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hippiegoth97 · 11 months ago

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Heat of The Moment: Eddie Munson x Reader

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Description: You're best friends with Eddie, but you're also secretly in love with him. You struggle to hide your feelings, until a visit to Lover's Lake makes you unable to keep up the act anymore. Thankfully, things go better than you expect...

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: smut, swearing, female reader, jealousy, crying, lots of angsty feelings, friends to lovers, metalhead!reader, drug references/use, grinding, fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex, praise/degradation, squirting

Word Count: 5.5k

Divider by @strangergraphics-archive

Heat of The Moment

You've been close friends with Eddie Munson since high school. You remember not fitting in with anybody, and then Eddie took you under his wing. He showed you how to play D&D, and all of his metal band cassette tapes. Soon after, you joined the Hellfire Club and became a full-blown metalhead. You cut your hair short and dyed it funky colors, and wore a beaten leather jacket covered in pins and patches. Your jeans were always torn, and Converse adorned your feet at all times. You even had your nose pierced, much to your mother's dismay. Your eyes were always smoky with eyeliner, and dark red lipstick made your mouth look absolutely sinful. You made guitar pick earrings and a matching necklace to wear, Eddie had generously given the picks to you. You'd even made him a necklace as well, and he gave you the biggest bear hug when you gifted it to him on his birthday. You were hoping for a kiss, but you took whatever affection you could get from Eddie.

Years later, you'd both just squeaked by to graduate, you never took your grades very seriously. You don't see the point of doing what everyone in life pushed on you. College, marriage, kids, the house with the white picket fence. It all seems so hollow, and you want no part in it. You instead choose to focus on Eddie. You play D&D with him regularly, and he recently decided to teach you how to play the guitar. Some days you just get high and listen to Metallica or Dio in his trailer. Any time you can spend by his side, you jump at the chance. You couldn't help falling in love with him, but you're sure he doesn't feel the same. He treats you like a sister, a best friend. He always picks other girls to go out with and screw. It's not like you aren't a catch, you've been with plenty of guys. But none of them make you feel the way Eddie does, so you’ve never formed a long-term relationship with any of them. You can barely remember their names, they don't matter to you at all.

It always hurts you to see Eddie with other girls, kissing and giggling with them. They sit in his lap after his shows, practically humping him on the couch in his trailer. It always makes you want to scream, or vomit. That should be you, not some whore who doesn't care about him. So you try your best to act unbothered, bringing your own dates to distract yourself. You eventually fuck them on the couch while Eddie takes whatever girl he brought home to his bed.

But the whole time you're having sex with someone else, you can hear what’s happening in his bedroom. It makes you want to burst into tears, but you just pretend you don't hear. Or worse, you pretend the random guy you’re with is Eddie instead. You always feel disgusted afterwards though, you're just using random men to fill a gaping hole inside your heart. Not only that, you don't even pretend to like them. They all have blank faces, no names to you. You fill in the blanks when it comes time to screw them, pasting Eddie where you want him most. But they never perform the way you imagine he would. They don't care about you, or your pleasure. Once they're done, they leave. You're left laying on the couch afterwards, hearing noises from the bedroom with your clothes still removed or undone. It's here that you always lose the battle with your tears, letting them out silently to make sure the lovebirds aren't disturbed. You eventually get yourself together, wiping your tears away before Eddie escorts his girl to the door.

"You okay?" He always asks after he lets his whore out, taking notice of your puffy eyes and streaky eyeliner.

"Yeah, I’m fine. Just another asshole." It isn't necessarily a lie, the guys you pick blindly usually don't treat you very well.

"Maybe you need to find someone you actually like, Y/N. You deserve to be happy." He kneels in front of you, wiping your eyes carefully. He looks into your eyes, and opens his mouth to say something. But he always closes it again, and shakes his head slightly. "Let me drive you home." And he always does, trying his best to cheer you up on the way. Telling jokes, blasting music, swerving the van playfully on the road. He does everything he can to get your tears to stop. It always works too, he shines so bright in your life. He makes everything better, any troubles you have melt away when you're with him. He parks and walks you to the door of your apartment like a true gentleman, telling you goodnight. You say the same, and burst into tears all over again when you close the door behind you and you're sure he won't hear. You cry so hard your chest hurts, and your throat is left raw from sobbing.

You eventually run out of tears for the night, crawling into bed with all your clothes still on, too tired to remove them. You lay in bed yearning for Eddie for hours, picturing what being his girlfriend could be like. It's oddly comforting, playing pretend in your head while you curl up in the blanket. You drift off to sleep with thoughts of the man you love swirling in your mind. And in the morning, the cycle starts again. Wake up, D&D/guitar lessons, van hangout, work, Eddie's show, back to his trailer, meaningless sex, crying, drive home, crying again, sleep. At some point this routine is sure to kill you, you can't keep going like this. You'll tell Eddie how you feel the next time you see him. And then you can either be with him, or put these pesky feelings behind you if he only sees you as a friend.

It's a Saturday afternoon, and you're getting ready to see Eddie. It's just the two of you today, you'll be going to Lover's Lake to hang out in his van. You both like the lake, not because of its name but because it's always peaceful there. The reflections of the surrounding woods on the water, birds flying overhead, a cool breeze brushing through the trees. It's nice and quiet, making you feel like it's just you and Eddie in the world. You're just about finished applying your smudgy eyeliner when you hear Eddie honking outside. You almost stab yourself with your eye pencil when the sound startles you. You toss it on your vanity, checking yourself over to make sure you look good. Your makeup is flawless, your outfit is badass as ever, and you don’t have a single hair out of place. You smile at your own reflection, eager to go with Eddie so you can tell him how you feel. You grab your bag, rushing out of your apartment and down the stairs. You run over to the van, yanking the passenger door open. You slide into your seat, tossing your bag in the back.

"Hey there, Y/N. How are you doing on this fine afternoon?" He smirks at you, looking you up and down. You seem extra put together today, he wonders if he's the reason for it. He pushes the thought from his head, there's no way you think of him like that.

"Hey, Eddie. I'm alright I guess." You say quietly, feeling his eyes on you. You look at him, meeting his wandering gaze. Did he just check me out?, you wonder. No way, he wouldn't do that.

"You 'guess'? That doesn't sound like the Y/N I know. Well, hopefully some time at the lake will brighten your mood, hm?" He puts his hand on your knee, rubbing it comfortingly. You tense at his touch, almost holding your breath. The skin where his hand is feels tingly with anticipation. "Seriously, though. Are you feeling okay? You've been kinda off lately." He's genuinely concerned about you, you've been acting weird around him recently. Whenever he touches you, it makes you all jumpy, and you've been crying a lot too. He hopes he hasn't upset you somehow, he truly cares for you. He likes you a lot, more than he'd readily admit. But he figures you only see him as a friend.

"I'm fine, Eddie. Let's just go to the lake, okay?" You reply, almost annoyed. You look out the window, waiting for him to start driving. Eddie sighs, taking his hand off your knee. He grips the steering wheel, and drives out of the parking lot. You both ride in silence on the way to the lake, but Eddie can't help looking over at you every so often. You refuse to meet his gaze, keeping your eyes focused on any sights outside the window as you ride past. Any enthusiasm or bravery you had about telling Eddie you love him is slipping away from your grasp.

Eddie continues to glance at you as he goes his usual route to the lake. Something is definitely off with you, he can see a sad expression on your face reflecting back at him in the window you keep staring out of. He doesn't know exactly why you seem so down, but he hopes you'll at least talk to him about it.

You finally reach the lake, and Eddie parks the van in your usual spot. He kills the engine, turning in his seat to face you. "So, are you gonna tell me what's going on, Y/N? Did I make you upset or something?" You turn to face him, looking into his eyes. His expression makes your heart break. He thinks he's hurt you, but it's been you hurting yourself because of how you feel about him.

"No, Eddie. You didn't do anything. I'm just being stupid, I promise." You reach forward to take his hands into yours. He lets you, and you stroke his rings, taking comfort in how the cool metal feels under your thumb. You want to keep talking, but it's like your mouth has been sewn shut.

"So what is it then? And I'm sure it's not stupid, Y/N. But you seem so sad lately, and you practically wince whenever I touch you. Just tell me what's wrong, darling. There's nothing you could say that would make me like you any less." He implores you to open up to him. He wants to help, however he can.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Eds." You manage to reply, and your gaze falls to your joined hands. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and your palms are sweating beyond belief. You feel sick, like you can't breathe. You can't do this. It'll ruin everything, and then Eddie won't want to see you anymore. You try to hold back, but your tears fight their way from your eyes, dripping onto the floor. Eddie's hands leave your grasp, grabbing the sides of your face to make you look at him again.

"Hey, hey. Y/N, please don't cry. Whatever it is, please just tell me. I can't stand seeing you so unhappy, princess." Seeing you like this makes his heart smash into a million pieces. He wants to make it better, but he doesn't even know what the problem is. You start to panic, your breaths come out fast and shallow. You start feeling dizzy, and you wish you could just run and hide. But you can't, Eddie won't let you go.

"I can't do this, Eddie. It'll ruin everything. And then you won't like me anymore. And I can't live with that." You choke the words out between sobs, your face turning a deep shade of scarlet. You're so embarrassed, and you just want to drop it. "Please, just forget it. We can pretend this never happened and I'll stop being an idiot. Please, I-" Eddie interrupts you by bringing his lips to yours. Your sobs stop, but your body still shudders a bit. You return the kiss, it's gentle and warm. A few more tears slide down your cheeks, and then Eddie breaks the kiss. He smiles at you, letting go of your face to hold your hands again.

"You know, if you were in love with me, all you had to do was say so." His smile grows wider when you gasp at his words. You open your mouth to protest, or put yourself down, but he places a finger over your lips to keep you quiet. "It's alright, darling. I promise you haven't ruined anything. I should've guessed this is why you've been acting so strange. I just didn't think you'd feel the same way about me as I do about you." Your eyes widen, you can't believe he's actually been in love with you this whole time.

You move his finger from your mouth, and grab his shirt collar. You pull him into you, smashing your lips together. He groans as you almost make him fall from his seat, but he hungrily reciprocates the kiss. He bites your bottom lip, making you moan. He slips his tongue in, and you battle for dominance. He wins out, frantically leading you to the back of the van. There's pillows and blankets thrown about, making a comfortable landing place for you. You fall onto your back, with Eddie on top of you. You finally break the kiss, stroking his face with the back of your hand. "You have no idea how many times I've wished for this, Eddie. I've loved you for so long, but I didn't think I could ever tell you. You always chose other girls over me."

"I know, and I was a fuckin' idiot. I only did that because I thought you didn't want me. We could've saved so much time, so much heartbreak. I can't begin to tell you how often I imagined those other girls were you instead." You laugh in shock at what he’s said. Him, fantasizing about you? You can't believe it. This whole time, he’s only wanted you. "That's not weird, is it?" He asks, blushes slightly at his little confession.

"Not at all, Eddie. If I'm being honest, I did the same thing with all those assholes I brought to the trailer. But I don't think they came even close to pleasing me like I imagine you could."

"Jesus, we're a couple of sick fucks, aren't we?" He chuckles, shaking his head.

"No. We were just painfully oblivious to each other's true feelings." You giggle, staring into his eyes. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you. Your lips meet again, slow and sensual this time. The temperature in the van begins to rise, you feel your blood boiling in your veins. Eddie's hands grip your waist, and his left knee goes between your legs. He's creating friction on your clothed core, causing you to moan. His lips leave yours, moving to your jaw, and your neck. He plants open-mouthed kisses on your skin, occasionally sucking the flesh to leave hickies on you. "Fuck, Eddie. You're really good at this." You sigh blissfully, letting every sensation wash over you.

"I should hope so, I've had plenty of practice." He says between kisses, smirking like an idiot. One of his hands leaves your waist to grope your tits through your shirt. You arch your back off the floor of the van, gasping at his touch. "You make such pretty noises, princess." He whispers in your ear. "I can't wait to hear what you sound like when you cum." His words make you so wet, and his knee grinding on you feels so good. Every move Eddie makes sets your insides on fire, intense waves of pleasure washing over you. He's got you so wound up, soaking through your panties. Not long now until he pushes you over the edge.

"If you keep going the way you are, it won't take much." You moan out, your hands tangling in his hair. You tug on it roughly, and he groans into your neck.

"Careful, Y/N. It's dangerous to push my buttons like that." He grins at you, pulling you to sit up. He places you on top of him, his thigh positioned between your legs. You're sitting on your knees, and Eddie grips your hips in his hands. "Ride my thigh, darling. I want you to make yourself cum for me." He says lowly, his eyes burning with lust as they gaze into yours. You do as he says, slowly moving your hips on him. Eddie keeps your pace steady, helping you into the right angle to hit the spot where you need him most. You place your hands on his shoulders for leverage, increasing your pace on him. He just sits there watching you closely, drinking in every moan and curse that falls from your lips.

The waves are crashing into you now, threatening to pull you under. You're sweating through your clothes, and your pussy is impossibly wet. "Fuck, Eddie. I'm so close." You moan loudly, digging your nails into his shoulders.

"Keep going, princess. Make a mess all over me. Let me hear those pretty moans." His words spur you on further, and you grind yourself on him as fast as you can. You're panting wildly, feeling wave after wave rolling into you. Eddie moves to bite down into your neck, which sends you falling over the edge.

"Oh, god!" You scream, your legs try to snap shut as stars fill your vision. Eddie holds you into his chest, keeping you upright as your orgasm rips through you. You keep gripping his shoulders, gasping for air as you ride out your high. You fall backwards after your body has calmed down. You just lay here like a starfish, trying to collect your thoughts. You're staring at the roof of the van, breathing heavily. Eddie lays down on his side next to you. His head is propped up with one hand, and the other slowly strokes your arm up and down.

"How are you feeling, love?" He asks, looking down at you with kind eyes.

"Good. Uh, great, actually." You say awkwardly, glancing at him briefly. "I've never done that before. Not…cum, I've done that plenty. I just mean, the whole...um, grinding on you thing. I didn't expect it to have such an effect on me." You can't help your cheeks burning. You feel silly, babbling words at Eddie like this.

"Relax, Y/N. You don't have to be embarrassed about anything with me, you know that." You look at him again, seeing genuine affection in his eyes. You nod, turning your body to face his. You get as close to him as you can, and he wraps his arms around you. You kiss him again, but it's much softer now. Your heart melts, and you pull him even closer. He breaks away, speaking quietly. "Do you want more, sweetheart?"

"Yes, please." You reply just as quietly. You're not sure why you're both being so quiet, but it feels right. This moment feels so intimate, and you never want it to end. You lay on your back again after removing your jacket. He takes his own off too, the climate inside the van is like a sauna.

"Take your shirt off for me, princess." You obey his command, tossing it away. Eddie's right hand immediately goes to massage one of your breasts over your bra, making you gasp. His eyes gaze over your body, almost in awe of how beautiful you look. After a moment of staring, he lifts your torso to reach behind you. He expertly unclasps your bra, pulling it off you with ease. His breath hitches when your tits are exposed for him, your nipples hardened from arousal. "You're so gorgeous, baby.'' You blush at his compliment, a small giggle escaping your lips. Eddie lowers his head to your chest, kissing the valley between your breasts. You moan, gripping his long locks again. He peppers wet kisses on every last inch of you, leaving no flesh untouched. From the curves of your tits, to your ribs underneath, his lips leave a scorching trail as he moves. Once he's satisfied with his work, he swirls his tongue around one of your nipples before taking it into his mouth.

"Eddie." You whimper as he worries his teeth on the sensitive bud. His hand gropes your other breast, squeezing it roughly. Once he's left you properly marked, Eddie repeats the same actions on the other side. You tug on his hair again, making him groan. You love hearing the effect you have on him, most guys are too shy to make noises. But Eddie isn't most guys, especially when he's around you. You tug again harder, and he moans even louder. He stops kissing your chest, looking at you. His eyes are dark, swirling with pure lust.

"You love playing with danger, don't you, princess?" He flashes you a devilish grin.

"Maybe." You smile back at him. "But I love the noises you make when I touch you even more. Guys don't really do that, but it's so fucking hot."

"Is that so?" He asks, you just nod at him. "I'll keep that in mind, darling." He sits up to remove his shirt, and you can't help gawking at his body. He's toned, but slender, and his tattoos look so good on him. You get on your knees to feel him up. You run your hands up and down his chest, feeling as much of him as you can. "You like what you see, love?" He asks quietly. You look into his eyes, feeling passion overtake you. You grab him by the shoulders, and push him over as you bring your lips onto his in a bruising kiss. He grunts as he falls, grabbing your waist to take you with him. You straddle him when he lands, grinding yourself onto his stiffening cock. He groans into your mouth, gripping your hips roughly. "What's gotten into you, Y/N? You're so needy." Eddie chuckles as he breaks the kiss to take a breath.

"You'll see, Eds. Just lay down and relax." You grin slyly at him. He cocks an eyebrow, unsure of what you mean. You proceed to lick a long stripe from his collarbone to his jaw. You look at him again, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He just stares at you, wide-eyed. He's panting, awaiting your next move. You feel his dick growing even harder beneath you. You take that as a sign to keep going. You lean back down to his neck, biting down hard this time, then sucking the skin to make a dark bruise.

"Jesus, fuck." He moans out, spurring you on. You nibble his skin, trailing down his neck, to his chest, his stomach. Each move you take elicits whimpers and curses from Eddie's lips. Every sound is music to your ears, making you more and more wet whenever you hear one. You reach his belt, looking over your handiwork. Eddie's body is littered with teeth marks, and he's breathing heavily. You undo his belt, taking your time in order to tease him. Once it's open you unzip his jeans, pulling them down as Eddie kicks off his shoes. He's left in his boxers now, and a tent has formed in the thin fabric. You grip his waistband and yank his boxers down. His dick springs free, slapping his stomach before standing up straight.

You take his length in your hand, stroking him gently. He groans again, sweat beginning to form on his brow. He looks at you with pleading eyes. "You're very sexy when you're desperate, baby." Eddie's completely fucked for you, silently begging you to put him in your mouth. You happily oblige him, taking every last inch of him at once. You gag slightly when he hits the back of your throat, but you're persistent about keeping as much of him in as possible. You bob your head up and down, twirling your tongue around him as you go. He's constantly letting out lewd noises, which only serve to fuel your fire.

"Keep going, babe. But can you put your pussy towards me?" He asks, barely getting the words out. You position yourself where he wants you, and he makes frantic work of taking off your shoes and remaining clothes. You moan on Eddie's cock as you feel him stroking your slick folds. "You're so wet, darling. Is this all for me?" He asks as he slips two fingers into your cunt.

All you can manage to reply with is a muffled 'mmhmm' as he starts curling his digits inside you. Each stroke of Eddie's fingers makes you see stars, causing you to moan on him again and again. This in turn makes him groan and pick up his pace while fingering you. You feel Eddie's balls tightening, he's getting close. You speed up, working him harder and faster, gagging on him repeatedly. He takes this as a challenge to give you another orgasm, so he takes his fingers out of you, replacing them with his tongue. You scream on his length, feeling a fire beginning to build in your belly. His mouth licks and sucks on your clit mercilessly, pouring gasoline on the flames.

You're both driving each other mad as you compete to send the other over the edge. Moans fill the van as you near your highs, each lick and stroke pushing you further and further. Eddie's release comes first, and his mouth temporarily leaves your dripping cunt to moan your name as he cums down your throat. Once you've swallowed every drop, he sucks your clit into his mouth to make you topple over the edge. You scream his name as your legs begin to shake. Your orgasm rips through your body viciously, and you feel yourself cum onto Eddie's face. He holds you steady until your high subsides, licking up all your juices in the meantime.

You collapse onto him, practically gasping for air. You lay on your stomach for a moment, waiting for your vision to clear. Eddie strokes the backs of your legs affectionately. "You alive over there, Y/N?" He asks playfully.

"Yeah, just...wow. You're so fucking good at that." You sit up, back still facing him. His arms wrap around you from behind, his legs on either side of you. He kisses your shoulder, and your neck. His lips feel warm and soft against your skin, and you're already wanting more. You sigh as you cock your head to the side to give Eddie more access. He licks the length of your neck, stopping below your jaw. "Everything you do feels so good, Eddie." You sigh lustfully. You turn slightly to face him, looking at him from under your lashes. "Do you want to fuck me now?" You ask, biting your lip.

"Sure thing, dollface. Can you get on your hands and knees for me?" You nod silently, doing as he says. He kneels behind you, gently pressing you downwards. He leaves you resting on your elbows with your ass in the air. He grips his cock, brushing it between your soaked folds, drawing low moans from both of you. He teases you like this for a moment, eager to have you beg him to fuck you. You're so turned on it almost hurts, you need him inside you now.

"Eddie, please stop teasing. I need your dick inside me." You practically whine for him. He chuckles darkly at your pleading.

"Your wish is my command, princess." He says as he slams his cock into you.

"Oh, fuck!" You cry out as he hits your g spot perfectly.

"God, you're so wet and tight for me. Fuckin’ gorgeous." He pants, and he begins to thrust in and out of you. You moan continuously, he hammers your sweet spot with each thrust. He smacks your ass, making you yell.

"Fuck, Eddie!" You grip the scattered blankets beneath you for dear life, spots hinder your vision as you're fucked into next week. The sound of your vulgar noises and slapping skin is all you can hear, and it's like the most beautiful music in the world. You're loving every second of this, as is Eddie. But there's something else you crave from him. You don't just want Eddie to fuck you, you want him to do filthy things to you. "Babe, do you mind choking me while you fuck me?" You ask him as he continues to pound into your cunt.

He's taken aback by your request. Not because he's not into it, he definitely is. He's just surprised you want him to do that to you. But he finds your desires to be ridiculously sexy, and who is he to deny you? "Of course, darling. Anything you want." You can hear the smirk in his voice as his ringed hand comes forward, pulling you up by the shoulder. He lays on your back slightly so he can reach your throat. You feel the cool metal that adorns his fingers wrap around your neck, squeezing lightly. You choke out a moan as the pressure makes your head lighten. He loosens his grip for a moment as he continues to fuck you.

"Fuck, you're so hot, Eddie. Keep going. Fuck me, choke me, make me cum, please." You keep moaning and begging for Eddie to have his way with you, and he can't help but give you anything you ask for.

"You're such a dirty girl, Y/N. I fuckin’ love it." His grip on your throat tightens again, and he snaps his hips even harder into you. You're both slicked in sweat, struggling to keep your positions. You're nearing the end again, and you can already tell it's going to be the most intense orgasm you've ever had. Your skin is on fire, your insides like burning coals. Every feeling is amplified, concentrated in your pussy. Every time Eddie's cock enters you, it's like fireworks being set off.

Every curse and dirty request you let out makes Eddie's dick twitch. He can't believe how beautiful and sexy you are like this. He's genuinely in love with you, and his heart pounds in his chest as he races to the finish line. His free hand slithers down between your legs to your clit, rubbing quick circles. You gasp loudly, and his ringed hand tightens around your throat. He uses his arm to hold you in place, rubbing and fucking and choking you simultaneously. Eddie mentally congratulates himself on pulling off such a feat, but maintains focus on making you cum. "I'm so close, babe. Keep going, just like that." You say once his grip loosens again.

"I'm almost there too, princess. Be a good girl and cum for me." He pinches your clit between his fingers, sending you toppling over the edge.

"Eddie! Oh, fuck!" You scream so loud, and you feel your pussy clamp onto Eddie's dick. He groans, feeling his own high take over. He continues to hold you as your legs tremble violently, and juices spurt out of you onto the blankets.

"Jesus, Y/N!" He moans as your walls clench him. He feels your cum rush over his cock, spilling out of you. It feels unbelievable, he's never experienced anything like it. His load empties into you, mixing with your release as his hips buck compulsively a few times. Once Eddie regains composure, he pulls out of you. You whine at the loss, and your combined arousal slowly drips out of you. Eddie stares at the sight for a moment, before wiping it up with his finger. You moan at the overstimulation, and lay on your stomach as you cool down. Eddie lays beside you, trying to get your attention. You turn to him, seeing the gathered cum still on his finger. He brings it to your lips, and you immediately take it in your mouth. You suck it clean, moaning at the sweet taste. "Shit, could you be any hotter, Y/N?"

You just shrug and lean over to kiss him. He melts into you, caressing your cheek. The kiss feels different this time. It's slow and tender, full of love. You eventually break away, and you both lay down again. You place your head on his chest, and he wraps his arms around you. Your leg lays over Eddie’s as you try to be as close to him as possible. Your hand strokes his chest while he plays with your hair. "I love you, Eddie. I'm so glad I met you." You say, barely above a whisper.

"I love you too, Y/N. I don't think I've ever loved anyone like this before." He replies at the same volume. He pulls one of the blankets over the both of you, snuggling into you even more. You can't help but let your eyes flutter closed. You're so content like this. Your heart swells as Eddie's words echo in your mind as you drift off to sleep. He loves you, and you love him. Nothing could ruin this moment. The world could end and you wouldn't care, as long as you get to stay like this with Eddie.

The end.

#hippiegoth97 #fanfiction #smut #stranger things #eddie munson #hawkins #1980s #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x metalhead!reader #heavy metal

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tinytalkingtina · 3 months ago

Text

This Gun's for Hire

1k words | Rating: T | Ao3 link Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild's daily prompt "I wish I never met you" and @sunflowerharrington! Happy birthday Bee :) What if Steve got cursed instead of Max, and offered himself up as bait? CW/Tags: Steve gets vecna'd, hallucinations, hurt/comfort, injury (canon-typical but not described in detail), Steve loves Springsteen, Steve & the party at large, Steve/Eddie, past Steve/Nancy Thank you to strangergraphics-archive for the divider! See under the cut for some author's notes

The bathroom was claustrophobic. Steve's head hurt from the flickering florescent overhead light. He hadn't been drinking that much, right? Nancy had been though. His girlfriend, who had complete hatred written all over her face, who had given up wiping at her shirt to say-

"It's bullshit."

Steve squeezed his eyes shut against her awful twisted expression, but it didn't stop her from continuing.

"I wish I never met you," Nancy spat out. "Why should you be the one who gets to live? It's your fault Barb is dead. She had dreams and brains. You’re nothing compared to her."

She was right. It was his fault for being so greedy and selfish. For distracting her while her best friend died terrified and alone, for daring to want to be someone else's number one priority. His parents never had time for him, always chasing after the next big case or-

"She's right son, you're a disappointment." Steve turned around. His father loomed large in a leather armchair. Behind him, his mother swirled a glass of wine. It kept catching the light, sending shooting pain through his eyes.

“Couldn’t get into any college, working at the bottom rung for minimum wage. Handing out mindless entertainment for the rest of your life. But then, you never were ambitious."

"And then you went and ruined your looks," his mother added. "No one wants an ugly husband Stephen. What nice girl will let you take her home when you look like that?"

The words hit him like a stone. Steve collapsed, his legs no longer able to bear weight. Distantly, vibrations plucked against his skull, at odds with the increasing pressure inside his head.

"You are such an idiot Steve."

Please, no. Steve let out a whimper. He opened his eyes to see Robin staring down at him in disgust behind the Scoop’s counter. Her uniform was covered in vomit and blood. His blood, he’d dragged her into this, ruined her life.

"I can't wait to graduate and leave you behind. You really think I was going to take you with me? I'll make new friends, better ones than you could ever be. We'll have so much in common, not like you and me.”

Dustin slid into view. He was so young, too young to be wrapped up in any of this, why did no one else care about him--

"You think we're friends? Come on Steve, don’t be such a loser. You're a meat shield dumb enough to take directions. Do you know how tired I am of explaining everything to you? Eddie is so much smarter, he's the best older brother I could ever want."

As if on cue, Eddie’s voice whispered in his ear.

“Wanna try and save me, Big Boy? Town’s gonna hate you just as much as me once they find out who plays a starring role in your nighttime fantasies. Might as well give up now freak, it’s pointless.”

They were right. They were all right, he was worthless. Steve hugged his arms closer, squeezing hard. Too hard, beyond the point of comfort, but he couldn't stop it. Everyone circled in, their taunts overlapping over and over.

The vibrations were growing louder now, enough that he finally started picking up raspy words over the taunts:

Can't start a fire

"Bullshit." At the edge of the horizon, a glimmer caught Steve's eye.

Worryin' about your little world fallin' apart

"Disappointment." No. He didn't want this.

This gun's for hire

"Idiot." Steve forced himself to stand up and grit his teeth at the pain.

Even if we're just dancin' in the dark.

"Loser."

He pushed at the fragments and began to run. The glimmer of light was a doorway, he could see it now.

Even if we're just dancin' in the dark “Freak.” Around him, the world started shaking and crumbling. But he was so close. He could make it.

Even if we're just dancin' in the-

"Keep playing I think it's working!"

He took a deep breath and coughed up blood.

"STEVE!" Several people grabbed for him, the warmth jolting him back to his body as much as the pain from landing back on the ground did.

“Did we win,” Steve managed to slur out.

“That’s your first question?” Robin sobbed. She clutched at his shirt in a death grip. Dustin was crying too, holding onto his right arm. Both of them were covered in upside down grime and gore and who knows what else. Nancy hovered behind hugging her shotgun close, her face ghost-white pale as she stared at him, Max a mirrored image with her own gun. Lucas gripped his borrowed nailbat in one hand and Erica’s tightly in the other. Looked like he’d used the bat well, there were bits of...something all over it. “Yes dingus, he’s dead, it’s over. But you were, you almost-”

“Buckley,” someone interrupted. With great effort, Steve moved his neck. Eddie was sitting nearby, his hands still plucking out Springsteen on his guitar. “I think his leg is broken, maybe don’t climb all over it?”

With a meep, Robin moved off him, and yup. There was the pain again. Legs shouldn’t stick out at that angle, should they.

“”m never being the bait again, this sucks,” he groaned.

Only good to be a meat shield, phantom Dustin whispered in his head. He ignored Vecna's last gasps of hate.

In the real world, Dustin told him to never do that again while Nancy grabbed a car.

Robin was a blubbering mess who refused to leave his side, even when they took him to the hospital.

His parents, once they found out he’d been hospitalized, rushed to get back to Hawkins. His mom hugged him for what felt like hours.

After he was released on crutches (with a new prescription for glasses in hand), Nancy helped him fill out an application to community college.

And Eddie?

Turned out, getting to kiss him for real was much better than any fantasy.

For this scenario to work let's assume that:

Eddie, Dustin, and Erica stayed behind with Steve while the others headed into the Upside Down and used some other means to distract the bats. Lucas borrowed Steve's nail bat

Jason and the basketball team had been handled already prior to the gang venturing to their various locations

Team Rightside stayed in Eddie's trailer instead of going to the Creel House

#steddie #stwgdailyprompt #tinawrites #stranger things #steve harrington #hurt/comfort

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btescape · 8 days ago

Text

Unbound X - (BTS x Reader)

↳index

T/W: Bullying, discrimination

Pairing: Reader x Taehyung, Reader x Jungkook (and a tiny bit of ot7),

A/N: This time I wanted to focus more on rumors, and what it does to 'reader'. They'll be petty, the usual school drama, but luckily there are people who have your back.

And it was also time for me to give Jungkook a little bit of attention. (next chapter you will be seeing more of him, just to remind you that Tae isn't the only LI hehe).

** Credits for line divider by strangergraphics-archive

Word count: 5774

Previous ∘•···•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•···• Next

Chapter X - Sparks and Scandals

When Wednesday evening settles in, the first stars scatter around a velvet blue sky.

By now, the Academy's corridors are silent, save for the distant sound of the dining bell fading into silence. Most students have already retreated to their dormitories, their voices barely audible through the thick, stone walls of the arena grounds. Only the stubborn and the driven remain.

And, of course, yours truly.

Driven, or stupid. The line between those is thinner than you'd like to admit.

Professor Kwon's stern voice cuts through the air. “Again.”

Your muscles are burning with fatigue, sleeves damp with sweat and a cold breeze whispers through the colonnade beyond. Despite it all, you steady your stance and plant both boots wide on the stone ground.

“Do not mistake Evocation for brute force,” Kwon continues. His hands are folded behind his back as he paces a circle around you and his worn leather gloves glow faintly beneath the arena's lanterns. “You have to will it through intent. Magic listens to thought, not to panic.”

“I'm not panicking.” You mutter under your breath, though a quiver in your voice begs to differ. A familiar heat spreads through your palms as you call the flames to life once more.

Kwon's mouth twitches in what could almost be described as amusement, though his eyes narrow. “Then stop thinking like a mercenary from the slums.” He states. Your shoulders stiffen at his words. He means no insult, you're aware of that. It's the truth.

During your training sessions, you've learned that much about him. Kwon Jiyong neither flatters nor softens his observations.

Centering your breath again, you feel the familiar pull of Evocation flutter beneath your skin. You gather the flame carefully this time, without forcing it too much.

“Focus,” Professor Kwon says. “Breathe in, then release it.”

This time, the hurl of fire that leaps from your fingertips is narrow and clean—a streak of crimson red strikes the warded dummy in its chest. The wood turns black in an instant, then collapses in on itself, leaving behind only a scorch mark and smoke twining upwards.

That receives a single nod from him. “That's better,” He acknowledges. Coming from him, that's high praise, but he leaves you no time to bask in it. “Again.”

By the time the bell chimes the late hour through the arena, you are barely able to lift your arms from the strain. The last remnants of your conjured ward quiver beneath trembling fingers. Even your thoughts feel hazy, so when Kwon finally lowers his hands, you feel relief curling through your stomach.

“That's enough for tonight,” Kwon says finally.

Slowly, you straighten. Every muscle in your body aches, the bruises appearing beneath your sleeves throb with each minor movement. The exhaustion seeps deep through your bones, and thoughts alike.

“You've made progress in only four lessons.” Kwon praises as he moves toward the center of the space and he settles his gaze on you. “But your control fractures under pressure. Especially when you are tired.”

Nodding in understanding, you resist the urge to retort. There's no point in arguing when he's right. Not when you barely manage to stand straight.

“So, you will need more than solo drills,” He adds, his voice contemplative now. His footsteps echo against the stone as he paces. “Perhaps a sparring partner. One who can challenge your instincts. Force you to refine..”

At that, you raise a brow.

A partner? Already?

You open your mouth to protest instinctively, but he cuts it off with a single flick of his fingers. “Very well, I will arrange it,” He states simply as if the matter is already sealed and there is no room for negotiation. Then, he gestures toward the door. “Rest. You're no use to me half-dead.”

“Charming.” You mutter under your breath while rolling your eyes. Still, you follow his instructions with an incline of your head, before you turn around and stride toward the arched exit.

As you step into the open colonnade, the cold night air bites your skin. Lanterns light the path ahead, yet they do not offer any warmth tonight. You pull your cloak tighter around your body, Kwon's words echoing through your mind.

A sparring partner.

Just what you need. Another pair of eyes to watch you struggle through barely-contained fireballs and wards that are too broad. Maybe they'd sell tickets next. You could probably fund a lunch in the Capital that way.

You are lost in that charming thought when you round one of the marble pillars and slam straight into wall of solid muscle.

You freeze mid-step. So does the figure before you.

When you finally tilt your head up to face them, you meet a pair of cold, dark brown eyes and mutter a string of curses under your breath.

What was it with this man and constantly bumping into him?

Jungkook regards you with stillness, though a different emotion stirs behind his eyes. His posture is relaxed, there are no folds in his perfectly ironed robes, but there's an unusual tension hiding beneath his polished surface.

You do not question it. Yet.

“When will you finally learn to watch where you're going?” The frustration in the tone of his voice is clear and the man doesn't wait for you to reply. “Why are you out so late?”

Resisting the urge to cross your arms under his scrutiny, you bite back the insults already laid out on your tongue. “Training.”

He raises a brow. “Alone?”

“Last time I checked, we're allowed to use the training grounds by ourselves.” You counter.

“I suppose some of us need more practice than others.” He mutters, voice deceptively mild.

You simply snort, feeling too exhausted to be properly irritated. “And some of us need better hobbies than lurking in corners of corridors. Surely you have other admirers to terrorize tonight?”

Jungkook remains quiet with his gaze locked on yours and you're unsure whether he is insulted or impressed. Then, with the smallest tilt of his head, his voice drops to a softer tone, yet it is still laced with a certain edge. “I might, but they don’t talk back nearly as much.”

“Are you saying I should feel honored?”

He exhales, almost through a scoff. “I’m saying most people know when to keep their distance.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice, Jeon,” you quip smoothly. “Because for someone so bothered by me, you don’t seem to do much staying away.”

That finally earn a shift in his expression. “Don't flatter yourself,” His features tighten just slightly. Then, almost as if he's turning the thought over himself, he adds quietly, “I didn’t expect you to be the type to overreach.”

Arching a brow, the weariness in your features is replaced by grim amusement. “I thought you'd already decided what type I was.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes, but despite the chill it sends down your spine, you press on in a light voice. “Don't worry, I'm not foolish enough to think a few controlled flames make me your equal.”

“You've been acting otherwise.” He states, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, well, acting a certain way and feeling aren't always the same thing.” A sigh escapes your lips. “If it helps, I wasn't trying to impress you. Or anyone else.”

“You didn't.” He says slightly too fast.

You study his face, noticing something beneath his composure. There's unease, perhaps. Or the same frustration you can still taste in your own mouth.

He can't stop thinking about the duel, you remind yourself. Half the Academy can't. Neither can you. But tonight, it's not your problem.

“Look, Jeon.. Whatever you think of me, I know the duel didn't exactly win me any favors. Least of all with you,” His gaze sharpens at your words. “So, consider this an apology,” You say evenly, head lifting despite the nerves going through your body. “Not that I expect you to care.”

This time, the silence is longer. Jungkook's fingers move once at his sleeve and when he speaks, his voice sounds low and tense. “Don't waste your breath apologizing.”

“Consider it wasted, then.”

Something flickers in his gaze again. Then, with a deep breath, he steps back. “Don’t get used to this,” he says softly. “Or to thinking you’ve earned a place here.”

Before you can answer, he moves past you and walks away.

Your pulse hammers faster now, tension prickling beneath your skin. You force your legs to move forward, pace swift despite the ache clawing at your limbs. “Focus,” you scold yourself under your breath. “Kwon’s right—you’ve got more work ahead than dodging Elite tempers.”

Yet even as you walk and your footsteps echo through the hallway—an unwelcome thought lingers.

Who will he choose?

And worse—why does it matter?

Whilst Jungkook's figure vanishes around the corner, unseen by you, he stops his pace and mumbles, “Damn it.”

You don't remember falling asleep that night.

At some point between dragging your bruised limbs to your dormitory and collapsing face-first onto your mattress, exhaustion must have won. Fragments of restless dreams offer no memory of the night before, but when the faint chime of the morning bell echoes through the dormitory, your body responds with a protest so sharp it draws a loud groan from your throat.

Every muscle aches and your limbs feel as if they are on fire. It reminds you much of the feeling when you woke up in the infirmary after the trials. At least this time, it wasn't the result of barely surviving a fight against three creatures. Instead, there was just one. And his name is Kwon Jiyong.

When you finally force yourself upright, the blankets slip off to reveal bruises painting your arms. Lovely souvenirs from relentless training.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you wince slightly when your bare feet hit the icy floor.

Gods, you think, rolling your shoulders once and gritting your teeth at the tension burning through your joints. Kwon wasn't just training me. He was tenderizing me.

By the time you step into the corridor, pale sunlight filters through the arched windows. In the distance, the voices and footsteps of early-risers fill the hallway. You brace yourself for another long day of lectures, but something feels off far before you reach the spiraling stairwell.

It isn't the cold morning breeze nor the ache coiling through your limbs. And it isn't quite like the way you felt in the library or just before the trials.. This time it's in the way conversations dim as you pass and in the glances that linger for a moment too long.

Near the Eastern stairs, a group of students are huddled beneath a stone arch. Two girls and a boy you haven't seen before; nobles who learned from a young age how to use words like daggers. You catch fragments of their hushed conversation.

“... said she saw her with Jeon at the training grounds last night.” One of the girls say.

Ah, it never ceases to amaze how fast rumors spread in the Academy.

“Jungkook would never train with slum-borns,” The boy replies knowingly. “Unless she has found.. another way to make herself useful.”

“They say Kim Taehyung’s caught too. What’s the phrase? One foot in two beds?” Another girl chimes in. The chuckles that follows are instant.

You resist the temptation to turn around and plant a few questionable choices of words between their perfect teeth. Instead, you swallow them down.

Wonderful, you've gone up from 'slum-rat' to 'midnight amusement for Elites'.

Jimin's warnings echo in your mind. “They will come for you in ways you won’t expect. Not fire and lightning, but reputation. Doubt. They’ll whisper you out of existence if they can.”

Guess that memo made the rounds.

When you reach the classroom for Principles of Evocation, you slide into your seat well before the other students file in. This morning would be without friends, only first-years you barely know repeating whatever court of gossip flows their way.

As more students enter in groups, most of their voices dip only slightly, their eyes cutting toward you with barely concealed interest.

You ignore it, keeping your gaze fixated on the front of the room where Professor Park Jinyoung's voice rambles on about ice shaping and magical resistance. Your hands are neatly folded atop your desk. From the outside, you seem perfectly composed. From the inside? Well enough. You've had worse mornings. Worse fights. Worse company. This is merely noise.

Or so you keep telling yourself.

It doesn’t take long for someone to test your patience.

It happens when Professor Park grants the class a ten minute break— just enough for fresh ink, new parchment and petty schemes.

From the corner of your eye, you see a group of students approach.

Only when a shadow falls across your desk, do you look up. Three figures stand before you. The first girl has sleek hair dyed rose-gold, you know her as Kazuha from House Nakamura. Beside her stands Yunjin from House Huh, her hair is tied in a braid and pink stained lips are curled in cruel amusement.

The boy you do not know, he's round-faced and broad-shouldered and wears golden accessories around his neck and fingers as if he's trying to convince himself more than others that he's nobility.

“Hi there,” Huh Yunjin's honey-sweet voice drawls. “We thought we’d come congratulate you.”

Your face is blank as you look at them. “Congratulate me? For surviving class?”

Kazuha follows, “For climbing so high,” She slightly tilts her head, folding her arms across her chest. “From the slums to plaything for the Golden Boys. We were wondering how exhausting it must be for you.. juggling your new admirers.”

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips. “Ah, yes. My busy schedule of public duels and scandalous dates. Truly, I don’t even know how I manage.”

The boy smirks, eyes sweeping you with condescension. “No need to be modest. You've clearly mastered the art of.. persuasion.”

“Persuasion, huh?” You murmur as your elbow rests on the table and your head is propped in the palm of your hand. “Here I thought I was accepted due to my talent.. Not because of mattress diplomacy.”

Yunjin draws a sharp breath. “You’d best be careful,” She hisses now, mask slipping. “You may be a novelty now, but Elites don’t like sharing their toys. And no one likes a filthy little upstart who thinks she belongs.”

You lean back slightly, letting your gaze sweep across all three of them. “You’re right. I don’t belong to any of them,” you say softly. “Which must make it all the more frustrating for you that I got their attention without lifting a finger, while you're still badly craving it.”

Their faces tighten, satisfaction blooming in your chest. Before any of them can recover, Professor Park’s voice cuts across the room once more. “Break is over. Back to your seats.”

The trio lingers for a second longer, hatred filled in their eyes, but they move away with the rest of the class' attention as the lecture resumes.

The headache that's been threatening since this morning has finally arrived in full.

After Transmutation Theory, the final class of the day, finally ends, you trail behind the last wave of first-years exiting the classroom. Your fingers ache from taking notes, brain swimming in formulas and mass-to-mana ratios. You rub your temples frustratedly, half-wishing for a minor healing potion and half-wishing for unconsciousness.

The day has been excruciatingly long.

The worst part isn't even the schoolwork, although the assignments are piled high enough to crush any student. The worst part are the whispers that seem to fill every classroom, each corridor.

They follow you wherever you go.

If there was ever any doubt, it is gone now. Jimin was correct. Entirely, painfully correct. The nobles were coming at you with gossip and sharp tongues.

You lost count of how many times you caught eyes lingering on you, how many conversations halted mid-sentence when you passed. Some were more blatant than others—a few first-years had even smirked openly when you entered the library, no doubt already imagining themselves superior to the "slum-born necromancer clawing her way up through seduction."

Apparently, slum-born girls don’t get attention unless they’re offering something in return.

When you heard that one, you had laughed. Loud enough for those spreading it to flinch. But after the fifth time you heard it—and the seventh—you started laughing a little less. And now, as you near the Grand Hall, the edges of your composure are beginning to fray.

Once you enter, the warmth of the hall hits you in an instant— twin rows of glowing crystal chandeliers cast light across the area, their reflections shimmering faintly in the polished floor. Long rectangular tables stretch from one end of the hall to the other packed with students draped in the shades of the Academy's robes.

Every head turns to you.

Lifting your head, your steps remain even. You will not shrink; you won't give them the satisfaction.

Across the room, you find them— your friends, seated at their usual table, already halfway through dinner. Yuqi waves at you and relief crosses her face when your eyes meet hers. She gestures to the empty seat beside her and you head straight for it, ignoring the trail of whispers that follow you.

The moment you sit down, Shuhua already leans in. Her eyes are alight with familiar mischief. “So,” she begins, voice filled with curiosity. “Why does half the school think you've tamed two of the most impossible men in the Academy?”

You sigh, tipping your head back against the chair-rest. “I’d rather face Kwon again than have this conversation.”

“That bad, huh?�� Soyeon asks, arching a brow.

“Worse,” you mutter. “It followed me through every single class. I couldn’t take three steps without someone assuming I’d invited Jungkook and Taehyung into my bed.”

Yuqi’s smile falters, her teasing look softening in an instant. “You know none of us believe that, right?”

Shuhua nods quickly and the playful tone in her voice disappears. “Obviously. You’re not the type to bother with that kind of nonsense. Not when you have a far more thrilling relationship with life itself.”

“Besides,” Soyeon adds, “anyone who actually knows you would laugh themselves sick at the thought of you swooning over nobles.”

Their words ease the nerves in your stomach if only slightly. You hadn't realized how much you needed to hear that. “Thank you.” you murmur softly.

Yuqi reaches out under the table, giving your wrist a quick squeeze. “Don’t let them get in your head. They’re just jealous. They can’t stand that someone like you is standing at the same level they’re so desperate to protect.”

“At least you have Taehyung on your side.” She adds with a mischievous smirk.

“Oh goddess.” you mutter.

Shuhua grins and seizes the opportunity. “He did wink at you in the market. You can’t deny that.”

“Maybe he had something in his eye.”

“Maybe you were in his eye. Like you are right now.”

You nearly choke on your water. “Stop.”

The other girls chuckle, and despite the exhale leaving you, you cannot help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

From across the room, the unmistakable presence of the Elite Table draws your attention.. You don’t mean to look—but your eyes move upward before you can stop them.

There, beneath the arched stained-glass window, five of them are seated.

Jung Hoseok is the first to come into view— the usual grin on his face is replaced by something more thoughtful. Beside him sits Min Yoongi, colder eyes than Jungkook's flicking lazily over the hall without betraying a hint of emotion. Kim Seokjin leans back with the kind of arrogance that would infuriate you if it didn't fit him so well. And Park Jimin looks the most relaxed, though there's an edge beneath his languid posture as his fingers drum lightly against the edge of his goblet.

And then there is Taehyung.

He sits slightly apart from the others, elbow propped on the table, fingers tapping a slow, idle rhythm against his chin. His eyes meet yours almost instantly—as if he’d been waiting for the chance. There’s no smirk this time.

You glance away swiftly, heart skipping once against your will.

He must have heard. He'd have to be deaf not to. And I doubt Jennie would let it rest until he did.

That thought pulls your gaze sideways—where the devil herself sits like royalty presiding over the court.

Jennie is seated upright. Her crimson lips are curved into a smile too sharp for pleasantries. Lisa lounges next to her, one boot crossed over her knee whilst her eyes are disinterested, though her lips twitch faintly at something Rose says. Jisoo's expression, as always, is carved from ice and she, too, listens to her friend speak.

Jennie's gaze lock onto yours. And if looks could kill, you'd already be sprawled across the marble table. Not the most awful way to die, you'd always expected it to be in the gutter somewhere in the Iron Quarters where nobody could find your body. Sorry. Too grim.

Forcing your eyes down to your plate, your hand curl unconsciously around the edges. The words you've repeated to yourself all day echo through your mind again—you’re stronger than this, don’t let them win. But right now, they don't sound very convincing.

You can’t do this right now.

Without another word, you shove back from the table, rising abruptly.

“Hey,” Yuqi says quickly, reaching out. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” you reply curtly. The crack in your voice is too obvious, to your dismay. You swallow and try again. “I just need air.”

Soyeon studies your face for a short second, her usual sharp gaze softening just slightly.

“Do you need one of us to come with you?” Shuhua asks softly, all traces of teasing gone now.

You manage a thin smile—gratitude too big for words in this moment. But you shake your head lightly, turn around and leave the Grand Hall, with each step being faster than the last.

The moment the doors close behind you, the knot in your chest loosens just barely enough to let you breathe.

From the far end of the hall, crystal goblets are filled with imported wine, porcelain cutlery cuts through meals too beautiful to touch and a lazy laughter curls through the Elite table.

At the center of it all, Jennie is seated with her chin propped elegantly on her hand as she absentmindedly plays with a slice of sugared plum on her plate. Her half-lidded gaze is alert, but she doesn’t need to hear the words to recognize the shift is in her favor.

“She didn't even finish her food,” Lisa remarks, slowly swirling the goblet in her hand. “She looked like she might throw up..”

A smug smirk crosses Jennie's face. “Would you stay if every student was whispering about whose bed you crawled into last night?”

Taehyung, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet at the end of the table, finally looks up. He glances at the two girls and raises a brow in confusion. “So the rumors are true?”

“They’re rumors. Truth is optional.” Jennie muses.

Taehyung's expression doesn't change, but the tone of his voice drops. “That’s not what I asked.”

Before she can answer, Seokjin speaks up from across the table, lounging like this is just another theater play he’s barely paying attention to. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? She was seen near the practice yard with Jungkook. That’s more than enough to get people talking.”

A colder edge slips into Taehyung's gaze. “That doesn’t mean anything happened.”

“She disappeared for hours yesterday,” Rose chimes in, idly twirling a loose strand of hair around one finger. “And now both you and Jungkook are hovering. It’s not like we made it up from nothing.”

“So you're the one who started this?” Taehyung’s voice is too calm as he looks at Jennie— the kind of calm that is more threatening than raised voices would ever be.

Jennie’s shoulders stiffen. “It wasn’t just me,” she says quickly, lips pursed into a thin line. “Seokjin suggested it during morning lecture. Lisa helped spreading it through the Conservatory girls. And Yoongi…” she gestures loosely to where he sits with one arm propped against the table, only half-listening, “said it would die out in a few days.”

Yoongi doesn’t look up. He lifts his glass with the same casual grace he always does and simply says, “And you'll see that I'm right.”

Lisa shrugs, leaning forward to rest her chin in her hand. “You’re acting like we started a war. It’s just a few rumors. And anyway, it’s not like it will affect you.”

Taehyung just stares at them. “You made her the center of a scandal. And for what?”

Jennie scoffs lightly, though there’s a slight crack under the sound. “Don’t act like you care.. You've heard the nobles talk about it and now, all of a sudden you want to act like we personally offended you?”

“I figured it was just some petty nobles making up some dumb rumors,” Taehyung answers tightly. “Anyway, she has done nothing to deserve that, but all of you sat here, tearing her apart like she’s entertainment.”

“She’s from the slums,” Seokjin mutters, his voice laced with disdain. “And she caught the eye of two Elites. It’s laughable. This is just the world reminding her where she stands.”

Taehyung’s jaw clenches. “She never asked for anyone’s attention.”

Lisa lets out a soft sigh. “You don’t have to defend her, you know. You’re not the one they’re tearing down. Men never suffer the consequences for rumors such as this one. She's the only one who will get branded. You will not.”

There’s a long silence, followed by the scrape of a chair. Taehyung stands up. “This is pathetic,” he mutters. His disappointed gaze sweeps across the others. “All this power, and this is how you use it.”

Jennie straightens abruptly, voice raised. “Where are you going?”

“Away from this.” His eyes don’t turn to her. “You all sound like bored children.”

He’s gone a second later, cloak rustling softly behind him as he disappears through the doors. Jennie stares after him with her jaw clenched. Her hands, perfectly still before, are now clenched beneath the table. “He always walks away when things get inconvenient,” she says under her breath.

Lisa leans in closer, resting her arm lightly around Jennie's shoulder. “He’s just in one of his moods again,” she reassures calmly, brushing a speck of dust from Jennie’s sleeve with a flick of her fingers. “You know how he is. In a bad mood one moment, then charming the next. He’ll get over it.”

Jennie doesn’t answer. Her gaze is still fixed on the doors Taehyung disappeared through.

Seokjin exhales a long breath and reclines deeper into his chair. “Let him throw his little tantrum. He'll remember exactly why slum-born girls don't survive in our world sooner or later.”

Across from them, Jimin has been silent through the entire ordeal. Now, his gaze drifts from one speaker to the next. His fingers tap once against his goblet. His lips part slightly—as if a thought hovered—but he ended up not saying anything.

Some battles were not worth joining yet.

But Hoseok chuckles softly. He tips his goblet back with a smooth, lazy grace and sets it down. “Well,” he drawls in amusement. “whatever she may be, the girl certainly knows how to draw a room’s attention and a little chaos in this place… that I do enjoy.”

Seokjin arches a brow. “Seriously? Even you can’t charm your way out of that one, Hoseok.”

“I never said I would,” Hoseok replies, smile tilting. “But watching it unfold? I wouldn’t miss it.”

After leaving the Grand Hall, you don't head back to the dorms.

Instead, you follow the winding path between torchlit hedges and stone archways as exhaustion still tugs at your limbs. The voices are still stuck in your head; their laughter cutting in all the right places. Pity hidden behind tight smiles and side glances.. None of them dared say your name out loud.

Your fingers tighten slightly in the folds of your sleeve. You know better than to let words get under your skin. It's not the first time people have whispered nasty rumors behind your back. It's not the first time they've tried to make you feel small and shameful.

And yet, somehow, this time the hurt is worse.

You try not to hate the nobles— those born into marble towers and taught to sneer from birth, but it's difficult not to let the loathing seep in when their eyes look at you like you're mud dragged into their perfectly polished world. As if the mere idea of someone like you breathing the same air is offensive.

But then you remember Namjoon standing in that narrow alleyway in the Capital, watching over a small boy as if kindness was second nature to him. Something had changed your view then, you had been nearly hopeful.

So maybe not Namjoon..

And maybe not Taehyung either.

There’s still something about him you haven’t figured out. He had looked at you like he saw something. Whether it was curiosity or something more dangerous, you’re still uncertain. But he had never mocked you. Not like the others do when they think you're not listening. Certainly not like Jennie and Jungkook had done.

And then there’s Jimin. Cryptic Jimin. Who never says much unless he wants it to matter. You don’t know why he warned you back then, but his words echo louder now than they did when he first said them: They’ll come for you in ways you won’t expect. He wasn’t wrong, and in a way, he had prepared you for what was to come.

Still... there were other things to worry about besides petty noble drama.

The rumors hurt, yes—but they don’t curl around your ribs at night. They don’t follow you into sleep like the nightmares do.

You haven’t seen anything strange in the past few days—no flickers at the corner of your eye, no phantom footsteps behind you. But that doesn’t mean the dread is gone. You still remember the way the shadows writhed in your sleep. The burn of violet flames, a voice too ancient to belong to anything human. You remember the red gleam between the shelves in the library. That split-second of certainty that something had been watching you.

And you knew that silence doesn’t mean safety. It just means it’s waiting.

By the time you reach the Academy’s eastern wing, the world around you is quiet. Torches flicker along the marbled pillars, casting faint light through the arches. The training yard looms ahead.

Tugging your cloak tighter around you, you step inside, but the sharp crack of lightning stops you in your tracks.

The unmistakable form of Jungkook is already there and he hasn't noticed you yet.

His stance is focused, every movement he makes is deliberate and quick. His coat is discarded to the side, sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscled arms and sweat gleams across his temple. You watch, unsure whether to turn away or step forward and disrupt his training, but something about the scene captivates you.

With a precise sweep of his arm, a spear materializes—conjured mid-motion—and just as it takes form, lightning coils around it in a blaze of crackling light. He twists, hurls it forward, and the weapon slams into the enchanted barrier with a thunderous snap. Energy arcs in every direction, illuminating the outline of his body in gold-blue for just a second.

You’ve seen power before. You’ve even tasted it. But this is different.

It’s beautiful.

And for a moment you forget the whispers, the rumors, the ache still tucked behind your ribs. You just watch.

Until he turns around.

His eyes lock onto yours and, for a mere second, surprise flickers across his face. It's gone as fast as it had appeared, hidden beneath the same, cold wall he always wears.

His voice cuts through the air. “Are you lost?”

Opening your mouth to say something, the words get lost in your throat. Instead, you stammer a: “I- No.. I was just..”

“What—are you following me now?”

You lift your chin slightly, though the words don’t come as fast as they usually do.

His eyes narrow at your silence, and the conjured lance disappears with a flick of his hand, leaving only a trail of smoke and a loud crackle behind.

“Well?” He prompts. “If you’ve come to gawk, don’t bother pretending it’s for training.”

“I didn’t know you were here,” you finally manage to say, “I just needed some air.”

You don’t know what makes you say it.

Perhaps it's the frustration from the whispers and stares still burning in your chest. Or perhaps it's the way your hands still itch for something to fight that isn't rumor or silence. Or maybe.. it's the way he moved, each strike quick and without hesitation —like the entire world could fall apart and he’d somehow still land on his feet.

“Fight me.”

“Excuse me?”

For a moment, you hesitate whether to continue. This wasn't how you imagined saying it, if you ever did. There's no sarcasm on your tongue, no brilliant retort.

“I want to spar,” you say again, more evenly this time. “With you.”

His gaze sweeps over you once, “You want to fight me?”

There’s something in his voice that isn’t quite disbelief. More like... suspicion.

You nod sternly. “Yes.”

Jungkook lets out a scoff, dragging a hand through his hair as if the sheer absurdity of the idea irritates him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

A pause follows, one filled with tension and something that feels strangely like curiosity. He studies you as though trying to find the punchline. When he doesn’t, he lets out a sigh. “You’re not ready. What if you lose control again?”

“I won't let it get that far,” You say. “If I can't handle it, I'll surrender.”

Jungkook exhales slowly, though the expression in his face shifts slightly. “This is a waste of time.”

You don’t respond. Instead, you let your steady stance speak for you. He watches you a moment longer, then finally gives the smallest of nods.

“Fine. But don't think I'll go easy on you.”

Excitedly, you nod. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

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thevalkyriesshadow · 6 months ago

Text

Moodboard by iris_mindplace on Insta

Gwynriel art credit: venusfolk on Insta

Divider by @strangergraphics-archive

A Waltz of Shadows and Ribbons

A fluffy Gwynriel ficlet inspired by Gwynriel as the Waltz aesthetic!

Gwyn and Azriel meet to rehearse the waltz they'll be performing in the Winter Court while on a mission. The waltz is an elegant, flowing dance that requires trust from both partners...along with lots of hand holding and touching.

Gwyn entered the great hall of The House. A room she’d never been in. One that she hadn’t ventured in yet in the handful of months she’d been living here. When she received the note from Azriel that this was where they’d be rehearsing she was admittedly nervous. A grand ballroom with only Azriel and Gwyn inside, occupying the room. Touching. Holding. Dancing with each other…

Read the rest under the cut or here on AO3!

Wiping the nervous sweat onto her Priestess robes, Gwyn gawked at the space as she entered. Windows that stretched from floor to ceiling showed the beautiful setting sun outside. Velaris was on display tonight, with lights twinkling against the deep oranges, rosy pinks, and soothing purples of the nighttime coming to life around them.

Intricate moulding outlined the windows and edges of the room in a leafy pattern. Her eyes followed them around the perimeter, inspecting every aspect. Admiring the way the designs sprawled and converged together, creating a space that felt like art itself.

Faelights sparked to life in the sconces around the room, making Gwyn jump and gasp at the hissing sound as they flickered brightly until settling to a perfect, warm glow. Even a few floated above her head. Gwyn reached up to touch one, but it floated just out of her reach. Of course they were safety proof against curious minds like hers.

She studied the floor then, the bright marble mottled with a grey design, no doubt picked to hide scuff marks from the countless shoes that would dance across it. Her flat shoes whispered along as she travelled across the tiled floor.

Her attention was pulled everywhere. Every new detail jumped out at her until a shadow passed in front of her, pulling her attention away from the magnificent chandeliers dripping with crystals to the darkest corner of the room.

Gwyn nearly jumped out of her skin when she realized someone was standing there.

Her hand flew to her chest, “Azriel –” she gasped. Then her eyes narrowed, her hands on her hips as she shot at him, “How long have you been standing there?”

A small curl formed at the corner of the Spy Master’s mouth, “Long enough.” He stepped out from the shadows. His wings tucked high and proud behind him, no doubt chuffed with himself that he caught her off guard. He wasn’t in his usual leathers, choosing a pair of black pants and a black button down instead. The material hugged the muscles that bulged when he moved, tightening around his warrior form. Gwyn hoped she looked half as cool in her Priestess robes as he did in his casual attire.

Azriel scanned her robes, his gaze simmering as his throat bobbed and he said, “I’m glad you chose a dress. As that is what you’ll be wearing for our mission.” He eyed the hem of the soft blue silk, “What shoes are you wearing?”

Straight to business with this one. “My flats. It’s these or my training shoes.”

Azriel waved a hand, “No worries.” A pair of sparkling silver heels dropped beside her, no doubt provided by The House. The faelights twinkled around them as if confirming Gwyn’s suspicions.

She bent and scooped up the heels – the extremely tall heels… “I – these are really tall. Are you sure –”

“If you can’t handle a pair of three inch heels, then maybe this mission isn’t for you,” Azriel replied, his voice low, but his tone playful.

Gwyn huffed, kicked off her flats, sat on the floor, and put her shoes on in the most unladylike fashion. She stood, a tad wobbly to start, but she stood. And she breathed out at that. “There. Step one. Done. What’s next?” She put her fisted hands back on her hips, looking a lot more confident than she felt.

Gwyn had never danced professionally, or with any sort of training for that matter. She literally felt like a fish out of water, and she was more nervous than a Lady before her coronation day.

She had nearly fainted when Rhys asked her to be a part of this mission. Her qualifications as a scholar and warrior made her top choice. Seeing as Rhys needed some sort of information from the Libraries of the Winter Court.

But in order to complete the mission, she’d need a partner. Cue her next wave of nerves when Azriel, her best friend and long time crush (a secret she held near and dear to her heart) was paired with her. Then she all but fell over when Rhys told her she’d need to know how to dance as part of their guise for being in the Winter Court.

Now here they were, their first waltzing lesson and Gwyn thought she’d explode with nerves and excitement.

“Well first,” Azriel began, sauntering closer to Gwyn. She’d guess that he was the epitome of chill, if it weren’t for his shadows that twirled excitedly around the talons of his wings. The dark tendrils seemed to buzz with anticipation as he drew near. They really did give away everything hidden beneath that cool exterior. And it settled something in her that she wasn't the only one feeling apprehensive for the task at hand. “We need to warm up.” He stopped a few feet from her. His cedar and night-chilled mist scent wrapped around her. “We don’t need you pulling anything before the mission.”

And with that, Azriel and Gwyn began their warm up. Pliés and relevés, sashays and twirls across the floor. Azriel was patient, showing Gwyn everything. By the time their warm up was done, she was sweating and panting for water. They hadn’t even begun waltzing and her legs were already worn out and tired.

“Ready to waltz?” Azriel kept his hands tucked behind his back as he walked out to the middle of the floor, waiting for her to join.

Clearing her throat and holding her head up high (She would not let Azriel see how exhausted she was already), she followed him.

“The first, and most important thing to remember about a waltz, is the timing. There’s a distinct one-two-three, one-two-three, you follow.” Music began to play gently throughout the hall, coming from a small, orb-like object off to the side. Gwyn recognized it as Nesta’s Symphonia.

She watched Azriel as he stepped forward with his left, to the side with his right, then his left foot following. Counting out the one-two-three as he did so. Gwyn copied him.

“Wait, you’ll be doing this –” He stood side by side with her showing her how her right foot would go back, and her left to the side.

She huffed, “Wouldn’t it be easier to, oh I don't know, have us in the proper positions while you show me?” She turned to face Azriel, her new height difference bringing her to look directly in his eyes, rather than needing to glance up slightly. She had to admit, the heels made her feel more and more confident the longer she wore them. Azriel on the other hand – his confidence wavered; his hands slid behind his back again.

She understood then what was bothering him. What would come back and haunt him from time to time. Healing was a journey, one Azriel would always be embarking on. A journey Gwyn promised she’d take with him. Without missing a beat, she grabbed his elbows and slid her hands down to his wrists, pulling them out from behind his back until she was holding his scarred fingers in hers. His puckered skin was rough and cool against her calloused, freckled skin.

“If we’re going to be a believable pair on the dance floor, I’m going to need to hold your hands Azriel – or have them hold me in whatever way they hold a partner for the waltz.” She glanced down at his hands, then up to his face where he wore a warm smile.

He cleared his throat and nodded, “Right, um –” His voice was a bit shaky as he started. But Gwyn was patient. Waiting for him when he was ready. He guided her left hand to his shoulder, tucking his own under her arm. “Hold your elbow up. I’m supporting you, but not really. It’s more of an illusion. It’ll look sloppy and lazy if you just let it sit.” Her heart pounded against her rib cage as his hands slid over and around her, His fingertips dancing across the expanse of her back.

She gave him a wry smile and followed his instructions, holding her elbow aloft. “Okay. Now what?”

“Then,” he began, his voice stronger this time, he took her right hand in his, cupping his palm against hers, “I hold your hand here, again, keep your elbow up. If I let go, your arms shouldn’t falter. They should be steady and hold true. Like a statue. This is called a closed hold.” She nodded. Straightening her posture and holding herself like said statue.

Her breasts brushed his chest, his large hand that was firmly placed between her shoulder blades pushed her closer to him.

Everything stilled for a moment. Her cheeks heated under the Shadowsinger’s gaze. He was so close. His lips mere inches from hers. She could feel his chest against hers, rising and falling, as he breathed. His eyes searched her face, wildly scanning – “Is this okay?” He asked, breathless. His eyes dropped to her lips as she answered as breathlessly as he.

“Yes.”

He nodded, “Good. Um, now –” His left foot moved. “Right back…to the side…yes, slow. Take your time – careful!” Gwyn’s heel caught under her and she wobbled slightly, but Azriel held her to stay standing. “Good?” He waited for her nod after her initial embarrassment, and continued. “Again.”

Over and over they practiced the first basic step until they were gliding in a straight line across the floor. One boxy waltz step after another. By the end of the lesson, Gwyn could do it with her eyes closed. Azriel could back away and her posture held firm as he watched her glide by herself. Interrupting her here and there to correct the tilt of her torso or the position of her toes.

Many of their rehearsals were the same. They’d practice a specific step over and over until Gwyn could do it in her sleep. Until every move was second nature.

And every rehearsal brought Azriel closer to accepting that his scars would be on display. She couldn’t be sure, but she felt that her complete acceptance and gratitude for his mottled hands helped to put him at ease. The more they touched, the more flair he put into his arm work. The more his hands found hers, the more she melted at every touch.

Having Azriel in her space, so close, touching her back and hips and hands everyday was rewarding. But it drove her mad as she constantly had to focus on stifling her scent. Focus on the dance moves rather than his stupidly handsome face and the way his sweat soaked hair clung to his forehead.

It drove her to the point of incessantly touching herself when she got back to her room after rehearsal. Imagining Azriel’s thick, scarred hands traveling down her sides, across her hips, curling between her legs... This waltzing practice was only scratching the surface of that itch.

The time had come to start focusing on the more difficult moves she’d need for the mission and Gwyn was not prepared for what came next.

“Today…we’re going to tackle the intricate pas de deux that comes before the end of this particular waltz,” Azriel announced.

Gwyn tilted her head and teased, “You talk as if it’s hard to do? I think you’ve forgotten. I’m an expert now.” Gwyn twirled and sashayed around the room before coming back to Azriel who stood in the middle of the ballroom, now smiling ear to ear.

He ducked his head as Gwyn box stepped up to him, holding her arms out, ready to take him across the floor.

Azriel chuckled and picked his head back up, licking across his lips before saying with a sigh, “You’re facing the wrong way.”

Gwyn’s brows rose and knitted together in confusion, “What?”

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he smoothed them down her arms, forcing her to relax her hold. Then with a twirl of his finger he said, “Turn around, Priestess.” Gwyn swallowed, but followed his command, turning until her back was to his.

She waited. Wondering what he could possibly be doing. Then his breath tickled her ear, “Traditionally, this waltz is a celebration of relationships of any kind – with this section of the dance showing true trust and dependability.” He brought his hand around her shoulders, holding out a thick black ribbon. “They tie a ribbon around each other’s eyes and complete the rest of the dance blindfolded.”

Gwyn shivered at Azriel’s nearness, how his chest pressed to her back. The curve of her ass against his hips. “We have to do the rest of the dance – blindfolded?”

Azriel hummed, “Yes.” His other hand came to rest against her hip as he continued, “How does that make you feel?”

Honestly?

Horny as hell. But she couldn’t say that.

So instead she said, “Nervous…unsure, but intrigued. Show me.”

Azriel made an approving sound behind her, the deep tone of it sending a vibration down her spine before he brought the ribbon to her eyes and tied it around her head.

She was met with complete darkness, with the tiniest sliver of light at the bottom. Not enough to help her see a godsdamn thing, but enough to give her a thrill of not exactly knowing what was going to happen next.

A few steady, pounding heartbeats passed before she heard his voice again. This time directly in front of her. “Now you put the blindfold on me,” he said, lifting her hand and placing a silky smooth ribbon in her palm.

Careful not to poke him in the eye, Gwyn felt for his face, her hands cupping his chin first. She felt the muscles in his cheeks pull up forming a small smile. She thumbed his sharp cheekbones, then placed the ribbon across his eyes and around the back of his head. Tying it off, she kept her hands on him, letting them settle on his shoulders.

“Perfect,” he said, his voice low and husky. He cleared his throat and took her hips in his hands, pulling her into him. “This particular waltz combines the elegance and grace of a waltz, but the passion of lovers.”

The heat was palpable between them as they got into the basic waltz stance. Azriel’s touch felt charged, prickling with anticipation. Gwyn’s breath was heavy, her heart pounding as she relied on Azriel’s guidance, his hands pawing her as he began to show her the delicate twirls and intricate box steps they’d perform together.

They came to a sudden stop after their set of combinations and Azriel, from behind her, said, “Here you’ll spin, twice, coming around to face me – plié – then I lift you, before bringing you back down to finish out the dance with a pose of our choosing.” His fingers slid up her arms, goosebumps forming in their wake as he urged her to lift them and show off her long lines before she spun…once, twice…just as he instructed.

She dropped into a plié and just as she started to spring back up, Azriel’s large hands grabbed her under her arms and lifted her – she squealed, not expecting to be lifted so high.

Then she was being lowered down, slowly, sliding against Azriel. First her thighs, her dress rising as she dropped down. Then her hips and stomach until she was chest to chest with the Shadowsinger. Their breaths heavy and panting in a syncopated rhythm.

His lips were again, so close, their noses brushing. If she tilted her head up…

“Not bad,” Azriel said, his words hot on her skin, “Again. This time without the squeal.”

She was on fire. Every part of her body shivered and shook with anticipation everytime they started this section of the routine anew.

It was challenging to dance in such a fashion. Those Winter Court couples must love to torture each other. But…Gwyn loved it. She loved the closeness she felt with Azriel. The romantic air of the dance, even though they weren’t a thing, was palpable. The added blindfold made it feel like the accomplishment of a lifetime every time they completed the dance with little to know mistakes.

It took hours…days, to perfect the dance, like a relationship – it takes time. It takes care and attention and…love. The poetry of dance was beautiful and this dance? The waltz? It was steeped in that elegance and freedom of expression. A dance that is a clean slate for the partners to do with as they pleased. To tell their own story.

It was the last day of rehearsing with Azriel. Tomorrow they’d be in the Winter Court, dancing and gliding across a different marbled floor, performing an intimate dance in front of others –

And it was intimate, hers and Azriel’s rendition of the dance at least. She could feel it every time they held hands. Every time they touched and turned with each other. Every time the dance ended they were left breathing heavily, panting for each other.

Every time their noses would nust together, their fingers grasping...

Gwyn wanted him and if she wasn’t mistaken – Azriel wanted her too.

Someone had to take that leap. Someone had to take those tangible moments of romance and ignite that spark.

So when Gwyn walked into the ballroom that evening, she’d called over to Azriel who was taking the Symphonia out of his bag and said, “I have an idea for the end pose for our dance!”

Azriel stood tall, brows raised, “Oh?”

Gwyn nodded, “Mhmm…but I can’t tell you.”

“And why’s that?”

She shrugged, “I think it’ll speak for itself.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, letting a small smile play on his lips as he sauntered towards Gwyn. His hands were in his pockets, exuding cool power as he joined her in the middle of the dance floor.

“Well then let us wait no further.” Azriel scooped his arms beneath hers, supporting her. “Ready Berdara?”

“Ready Shadowsinger,” She replied, squaring her shoulders and getting into their starting pose. Nervous butterflies flitted about her stomach.

Her head was turned to the side, looking off across the ballroom. She couldn’t see Azriel’s face, but she felt the way he inched closer, saw his shadows swirling excitedly around any part of their body’s that touched.

The Symphonia came to life and the two began their dance.

Gwyn and Azriel twirled across the floor. The first section of their dance comes to them like second nature. They swooped and tilted together, holding each other in a firm, assured hold as their feet stepped in time with the music flowing from the musical device.

She could feel the skirt of her dress hug and fall around her legs as she moved, Azriel’s thighs brushing hers occasionally, his body a constant next to hers. They danced as if they were on cloud nine. As if they had no other worries in the world.

The time for them to don their ribbons had arrived. As practiced, over and over, Gwyn came to a gentle halt in front of Azriel, her back to his chest and her left arm extended out. Reaching…reaching, until arcing up and back. She bent her arm, her fingers brushing the side of Azriel’s face, a tender gesture; a distraction really. It gave Azriel time to take the ribbon from his pocket and wrap it around her eyes.

With adept hands and practiced movements, Azriel was standing before Gwyn, her hands roaming up his chest, slowly. Feeling. Exploring. Before finding his face, and donning his ribbon.

Her heart raced, her palms slightly shaking.

Their pas de deux began.

Three standard box steps, arcing across the floor, before Azriel took Gwyn’s hand, twirling her out from him. He tugged her back, releasing her so she could hold her arms above her head while she spun around and around in a line of quick turns until she found herself back in Azriel’s arms.

His hands wrapped around her waist, halting her oscillation so she faced away from him. Scarred fingers danced up her sides, sliding higher and higher, his fingertips just brushing the sides of her breasts. Gwyn breathed out, feeling the exhilaration of the spins spiral out into a coiled pleasure. She raised her arms as his touch traveled along them until his fingers were lacing with hers.

Arcing and stretching into each other, the most intimate section of the dance played out. Azriel touched and Gwyn turned, melting into him. Gwyn kicked a leg out and Azriel sashayed along with her. A story of a female and a male, growing together, worshiping each other –

They came to that sudden halt and Gwyn’s legs shook. This was it.

She spun once…twice…plié…jump. Azriel held her. Firm and true. Held her longer than he ever had before gently then ever so gently, he brought her down – turning slowly.

Her toes touched the floor, her weight distributed from the balls of her feet, to her heels.

Here we go…

Gwyn’s hands slid up Azriel’s torso, the Shadowsinger stilling beneath her touch. Realizing this was her secret addition. She heard him breathe out as she travelled higher and higher, gliding over slick sweat skin and into damp hair.

Azriel’s breath was ragged, his chest heaving as she rose up into a relevé, and kissed him.

The music hit a crescendo, driving forth the eruption of nerves and excitement that lived within her. Azriel stilled – but only for a moment, surprised by the unseen act of romance. A second later, his fingers tightened around her hips and he tugged her closer, his mouth slanting with hers as he deepened the kiss.

As suddenly as she surged up and kissed him, she stopped and came back down on her heels, peeling away her ribbon. Taking in the sight of Azriel’s half-masked face peering down blindly at her before reaching up and letting his ribbon fall away.

His cheeks tinged pinked, his hazel eyes shining with admiration in the dim light of the ballroom.

The shadows around the room pulsed and the moonlight glowed brighter as it streaked through the windows, something sparking between them.

“Gwyn,” Azriel breathed.

“Azriel,” she replied.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he said, “That was our best run, but…”

“But?”

“I think we need to run that last part again.” His eyes twinkled before he leaned in. His nose and lips grazed hers before he pressed his lips to hers again. Gwyn melted, taking in the feel of his mouth soft against hers, the way he tasted as they explored. Every tingling nerve ending exploded again and again the longer they kissed, the longer they held each other. Hands grabbed at shirt colors, fingers danced across shivering bare arms.

Gwyn let out the softest whimper as Azriel pulled away. He gazed down at Gwyn, his lips wet, his eyes blown wide. “I like your addition, Gwyn.”

She raised a brow, “Do you? I couldn’t tell.”

Azriel chuckled and he brought his hands up to cup her face and kiss her again, gently. And way too quickly, “From the top?” he asked.

“From the top,” she repeated, a smile blooming across her face. He took her hand as she passed him the ribbons and entered the dance floor, holding Gwyn out like a goddess to be revered.

The music flowed out of the Symphonia, and Gwyn and Azriel’s pas de deux began again.

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #acotar #pro gwynriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #gwyn x azriel #azriel x gwyn #gwynriel fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #gwynriel moodboard #acotar moodboard

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piancqwrites · 10 months ago

Text

Tomorrow

synopsis ➸ You both take care of each other.

next chapter ➸ Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

tags ➸ childhood friends to lovers, yaku x reader, reader is female, artist reader, reader cuts finger, blood

divider by @strangergraphics-archive + @strangergraphics

HIGHSCHOOL YEAR TWO

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” Morisuke replied as he greeted you inside his home, a warm smile on his face. The comforting smell of home cooking wafted through the air, instantly making you feel welcome. He rubbed the back of his neck in a slightly awkward gesture. “My younger brothers can be a handful.”

You took off your shoes and stepped inside, feeling the warmth of the hardwood floor beneath your feet. The hallway was adorned with framed photos of the Yaku family, each capturing a cherished memory: a family vacation at the beach, a birthday party, and school graduations. A small plant sat on a table near the door, its leaves a vibrant green and thriving under the soft glow of a nearby lamp. You couldn’t help but smile at the cozy, lived-in feeling of the house.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure Yuki has a tiny crush on me,” you whispered the last sentence, casting a playful glance at Morisuke.

“I overheard Hanzo teasing him about it,” Morisuke whispered in response, leaning in close as he glanced over his shoulder to ensure his brothers weren’t within earshot. His voice held a mix of amusement and sympathy, and you could tell he was genuinely entertained by the antics of his younger siblings.

As he straightened up, his eyes twinkled with mischief, clearly enjoying the lighthearted gossip. “You should have seen Yuki’s face,” he added with a chuckle. “He turned as red as a tomato.”

Suddenly, rapid footsteps thundered through the house as Yuki and his other brother, Hanzo, came racing down the stairs, their faces lit up with pure excitement. Their eyes sparkled with anticipation as they spotted you, and they couldn’t contain their enthusiasm.

“[Last name]-san!” they shouted in unison, their voices ringing with joy as they ran towards you. Before you could react, they barreled into you, their small arms wrapping around you in a tight, enthusiastic hug. The force of their embrace was surprising, almost knocking the wind out of you, but their genuine happiness made you laugh.

“Hey, you guys!” you managed to say between giggles, trying to catch your breath as they squeezed you tighter. Their energy was infectious, and you couldn’t help but be swept up in their joy.

You couldn’t help but notice the similar traits shared by all three brothers.

They all had the same soft brown eyes that sparkled with a playful glint and their hair shared similar shades of toffee, giving them a striking familial resemblance.

Their smiles spread across their faces in the same infectious way, and their playful yet caring nature hinted at a strong familial bond.

Even in how they hugged you, there was a familiar warmth and earnestness, making you feel like you were part of their close-knit family.

“Okay, okay, you two need to let go,” Morisuke said, gently prying his brothers off you. “Remember, she needs to breathe!”

Hanzo immediately released his hold and stepped back, grinning widely. Yuki, however, held onto you just a little longer, his small arms still wrapped around you tightly. His face buried in your side, he seemed reluctant to let go, savoring the warmth of the embrace. With a gentle nudge from Morisuke, Yuki finally released his hold, looking up at you with a shy smile and a faint blush.

“He’s so adorable,” you murmured softly, unable to resist a smile. You quickly turned away, trying to keep your composure. I can’t let it show, you thought, determined to maintain your cool demeanor.

Yaku caught sight of your subtle reaction and smirked knowingly. “Hey, why don’t you two set up a board game in the living room?” he suggested to his brothers. “We’ll join you in a minute with some snacks.”

Yuki and Hanzo eagerly agreed, grabbing the game and racing off to the living room. Yaku turned to you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Come on, let’s get the snack tray ready,” he said, leading the way to the kitchen.

Following him, you inhaled the comforting aroma of home cooking that filled the air, accompanied by the excited chatter of the boys echoing from the other room. Morisuke opened the pantry, gathering various treats and handing them to you with a playful grin.

“You know, they really like you,” he commented, his voice warm and sincere. “It’s nice to see them so excited.”

A blush crept up your cheeks, but you responded in a lighthearted tone. “They’re great kids. It’s hard not to be charmed by them.”

Morisuke chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, they are pretty great,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “Thanks for spending time with them. It means a lot to them—and to me.”

"You don't have to thank me, Mori," you shrugged as you opened a cupboard to get a tray. "Besides, I can always count on this place to be a safe space."

A few beats of silence passed, broken only by the soft, rhythmic sounds of your knife slicing through apples on the cutting board. The kitchen was bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon, casting warm shadows on the walls.

You carefully carved the fruit into bunny shapes, the precise movements of your hands grounding you in the moment. The simple, repetitive task was soothing, each delicate cut creating another tiny rabbit that joined the growing collection on the plate beside you.

Yaku leaned against the counter, his arms crossed loosely over his chest as he watched you work. His gaze was steady, almost studious.

It was as if he could read every thought passing through your mind by observing the smallest shifts in your expression. He had always been good at that—reading between the lines, noticing the subtle things you often tried to hide.

The way your brows furrowed just slightly when something was bothering you, the way your lips pressed together as if holding back words you weren’t ready to say.

He caught it all.

His eyes followed the delicate arc of your knife as you sliced through another apple, but it wasn’t the fruit he was focused on—it was you.

He noticed how your shoulders were just a bit tenser than usual, how your hands, though steady, moved with a touch more care as if the simple act of cutting apples was both a distraction and a shield.

Yaku’s gaze drifted from your hands to your face, searching for the story behind your silence. The soft light accentuated the slight shadow under your eyes, the way your lashes brushed your cheeks as you concentrated on your task.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, and gentle, as if he didn’t want to startle you. “Did something happen with your parents?”

The knife in your hand paused mid-slice, the question cutting through the quiet like a sudden breeze. For a moment, you didn’t look up, your eyes still focused on the apple beneath your fingers, but Yaku could see the way your expression shifted—how your lips parted slightly, how the light in your eyes dimmed just a touch. The question had hit its mark, and he could see that he had touched on something you weren’t entirely ready to confront.

Yaku stayed where he was, not moving closer yet, giving you space to process. His eyes never left your face, watching for the smallest sign of how you might respond.

The kitchen, once filled with the comforting sounds of your task, now felt heavy with the weight of the unsaid, the soft thumps of your knife against the cutting board now almost deafening in the stillness.

You continued slicing the apples, but your movements became faster, more erratic. The comforting rhythm of the knife against the cutting board was replaced by a hurried, almost frantic energy as you tried to distract yourself from the feelings rising to the surface.

“They just don’t get it,” you said abruptly, your voice laced with frustration. The knife sliced through the apple with increasing speed and force, the soft thump against the cutting board punctuating your words. “They keep making these comments about how pursuing art is a waste of time like it’s some kind of joke. As if it’s not a real career or something.”

The apples seemed to yield to your anger, each cut more aggressive than the last, the knife’s blade flashing as you talked. Your hands moved with increasing speed, the apple slices piling up in a disorganized heap.

“It’s like they don’t even see how much it means to me,” you continued, the words spilling out as if they had been bottled up for too long. “Every time I bring it up or work on my portfolio, they just dismiss it, or worse, they make snide remarks. My older brother—he’s the worst. He just rolls his eyes and tells me I’m being unrealistic.”

The apples seemed to yield to your anger, each cut more aggressive than the last.

In your haste, your fingers slipped, and the knife grazed your skin. A sharp sting jolted through you, and you silently cursed at the pain as a thin line of red appeared. The sudden pain broke through the manic rhythm you had fallen into.

Yaku’s eyes widened with concern as he immediately stepped in.

“Hey, careful!” he exclaimed, his voice rising in alarm. He quickly took the knife from your hand, placing it down on the cutting board with a controlled motion. His movements were precise and deliberate as he guided your injured hand under the faucet. He turned on the sink to a set temperature, ensuring the water was just right to soothe the sting of the cut.

“I'm sorry,” Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as Yaku took charge, his hands gentle but firm.

"You don't have to apologize," Yaku discarded the unfinished apple slices and the cutting board, clearing the space.

“Just breathe. I’ve got you,” he said softly, his tone soothing as he searched the kitchen drawers for a bandage.

Playing games with Morisuke's brothers was nothing short of chaotic.

Yuki's brow was furrowed in concentration as he stared down at his hand of cards. “Hanzo, you can’t just keep skipping my turns like that! It’s totally unfair!” He munched on an apple slice angrily.

You, sitting between the two brothers, tried to keep a neutral expression as the arguments flew back and forth. Every time Yuki threw down a card, Hanzo was quick to counter with a clever play, leading to a back-and-forth that was both entertaining and exhausting to witness.

“Seriously, Hanzo?” Yuki’s voice was tinged with exasperation as he picked up a new card. “You’re just trying to win by annoying me. That’s not how you play!”

Hanzo threw down a skip card with dramatic flair, causing Yuki to groan in frustration. “Well, it’s working, isn’t it?” Hanzo retorted, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Hanzo smirked and tapped his temple with a finger. “It’s called using your brain, Yuki. You should try it sometime. Maybe you’d win more often.”

Before Yuki could respond, Hanzo slammed down his final card with a victorious shout. “UNO out!”

Yuki’s eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for words. “Wait, what? No way!”

The game erupted into a mix of cheers from Hanzo and groans of disappointment from Yuki. Morisuke, who had been watching with a bemused smile, finally let out a hearty laugh. “Looks like Hanzo takes the win this round. Maybe next time, Yuki!”

Yuki, still in shock, left his unfinished apple slice on the table. “I can’t believe it. That was so unfair!”

Hanzo, basking in his victory, leaned back with a smug grin. “All’s fair in love and UNO.”

Yuki sat slumped in his chair, still grumbling about his loss, while Hanzo reveled in his victory. You reached over, your fingers gently raking through Yuki's tousled hair in a comforting gesture.

“You did really well, Yuki,” you said, your voice soft and reassuring. “It was a tough game, but you played great.”

Yuki’s face turned a deep shade of red as he looked up at you, his eyes widening with a mix of embarrassment and something else that made his heart flutter.

The blush on his cheeks was almost comically bright, and he mumbled, “Marry me.”

Your eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected confession.

You stifled a giggle, your heartwarming at the sweet and innocent proposal. “Oh, Yuki,” you said with a gentle laugh, leaning closer to him. “I’m flattered, really. But you’re too young for me, kiddo.”

Yuki’s blush deepened, and he looked away, trying to hide his embarrassment with a shy smile. “I just thought you were really cool,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

You smiled warmly, reaching out to give him a light, playful pat on the back. “Well, I think you’re pretty awesome too, Yuki. And don’t worry—there’ll be plenty of time for you to find someone special when you’re older.” With quick movements, you picked up the tray and headed to the kitchen.

The kitchen was a haven of tranquility compared to the lively chaos of the dining room. The gentle hum of the sink, running with warm water, was the only sound as you focused on tidying up. The apple slices you had so carefully shaped into bunnies had mostly disappeared, and you were wiping down the counter, savoring the brief respite from the clamor of the game.

Meanwhile, in the dining room, Hanzo’s offhand remark had set off a chain reaction of surprise and confusion. “Oniii-san, aren’t you and [Last name]-san dating?” he asked casually, his tone light and innocent as if it was the most natural question in the world.

Morisuke, caught off guard by the sudden question, spluttered and choked on his drink. His face turned a deep shade of red as he fumbled to regain his composure, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Wait, what?" Yuki stared at his older brother in betrayal.

"Yuki, inside voice." Morisuke scolded before turning his attention to Hanzo. "Hanzo, why do you think that?"

Hanzo’s grin remained in place, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, I saw how close you were with [Last name]-san in the kitchen earlier. You seemed really concerned when she cut herself. It just looked… pretty close.”

Yaku’s gaze shifted toward the kitchen, where you were still working, the image of you slicing apples and his own reaction to your minor injury replaying in his mind. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he considered Hanzo’s observation.

“I didn’t realize it looked like that,” Yaku said, his tone thoughtful as he addressed Hanzo’s comment. He paused for a moment before continuing, “We’re not dating, though. We’re just… friends.”

#yaku morisuke #volleyball #anime #nekoma #haikyuu #yaku #mother #yaku x reader #hq #hes so babygirl #i love him so much

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btescape · 1 month ago

Text

Unbound VII (BTS x Reader)

↳ index

T/W: Discrimination, Classism, Injuries.

Pairing: Reader x Taehyung, Reader x Jungkook (and a tiny bit of ot7),

A/N: thank you so so much for your patience! I hope you like it.

** Credits for line divider by strangergraphics-archive

Word count: 4938

Previous ∘•···•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•···• Next

Chapter VII - Proving Grounds

Something stirs beneath the Academy.

In a chamber, buried far below, a hooded figure sits in the center of a circle. Around him, violet flames hover inches above the floor, creating flickering shadows across the stone tiles.

No sound fills the chamber, no torches burn along the walls. There is only silence and the occasional jittering insect slipping through the cracks.

The figure's robes are standard issue; Astrelian Academy uniform, but the hem is tattered and stained and the crest stitched to the chest is torn beyond recognition.

An open grimoire rests beside them. One hand hovers above its brittle pages where smudged ink forms a script in a language long forgotten. The other hand has a visible cut across the palm and drips freely into the circle below the.

A whisper leaves the student's lips.

“Shadows awaken..”

It does not take long before the flames surge high and the blood vanishes into the runes with a hiss. The grimoire's pages flutter despite the absence of the wind.

“You call.. and you beg..”

A shudder tears through the ground. Cracks form beneath the circle.

“..but you are not worthy.”

The student flinches and lowers their head, yet they do not retreat. Instead, they whisper a single name.

“Hmm.. interesting. Bring them to me, mortal.”

The flames vanish. The grimoire slams shut.

Silence returns—but it is tainted now. And deep beneath the Academy, the shadows are watching.

The first week at Astrelia passes in a blur of navigating the cursed hallways, attending theoretical and practical lectures and endless whispers and glances of nobles; with each being more hateful than the first. You had tried to keep your attention straight ahead and ignored the way their words clung to you.

There were only one pair of eyes that had never shown hostility.

When your eyes would wander and your thoughts would stray, you'd often catch Taehyung looking at you. And each time your eyes met, an instant, infuriatingly warm, smile would cross his face. You would be lying if you said it didn't unsettle you and your so-called friends certainly did not make things easier.

Ever since you had made the mistake of telling them what happened during your pairing with Taehyung in Illusion class — how he had taken your hand in his or had said that he wanted to spend a little more time with you rather than breaking the illusion in record time, your friends refused to let it slide.

You hadn't wanted to tell them. In fact, you had tried your absolute best to avoid the topic, but those three relentless forces combined had somehow managed to drag every single detail out of you and now every time Taehyung so much as breathed near you, Yuqi and Shuhua would look at each other with the brightest smiles crossing their faces that would hardly hide any secrets. Soyeon, on the other hand, was the only one who had still been cautious; still not trusting The Elite, nor him— and you had agreed with her.

Still, even though their antics were exhausting, there were more pressing matters than Taehyung's glances and your friends' mischief. At least they were less of a problem than the reach of Kim Jennie's influence. First year nobles wishing to gain favor from her were everywhere.

For example, during Magical Theory two boys had murmured spells under their breath, making the pages of your textbook stick together. You were certain the professor caught it and chose to ignore it.

Or when you walked into Principles of Evocation and found a note on your seat reading: "Back to the graveyard, slum rat."

You told yourself you didn't care. You've dealt with worse.

But deep down, you were not so sure anymore.

Luckily, your friends would often be there to intercept the worst of it, biting back sarcastic comments or step in between you and whichever spoiled noble thought you would be an easy target.

One girl had "accidentally" knocked your parchment into the fountain basin, drenching hours worth of notes. When Soyeon found out and had insisted you told her who did it, she had conjured a watersphere and "accidentally" thrown it against the exact same girl during dinner.

You were thankful for them, even if you wished to fight your own battles. You just prayed their interference wouldn't make things worse.

Now, Thursday evening has arrived with a deep violet painting the skies outside. The corridors of the Academy have turned quiet. Most students have already retreated to the warm hearths in their dormitories.

You, however, have other plans.

The library looks the same as it did then. Multiple floors of floating staircases, books flying from shelf to shelf, all stacked with rows upon rows of books, grimoires and scrolls bound in leather. The smell of old parchment within is intoxicating.

At the heart of the library stands the Arcanaeum, a living archive of histories, secrets and spells. Within, white smokes twines together.

“It holds knowledge collected over centuries.. Some say it has a mind of its own.” You recount Yuqi's words from back then.

The whispers that drift from it are so soft, you are unable to make out their words. You decide to stay away from the glass orb. Something about the way it seems to know everything about you, unsettles you deeply.

Instead, you turn around and wind your way through the first floor, walking through candlelit aisles until you find the section labeled: Evocation: Foundations & Theory.

You grab a worn book from the shelf—“The Art of Harnessing Flame: An Introduction to Evocation Stability”— and hold it firmly against your chest as you carry it to an empty table near the windows.

The chair creaks softly against the wooden floorboards when you pull it out and take a seat, parchment and ink set neatly beside you.

"To command fire is not to conquer it—but to convince it to burn for you, and you alone."

By the time the skies have changed into a deep navy blue with stars scattered across it, the silence in the library is only filled with the scratching sound of your quill against paper. Somewhere in the distance, the librarian extinguishes a lantern with a quiet hiss and the sound echoes in the emptying halls.

Glancing around, you notice most tables are abandoned now. A few upper years gather their scrolls before walking off and a girl with dark hair tied in a messy ponytail yawns, notes held in her folded arms, as she vanishes down the entrance.

You stretch your sore neck and close your book with a thud.

Maybe it's time to call it a night.

It happens after you have gathered your belongings, ready to return the book; a chill runs down your spine and the hair on your arms suddenly stand on end. The feeling is familiar to you.

Something is watching you.

When you slowly turn your head over your shoulder, you are met with an empty aisle of bookshelves and the faint flicker of candlelight. Yet even if it is silent, you know something is off. It is not the first time you have felt this way.

That's when they appear. A pair of flaming red eyes. Two dots caught in the light of a glowing candle at the far end of the corridor. They stand too high to belong to an animal, but are too big to be humane.

Okay. Not creepy at all.

Around that same area, a soft creak of wood echoes, just before the eyes disappear into thin air.

Great. A haunted library is just what your week was missing.

You should leave. You know you should leave, but your body ignores your instinct and your feet carry you forward. Just a few slow steps toward the place where the eyes vanished.

And just as you round the next shelf, you slam straight into a solid wall of something firm and very much alive. Instinctively, you stumble back and the book in your hands slips from your grasp, landing on the floor with a heavy thump.

Steadying yourself, you look up... and meet the cold gaze of Jeon Jungkook. Of-freaking-course.

Tonight, his eyes are more emotionless than usual. There is no anger in them. No fear either.

He glances over his shoulder, then back toward the end of the corridor where the candle still flickers oddly, where something stood just moments ago. He looks almost.. tense. You wonder if he had seen it too. If he did, he doesn't mention it.

Besides, it seems like Jungkook hasn't even noticed you yet.

Your thoughts are confirmed the moment he stares down at you. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but he swiftly regains himself. “You.” His voice is low and he utters the word as if it offends him to speak to you in the first place.

You bend to retrieve the book from the floor and you don't meet his eyes again, until you have dusted it off and tucked it beneath your arm. Blinking up at him, you feel your pulse quickening in your throat. “Good evening to you too.” You murmur, trying to keep your voice firm.

“This floor is restricted after dark,” Jungkook chides in a cold voice. His eyes sweep over you— your robes, the ink stain on your collar. “Then again, I doubt reading signs was part of your education.”

Though the words sting, you refuse to show him it affects you. “Don't worry, I was just leaving.”

Jungkook watches you like he is trying to burn a hole through your skull. He doesn't move. He doesn't even blink. “Why are you snooping around the restricted section?”

You furrow your brows confusedly, then glance at the faint red glow of a barely visible sign behind him — 'Forbidden Without Permission'. You could've sworn it wasn't there before.

Clearing your throat, you turn back to him. “I just came here to return this book.”

“Don't play dumb with me,” He retorts, clearly not believing your attempt at an excuse. “I saw you around here before.”

“I'm.. not sure what you're talking about,” You answer truthfully and, for the briefest second, something changes in his expression. Something akin to doubt, or confusion. He clenches his jaw, but he doesn't press.

Instead, he exhales and narrows his lids in suspicion: “Hmph, either you are a better liar than you look or you're just making a habit of being in places you don't belong,” And, with the same cold detachment, he adds: “But sure, let's pretend you were here for some light reading.”

You tilt your head lightly. “Since when do you pay attention to anyone beneath your altitude anyway?”

“Don't mistake my notice for interest,” Jungkook says. “I keep an eye on accidents waiting to happen. It's basic self-preservation.”

Your lips turn into a polite smile. You have dealt with men like him before; men born into power who think it makes them untouchable. But.. this isn't the slums and you cannot snap back like you want to. At least, not to him.

Jeon Jungkook is not just any noble.

He is top of the class. An heir to a dynasty. And, worst of all, he is the youngest son of the Archmage. That meant that you had to do anything in your power not to get on his bad side.

So, you adjust the grip on your book and, in the sweetest voice you can muster, you say: “I see. So you're just deeply concerned about the welfare of the Academy? That's sweet.”

Jungkook, however, seems determined to get under your skin. “Sweet isn't the word I would use,” He says with a thin smile. “More like strategic. You will bring chaos that will end up creating paperwork for the council.”

Your voice softens just a touch, falsely gracious. “Then I should thank you for your vigilance. It's comforting to know Astrelia has someone so... devoted to keeping the halls clean.”

His lips curls slightly, and you are unsure whether it's in distaste or amusement. He steps forward, just enough to invade the edge of your personal space. “Look, the sooner you understand that this place was not made for people like you, the better it will be for you.”

“And by ‘people like me’ you mean?” You keep your tone light, inviting him to say it.

“Slum-born, barely educated and fueled by blind instinct with no control over her powers.” He replies without flinching.

His face is inches from yours, but you do not move. “Last I checked, I passed the trials,” You retaliate. “And with the same ranking as you.”

“Do you think you belong here, just because your rank was the same as mine?” He doesn't laugh, just snorts.

“No,” you reply calmly, already aware you failed your mission not to provoke him. “I think I belong here because they gave me a seat. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with the Headmistress. I hear she's a fan.”

Jungkook's smile fades instantly. He shifts his stance, but the tone in his voice doesn't change. “I hear she's not the only one.”

You blink. “Pardon?”

“Taehyung,” He simply says. “He has a habit of collecting strays. Easier to toss away once he gets tired of them.”

You let out a soft, amused breath. “If that's supposed to offend me, you'll have to try harder. Though I can't blame you for the concern. Must be exhausting keeping your friend's attention off the commoners.” He doesn't react, only watches you as you step around him. “Thank you for the warning, though. Very gracious of you.” Then, you add lightly over your shoulder: “Enjoy the view from the top, Your Highness. Must be lonely up there.”

You don’t look back, but you know he doesn’t get the insult until you've disappeared around the corner.

And, deep down, you wonder who or what he had seen creeping around the restricted section..

The morning air is crisp, laced with the faint scent of wet earth and grass, and the skies overhead are a dull grey, perfectly in tone with how you are feeling this day — restless, tired and plagued by the memory of crimson red eyes that didn't belong to the living.

During breakfast, Yuqi talks your ear off about how her Divination class had been 'spiritually traumatizing', Shuhua complains about the cafeteria's 'assault on flavor' and how an elite academy should hire better chefs, and Soyeon nearly picks a fight with a noble boy who tries to cut the line for dessert.

Afterward, the four of you make your way across the Academy's grounds to head to the first class of Friday morning.

Beyond the towering hedges and green training fields, lies the Coliseum. The usual combat grounds were used by the first years this morning, hence the arena would be the location for your first combat class today.

Memories of your near-death experience flood your mind and you can feel the twist inside your stomach as you near the field.

Yuqi notices your unease. “Are you alright?” She asks from beside you. Her voice sounds neutral, but her eyes are filled with genuine concern.

“I'm fine,” You lie. “I was just remembering my thrilling duel with the Hellhound, Golem and Wraith.”

“Right,” Shuhua hums. “You and your trauma. So dramatic.”

“You nearly cried when you saw a floating soufflé.”

“Because it levitated. Food should not levitate.”

Soyeon sighs. “I should've stayed in bed.”

The Coliseum is still mostly empty, apart from the handful of students gathered on the lower benches. Along the edge of the combat floor, magical barriers gleam faintly—by the look of them, wards to contain spells. And standing near the center, with his arms crossed, is the teacher.

Professor Jung Jihoon looks barely older than some upperclassmen, yet something about him silences the entire crowd of students. He is tall, lean and built like somebody who spent their lives surviving combat magic. His black leather uniform clings to his toned body, his fingerless gloves revealing faint scars along his knuckles.

The moment your friends and you sit down, Yuqi speaks softly. “That's Professor Jung Jihoon. A former Arcblade.”

“What's an Arcblade?” You ask, unfamiliar with the word.

“Arcblades are spell-swordsmen trained in both physical combat and offensive magic,” She explains. “The Kingdom uses them during wars, in defense of royal or council interests. They say professor Jung fought in the Rebellion when he was barely twenty and survived seven days behind enemy lines. Alone,” Your eyebrows lift and she merely nods. “He turned down a seat on the Grand Council. Said politics were boring. So he came here instead—to teach.”

You were aware that the school had world-class instructors, but somebody who fought in the Rebellion? That was impressive.

Once the seats are filled, the professor raises a hand.

“Good morning,” His voice cuts through the crowd. “Welcome to Practical Combat. I am Professor Jung, your instructor for Practical Combat,” He continues as he paces slowly before the gathered students. “That means magic in motion. Power under pressure. Control under chaos,” His eyes scan the seated crowd thoroughly. “In my class, you will train to fight. That means you will get injured, you will bleed.. but, if you are smart, you will learn faster than your opponent.”

Shuhua leans in and whispers, “He's kind of hot in a terrifying, ‘I could ruin your entire self-worth’ kind of way.”

You chuckle softly.

Professor Jung's gaze lands in your direction and Shuhua instantly sits straighter.

He stops in the center of the combat floor.

“For today's lesson, we will start easy. With pairings,” He announces. “I need to see what each of you is capable of. So, I will call one name. The rest of you will decide whether you are brave enough to challenge them. If no one steps forward, I will choose. And, might I add, I do not pick gently.”

The students laugh nervously, but professor Jung's eyes show no emotion as he continues. “Pairings will fight at the end of roll call. Observe each other. Watch your opponent and learn before you strike.”

When he taps the air once, a glowing scrolls unfolds midair and the first name begins to form. “Jang Wonyoung, please step forward.” A tall, third-year student with a braid down her back, steps into the circle. Her eyes dart around, daring anyone to stand up. After a short silence, a boy with auburn hair and a cocky grin steps out.

“Park Sunghoon, fourth-year.” The student says, stretching his arms with a smirk.

They are followed by a fourth-year Enchanter named Hwang Hyunjin pairing up with a transmutation specialist and fifth year, Lee Mark. Professor Jung nods curtly, before matching up the remaining students and soon enough, it's your friends' turn.

“Next, Song Yuqi.”

Yuqi rises from her seat excitedly. She rolls her shoulders and smirks. “About damn time.”

Before anyone else can move, a tall, slim girl with fire-red hair gets up from the opposite side. Shin Ryujin.

The moment their names are sealed, Shuhua turns to Yuqi with widened eyes. “That girl breathes lightning.”

Yuqi cracks her neck. “Great. I'll use that against her.”

Afterwards, the name of Jennie's friend, Lalisa, appears on the scroll. Soyeon smiles and pushes herself up. “I'm gonna show her not to mess with us again.”

Shuhua cheers loudly, but quiets down when her name pops up next. She sighs theatrically and flips her hair. “I swear, if I have to fight another healer, I'm leaving.”

One of the Elite stands up, causing soft whispering among the students. Even Shuhua cocks her head, watching Park Jimin make his way toward her side.

The scroll, however, does not pause. It pulses and another name follows after. “Jeon Jungkook.”

As if on cue, the entire arena goes silent.

Jungkook walks to the center of the arena calmly, unimpressed. His black uniform fits him perfectly and, for once, there is no arrogance in his stride. No humility either.

Nobody moves. Nobody dares move.

Professor Jung's voice interrupts the silence. “No one?”

You are reminded of the night before— how he had told you that 'people like you' did not belong in the Academy. Before your brain can catch up, your body reacts.

The crowd erupts in shocked murmurs.

Even Yuqi, already standing in the arena, whips her head toward you and mouths. “Are you out of your mind?”

Soyeon's eyes widen in shock and she shakes her head furiously. “Don't.”

Shuhua is staring with her mouth wide open, frozen between awe and horror.

From the upper bench, Jennie scoffs. And seated lazily near the edge of the Elite section, Taehyung straightens as the usual smirk vanishes from his face.

You can feel his eyes lock on you.

He doesn't say anything.

But his fingers curl tight around the edge of the stone seat.

Jungkook turns to face you, his head tilting slightly. His lips curve into a cruel smirk. As if he knows victory belongs to him.

Standing in the center of the arena, with Jungkook confidently across from you, the weight of what you had volunteered for is palpable. And you are not the only one to feel it.

A hush of whispers spreads to the stands: “She's actually going through with it?” “She's dead. She's so dead.” “Good riddance.”

Your friends are frozen to the spot. Yuqi has a hand pressed over her mouth, Shuhua looks pale and uncertain and Soyeon throws you an encouraging look whilst glaring daggers at Jungkook like she could set him ablaze with sheer willpower. Professor Jung stands at the edge of the ring, surveying the two of you without a flicker of concern.

“Begin.”

Jungkook's first spell, a bolt of lightning-blue, slices across the Coliseum in an instant. You manage to dodge it in time, but it singes a strand of your hair as the arc explodes against the far wall.

He is not testing you. He is not even observing you. It's clear he has decided to win, and fast.

His second attack strikes a split second after you summon a barrier dome to surround you. The blast of kinetic energy clashes with the shield and you feel the backlash instantly. The shield holds only barely, your arms trembling under the immense pressure of his power.

Jungkook does not hesitate, he moves quickly and conjures blades that circle around him. As they dart toward you, his cold voice cuts through: “You're slower than I thought.”

Ducking the first blade and batting away the second with a burst of flame, you mutter: “Sorry, next time I'll warm up first.”

With a flick of his wrist, the remaining knives curve mid-air and slash down again. You raise a mirrored shield just in time; the surface deflecting his conjurations while you dive sideways and aim a blast of fire at his feet. Jungkook moves fluidly. Without stumbling, but his detached eyes remain locked on you. Then, his hand lifts again.

The floor tilts beneath your feet, the torches along the Coliseum walls pull in and it feels like you are falling inside your own skin.

You clench your fists and drop to one knee. Slamming your palm against the stone, your abjuration spell shatters the illusion, yet the aftermath of his enchantment spell has you gasping for breath.

Jungkook watches with a cocked brow as he dusts imaginary dirt from his sleeve. “I see you've had scraps of training. Must be nice when dumb luck masquerades as skill.”

You don't retort. Instead, you hurl another firebolt at his feet to force him to sidestep. The flames curl around his barrier harmlessly, but his eyes are narrowed.

Taking a step forward, your balance suddenly vanishes. Something grips at your ankles, dragging you down and, before you can even fathom what happens, you hit the ground. Hard. The breath is knocked from your lungs, pain flares in your shoulders and ribs. Dezed, you look up and see a phantom risen from the floor behind you. Its body is composed of smoke, now retreating back into the stone. It had pulled you along with it.

Jungkook is walking toward you even before the echo of the impact has disappeared. “I told you you don't belong here,” He mutters. “You should have stayed in the slums. This place is wasted on people like you.”

“I'd hate to disappoint,” You grit out, while planting your palms on the floor. Runes flare beneath you, laced with defensive magic. A shockwave blasts outward and the phantom's hold snaps. Jungkook staggers, barely affected, but you are already scrambling to your feet.

Your magic may have been raw, whereas his was refined. But yours was hungry. Beneath the adrenaline, something else pulled at you.

It wasn't just magic that you had fought with in the alleys of Lunareth. Before it had even awakened, you had to rely on fists, blades and desperation. Not that you could fight or were particularly strong physically, but you remember clutching a rusted knife in the dark, crouched behind broken crates as shadows passed. You had learned to read your opponents by the way their weight shifted or the way their fingers twitched. You knew when to fake weakness, when to strike and when to make them underestimate you.

Now, you are watching Jungkook more carefully. Every move he makes, every stance. He favors his right side, using it to cast most of his spells while shifting his weight first. It's not a weakness, exactly. It's a pattern. But patterns can be learned from if observed correctly.

You shift to the left and stumble deliberately. Jungkook, seeing it as an opportunity, advances. In reaction, you trigger your spell—a shock armor. You feel the edge of his summoned blade against your shoulder, but the energy flares, throwing him backward across the floor. He steadies himself mid-fall, sliding to a halt.

For the briefest second, his eyes are filled with something else. It isn't admiration, nor kindness, but you could swear there is a hint of curiosity, before they return to their usual coldness.

“You're going to get someone killed,” Jungkook mutters, his tone more annoyed than angry. “Probably yourself, if we're lucky.”

You tilt your head. “Aw, I didn't realize you cared that much. I'll make sure to die somewhere scenic, just for you.”

His jaw tenses just slightly. Not enough for anyone else to see, but enough to notice if you were looking closely. And frankly, you were.

Jungkook's eyes darkens, but he doesn't take the bait. Instead, he scoffs under his breath and steps closer. “Make it quick then. I've got better things to watch.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, tasting something metallic. Still, you hold your ground.

This isn't about winning. It's about proving you belonged. Within this school, you are seen as the slum girl. And, yet, here you stood in front of Jeon Jungkook, forcing him to take you seriously. Even if he would never say it out loud.

His fingers move again and this time there is no restraint as he unleashes a chaos of flames and concussive force. You layer two barriers, something you had learned in theoretical class. One to protect you from the kinetic blast and one for the heat. The sheer impact sends both of you scraping across the floor. You let out a gasp.

Jungkook pushes himself up. He approaches you slowly, his white blouse now dirtied. “This is what I meant,” He says. “You do not belong here.”

You force yourself up to your knees.

His next spell forms quickly; a sphere of condensed light and flame, hot enough to boil air.

And in reaction, something familiar within you awakens.

No, not right now.

Against your will, black, liquid chains burst from the floor. They wrap around his wrists and ankles, forcing him still. He attempts to strike them with fire, ice, lightning, kinetic force to no avail. Each magic he releases, is being swallowed in turn. He blinks, eyes wide with disbelief.

Your body moves on its own accord. When you lift your hand, you feel a pull between him and you. Even if you hadn't casted it yourself, his magic now flows toward you.

Life-force. Power.

You stumble back, eyes widened, yet you are unable to control it. “No..”

As his energy drains, his body responses. The flames he had been preparing to cast warp under pressure, growing unstable and shifting into untamed magic. Your chains meets his resistance and a burst of raw energy tears between you.

Jungkook's aura flares as he fights to reclaim control, but the shadows tighten around his limbs and feed on the chaotic surge of magic.

You can't stop. He can't yield.

Dangerous, raw power writhe between you and for a split second, it seems as if neither of you would.. or could back down.

“ENOUGH!” Professor Jung steps within the circle. A wall of magic appears between you and both of your spells shatter. Jungkook's flame turn to sparks, while your chains dissolve into smoke.

You drop to one knee, dazed. Jungkook sinks down to the other. His face is pale, his breathing heavy.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Professor Jung steps forward, stern gaze sweeping between the two of you. “You were seconds from disaster. Both of you.”

Jungkook doesn't respond. His hands are balled into fists, his eyes never look your way.

But you looked at him. Just once.

And in the split second before he turned away, you could see it.

There is no anger and no contempt.

It is.. amusement?

taglist:

@enfppuff

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sarahbelisa · 4 months ago

Text

It's P-Day People!

Ebooks are available NOW for order (Red) and pre-order (Blue)

The option to buy print copies is coming... just real, real slow. I'll update the masses once I get my proof copies and finalize for publication. Until then, hang tight!

What's all this then?

#queer romance #diversely disabled protagonists #childhood friends to lovers #second chance romance #30+ romance #jewish love interest #ambulatory cane user

Red (25k) is a prequel novella centered on two boys growing up in rural Tennessee. Nash is a quiet, dutiful son with a big heart who knows too much about the cruelty people are capable of. And Teddy is defiant and determined to make a place for himself in the world despite all the ways his body would rather him be tucked away safe and quiet. This story is about how they grow close through childhood into their preteen years and step up to the precipice of something Nash isn't ready to name.

Blue (69k) is their second chance. Reunited after 20 years, they can do it all right this time... if only they can weather the emotional turbulence of the funeral that brought them back together to take the plunge into something old and new all at once.

Find the first chapter of Red, like my bleeding heart in your hand under the cut!

Credit for the dividers goes to @strangergraphics-archive. Check 'em out!

The new kid is red-faced and wheezing by the time they make it up the hill. It ain't even half as big as the one over by Chuck's place, but by the way Teddy is huffing and puffing, you'd think he'd run up and down it a dozen times.

Before he can think better of it, Nash asks, "What's wrong with you?"

He ain't fat, not even close. He probably ain't a smoker neither, considering most six-year-olds aren't, but he's sure breathin' like one. Maybe this is why Ms. Rainer was fixed on having Nash see Teddy home from the bus stop. Somehow, she knew just by looking, that there's somethin' off with this one.

As Teddy heaves for air, his backpack slips free from one shoulder, but he shrugs it back on and keeps dragging his feet through the gravel. His house is visible now, set too close to the road, so it's a muted dusty gray under all the gravel dust. The dust swirls in the wind like a toddler playing at being a ballerina after too much sugar, and the leaves dance along to the rasp of the corn stalks shifting and swaying in time.

Nash hesitates on the porch as Teddy throws open the storm door and pushes into the house without a backward glance. When he doesn't close the door behind him, Nash follows.

Inside, Teddy's ragged breaths are louder, helped along to Nash's ears by the uncovered wood floor. He follows into the kitchen where the yellowy linoleum pops and crackles underfoot in the places where it's bubbled up.

The drawer beside the sink opens with a screech of wood as Teddy pulls out an inhaler, puts it between his lips, and sucks in a long, deep breath. With his eyes closed and his face screwed up, he lowers the inhaler and holds his breath for a long, long time. Then he exhales, wipes his nose with the back of his hand, and faces Nash with his chin tipped up proudly.

"All the things."

"Huh?"

"You asked what's wrong with me," Teddy says in a reedy voice. He pauses to breathe. "There's a lot wrong with me."

"Oh. Are you… sick?"

Dying is what he wants to ask, but he's been whacked in the back of the head enough to know better.

Teddy shrugs, inhaler between his lips again and Nash has to wait until he tosses the inhaler back in the drawer, rams it shut, and exhales.

"Not right now," Teddy says, "but maybe tomorrow. Wanna play Pokémon?" He flips the lid off a sagging women's shoe box on the table and reveals a treasure trove of Pokémon cards.

Nash cranes for a closer look before he can stop himself. "Woah, those are all yours?"

He pulls cards out by the handful. "Yeah, my mom and dad used to buy me a pack every time they had to travel."

Nash stares, mesmerized, as Teddy rifles through the cards like he knows what he's looking at—all the colors and creatures and elements—it's overwhelming.

"They must travel a lot." He can't imagine what that's like. The farthest he's ever been from Deliverance is the Walmart in Buford Hills, the next town over.

"Used to. They're dead now, so…" He keeps messing with the cards. Like it's nothing to him. Like he doesn't care. Like his face isn't scrunched and his shoulders aren't boxed up around his ears.

If he wasn't so visibly uncomfortable, Nash would think he was trying to make a joke. He doesn't know what to say, so, out of pity, he puts his backside on the line and asks, "How do we play?"

He's gonna get an ass whoopin' for being home late, but it's almost worth it for the relieved smile that overtakes Teddy's discomfort as he babbles about types and strengths and weaknesses.

Nash settles himself opposite him at the table and silently bemoans his inability to ignore the kicked puppy types.

"Thank you, Mr. Spinoza, but I'd rather walk."

"Are you sure?"

Teddy's uncle is a middle kind of man. He isn't tall or short. Nor is he skinny or fat. Neither smiley nor angry. He seems content to hold the middle of it all. He's got his car keys in his hand and is poised over a pair of mangy boots, waiting for Nash's change of heart. He ain't even out of his shop uniform yet—streaked with car gunk though it is.

"I can drop you off and have a quick word with your folks explaining why you were out late. It's nearly dark."

"You don't need to," Nash rushes to say. "Honest. I walk quick 'n' it ain't far."

His aren't the kind of parents anybody likes to meet. Maybe Mama'd be alright without Daddy stompin' and ragin' all the time, but she ain't without him so there's nothin' for it 'cept to keep the middle kind of men away from Daddy's all-the-way kind of man.

Mr. Spinoza's expression is mild as he watches Nash, but Nash gets the feeling he's seeing through to the heart of things and Mr. Spinoza knows exactly why Nash don't want anybody reasonable near his daddy.

He doesn't move or breathe until Mr. Spinoza nods. Only the wrinkle between his eyebrows betrays his discomfort with the plan, and Nash means to be long gone before that discomfort can win him over.

"You'd better get a move on then."

"Yes, sir."

"You're going to be in trouble?"

Teddy's wavering question stops Nash's inching retreat toward the door. He's wearing the same bafflement that all the kids with good, kind parents display whenever they're exposed to someone who can't blindly trust their folks.

"Only a little." And maybe in another life that'd be the truth. It's not late, but it's the time of year when the sun turns in early and only rises when it can't get away with staying down any longer. And Daddy don't usually need an excuse to put the fear of God into him, so it's always a special treat when Nash gives him one.

"Why'd you stay then?"

It might be something in the jutting tip of Teddy's chin or the proud shine in his eyes, or perhaps it's instinct honed from years of tiptoeing around his old man that warns Nash away from the truth—or at least the truth Teddy's diggin' for.

"I never seen that many Pokémon cards before."

Teddy's posture relaxes, and that same playful grin from earlier peeps out.

"Have," Mr. Spinoza says.

Baffled, Nash retorts, "Have not."

Mr. Spinoza shakes his head. "No, 'I have never seen that many Pokémon cards before.'"

Nash glances at Teddy, then looks back to Mr. Spinoza and slowly, with his best enunciation, says, "Neither have I."

Teddy cackles, head thrown back, and nearly falls from his seat at the table. Mr. Spinoza smiles, and it lightens him up, but not enough to make Nash feel better about being the butt of some joke he doesn't understand.

He inches back. "I should go."

"Thank you for keeping Teddy company. You're welcome back anytime—but call home and get permission first."

"Yes, sir." But he knows there ain't no way Daddy'll ever give him permission to come back. He shoots a longing glance at the cards still strewn across the table. It's a shame he won't get to play again. It was fun while it lasted.

Nash sets his tray in front of him and eases onto the bench. Once he's sitting, he breathes out slowly through the ache in his ribs as his body acclimates to the new position. Then he nearly drops his pizza when a lunch box slams onto the table across from him and a small body throws itself onto the bench.

"I made you a deck." Teddy doesn't explain what that means and upends his lunch box on the table. Out falls a plastic wrapped sandwich, a baggie of baby carrots, a box of apple juice, and two stacks of Pokémon cards. Teddy sets the deck that's bound by a blue rubber band besides Nash's tray, then removes the pink scrunchie from the other and puts it around his wrist.

He glances at Nash's pizza, held aloft and uneaten. "Hurry up and eat that or we won't have time to play."

Unsure what else to do, Nash takes a bite. He swallows. "Aren't you gonna eat?"

Teddy makes a face but dutifully unwraps his sandwich and takes a bite before setting it aside and turning his attention back to shuffling his cards.

Nash makes a face at the sandwich as it oozes purple on the discarded plastic wrap. "Is that just jelly?" It explains why he doesn't seem interested in eating it. Then again, it's weird that he brought a lunch at all. Everybody knows Fridays are pizza days and nobody wants cold lunch instead of pizza.

"I'm allergic to peanut butter and we're all out of turkey." With his tongue between his lips, he attempts a real shuffle, like how adults do, and drops his cards all over the table.

Nash rescues one from the edge and slides it back to him. "Why not have pizza then?"

"Allergic."

"To pizza?"

"Cheese and tomatoes." He eyes Nash's slice wistfully before he smears his cards around to get them good and mixed up. "It smells good, though."

"Oh." Nash recalls their walk yesterday and how he went straight to his inhaler once they got inside. How during their walk was the only time he'd been quiet. "What else are you allergic to?"

Teddy's annoyance is clear in the sharp rapping of his cards against the table and the pucker of his lips. "Do you want to talk about all the stuff that's wrong with me, or do you want to play? We don't have time for both."

"Play." He crams a massive bite into his mouth and chews as he opens his chocolate milk.

Teddy mimics him with a similarly large bite of his jelly sandwich and says through his full mouth, "You like the electric types, right?" He swallows thickly. "I gave you all the ones I could find, but there's not a lot, so I gave you the flying and psychic types too. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine." He shoves the last of his pizza in his mouth and wipes his hands vigorously on his jeans before he picks up the deck of cards Teddy prepared for him. "Did you get all fighting ones again?"

"I added some ground ones." He looks up and grins. "Ground is super effective against electric."

"So? Aren't flying and psychic super effective against fighting?"

Teddy lights up. "You remembered."

"How to kick your butt? 'Course I did."

"Well, this time you won't. I've got a plan."

They don't finish the match before the bell rings, but Nash had Teddy on the ropes no matter what Teddy says about late game comebacks.

That afternoon, Teddy pulls a red handkerchief up over his mouth and nose before they get off the bus and keeps both arms over his face until the cloud of dust kicked up by the departing bus blows away. His voice is muffled behind the fabric, but he chatters all the way to his house and doesn't stop until Nash hesitates at the end of his driveway.

"Aren't you coming?" He peers at him through fogged lenses. "I want a rematch so I can show you how I was going to win."

Nash shakes his head. "I gotta get home."

"Oh." Teddy doesn't bother hiding his disappointment. "Well, what about tomorrow? That's your house, right?" He points at the roof in the distance, peeking just over the hill that obscures most of their property. "I can come over and—"

"No! I mean, I'll come here. If I can, I mean. I have to ask."

"Okay," Teddy says slowly. "Why don't you want anybody at your house?" He gestures at the dusty house behind him. "It's not like we're rich or anything. You don't have to be embarrassed."

What's embarrassing is that he clocked their lack of money without ever stepping through their front door, but that ain't it. "I'm not embarrassed," Nash snaps. "I just don't want to deal with how annoying my sister will be with you around. That's all."

Teddy's expression clears. "You have a sister?"

"Yeah, an annoying one. She'll be in kindergarten next year, so we'll have to deal with her at school then."

"Cool, maybe she can play with us, and we can do three-way battles! I've never done one of those before."

Nash shakes his head. "She's not smart enough. She'll just get in the way and mess up your cards. I'll just come over here, okay? If Mama says it's alright, I mean."

Teddy has a look like he wants to argue some more, so Nash waves and starts backing up the way he came.

"See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, okay. See you."

Relieved he got out of that, Nash turns on his heel and hurries home.

Midway down the hill, he looks back, but Teddy is gone.

#wildflowers of deliverance #book recs #queer romance #book promotion #debut novel #disabled characters #mlm yearning #bookblr #writeblr #indie author #romance #child abuse

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thevalkyriesshadow · 8 months ago

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@valkyrieappreciationweek

Day 7: Free Day/AU

Nest Friends

canon setting | omegaverse AU | 3,845 words

Inspired by a headcanon I saw where pregnant omegas will nest in one big, fluffy pile of blankets together and share tips and stories of their pregnancies with each other. I thought of our Valkyries immediately and had to write this! Read my omegaverse!valkyries AU under the cut or here on Ao3!

Dividers by @adornedwithlight and @strangergraphics-archive

Emotions were running high and everything was falling apart…well at least for Gwyneth Berdara, that's what it felt like.

Azriel, bless him, had landed himself one feisty omega. A fact that was only further confirmed when they found out Gwyn was pregnant. Since then, Gwyn had been on high alert, moody, snappy, picky with everything you put in front of her, and overall, a typical omega – but tenfold.

She was ten weeks pregnant and in the belly of morning sickness, dizziness, and unpredictable mood swings and of course today she was tasked with getting the nest set up for her, Nesta, and Emerie's weekly nesting session – a task that really wasn't that demanding, but with Gwyn in this stage of pregnancy…

“Az!”

“Azzzz – AZRIEL!!”

Azriel was at the door by the second time Gwyn had called out his name. “Yes – Yes, Gwyn! What is it – Gwyn, what’s wrong, love?” He rushed to her side.

Gwyn started sobbing, holding up strands of different colored strings, “I – I forgot the charms for– for the bracelets!” She covered her face with her hands. “I've ruined it…”

Azriel wrapped his arms around her shoulders, nuzzled his chin against her head, and said – in a calm, collected voice, “You haven't ruined anything – you can still make the bracelets –” He was going to say without the charms, but he stopped short at the glare Gwyn gave him. So instead, he squeezed her tighter and added, “-- I’ll go grab the charms. You stay here and keep setting up.”

He let her wipe her tears (and probably some snot too) into his sweater before dashing back to their cottage by the water.

Gwyn turned back and sighed as she looked around the room and wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. Perhaps she overreacted…but those charms are a necessity when making bracelets. How could they possibly make bracelets for their first brood if they didn’t have charms?! She needed them.

Gwyn continued to set up the nesting room The House had constructed for them. She changed out the string lights, switching the multi-colored faelights they previously had with softer, yellow lights. Their last nesting was more on the active side with yoga and a dance-out-the-nerves session. But after talking to Nesta and Emerie at dinner last night, they decided something relaxing and creative was in order.

Gwyn made sure they had their coziest blankets and pillows and random garments in stock. She peered around the room at her handiwork and rested a hand on her belly as she took a deep breath in and sighed out, soaking in the scent of her and her best friends.

She’d never forget the look of excitement on their faces when she told them she was pregnant. The three immediately started amicably talking about all the things they were going to do together, from being there for each other during these ten months, to raising their children together. From that moment on, her, Nesta, and Emerie agreed that they wouldn't endure their pregnancies alone. That they'd do it together, like everything else in their lives.

They had gathered and asked The House to create a cozy room with a large, soft bed, extra blankets, pillows, billowing curtains, soft fuzzy rugs, and food of any kind available.

It was their little nesting getaway for when the alphas were being, well, alphas. A moment for them to enjoy the book they're reading or tea they’re sipping without their alphas, quite literally, sticking their nose into everything.

The Valkyries, of course, loved their mates with all their heart, but when an alpha *Cassian* thinks it’s a good idea to sniff around their omega during their private smut reading time – then it’s time to set some boundaries.

So now, the three omegas could read, nap, and eat to their heart's content without the alpha reading the nutrition label to make sure they’re getting enough folic acid. Or checking they were still breathing, waking them from the deepest, most wonderful naps. (Emerie said she’d lashed out a little too harshly at Mor for waking her from such a deep slumber, but apparently Mor was concerned because Emerie had breathed funny…)

The Valkyries liked to start with a clean bed, no blankets or pillows, and they’d add the heavily scented stuff first, then the newer stuff, wanting to mix the scents in as much as they could. They’d do this on a rotating bi-weekly schedule – unless of course someone’s bladder incontinence wins them over. Then everything is washed and they start anew.

Gwyn had just finished turning on all the twinkle faelights when the door to the nest opened. In walked – or rather waddled – Emerie and a glowing Nesta.

“Gwyn!” Nesta squealed. “How are you doing? Ten weeks yesterday, right?”

Emerie groaned, “Ugh, to be ten weeks again.” Emerie was the furthest along of all of them. Twenty six weeks and she had all the struggles – back pain, practice contractions, headaches, constipation. You name it, Emerie had it.

Gwyn smiled – and then started to cry. Nesta and Emerie were by her side as fast as their waddling feet would allow.

“Oh, Gwyn – you’re alright –” Nesta put a hand around Gwyn, rubbing soothing circles across her back.

“I know –” Gwyn shuddered a breath, “I just…I can’t stop cryyyinggg….” Gwyn wailed and wiped at her face hurriedly.

Emerie took Gwyn’s freckled hand in hers and kissed her knuckles, “The emotions are almost always the hardest. What do you need?”

Gwyn sniffed and looked between the two Valkyries sheepishly, “Ice cream.”

A thunk behind them told them The House was listening and waiting to serve the omegas as needed.

“With candy chunks,” Gwyn added.

Another thunk.

The trio gave each other mischievous looks, and the ordering began.

Fifteen minutes later and a mountain of food, the Valkyries could finally begin adding the finishing touches to the nest.

Nesta went to her drawers of the room and tossed a huge, fluffy red blanket down first. Emerie added a silky golden wrap, and Gwyn a teal blanket she’d knitted. Then they threw a bunch of pillows into the nest. Emerie appeared with a handful of bags then, announcing she had gifts. Gwyn and Nesta rushed over, excited to see what Emerie had in her bags. She reached into one and pulled out a fluffy, white pillow with the words Gwyn’s Nesting Pillow embroidered with teal lettering. Nesta’s was black velvet with silver writing. Emerie made herself one too, an emerald green suede pillow with golden stitching.

“Oh my gods, Em! They're amazing!” Gwyn hugged her pillow tight, squeezing it in her muscular arms.

Nesta inspected the embroidery on hers, “Emerie this is beautiful work.”

Emerie blushed, “Just another weekend project. You guys are worth it.” She pulled Nesta and Gwyn into a group hug, their pregnant bellies bumping together.

After blubbering and giggling together, they gathered their food and new pillows, and retreated to their nest.

Their nesting area was a half circle bed that sat at just the right height for easy sitting and standing requirements. Perfect to crawl into without needing to exert effort or make a fool of themselves and topple into it.

And the smell…

A mix of all three of them, cinnamon and cloves, willow and rosemary, and fire and steel. The blankets and pillows they had were rich in these scents, melding together to create a cozy cottage feel.

As they did for all introductions of new fabric or pillows, they stripped down first so that their scents could rub off onto the new items.

So the three ate their snacks, stark naked, and passed around the pillows, cuddling and curling into them.

Nesta was rubbing her chin on Emerie’s pillow when Gwyn said, “Ness how do you look so – radiant. More radiant than me when I sing.”

With her eyes closed, Nesta nestled into the pillow and smiled, “It's that second trimester glow. I may look radiant, but Cassian won't stop staring at me and it's driving me up the wall.”

The girls fell into giggles. Emerie, who was trying to balance Gwyn’s pillow on her perfectly round stomach said, “Mor’s the same. Every time I turn around BAM Mor is staring at me and then smothering me with kisses.”

“Truly insufferable,” Nesta said. She craned her neck to look up at the copper-haired priestess, “How’s Az handling it? I bet he stalks you in the shadows.”

Gwyn smirked, “Only when we’re feeling frisky.” She winked, then her face fell. A seriousness washed over her features. “Seriously though, I caught him doing just that two days after we found out I was pregnant.” Gwyn shook her head and rolled her eyes. A genuine smile crept across her lips. “But he’s been great…really…” She choked up, “- Sorry,” she sniffled.

Nesta glanced around the room, “You’re sure he’s not in here right now? I think I feel a heat coming on…”

“We’d smell him, no?” Emerie asked around a mouthful of artichoke hearts.

Gwyn shook her head, “His shadows can hide his scent, but –” Gwyn stood, her still naked body showing off the just tangible swollen belly. She wasn’t showing much, but Gwyn still placed hands on her stomach, her natural motherly instincts on high alert. Azriel would never overstep such a boundary, but to put her friend at ease, Gwyn would do anything.

Nesta watched her circle the room and let out a low whine before nestling further into the sheets.

“All clear. He’d know I’d kick his ass if he came in here without permission,” Gwyn finally said. She made her way to her nearly panting friend and sat next to Nesta on the bed, pushing strands of hair that fell from her braid back from her face. “Do you need a private heat room?”

“Yeah,” Nesta answered. The House instantly made a separate room for Nesta, a place with blankets and clothing items that no doubt reeked of Cassian. (Thankfully, The House knew how to mask scents too.)

Emerie and Gwyn took turns napping and braiding each other’s hair while Nesta was tucked away in her private room.

When Nesta came out they indulged in their new strange eating habits. Emerie preferred pickled foods, but foods that one doesn’t usually pickle…like squash and strawberries….Nesta wanted salty and savory, and lots of it. This time opting for the umami flavors of sesame and soy sauce. Gwyn was a sweet tooth, but a very strange sweet tooth…she wrapped dates in strips of chewy, gummy candy and popped them into her mouth, joyfully.

They were sharing their constipation stories and what they’ve been doing to relieve it when a soft thud echoed throughout the room. The trio looked behind them and towards the door where a giant golden box wrapped in royal blue ribbons sat.

Nesta furrowed her brow and stalked over, her silver eyes pining the wrapped boxed with a piercing death stare. Gwyn and Emerie joined her, the three of them sniffing around and inspecting the box.

“There’s a tag,” Emerie pointed out, slipping a white card out from under a section of ribbon. “From Helion – a present to you and your broods.” She read the card and flipped it over. “That’s it. That’s all it says.”

“Well…it doesn’t smell like anything. Has The House been holding it until it didn’t smell like the Day Court and its High Lord?” Gwyn asked, flicking the voluptuous bow that sat atop the box.

Nesta shrugged, “It’s intuitive like that.” As if in answer and thanks, The House turned on the water in the separate baths room. The scent of fresh lavender drifted into the nest room, playing on the steam filling the large porcelain tub.

Emerie moaned, “Oooh lets get this opened so I can bathe. My back needs that bubbly goodness in there.”

With wide grins, the trio bent over the box and tore the wrapping from it. Paper flew over their heads. Nesta wrapped the ribbon around Gwyn’s belly. Then the box was falling open and –

The Valkyries screamed and squealed in delight as miniature stuffed pegasus of all colors and types pranced and flew from the box. A gray and black mare bounded towards Nesta. A cinnamon-brown male nuzzled Emerie. And a wild, speckled mare pranced around Gwyn. The other multi-colored pegasus all circled their respective omegas, their collars all bearing the Valkyrie brood they belonged to.

The door to the nest slammed open suddenly, revealing three wide-eyed and frantic alphas. And one very unsure beta.

Emerie snarled.

Nesta’s claws came out.

Gwyn crouched, standing in front of her pregnant friends. Her eyes glowed with her magic.

“What are you doing?!” She snapped. Her sneering gaze bored into them. Azriel in particular.

The alphas seemed to shrink in on themselves. The omega’s feral-like states heightened enough to intimidate the harried alphas.

Azriel said, “We thought you were in distress –”

“I told them you were okay, but –” Balthazar, the level-headed beta, stepped in.

“You can’t possibly know that beta –” Cassian growled, interrupting him,

Mor turned on Cassian, shoving his shoulder, “Call him by his name, Cassian, or so help me gods –”

A snarl issued from deep within the chest of each of the omega’s, the sound rippled through the room. Quieting everyone’s bickering.

Despite being pregnant omegas, and naked, the three Valkyries were terrifying. But beneath that terrifying presence, was a mother-to-be, nervous for the safety of their brood – and the safety of each other’s broods. With teeth bared they crouched, growling and bristling at the imposing group of alphas in the doorway.

“Get out!” Gwyn said through gritted teeth, “You're breaking the one rule we've established for you to follow.”

Emerie put a hand on the feral Priestess, “Leave now, unless you want Gwyn to rip you to shreds –”

“She won't hesitate – and neither will I,” Nesta added, her iron nails beginning to slide out.

Emerie tried pulling Gwyn back, but to no avail. “We're fine. Just surprised by a gift for our broods.” A couple of the Pegasus peeked out from behind the box, whinnying softly. “Now please, before I have to peel Gwyn off of one of you…leave,” Emerie demanded.

The group in the doorway took a step back, all of them eyeing Gwyn as her hormone fueled rage radiated off of her in waves. They mumbled apologies and turned to continue their work on the communal nursery in The House.

Azriel doubled back. Keeping his distance he held out a container, raising it like an offering, and slowly placed it on the ground, “Gwyn…your charms.”

Gwyn narrowed her eyes, but took the box, scowling. She whisked them away without a word, slamming the door behind her.

“Well you could've at least said ‘thank you’,” Nesta said with a snicker.

Gwyn glared. Then cracked the door and yelled, “Thank you!”

Azriel’s muffled voice yelled back, “Anything for you, Priestess!”

Gwyn growled, but smiled regardless and turned back to her friends.

“Bracelet making while we take a bath?”

“I think I'm going to have two alphas and one omega…it just feels very alpha-y in here,” Emerie circled her hand around her belly between braiding her second bracelet. Her first was green, gold, and brown. Her second one was purple, gold, and silver.

“Two alphas?!” Nesta huffed, finally settling into her braiding after shoving her face with noodles. “I think I have at least one alpha in here.” She picked up black, red, and silver threads.

Gwyn furrowed her brow, “Despite my emotions being all over the place – I sense calming energies.” She plucked a few strings from the box after Nesta passed it to her. Orange, black, and teal. “Every time Azriel lays his head on my stomach he falls asleep. He must feel it too.”

Nesta snorted, “Azriel is going to be an insufferable male if your entire brood are omegas. All their future partners better hope he doesn’t stalk them from the shadows.”

“Mor and Balthazar can’t decide who will take care of the alphas. I keep telling them to work together – but that only makes Mor huff and brood for the next hour. Balthazar broods too, but in the garden shed – Oh! I forgot to tell you guys, he’s building little bassinets for the brood!”

Netsa and Gwyn squealed, the three of them then sharing all the things their partners had been preparing.

Cassian started constructing a backyard sparring and training center. Nesta thought it was a bit early for it, but of course Illyrians start training as soon as they can walk. Illyrian alphas as soon as they start to babble.

While Balthazar was building bassinets and other furniture for the brood, Mor was planning all their holidays and celebrations for the year. She started buying their solstice presents and setting up organization in the house.

Azriel was reading every book on pregnancy and parenting while curled protectively around Gwyn. Being so early in the pregnancy, they were just enjoying cuddling up in Gwyn’s massive nest together. Though Azriel did start on the nursery early. He had big plans for a detailed painting that would depict everything from the night sky to deep sea creatures to adorable woodland wildlife.

After their bath and bracelets, the omegas dried off and settled back into the nest. All three of them cuddled up close. With paintbrushes in their hands, they created art on each other’s bellies with homemade paint made from blueberries, strawberries, turmeric, matcha, hibiscus, and coffee.

They drew little leaves and flowers along their stretch marks. Nesta and Emerie tried to make little stars around as many of Gwyn’s freckles as they could. Emerie painted detailed swords for everyone and their brood vibes. Gwyn scrolled words like beautiful and strong along their bellies.

She was just finishing up the word queen above Emerie’s navel when tears started to well in her eyes again.

“Gwyn,” Nesta cooed, “You are extremely emotional…more than I was –”

“Same,” Emerie added.

“Maybe you do have at least one alpha in there,” she poked at Gwyn’s smaller belly gently.

Gwyn wiped at her tears and said, “I was just thinking how grateful I am for you two. And how much Catrin would’ve loved my brood. How she’d be the best auntie…” Fresh tears poured from between closed eyelids, clinging to her lashes.

Emerie handed her a tissue and put an arm around Gwyn’s shoulder, pulling her into her side, “Try mind-stilling, Gwyn. It’s honestly the only thing that saved me from the emotional roller coaster. Make Az do it with you. I made Mor and Balthazar do it with me and it makes the emotional roller coaster more manageable –”

Gwyn took a deep breath and began her mind-stilling. Emerie breathed with her, Gwyn’s head resting on her shoulder, Emerie’s head atop hers. Nesta joined them. Scooting over she wrapped an arm around Gwyn, their bellies pressed up against one another.

A calm silence fell over the room as the Valkyries went through the motions of feeling everything, together, and then letting it go. All the stress of their pregnancies, their lives as Valkyries, their every day worries and intrusive thoughts – were all breathed in, acknowledged, and let go.

Mind stilling became a ritual for the Valkyries. They would do it when they woke, before meetings started, after training, before bed…

But the one thing mind stilling didn't seem to help?

Gwyn shot up from her spot on the couch, startling Nesta and Emerie. “Gwyn what –”

She was already gone and heading straight for the bathroom where she vomited into the toilet.

Her friends came running in to check on her. “Oh, morning sickness, huh?” Nesta knelt beside Gwyn, holding her hair back as Emerie rubbed soothing circles across her freckled back.

Gwyn spat in the toilet water, “Why – does everyone say this is such a beautiful experience?” Gwyn sat back, resting against the tub next to the toilet. “I can't stop crying…my morning sickness is the most wretched thing I've ever experienced…” She trailed off, as another wave of nausea hit her and she was back in the toilet.

“It sucks now, but once the morning sickness subsides, we promise, it’ll be worth it,” Nesta said, her voice soothing, like a mother’s.

“Can we get you anything, Gwyn?” Emerie asked, her hand a constant, reassuring pressure.

As much as Gwyn was enjoying this time with her fellow Valkyries, she knew once her sickness started, she’d be glued to a toilet or bucket for hours. So right now, the only thing she really needed was rest, and to curl up in her own nest with Azriel.

“I’m going to have to leave our nest early…” She closed her eyes tight against the roil of nausea that rose up in her. “I’m sorry –” Her head was back in the toilet.

“Don’t apologize, Gwyn, we’ll have an extra long nesting session next time. I’ve been eyeing a few new Sellyn Drake novels that I think will be perfect for a read-aloud.” Emerie patted a cool, wet cloth to Gwyn’s neck and forehead.

Despite her upset stomach and terrible taste in her mouth, Gwyn smiled at that, “I can’t wait.”

Nesta and Emerie cleaned up the nest, while Gwyn laid curled in a private room, wrapped in a deep blue blanket that smelled of cedar and night-chilled mist.

When they’d finished cleaning, her friends helped her out into the hall, where a worried Azriel was already waiting. He scooped her up and gave Nesta and Emerie a nod, “Thank you, for taking care of her.”

They smiled as Emerie wrapped an arm around Nesta’s shoulders, “Gwyn did the same for us, of course we would take care of her.”

Gwyn moaned and whined into Azriel's chest, her face contorting in the tall-tell I’m-about-to-throw-up scrunch. Azriel held her closer, his arms curling around her. “I should get her back,” he said, then he pressed a kiss to Gwyn’s forehead.

“Oh – wait! Before you go…” Nesta turned and rushed back into the nesting room before emerging with an armful of things – a myriad of friendship bracelets, leftover food, and prancing toy pegasus that swerved and swooped around the items in Nesta’s hands. “The stuffed animal pegasi are a gift from Helion,” she said with a smile. The speckled mare leapt out of Nesta’s arms and into Gwyn’s where it curled up against her chest and neck.

Azriel chuckled, “I’ll be sure they’re taken care of – All of them.” He nuzzled into Gwyn’s hair, breathing in her scent.

They said their goodbyes. Then Azriel took off from the training grounds at The House and brought Gwyn back to their cottage where the new pegasi pranced and trotted around Gwyn’s nest of blankets in search of their own corner. Azriel stayed tucked in beside her, curling around his omega and comforted her with soft belly rubs and feather-light kisses.

Gwyn drifted off to sleep, replaying over and over the wonderful nesting session she had with her sisters and how fun the next one was going to be.

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