trailed up to cup your face, thump brushing over your hot and red cheek.

“Don’t you dare” you spoke softly under your breath, the single thought of him carrying you bride style down the halls of his castle while you were dressed playing princess enough to make you want to gag and throw up everywhere out of embarrassment. Soobin laughed softly as if he were able to see what you were imagining.

“Fine, but at least let me walk you to where you have to go” he said, his hands not moving an inch from their places on you. You simply nodded, moving up your hands to rest them on his forearms, the muscles under your touch tensing up.

Fortunately for you, the dining room wasn’t that much far away, still Soobin walked on your side, making you grab onto his arm as he escorted you and help you stable yourself at the same time; Beomgyu walked on the other side of you, not really letting you touch him but still matching your pace as you were forced to take careful steps. The big doors of the dining room opened as soon as the three of you reached them, servants lowering their heads as you walked over the room.

“Here, have a seat” said Soobin walking you to one of the big seats and pulling the chair out for you to take it; you mumbled a soft thank you as you felt the stares of the people in the room on you as you sat down. Soobin took the seat on the head of the table, next to you; Beomgyu taking the one in front of you.

“So, let’s discuss matt-

“You look really beautiful, you know?” said the prince, cutting off mid-sentence at the mage whose facial expression went blank; you smiled, trying to appease the tingling in your stomach and the burning in your face which Soobin didn’t ignore, of course, glad to see the soft shade of pink in your ears. “But do you find the clothes comfortable? If not, we ought to go call the seamstress.”

“Don’t have to go that far” you said, shaking your head at the thought of having someone else that Yeonjun taking your measurements. “Clothes are fine, I just wish I could walk normally already.”

“About that” spoke Beomgyu, catching the attention of the both of you again, a slight irritated look on his face. “Would you care to hear about your own training plan?”

Oh, you didn’t like the plan at all. Not only you’d have to spent every day with Mister fire-out-of-my-hands who seemed to have a little bit of a short temper, but you would also have to endure him casting spells on you, like a little laboratory rat is what you thought. And not only did you need training in magic, but also needed to learn some proper manners and built your physical strength. “Why do I need to learn your manners?”

“If you are going to be roaming around here, we don’t need you causing any kind of trouble” before you could even protest, Beomgyu cut you off. “It’s not like I can present a young lady swearing her heart off in the middle of a grand ball.”

“Grand ball?” you question, eyebrows furrowing as you flick your eyes to Soobin. The prince’s lips stretched again into a smile, this time a little more nervous. “A ball as in dance, a party?”

“Not the kind of party your picturing, y/n” mumbled Soobin, having some flashbacks to the party he had been taken by you and your friend back in your dimension. “The King and the Queen, they have decided to host a ball to celebrate my safe return home and…”

“And?”

“And of course they way the one who I said protected me while I was lost there, having a good time

“I will add dancing lessons to our schedule” spoke Beomgyu nodding to himself as he pictured all the things he needed to get you ready to. Soobin’s eyes trailed back to his friend, shaking his head.

“I will teach those myself” stated the prince, earning an eyebrow arched from the mage; turning to look at you again, Soobin’s eyebrows knitted as he mumbled softly to you. “If that is okay with you, of course.”

“Sure” you answer trying to bite back the feeling in your chest, picking up some more food from your plate, deciding to ignore the stare of the mage in front of you probably to your poor mannerisms during supper. “When is this party then?”

“Two weeks from now on.”

From then on, your living nightmare started; you would be woken up extremely early everyday by the maids who soon understood you were a late bird and started dragging you out of the comfort of the big bed you started to get used to; they would get you ready still half-asleep for the mage to pick you up from your bedroom. Sun still rising, the two of you would share breakfast outdoors; Beomgyu speaking too much for so early hours as you could barely manage to pick up your cup of tea, most of the things he said going in and out of your ears.

After breakfast, physical training hours began; Mr. Mage had you doing everything that you didn’t do during your high school years when you skipped p.e most of the time, but ten times worse while he simply sat down on a chair watching you pant desperately for air as your legs began giving up on you, soon giving up completely and making you fall on the ground, dust rising up from the impact.

“Oh? Out already? Okay, five-minute break, then do three series of abdominal work on the ground.”

By lunch time, you would be covered in sweat and dust; clothes dirty and sticking up to your body, legs aching, arms falling limp to your sides and face flushed from the exhaustion. Lucky for you, the maids who have seemed to be assigned for you took the most precious care of you, rushing in taking you into the bathtub, rubbing every dirty inch in your body, letting you and your sore muscles relax under the warm water, rested enough to have lunch with Soobin and Beomgyu in the dining hall.

The routine didn’t end there, oh no; after having some dessert, Beomgyu would drag you away from the prince, who stole your full attention during meals, and onto his personal studio slash laboratory slash ‘office’ how he’d like to call it where the two of you would start your magic training which, if you had to be totally honest, was even worse than the physical one. Maybe it was the fact that never in your life until these last days you had been in contact with magic of any sort, excluding the typical coin tricks and the rabbits out of the hat that used to thrill you so much when you were a kid; this magic, however, felt like waves electricity flowing from the inside of your body, burning everything on its way to come out.

“Te-Ten minutes… break” you pleaded gasping for air as you on your knees, looking up to look at the mage sitting on his comfortably chair with a book on his lap; his brown eyes looked up from the book to you thought the frames on his face and scanned you.

“Five minutes break.”

It was safe to say most of the hours of the day were taken by the mage; it was only after dinner that you and Beomgyu would part ways, him leaving you with the prince who was in charge of your dancing lessons. Frankly, you were glad; Soobin was the person who you trusted the most in this world and while being around him there was this feeling that nothing could go wrong.

“Did Beomgyu gave you a hard time again?” he asks as the two of you walk into the ballroom, following you to the center of it. You sigh a laugh and turn around to face him, his tall frame stopping just in front of you, pretty lips stretching into a bigger smile as you connected eyes.

“When does he not?” you replied smugly, making the prince giggle softly and pretending your heart didn’t skip a beat at the sound of his cute little laugh. You had to gulp the lump in your throat when he stepped a little closer to you, his big hands moving softly up and brushing your hands until it reached the sides of your waist; long fingers pressing without too much force on your clothe skin, pulling you closer to him, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

“Should we start now?” he mumbled softly, one of his hands going back to cup yours in his before lifting it up until it reached his shoulders’ height; the other hand swiftly caressing your waist as it moved to the spot on your back. It wasn’t your first or second dancing lesson with Soobin and yet you still couldn’t get used to this; not only he looked in his prime, wearing the silk clothes that hugged his body perfectly, mostly white, soft shirts with long sleeves, but his whole demeanor had seemed to change once he was back to his world. He was no longer Soobin the lost crazy man I picked up on the streets but he was the crown prince of a kingdom.

Music filled the ballroom immediately as he said the words, most probably due to the castle working with magic thanks to your own personal teacher, Beomgyu, and as always Soobin started leading your steps, slow and carefully, soft smile on his lips as his eyes were glued to yours. You, on the other hand, were too focused on your own feet as always, frowning as you tried not to step in your partner’s shoes, as always, to notice the tenderness flowing from his eyes, as always.

It wasn’t until you heard Soobin clicking his tongue and the hand holding yours letting go to use it to push your chin up that you finally looked back at him. “Eyes up here, y/n.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Your Highness” you answered, the title sounding strange in your mouth even as a mockery; his hand went back to grab yours, squeezing it a little after your words. A soft gasp escaped from you when the prince swiftly twirled you around, hand on your back disappearing for a second as you spun and back when your chest met his; Soobin had bit down on his lip to suppress the laugh threatening to come from him as he watched the bewildered look on your face, cheeks flushed and your clumsy feet stumbling on each other.

“It’s cute that you think you can hurt me, y/n” he answered as he continued to move the both of you around the room following the melody’s rhythm. The loose strands of his hair softly brushed against your forehead as he leaned in closer to your face, breath tickling on your skin as his dark eyes stared intently into yours, the hand on your back tensing a little against your skin. “And do not call me that.”

“That’s what I’m being taught” you replied, frowning as you remembered the amount of times you had been scolded by Beomgyu after calling the crown prince by his name; Soobin’s nose wrinkled at that.

“Just call me by my name” he said, his eyes inevitably flicking down to your lips as they barely parted open, his mind rushing in memories of the party in your world when you had kissed him, the way your pretty lips felt against his taking away his breath completely. Oh, how he wanted to feel that again. Unconsciously, Soobin leaned in a little more until his forehead was resting against yours, his own lips hanging open as he waited for the word to come out of you.

“Now?” you asked, the words leaving in a mere whisper, feeling as if any loud sound would pop the bubble you were caught in right now; Soobin hummed in agreement, him no longer leading you around the room, just the two of you standing still in the middle of it. At the feeling of dryness in your mouth, you twirled around your tongue over your lips and felt your heart bump like crazy when the prince in front of you copied your move, the movement of his tongue over his pretty plump lips caughting your attention. “Soobin.”

He loved it, the way his name fell from your lips without any royal weight and how it was directed to him, Soobin, and not him, the crown prince of the Kingdom.

“Once more” he whispered, plead in his voice, as his hold in your waist tightened, his heavy breath fanning over your lips. “Please, say it once more.”

“Soobi- mh.”

The word got stuck in your mouth as a pair of plump lips softly pressed against yours; your eyes closing immediately, hands moving up to hold the prince’s face in them, one hand thoughtlessly sneaking to the back of his head, brushing his hair and holding him closer to you. Fuck, his lips were soft and warm, and they moved so good against yours.

A deep sigh came out of the prince while his hands pressed you closer to him, his arms sneaking on your back to hug you thigh, his head slightly tilting to a side to allow him deepened the kiss and when the he felt the soft licks of your tongue against his bottom lip, he felt like his own legs could give up any minute.

The sweet kiss quickly turned into a more passionate one with your tongue exploring into the prince’s mouth, soon finding his own tongue and brushing against it, drinking in every deep sigh or noise coming from him, or even some soft whines when you tugged at his hair after he started nibbling at your bottom lip, warm tongue brushing against it while sucking, making you pant against his mouth.

“So pretty” he mumbled, pulling apart a mere inch to take a look at your face, starring eyes looking up at his, lips swollen and parted open as you took deep breaths. Soobin leaned in closer to you again, and when your lips opened a little more when he was about to kiss you again, he avoided them and let his head fall to a side, his lips peppering your skin with kisses from your cheek to your jaw and going down to your neck, humming as your scent filled his senses. “So sweet, y/n.”

An inaudible ‘oh’ came out of you as you tilted your head back when Soobin started giving slow licks against the skin on your neck, quickly adding some brushing of his teeth that sent shivers down your spine, the sound of his mouth-open kisses against your skin reaching your ears and making your mind fuzzy.

It didn’t take you too much to realize or feel the way he pressed his hips against you, his hard member forming a tent in his pants, the breath fanning over your neck becoming heavier as he covered you in kisses. You particularly liked the way he’d be a little rougher, hips jolting and a deep groan coming down from his throat, when you pulled his hair in between your fingers; a lazy smirk trailing up in your lips as you heard the boy whine against your skin.

“Soobin” you mumbled, flicking your eyes open up to the ceiling, your fingers twirling his hair in them and softly pulling to try and get his attention. He hummed against your neck, the kissing never stopping. “Soobin.”

His lips trailed up from your neck to your jaw, his nose brushing softly the invisible path he was following, eyelashes tickling you. “Why?” he asked you, a soft pout forming in his lips as you stopped in just when he was about to place them over yours. You bit down a smile, he looked so cute with his hair slightly disheveled, his eyes dark and heavy staring into yours and his ears flushed red. “Let me kiss you, y/n.”

You couldn’t say no to him, honestly, so you just smiled when he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours again, the sweet taste of him filling your tasting senses as his tongue moved with more confidence in your mouth. “Can’t get enough” he mumbled in between kisses. “Can’t get enough of you” he reluctantly pulled back, lips pouting automatically. “I wanted to kiss you from the moment you woke up” that made you giggle softly, couldn’t helping get on your tiptoes to plant a tender kiss on the corner of his red lips, his arms around you tightening if it was even possible.

“You should have then, my prince” you replied, arching an eyebrow.

“Perhaps I could have if you didn’t have such a guardian dog to your side” he mumbled, nose wrinkling and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well, lucky for you, you have me all to yourself in this dancing lessons” you said, smiling smugly at the prince, whose lips spread into a grin after mumbling lucky me. “We really should go back to the dancing part, though.”

“Right” the prince nodded, yet his eyes glinted. “But my services are not free… I must have something in return, you know?” you snorted as the prince batted his eyelashes and puck out his lips.

So maybe days in the strange world weren’t so awful as you first expected; soon, as your body began gaining strength, the daily exercises Beomgyu put you through became more tolerable and you weren’t a mess anymore at the end of the day. Magic was still tough, but not like in the beginning; even though it still felt like the air was knocked out of your system, you at least could handle some movement under it which, for you, was a lot of improvement. And about the prince… well, you did learn how to dance quite quickly, it was fairly easier that you thought it would have been or maybe you just had a really, really, good teacher at that. Still, even though you caught on the basics fast, you didn’t stop meeting Soobin every night after dinner and what was supposed to be the rest of some dancing lessons ended up being some kissing sessions.

Not that you were complaining thought.

“Hello pretty, I am so, so sorry for being late” said the prince as he stormed into the ballroom, jogging in your direction while you waited for him patiently sat down against the window’s frame, your eyes flicking from the night sky scenery outside to the man approaching you with his eyebrows knitted. “The King and the Queen wanted to have a word with me.”

“Everything okay?” you questioned, the corner of your lips curling a little as he stopped in front of you and his hand went immediately to its usual spot on your waist. Soobin leaned in and planted a soft kiss on top of your head, mumbling another apology against your skin before pulling back a little to look at you properly.

“Of course, just some last-minute arrangements for the ball” he replied while you moved up your hand to reach the lose strand of hair falling over his eyes and softly pushing it away, your thump caressing over one of his perfectly-shaped eyebrows. “Nothing to worry about” a silent smile spread on your face as you observed the prince closing his eyes at your touch, his own pretty lips stretching on a little smile. “Sorry for making you wait, pretty.”

“I don’t think I can forgive you so easily, my prince” you replied jokingly; Soobin’s eyes slowly opened meeting yours immediately, his own hand going up to cup yours in his and place it near his lips so that you would be cupping his cheek. “Should I make it up to you?” Soobin’s head moved slightly to have his lips under your hand, planting a tender kiss in the middle of your palm, his eyes never leaving yours. “Here you shouldn’t be treated with anything but the best, I assure you.”

“Well, that’s sweet” you replied as you got on your tiptoes to kiss Soobin’s chin, instead your own lips falling against his as he tilted his head just in time to caught you; the hand cupping yours pulling away to hold onto the back of your head instead, leaving you no chance to pull away from him.

“That is sweet” he mumbled against your lips, barely putting some distance between you as a smug smile trailed up in his face. Soobin started walking backwards, pulling you with him; you frowned as you were dragged by the prince out of the ballroom, his hand leaving your waist to grab properly your hand, interwinding his fingers with yours as he made his way through the long halls.

“Soobin? Where are we going?”

“I want to make it up to you for being late” he answered, looking over his shoulder and smiling brightly at you. “I want to show you something I think you would like, come on!”

Now, as to why did Soobin thought you’d like to see the horses stable, that is something you really couldn’t quite answer. Still, you walked behind him as he pushed the wooden doors open and flicked on the lights, smiling amused as he turned to look at your reaction. You, well, you could just stare at the amount of horses inside, some curled up sleeping, others munching some hay, and others, like a tall white beautiful one, neighing with enthusiasms at the sight of the prince.

“Hello my dearest friend” you heard Soobin mumbled as he stopped in front of the white horse, his free hand going up to scratch his long neck. “I’ve brought someone for you to meet” Soobin took a step aside, allowing you to stand face to face with the horse whose eyes seemed to look at you up and down before scoffing. Should you feel attacked? Soobin giggled at your reaction. “Y/n, this is Odi; Odi, this is my guest y/n.”

“Odi?” you mumbled under your breath, the horse’s ears jolting at the sound of his name, stomping his hoof on the floor. “Nice to meet you Odi.”

Cute, thought Soobin as he pulled your hand under his and guided it to rest on Odi’s neck, showing you how to caress him, his eyes glued to you as you smiled at his horse.

“Ever rode a horse before?” asked Soobin as let Odi out, guiding him from the hold on his reins. You shook your head, following Soobin out of the stable; you observed how he adjusted the saddle on Odi’s back, patting him tenderly before turning to you, a hand stretching in your direction. “Wouldn’t it be good to do it now?”

“… Really?” you asked bashfully, placing your hand over his and taking a few steps closer to him.

Soobin nodded. “I will help you up, okay?” his hands quickly found their place on your hips, grabbing tightly enough to lift you up from the floor and over Odi’s back, the horse scoffing some more as you grabbed onto the reins for dear life, earning a sweet chuckle from the prince who soon followed you and jumped over, throwing a leg over the seat, his arms on each side of you as he leaned in to grab your own hands holding the reins. “Are you okay?” he asked amused at your shrinking self.

Maybe riding a horse wearing a dress wasn’t the most ideal plan, you even had to seat with both legs on the same side, the side of your body meeting Soobin’s chest as he pulled you closer to him and held the reins tighter, his breath brushing on top of your head.

“This isn’t so ba- ah, fuck!” you exclaimed when Odi started moving, startling you and making you let go of the reins to hold onto what you thought was more stable: Soobin. “Sorry, sorry, that scared the shit out of me- oh, fuck, Beomgyu would kill me if he heard me.”

Soobin laughed as he fastened Odi’s pace into the so familiar paths he had grown riding; little by little you grew accustomed to it and, feeling a little more confident, you turned your body to the front, eyes looking in amusement at the scenery changing in front of you; the only light outside was the moonlight that illuminated the path in the forest Soobin was following.

“Oh, wow” you muttered, a big smile appearing on your face as you leaned in thoughtlessly, enjoying the breeze hitting against you and making your hair fly back as Odi galloped through the forest. Soobin smiled behind you as he watched closely how you started to enjoy the ride.

“We’re here” announced the prince as he slowed down his horse, pulling from the reins; your mouth slightly hung open as you watched the small lake in front of you, shining under the moonlight, the soothing sound of the current making you relax instantly. Soobin jumped off the horse and turn on his heels, his hands finding your hips to help you get down.

“Hey, what is this?” you asked, flicking your eyes to the reflect of lights in the water to the prince. Soobin’s hands remained on your hips, his thumps drawing circles against the clothe skin while a soft smile draw on his face.

“Something I thought you would like.”

Soobin walked over to the lake, softly dragging you along, and only pulled his hands away from you when he hunched down to take his shoes off; your eyebrows furrowed as you observed him sinking his feet in the water and go into the lake, stopping when it reached its hips to turn and look at you, his eyes obviously telling you to get in too.

So, there you were, bare feet getting into the lake following the prince, trying to push down the silk of your dress that started flowing up while approaching Soobin, whose hand quickly sneaked around your waist when you caught up to him, pressing you against his side, a soft smile on his pretty lips as you put an arm over his shoulders.

“The water’s not…” “Cold? Yeah, it’s magic.” Or maybe it was Soobin’s heat irradiating from his body to yours, either way you didn’t say anything else as the prince walked further into the water until it reached his chest and your shoulders, your feet not touching the ground anymore which only made you grab tighter onto him.

“You okay?” he asked, turning his head, the tip of his nose brushing against your ear and his breath brushing against your skin making you get goosebumps. You nodded, turning your head to look back at him, your nose coming in contact with his. The prince hummed, the corner of his lips curling up as he softly placed them against yours.

Thoughtlessly, your own body turned to face the prince’s, your legs going up and around his waist, holding his frame in between, maybe for some more stability, maybe because you wanted him closer; Soobin gulped down, both of his hands hugging you behind your back as you clasped your hands behind his head, your fingertips pressing against the little hairs on his neck.

The prince hummed against your mouth. “You know that I love kissing you but I’m afraid this is not what I wanted to show you” he mumbled against your lips as he pulled away a little, a bit of fun in his voice. “Look up at the sky, pretty.”

Throwing your head back, you did as you were told, your mouth opening at the beautiful sight of the sky filled with shining stars above you, big full moon radiating the most precious light that reflected against the water they were in, bathing the prince and you as well; Soobin swears he could see the stars shining in your eyes as he was solely focused on you and the way your sweet lips stretched into a pretty smile at the sight, feeling his heart beating like a wild animal against his chest.

“Soobin this is so beautifu- oh, that is nice too” you hummed as you felt the warm lips of the prince pressing down against the skin on your throat, leaving a trail of wet kisses everywhere, a sigh escaping from your lips as a relaxed smile trailing up, the hold around you tightening as the man hummed in delight against you.

“I thought it would be nice for you to spend some time out of the castle walls” he muttered, brushing the tip of his nose softly up and down your neck. “Was I right? Did I do good?”

You hummed, feeling your cheeks burning up as you heard his voice― which was naturally very deep, going even lower while he moved up to your ear, his plush limps brushing against your earlobe before his tongue and lips got it caught in between them, making you whine softly at the weird feeling of it.

“Yeah, so good” you mumbled, eyes shutting close while your hands clasped his hair, feeling his teeth provocatively nibbling at your ear, his heavy breath turning yours into one alike. Soobin let out a deep and long sigh against your skin, the palm of his hands spreading open wide on your back, pulling you closer as if it was even possible.

As soon as you looked back down to the man, his lips attached to yours, moving painfully slow making you ache for more. With your own hands you pressed him closer to you, tilting your head to deepened the kiss, drinking the low groan that crept from the back of his throat at your motion, hands tensing against you.

Soobin’s tongue was warm, moving longingly inside your mouth, the once spec of bashfulness from the first kisses long gone; you couldn’t help your own sounds coming out of you as the man sucked at your wet muscle, his own gasps for air in between, hands grabbing onto you more desperately each time, his hips started moving at a slow pace against you, the feeling of his growing erection pushing against your clothe core making you tense under his touch, pulling at his hair with yearning, only gaining more beautiful sounds from the prince who seemed to accelerate his pace with that.

“Fuck, don’t do that to me” he pleaded against your mouth when you grabbed his bottom lip in between yours, sucking his skin like he was some sweet for you to eat and softly pulling. You flicked your eyes open, his lip still caught in between yours, only to meet his heavy gaze on you, eyelids half-open. A smug smile crept on your own lips as you purposely let go of his lip, only to immediately lap on it. “Y/n-“ your name left his lips in a shaky breath as his hands trailed down from your back to your thighs, squeezing your muscles hard in his big palms. “I- I want to touch you. I need to touch you.”

“Do it.”

Soobin’s hands started trailing up your thighs, pushing the clothe of your dress with them and sneaking underneath it; a sigh escaped from you as you felt him grab onto the bone of your hips, unbashful as he guided them up and down against his hard crotch, making the both of you pant against each other, the rhythm of his hips increasing each time until either of you were satisfied with it and wanted more.

“Fu-fuck, Soobin” you muttered under your breath as the man practically started pounding on you still full clothed, the sounds of the water splashing in between your bodies getting you dizzy in the head, meanwhile the prince took the best of the cares to your neck with his mouth, tongue running over and tasting you, biting softly and moaning against you. “Need you, fuck- please, need to feel you.”

You heard the growl erupt from the prince’s throat at your words, his body underneath you tensing and then how his hands hurriedly move to the waist of his own pair of pants; even though you couldn’t see anything that was happening under the line of the water, you felt his hands move and brush against you as he pulled down his pants, then pulling you closer once more, forcing a whine out of you as you felt his hard, bare dick pressing against your hot, still clothed entrance.

“Felt me enough?” he inquired, a smug smirk curling up in his face as he thrusted against you, watching every little expression you made, adoring the way your eyes rolled back before you shut them and the contrast of your mouth opening as you panted. The lack of answer only made Soobin click his tongue and push you harder against you, using the hold on your hips to push you against him, matching his own movements. “I guess this is enough for you, mh?”

“N-no, wait” you mumbled, forcing your eyes open to stare at him; Soobin had to bite down his own lip to avoid a pathetic groan escaping from him at your pleading look, eyebrows furrowed, cheeks red, lips swollen, eyes glassy.

“What is it? You have to speak up and tell me what you want, pretty” your legs hugged Soobin’s waist tighter, pushing him closer to you, your own hips moving against his making the prince chuckle airily.

“Need to feel you inside, Soobin, please.”

The way you so prettily moan his name had him almost rolling his eyes to the back of his head; instead, he managed to grab the waist of your panties and pulled them down, your legs forced to let go of him for Soobin to pulled them off completely. One of his hands found you quickly as the other grab his length, eyes fixated on yours as he placed the tip against your entrance, a sigh caught in his throat as he felt the heat and warmness from it, even though your body was underwater.

A shaky breath came from him as he pushed himself inside, head falling backwards as he felt the way your walls so deliciously clenched around him and heard the beautiful sounds that came out of you, breath leaving your body as you felt the big cock sliding inside your pussy, spreading you apart, making you dizzy in the head.

“So tight for me, pretty” he groaned once he bottomed out, forcing himself to take a look at you, his lips curling into a smirk as he saw the pleasure washing over your features; Soobin closed the gap in between yours and smashed your lips together, panting against you when he felt you clench around him even more.

“Soobin” you pleaded against his lip, him drinking up every little sound you made because of him, your hips moving up and down against him, trying to fuck yourself with his cock and failing at it while he held your hips tightly in their place. “Need more, fuck- need you to move-

“Yeah?” he chuckled breathlessly, pulling away from inside you until it was just his tip, then thrusting back in, earning a breathy moan from you that had his dick twitching. “Like this?”

“Yeah, like that” you nodded, your hand grabbing a fist of his hair on the back of his head while your hips started moving again at the loss of movement from the man. You whined in annoyance; why was he such a tease? “Soobin, please.”

The sound of his name falling out of your lips had him doing what you wanted again, this time not coming to a stop as his thrusts gained a rhythm that had your mind spinning around; Soobin moaned loudly when you tugged the hair caught in between your fingers, making him going even harder against you, tongue twirling over his lip as he devoured the way your eyes rolled back when he started going deeper.

“Fuck, that’s it” you moaned before pushing his head down to caught his lips in between yours, his raspy gasps for air against your open mouth, tongues devouring each other.

“Is this what you wanted? Uh?” he inquired, his hands squeezing hard against you, fingers practically burying on your skin as he slammed into you. “Fuck, I’ll give you anything you want, pretty.”

Sweet honey-like words were ignored by you as your body started tensing up, one of your hands grasping to his shoulder hardly enough to bury your nails on his skin, earning a hiss from him. You were close and he felt it too, cooing at the way you walls sucked him in. “Going to cum for me, all over me? Please do, fuc-“

“Oh, fuck-“

Your toes curled as you felt the knot in your low stomach snap, your head falling backwards, mind going numb as pleasure washed all over your body; Soobin cursed under his breath feeling the way your juices coated him completely, warm, thrusting a few more times before he was coming undone too, turning into a moaning mess, his lips pressed against your ear making you the direct receiver of his sounds.

As the sounds slowly died down, all you could hear was the heavy pants from the both of you; Soobin groaned, sensitive, his dick still inside you, lips sticking to your neck, peppering kisses all over you. “Are you okay?” he asked, tenderness in his voice.

You nodded, letting your head fall against his shoulder, the tight hold on it gone as you caressed his back. “A little tired” Soobin chuckled and finally pulled out from you, still hugging you closer to him, embracing you in his firm arms.

“We should go back and have some sleep” he decided after smoothly pulling back on his pants just with a hand, while the other held you close, then started walking closer to the edge of the lake. You hummed in agreement, letting yourself be carried by the prince out of the water.

“What…” you looked confused at the two men standing in front of you; Beomgyu was a common sight already as you were in the middle of your magic training session; however, Soobin being out of his usual schedule was a rare one as the prince could only meet you during meals or after dinner. “What is going on?”

“We have something for you” spoke the prince, smile drawing on his face before flicking his eyes to his friend, who tirelessly sighed and walked over to a covered mirror in the middle of his office, pulling the curtain away and waving his hand for you to walk closer.

“Soobin forced me to do this” said Beomgyu once you stopped behind him in front of the mirror, yourself standing in between the two tall man was quite a funny sight and you knew they thought it too as you watched their reflecting expressions; Soobin trying his best to conceal it while Beomgyu practically snorted seamlessly. “Hand.”

You looked down at the mage’s palm opening for you to take it; slightly confused, you did, looking up again to meet his brown eyes staring at you through the mirror, a sly smirk spreading on his face. “You don’t have to look so scared, Bambi.”

“Not scared, confused” you replied, with a slight roll of eyes. “Can you tell me what is going on?” you asked the prince, eyes flicking from the reflection of the mage to his.

“It’s a surprise” he said, soft smile on his face turning into a little pout as he held up his own hand for you. “Hold me too.”

“Toddler” muttered Beomgyu on your side as you took the prince’s hand.

“Shut up.”

Then you felt the wave of magic flowing right into your body, a stronger wave than the ones you were used to making your knees shake a little; your eyes flicked back to the mage whose focus was all on the glass in front of you, yet to no one in particular. Then you saw how a purple smoke swirl appeared in the pane of glass, just where your face was and soon all you could see was a pitch-black hole.

Not long after, the hole was filled with color, noise coming from it and then the clear images on the other side making you gasp, your heart clenching on your chest.

“What the actual fuck is th- Y/n?!” Yeonjun terrified scowl quickly disappeared from his face, his eyebrows jumping while his eyes opened wide in shock, blinking a few times and rubbing his eyes before looking back at the mirror in front of him. “What the fuck? Did I lose my shit already? God-“

“I see where this little habit of yours come from” mumbled Beomgyu as your friend on the other side kept on and on, talking more to himself than to you.

“Junie” you said, voice breaking at the sight of your best friend. Yeonjun stopped talking when your voice reached his ears, mouth hanging open; you saw perfectly fine how his eyes filled with tears and how he moved to grab the mirror in his hand desperately.

“Holy fuck? It’s you, really?” he asked, lips trembling. You wanted to lean closer, but the men beside you held you tight by your hand. “Are you okay? Where are you? Do you have any idea-“ his voice broke and he had to stop to take a deep breath before continuing. “We thought you were dead, y/n, you just… completely vanished into air, no one could find you anywhere.”

“Sorry, sorry” you said as if you were in a trance, the realization of what it must have been to your friends, to Granny, to Yeonjun, thinking you were gone, not knowing anything about you for weeks; then you noticed the prominent bag under Yeonjun’s eyes, his plump lips dried and bitten, the despair in his eyes and you felt even sicker. “I’m sorry” you sobbed.

You saw Yeonjun chuckle shakily, moving his head to his sides. “Don’t be, baby, just tell me you’re okay, tell me where are you so I can come and get you, okay?” You saw how his jaw clenched and how he inhaled sharply before speaking again, this time with a little more anger in his voice. Your friend was an emotional mess, and you totally got why. “Did that bastard kidnap you? Knew he was fucking crazy from the start, fuck, shoulda beat him up when he was just under my nose.”

Soobin awkwardly cleared his throat before leaning closer to you, waving his free hand to your friend whose eyes seemed on fire when he caught the sight of the prince standing next to you.

“You!” Yeonjun exclaimed. “Soobin, when I catch you-! When I catch you, Soobin- if that is really your name!”

Beomgyu laughed loudly, catching your friend’s attention too. “And who the fuck is this?” The mage’s laugh came to an abrupt stop, brown eyes staring daggers at your friend who scowled back.

“Do you have any idea who you are talking to, you insignificant being?” “Ah, god, another one with his head screwed?”

After a few long minutes of explaining everything that had happened to Yeonjun and another few long minutes of convincing that everything you were telling him was true and that no, you hadn’t gone crazy too and that no, the men with you weren’t crazy either, Yeonjun reluctantly accepted your side of the story.

“So? When will you be back?” he asked; you turned to look at the mage who side-eyed you quickly before rolling his eyes.

“We still don’t know that-“ Beomgyu inhaled sharply as your friend interrupted him with a load of curses and bitterly smiled before speaking again. “Lovely. As I was saying, we don’t know for sure but maybe… a few weeks? Maybe a month thought, I really am using a lot of energy on this precious right now.”

“Sorry, are you tired?” you asked worried, turning your head to get a better look of the mage’s face; Beomgyu did look quite tired, he seemed to be trying to hide it but the look on his eyes and the way his hold on your hand started to become lose each minute was enough for you to notice it. “Oh” your eyebrows furrowed. “Junie, we need to go now.”

“What?” asked your friend, fear appearing on his face.

“I’m sorry, I can’t let Beomgyu use all of his energy now” you said, looking sorry at your friend. “I love you and I will contact you again, okay? I’ll let you know when I’ll be back and I am so, so sorry for having you so worried all this time.”

Yeonjun pouted but still nodded. “I love you too, y/n, please be safe and if any fucker mess with you be sure to rip out their bal-

“Sure!” you cut him off, giggling softly as you felt Soobin tensing behind you. “Take care of Granny, okay?”

Yeonjun smirked. “Of course, baby.”

And then the image disappeared; Beomgyu beside you let out a long and exhausted sigh, his hand falling limb to his side, yours only grabbing onto his. “Thanks” he muttered under his breath, eyes flicking down to yours, a little ashamed by his weakness. You nodded, squeezing his shaking hand in yours and smiled softly at him.

“Guess today’s lesson’s canceled” the mage chuckled lowly, shaking his head, mumbling something under his breath you didn’t catch onto before he turned on his heals and went over to the couch, letting himself fall over it.

“Wouldn’t you be happy if that was the case?” replied the mage, letting his head lean back on the couch’s chair, eyes closing and a simple frown on his face, even though his lips were curled up in a tiny smirk.

“You think badly of me, oh Blessed One” you answered, rolling your eyes and letting yourself take the seat next to him. “I’m not that weak to magic anymore though…” you mumbled; Beomgyu’s eyes flicked open to look at you, arching his eyebrow.

“Lucky for you that I am a little bit tired, I would have whooped your ass if not.”

“A little kinky, aren’t ya?” you said, smugness in your voice as you tried to suppress your laugh; Beomgyu’s lips trembled in annoyance before he huffed and looked away, only making your laugh escaped from you. “You’re so fun, Beomgyu.”

“And you’re insufferable.”

And Soobin didn’t know the two of you had gotten so close to the other; the prince observing the interaction between you two as he stood still in front of the mirror, unknowingly frowning as he watched you laugh and joke with the mage who, even though was frowning, and sighing, and snorting, was enjoying the little fight you put up with him. Soobin noticed it, he knew his friend after all and the glint in his brown eyes that rolled at your words was enough for him to tell.

Yes, he was aware that the two of you would spend several hours in the company of the other and yes, he did know you didn’t have much trouble getting comfortable to new people; you had demonstrated that once you met him and again when you got into his world, the servants everyday growing fonder of you as he had been informed. The thing was Beomgyu, a person he had grown with and knew perfectly well, a person who was uninterested to everything below him; who was annoyed first at the mere thought of babysitting you but now seemed to enjoy the little bickering you two had.

Oh, he didn’t like at all what he was feeling.

Sadly, for the prince, he soon needed to be excused and return to his daily duties, leaving him with no choice but to say goodbye to the both of you, a bittersweet taste in his mouth as he walked away and out of the room.

“Why are you still here?” questioned Beomgyu after Soobin was gone, the common judgy look on his eyes making you scoff.

“I can’t?” “I certainly would prefer if you go away.”

“C’mon, Beomgyu, don’t lie to me, I know you enjoy spending some quality time with me” you smiled brightly to the man in front of you, whose eyes widened for a second for you to see clearly the thought of she must be insane on his head. “There must be something fun we can do to kill some time today.”

“Just say you don’t know anyone else around, Bambi” he said, voice tinted with amusement, making you roll your eyes.

“Not like you have any other friends, Beomgyu.”

“You are really annoying, you know that?” Beomgyu snarled. “Okay, fine, maybe there is something we can do.”

That is how you and Beomgyu found yourselves leaving the grounds of the castles, teleporting into town; himself under his usual cloak, hood covering almost all his face while you, on the other hand, wear one of the pretty dresses that filled the wardrobe of your bedroom, kindly being tidy up by the maids when you told them you were going out.

“You really should cover yourself” is what Beomgyu said before he’d take your hand and made you appear on the entrance of the carnival displaying all over the town. Ignoring the twist on your guts by magic travelling, you soon got mesmerized as you observed around; it really resembled the pictures you used to watch, everything looking kinda medieval but with the little twist of magic being a crucial part of society.

Beomgyu observed the way you watched every single detail carefully, your eyes almost sparkling at everything that was so common in his life and he couldn’t fight the small smile threatening on his face.

“Let’s go!” you exclaimed, clearly excited as you walked into the town’s heart; new smells and sights stealing your attention by the second, dragging the mage by the hold you had in his hand, making him awkwardly stumble on his own feet as he tried not to crash against your small body leading the way.

“Come, come here, my child, and taste Madam Renée’s delicious caramel apples!” your attention was quickly stolen by the gentle lady who flashed smiles in your direction, displaying some really good-looking caramel apples for you to have your mouth watering and your feet moving on their own as if you were in some kind of spell.

“You shouldn’t use magic to attract clientele, old lady” it was Beomgyu’s stern voice behind you that got you out of your trance, his hand sliding up from under yours to hold your wrist in place before you could grab one of the apples. Your eyes flicked to the lady behind the counter whose smile suddenly dropped and scoffed at the mage.

“Back away, little rascal, I’m just doing business” the lady snarled at him before smiling again at you. “How many would you like, sweetie?”

The little glint in her eye made you gulp a little nervous. “Just one, please.”

“Do you even have any money?” questioned Beomgyu, tilting his head over your shoulder to look at you. You laughed nervously, feeling some warm spreading through your cheeks as you remembered that, in fact, you were broken.

“Forgot about that” you mumbled, showing the mage the best-selling smile you could; Beomgyu scoffed and grab the apple you had reached for initially, leaning over you and putting down some gold coins on the counter.

“Two apples, old hag.”

“Better watch your mouth, you little shi-“ the lady’s words quickly stopped as Beomgyu lifted up his hood a little, revealing his face enough for the lady to recognized him, the color of her face quickly draining. “O-oh! What an honor to have you here, master."

“That’s better. Let’s go, Bambi.”

After grabbing your own apple, you hurried behind Beomgyu’s tall frame, your eyes looking up curiously as you tasted the really sweet apple.

“You really are careless, y/n” he muttered, giving you a stern look as the both of you continue your walk down the carnival. “What would have happened if that old hag had worse intentions and you just obediently followed her?”

“Good for me I have you, then” you answered flashing an innocent smile at the mage whose eyes quickly snapped away from you, nose shrinking in annoyance.

“Ah, yes” he sighed already feeling the headache the whole day with you was going to give him. “I guess you are lucky indeed.”

Even if he didn’t want to admit it, Beomgyu ended up having a good time; it had been a really long time since he had been into town’s carnival, his good only memory of it unfortunately being attached to a really bad one that had had him having nightmares uncountable times just until a few years ago. But this time, with you annoyingly running around amused at everything, reminding Beomgyu of a little cub, and him following you to stop you from getting into trouble, he barely had time to think about anything else.

“Break time” he pleaded, taking a seat on the edge of the fountain that decorated the town’s center, coins filling its ground as people still had that silly belief of asking for wishes. You smiled at the, your arm brushing to his as you carelessly fell took the seat next to his unknowingly too close, your eyes admiring the surroundings, a soft smile resting on your face. The sun had started to set down and that meant the lights had flicked on, bathing everywhere in warm light; laughs were heard everywhere and music reached your ears as a small group played some catchy melodies, making people stop to either hear some more or dance around. “I might have made an extraordinary job with you- how do you even have energy left, Bambi?”

Laughing, you replied. “I guess you could say I am the best one of your students so far, uh?” you joked, making Beomgyu scoff.

“Yeah, the best at annoying my ass” you laughed even louder at his comeback and Beomgyu couldn’t help but to stare a little longer than he should, the warm lights making you glow underneath them, his heart painfully skipping a beat― what? The realization made him pull his eyes away from you, the smile on his face that he had fail to notice falling. “We should go back now.”

“Oh” he hated the sad look on your face when you heard that and the way your smile faltered a little as you tried to keep the eye contact with him, failing at the end and looking away before nodding. “Alright, let’s go.”

You followed Beomgyu or, well, tried to but it became harder as he only fasted his pace; not only that but the amount of people had multiplied and you had to stop in your tracks several times to avoid bumping into someone. You tried calling for Beomgyu but he didn’t seem to hear, only walking back to the entrance of the town and after a few more people got in your way, you soon lose the sight of him.

“… Princess…” you looked around, the mass of people flowing around you and blocking your sight making your chest hurt, the feeling of being trapped and the failed attempts to spot the mage around making you panic, the palm of your hands sweating as you clenched them in fists; the shiver running down your spine made you slightly jump in your caged spot, turning your head around to watch where the sinister whispers were coming from. “Little princess, you’re time is running out, hehehe-“ Your breath got caught up in your throat, a feeling you already knew and never wanted to feel again, but the familiar voice that tormented you during the nights alone paralyzed you.

“Dumbass” a big and warm hand grabbed your shoulder, starling you; Beomgyu arched an eyebrow when you flinched and turned around, eyes bewildered and breath agitated. “What is it? Were you that scared of losing me?” Even the little tease in his voice didn’t help you calm down, your eyes leaving his to look around once more, your sweaty hands moving up to clasp his forearm tightly, scared of being left alone there.

You were grateful he didn’t start interrogating you right in the middle of the sea of people and instead was quick to drag you out of there; his eyes though, they flicked back and forth to you in concern and it was only when the two of you were at a safe distance from everyone else when he decided to speak. “Tell me what got you like this, Bambi.”

You fail to notice the way you had been gripping onto his forearm this whole time and only let go of him when his free hand brushed your fingers’ thigh hold, blinking a few times before taking in a deep breath, trying to calm your scared heart.

“He was here” you mumbled, the slight tremble in your voice not going unnoticed by the mage.

“Who?” he frowned, unconsciously taking a step closer to you, even if he knew he couldn’t help it, you looked like such a lost deer that he felt the urge to save you in his pocket.

“Kai.” “That is impossible.” “I am sure, Beomgyu.”

The mage gulped down at the serious look your shot him, one of your hands clasping the cloth of his cloak and hanging in there, your eyes still bathed in fear but managing to contain a little of yourself to connect with his eyes. Beomgyu’s mind rushed in thoughts― if Kai was there, how come he didn’t sense him? Were you sure? Or was it the trauma of your last encounter with the dark mage playing with your mind right now? Whatever it was he knew he had to investigate it further, but alone so what he did was sigh and grab the hand hanging from his clothe in between his.

“Let’s get you to safety first” he said, not waiting a second before teleporting the two of you back into the castle, and exactly to where he knew you needed to be right now.

Soobin’s eyes flicked up from the papers spreading all over his desk when the warm and familiar light loomed up out of nowhere in the middle of his office, his eyebrows knitting as he was able to spot the figures of both his best friend and you hand in hand.

“Good evening, Your Highness” mumbled Beomgyu, turning his head to look at his friend sitting behind his desk, the dark frames slipping on the bridge of his nose being pushed back into place as he leaned back to observe at the mage. Hearing his words, you also looked to the prince glaring at the two of you, an almost inaudible sigh of relief leaving you at the sight of him.

“Soobin” your lips stretched into a soft smile, your hand scaping from the mage’s hold as you took a step closer to the prince. Soobin’s eyes flicked to you and, even thought he smiled back, you noticed how it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hello y/n” the stiffness in his voice got you frowning a little and the way he broke the eye contact with you to look down at the papers on his desk got you stopping in your tracks.

“I will be off now, got some work to do” informed the mage on your back, not waiting for an answer from anyone as he walked to the doors and crossed them, shutting them close behind him and leaving you alone with the prince in his office― you and him and the awkward silence around you.

“Is something wrong?” you asked softly as you walked closer to the prince, whose eyes still rejected to look back at you. Soobin hummed, writing something down before answering.

“Of course not, why would it be?”

You stopped next to him, behind his desk, and leaned against the dark wood; your fingers shadowed under the prince’s chin before pushing it up, forcing him to meet your eyes as you whispered a look at me, Soobin.

A long sigh came out of his pouty lips the moment his dark eyes met yours, his eyebrows knitting immediately over his dark frames; your free hand moved up and grabbed the frames before delicately pulling them off, placing them away on his desk before you cupped his cheek, your thump caressing his soft skin earning another shaky sigh from him.

“Tell me what is wrong, mh?” you asked as you pulled off some pretty eyes just for him, tenderly drawing circles on his skin

Fuck, you were good, he thought. “How… How was the carnival?” he asked, envy evident on his voice catching you a little off guard.

“Well, I had fun” you replied with honesty, deciding to leave the last part out, tilting your head slightly as you leaned closer to look into his eyes, trying to decipher what was happening with your little prince. “Were you sulking cause you couldn’t come?”

“… No” he answered, bashfully looking at a random object behind you. “I am most definitely not sulking… I just- I don’t know, it’s embarrassing” his ears tinted red as he flicked his eyes back to yours. “I am a little sad that I wasn’t the one escorting you.”

“I see” you mumbled trying to bite down the amusement in your voice, yet your eyes shone in a way that gave you away, making the prince getting even more embarrassed. “So, you were jealous, uh?”

“God, it sounds awful if you put it like that” he groaned ashamed, making you laugh a little.

“I just spoke the facts, Soobin” you smiled tenderly before leaning closer and giving him a soft kiss on his pouty lips. “There is nothing for you to be jealous about.”

“But there is” he mumbled, his head following yours as you pulled away from the short kiss, his eyes glued to your lips. “Not only Beomgyu’s the one taking you to the carnival but to the dance.”

“What do you mean? I don’t remember him asking me” you replied, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “You haven’t asked me either” Soobin groaned again, this time in annoyance.

“Trust me, there is nothing more that I want but that. I would have already asked you if I wasn’t..., well, me” he replied, tasting the last word bitterly. “The Crown Prince isn’t supposed to take anyone to the ball, he’s supposed to just stand beside his parents like some kind of accessory for them to brag about all night long.”

“Oh, that sounds…” you grimaced; wasn’t this supposed to be a ball to celebrate the prince’s safety return? Biting down the question, you decided to plant another sweet kiss on the prince’s lips, who reciprocated assertively and again chased after your lips once you pulled away. “Cheer up, bunny, it will be only a couple of songs, I’m sure Beomgyu would leave me when he gets tired.”

“I am confident he will not” he replied a little bit sulky but still leaning in to your touch. “Bunny, uh?”

“A little nickname I thought it suited you” Soobin lips stretched into a tiny smile as he turned his face to plant a kiss on the palm of your hand still cupping his cheek. “Do you like it?”

“Love everything that comes from you, pretty.”

Days went on and the ball was just around the corner; the castle was buzzling with the final preparations for the main event of the Kingdom, maids and butlers rushing all over the halls, even Beomgyu started getting severely interrupted for instructions by his disciples during your lessons. You observed carefully how the mage explained something into further detail to the rest of the young mages, them watching him with stars in their eyes and nodding at the words leaving his mouth. As he turned around, one of his brown eyebrows arched in your direction while you stared at him from your sit on the couch.

“I guess you are pretty looked up to” you stated once his disciples rushed out of his office; Beomgyu snorted, his eyes rolling but a faint shadow of a smile appearing on his lips.

“And you realize that now?”

“Looks like I’ll be going to the ball with someone quite big” you said playfully, your eyebrows moving up and down at the mage.

“I don’t recall asking you to be my partner.” “Who else would you take then?” “Mind you, I am a pretty solicited man in this kingdom, Bambi.”

“Okay, I can see that” you replied, nodding slightly as you got up and walked closer to the mage who seemed a little taken aback and almost flinched. “Well then, I will ask you first. Would you like to be my partner for the dance? … God, this feels like prom but older.”

Ignoring your last sentence, Beomgyu frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Aren’t you going with your oh, so charming prince in shining armor?”

“He told me he isn’t supposed to take anyone…”

“Oh, so he told you” the mage nodded, dark brown eyes staring into yours. “And I am the second option?” the corner of his lips slightly turned down.

“You’re no second option, you’re just the best one I have right now” you answered smiling jokingly at him. “Although I don’t really mind going alone” you added, ending with a simple shrug on your shoulders. “If you want to go with someone else that is completely fine” Beomgyu snarled at your comment, making you a little confused so you ended up adding: “Or if you just don’t want to go with me, geez, that’s fine too.”

“Shut up” he mumbled. “Fine, I’ll go with- no, you’ll come with me. I will pick you up from your bedroom so you better be ready in time.”

You smiled. “Of course, partner.”

“Master Beomgyu! A word, please?”

Ball day arrived as fast as you could blink and it was the most chaotic morning you had ever have in a long time; maids rushing in your bedroom at early hours, spreading open the curtains to let the natural light inside, pulling away your bedcovers from your body making you flinch in your bed and then tugging from you out of the comfort of your sleep to get you inside the bathroom and help you bathe.

They dedicated full hours to polish every single detail of you; from your nails to your eyebrows, doing a full skincare all over your body and even a massaging session to help you relax your muscles. By the time you were all dressed up and your hair was finishing getting done, you heard a few knocks on your door.

“The mage is here!” exclaimed one of the maids after speaking to Beomgyu on the other side, making you frown; he was earlier than he had said. Either way, you just motioned for them to let him in; you heard his footsteps as he walked inside but you couldn’t turn to greet him as a maid was working on finishing your make up, blocking your view and movements completely, only being able to hear the rest of the servants offering him to take a seat on the couch and wait for you.

“We are done, miss!”

There wasn’t a time when seeing yourself all dolled up by the maids didn’t catch you off guard but this time it made you had to close your mouth after a few seconds when you realized you were gawking at yourself; they really should rise their salary you thought as your fingers brushed your face still in amusement, your eyes trailing up from the beautiful and delicate jewelry they had put on you to the dress hugging your body and falling to the floor splendidly.

Fucking Cinderella shit.

Clumsily you got up from the seat and turned around to face the mage who was too focused on his own nails to notice you were ready; his eyes only snapped up to you when he heard your steps getting closer― oh. Beomgyu’s eyes grew bigger at the sight of you, gulping down to kill the feeling of his heart beating loudly on his throat, his own mouth going slack as his eyes moved down to your figure. The mage opened his mouth trying to get some words out, anything but when nothing came out he decided to clear his throat and stand up, ignoring the shameful way his knees trembled as he took steps closer to you.

“You cut your hair!” you exclaimed surprised at the sight of the mage; he wasn’t wearing his usual robes nor he had his long hair falling over his shoulders or tied in a ponytail as usual. Beomgyu’s hair was cut short, still fairly long, but its ends reaching his shoulders, wearing a beautiful suit that matched the colors and designs of your dress.

Beomgyu felt his breath faltering when you leaned closer and carelessly reached out a hand to touch his hair, your face closer to his than he had ever imagined― beauty, he dared to think.

“It suits you so well” you complimented him, letting go of the strand of hair and putting some distance again, oblivious to the way the mage regained his breath as you did that. Beomgyu forced himself to regain some composure, kneeling slightly in front of you, taking you by surprise as it was something he had never done before, and offering his hand for you to take; moving closer both of your hands to his face and placing a delicate kiss on your knuckles as he looked up.

“You look… beautiful” he said as he straightened up, his hand lowering but not letting go of yours, instead giving you a light squeeze. You thanked him, your smile only growing bigger at his compliment and he had to force himself to look away, clearing his throat once more and directing your hand to grab on his arm. “Ready?”

As Beomgyu and you walked down the hall and the muttering of people became louder and louder, so did the panging of your heart anxiously beating on your chest and the mage next to you, as the meticulous observer he was, realized it. “I can hear your brain working, Bambi, relax.”

You laughed nervously as you looked up at the man escorting you. “Sorry, just a little nervous, never had done something like this before.”

“You shouldn’t be nervous, you have me as a partner” he replied smuggly, making you scoff a little.

“You sound so cool” you joked, watching Beomgyu’s lips curling up in a sly smile.

“I am cool.”

Beomgyu and you made your way into the big, completely transformed ball room, shining brighter as ever, and you fighting against your urge to turn around and run away as you felt all ― absolutely all the eyes on the both of you; heads turning in your direction and conversations stopping abruptly to take a better look at whoever was that young girl escorted by the most prestigious mage of the kingdom.

“See?” muttered Beomgyu quietly only for you to hear as he led the two of you to a corner to patiently wait for the main characters of the night to arrive, grabbing two cups filled with sparkling water from a butler walking around with a tray filled with it and offering you one. “Not as bad as you thought, uh?”

You simple nodded and sipped some of the alcohol in your glass, your eyes looking around curiously; rich people party is what you thought as you quietly analyzed their clothes, their jewels, their mannerisms, their judgy stares towards you. What were you doing in that place? You didn’t belong to this world, clearly.

Your thoughts were cut off by the loud trumpets booming all over the ballroom, everyone’s attention shifting to the principal entrance’s door that were opening only to reveal two big figures with strong auras walking inside, crossing the middle of the ballroom under everyone’s eyes until they reached their seats on the throne; behind them walked alone a man of great height and port, polite smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes.

Soobin stood next to his father whose big smile seemed to radiate light, a cup filled with wine being raised in his hand and his free hand on his son’s shoulder, patting him tenderly for everyone to see. What the King was saying didn’t even reach your ears; your mind went immediately numb the second the pair of dark eyes met yours across the room, shining brighter at the sight of you before they shamelessly trailed down to your dress, his eyebrows slightly twitching and his adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped down.

“… For the safety return of this Kingdom’s beloved crown prince, cheers!” “Cheers!”

Soobin didn’t move his eyes away from your for a second, nor when he drank from his own cup or when his father indicated him to seat on his throne or when Beomgyu caught your attention by pulling away your empty cup and gently grabbed your hand, silently asking you to dance; the prince inhaled sharply, straightening his back against his throne backrest, his lips inevitably curling down as he watched Beomgyu place one of his hand on the spot in your waist, pulling you closer to him and smirking smugly at you, muttering something on your ear that had you laughing softly as you reached your own hand to hold his.

And the way― the way you looked tonight, you were incredibly stunning, shining like a jewel yourself and Soobin had to grab tightly onto the armrest of the throne to stop himself from standing up and stealing you away from his friend and from everybody else in the room whose eyes lingered on you longer than he ever wanted.

“Y/n…” muttered Beomgyu under gritted teeth, the hand on your waist tightening, making you gulp nervously. “Did you just stomp on my feet? I thought Soobin did teach you how to dance.”

“Sorry, sorry, heh” you laughed nervously, feeling your cheeks warm; Beomgyu, of course, was a good dancer too and lead you perfectly well through the dance floor but his style was quite different to the one you were used to, which was Soobin’s. “Did I hurt you?”

Scoffing, Beomgyu replied. “Well, obviously not, you are so light you couldn’t even hurt a fly if you step on it.”

“I don’t think that’s- “I am trying to say that you can stomp on my feet if you need to, Bambi” “Thanks.”

Two full songs went on successfully with you and Beomgyu dancing around the ballroom, muttering some sorrys in between as you continued to step on him, and him ever so slightly making fun of you for it, liking the way you huffed in embarrassment and looked away. After a third song you accepted Beomgyu’s offer to take a small break and have something to eat and the two of you walked out of the dancefloor, heading to where the big buffet displayed for everyone to have a blast.

You were too caught on the deliciously looking sweets in front of you, debating on which to try first to even be able to notice the way Beomgyu tensed and froze on his place, head snapping to a side, sight sharpening as he felt something that shouldn’t be around.

“Listen Bambi, there is something I need to take care of, I will be right back, okay?” Beomgyu’s eyes didn’t see the curious look you gave him before walking away, disappearing from your sight.

You paid him no mind as you reassumed your arduous job of filling a little porcelain plate with sweets, the tip of your tongue in between your lips as you carefully picked one by one, your eyebrows frowning when you were about to pick up the last of a kind and it was suddenly grabbed by another hand. Looking up, you were met by an amused stare already on you, lips stretched into a silky smile and the sweet― your sweet being held in front of your eyes.

“Oh, I am so sorry, my lady, did you want this?” the man asked referring to the sweet, you nodded. “Would it be improper of me to suggest trading this sweet for a dance with my lady?”

You looked around trying to spot the figure of Beomgyu anywhere near, sighing in defeat as you saw him nowhere around and looking back at the man in front of you, waiting for a response. “… I don’t even know you.”

“How rude of me” the man kneeled in front of you and held his hand for you to grab it, which you hesitantly did, regretting it immediately as he placed his lips on your knuckles for a little too long. “I am prince Jaehyun from the Third Kingdom; may I know the name a princess such as yourself ports?”

Pulling your hand away and wiping it on the cloth of your dress with no dissimulation, you replied trying to control your facial expression as you stated your name.

“Such a beautiful name! Would my lady make me the honor of sharing a dance with me?”

“Sorry but she has promised me a dance.”

A large and strong back blocked your view completely; taking a few steps back involuntarily, you looked in surprise at the prince standing in front of you, his back towards you as he stood tall in front of the man whose eyes widened and smile fell from his face in a second, kneeling immediately at the sight of the crown prince.

“Your Highness crown prince Soobin” greeted the man, head low for a few long seconds until Soobin told him to stand up. “It’s an honor.”

“I am sure you wouldn’t mind if I take what’s mine now, won’t you?” stated the prince, bitter smile on his lips as he looked down at the man in front of his shaking his head quickly. Without even letting him speak another word, Soobin turned around on his heels, his smile widening once he connected eyes with you and he so charmingly held out his hand for you to take it. “May I have this dance?”

The plate in your hand shook slightly catching both of your attentions; Soobin took it from you and gently put it away, before scooping in his hand under yours and lead you back to the dancefloor. Well, shit if you thought you had received some looks when you and Beomgyu arrived it was nothing compared to the amount of stares now that Soobin was the one at your side and while you felt ever so tiny under so many judgmental eyes, Soobin seemed to shine even brighter, not paying any mind to the others and just carefully stopping in the middle of the ballroom, his hand gently grabbing your waist, his tender touch contrasting the intensity of his eyes on you.

“You look gorgeous” he told you as he began leading you at the rhythm of the music, his breath fanning over your face as he leaned closer. “Too gorgeous” he added, a bittersweetness in his voice that caught you a little off guard.

“Why do you look so mad?” you asked softly, squeezing his hand on yours and knitting your eyebrows in confusion. “Did something bad happen?”

“Everyone here wants you” he muttered under gritted teeth, nose wrinkling a little as he flicked his eyes around just for a second before they were back on you; Soobin pulled away a little and guided to you do a little spin, releasing the hold on your waist just for a second as you spun, catching you immediately back and pulling you closer to his chest, your cheeks burning as his tongue twirled over his lips and leaned closer to your ear. “But they can’t have what is mine, right?”

The low growl from the prince on your ear had your face flushing vivid red; his eyes lingered on your lips as they opened to try and say something, nothing coming out of it making him smirk; how bad did he want to kiss you right now in front of everyone else to make them understand that they shouldn’t even imagine putting a single finger on you or else.

But Soobin can’t do that there in the middle of everybody, in front of the King and Queen of the Kingdom whose eyes are fixated on the both of you, half intrigued half astonished; so instead the prince drags you out of the ballroom once the song finishes and guides you down the endless halls of the castle, pushing open a random door to an empty room and pushing you against the wood of it once it closed on your back.

Before you could react, his lips were over yours, moving in need and hunger, so desperately his tongue lapping on your parted lips before sneaking inside your mouth, groaning at the addicting taste of you; his hands that were first placed besides each side of your head now sliding up and down your body, grabbing and squeezing everything he can in his way, making you whine pathetically against him.

“Can’t stand it” he mumbled pulling away from your lips only to slid them down to your neck, his body pressing hard against yours as he kissed and bit and licked, his hands steadying on your hips and gripping them, making the silk of your dress slid up only a little from his roughness. “I hate that they think they can have you, ha! They should know better than that.”

You gasp when you feel one of his hands sliding down under your thigh to lift it up and wrap it around his waist, pushing up your dress even more; your hands moved up to clasp his hair in between your fingers, your head falling against the wood behind you. “You’re more possessive than I gave you credit for, bunny” the petname had the prince thrusting harsh against you, making you let out a soft whine while tugging at his roots.

“I can’t help it, y/n” he groaned as he slid down from your neck to your collarbone and inhaled sharply the scent of you that had his mind crazy before placing soft kisses down the invisible path to your chest, nibbling at your tits over your cloth. “Never had felt his before, never felt this fear of losing something from me” his eyes flicked up as he nibbled meaningly against one of your nipples, making you gasp yearning from more.

“You can’t lose me” you mumbled, looking mesmerized at the boy lapping yearningly your chest over your dress with his eyes fixated on yours; you felt the smirk forming on his lips at your words.

“Right? Because you are mine?” he questioned as he moved further down, placing a last kiss on your breasts before nibbling at your stomach, the sensation making your breath flinch. You hummed in agreement but that wasn’t enough for the prince. “Words, pretty, use your mouth.”

The leg that once was around his waist was now being moved by him over his shoulder as he got down on a knee, his nose moving down on your stomach till your pelvic bone, his eyebrows furrowing as the scent of you became stronger and got him drunk on you.

“Y-yeah” you muttered shakily as you felt his hot breath fanning over your entrance while his hands slid down under your dress and pulled it up; his eyes not moving an inch away from your reaction. “I’m yours, Soobin, all yours.”

The prince almost moaned at your words; licking his lips eagerly, he pulled the skirt of your dress over his head and slid under it, his fingers grabbing the cloth of your panties and pulling them down to your ankles. A loud moan came out of your lips when Soobin pressed down his mouth against your pussy, himself groaning out loud at the taste of your juices, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lapped against it like a dog, collecting everything he could on his tongue― so fucking sweet.

“Wa-wait Soobin- fuck, slow d-down” you whined breathlessly as you felt Soobin’s tongue working feverishly on you, trying to pull him away from your abused core by the hold on his hair; the prince huffed in annoyance at your intents and only sank further in you, growling a low no as he continued tongue-fucking you.

Soobin ate you out like he was some kind of starved man, groaning needily whenever your hips jolted against his face, his nose and chin drenched in you; he wasn’t going to fucking slow down, he wanted you to fall apart on his tongue, the mere thought of you cumming just by the muscle of his mouth numbing his mind and going feral underneath you. His devilish pace only worsened as he heard you getting louder announcing your climax; the prince groaned loudly as you pulled meanly from his hair while your hips rubbed against his face, your hot cum falling all over his mouth, dirty slurping sounds from underneath you reaching your ears as Soobin took over the job of licking you clean.

You breathed in and out deeply as you watched the prince appeared from under your skirt, after putting back on their place your panties, straightening the skirt of your dress and standing up, cupping your face in between his hands to connected his lips with yours, tasting yourself on his mouth, making you groan against him. His kisses became calmer and tender, thumbs caressing your cheeks before he pulled away, placing his forehead on yours.

“… Sorry” he mumbled a little ashamed but deep down satisfies with himself. You pecked his lips in response, making a soft smile appear on his pretty swollen lips. “So perfect.”

The both of you stood there a little longer catching your breath with a few kisses in between; you smiled softly as you help the prince tidy up his hair― the one you had been pulling and messing just minutes ago. Soobin let himself be tidy up by your gender touch, his eyes on you as you carefully straighten up his wrinkled clothes, his heart beating as loud as ever against his chest.

The intimacy of the moment, sadly, didn’t last too long. The loud knocks on the other side of the door got the two of you startled and, just in time as you stood back from it, the doors were flying open. Beomgyu panted loudly as he got inside the room, wild eyes fixated on you as he got closer.

“Beomgyu, what happened?” questioned Soobin, hugging your waist with his arm and pressing you closer to his chest. The mage ignored the act and grabbed your shoulders, pulling you away from the prince.

“You need to get out of here” he said hurriedly, ignoring the calls and demands of the prince on his back, his brown and tired eyes staring into yours.

“W-what?” you dumbly stumbled on your feet, grabbing his shirt for support as he continued to guide you to the doors. “Beomgyu, stop! What’s wrong?”

“Should have sent you back sooner but I just- I couldn’t. It’s my fault” he rambled as he guided to down the hall and out of the castle’s walls. Soobin followed closely behind; his words being completely ignored by the frantic mage. “I got too attached, too weak, too blind; he’s been here all along- fuck. I need to send you back, y/n.”

The realization fell upon you like a bucket of cold water. Beomgyu only stopped in his tracks when you reached the castle garden and, without wasting any more time, he fell to his knees and begun enchanting some words in a language you couldn’t decipher, that you hadn’t ever heard, not even during your magic lessons.

Soobin reached you in no time, stopping at your side and hugging you closer to him as he realized what was happening; Beomgyu’s aura became clearer and clearer to the eye and the air felt electrifying, making your skin get goosebumps all over.

“Tic tac, little princess.”

The familiar, disgusting, feeling of something slimy and wet touching your skin got you gasping in no second; the long and thick black tentacles were back and they snaked around your waist tightly, stealing the air out of you as they lifted up in the air. Your eyes met the half bored half amused blue eyes of the dark mage floating in the air, a tiny smile spreading on his lips as he drank up your expression.

“Long time no see, princess” he said, mockery in his voice. “Got the chance to spot you that fun day in town, we had so much fun, remember?”

“So, you were there!” you exclaimed, a shaky finger pointing accusatory to the man in front of you. “Are you some kind of stalker or something, man?” God, you hated it― you and your lousy mouth in the worst times.

Kai’s lips turned down. “I see that not even the castle’s discipline could win over you, uh? Guess you are one like me! Hehehe!” His loud, ear numbing laugh made you wince― not for so long before a loud growl came of his lips, his eyes going feral as he looked down to the floor.

Beomgyu was done with the enchanting― there was a large pitch-black hole on the floor. Now the mage was taking over the job of blasting away the annoying little tentacles of the dark mage with fire coming out of his hands, mumbling incoherences under his breath as his eyes were furrowed in annoyance.

“Such a pain in the ass, this one” you heard Kai saying to himself. “Say, little princess, should I just suck the life out of your body and have this over with?”

“Uh…” you blinked a few times at the question. “Well, I really would appreciate if you didn’t.”

“Boomer” Kai sighed and rolled his eyes before a mad smile spread on his face. “Good thing I get to decide things here. Why don’t I give you a fun ride while I take care of your little boyfriends down there?”

“They aren’t my boyfri-“ your words were cut off when so suddenly you were being lifted up in the air by the tentacle’s hold in your waist, reaching as high as they could in the sky; time froze as they suddenly stopped in mid-air for a second, you being able to spot the lights of the castles very far away from the ground before the tentacles were letting go of you.

There were little moments in your life where you had felt the real fear, horror, terror; for example, when you were very little, still very innocent in life and you were forced to abandoned your so precious childhood to face the real world before you, you parents were gone, you had no other relatives around or that you knew of, you were alone. Or, at first, that was what you thought before Granny and Yeonjun appeared to save you from your pitch-black hole.

There was also that time in high school days when Yeonjun had forced you to go with him to that new amusement park after school, which you thought was an incredible idea at first. You had blast, rode a lot of fun games and won against your best friend in those cute little stands of ‘knock out the pile of bottles and win a plushie!’. It was a great day until Yeonjun convinced you to ride on the first cart of the rollercoaster. Sometimes, if you recalled the memory in detail, you still could feel the pain in your throat from the intense screaming that came out of you and the way your heart fell from your stomach.

Since that day you started developing some kind of fear to heights.

And just like that day, a loud and painful scream came from the very back of your throat as you free-fell from God knows how many meters tall.

“Beomgyu!” screamed Soobin as his eyes were glued to the tiny figure falling from the sky, the loud scream from you erupting in the air making his heart stop.

The mage grunted as he rolled away from the sharp attack of the dark mage’s tentacles. Jumping and avoiding any kind of grip it could have on him, while trying to blast the damn thing with his magic. God, how he hated those things― they were ugly, they were gross and they were a pain in the ass.

From the corner of his eyes, he caught the sight of you falling at incredible speed from the sky. Kai giggled loudly as he tried to use the little distraction of you to caught his enemy, but Beomgyu knew the other man well― too well for his own good, and as the dark mage tried to strike another deadly hit on Beomgyu, he was quick to stop it and blast the tentacle away, teleporting immediately to the back of Kai, striking a hard hit on the back of his head while kicking his legs, making him fall to the ground.

Beomgyu’s eyes flicked to the sky once more and waisted no time before teleporting himself to you, in the middle of the air, wincing at the sharpness of your panicked scream before tangling his arms around your body, trying to shush you and calm you down which was fairly quite difficult. As soon as you were firmly in his arms, Beomgyu teleported you both to the ground, a few feet away from the intimidatingly big and black hole he had opened for you.

Once the arms around you pulled away, you fell on your knees, hands pressing against the ground as you took deep and shaky breaths. Beomgyu went back to the dark mage that was rushing towards the both of you, trying to get him away from you as much as possible, screaming something over the loud noise of blasting magic for you that didn’t reach your ears.

“Get her out of here!”

Soobin rushed towards you, helping you get up and forcing you to take some steps; you following blindly, only snapping out of the shock when half of your feet were hanging from the portal on the ground. You tried to jump away, but Soobin got you on your place tightly. Wincing, you turned your head to him, eyes filled with tears and lips trembling as you tried to plead for him to not let go of you.

The prince reprimed his urge to cry, at least in front of you, as his hands squeezed the sight of your arms; his breath shaking as he inhaled deeply to say the next words: “You need to leave.”

“No.” “Yes, it’s not safe for here anymore.” “Soobin, I can’t-“

The prince whined in agony as he forced you to turn around, the shouting of Beomgyu behind him telling him to hurry, yet his hands moved up to your face and crashed his lips against yours messily, drinking in the soft cries of you as you reciprocated, feeling his face wet either from your tears or his, he didn’t know. Pressing his forehead against yours, he planted a last, soft and tender kiss on your lips before whispering against them I love you.

And then you were pushed into the black hole in your back, your hands trying to grasp the hold of the prince, screaming in panic as the nothingness consumed you.

“Hey, baby, how are you feeling?” Yeonjun knocked softly on your door before pushing it open with his shoulder, tray with food on his hand and a soft yet worried smile on his face. You smiled back and sat down on your bed, looking down at the plate of ramen he brought, probably made by Granny out there in the kitchen, thanking him for it.

It had been barely a week since you came back, yet it felt like years. Since you were able to reach Yeonjun, he and Granny had decided to move in with you in your previous complex, the ceiling already fixed. Neither of them had left your side since then, taking care of you with meals made with love, hugs, shoulders to cry onto and a lot of patience as they listen to you when you needed to let go of everything― the last one being mostly Yeonjun, who knew the truth to it all.

“Did you get some sleep?” he asked softly as you eat the steaming noodles, reaching out his hand to caress your head tenderly.

“Barely” you replied, sighing. “Still got a lot of nightmares.” Yeonjun eyebrows knitted in worry. “But I’ll get over it with time, I guess.” I hope is that you truly wanted to say, but for the sake of your friend’s worry you decided to keep it in.

“Of course,” he agreed, tucking the little strands of hair behind your ear. “What do you say if we go out today? Maybe a walk will be good to clear your mind. You can get a shower and I’ll pick up some real nice clothes for you, mh?”

If you had to be honest, you didn’t want to get out. You didn’t even want to get up from your bed, but you knew Yeonjun was trying to help you the best he could, so you agreed to it and thanked him when he took the tray with the empty bowl from you back to the kitchen, leaving you alone to get into the shower.

Spring arrived and everything around you bloomed, beautiful flowers and the trees porting themselves beautifully as you and Yeonjun walked down the streets, eating the ice creams he had bought for the both of you, him talking about things that didn’t really reach you. Point for him, taking in some fresh air did help you feel a little lighter, but your mind― that was something you couldn’t shut down.

“… And so, me and Taehyun are the only ones who made it into the contest” Yeonjun smiled, finishing his story and looking down at you, only realizing you were somewhere else, your eyes glued to the flowers blooming from the trees over your heads, your eyes lost in thoughts. He sighed and finished his ice cream quickly, hiding the pout on his lips even thought you weren’t going to notice it either way.

Shyly, he pulled from the sleeve on your shirt, catching your attention, and pointed back to the convenience store standing on his back. “I need to get some things for Gran real quick, you wanna come or you prefer to wait here?” You opted for the second one, pointing to an empty bench a few feet away. “Okay baby, be right back.”

You watched silently, from the seat on your bench, to the world around you. Spring brought more color to the city surrounding you, people seemed livelier, laughing and spending their times with their loved ones. And you were supposed to be like them, but your heart ached whenever it was awake― the reminiscence of the prince flooding your mind, his last words, his last kiss.

You forced yourself to snap out of it again, shaking your head and inhaling deeply, trying to lose the knot in your throat. You needed to get over it, over him but, was that what you really wanted? To forget everything? To forget Soobin?

“Hello there” you had been so caught up in your thoughts, so buried in your mind, that you had failed to notice the person taking the seat next to you, so when they suddenly spoke and got you out of your head, you were startled.

More startled you were when your eyes met a pair of unforgivable ones, already staring into yours nervously, his familiar lips stretching into a shy smile. You blinked one, two, three times, as if you were hoping the image to fade away like it was some kind of hallucination, but it didn’t.

Your lips trembled and you sobbed audible, not even having the force to try and suppress it, making the man in front of you flinch in surprise. Soobin leaned in and cupped your face, quickly wiping away the running tears down your face, his eyebrows knitting in worry as he scanned your painful expression.

“I’m sorry” he mumbled, pulling you to his chest and hugging you, warm covering your body as you continued to cry on his shoulder, his hands caressing your back, his own voice faltering as he spoke. “I’m sorry, I missed you, I’m here, I love you.”

I’m sorry, I missed you, I’m here, I love you.

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