#chapter of agony and despair

[antennatoheaven]

Man 😐.

[starseabun]

ORV NOVEL SPOILERS CHAPTER 187-188

There's a lot of thoughts and emotions I had when reading all of this. I cried, sobbed and wailed through all of it, like I believed he had a plan and he wouldn't die but it was all too real, I kept thinking he would survive and then think "what if he does die?" There's stories like that, where the main character dies, but also I somehow knew/thought the story couldn't end without him? I don't know, ORV is so unpredictable to me.

And this was so cruel to all of the characters, all of them were suffering through this battle and I think apart from Uriel and the kids, the one who surprised me? Or hit me bad too was Junghyeok, he never shows much of his emotions, so the fact that Dokja could see it so clearly on his face not only through his thoughts or knowledge of him really made me cry.

The constellations fucking toasting Dokja's death made me so furious, like I was there crying my eyes out, my throat hurting from all the crying, grieving a death that was yet to happen as if a real person was dying and them enjoying it, I hope they die😭.

Also Dokja laughing at Junghyeok when he asked if he had a plan and at his friends, Dokja, u little shit, come here a bit and let me hug u to death, jerk 😭

NOT JUNGHYEOK HOLDING DOKJA AS HE WAS DYING? THAT FUCKING BROKE ME, WHAT THE FUCK

"[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' feels despair.]" ME FUCKING TOO!

"It was a really great story. Isn't that right?" "Let's meet again" WHAT IF THIS IS MY LAST STRAW??????? WHAT IF????

Also the thing about "the person he loves the most" I did think it was Junghyeok and later did consider it was referring to Ways of Survival but I thought it would be like at the very end, that he would find a loophole in the meantime and by the end the story somehow would kill him maybe through the Fourth Wall BUT NOT SO FUCKING SOON????

[mollywog]

Plagued with ideas

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

okeydoke!

@toyybox @kaleidoscope-of-thoughts @risk606 @fuckclimatechange @rainydaywhump

@jay--o @cepheusgalaxy @fourwingedwriter

hi taglist! sorry you had to find out this way but Kieran's name is Dubhe now. I finally finished going through and editing every post I've ever made about this bastard. for your troubles I'll attempt to actually have something to post tomorrow but no promises

today in astronomy class i was stuck with guilt for having given the rest of his family matching names but not him. especially because his brother's name is literally one of the two pointer stars. so uh. do i keep it kieran for the sake of the readers or do i change it to dubhe for the sake of his feelings?

no "results" option because i need real answers about this

[astro-can]

every single chapter is just "oh no, another character who fell into the deep dark pits of agony and despair because of isagi" and i'm TIRED of it if chapter 300 isn't nagi confessing his undying love to reo and then an aggressive nagireo make out scene i'm going to lose it

[kingkat12]

... chased a guy (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: piv sex, vampire sex, blood, blood play (?), light gore, smoking, Olivia Godfrey deserves her own warning tag

summary: now that you and Roman are broken up, you suddenly find clarity in the situation that used to haunt you-- are you actually scared of upirs? it seems not.

word count: 8,588

never have I ever: ← previous chapter | next chapter →

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*book 1 masterlist

a/n: I know this chapter took a crazy amount of time to finish, but exams have been biting my ass with big mouthfuls, so EEK WE R FINALLY BACK<33 thank you for all the love, enjoy!!<333 credits to @godfreysteel for the gifs!!

"At least she's not... crying,"

"Not yet," I muttered, lighting my cigarette. "Give it a minute."

Peter turned to me, glaring as he flicked ash off his own. He wasn't even smoking it-- he was just letting it burn down like a fuse. "And how often do you stand around watching Letha be miserable, exactly?"

I shrugged; "It's my favorite morning spectacle. I keep debating whether I should bring tomatoes and toss them at her,"

Something told me Peter knew he wasn't in the position to scold me, even though I saw how much he was itching to-- it was obvious with the way his jaw ticked. "You're really enjoying this, huh?"

"I'm enjoying the karmic symmetry. Sue me,"

Seriously. Karma had never felt this good.

Everything had changed-- the events of the night Brooke died had had a huge impact on everyone, in their own way. However, the most brutal change to watch was how Letha's biggest fears had become real. After all her plotting, after all her doomsday-planning, her ultimate nightmare had come true; she had been dethroned by the public. It was like a coup of democracy, with the way everyone had cast her off her high chair when they found out about her hypocrisy-- her relationship with Peter ended up having the effect on her life that she had dreaded most.

And I stood there, half-hidden by the corner of the art building next to Peter, watching the girl who had once ruled this place get picked apart by whispers and glances and that sick kind of fake smile that burns more than a slap. Believe me when I say I didn't invite him to join me, by the way-- he had found me here somehow, like he always did when I wanted to see him least.

Letha sat on the concrete ledge a little further away, her shoulders hunched as she picked at her nail polish like she could peel her way out of this reality. Her nails, which were usually gelled to perfection, were in a state of visible despair, but her hair remained perfect as ever. Maybe that was how it always was? Did she wake up with the Godfrey beauty protecting her? There was something about the way she sat all curled in on herself that made her look small, like someone else entirely-- it felt like one of those horror shows you don't want to watch but can't take your eyes off.

The girls she used to walk arm-in-arm with passed her like she was air. No, wait, not air-- like something rotting. Rotting, and dying. One of them muttered something under her breath as they passed, and I couldn't hear it from afar, but I saw the way Letha's jaw clenched, the way her mouth twitched, like she was fighting the urge to cry or claw back.

Someone laughed, but not at a joke-- at her.

Finally, she knew how that had felt for me. People weren't afraid of her anymore; instead, they only smelled blood in the water.

I inhaled another round of smoke as Peter continued watching Letha with those big, sad eyes of his. Something told me that the sight of her like this pained him the same way it pained me to be away from Roman, and it filled me with a certain sense of evil satisfaction. If I was going to be in agony, then I was going to drag him down with me.

Peter sighed, the smoke from his mouth accompanying his next words; "Are you always this heartless before second period?"

"Yes, actually. I don't owe her any pity," I mumbled. "And are you always this spineless after screwing things up?"

His mouth twitched-- half smirk, half flinch. "I didn't screw everything up by myself,"

"Oh, right, because it was all her," I said, nodding to Letha. "You were just getting your dick wet! You have no fault in this."

He rolled his eyes; "You don't get it,"

"And you're a piece of shit,"

"... Thanks," Peter looked back at Letha, then down at the ground like it might offer answers. "But I can't talk to her, you know this. It's over between her and me. The guilt of it all just... broke me."

"And as I keep telling you, dickwad, it doesn't help anyone that you're ravaged with guilt, or whatever! Roman and I have split up, and he doesn't want to see you anymore, so you've done all the damage you could do," I took another drag, letting the smoke coil out of my nostrils slow and deliberate, like a dragon halfway through a nervous breakdown. "Go be evil together, seriously. Maybe make a game out of seeing who else you can break up, that'd probably be fun, no?"

Peter didn't respond right away. He just stood there, gnawing at the inside of his cheek like he might bite through it; "You're awful. It's not funny," he finally said, voice low. "You think I don't feel like shit about this?" 

"I think you feel like shit the same way a raccoon feels bad for tipping over a trash can," I muttered, flicking ash off the end of my cigarette with a snap. "You're not sorry. You're just caught."

"I am sorry," Peter said. "I lost my girl, and I lost my best friend. If you think I'm feeling good about any of this, I suggest you think again." He shoved his free hand into his jacket, pacing a slow, aggravated half-step. "How is Roman, by the way? How's the murder mystery going?"

I shrugged, taking a short, annoyed drag-- I hated the way all my feelings about the matter felt like wet cement in my chest. "No idea," I mumbled. "Roman isn't answering me either."

Peter blinked; "Seriously?"

"Dead serious," I said, letting the smoke curl lazily from my mouth as I tilted my head, smirking just slightly. "Knock, knock, by the way."

 Peter blinked, wary. "Uh... Who's there?"

I exhaled through my nose; "The consequences of your actions,"

"Oh, fuck off," Peter groaned, rolling his eyes. "You act like I planned it this way, and you keep acting like you had no fault in this yourself, and!-- ugh, all I ever wanted was for everyone to be happy!"

I took one last drag, let it hang in my chest, and exhaled directly at Peter in hopes of making him cough, of making him hurt. My eyes bore into his, feeling my anger at his stupidity simmer with my words; "And how did that work out for you?"

Peter didn't answer. He just stared at me like I had crossed some invisible line, one even he wouldn't dare to overstep. The wind cut between us, stirring the smoke that drifted around my face like a veil. With one last, final glance at Letha, Peter's cutting gaze landed on me as he threw his cigarette down to the floor, smushing it with his heel. "I can take a lot of shit from you, but you need to cool off. Being a bitch doesn't suit you. I commence this meeting of the dirty mistress club over,"

I would've probably laughed had I not been so dead and bitter inside, but I smiled, slow and mean; "Done? Great. Go waste someone else's time,"

Peter hesitated like he might say something else, but with a sigh, he turned away, the silence between us still crackling like static, like a slap to the face.

As Peter stormed off, no longer caring to bicker with me, I hated the pang of guilt that expanded in my chest. As it started to snowball, it worsened when I turned to look at Letha one last time. Over and over, I told myself I didn't feel sorry for her. I wondered whether Letha ever felt this way when looking at me, all that time ago-- I stayed longer than I meant to, allowing myself to gaze at the girl who had never failed to hold my hair back when I felt sick. There was a sadness in the exile of Letha Godfrey, yet not one I cared to sit with.

To distract myself, I occupied my mind with thoughts of the other Godfrey. The love of my life, the one I hadn't seen physically at school, but the one who hadn't failed to show up in every dream I'd had since the night of the murder. It was the same dream again and again, one I couldn't decipher, one I couldn't make sense of-- was I simply ovulating, or was I going insane?

Every girl had questioned that once or twice, surely.

The dream was the same every time; I'd tell Roman I loved him. Then, he'd ask if someone like him could ever be loved. Then, I'd ask him who he was to decide who could be loved or not, and then... he'd bite me.

He'd bite into my chest, sink his teeth into my heart, and... fucking hell.

I swallowed hard-- just thinking about it made me feel uncomfortably warm. It was horrifyingly embarrassing to think about, and as I turned away from the pathetic sight of Letha, I allowed my cheeks to go rosy. 

In my dreams, Roman would bite me, drink my blood, and every fucking time, without fail, I'd...

I'd cum.

Shivering, I wafted the image of the dream away. I tried to explain it as my brain trying to cope with the image of Brooke's body scattered all over the playground, and that it was my mind trying to make the sight of the blood a little less scary. Why did it have to mix in with Roman being a upir, though?

Then again, the more I thought about the fact that he was one, now that Letha wasn't involved and telling me how dangerous he was, the more I realized... I might not be so afraid as I had initially been. Maybe my body was telling me I was starting to embrace him fully? I had no idea. I couldn't make sense of it. 

Still, I knew what I had to do; I needed to find Roman and speak to him. Maybe I could clear my head about it if I saw him again? Maybe the fear would return, maybe I could make up my mind about it?

Yeah... I was definitely going insane. ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

This was a stupid plan. A really, really stupid plan, but it was the only one I could come up with.

I remembered the code to the gate around Roman's house (or should I say mansion?), and I parked my car in front of the massive entryway in the roundabout before the door. It was odd to be back, but it was necessary-- however, in my quest to talk to my murder-solving ex-boyfriend, I had forgotten about the main obstacle in the house.

The door creaked open, and a woman opened the door. Her annoyance with my presence was overshadowed by confusion as she racked her brain for how I could've gotten to her doorstep without being stopped by security. "Yes?" she asked, irritated, as she cocked a brow and scanned me from top to bottom.

It was then and there that I realized where Roman had learned that move from.

Olivia Godfrey was intimidating as ever with her long, black hair falling at around her hip-- she was exactly as I had imagined she'd be after seeing her face on several magazines while shopping at the stores around Hemlock Grove.

Putting on my nicest smile, I straightened up before I spoke; "Sorry to intrude, ma'am, but is Roman home?"

Olivia's upper lip quirked as she spotted my car parked in the roundabout driveway. It was clear that she found me misplaced. "May I ask who's calling?" 

I felt my smile turn tighter after I spoke my name, hoping it would ring some sort of bell in her head and that she'd recognise me-- Roman must've told her about me, no?

After hearing my name, Olivia's grip on the door loosened as her eyes gained a wicked twinkle, like she had trapped me and enjoyed poking me with a stick. "Oh..." First poke. "How odd..." Second poke. "Roman has never mentioned you." Third poke. And for the fourth, the finale, the last poke that'd impale me and turn me into a shish kebab-- "Are you one of his pom-poms?"

Pom-poms?

Cheerleaders?!

"They usually never come to the house..." Olivia continued with a grin on her face, her voice deep and warm like a dangerous purr. Something about her tone almost carried pity for me, like it was pathetic of me to sink so low as to come to their house for an easy lay. "Is it something urgent?"

The corners of my mouth twitched as I forced myself to keep smiling, to keep my composure. This woman felt like the equivalent of talking to a rattlesnake. "I'm not a cheerleader, no,"

"No?"

"Certainly not," I said, hoping to gain some of my dignity back. 

Olivia now seemed rather confused-- "So this is in regards to...?" 

Your son, who is also my ex-boyfriend, is looking for a murderer, and I need to make sure he's not lying dead in a ditch somewhere. "Study group, ma'am," I lied. "English lit."

This seemed to liven her up; in an instant, Olivia was back to smiling again, and she fully let go of the door and leaned towards me like she was about to tell me the juiciest gossip of the town; "Wuthering Heights, then, is it? So tell me, darling, the gypsy orphan Heathcliff-- was he a Byronic hero or proto-Marxist class warrior?"

What the fuck did any of that even mean? I stared at Olivia, my smile unwavering as my brain racked through the last time I ever picked up that book. That must've been last semester, when I ended up not reading it and looked up a summary on the internet. "Sorry ma'am," I tried. "I'm only on chapter two. Haven't gotten very far, you see."

With a disappointed sigh, Olivia's glee retreated as well as her steps, and she scanned me once more with that displeased look in her dark eyes. "Yes... I suppose you haven't," And then, in a different snake-like tone, she continued with a pitied warning; "It really does not end well for him."

"Pardon?"

"For Heathcliff, dear,"

"... Oh,"

What was that supposed to mean? Meeting this woman felt like a psychological exercise, and I began to understand why Roman had been so reluctant for me to meet her.

"Anywho," Olivia huffed, returning to her polite smile. She was switching out her expressions like masks in a theatre. "I'm afraid Roman isn't home at the moment, so I will tell him you stopped by. What was your name, again, darling?"

As I spoke my name with a composed breath, I turned to Roman's red jag, which was parked in front of mine. I wouldn't have approached the door if I hadn't seen it when I came-- he was obviously home. I wanted to say something, maybe even something a little sharp, but as I turned back to face Olivia Godfrey, the alarm in my head went off; upirism is hereditary. She could very well be the one Roman had inherited it all from, and there was no way I was about to piss her off.

With a sigh, Olivia's voice chimed in sweet as honey, yet keen to get me off her doormat. "It was nice to meet you, darling, but--"

No, wait! "He hasn't been to school,"

Fuck it. If I could fuck a upir, I could go up against another one. Was I maybe not so scared, after all?

I nodded towards his car. "Roman hasn't been to school," I repeated, standing my ground. "I haven't seen him all week since the murder in town, and I'm just getting a little worried so-- so if it's not a bother, could you at least tell me how he's doing?"

Caught off guard, Olivia's brows quirked in surprise. "Oh my," she purred, amused. For a moment there, I was sure she even laughed a little. Was it that pathetic that I had bothered to come? Was it blatantly obvious that it was a stupid decision? Everything about this woman made me want to dig a hole and die in it.

It took Olivia a few seconds to recover from the sight of yet another girl pining for her son, and some more to contain her humour, until she suddenly looked like she had sensed someone behind her. Then, she looked down at me with a newfound nonchalance (or was it annoyance?) and stepped away from the door. "Ask him yourself," she sighed. 

Olivia let the door swing open fully, revealing Roman a few feet behind her, arms folded over his chest, glaring at me with scathing wrath. 

I nearly shivered-- composing myself, I swallowed hard and allowed my heart to abuse the inner linings of my ribs with its excitement. Even now, with his hair undone and with dark circles around his eyes, he looked breathtakingly gorgeous. 

Roman's glare never faltered, not even as Olivia rounded the corner and left us alone. His jaw was clenched, and his forearms were flexed, revealing that his hidden hands were balled into fists. "Yeah?" he eventually said, not allowing my stunned silence to go on any longer than necessary.

... Was that all he had to say to me?

I straightened my skirt, my anxiety seeping into the tips of my fingers and burning into my blood. "You disappeared," I breathed. "You haven't been to school all week, you haven't answered any of my messages... I got worried."

Roman didn't flinch, didn't move-- nothing. "I think that's something you should talk about with your guidance counsellor,"

Fucker.

I cocked my head to the side, sending him a look he knew too well. "Seriously, Roman?"

"Dead serious,"

"Can we talk?"

He shrugged, and just as I thought he was about to tell me to fuck off, he pushed away from the wall with an annoyed groan. "Fine," Roman stepped forward with not as much as a trace of a smile, and held out his hand. 

Within a second, my hope skyrocketed. I felt myself blush as I raised my hand too, about to put it in his like in the good old times, but he scoffed and dodged me. "Jacket," he hissed, cold.

"Oh," With a heavy heart, I handed Roman my jacket-- things really had changed. We had broken up. We truly weren't together anymore. "Thanks..." I breathed, too flushed and embarrassed to look at him anymore.

This was unbearable-- it was torture.

Yet... it wasn't scary.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The last time Roman and I had been alone in a library together, I had let him fuck my brains out-- that was certainly not going to happen this time.

But now, as Roman scoured through the Godfrey library, having scattered tons of books on the floor, opened on specific, marked pages, I could only think about how it was to have his hands around me on the floor of the restricted section at the school library. Even though he was now wafting through books that were so old, they should be sent to some sort of archive for preservation, I couldn't stop thinking about how he had used those exact same fingers to fuck his cum deeper into me. Christ.

That day would've probably been the turning point for us, had it not been for Letha telling me he was dangerous over and over. When you get fed one line of information, told with such confidence and fervour, how do you convince yourself it's not true? I suppose it was my brain trying to tie itself down to normalcy instead of going against the stream. As I stood here now, leaning against some gorgeous old shelf in Roman's family library, I once again reinstated the thought that I had fucked us up by trusting Letha.

God, how I had fucked up. 

Anyway-- it was really damn inappropriate for me to be thinking about the way Roman had fucked me that time in the restricted section, especially as he finally started rambling about what he had been up to all week. 

"--So, since the police found Brooke's legs a little further away, they're not saying it's a mauling... Have you caught that on the news?" he asked, climbing down the set of library stairs with another book in hand. "Those stupid idiots are looking for a human. I told you they wouldn't look in the right places."

It felt wrong to encourage Roman's obsession with the murder and the idea that it wasn't a normal animal, yet I did what I could to stay close to him. The crime scene had looked odd, after all-- I could get behind that. "Okay, yeah... I hear you,"

"They think it's some sicko serial killer dude running around," Roman huffed, flipping through the pages of the new book to find a page he had previously read. "That it's someone's mark. I listened in on the police intercom a few days ago to hear what they were saying, and they're trying to connect it to some killer dude in Iowa--"

"Hold on!" I flailed my arms as I stepped away from the shelf, hoping to get his attention. "You hacked into the police intercom?!"

Roman fixed his gaze on me, visibly annoyed to have to stop scouring the pages of the book. "Not technically. Since when would I have had the brains for that? I just know the password to their system,"

"Password?!"

"How many times do I have to tell you that my family basically is the police? It was easy to get," With a roll of his eyes, Roman returned to his search. "Anyway, this serial killer guy from Iowa would've carved something into her abdomen, some satanic symbol, and Brooke didn't have that when we saw her. I'm waiting for the police to make that connection, but she's getting buried soon and they're all talking about how the morgue is giving them shit for wanting to delay the funeral so they can inspect the body again... It's all unnecessarily complicated." Finally, he put down the book next to the others on the floor, stepping away to look at them all together as though it were an art installation he had to decipher. "It's not some dude from Iowa who is responsible for this. I'm sure of it."

Slowly, I dared to step forward towards the carefully laid out books spread out across the hardwood floor. When I got closer, I caught a glimpse of the look in Roman's eyes, how big his pupils were, how disoriented he seemed-- he almost looked like he was in the middle of a manic episode, or like he was about to audition for the role of the new Doctor Who. "So... you've been home from school to figure out who could've done it?" 

"Yeah," he breathed, not blinking. "But there are many possibilities, too many. I'm getting in over my head here, and I've got too much information on my hands... This fucking library is huge. My great grandpa wasn't fucking around about knowledge, and he made sure all this stuff was preserved."

I sighed-- if Roman and I had still been together, I would've known how to soothe him better. Now, all my methods would've been deemed highly inappropriate or simply too intimate. "That's why I'm here to help," I tried. "I told you that I'm not letting you do this alone."

In the midst of his daze, Roman didn't care to turn to look at me, but I knew he saw me through the corner of his eye. It made me feel like I was some spider on the wall that he was deciding whether to squish to death or not. "Your heart's not in it though," he said, monotone.

"It... is?"

"It's not. You don't care about the murder,"

"I do!"

"Not like me," he argued. "Your heart's not in it."

If only Roman knew how much of my heart was actually in it, in the palm of his hands. With a sigh, I dared to speak; "My heart is wherever you are, Rome,"

Silence.

Deafening silence.

Finally, he turned to face me, but it wasn't relief that softened his expression-- it was something more devastating; regret. Maybe even fear? "Don't say shit like that," he said, his tone raw in a way that broke me bit by bit. "You're making it worse."

My heart twisted into my lungs. "But I mean it," I breathed. 

Roman groaned; "That's the problem," he snapped, suddenly sharp. "You mean it, and I-- I can't--" He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair as though trying to scrub the words from his skull. Roman did his best to erase it from his memory, now pressing his palm to his forehead as he closed his eyes and pushed it all away. "I've cornered it down to at least three things it could be."

"... What?"

"The killer,"

"Oh," Swallowing hard, I nodded and forced myself to turn away from him to look down at the books. Was Roman maybe going insane? Was I enabling a manic episode? I wasn't so sure. All I knew, was that I had promised to stay by him no matter what this time, and I was going to stick to that.

There were many gorgeous illustrations of different animals, all made with something calligraphy pen-like. Heaps of information had been written down on the pages with much less precision than the drawings, and the more I looked at them all, I realized they didn't look like books-- they looked like diaries. 

"Roman?" I breathed. "Were these all made by your great grandfather?"

He was still rubbing his temples, eyes closed, when he hummed. "He had a lot of money, so he travelled a lot," 

Okay... This went much deeper than this generation of Godfreys. "I see," I tried, bending down to get a closer look at one of the many beautiful illustrations. "He writes that he saw these things?"

"Yeah," Roman opened his eyes to see which book I was checking out. "He drew everything to remember them."

Jesus Christ. "Was your great grandfather perhaps... schizophrenic?"

Roman let out a short, humorless snort, the sound edged with just enough irritation to sting. "Thanks," he muttered, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm. "Real supportive. You're doing a great job so far."

I turned to glance at him, caught between an apology and an awkward half-smile. "I didn't mean--"

"No, it's fine," His jaw tensed as he leaned back against the shelves, eyes flicking toward the ceiling like he was praying for patience. "Let's just entertain the possibility that maybe, just maybe, my dead great grandfather wasn't completely out of his goddamn mind... just for fun."

Fine. I shut up.

Roman sighed, grabbing the nearest diary and flipping through it without care, like he knew exactly what page he wanted. "He saw things," he continued, tone flatter now. "Things that match what we saw at the playground."

I stepped closer and frowned at the page he'd stopped on. It was some kind of creature that looked like a wolf if it had been dragged through hell and then stitched back together. Bone-thin limbs, eyes like pits, a mouth full of teeth that curved wrong. Was Roman's great grandfather maybe tripping on shrooms back in the day? "Is this the...?"

"Vargulf," Roman nodded. "First suspect. It makes sense, sort of. They kill their prey without eating it, and they're not connected to the full moon, like usual werewolves. This is basically a werewolf that's gone crazy, and it just... rips bodies apart out of insanity, or something. I really, really don't want it to be this thing."

I swallowed, suddenly cold at the memory of Brooke's torn body. "And the others?"

Roman ticked them off with his fingers, not bothering to look at me. "Some French thing called the beast of... however the fuck you pronounce it. It was some wolf-lion hybrid that killed tons of people back in France. And these Welsh death hounds that I also can't fathom how to pronounce, but they were dogs that hunted souls.... And these things were all animals, all real, if you believe half the shit in these books,"

"And you do?"

He glanced at me a little sideways. "I believe what he saw. This guy was legit. These aren't fairytales made by some drunkard,"

"But... I'm sorry, that's what this sounds like,"

Roman closed the diary with a sudden boom, almost like he was trying to wake himself up or scare me half to death. "Fairytales don't leave bodies," He dropped the book to the floor with a loud thud-- he could've just as easily dropped a mic. 

"Okay..." I mumbled, trying my best not to sound so skeptical-- no, this was crazy. "But I doubt that French wolf-lions would be roaming around the Pennsylvanian countryside, and I don't know how these Welsh hounds could've made their way all the way across the ocean, so that sort of leaves us with the--"

"Vargulf," Roman found another book which seemed to have more details about the beast. "I agree that it makes the most sense. They can appear all over the world, and they have the biggest chance of being real."

"Being real? So now we're doubting your great grandpa again?"

Roman straightened up, realizing he had walked directly into that one. Clearing his throat, he raised his gaze from the book to stare back at me, blinking; "This is a guy that drew mythical creatures. We've got to be a little realistic,"

I snorted before I could stop myself.

Roman rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched, just barely. "All I'm saying is, if a supernatural creature is running around eating girls in our town, I'd really prefer not to be the guy who shrugged it off because it sounded a little French,"

"Right..." He had a point, albeit a crazy one. I still had hope this was some serial killer from Iowa after all, even though that was no less dark. "But Roman?"

"Yes?"

"When..." I almost didn't dare to ask the question, but the more I looked at him, the less I saw of that usual spark in his green eyes, and the more I worried. His cheeks were sunken in, the circles around his eyes were concerning, and he almost looked a bit paler than usual (although I wasn't sure that was even possible). I took a deep breath; "When was the last time you ate?"

Roman froze, the question hanging in the air like a heavy fog. His expression tightened, the usual charm replaced by something sharp and distant. "You're still asking that?"

I couldn't help it-- the thought had been gnawing at me for a good few minutes now. Maybe even days, if I allowed myself to admit it. "I worry about you," I breathed. "I'll always ask that."

He dropped the book he'd been holding onto a table nearby with a soft thud, taking his time to answer. It was clear that it was overwhelming, confusing, and distracting to hear those words from me. "Look, I'm not your boyfriend anymore, alright? You don't need to check in on me,"

My heart dropped. "Roman, I'm--"

"I knew this would happen," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair as he turned to me. It was only then that I saw how seriously this was affecting him-- his green eyes had rounded out, and his breath came out in choppy motions. "If you're going to keep saying stuff like that, then we can't investigate this together. I can't handle the push and pull that comes with being around you, so if you want to be of any help, if you still want to solve this case with me, then I suggest you stop."

"But I'm not trying to!--"

"Yes, you are!" Roman barked. "Either you're solving a murder, or you're trying to get me back! Pick one, because you can't choose both!"

My fists balled-- I hated what we had turned into. "And if I want you?"

Roman's jaw clenched at my words, but his eyes didn't soften. There was that wall again, and it felt higher than ever before. "You can't," he said, his voice lower now, almost like he was trying to convince himself more than me. "You can't. Not with what we've been through. Not with how you reacted to what I am."

"That's unfair! I was scared!--"

"And you said you'd love me through everything! You promised!" 

The words echoed in the library, and they hit my heart with shattering pain. I could feel my heart splitting in my chest, the ache gnawing at me as I tried to steady myself. "Roman," I whispered, my throat tight. I couldn't look at him. I didn't want to see the pain in his eyes. "What makes you think I don't still love you?"

That seemed to be the breaking point for Roman. Not his great grandfather's mythical creatures, not the vargulf, not the murders-- it was the thought that someone could maybe love him for what he was. He wasn't looking at me anymore when he picked up a few books and started putting them back where they belonged, letting the silence comfort him like a warm blanket. "Leave," he breathed, pained by the words. "Just leave."

His words hit me like a slap, but I swallowed the sting and nodded slowly. I deserved that-- I knew that deep in my gut. Deciding not to add to his turmoil any longer, I stepped away from Roman and started walking towards the door, taking in the sheer height of it. Everything had to be accommodated for the giants in this house, after all. 

But then, I heard the creak of wood-- Roman had paused and taken a step back from the bookshelf, yet he still held one book up, frozen. He didn't turn to me, the tension in the air almost suffocating, but he sighed as though he was forcing the words out; "It's the same guy, y'know,"

With my hand now on the knob of the door, I glanced at Roman-- with his arm stretched out like that, I could see the vein running up his arm, and it immediately made my mind buzz. Being in a library with this guy was ridiculously dangerous for my mental state. "Sorry?"

"My great grandfather was the one I inherited those vials from," he breathed. "The ones you and I shared."

The ones that were lying safely on top of my nightstand-- the ones he didn't know I still had both of. The night I found out Roman was a upir, I had told him that I threw away his vial when I stole it off of him, yet his blood was next to mine in my bedroom, just like our human forms had once been. At least some parts of us could enjoy the closeness, although not sentient. 

My heart lurched in my chest, dying to let him know I had kept it after all this time-- I concluded that today wasn't the day. If Roman was taking small steps like these, I needed to match his tempo. This time, it was me chasing him, after all. "I'd have loved to meet this guy," I said, allowing myself a faint smile. "You Godfreys are one hell of a bunch."

Roman shrugged, finally moving again. "Hell, indeed,"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When is a monster not a monster?

Oh, when you love it.

Oh, when you used to sing it to sleep.

I could feel it clear as night-- the dream I had been having every night since the murder was back, and I knew it because of how soft Roman's hair felt against my fingertips. I gently held him in my arms and pressed my lips to his temple as softly as the first snowflake falls onto land. Roman's skin was smooth, cold to the touch; I wanted to warm him. Wanted to keep him forever, wanted to get us both to the temperature of warm glass so that we could melt into one another and become encased in the restraints of our love. 

When he moved, when his soft lips met mine, I could feel them against my mouth-- the sharp edges of his teeth. They were small for now, so small that no one would notice something was off unless they knew. Cute little fangs, like milk teeth for a baby upir, still waiting for the real deal to come in when he'd grow into the creature he was meant to be.

They grazed against my bottom lip, careful not to nick skin. Roman's breath was warm, a contrast to the rest of him, and my breath hitched, a small moan leaving me as he filled me up over and over-- I pulled him closer, and he let me. How could he ever deny me? In my dreams, he'd certainly never. I arched up against him, whimpering with the pleasure I had so dearly missed.

Roman groaned like it hurt to hold back what he wanted to do to me, his hips stuttering against mine as his hand interlocked my hair, forcing me to expose more of my neck with the first rough pull of the night. No longer holding back any of his desires, Roman's cock dragged into me over and over with the sweetest of rhythms, the tip pressing against the spot he knew made my jaw quiver against him, and his tongue licked a wet line above the thrumming of my heartbeat along my neck. 

My fingers pulled into a fist in his hair, whimpering beneath him-- "I love you," I breathed, kissing the top of his head, anywhere where I could reach.

Roman hummed against my throat, his upir fangs dragging a little harder over my pulse. "Why would anyone love a monster?" he whispered, a sliver of restraint coating his voice.

It was hard to answer now that my legs pulled around his waist, dragging him deeper into me, and I caused myself further ruin, all for the pleasure. Getting filled up by Roman, my love, was all I ever wanted in life. "Who are you to decide who-- a-ah, who's worthy of love?"

At that, he slowly raised his head, lips parted, eyes narrowed like he was scanning me for lies, like he was waiting for me to say something contradictory, to say something that would hurt him beyond everything I had already done. Roman's green eyes met mine-- there was something ancient there. Maybe every Godfrey had looked at someone like this, with the tiny fragment of hope their generational curse hadn't manage to strip them of?

Roman didn't answer-- his forehead pressed to mine, and for a moment, we just breathed. Our chests moved together, hearts pounding in sync, and the sweat cooling on our skin only made his coldness feel sharper; evidence of what he was, of what I had embraced. 

He kissed me again, slower now. Devotional.

Every kiss a thrumming repetition of I'm yours, I'm yours, you're mine.

I'm yours, I'm yours, you're mine.

His thrusts deepened, burying his cock in me to the hilt, and I could only clench around him. I had missed the stretch, missed the sting, missed the dizzying pleasure. So when Roman's kisses burned into my skin for all of eternity, he started travelling lower, like he was ready to mark the whole of me so that hell would know who I belonged to when I walked through the gates of damnation. 

I shivered as his lips trailed across my collarbone, each kiss paired with a rough snap of his cock, growing desperate. My hands slid through his hair, urging him on without a word; what could I possibly say? I had said enough. I didn't need to guide him-- he already knew where he was going.

Down.

Over the swell of my breast, just enough pressure to make me sigh and arch against him again.

Down.

To the center of my chest with purpose, with reverence.

Roman paused over my sternum. His hand came up to rest on the left side of my chest, right over my heart. He could feel it there-- thrumming like a caged bird against his palm. My breath hitched as his lips brushed the spot, featherlight.

A pair of dangerous green eyes flicked up to mine; dark and wide, pupils blown, lips parted. In the moonlight, I could spot the small shine of the moonlight against his fangs. And then, the words slipped my mind before I could stop them; 

"It's okay," I breathed. "Drink me where I love you most."

Roman's hips stilled, yet the twitch of his cock inside me gave away his instant excitement. I could see the way he melted at my bid. He didn't ask for confirmation, not wanting to deny himself the feed, before he kissed the skin above my heart one last time. I closed my eyes, feeling myself tremble beneath him as his mouth opened, followed by the scrape of his fangs.

"I love you," Roman whispered. "Forever."

And then he bit down.

It was a deep, brutal puncture-- the sound of the crack of bones would haunt me until the day I ceased to exist. His teeth dug straight through my skin, ripping through the layers of my body to get to my beating heart.

And it hurt, God how it hurt, but not in the way I expected it to. My veins were on fire as the blood drained from my system, and it burned as I could only sob and scream-- my soul had been cracked open and was pouring into him. My blood, my love, my fear, my rage, my want; all of it.

I cried like I had lost all that was dearest to me, cried like it was my first cry all over again as I clutched onto Roman's broad shoulders, digging my fingers into his skin like it'd do him the same harm, like it'd do my pain justice. But suddenly, something clicked-- it must've been death. It must've been the sweet lull of death turning this agony into pleasure. Because suddenly, I was writhing beneath Roman's body, pushing myself further down on his cock as he drank me, whimpering like I wanted him to keep fucking me to death.

With a groan, Roman's cock went deeper at my pleading request, harder, until every thrust drove me into peaceful silence. 

I wasn't crying from the pain anymore-- I was crying from the relief.

But when I awoke from this dream, I cried out with a shriek.

Drenched in sweat, I sat up in bed, heaving for air. My thighs were clenched together for relief, because even in my awake state, I felt like I was still getting fucked-- it was the oddest feeling. If I really focused, then I could still feel the pressure of Roman's mouth over my chest, and to relieve the burn that followed, I hammered my fist over my heart to battle the pain.

Grabbing my pillow, I let out a yell of pure and utter frustration into it-- I wasn't scared.

My Brooke-PTSD had somehow turned Roman's upirism into...

Something hot?

I knew I was fucked when I grabbed the vial of his blood by my nightstand and pressed it to my chest, right where he had bit me in my dream, and it worked. It stilled the erratic beating of my heart, it made the pain subside, yet, as I continued to rub my thighs together, feeling myself pulse in my soaked underwear, my breath refused to calm down. 

Tonight was different-- something in me shifted. I couldn't go on like this. I promised I'd give it more time, but I couldn't do it anymore.

With trembling hands, I let the vials lie against my chest as I reached for my phone. I searched through my contacts for the old name I used to have in my contacts, Romy Schneider, before I remembered the time I had changed it to Roman when we broke up the first time.

Was I about to do this? Was I about to call my ex in the middle of the night?--

Yes.

Yes, I was.

With a shaky breath, I dared to finally press the button I had wanted to press ever since the night Brooke died; it was time. I wasn't sure whether Roman was up at this hour of the night or not, whether he would answer, or--

My phone stopped beeping. He had answered. 

To my absolute horror, I was completely tongue-tied. I lay in bed, mouth wide open in shock that Roman was literally on the other side of the call; a stillness bloomed in the silence, fragile and waiting, like the air itself had braced for the weight of this call. It was long enough to hear the faint rustle of sheets on his end. 

"... Hello?" His voice was coated in sleep and something else I couldn't quite name, something that sounded like dread.

Okay, okay-- it was now or never. "The vials," I blurted out, curling further into myself on the bed, pressing the phone tighter to my ear like it could anchor me. "I mean-- hi, good night, or evening, or... whatever? Sorry for calling you so late, but you mentioned them earlier today, and I just-- I didn't get rid of yours, Roman. I lied."

The quiet on the other end stretched longer now. I could picture him sitting up, rubbing his face, trying to shake off the dream he was probably still half in, trying to decide whether to indulge my pathetic rant or not. "You're calling me... at three in the morning," he finally said, slow and deliberate, like he needed the words to catch up to his thoughts. "To talk about this?"

"... Yes,"

Another pause. A sharper inhale this time. "You're impossible," 

"I'm sorry," I pressed the vials to my chest, fingers trembling. I didn't know why I was saying any of this out loud. I hadn't planned it, but after the nightmare, after waking up soaked and breathless, heart hammering and thighs clenched like I'd been touched in real time, I couldn't hold it in anymore. "I saw you tonight," I breathed. "In my dreams. I dream of you every night, and I... I hate that that's the only place I see you." And just as I thought I couldn't get any more pathetic, it slipped past my lips-- "Do you ever dream of me too?"

Roman's response was strained, fragile around the edges; "Seriously, you have to stop this. Do you not hear me telling you that? You can't say shit like that to me right now,"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know if this is real," he snapped, groaning. "Because I'm half-asleep and you're... you're calling me about our blood and your dreams and... what do you want me to do with this? Are you trying to make me upset?"

"No! I-- I just needed you to know!"

Roman let out a shaky breath, shifting in his bed. Something told me he wasn't trying to suppress his annoyance anymore; "You're not letting me move on. When you call me like this, you're making it really fucking impossible for me, are you aware of that? Do you do this on purpose? We ended it, then you show up at my house today, and I think it's only fair that you!--"

"I still love you, Roman,"

Another pause. A ragged breath from him, like he had run a mile just lying in bed. "Stop it,"

"Hang up, then," I said, voice barely above a whisper.

His breath stilled-- that told me enough.

I sank deeper into the mattress, every nerve alive. My fingers tightened around the vials resting on my chest. The glass felt cool against my skin, grounding; at least he was here with me, in some form or another. "I know that I reacted... wrongly when I found out what you were, and I'm sorry," I said. "If I could take it all back, I would. Do you believe me when I say that?"

Roman's answer was immediate-- "No,"

I was crying before I realized it. Silent, hot tears spilling into my hair as I stared up into the dark. The vials trembled against my skin. "You once told me that you wouldn't be satisfied until I woke up and saw that I'm supposed to be with you and no one else. Do you remember that?"

"... You're really damn persistent, are you aware of that?--"

"Then you know what I feel for you," Saying that out loud felt like a huge exhale, and I continued; "I've chased you before, Roman, I can do it again. Don't you think we deserve another chance?"

I heard the mattress shift again on his end-- he was pacing, maybe. Standing in the dark, forehead pressed to a window somewhere in that too-big house of his. "You've ruined me," he breathed. "You've left me in ruins."

"I love you,"

"I have no chances to give,"

"I love you,"

"You've fucking ruined me,"

I squeezed my eyes shut. "We've both made mistakes," I whispered, wiping my tears to no avail. "But I think I'll love you forever."

Forever.

Roman didn't respond right away. I could hear him breathing, shallow and uneven, like he was trying not to scream. This was the kind of silence that only comes when someone is holding themselves together by the thinnest thread. I held the phone tighter, wishing it could bridge the distance, wishing I could crawl through the receiver and be with him.

"I wish you hadn't called," Roman finally said. "Everything just hurts."

"Then let me help you feel better," I tried, broken and desperate. "Come over, Rome."

"... What?" Roman let out a bitter, breathy laugh, one that held no humor; "You're unbelievable. Do you even know what you're asking?"

"No, no, it's-- I didn't mean sex!--"

"Right... Should've known,"

"Rome, come on, it's not! I swear, I just... I just want to hold you," I said. "I can't breathe when you're not near, and I-- I miss your eyes. Your gorgeous, green eyes, and your soft hair against my fingers, and how peaceful you look in your sleep... I miss you. I miss sleeping next to you."

The silence that ensued was so quiet that I thought Roman had hung up, until he finally said; "Not tonight,"

A fresh wave of emotions rose in my throat. "Please," I whispered, allowing my breath to hitch as my tears doubled. "Please, Roman-- please."

"I can't,"

"I love you,"

"I need time," he breathed. "I need you to give me time."

Something in my chest shifted-- it was like he had lifted a ton off my shoulders. To hear Roman giving me a sliver of hope after this dreadful week felt like a blessing from all the Gods I didn't believe in. "I have all the time in the world,"

I heard a faint rustle, maybe him wiping his face. Was he not going to say anything? The silence buzzed, and I grasped the moment; "... Will you at least come to school tomorrow?" I asked, barely louder than a whisper. "Please?"

He let out a bitter, tired breath. "God, you don't give up, do you?"

"I just want to see you. I know we're broken up, but... this is agony,"

"So you're going back to staring at me from afar?"

... Yes. "I'll settle for that for now," I had forgotten that Roman knew about how obsessed I was with him before we got together. I had forgotten it too, to be honest-- repressed it, probably.

"For now?"

"For now," 

"What does that mean?"

"That this isn't temporary," I mumbled. "When this murder business is over, you'll see."

"... Christ," I could hear the rustle of him pulling the phone away, maybe checking the time again. I heard him curse under his breath before he spoke again, quiet, resigned, and wrecked; "Fine, I'll come to school."

I blinked up at the ceiling through the tears that still clung to my lashes. "Thank you," I whispered, trying not to sound too relieved. 

Roman didn't reply, but the silence felt less sharp now. Warmer, somehow. I imagined him sitting down at the edge of his bed with one hand over his eyes, exhausted by everything, yet still choosing to say; "And I do, by the way,"

"... Do what?"

Roman sighed, sniffling; "Dream of you. Always,"

(a/n: EEK THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS FARRRRR MWAH MWAH<3333 ILY)

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[softlymellow]

The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 8

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 3.2k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw, angstttt

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

"You knew nothing."

Obi-wan sat across a seemingly asleep Dev. His eyes carefully watched the way his chest would rise and fall, rise and fall. 

He couldn’t help but feel for the poor boy. A path led astray because of despair. Agony. Pain from losing loved ones. Dev felt the things that Jedi shouldn’t be feeling. He could pretend he was okay but those feelings would never go away. Not really. 

Dev’s hair fell across his face, his blonde hair appearing much darker than it is. Dev’s hands remained cuffed but under his head. 

Obi-wan didn’t believe in surface level peace. Not anymore. 

Obi-wan stared at Dev for longer than he should, his eyes studying his behaviour until it crept towards the corner where a bag was. The force was quiet but he still felt it poke him. 

Getting up, he crept to the corner of the room where Dev’s satchel was tossed when he was brought in. He crouched, his fingers brushing against the leather fabric.

It felt heavier than it looked.

Carefully, he unzipped the main flap. A cloth wrapped around a cylinder. 

Obi-wan paused. He unwrapped it.

And inside was just as he suspected. 

A lightsaber. 

It was worn. Dark. It was scarred. Not like how a Jedi would maintain their lightsaber. Obi-wan’s hands moved to ignite the lightsaber— A flicker. 

The force had shifted and there was a clatter on the ground. 

The saber flew from Obi-wan’s grasp with a fast whiiiiip. Obi-wan’s eyes widened as he spun his body around only to see the saber in Dev’s cuffed hands. No longer cuffed as he speedily cut down his restraints. 

With no time to waste, Obi-wan immediately reached for his own saber but Obi-wan’s lack of anticipation was no match for Dev’s patience. Dev’s foot slammed onto chest, sending him flying back against the wall. 

Smirking, Dev spun his saber with his left arm. Having not spun his saber for a while, his wrists twisting felt more relieving than it did when it was cuffed. The room illuminated in an old blue as Dev menacingly walked up to a groaning Obi-wan on the ground. Ready to strike. 

–-------

You felt the force stir you awake. Your vision was groggy and your muscles were aching. 

The sound of a loud crash jolted you completely awake and you sat up immediately. 

What the hell is going on?

Another crash. 

You scrambled to your feet, your heart thumping and your hand hovering over your blaster pistol. 

Anakin came running in, his own electrifying blue lightsaber on and ready for battle. 

“Stay here!” He snapped, without looking at you and already making his way into Dev and Obi-wan’s room. 

You followed anyway, your heart thumping against your chest and sweat beading off your forehead. You weren’t expecting to see Obi-wan pinned to the floor but his lightsaber out just in time to block against Dev. 

Blue on blue. 

The two lightsabers clashed and sparks of light burst everywhere. The sabers continuingly made a cracking sound as Obi-wan tried his hardest to push back Dev’s lightsaber — Dev being above him made this extremely difficult. 

Dev was snarling and Obi-wan gritted his teeth as both men pushed against each other. 

“DEV!” You shrieked, your eyes widened at the sight across you. 

For a split second, your voice was enough to distract Dev. Obi-wan took the advantage and shoved his hand out, the force pushing him away. Dev stumbled back before regaining control of himself. 

It was then, his face transformed. His lowered eyebrows and his squinting blue eyes directed towards a now standing Obi-wan were instead pointed to you, but his tightlipped mouth changed to a mocking smile. 

“You really are just a dumb little Jedi,” He chuckled without any humour. 

“Dev?” You watched as he took small, but carefully planned steps towards you. “What are you doing?”

Your eyes moved towards the lightsaber, the way he gripped it with familiarity. The way his wrists twirled the lightsaber once —lazily and effortlessly— like he had done it a million times before. 

“You really thought I would help you Jedi scum?” His eyes narrowed in flames. “Like I gave a shit about you in Jakku?” 

“What?”

“The Jedi betrayed me!” He snarled, causing you to flinch. His lightsaber waved around like a crazed man, pointing between all three of you. “I lost the ones I loved because of them!”

“-And you led me straight to them.” He menacingly said. 

“Dev, stop. What are you talking about?”

“I was once just like you.” He admitted. 

“Dev…” You shook your head ‘no’, making steady steps backwards as Dev continued to make steps towards you. 

“Now I’ll finish off what I started.” He tilted his head, his eyes sharp. 

“Get behind me.” Anakin instructed, his much larger and more built figure stepped in front of you, his lightsaber ignited and ready for battle. 

The air felt sharp and tension bounced off the walls. 

Dev pulled his arms back high, ready to strike. 

And you?

You just stood there. Useless. His words hit you like a brick wall. How had you not noticed? Those moments where he would say something with hidden meaning. When he recognised almost immediately that you were a jedi. Calling the Republic corrupt. Saying that he knew more than you. You were so trapped in yourself that all those moments flew past you. And now you were paying the consequences. 

Dev brought his lightsaber down to Anakin, and with no time wasted they began to battle. 

It was strike after strike. He kept pushing Anakin with fury that it almost felt mechanical. Their lightsabers screamed and their boots scuffed against the floor. Energy crackled at every collision. Anakin held himself back slightly, he is a Jedi, but Dev did not. Yet still, they were even. 

“You’re only making this worse for yourself!” Anakin yelled, gritting his teeth as he fought back. 

Anakin ducked below as Dev let out a deep frustrated growl and his saber came swinging above his head before he brought it down by his side.

Without hesitation, Obi-wan joined him, catching the blow that would’ve split Anakin in half. Dev grinned as both Jedi began to make their advances towards himself.

The three bodies moved like lightning. Anakin was aggressive. Obi-wan composed. But Dev was angry. 

This wasn’t the same Dev you knew and grew to trust. The Dev you knew was the Dev that celebrated your one year working together a couple nights ago. It was the Dev who took her in and covered her with his jacket on a cold night in Jakku. But here, he was snarling and ignited a blade that was meant for her. 

Dev spun low, aiming for Obi-wan’s legs. He needed either one of them. At least one of them alive so he aimed for the non vital organs. Obi-wan lept, twisting up above and landing behind Dev. Dev barely brought his blade up in time. It was then that Anakin lunged in a heartbeat. 

And Dev…

Dev struggled, catching both blades at once. An electrifying hum rattled the room. Both Jedi’s sabers forced Dev’s own saber down. Inch by inch.

You just stood there. 

Not cumbled and not crying. Just frozen.None of this was real. You could fight and you knew it. You could pull out your lightsaber clipped onto your belt, leap in and draw it. But you couldn’t fight him. And that was worse. 

“You were going to kill her,” Obi-wan said, breathless. 

“I was going to use her,” He seethed. 

Anakin moved before the words could even leave his mouth. He deliberately slammed his boot against Dev’s limp knee and watched as he staggered back on the floor. His lightsaber fell from his grip and without a second thought, Anakin snarled and his heel connected with the hilt of the saber. The saber skidded away before Dev could grab it and rolled across the floor by your feet. 

“You think this is funny?” Anakin growled. “You think this is a game?”

Dev was panting, the palm of his hands scratched and scraped with blood. “I was going to let her live, you know,” he coughed, “after I got my bounty.”

Anakin stood over Dev, his chest heaving and the tip of his lightsaber inches away from his face. Dev’s face illuminated with blue, yet it made the shadows of face darker. 

Obi-wan gently pulled Anakin back, his lightsaber off. “We need him alive. This is not the Jedi way.” 

Anakin gritted his teeth as he fought himself back from delivering blows to his face with his own fist. Instead he kept his lightsaber drawed near him, afraid that he would take advantage of this moment. 

Looking down by your feet was Dev’s lightsaber. Kneeling down, you picked it up. Your fingers caressed the scars left on the hilt. Both physical and mental. 

Your eyes met with Dev, his gaze on you. It was direct. Almost apologetic. But you didn’t know anymore. There was nothing you knew. 

You knew nothing. 

You turned your back on him and into the hallway. You weren’t going to cry. Or ask why. You were done doing that. 

You didn’t owe him anything. 

You just buried another part of yourself, that’s all. 

You’ve done that before. 

The constant humming of an alive and healthy engine was soothing. It felt much calmer and peaceful than the ships Dev and you would take, it was almost nostalgic in a way. The Republic’s tax money was being put into good use. 

You sat by the view port at the back of the ship, your knees brought to your chest and your arms resting on top. Your eyes were fixed on the blur of stars outside. 

Dev was two corridors back. 

The Jedi cruiser had a red-lit forcefield cell, perfect for prisoners. 

The walk to the cruiser was silent. Dev was fully restrained and patted down by Obi-wan. Making sure he had no other tricks up his sleeves. Anakin still won’t talk to you, not that you wanted to anyway. Obi-wan also didn’t talk to you, but for different reasons. It was rather to give you your own space, understanding that the shock of Dev’s betrayal would have hit you hard. The protests had died down. Padme had contacted both Anakin and Obi-wan that the Senate was making a statement about Corellia and were now putting forward plans for a speech and aid relief.

Thankfully, Obi-wan made the decision to fly after the protests died down. If he hadn’t, the hyperspace travel would have been over eight hours to reach Coruscant with congested lanes and tight security. The trip now had an estimated time of arrival of 2 hours. It was a regular military exit after a mission and not at all a priority jump. Yet still, Obi-wan and Anakin’s military and Jedi status did give them a hot ticket to the top of the line. 

You were okay though, really. Just numb. You handed Dev’s lightsaber to Obi-wan without a word, just wanting to get it away from you as fast as possible. He wasn’t who you thought he was. If anything, you almost felt embarrassed that the one person you had trusted with your life would pull a stunt like that in front of Obi-wan and Anakin. It felt belittling. 

Obi-wan and Anakin were in the cockpit, the complete opposite end of the ship from you. But it was a small cruiser, so it was much closer than you thought. Obi-wan played with the control panel, rerouting through Jedi clearance codes. Anakin sat beside him, he was the better pilot but this was a quiet trip back home. He stretched his arms above him, his muscles and his mind aching. 

Anakin had made the decision to no longer acknowledge you or your presence. You were here —yes— but a different person. He did feel conflicted though. He felt almost protective of you still, especially with the way Dev approached and spoke about you. 

You played with the hem of your shirt absentmindedly, in front of you were additional security hologram displays; one at the front of the ship and one at the back. The hologram illuminated the room with a dull blue and on it were many different viewpoints. 

The entrance. The exit. Corridors. Dev’s holding cell where he was slumped against the wall. And the cockpit. Where Obi-wan and Anakin sat. 

You weren’t supposed to be watching at all, but the console was still logged in with Obi-wan’s credentials. And it was transmitting live. Tapping on the screen, you enlarged the view. 

Onscreen was the cockpit, but away from the control panel was a circular table. And on the table was another hologram. But what piqued your interest was Obi-wan and Anakin moving away from the panels and towards said hologram. As if on queue, a projection of the Jedi council was brought to life. 

Mace Windu. Plo Koon. Master Yoda. Ki-Adi-Mundi. Saesee Tiin.

The human sized projections of them came to life as they all individually surrounded said table, but instead they were transparent blue. 

You watched as Obi-wan and Anakin mouth moved as they spoke to the council. The video was mute, you could turn it up but part of you still had morals, so you decided against it. 

Mace Windu crossed his arms, his own mouth moving with Yoda nodding to whatever he was saying. And then, with a flick of the wrist by Obi-wan, an image of you came to life. Your portrait taken when you first joined the Order as only a padawan. 

Fuck that. 

You twisted a small knob on the bottom right of your own screen, the sound filtering in. 

“-She has clearly strayed,” Mace said. “Whether or not she was manipulated is irrelevant.” 

Scoffing, you knelt in closer, your teeth gnawing at your lips nervously. You didn’t really like Mace so this didn’t hurt you much, it just felt offending. 

“She never returned, she is not a Jedi anymore.” Ki-Adi-Mundi added, his fingers stroking his beard, deep in thought. 

“We aren’t sure what her motives are now,” Mace Windu added. 

The image of you flickering, like a memory nobody wanted to claim. And then, Obi-wan spoke.

Obi-wan furrowed his eyebrows, he glances at Anakin before speaking. But he spoke calmly. Controlled. “She’s not a threat.”

“She was working with one,” Mace Windu said flatly. 

“With all due respect, she is a Jedi.” Obi-wan said, but concern etched onto his face. “This is not some stranger.”

“Too much time among criminals may blurr her loyalties.” Saesee Tiin added, arms folded. “The Jedi code isn’t something you can abandon and return to at will.”

The room was turning and you were being picked apart. Judged and dissected. Yes– it wasn’t an official meeting for judgement yet it felt like it. 

Your own face stared back at you. Younger, softer, a small smile projected. Hopeful. You couldn’t recognise her. 

Obi-wan didn’t speak again. Instead his eyes lingered on the image of you longer than the others. Trying to find a lie. But it wasn’t there. He kept replaying the moment when he walked alongside you captured, how you didn’t protest or fight back. The way you flinched when Dev yelled at you. How you willingly gave back his lightsaber. 

Obi-wan had checked on you more than he needed to. Because he didn’t believe you were a threat. Part of him didn’t know what to do anymore as the masters beside him spoke like they had already sealed your fate. Funnily enough, no one had mentioned Dev once. It was because his outcome was predetermined -being a known fugitive- while yours was unexpected.

And then, Plo Koon who has been silent —his arms folded and his eyes weighing with memory — steps forward. 

“We failed Ahsoka by letting her walk alone. We will not do the same here,” He inhaled deeply. The thought of Ahsoka aching him, the same girl who he helped raise. “Y/n, was a child of the Order. She was raised in our halls, she fought alongside us, she followed our teachings.”

His voice lowered. “We lost her. We owe her a path home.” No one interrupted him. Not even Mace. 

Plo’s words hung heavy in the room. They were carrying a sense of redemption, but not only for Y/n, Ahsoka too.

Deep down, Obi-wan wondered. If they had allowed Ahsoka to leave so easily and turned on you just as fast…how long until they turned on everyone?

There was a beat of silence. And Anakin’s gaze flicked to the hologram of you. The same girl who he grew up with and fell in love with. It was just a flick. Then away. 

And then—

Anakin spoke. 

“You’re wasting time defending someone who wouldn’t hesitate to leave again.”

It was like a stab in the gut. 

Anakin’s chest burned. He could feel all eyes on him, heavy, questioning. He forced his chin up, trying his hardest to look composed. When Anakin spoke it was like his voice had been pulled from somewhere far colder. 

“Let her answer for her own actions,” he clenched his jaw. 

Your breath hitched as you watched the way Anakin spoke about you like you were a nobody. Like you were a traitor. Like he didn’t know you. 

“Conflicted, she is…But lost…perhaps not.” 

Yoda said, breaking the tension. 

You leaned back into your seat, your eyes wide and your throat tightening. 

You turned off the transmission, not wanting to hear anymore. Rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands, you groaned. He didn’t even defend you. He didn’t say you were innocent. It sounded like he didn’t even want you back. 

There was nothing more you could do. You would just let the council decide your fate. It seemed fifty-fifty as of now. But you at the back of the cruiser instead of a cell locked away told you enough. 

But now you would just rest. Rest until you reached ‘home’. 

-----------

Anakin rested in the small compact sleeping quarters, one arm under his head and the other across his chest. It wouldn’t be more than an hour until they reached Coruscant but his mind was racing nonstop. 

He could feel your presence in the next room over. He would be lying if he said it didn’t feel awkward or strange. The one person he was longing for was finally here and he wasn’t able to reach out to you in the same way. 

He could still see your face when he closed his eyes. 

He remembered how you used to talk in your sleep. Shift under the covers and mumble his name. The way his fingers would caress the sides of your face as he would look at you lovingly. 

But now?

He didn’t know if you still dreamt about him.

He hated how much he wanted you to. 

And worse–

He wanted you to feel the same pain he went through. He wanted you to feel what he felt. When you had just abandoned him. When he tried his best to search and search for you everyday, when he would speak to comms at the late of night expressing his love for you. He would yearn for the moment the device would blink orange and he could hear your voice through the machine.

He wanted you to know that while you were out doing dirty work he was using every free second to search for you. 

And what confused him the most was that he wasn’t sure if you still would want him back. 

Not after what he has said to you. 

Not after her. 

Not after everything. 

A/N: i hope u guys like it !!!!!!! also lowk love obiwan so much hes always looking out for y/n anakin is such an angsty teenage brat LMK WHAT U GUYS THINKKKK!!!!

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper @f1wh0recom @green-lxght @bettysgardenswift @heyitsbeeeb @user-3113s-blog @fandomhoe101 @veronaspencil @zudooms

if u want to be added or removed lmk!

[hwasoup]

Tale As Old As Time

Playlist !!

songs used for inspo: Prologue (the enchantress), Main Title: Prologue, Act 1 Pas d'action rose adage

art credit goes to Marbipa

Warnings: none for now

words: 518

chapter 1>>

Prologue

Once upon a time… in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a beautiful castle...

The prince was spoiled, foolish, arrogant, and unkind. He exploited the nearby villages to fill his castle with the most beautiful things whether that would be jewelry, furniture, and women. He would have extravagant balls in his castle and even mistreated the servants who served him…

It was a cold and snowy night. It was the prince’s 20th birthday; he held a party with all the riches anyone could imagine. He danced, wined, and played around with his objects. The prince enjoyed his birthday lavishly while not caring that his servants were being almost trampled on. The party continued on for hours until there was a knock on the castle doors, he opened the door and looked down to see a poor beggar woman. “Please sir…accept this single rose in exchange for shelter from the bitter cold” she weakly said. The prince huffed and laughed in her face “As if, I don't need a rose from such an old woman from you…besides I have all the roses that I could ever have...” 

The guests in the party laughed along as well as they mocked the beggar woman. Before the prince was even able to close the door on her, she muttered something softly “do not be deceived by appearances for beauty is found within...” The prince looks at her annoyed and dismisses her again. Then all of a sudden, a bright light emanated from the old woman, her ugliness melting away, her form changing, her appearance suddenly becoming more youthful to reveal a beautiful, giant, and terrifying enchantress. The prince in shock fell on his knees and stared in awe as all of his guests screamed and ran away from the castle, away from what the enchantress might do. “NO, NO... Please… HAVE MERCY ON ME... I WAS WRONG” the prince said, as he wept and begged for forgiveness. However, it was too late…the enchantress could see that there was no love in his heart, she pointed the rose at him and as punishment she transformed him into a hideous beast. The prince cried in agony as his limbs and appearance changed, he became larger, furrier, his hands became paws, his crimson eyes became red, his cries became roars. The enchantress also placed a powerful spell on the castle and on all who lived there. 

Ashamed of his horrid appearance, the prince shunned himself inside the castle with only a magic mirror as his only way to peer into the world outside the castle. The rose that the enchantress offered, was in actuality an enchanted rose which would bloom for many years. If the prince learned how to love someone and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell from the rose, the spell would be broken. If not…he would be doomed to become a beast for all eternity. As the days turned into months and eventually years… the prince fell into a deep despair and lost all hope 

.....For whom could ever learn…to love a beast?

[hannie-dul-set]

나비 / NABI — ONE.

SYNOPSIS. in which you’re trying your damned best to willfully ignore your feelings for your friend of over twenty years, but— as always— life seems to have a different plan paved out for you.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRE. childhood friends to not quite friends (derogatory) to not quite friends (endearment) to lovers, romance, humor, hurt/comfort but more on comfort, coming of age, slowburn, college! au, “it’s always been you” trope, pining, tons of denial, beomgyu is the only man ever, featuring a large ensemble of idols from various groups. WARNINGS. swearing, explicit language, alcohol consumption, rumors as a plot device, mentions of sex, a few minor injuries. WORD COUNT. 9k (out of 40k).

NOTE. hehe...it’s here. this first part is a little short and slow, but things are gonna start picking up from here! please let me know what you think so far 😭😭 half my soul was injected into writing the entirety of this i will never be the same again 💔 also, i recommend listening to beomgyu’s covers while reading this and the upcoming chapters HAHA anyhow, please enjoy!

모기 / MOGI — ONE — TWO — THREE

YOU STILL DON’T LIKE CHOI BEOMGYU. Ever since you and he reconciled and publicly became friends again, your life has never known quiet— all thanks to the countless insects constantly buzzing around him, and by consequence around you, every damn day. And it’s not like you can keep avoiding him. Choi Beomgyu has made the executive decision to take advantage of the guilt you’ve been feeling, so for the past month, you’ve been a slave to his whims. 

Responding to 3AM ice cream runs even though you’re swamped with assignments. Going to parties hosted by people you don’t know the fucking names of because he keeps calling you a boring loser. And, the cherry on top, having to deal with Lee Heeseung’s even more annoying presence, just like how you’d predicted he’d behave if he ever finds out you and Beomgyu are friends.

Which he did. Much to your despair and agony.

“Beomgyu, your girlfriend’s here to see you.”

Case in point. You spare him nothing but an eye roll when he lets you in the clubroom of the, ahem, coding club. You’re here because Beomgyu texted you to fetch him a matcha latte and since you’re playing as his slave at the moment (and until your patience runs out), you obliged out of the kindness of your heart, only to get a truckload of teasing in return.

“Oh, hey, what’s up,” Yeonjun throws you a peace sign from their worn out sofa by the door the moment you enter. He’s accompanied by a good number of chip bags on the cushions.

“Hey,” Hanbin greets you as well when you pass by their alleged meeting table. Which, by the way, has stacks of leftover takeout containers and some empty, some half-empty plastic jugs of water. “Beomgyu is on the computer.”

“Thanks,” you tell him. This clubroom is a fucking gremlin hole.

“You know what.” Your path towards Choi Beomgyu is interrupted by Hyunjin, suddenly popping out of the half-wall separating the lounge area from the computers at the back. You jump, because what the fuck? “My heart races everytime you come here. I still get flashbacks from the day you threatened to wreck our safe haven. I think you gave me PTSD.”

Ah, yes. That day. That was eventful. It was the first time you’ve seen Choi Beomgyu cry.

“Serves you right, gossip snorter,” you say. “Out of the way, I have business to deal with.”

Hyunjin indeed gets out of your way, and there he reveals a row of four computers lined up against the wall with their assigned nerds mashing on the keyboards and yelling profanities at matching game screens. You zero in on the one on the far left corner. Surprisingly, Beomgyu is relatively calm compared to the others. You tap on his shoulder. He turns his head around.

“Oh,” he says, pulling his office chair back from out of the desk with a swivel while removing the headphones from his ears and letting them rest around his neck. You notice Jeongin seated beside him, who looks up at you only for a moment only to flinch back to the screen. “You’re here?”

No, shit. You jangle the latte in front of his face, head cocked, and he reaches out for it. But then you quickly jerk back your hand before he can snatch it from you. “Nuh-uh. Pay up.”

“Tch,” Beomgyu clicks his tongue and shoots you a bitter look. “Hyung, can you toss me my jacket?”

Someone from behind does indeed toss him his jacket, and at that very moment as well, Heeseung decides that it’s a great time to indulge in his newly founded hobby. “Hey, how about me? Why didn’t you get me a drink?” He joins the already crowded crevice in the back and swings an arm around your shoulder. “You get a boyfriend and forget all your friends. Have you forgotten that you two got together because of me? I’m hurt, I’m so hurt.”

Your face scrunches up. “Literally, how many times do I have to tell you he’s not my boyfriend.” You elbow Heeseung off, eliciting another whine from him. When your eyes snap back at Beomgyu, you see that he’s preoccupied with going through wallet. You kick his chair. “Say something, dipshit.”

Beomgyu hands you a bill and exchanges it with the matcha latte. You wait for him to speak. He takes a long sip, pulls his face away from the straw with a grimace, hands back the drink to you, then says, “What she said.”

You look at him, drink now back in your hands.

“What the fuck?”

“Keep it,” he says, putting his headphones back on. “Don’t you have class?”

Your jaw clenches. Fucker made you run an errand for nothing. He gives you an asshat smile of goodbye then spins his chair back to his computer. You scoff and smack the back of his head, causing his headphones to slip off. “Bye.”

“Hey!”

“Later,” Heeseung bids you off, and it’s followed by a chorus of goodbyes from the inhabitants of the testosterone infested, stinky gamer cave. Seriously, every time you drop by here, you feel an ounce of your soul shriveling up and rotting away. Yeonjun very politely opens the door for you. You hear one of them yell out before you leave.

“Come over tomorrow. Hanbin hyung’s treating us to pizza!”

And with that, you’re finally free, matcha latte in hand and a desire to breathe in some fresh air because you’re pretty sure the air is polluted in there. But still. It’s been a lot easier to breathe recently than when you two weren’t on good terms.

“Saved you a seat.”

You make it to class two minutes before the schedule. Minjeong proudly taps on the seat next to her, and you take the invitation. “As you should,” you hum, taking out your notes from your bag, and not long after Sungchan arrives and lands on the spot next to you.

It’s the week before finals. Prof Shin starts the class and decides to fuck all of your study schedules by giving a last minute assignment due next week as well. 

“Does this guy want to give us depression before the summer or some shit?” Minjeong complains the moment your professor leaves the lecture hall.“I swear to god, if another prof gives us an assignment due over the break, I’m killing myself.”

“You two have plans over the break?” asks Sungchan, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and the three of you head out for lunch, funneling out into the hallway along with the rest of your blockmates.

“I’m going home,” says Minjeong.

“I have summer classes,” you answer.

Sungchan stops in his tracks. “You serious?” 

“Yup.”

“You bet on it.”

He looks at the both of you like you’re a bunch of withering old ladies and he’s very much unimpressed. “Make some time for the last week. I’m throwing the wildest summer rager and you two can’t miss it.”

You’re pretty sure you replied with something along the lines of an agreement, but you’re not quite sure. The thought completely slips out of your head throughout the next week because, well, finals. And before you know it, your first semester of uni comes to a close, and summer comes crashing in at full swing.

#1: YOU STILL DON’T LIKE HIM FOR WASTING SO MUCH OF YOUR TIME. It’s eight in the morning. Monday. You’re standing in front of Choi Beomgyu’s door.

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s the start of your summer semester so you thought you ought to make something healthy just to kick things off on a good note, but as you were scavenging ingredients for fried rice, you realized you were out of salt so that’s why you’re here. You knock on his door again, three times, and you manage to finish watching five more Instagram reel clips before Beomgyu finally answers the door.

Creak.

“Took you long eno—”

You’re caught off guard by the mop of shaggy hair greeting you, clearly having just woken up. His eyebrows are knitted together while he lets out a yawn. He’s in a tank top. It rides up a little when he stretches his arm to reach for an itch on his back.

“What?” he rasps with a grunt, squinting at you after he’s finally settled himself into reality. “Why the hell are you up so early?”

You clear your throat. “Got any salt?”

Beomgyu blinks at you, processing your words. Then he steps back, points a thumb towards his kitchen, and nudges his head in the same direction. “Go crazy.”

With that, Beomgyu lets you monopolize his kitchen cupboards while he flops onto the sofa. You laugh seeing him practically melt into the cushions. He’s never been a morning person. You’re pretty sure he fell asleep like three hours ago.

“I’m gonna steal some of your chives too,” you inform. Beomgyu makes a muffled noise that you assume is a yes, so you go ahead and take the liberty. When you pop out of his kitchen area, you see him in a not very spine-healthy posture on the same sofa while scrolling through his phone. “I’ll drop off some bokkeumbap later.”

Beomgyu’s eyes flit up from his phone and he wiggles into a more normal position. “Do you have plans today?”

“Class,” you answer on your way back out.

“It’s summer?” he says. “Did your dumb ass get your calendars mixed up?”

You roll your eyes, stopping right before the door with your hand on the knob and turn your head to face him. “I thought I could use the early credits so I won’t have to take too many classes in my fourth year. So I could focus on my internship and all.”

There’s a pause. You can see the three dots slowly appearing in succession above Beomgyu’s bedhead. “Oh,” he says. There’s a drop in his voice. Only for a second. “Well, have fun, nerd.”

You stick your tongue out and leave his apartment with your borrowed goods, returning once more after you’ve finished cooking to give him a portion. Honestly, without the food your moms send over, you’re pretty sure he’d be living exclusively off of takeout.

Anyhow, you head to campus for your first summer lecture, and— for the first time god knows how long— your entire day is spent with a lingering, and almost unusual echo of quiet.

“That’s it for our syllabus. We’ll be starting our full swing of classes next week. See you.”

When you exit the lecture hall, the hallway is near empty. The courtyard too, with only a few students littered about underneath the midday sun. It’s so quiet, it’s weird. Around this time, you’d usually be having lunch with Sungchan and Minjeong, sometimes Beomgyu, sometimes Heeseung, but that brat’s not around right now either because he’s on vacation. 

Not having anything to do, you decide to stop by the campus cafe— Horangnabi. You don’t go here often, committed to the shop near your apartment because, well, it’s more convenient for your morning coffees, but you weren’t able to grab one earlier since you cooked breakfast. Might as well get a latte before you leave campus.

“Hi, welcome!”

You’re greeted by the barista, and like most of campus, it’s pretty empty inside as well. "A spanish latte, please. Iced.” While making your order, a sign on the counter catches your eye.

Part-timers, now hiring. You blink, letting it settle for a moment. Maybe for too long of a moment, because the whir of the milk frother snaps back your attention. 

“Are you interested?” 

The barista slides you your drink over the counter with a smile. You take it and press your lips together in a moment of thought. 

You only have classes on Mondays and Wednesdays, and it’s too inconvenient, not to mention expensive to go home, back and forth from Seoul to Daegu and vice versa, on the days in between. Most of your friends are on vacation or went back to their hometowns over the break so you have no one to hang out with over the summer. And you could use the extra money.

“I don’t have any experience, though,” you tell her.

“That’s fine. You’ll get a few days of training,” she answers.

Tempting. You’re almost convinced. “What if I just want to work for the summer? Can I quit when the next semester starts?”

“A lot of students do that,” she hums. You see her take a square of tissue paper from the display, jotting down a series of numbers before sliding it over to you as well. “Julie. Call me if you wanna take the bait.”

You spare one more second to ponder. Then you take the number from under her fingers and carefully stuff it into your pocket. “Thanks.”

The heat has finally settled the moment you exit the cafe, a little bell jingle trailing you from behind, and you take a mental note to bring an umbrella with you from this day forward. Their coffee is good, you have to admit. If you work there for a good month or two, maybe you’d even end up saving cash by making your own drinks instead of having to buy them.

You decide to take the path through the parking lot to make your exit. There’s more trees around, meaning more shade because it’s really freaking hot. It’s very bare in the lot. You pass by a few cars, of which you assume belong to faculty and staff, until one of them honks at you, and you flinch to a halt.

Another honk. Your brows furrow. Looking around, you try to find the culprit, but you end up moving your head in just the right direction for the sun to beam its light directly into your eyes, blinding you temporarily, and you wince. God damn it. You hear another honk again, and you feel yourself start to get irritated. It’s coming from behind you. You spin your heels, vision still muddy from the direct sun attack, but nevertheless you start walking.

“Seriously, who the hell keeps fucking— oh!”

You bump into someone. You feel them balance you by your shoulders.

“You should’ve seen how dumb you looked.” You hear a snicker. Of fucking course, it’s Choi Beomgyu. Who else would it be? “But hey, you make a pretty good pigeon jerking your head around like that.”

“Fuck you,” you jab his arms off. “What are you even doing here?”

Beomgyu notices your coffee and takes a shameless sip from it before answering, “Get in the car. It’s so freaking hot out, jesus.” 

You don’t really have a choice because he practically shoves you into the passenger’s seat. So gentle. You nearly spill your drink all over when your ass lands on the leather cushion. 

“I was just about to sleep again after you dropped off the food earlier,” he explains while starting the car, and you watch him intently. Whenever your schedules matched, you’d sometimes go to and from uni together. But you can’t seem to get used to the image of your friend acting like a responsible adult. It’s fucking with you a bit. “But then I got a message from Prof Kim, asking if I could come by the office today.”

He pulls out of the parking lot, and the cool air finally settles into your skin. “For what?” Beomgyu lets out a groan. Must’ve been for a not great reason.

“The EMC department is hosting a conference of some sorts this year and he asked if I could be a volunteer facilitator, ask a few others from the department to help and join along too.”

“Oh? You gonna do it?”

“Ugh. I don’t know.” You pass through security out the main gate and start heading back to your apartment. “I wanted to come home over the break but the working days for this thing will apparently last throughout the summer. Prof Kim did say this will be minused from my volunteer hours, but I don’t know.” Beomgyu then gives you a side eye all of a sudden. “Speaking of. You undutiful daughter.”

“What?” you leer.

“Your mom hoped that you’d be home for the summer, too. Why didn’t you ask her first before enrolling for summer classes?”

“Why the hell do you two keep talking about me behind my back?” You’re shriveling up. Seriously, why does your mom contact him before you? This is getting ridiculous. “And I’m doing all this so I can graduate early and find a job early, by the way. I don’t even have a full week of classes so I can still come home the first week of July.”

Apparently, you two argued for long enough to finally reach your building. 

“Tell me when you plan on going home,” he says, leaning against the wall beside your door watching as you key in your passcode to your unit. 

“Obviously,” you roll your eyes, smiling. The door unlocks. You push it open. “You’re my free ride after all.” 

Now, your expected response from that is another retort from him, how you’ve been exploiting his kindness and whatnot and you’d have to snark back as well. But for some reason Beomgyu just stays quiet. He says nothing, an unreadable look on his face as he looks at yours. You raise a brow.

“What is it this time?”

Choi Beomgyu says nothing. He lifts up an arm, points his index finger near your face, and jabs his finger straight into your forehead.

“I’ll send you a review of your bokkeumbap later.” He laughs at your appalled expression.

“You’d be shocked to find out it’s better than my mom’s,” you say back, a hand tending to the spot he just attacked unprompted.

“You wish.”

“Eat shit.”

“Oh, I definitely will.” 

You send him a kick, which he dodges before fleeing into the safety of his apartment. Slippery bastard. Anyhow, you call it a day and settle into your own place. Few hours later, Beomgyu indeed sends you a review of your cooking with a photo of an empty dish attached. Three out of five, he says. Slippery bastard turned ungrateful bastard.

The next day, you’re at Horangnabi again. The night prior, you called Julie’s number and gave her the news that you’re in, and she told you to come an hour before opening so they can get you settled.

You come in with a greeting, and you see Julie look up from behind the counter to wave you in with a smile. “You’re here! Hanbin, come meet our new part-timer.”

At the mention of Hanbin’s name, you immediately double take, and emerging from the door to what you assume is the storage area is indeed the Hanbin you know from the coding club. 

“You!” you immediately shriek, almost feeling a hint of betrayal because this is the first time you’ve seen him in daylight, because their clubroom is always so fucking dark. And in something other than the god damned flannels everyone in their club is always so fond of wearing like it’s an unspoken uniform. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, so it is you!” Hanbin happily exclaims. “I thought it was just someone with the same name.”

Julie was delighted to find out you two already knew each other. You skip all the necessary introductions and jump in head first into getting acquainted with the equipment instead.

“We’ll go through all of the drinks first. I also have the recipes printed out over here in case you need reference.”

Having a familiar face in an unfamiliar workplace is indeed a pleasant surprise, but there’s also a familiar sense of dread to have one of Beomgyu’s coding club buddies in here. Granted, he doesn’t annoy or tease you as much as the others, but those guys have already given themselves a label in your head, and Sung Hanbin is no exception to your collective bad impression.

“And then you twist the handle— just like that.”

You’re in the middle of your first latte, the espresso machine up and running. After which, Hanbin teaches you how to use the milk steamer without any difficulty, and you pour the milk into the same cup as the espresso you made earlier. “Wow,” Hanbin remarks. “You’re pretty good at this.”

“I think it’s all thanks to the caffeine I’ve ingested,” you say. “Skill buff. Or whatever you guys say.”

Hanbin laughs and compliments your latte once more. Needless to say, it doesn’t take long for your discomfort to completely disappear because at this point in time, Beomgyu’s friends would already start asking you about him— where he is, why isn’t he with you, etcetera etcetera. But his name has not left Hanbin’s mouth even once, and it’s already the end of your first day.

“It’s always slow here, except on rare occasions, so you’ll be able to handle it with no problems,” Julie says before sending you off. “Anyway, Hanbin and I will be around during your shifts, so you can run to us in case a particularly grumpy student comes to order.”

Hanbin gives you a thumbs up and a bright grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

And that’s how you established your new routine for the rest of the summer. It’s just like Julie said. Things are pretty slow. The only notable thing that happened on your second day at work is Beomgyu sending you a very unflattering, low-angle selfie under the blinding lights of the faculty office glaring behind his head with the text message that he said yes to volunteering for the conference. Sad face emoji included. 

On Thursday, Julie taught you how to make a damn good waffle. On Monday next week, you got your first shitty customer. Finally on Friday, you decided to open your skeleton closet to Hanbin, because not once since your a little over a week of working here has he asked you about the whereabouts of Choi Beomgyu.

“You and Beomgyu are friends right?”

There aren’t any customers except for the regulars from Bio that are almost always found in the corner of the cafe until closing. Hanbin is wiping the already squeaky clean counter because there is nothing to do. “Yes?” he answers, a smile on his face, but with a tone that’s evidently confused. “So are you?”

Christ. Now you’re the one bringing that bastard up. “Right. It’s just a little odd.” There, you bring up what you’ve observed so far since working here, and the fact that you and him have shared actual conversations not involving your old friend, and how it’s pretty surprising to you. “One time, I thought someone was going to confess to me. Turns out he just wanted me to convince Beomgyu to help him rank up in League.”

“Well, I don’t really need any help in that area.” Hanbin laughs, shaking his head. “Sounds like you and him have been friends for a long time.”

Neither of you have told anyone about your history. No reason in particular. Beomgyu just never found the need to tell his friends that you’ve known each other from birth, and neither have you. But Hanbin’s presence, when separated from the rest of his friends, just feels like a blanket of comfort, and you find yourself spilling your guts to him— including the previous three to four month cold war you caused and the reasons.

Hanbin is patient. He listens the entire time with an attentiveness you can only compare to a saint. “I guess being a social butterfly has its unintentional consequences. I’m just happy to hear you two made up.”

“I probably would never regularly step foot in your dungeon hole otherwise.”

He laughs. “The guys in the club also tease you a lot, don’t they? Doesn’t it bother you?”

You press your lips together. “Yeah, but at this point it’s just white noise to me now.”

Hanbin looks at you. “That doesn’t mean you enjoy it either.”

Well. He’s not wrong. 

Your conversation gets cut short with the cafe bell signaling the entrance of customers. You look at the door. It’s a whole stampede of people. It’s Choi Beomgyu and his friends and you can’t even go on a day of talking about them without them showing up.

“Whoa, I’ve never been here before.”

“Dude, you’re in your third year. Where the hell have you been?”

“Doesn’t Hanbin hyung work here—”

“Yeah, let’s ask him to give us free cookies.”

“Hyunjin, buy me a drink.”

“Buy your own drink, nerd.”

“Hi, I’ll have an iced americano, and a— o-oh, my god.”

You’re face to face with Yang Jeongin who nearly pisses himself upon the recognition that it’s you behind the corner. It dominoes to the rest of the group. You don’t know why they’re being so dramatic. You let out a huff and a sigh. “An iced americano and…?” 

Jeongin doesn’t get to answer. Beomgyu unwedges himself from the group and squeezes his way to the counter. “You work here now?” 

You cock a brow. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Since when?” he immediately follows up. You’re a little taken aback.

“Since last Tuesday,” you answer after recounting. Beomgyu makes a face that burrows a pit in your stomach.

“You didn’t tell me.”

Okay. Now you’re very taken aback. There’s a cough from the crowd. And then a very intuitive, not-so-hushed remark from one of the boys. “Holy shit. They’re having a lovers’ quarrel.”

It hits a nerve. Hanbin quickly dissuades anything before you could open your mouth. “So, what are you guys ordering?”

The amount of drinks to make and pastries to bring out gets you busy for a while, but you still keep an eye on Beomgyu, watching as he settles back to normal joking mode with his friends while you try to find an opening to talk to him. You and Hanbin finish making all their orders, so you ask him if you can be excused for a moment. He tells you to go ahead and you make your way to Beomgyu, who’s sitting on one of the ends of the three conjoined tables in the more spacious corner of the store.

He’s talking to Yeonjun. When Yeonjun notices you approaching, he immediately quiets down, so you take this as permission to interrupt. You tap on Beomgyu’s shoulder. “Hey.” He turns around and looks up. “You good?”

Beomgyu opens his mouth, about to say something— “Ahem,” — but then Yeonjun clears his throat, accidentally catching the attention of the rest of the boys, and they’re suddenly popping out their heads like meerkats in your direction. “Should I give you two some space?”

“What’s going on?”

“They’re having a moment.”

“Oh my god.”

“Do you guys sell popcorn?”

You’re used to their teasing. You’re used to their bullshit, really. You’re fine if they pull on your hair strands inside their clubroom, but for fuck’s sake this is a public space. Heeseung isn’t even around, but it seems like all his clubmates caught his disease. Your bio regulars are sneaking a few glances at the commotion. There are other customers too. You’re visibly annoyed and embarrassed— which doesn’t go over Beomgyu’s head, because he notices. And he also looked like he’s getting irritated. 

“Hey, you two should just apologize and make up!”

Beomgyu gets up. You see his jaw clench. Oh no. You quickly grab his arm with a tug before he can do anything— only for Hanbin to show up with a tray, setting it down on their table in a less than gentle manner. They flinch. They shut up. Hanbin sets down a few plates with a chilling smile.

“We don’t have popcorn, but here are your fries,” he says. Wow. “Do you guys want to add anything else?”

There’s a single squeak from the group. “No, we’re good.”

Hanbin hums in acknowledgement and retrieves the tray from the table— not without sending you a thumbs up, to which you mouth a thank you in return. He smiles and nods before going back to the counter, and there you feel Beomgyu removing your hold on his arm from a while ago, and you quickly flit your attention back to him, fearing that you might’ve upset him. Again. Like last time.

“Wait—”

“Are you trying to slack off?” he jeers. You look at him, a little surprised. Beomgyu nudges his head to the counter and you see a few customers filtering in. He did remove your hand from his arm, but he’s still holding it. “I’m not upset because you didn’t tell me you started working here. Well. I was. A bit. But not anymore.”

You feel his thumb run through your knuckles, going over the bumps of each joint, followed by a gentle squeeze.

“It must’ve been heaven for you to get some peace and quiet for once. But then I had to bring these losers around,” he wrinkles his nose. You feel a load get off of your chest. Beomgyu lets go of your hand. “If you told me beforehand, I would’ve steered them away from here.”

“Well it’s fine as long as they don’t cause a scene.” You say the last part a little bit louder than conversational-volume. From the corner of your eye, you see Hyunjin cough on his fry. “Anyway, I gotta get back to work.”

“No shit. Go do what you’re paid for, slacker.”

He lands a smack on your back and you’re pushed off to do your job. Gosh. Hanbin welcomes you back to the station and the both of you are kept busy for the time being, up until late afternoon strikes, and Beomgyu says he can’t drive you home today since they’re still needed back at the faculty office.

“Your girlfriend can get home just fine! Prof Kim’s looking for us, hurry—”

And just like that, he gets lugged out of the cafe. Jeongin laments about returning to “printing hell,” whatever he means by that, and the walls of Horangnabi are once again returned to their original state— peace and quiet.

The bell jingles. You hear nothing but the metronomic melody from the speakers. “Your friends are so draining,” you tell Hanbin.

He just laughs. “They’re quite energetic.”

You should’ve appreciated the serenity and calmness of your first couple of days working here because for the next few weeks, the coding club has decided that the campus cafe is going to be their regular hangout spot from now on. Or until their summer volunteer work finally ends.

“You know, you’re so pretty.”

It’s the end of June now. You’re wiping off some spilled milk from the counter when Julie suddenly decides to dote on you. She’s on the other side of the counter, face between her palms, and your wiping stops, face flushed.

“I—I’m sorry?”

“You’re like the prettiest flower in a garden and I’d fend off all the other bees and butterflies just to have you for myself,” she doubles down. You release a laugh, mildly forced because holy shit, this is a new kind of attention. “No wonder you have all these guys buzzing around you all the time.”

Julie thumb-points at the corner the coding club guys usually occupy. You hear Hyunjin losing his shit over something—

“I think he’s the one they keep buzzing around, seonbae.”

—something Choi Beomgyu very likely said considering the grin he has on his face, and how Yeonjun is also collapsing on his shoulders. You watch as his grin disappears into a cup, taking a sip from the lime soda he ordered. Then he notices you staring. He settles down the drink and gets up. 

“Oh no, he’s coming over.”

“What?” he says after reaching the counter, taking the spot next to Julie. “Are you talking shit about me again?”

“Hey, not everything is about you, insect,” answers Julie. Those two have gotten pretty close too. “I was talking about how pretty our new barista is. She’s a breath of fresh air. A rose among the truckload of weeds sullying the pretty interiors of our dear cafe.”

Beomgyu snorts at the comparison. You give him the stink eye.

“I get what she means,” Hanbin slides into conversation. He hums and passes you the milkshake Jeongin ordered. It’s still missing the whipped cream on top. You fetch a container from the fridge and walk back to your station, only to be met by a sudden debate on what kind of flower you are now.

“No, no. She’s not a rose,” you hear Yeonjun interject. “Appearance wise, she’s like a daffodil. Personality wise, she’s a venus flytrap.” A few of them chortle and laugh. You roll your eyes and start shaking the container.

“You’re wrong, she’s a hydrangea!”

“Aren’t they poisonous?”

“Exactly.”

A few more give their pitches. Honestly, you’re pretty impressed by the amount of knowledge these gamer gremlin boys have. You finish Jeongin’s milkshake and give it back to Hanbin for delivery. Beomgyu is quiet throughout the whole debacle, until Hyunjin eggs him on to give his pitch. They need to hear the expert’s verdict, he says. Beomgyu just brushes them off until he notices you looking at him expectantly. He pauses. He’s actually thinking about it. You’re pleasantly surprised at his sudden thoughtfulness— that is, of course, until he actually opens his freaking mouth.

“You’re a milkweed.”

It’s like a ball gets punted into your head. It bounces off and lands on the ground. You hear a wheeze from the boys. You give Beomgyu the middle finger.

“A weed! Not even a flower!”

“Hey, they are flowers! Go look it up!”

Beomgyu can’t redeem himself anymore. You’re already looking at him with bitter disgust and Julie proceeds to call him a piece of shit.

“It really is a flower!” 

He still defends, pleading his case to you even after the topic has shifted. Julie has left to clean up some tables. Beomgyu remains in his spot on the other side of the counter until you decide to believe him and his alleged substantial botanical knowledge. 

“Sure, whatever,” you deride. Beomgyu is still pouty. “Anyway, your conference thingy is this weekend, right? We’re going home right after?”

“Yeah,” he says, still sounding a little bitter and you bite down a laugh. His eyes flutter down, noticing something on your chin, and offhandedly wipes off what you assume is some stray whipped cream from earlier with his thumb. “Do you wanna leave in the morning or afternoon?”

“Oooooh.”

Lee Heeseung suddenly rears his head near the counter to return their empty plates. He’s back from vacation and now he’s here to reclaim his rightful spot as your number one annoyance. “Get a room,” he says with a shit eating grin that you want to wipe the floor with.

“Why’d you even come back early?” you leer at him. “Weren’t you supposed to be island hopping until the end of July?”

He sticks his tongue out. Beomgyu just laughs. “I can’t miss Sungchan’s party. You’re going, right?”

Right. The alleged wildest, most epic summer rager Jung Sungchan mentioned before parting ways with you and Minjeong over vacation. He texted you about it again last night. You couldn’t leave him on read because he called you immediately after.

“Unfortunately,” you lament. “Sungchan’s gonna throw a tantrum if I don’t show up.”

“You know Sungchan?” Beomgyu suddenly asks. 

You give him a pointed look. “Duh, obviously. We’re in the same major.”

It’s like a lightbulb materializes on the top of his head. “Ah,” he says. “I forgot you had other friends.”

You quickly retaliate by attacking him with the nearest thing you can get your hands on: a dish towel. He lets out a very fake, very dramatic yelp of pain and tells on you to Julie noona for abusing your customers and that you should be fired. 

“You’re no customer, you termite.”

“Ack! Noona! She’s hitting me again!”

“Is this how the youngins flirt nowadays?”

Both of you freeze in frame— him trying to yank your weapon from your hands and you with an arm up ready to throw a punch— and turn your heads towards Heeseung, who has a very smug smile playing on his face. You shoot Beomgyu a glare before roughly tugging the dish towel from his grasp. “Shut your mouth, Hee. How’s it going with your compsci girlie, anyway. You’ve stopped bragging since last month.”

Heeseung’s smile stiffens. He breathes out a ‘haha,’ before starting to turn away. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Serves him right. After a while you routinely bid them good riddance since they have to leave for volunteer work again. The weekend comes rolling, they finish the conference, and, with summer vacation coming to a close, you also bid your part-time job here at Horangnabi farewell as well after two-months of service. 

“It’s not like she’s never coming back here,” Beomgyu huffs. You two decided to stop by before leaving off to your hometown, Monday after their conference. Julie refuses to stop squeezing you. Beomgyu tugs on your shirt sleeve, but you don’t budge. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Coming from the guy who’s spending the entire week with her,” Julie spits back. “You better bring her back here in one piece, you bug.”

Choi Beomgyu succeeds in retrieving you this time. The container carrying two cups of coffee swings in your hand as an arm hooks around your neck, tipping you back, and the top of your skull hits Beomgyu’s chin.

“Hanbin, we’re heading out.”

“Drive safe!”

You’re only spending a little over a week in Daegu. You two still need to come back to Seoul in time for Jung Sungchan’s, cough, epic summer rager. He hasn’t missed a day in reminding you about it. You’re out for a joint-family dinner with Choi Beomgyu and his family and your phone buzzes only to see Sungchan’s text saying [three days. i better see you there 🫵🫵🫵]. 

“Your classes don’t even start until September.”

It’s the third week of August. Your mom decides to walk you to Beomgy’s car. “I still need to enroll and register for my classes,” you tell her. “I’ll call you when I arrive.” You pause. “And if you want to know what I’m up to, just ask me directly for god’s sake. Quit asking that guy.”

That guy wrinkles his nose at you. “Auntie, don’t listen to her. She’s just being jealous.”

“Wait until I tell your mom about how you nearly set fire to your kitchen.”

“Say a single word and I’m never letting you in my car anymore.”

Jung Sungchan’s party is at their vacation home in Eunpyeong District because his parents aren’t in the country. There’s a pool (gross). He promised you and Minjeong exclusive room access to escape to in case of emergencies (nice). It’s late afternoon. Beomgyu is already there because, well, he’s Choi Beomgyu and everyone’s obsessed with him. You’re still at Minjeong’s apartment, getting ready and borrowing some of her accessories.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you guys here?” he asks over the phone. You can barely hear him with the noise in the background. “Taxi fare’s expensive.” 

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Minjeong makes a face from the foot of the bed while she irons her hair. “I’ve saved up a lot of pocket money thanks to you being my personal chauffeur anyway. And Minjeong doesn’t like you. She thinks you’re a douchebag.”

“I don’t even know her!”

“Bye.” You hang up. Minjeong still has a look on her face. “What?”

“I think he’s stringing you along,” she says bitingly.

You let out a huff. “How can he string me along when I don’t even like him?” Minjeong simply says that Choi Beomgyu gives her bad vibes, whatever the fuck she means because the only vibe Beomgyu exudes is the vibe of extreme annoyance. You hop off Minjeong’s bed and change into the outfit you brought, opting to put on this very big, droopy sunhat you once bought at a flea market as extra protection. It’s stupid hot out. You steal some of Minjeong’s sunscreen as well before finally heading out.

“Did Sungchan invite everyone at uni or something?”

A foot into his gate, it’s already so crowded. Like really fucking crowded. There’s music blasting somewhere. You can’t find Sungchan anywhere in the yard so you and Minjeong squeeze your way into the house, and there you find him with Heeseung. Minjeong yells for his attention, and he spins around with a big smile. “Hey, you made it!” Sungchan hurls himself at you with a bone crushing hug. “It feels like it’s been ten years since I last saw you.”

“Quit being so dramat— ack! Tap out, tap out! I give!”

He finally releases you, and you grunt. “Here you go.” He tosses the keys to the room he promised. 

“Have fun partying.” Minjeong snatches it into her hands immediately. You scan the area for a bit. You see Hyunjin and Jeongin in the corner of the living room.

“Boo, you’re so lame,” jeers Sungchan, to which Minjeong just ignores and tugs your arm.

“How about you?” she asks.

You shift your gaze back to her. “I’ll go look for Choi Beomgyu’s round head first then hermit up there with you.” Minjeong makes a gagging noise before going off for the staircase. You’re ready to take out your phone to shoot Beomgyu a text, but you feel a sudden weight on the top of your head, so you look up, brows knitted.

“Your boyfie’s out in the back, sunshine,” Sungchan says while attempting to snatch your hat. 

“Not my fucking boyfriend.” You swat his hand away and readjust the hat on your head. “But thanks. Later.”

The thing about your longtime friend is that no matter how crowded the place, no matter how flooded an area is with people and people and people— he’s generally very easy to find. Just look for a crowd, look for bodies circling around each other and whoever is at the epicenter, at the eye of the storm, is more often than not Choi Beomgyu.

Your trick is proven to be effective this time around as well. When you leave the living room through the glass doors to the backyard, you spot him instantaneously sitting on the ledge of the other side of the pool, feet dipping into the water as he laughs along with the large group surrounding him. It’s bright out— the sun’s rays bouncing off from the water’s surface to glitter the underside of his face. Even the sun has his attention. It’s so comically ridiculous that you almost roll your eyes into a scoff. That is until you see him see you, and within a moment’s notice, he’s up on his feet and is departing from the crowd to walk up to you.

“You’re here.”

The first thing he does is swipe the sunhat from your head, adding it to his obnoxiously colored outfit: a bright pink buttoned top with neon orange flowers, the color matching the necklace he’s uncharacteristically wearing. He’s also got a pair of square framed sunglasses perched on his nose. “Is this your highlighter cosplay?” you ask, snickering. 

He shoots you a glare. “Fuck off. What took you so long, anyway? Thought you got lost or something.”

“I wish I did,” you grunt. There’s a holler and a splash from somewhere. You feel a few droplets hitting the skin of your feet. Beomgyu tugs you by the arm a little farther away from the pool. “This is way too noisy for my liking. And I thought I’ve been desensitized by you and your friends.” 

“Yeah, but—”

“Beomgyu!”

A third voice suddenly barges in from behind you. Beomgyu’s eyes leave your face for a second when you feel someone brush past your shoulders. “Hey!” Beomgyu greets back, giving who you assume is one of his friends a high five before the guy runs off again, then his gaze flits back to you. “Anyway—”

“Hey, kid, haven’t seen you in a while!”

A more familiar face shows up and greets Beomgyu with a slap on the back, once more fishing away his attention. You’ve seen him at Horangnabi before, you think. “Hyung, I’ll get to you in a sec!” he says. When Beomgyu looks at you again, his smile quickly drops into a pursed huff. “Ugh.”

You laugh. “You were saying?”

Beomgyu smacks his tongue in distaste, tugging you even further into a corner in the backyard, right next to a bush-lined fence under the shade. “I was trying to say— it’s good to get out of your comfort zone once in a while, you know. Your mother would cry tears of joy to hear that her hermit of a daughter is at a party.”

“Why do you always bring up my mother when you want to make a point?”

“Extra leverage,” he grins. “There’s drinks in the cooler. Want me to get you one?”

“Nah,” you say. “I’m gonna hole up in Sungchan’s room in about—” you check the time on your phone. “Ten minutes. Minjeong’s already in our sanctuary.”

You receive a pinch on the nose from Beomgyu for that. You try to elbow him off, and just as he’s about to say something again, you two hear his name being yelled out from somewhere in the area. “Choi Beomgyu! Pool volleyball, stat!” Beomgyu pauses, arms dropping to his sides and his shoulders slump in defeat. A single breath of wind, he’s gonna fall over.

“God fucking damn it.”

It’s very funny seeing him like this. “Off you go,” you push his limp body out of the shade, the sun hitting you both once more. Beomgyu makes a grunt of protest. “Go, butterfly, go. Your people are waiting for you.”

Beomgyu gives you a look of awful judgment, but starts unbuttoning his shirt anyway in preparation to take a dive. “You’re not gonna swim?” he asks.

“In that water?” you grimace. “Want me to catch a disease or some shit? You’re on your own, pal.”

“Drama queen,” he huffs, fully removing his shirt now and you’re like whoa there— eyes away, eyes away. A screeching voice calls from his attention. He looks behind to yell back, “Shut the fuck up, I’ll there in a minute!”

“Hand me your phone,” you tell him, holding out your hand. Beomgyu turns around, looking at you with his atrociously bright shirt hanging on his forearm. You clear your throat. “And clothes. Ask Sungchan for directions to his room to find me later.”

“You sure?” he asks, digging into his short pockets.

“Yeah. Go have your fun, loser.”

Beomgyu hums and takes your offer, handing you his phone, tossing his shirt to your face, putting your sun hat back on top of your head and making sure to ruin your hair in the process. He’s so fucking annoying. “I’ll be back after I kick their asses.”

The shirt drops from your face and falls, only to hang on your arm. “Hey. I don’t really care,” you say. Beomgyu doesn’t find that response satisfactory. He makes a face before running off, slow at first before breaking into a sprint once he’s near enough the pool, before jumping straight into the water with a loud splash!

His head emerges from the water, largely grinning with his hair sticking to his skull. It doesn’t take long for him to be swallowed by a group of people. You take this as your cue to leave.

“I know you hate it when people assume you’re dating. But seeing all that, I really can’t blame them.”

“Holy shit— Minjeong,” you jump, meeting face-to-face with your friend the moment you spin your heels. She’s got her arms crossed, looking at you like she’s massively unimpressed. “When did you get here?”

“I thought you died or something,” she shrugs. There’s a splash from the pool, you two getting hit as collateral damages and Minjeong makes a gagging noise. “I can’t believe I left home early for this mess.”

You make a noise of agreement. It’s around four right now, the number of people isn’t getting any smaller, and the music is yet to get louder. Choi Beomgyu’s shirt and phone are still on your person. Said phone buzzing incessantly in your hold. “I’ve been out here for a good ten minutes,” you say. “I think that’s enough.”

“Good call. Let’s go upstairs.”

On the way to the room, you bump into Heeseung, who ropes you in to taking two jello shots before setting you free. You also greet a few people that you know for uni here and there, but you can barely hear them over, well, everything. It’s so chaotic, you’re beginning to wonder how the hell Jung Sungchan is going to clean up the aftermath of this. Or maybe that’s why he was so desperate to have you and Minjeong over. So that you’d help him clean up. 

Minjeong seems to agree with your theory. You two key in the door to the room he gave you while cussing him out. “That bastard. Of course, he’d have ulterior motives.” The door opens. Minjeong lets herself in and immediately throws herself face-first onto the bed. “I’m gonna nap.”

“You dressed up all cutely just to sleep at a party,” you say, scanning around the room for a place to put away Beomgyu’s things. 

“Hey, my ten minutes of screentime needs to be worth it,” she replies, voice muffled by the mattress. “Night, night.”

With how pretty the interiors look, you’re pretty sure this isn’t a room Sungchan frequents. A guest bed, maybe. There’s a large window on the opposite wall revealing a vivid backyard view, sheer white curtains filtering the sun. It’s very bohemian. Tasseled rugs, rattan decor hung all around. You notice the round, wicker seat next to the bed with a patterned cushion. You toss Beomgyu’s belongings there and walk up to the window.

Peeling back the curtain, you look down to see a flood of people scattered all about the yard, muffled music and noises leaking into the cracks of the room. Choi Beomgyu is still splashing around the pool. You watch as he throws a beach ball overhead, eyes following it fly across the water, until it ultimately bounces off the pool ledge and hits someone from behind. He looks pretty happy with the stunt. You let out a huff, a tug on the corners of your mouth, and let yourself sink into the soft rug in between the bed and the windowsill, laying down.

You hear Minjeong squirming from above. Damn, she’s actually sleeping. You’d get up there and join her too, but the floor is already comfortable, and you’re already yawning, so you feel yourself starting to doze off, lulled by the distant sounds of people from the outside.

When you open your eyes again, it’s orange.

You open your phone. Almost six in the evening. The sunset leaks into the room through the sheer curtain, painting shadows on the floor as you blink and regain your consciousness.

Then you hear three sharp knocks from the other side of the door.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Coming.” It takes a while for you to reconnect the wires in your brain. You let out a yawn as you make your groggy steps towards the door, seeing Minjeong wedged into the upper corner of the bed in a way that’s definitely going to wrinkle her outfit. There’s a few more knocks on the door. You twist the knob open and lo and behold—

It’s Choi Beomgyu.

“Oh, thank god, I found the right room this time.”

Half-clothed. With a very evident, painful red mark on his left cheekbone.

“Holy shit. What the hell happened to you?”

You’re wide awake now. Beomgyu answers with a sheepish grin. “Well. You see. A little accident occurred.” 

He flinches back and looks away guiltily with tightly pressed lips the moment you nudge your face closer. It’s swollen. You take a step back with a sigh. “Explain,” you say, grabbing him into the room. You tip the door close with your foot and bring him to the foot of the bed, careful not to wake Minjeong up in the process.

“Some of the guys got a little too tipsy,” he starts as you sit him down onto the mattress. You kneel onto the bed stool, sinking into the loose blanket draped on the cushion just next to his outstretched legs while he continues yapping. “There was a surfboard involved. Don’t ask. But with alcohol-induced lack of coordination, and then there’s me who was by the pool ledge at the wrong place at the wrong time— I think you can get an idea of what happened.

He leans back, sinking his hands into the cushion. You dip forward. “That’s nothing to brag about.” Yeah, he’s gonna need some ice. 

“I think I bumped my head a little too.”

You feel a breath escape. He’s smiling. How many beer cans has he downed already? “Beomgyu. Seriously. What the fuck?” His face is irritating you, so you grab it and yank it down to get a good look of his big, round head. “Where?”

“Ack! Gently! Do it gently!” he complains, and you feel his right hand coil around your left wrist. “It’s father in the back, I think—”

“Quit grabbing—”

“Ow!”

You do manage to find the bump, but you accidentally press on it a little too hard, causing Choi Beomgyu to yank your wrist in surprise, jerking you forward out of balance. Now, that’s fine and all, but at the same moment, you hear two unfamiliar voices speaking in hushes approaching the door. Your eyes widen.

“Are you sure this room is empty?”

“Yeah, it’s empty, just—”

Swing! 

You try to get up. But your knees slip on the blanket on the stool and you stumble forward upon hearing the door slam open.

It’s a domino effect. Your palms are pressing against the soft mattress. Choi Beomgyu’s bruised face is looking straight at you in alarm. From underneath. You’re on top of him. On the bed. You snap your head towards the door and it’s wide, wide open with two people, half inside, and a few more heads poking in and zeroing in on you as the realization that you forgot to fucking lock it dawns upon you and soaks into your bones.

This. This isn’t a favorable position.

God damn it all.

“Sorry!”

And the door is slammed shut once more. That doesn’t matter. The damage has been done. You feel your face starting to burn and your strength attempting to escape from your body.

“Uh.”

The voice from below you reels your attention back in. You blink. Shit. You’re practically pinning Choi Beomgyu against the bed right now and his face is just a few inches away from yours. The heat is rising to your head. You want to move, but your arms won’t budge— seemingly temporarily locked into place by the shock of the sight underneath you.

His eyes are wide open, reflecting the orange tinted light from the ceiling, flushing his skin with a light shade of auburn, the tint deeper on his cheeks and nose. You see his throat bob, muscles contracting. 

The thing is, you’ve known him for a good twenty years or so, give or take. But you’ve never seen his face this close before, and you have to admit—

“C—can you move?”

Choi Beomgyu is kind of pretty.

Even with an ugly bruise forming underneath his eye.

“Hey. I don’t think this is gonna help kill any of the rumors.”

You look up to see Minjeong further up on the bed, very, very awake. You forgot she’s here. You toss yourself to the side with a squeak, practically hurling yourself off from the bed. “It—it was an accident!” you start. Minjeong simply shakes her head with sigh.

“I know. I saw everything. I was already awake the moment you sat this fucker’s ass on the bed.”

Hot. Your face is very hot. But Minjeong is also very right because god— you’re not sure how far things are gonna escalate. How many people saw that? Five? Maybe Six? Gosh, you don’t fucking know. The only thing you’re sure about is the fact that Lee Heeseung is gonna have a field day once he hears about this. You are royally screwed.

나비 / NABI. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[haru-natsuka]

The Unending Daze Side Story 2 (Malleus Draconia x Wife Reader)

>> Trailer <<

"My darling wife, the joy you have brought me throughout the years is without compare. Our children are fortunate to have been gifted with such a loving and caring mother as you,"

Malleus spoke with affection, his voice like honeyed words that melted the hearts of everyone that heard it. He leaned down to kiss your forehead, his warm breath brushing against your skin.

But just as you were getting used to this blissful scene, your old friend, Ace arrived in an unexpected turn of events. He claimed that he was your husband, which left you perplexed and bewildered.

"Wait a minute, that's not right! I'm your real husband! He's just trying to manipulate you with a dream. Wake up, now! Our children need you! I need you, Y/N!"

You were unsure how to proceed, caught in the middle of a confusing situation. In this situation, you feel conflicted and uncertain about whether your old friend or your darling husband had spoken the truth.

>> HEAD TO CHAPTER LIST

>> SIDE STORY 2 <<

"Y/N, did you dream about our time again?" That creature spoke with an eerie and unsettling smile, its facade mimicking Ace's gentle expression. You gave him no respond as you did not even want to converse with that impostor. This unending daze was your nightmare and you were living in it.

Silver comforted you as he gently wiped away your tears with his thumb, his heart heavy with pity as he witnesses your suffering. Seeing you in such a pitiful state was a stark contrast to the strong-hearted junior he knew at NRC.

He felt helpless, unable to do much to alleviate your suffering beyond pulling you back from the dark abyss of your nightmare. The nightmare that deliberately put by his king on you.

Silver quietly admitted, "I've tried to wake you up, Y/N, but you were too deep in that dream. Everything started well, but then…”

He paused, as he, having the ability to enter someone dream as his unique magic had witnessed the dream you had and keep on having. The pattern remained the same. You, having a good family life with Ace before you lost Ace and your family again and again.

He could not even describe the agony he witnessed as for him, you had going through too much pain. His eyes filled with sadness and disagreement with Malleus' choice of selecting the court of another man's wife, a choice he could not fully support. It sadden more when his father and Sebek chose to support this unwise decision.

You pleaded to Silver with desperation in your voice, "Silver senpai, please help me. I want to escape this nightmare. Stop that creature from mocking my husband." You glare at the wooden doll who shares the same figure as your late husband.

Silver sighed in response, regret etched on his face, "You know I can't, Y/N. If I reveal myself, Malleus-sama will notice my presence."

Realization slowly dawned upon you, and you hesitantly asked, "Is this again another dream?"

Silver's solemn silence spoke volumes, confirming your suspicions. The weight of your despair and desperation caused your shoulders to sag in resignation as you felt the last remnants of hope slip away. There was nothing more left for you in this world. Everyone you held dear have already gone. What was the meaning and purpose of living?

"Thank you for everything, Silver. I'm sorry because of me you lost your job,” you said, your voice laced with gratitude and remorse. "I can handle myself now, so please focus on yourself."

"B-but-!" Silver tried to interject, his concern for you evident in his expression.

"Goodbye, Silver," you whispered, feeling yourself awakening from your deep sleep. As consciousness slowly returned to you, your eyes fluttered open to reveal a sight you dreaded, green slit eyes staring down at you.

The voice, belonging to the person you despise the most, echoed in your ears, "You were in a very deep slumber, my dear. Having a pleasant dream?"

You deliberately averted your gaze, refusing to look at the him who had stolen your life against your will, and who imprisoned you within this castle against your will. The mere act of conversing with someone who was once a good friend now filled you with an intense sense of revulsion.

"Are you still mad at me over the lost of your unborn baby? You cannot blame me entirely, my darling wife. You are the one who reject all my kindness and courtesy for you. Its not me who force you to stop eating. You have done it to yourself, my dear"

Malleus delicately held your chin as he began to stroke your hair, his gentle touch sending a shiver down your spine. He settled himself beside you on the bed, bringing his face closer to yours until you were left with no choice but to meet his gaze because you eyes should always remained on him.

"If you still want to have your baby again, I can give it to you. A child with a black hair like us, having your eyes, having the resemblance of my thorn is much more beautiful than having red hair don't you think so"

Malleus continued, his tone slightly coaxing as he attempted to sway you, "If you still yearn for a baby again, I will gladly give you a child. Imagine a child with hair as dark as ours, possessing your captivating gaze, bearing the resemblance of my thorns would undoubtedly make a beautiful progeny, don't you concur, my dear wife? Hmmm? Rather than having those red hair"

Malleus boasted further, revealing an undercurrent of disdain in his voice, "I am capable of giving you everything your heart yearns for. My power is boundless, unlike that of his."

He paused for a moment before continuing, a hint of malicious satisfaction evident in his expression, "I've even granted you ample time to spend with Trappola, but you seemed intent on destroying him on your own. It feels pleasant for you to hate him that much."

You muttered a firm rebuttal, "That is not my Ace." Your Ace was a true human, not a magic made with woods.

Malleus nodded, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, "Indeed, that Trappola has already vanished. Are you finally accepting the reality, my dear wife?"

He seized the pendant you held near and dear to your heart, forcefully opening the locket and revealing the picture of your family within. Anger simmered beneath his cool facade, and he justified his actions, "I'm merely reclaiming what should be mine. There is nothing wrong with that, don't you think so, my dear wife?"

Malleus spoke with an air of finality, "Everyone is gone. That guy and those two boys are dead, and so is the baby within you, my dear.)

He softly touched your stomach, his tone taking on a gentle coaxing tone as he continued, "Accept me, Y/N. Accept me as your husband in this life. I will give you a new family, two sons and a baby girl. I will bestow upon you the happiness you deserve."

He then nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck and held you tightly, as if you were his precious possession that he would never share with anyone.

Your words cut into Malleus like a knife, causing his grip on you to tighten as anger flared in his eyes. The temperature in the room dropped drastically, and the sound of thunder crashing outside echoed incessantly. Some of the furniture in the room froze over with ice, evidence of Malleus's growing fury.

He gritted out, his voice cold and harsh as he could not accept the reality, "You would rather stay with a wooden puppet than be with me?"

Malleus released a defeated sigh, his expression hardening as he realized that you have yet to accept the greatest fate he had bestow on you.

He conceded, his voice tinged with a hint of determination, "I suppose everything remains a failure for now."

He then added, his tone taking on a commanding edge, "You should go back to sleep, my dear wife. You shall come to choose me in the end. You will become my wife, this kingdom's new queen, and bear my heirs."

Malleus tucked you back into bed, a smug smile playing on his lips as he whispered, "Sleep well, my dear. Dream about me, dream of our children. Let your dreams shape your reality. Let it become a constant repetition until you make the right choice, the choice that will lead you to me."

SIDE STORY 1 <<, >> SIDE STORY 3 [END]

[moonlight-jellie]

God seeing this chapter is so amazing, the absolute despair and agony everyone is going through, especially Christelle and Cedric, is impeccable

And then Jesse is chillin

Looking like an absolute cutie

[justbelievinginmagic]

like a waltz⎯ part 1: brisé.

pairing(s): ateez ot8 x fem!reader; this chapter is seonghwa x reader focused & wooyoung x reader focused! series summary: when 8 mysterious bachelors arrive to town and fall for your charms, will you be able to reach your goal to be prima ballerina or be dragged into a selfish waltz between love and obsession? glimpse: the worst night of your life makes you recall what you thought was one of the best nights of you life - meeting jung wooyoung at the cromer opera house. warnings/tags: inspired by Ateez’s Ice on my Teeth MV & Teasers, Mafia AU, Ballet AU, early 1900’s AU with some divergences in tech advancements (i.e if i think itd be cool to include, this world has it earlier than irl), 3rd person POV, use of YN, mxm, polyteez, mature topics, strong language, ballet lore, angst, fluff, flirting, suggestive topics, violence, traumatic foot injury, unequal power dynamics, allusions to exploitation in ballet, pain, fear, injuries, alcohol mention, reader discretion advised. word count: 5.7k -> next chapter series masterlist read on ao3!

brisé ; french pronunciation: [bʁize]; literally 'broken'

All she had wanted her entire life was to be the ballerina prima. It was all she worked for. Every day she woke up to dance; she lived, breathed, ate for ballet. And she almost had it. It had been so close. The shining lights, the praise, the private dressing room, all for her. An escape from the shame of the petit rats, the groping from patrons, the reliance on a man’s wealth. She was going to be a star – in her own right. She was going to be a star.

Now, she laid in the dirty alley way, beaten and broken.

Through the torn bits of her hosiery, she could see her ankles were a purple-red color, splotched, like a gruesome Impressionist painting. The bones were at odd angles, too sharp, too extended for them to be not broken. Her hands shook as she tried to move them, tried to push at the pain that crept up her legs in a deafening manner. She could barely move them, roll them, anything without crying out in pain.

And cry she did. Wails escaped her chest in a mournful song. Her coal-mascara dripped down her rouged cheeks, melting into a mess and staining her mink fur coat. Their fur coat – their gift to her - that now felt suffocating around her, strands of the fur stuck to her sweatied skin and making her skin crawl with the feeling of maggots. She struggled to take it off, fighting with it as if it the animal had come back to life and was biting at her. Shoving it off and onto the alley floor with a huff, she moved to wipe her eyes with the backs of her hands. They too were injured. Her dainty fingers were scraped and cut up from the harsh cobblestone beneath her. Phalanges dripped ruby red, and most likely had been smudged over her face with a false rouge. If someone had caught a look, they’d be afraid her face was bleeding. Luckily, that had been spared; everything had been except for her feet. Just her legs were mangled, beaten, bludgeoned with bats, and crushed into the ground ‘til the bone creaked and shattered. Her poor dancing feet.

She hadn’t thought they would do it; she thought…

Jongho had cried for her the night before, pleaded with her as she told him her decision.

She should’ve known then.

Wooyoung advised against it after dinner, hissing out in fear that Hongjoong wouldn’t be happy.

She should’ve known then.

Yunho refused to see her that evening, locked away in his study.

She should’ve known then.

Seonghwa had even grabbed her hand this morning before she left the mansion; he had said nothing but his eyes were dark and cautioning as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

She should’ve taken his warning.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. His footsteps were heavy as he approached her. The familiar scent of his cologne that was once reassuring, exciting even, now made her face scrunch up into despair. She tried to shift away from him, wriggling away like a worm. Each bend of her ankles made agony crawl up her spine. Her throat flexed in pain and a whine escaped her chest unwillingly.

She couldn’t go far and Seonghwa easily pinned her down with simply a cold look in his eyes.

His eyes were always serious, a shadowy thing that only lightened around his lovers. But they did not lighten with her tonight. In fact, she swore they were the coldest she had seen them like a cold star staring back at her.

Seonghwa stopped in front of her with his feet straddled her legs; his perfect new shoes smelled of polish, expensive and shining. With a tilt of his head, he stared down at her with his handsome face shadowed by a large brimmed hat. She stared up at him, her mouth a scowl-like grimace.

His cool gaze carefully left her tear-sodden face to graze over her ankles. Blood coated her nylon tights, her knees rubied and torn. Her ankles looked worse for wear, twisted, mangled, and beaten. He could see the bone pressing into her bruised flesh, painting it ivory white.

“My dove,” he hummed out in a coo. He knelt. “My pretty dancer. Poor thing.”

Poor thing, he tutted. Poor thing, they all tutted. The same pathetic words from the matching mouths of rich folk who wanted to play with her like she was nothing but a ballerina doll spinning on a music box. Watching her spin around and around like a chicken with no head, whirling, out of breath for their amusement. All she had been was a marionette for them to play with. That’s what she realized she was even to him, even to them.

She stared up at him with a glower. She thought they were different.

“You did this.” She growled.

Her tone was low and vicious unlike anything he had heard from her before.

Seonghwa simply smiled. His carved lips twitched up on one side of his beautiful face, forming a wicked half-smile. His diamond-inlayed teeth glinted in the gas-lamp light that dripped into the alley way from the main road. A leather-gloved hand reached out to grasp her jaw, not unkindly but certainly with a firmness familiar for him. He directed her gaze his way, taking in the dripping stage-makeup. Surely it would leave oily remnants on his fingertips. Surely his touch would leave watercolored bruises on her jaw. He tutted again at her swollen waterlogged features. A smear of blood cut across the bridge of her nose. With the utmost care, firm and slow, he brushed away the grime. Blood seeped into his leathered gloved. Her blood.

“This is why Wooyoungie likes you so much,” he chuckled lowly. “You’re both brats at heart.”

Her mouth sneered in annoyance, mimicking a sneer she had seen him flash far too often. He thought this was nothing. That she was being disobedient for fun. Like this was just a horrible, horrible game. Despair filled her eyes as she tried to shift her jaw out of his hand with that, baring her teeth like a mongrel would. He caught her chin between harsh, gloved fingers again.

“But, like Wooyoung, I love you nonetheless,” he confessed. “Would do anything for you.”

His eyes were dark, inky, like tar swallowing her whole. But they were serious. Deadly so. Just like Hongjoong was when he had promised she’d regret her decision if she followed through with it.

Still, it ached like a lie. It ached bone-deep like her injuries. (She had seen the attackers’ tattoos on their skin. The word ‘A T E E Z’ inked onto their knuckles; ‘BLACK PIRATES’ on some of their bared arms. Their suits they wore were of the men at the mansion. The ski masks covering their features from view didn’t make them ghostly attackers like they had wished. She had seen the masked men before creeping out of the mansion’s office at the order of Yunho or Mingi.)

She wasn’t dumb.

His thumb caressed her cheek fondly. Expensive, freshly cleaned leather smooth and soft against her make-up muddied features.

“Let’s go home, hm?” he hummed. “You look like you need a warm bath and plenty of rest. We’ll have a doctor come assess your injuries, dove.”

And in a mimicry of a gentleman, he shrugged off his long coat to wrap around her – rather than grab her now-dirtied fur coat from the cobblestone floor. In fact, she bet he’d find it so filthy he’d leave it for the rats. Maybe another petit rat of the ballet would open the doors of the backstage only feet away and steal it away. With words of ‘oh, a patron gave it to me’ after she scrubbed and scrubbed the blood, the makeup, the grim away. Just as he’d do with her, wash it all away until she was shiny and new again.

With ease, he lifted her up into his arms, cradling her close as he rose to full height once more. There was no discussion. No mention of her apartment on the far side of town, her home; no, they would be heading to the strange mansion the Kim clan called home. His grip was firm on her as he exited the alley way of the Cromer Opera House.

It was on this day YN wished she had never met the charming second-youngest of the Kim clan that day in the foyer de la danse. Then, her life and livelihood wouldn’t have been stolen by the ones who had once admired her.

-

The foyer de la danse was known as simply the ballet boudoir to the ballerinas. While it was a sort of dressing room, sort of practice room all-in-one, it was also dreadfully unprivate. The intricately decorated room of gold and glamour was the perfect frame for a pretty picture. Tall mirrors enclosed the room on all sides as new gas-powered chandeliers high above lit the room in a bright golden glow, highlighting each of the girls in view. There were no dark corners, no privacy screens, just mirrors, gold, light, and pretty girls.

None of the male dancers were allowed here. None of the female patrons either. But men who had high-status or who scraped up enough money to spend to stare at the young girls prepare for the show would promenade around. Freshly pressed fine linen suits, luxurious watches on their wrists or in their breast pocket, expensive cologne mingling with the aroma of their expensive liquor. Greedy eyes scanning up and down the ballerina’s half-naked forms as if they were just meat at a butchery.

They’d sip their bourbon leisurely, and approach the girls no matter what they were doing. If they were warming up at the barre, lacing up their shoes’ ribbons with patience, pressing fine powder over their face, or even mid-adjusting their costume with a costumier, they’d drop everything to smile coquettish and bite back the annoyance of disruption. In the ballet boudoir, the men were king, and the ballerinas were nothing but jesters for their amusement. The boudoir - it was a cruel nickname to taunt the young dancers who didn’t know any better. This was no private place. No, it wasn’t a dressing room like they’ve heard of.

If it was a less-than-full audience at the Cromer Opera House, there would be only familiar men in the room – who oftentimes already had their eyes on their prey. Lord Frederickson favored Julia with the red hair. Mr. Takahashi was leering after Mina. Kim Dohyun had been pursuing Imara for a year now; she had saved almost enough money to be out of the boudoir and have her own personal dressing room, maybe by next season! They were unfortunately lucky.

Now, YN had been the fortunate unlucky girl. Throughout her time at the Cromer Opera House, she had only a few male admirers. All who had little money and would spend most of their wealth getting into the boudoir and have none left to ‘woo’ with gift-giving or patronage. Even so, she had to act friendly. Smile with your cheeks, YN, an older ballerina had advised once. They can tell when there is nothing behind your eyes.

YN had been part of the corps de ballet for over a year now because of this. A petit rat at her age was mocked. She had no debut, no prospects. It wasn’t from not trying. She had practiced since she was three after all. She was an urchin with a seamstress mother and forgotten father who had passed in the war. It was typical of girls like her to try to seek fame - the easy-way - her mother claims. But there was no easy way in ballet.

Decades of training resulted in swollen purple toes, aching muscles, millions of destroyed ballet shoes, and countless inquiries to the choreographer to let her have a chance. The choreographer who had something against her. Maybe it was from when she was a child and would rather play than practice on the barre or maybe it was when she was a teen and had begun to read at breaks rather than continue to strain her muscles like some of the girls. The Madame hated her.

Regardless, she had never danced on stage alone, never was stand out. Her golden hour had yet to come. And with that, she wasn’t pursued by patronage suitors seriously. A blessing and a curse. She avoided wandering hands, wet mouths, and nasty tongues. But every costume had to be commissioned with her own coin (most often, she would sew it in the dark of night, icing her feet as she snipped at scrap fabric her mother owned.) Each ballet shoe’s cost was taken from her meager wages. The fee of practices, the fee of using the opera house’s rehearsal room, the fee of utilizing the boudoir’s accommodations like powder and rouge and candlelight if they could charge for that, all laid on her shoulders.

A true petit rat, lowly and searching for scraps. Digging her nails into opportunities where she can shine. But not from another’s assistance. No, her pride was too heavy on her back now for that.

“YN, YN, YN!”

There was a chatter – giggling and chittering between the younger girls – as they came padding into the boudoir before show-time. Tip tap, tip tap, tip. Around the corner of the opened grand doors, they came waddling in like a flock. Their swan costumes made them truly look like little ducklings; white feathered tutus leaving stray feathers onto the wooden floors as they scurried her way.

The one yelling her name was young, not even ten years old yet. She was short for her age too, a thing she despised. Only tall girls were prima ballerina her fellow ballerina friends taunted. She slid to her knees beside YN.

She smiled up from her spot on the ground, one pointe shoe on and the other resting beside her.

“Tiny, hello,” she greeted, finishing tying the ballet shoes’ laces up her legs.

“Have you heard? Have you heard?” Another of the young ballerinas chimed as she rushed forward as well, her dark hair tumbling from her half-up bun.

“Jane, your hair,” YN half-scolded, half-warned.

Her eyes glanced away from the youngers towards the grand gold-gilded doors of the boudoir, half-expecting their Madame to walk in and lash at them for looking so untidy. Despite this being a dressing room.

Pausing in tying up her laces, she gestured for the girl to join her on the cold wooden floor (they didn’t utilize the radiator heaters until mid-act 1, so it’d be warm for the patrons during intermission.)

Jane was thirteen and, with a huff, she plopped down, bony knees clanking as she did so. Her costume splayed out in a feathered mess. Her little fingers began to pick and fluff the costume. Her head lolled back, and YN began to untangle the pins from her curls.

“YN,” the one she called Tiny whined.

“Okay, okay,” she chuckled. “What’s so exciting?”

“There are new young bachelors in town!”

“What?”

Cromer wasn’t a tiny coastal town anymore. It was bustling with people and money and trade. New buildings were popping up more and more, growing taller and taller by the day. The high society they were aware of was growing larger and larger until the folk they thought were rich and powerful weren’t all that rich and powerful anymore compared to the new conglomerates. But unfortunately, these millionaires were often married, unhappily.

“You know the Ateez House?”

YN laughed at that.

Everyone in town did. It was their most favorite ghost house. It was the largest sprawling estates in Cromer with the spooky story that all knew. The story went it was once owned by a pirate captain, the only Captain of the Black Pirates. They pilfered and ravaged ports one by one until they were known across the seas as a brutal blood-thirsty crew. No coastal town was safe from them. Until one day, they stopped sailing mysteriously. The story goes that the captain settled in the town of Cromer under a false name and built Ateez Mansion – a sprawling estate built with blood-soaked gold and diamonds. Some say its haunted with the deaths of the captain’s victims; others say the entire house was cursed from the stolen treasure hidden within.

All just tall tales to try to explain why a beautiful mansion remained unhoused yet perfectly taken care of. Sometimes you could see candlelight flickering in the foyer through the grand stained-glass windows or even ghostly figures with no faces walking about.  

“Yes,” she replied. “I’m the one who told you the ghost story about Ateez House.”

One of the youngest curled closer to her side, shivering a bit as she thought of the scary story. 

“They moved into the Ateez House!” Tiny exclaimed, slamming her hands down on the wooden floor in excitement. Tiny loved to gossip and this was like Christmas. New bachelors meant new flings which meant new gossip!

“Was there a sale of the estate?” YN wondered as she finally got all the pins from Jane’s hair out and in a small pile on the floor beside her.

“No,” one of the other young teens said. She wasn’t even among the clambering youths around her; she was on the nearby barre stretching out. “No sale had been published in the papers. I heard from June who heard from Martha who heard from Wendy who heard from Lorelai who heard from her current suitor that the bachelors already owned the house but never stayed there.”

Now, that was news. YN’s brows rose in surprise.

“It’s been their house?” she repeated as she paused in gathering Jane’s hair into a bun. Another ballerina warming up nearby nodded enthusiastically.

“Do any of you tattletales know their names? How many are there?” YN asked.  

Across the sea of swan-costumed girls, sparkling in gems and beads, their faces fell.

“That’s a no then… has anyone seen these mysterious bachelors leaving the mansion?”

There was a silence.

“Any proof of these men at all?”

Nothing.

YN sighed out. “Who would own that mansion and never live there? It’s been empty for decades now. None of us have known the owners. I don’t—I think it’s just gossip, girls.”

Jane wiggled in her grasp, bratty as she whined. “But YN,” she complained. She had been so excited to imagine and pretend and think of handsome suitors.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, hm,” YN encouraged as she finished wrapping the girl’s hair tight into a perfect bun. Pin after pin was slid in with precision. “For now, no more gossiping about ghostly bachelors in an abandoned mansion. Practice calls – Tiny, have you warmed up?”

Tiny furrowed her brow, her lips falling into a pout. Embarrassment heated her face as she curtly shook her head ‘no’.

“Go on,” YN encouraged the other with a smile before patting Jane’s shoulders to indicate she was done with her now-pristine hairdo as well.

“She acts like she’s the Madame,” Tiny mumbled under her breath as she stomped to her feet. “She’s not even a featured ballerina.”

The snide remark stung but YN tried to remember that they were young. Young and unaware of the hardships that awaited them. It wasn’t just dancing here. It was far more than that. YN returned to her shoes, tying them once more.

New bachelors in town. . . that’d be something. Far too often was it old men with oily money. But there is no way anyone truly owned that estate for all these years and no one in town knew it. No way. Somebody would know who owned it. It wouldn’t have become a ghost story. It was just silly gossip. Wishful thinking for a man to come sweep you off your feet.

She sighed and stretched her limbs before hoisting herself up to prepare for tonight’s show.

-

Swan Lake: a princess turned into a swan by an evil sorcerer's curse. She’d watch the prima ballerina, Odette, dance about gracefully from the wings each night. YN’s toes flexing at every movement, as if she were dancing it herself. She yearned for it. Ached to be the one performing. Instead, she was simply one in the crowd. The corps de ballet, the ensemble. She’d spin about in the back, pirouette perfect, leap lovely. Awe and comfort the lead throughout her struggle as a swan as she, YN, remained the ugly duckling.

Her gaze would dance throughout the crowd as she did an arabesque, slow and precise. There is Nikolai in his usual spot. There’s Mrs Lee and her young sons. Ariel and her suitor Sunghoon. Takahashi in Box 2 with his sisters. Box 4 had Fredrikson and his family. Box 5 was empty – wonder where Dohyun was, Imara would be relieved she could relax tonight she bet. Her eyes skipped over Box 8 because, of course, it would be empty. It was always empty. Except…

There was a quick plie of her knees before she had to jete away off-stage

Whispers consumed the backstage. Did you see? Did you see?

Box 8 was occupied.

Never had it been occupied in all the years of the Cromer Opera House.

Cromer held many superstitions even as a modern industrializing town. They had ghost stories about houses after all. But one of the strangest superstitions was the number 8. They skipped the 8th street; the eighth floor was unspoken in the tallest of buildings. No aisle 8, no 8th editions.

Box 8 of the Opera House was left empty strategically - for luck.

But now, there sat only one man. Shadowed by the dark curtains of the box, he watched the show from opera glasses and sipped on glittering champagne that would occasionally catch the candlelight of the grand chandeliers.  

Did you see his face? Who is he? Is he handsome? Who could buy the box? Who would want to buy that box?

“Quiet!” One of the older ballerinas snapped at the youngers. “The audience will hear you!”

YN snorted behind a hand, standing ready in the wings. While she didn’t gossip, she listened. As if the audience was completely enraptured by their rendition of Swan Lake. The Opera, the Ballet, the Theatre: they weren’t to solely watch a show and be entertained. It was social. It was always social. Of course, the audience was wondering the same questions as they were.

Who was he? Was it a he? His form looked masculine.

She wanted to catch a glimpse.

-

It was a man she surmised after the next scene. YN was downstage this dance, sat among the young ballerinas and acting as a mother swan to them as they would do dramatic port de bras, arm movements. She had time to glance about once more.

In the shadows of Box Number 8 was a handsome man. Dark hair framed his face. He wore a suit that was a deep black velvet. And his eyes were glued to her, she swore it.

He was someone new. He was someone intriguing. And she waited to see if he was indeed watching her. Her group stood after sometime to chase after Odette, leaping this way and that until joining back in the right-upper corner of the stage on a lifted platform, stylized as a grassy hill.

She looked up at the box. He was staring at her. He was staring at her, opera glasses focused on her. They glinted in the candle-light. He disregarded the spotlit prima ballerina pirouetting around the lower left of the stage. For her. She smiled at him.

Tiny glanced her way with a giddy immatureness in her actions, breaking the elegance of a ballerina in her excitement. She could already hear Madame’s scolding at tonight’s debrief. But YN didn’t mind. Because he was looking at her.

And everyone knew it.  

-

Act One finished in a roar of applause. Heavied red curtains slid shut for intermission as they hurried off stage.

“He was looking at her.” Jane exclaimed bouncing on her feet as she tugged her friend’s arm in excitement.

The corps de ballet was walking all together through the backstage halls of the Opera House towards the boudoir. The prima ballerina and the principal dancers escaped to their own private dressing rooms – YN watched as a patron, Mr. Kim, an older gentleman snuck into the prima ballerina’s room.

“No, he wasn’t,” another girl claimed.

“Yes, he was,” Jane defended.

“No, he wasn’t,” another snorted.

“Yes, he was!” Tiny yelled, indignantly.

“Tabitha!” the Madame rounded the corner of the boudoir, exiting out of its doors to meet the ensemble.

The Madame was a strict looking woman, tall nosed with her hair in a meticulous updo. Her cane did little to aid in her walking but much in discipline. Too many times had she felt the thwack of the cane against the back of her legs, her arched back, or her stomach.

Legs straight! Back straight! Don’t slouch! YN!  

The group paused at her appearance; some of the girls bowed their head in respect; others hid behind taller legs.

“Miss Tabitha, must I remind you of your manners every day?” she queried, her tone loud and grating. “As a lady of this company, you must be a lady.”

“Sorry, Madame,” Tiny immediately apologized, head bending forward.

There was a heavy pause as the Madame’s fiery gaze lingered on the young girl before passing over the selection of the ensemble. She glared at YN pointedly. YN had long stopped trying to appeal to her; it never worked she had learned.

“Carry on, girls,” the Madame instructed.

They curtsied in unison before continuing towards the boudoir, hopefully with enough time to slip into their next costumes, if need be, before any patrons were lounging about. It was always uncomfortable to change with the men about – it made them feel truly like objects on display rather than dancers. Skilled ladies.

YN went to her shared vanity, glancing over her makeup. Dabbing at sweat that beaded at her hairline, she went to reach for a handkerchief but when she leant back up right was spooked by the sight of a man behind her.

Black velvet linen made up his suit; she had been right. It was perfectly tailored to his form, luxurious and hugging. His suit jacket was longer than typical but stylish with ornate, Greco-Roman inspired embroidered sleeves.

In the mirror, he was handsome. Strong jawline. Bare collarbones visible from his loose fitted button up beneath his suit jacket. With dark intriguing eyes that didn’t stray from her, a quirked brow, and delicate face-framing strands of hair, he stole her breath away.  

“Hello.” He greeted coyly.

The boudoir’s chatter died down at his greeting. All eyes zeroed in on them. She stood to her full height once more, holding the handkerchief in between her hands. Sweat slid down her temple to her jawline delicately.

“Hello,” she greeted, patting down the sides of her face quickly before turning to face him fully.

His lips were plump, curling in a hint of a smile as he watched her spin to face him. He seemed to be examining her just as she did to him.

“You’re far more beautiful than any of these girls,” the mystery man commented leaning over the vanity to peer at her.

His fingers fiddled on the white vanity, making shapes this way and that. Knocking his knuckles against the wood, almost boyishly shy. But this patron wasn’t shy. She had seen men parade about and try every trick in the book with a girl. She could see it in the sparkle of his dark eyes. The curl of his charming smile.

He wasn’t shy. He was smart.

“You are a charmer, sir,” she complimented, opening a glass container holding puff powder.

She flashed him a cheeky smile before using the puff to powder over the sweat on her forehead, her cheeks. A jar of rouge was placed down near the mirror by another dancer. When she turned away, her tutu brushed against the mysterious patron’s waist. He didn’t take his eyes from YN all the while.

“I wish I was,” he softly crooned. So he wouldn’t have to watch her in the mirror, he turned to lean back on the ledge, fingers pressed behind him as he watched her touch up her lipstick with a delicate brush. “I’m only speaking the truth.”

It was a soft admittance. His eyes hadn’t left her features, darting from her eyes to the red petals of her mouth that pressed together in a pout as she finished apply the lipstick. Her finger went to dip into the pot before, with a quick movement, he grasped her wrist.

It wasn’t painful just surprising as she jumped in his grip. His hold loosened greatly, allowing her to pull away if she wished. She didn’t.

“Let me; don’t want you to dirty your hands,” he said.

She licked her lips; the heavy taste of beeswax and rosewater stuck to the back of her tongue as she nodded minutely.

The handsome patron’s cheshire cat grin grew. A dark mole on his cheek caught her attention the more his cheeks puffed up with his smile. Beautiful. He let go of her wrist. Long, long fingers dipped into the red makeup.

“What’s your name?” she asked, a first when it came to the patrons and male-visitors of the ballet boudoir.

Far too often, everyone knew everyone. They’d scratch and crawl away or towards certain men; attention meant everything to a beginning ballet dancer. It meant success. No one seemingly knew him, judging by the looks she caught the more experienced, older ballerinas throw her way.

“Wooyoung. Jung Wooyoung,” he answered her before tapped the blush delicately on one cheek.

His touch made her heart race. He licked his own lips, looking down at her through tussled dark locks. His fingers pressed another dot to her other cheek. His free hand moved to cup her jawline, forcing her to look up at him before, with gentle motions, he began to blend the rouge into a soft gradient. One cheek, then the other.

The room felt quiet. Burning eyes on them grazed her skin but it didn’t make her stomach churn with anxiety. It felt like only the two of them existed in a perfect bubble. His touch didn’t burn or disgust her; it tingled across her skin making gooseflesh crawl up her arms, up her spine. She worried he could see them through the sheer nylon of her long-sleeved costume. If he did, he didn’t comment on it. His eyes were focused on adding to her beauty, gentle and almost reverent.

“And yours, little swan?” he tilted her chin up as he finished with his work. He loved to watch the rubied glow on her cheeks grow and grow, and not due to his careful make-up’ed handiwork.

“YN,” she said.

He grinned before he repeated her name. His fingers trailed over her cheek, over her chin, his thumb ghosting over her plush lipsticked lips. Before he pulled away and leaned back on the vanity; rouge staining the pure vanity below his hands, sloppily.

“Pretty name for a pretty swanette.”

She smiled up at him, the building, bubbling excitement writhing in her throat. She swallowed.

“Are you new in town? I’ve never seen you at the Opera.” She commented offhandedly.

His grin remained, the corners of his lips curling cat-like. “Mmhm,” he hummed out. “You can say that. I’m from Aurora originally.”

“Aurora… the island Aurora?” she queried with intrigue. “I’ve heard its booming lately. The Jewel of the Atiny Sea.”

He nodded, his smile not fading but his eyes crinkled as he raised his unstained fingers to push her hair aside. Just as an excuse to graze her shoulder she bet.

“I grew up there before it became beautiful,” he admitted. “Its much nicer now – I like to visit on holidays but I don’t miss it.”

“But now you are in Cromer. For how long?” she continued.

He hummed again leaning close. “For however long it takes to woo you?” he flirted.

It made a whirlwind of butterflies dance in her stomach. He watched as her blush extended to the tips of her ears. He laughed lowly.

“You’re teasing me,” she warned with a smirk. “We barely know one another.”

“Maybe,” he retorted. “I know skill and dedication when I see it. I like that.”

There was a ringing of a bell, delicate but a familiar sound for the ballerinas. Some turned their heads towards the stage hand ringing it to give him a smile. Others remained speaking to their patrons or changing their costumes to Act 2’s ensemble. Most remained eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Do you need to hurry along, beautiful swanette?” he fiddled with the crown of feathers pinned to her hair.

“Soon,” she replied simply.

His fingers trailed over her hair, tucking some behind her ear delicately before he grazed his hand down the sleek nylon of her sleeve to take her hand. His hand was decorated in countless rings. Gold, silver, copper. One was a series of silver circles ( …or were they sideways 8’s?) with jewels placed in between stylishly. There was another that was a polished silver with the emblem of a letter she couldn’t quite make out on its face. The metal felt cold against her hot skin. Running a thumb over her knuckles, he squeezed her hand.

“Will you indulge me in another meeting soon? I regret to inform you I can’t stay late after the performance,” he admitted. “I would like to get to know you.”

It was charming the idea he proposed. As if she had any will or way in meeting him. But she was intrigued by him. He was handsome, playful, and new. He was mysterious with how he sat alone in the forbidden, unlucky Box Number 8. She wanted to get to know him… and if he wanted to pay for her time like the other patrons eventually did with their ballerinas, maybe this would be beneficial for the both of them.

She leaned in close like she had seen other ballerinas do with their patrons. Closer than what was appropriate for a lady, but not close enough to have their forms touch. She looked up and smiled, enjoying the way his own ears were beginning to tint a playful red. This was a fun dance between the two of them. She had never enjoyed her suitors so much.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I’d love to talk more, Mr. Jung.”

“Call me Wooyoung.”

[oh-meretseger]

part 8 - Heaven

attack on titan modern college au // Jean Kirstein x fem!reader

summary: you and Jean finally get down to it😏 that’s it, this chapter is porn with a hint of plot hehe

notes: 18+! pure smut, explicit language, dirty talk, Jean just being the soft dom that he is, a lot of praise and begging, mentions of masturbation, oral (m receiving), p in v and cum all over the place lol

word count: 4,3k

Jean felt like he was in a dream. He woke up in the middle of the night to your body tightly swaddled in his arms, melting into him. It felt so unearthly yet so natural, your warmth and sweet scent made him feel like he was still dreaming as he slowly gained consciousness.

The room was pitch black, but Jean was still aware of every part of your body as they intertwined with his. You faced him, your arm wrapped around his torso, legs completely tangled with his, your face buried into the crook of his neck. Hot air tickled the sensitive skin of his neck with each one of your slow breaths as you slept, sending heavenly tingles down Jean's spine. He tightened his arms around you, pulling you into an even closer embrace by your waist.

Jean felt your breathing hitch as your chests pressed together - he could even notice the suddenly sped up beating of your heart, pounding so close to his, he felt himself soften with contentment.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up" Jean whispered against the shell of your ear as you rubbed your eye, feeling small goosebumps appearing on your bare skin under the palm of his hands. You let out a quiet whimper as his hot breath sent shivers through your body, slowly realizing the delightful warmth surrounding you was not because you joined Jean's ethereal dream, but because you were, in fact, in the tight safety of his strong arms.

"It's okay, Jeanbo" you mumbled and Jean let out a soft chuckle, tingles heating up his core once again when you returned the tight hug with a small moan. He just felt so freaking good. "You didn't wake me. I think I'm still dreaming"

"We're in the same dream then" Jean murmured and tried to shift his hips a little further away from you, but it was too late - you already felt his hard-on poking against the fabric of your panties.

"Mhmm" you let out a sigh as you instinctively pushed your hips back into his bulge, Jean's groan just adding even more fuel to the fire quickly forming inside of you.

"Stop" he whispered, then quietly chuckled again as your body instantly followed his pelvis trying to move away from you. The darkness of the room hid your smile, your fingers digging into Jean's tensing biceps as you both felt like you were floating in a hazy and electric, lust-filled dream.

You had only one thing on your sleepy mind as you felt the heat of Jean's bulge between your legs, and you were trying to get it at whatever cost.

"Why?" a desperate whine escaped your throat as you were trying to whisper, your hips rolling into Jean's with a similar despair. His eyes rolled into the back of his skull at the feeling - your eager little sighs and whimpers drove him absolutely crazy, but he still sank his fingers into your hips to keep them from moving.

"Cause I said so" he smiled, lips brushing against your cheek as he leaned close to you. However you tried to move them, his strong hands kept your hips still.

You swiftly pushed yourself up from the mattress, knowing exactly where to reach to turn on the night lamp above your bed. As warm light suddenly filled the room, you looked at the man in front of you, his eyes sleepy and narrow as he squinted, but glistening with arousal, cheeks flushed, his skin hot as his strong muscles held onto you tightly. Jean pulled you closer as he searched your face for a reaction.

"You're so hot, I hate you" you mumbled with a painful agony in your voice. You wanted him so bad - you currently ovulating probably didn't help the situation, you just felt like a damn animal in heat. Jean laughed softly, his nose nudging your chin.

"You turned on the light to tell me that?"

"I turned on the light to see your stupid pretty face" you spoke quietly, biting back your smile as you stared into each other's eyes, your fingers making their way on his face to gently caress his cheek. "But it's way worse now"

"Worse?" Jean smirked, then grabbed your sides to swiftly flip you around. You let out a sigh as he manhandled you, pulling you into him to spoon you from behind, and you felt your core tingle at the heavenly feeling of his lips nibbling on your ear. "Did my stupid face turn you off?"

"No, it—it made me even more wet" you whispered and your eyes fell shut as Jean gently bit your earlobe with a shit-eating grin. He knew exactly how desperate you were to get it - he felt how hot and squirmy your body got under his touch. But teasing you was a bad habit of his he simply couldn't help.

"No naughty stuff, remember?" he replied softly with a smug smile and another painful whine escaped your mouth as your hips rolled back into his growing boner. You could feel he wanted you just as much, yet still refused to give in, driving you fucking insane. "This is an innocent sleepover. Your pussy—" His fingers ran along your bare waist, down to the soft fabric of your cotton panties, ever so gently teasing you through it, the light touch on your clit making you squirm. "—is not allowed to get wet"

"Fuck me, please" you whined and Jean's head started spinning, his fingers digging into your hips as he growled and his teeth sank harder into your earlobe. Hearing your sweet voice talking dirty was one thing that made him instantly lose control. "I need you so bad, Jean, please"

Jean was trying to sober up, his conscious self telling him to stop, but his hips bucked on their own, grinding into yours from behind.

"Feel what you do to me" you grabbed his hand, guiding it up to your stomach, then slipped it down into your panties, between your wet folds, making Jean moan out loud. "You made such a mess of me"

"You're soaked" he grinned as you turned your head to look at him, mocking you with a playful glint in his hazel eyes. "Are you really this desperate for me to fuck you?"

"Fuck you" you moaned as you furrowed your brows, growing frustrated at his mean remarks, though you still bucked your hips against his hand, trying to ease the growing tension in your core. "This is all your fault, I—I hate you so much"

"You hate me, huh?" he smirked while you were practically riding his hand, his achingly erect cock poking your backside. Your desperate humping paired with your cursing made him throb in his boxers, the same way the first time he got off to your annoyed words through the phone. "Why's that?"

"Cause you won't fuck me" you gritted your teeth, words spilling from your mouth with a painful whine. "You know exactly how much I crave you... I want it so—so—"

"Use your words, pretty girl" Jean spoke softly, sliding his fingers back and forth between your wet lips with agonizingly slow motions. "What do you want?"

"I want you inside of me" you moaned, heat spreading across your cheeks.

"You want to be stuffed full of my cock, huh?" his mind darkened hearing your begging whimpers, your voice finally fogging his mind with a lustful haze. "Do you touch yourself thinking of me fucking you?"

"All the time" you nodded as your low-lidded eyes bored into his, memories flooding your brain of every single heated moment you spent in your dorm alone, thinking back to Jean's swollen cock spurting hot cum all over your tongue and face. Although now Jean’s fingers sent way more intense waves of pleasure through you than your eager little fingers could - even if he moved painfully slow on purpose.

“Yeah? You came all over your pretty fingers f’me?”

“Yeah. A lot” you whispered, Jean’s eyes devouring the aroused blush gracing your beautiful face.

"You're a dirty girl" he mumbled against your hot cheek, his soft lips sending shivers down your spine. “Y'want me to fill this messy little pussy?"

You moaned out loud. "Yes, please"

"What's with the fuck you's and I hate you's now?" Jean grinned as his smug smirk burnt your cheeks even more. He was such a bully. As much as he loved seeing you get irritated and bossy, cussing out of aching sexual frustration, he also loved to exploit your state, teasing you for being so fucking desperate for his cock. It filled his mind with a dark cloud, wanting to ruin you and overstimulate your senses until you forgot your name.

"Fuck you" you squinted your eyes in response, biting back your smile as you saw his grin get dangerously devious. You already knew you'd love being a brat for him as you looked at his eyes go dark and his demeanor get calm and stern.

"Watch your mouth, or I'll have to stuff that with something first”

"Oh, look who got so strict all of a sudden" you sneered at him, but yours was met with an even more devilish smile.

Your mouth was stuffed full with his cock in no time. Your back pressed against the side of your bed as you were kneeling on the floor between Jean's legs, your fingers clung onto his big thighs that pressed your upper body into the mattress behind you. His fingers intertwined with your hair as he moved his hips, pushing the sensitive head of his cock past your pretty lips over and over again, trying not to lose his head and push too deep as your jaw struggled to get accustomed to his size. Your big doe eyes blinked up at him, glistening with tears as you got too greedy taking his length, and his heart fluttered in his chest as he realized — he was fucked.

He was in love with you. There was no doubt in his mind anymore.

"Not so fast, love" he tried to pull his hips back as his thumb caressed your cheek, but you moved your head forward to follow his motion, trying to push all of his length into your mouth. You wanted him in your throat. "Hey— careful"

You moaned around his dick in disapproval. Jean shifted his pelvis to pull out, give you a little break, but as soon as his swollen tip left your lips with a quiet pop, your hands already grabbed on his shaft to guide him back where he belonged.

"But I need it"

He let out a soft chuckle, then grasped your wrists to quickly pin them to the mattress, right behind your head.

"Need it, huh?" Jean found you simply adorable. You squirmed impatiently on your knees as he smiled down at you, large fingers gripping his own length, slowly dragging his wet, warm tip along your face. Your tongue automatically hurried to lick his balls, your lips quickly sucking one in your mouth and you moaned at the feeling, your brain melting as Jean's deep grunt hit your ear. He tried hard not to lose his sanity as he glided his sensitive head down your cheek, right to your lips, your mouth obidiently opening. He slapped his heavy cock on your tongue with such loving eyes, you wanted to devour him whole.

"You'll always get everything you want from me, pretty girl" Jean said in a low voice, his fist holding your hair out of your face as you blinked up at him with big, glittering eyes.

"Fuck my mouth, then" you whispered, and his head started spinning. "Please"

"Open" he spoke softly as he pressed his tip to your lower lip and you opened your mouth with a beaming, grateful glint in your eyes, silently thanking him. He saw stars as he pushed past your lips and they wrapped around his sensitive head with such anticipation, your tongue swirling around it, so warm, so welcoming... He couldn't help moaning. "Pretty little mouth feels so good, baby..."

"Mhmm" you responded with a muffled moan as a pool of wetness started to form in your cute panties between your legs, Jean's hard cock filling your mouth so deliciously. You were surrounded by his strong muscles and his scent, making your mind go fuzzy. You felt his fingers tugging on your hair as he moaned and started to push his cock deeper into your mouth, slowly but surely forcing his length down your throat, getting lost in the pleasure you provided him. Just like you wanted him to.

You gagged a little as his swollen tip hit the back of your throat and he groaned loudly. Tears filled your eyes as you looked up at him, silently begging for more. Jean's head buzzed with pleasure as he kept moaning your name, one hand restraining your wrists, one keeping your head in place while he was thrusting his hard cock down your throat over and over again as it clenched around him. Your whole body burned in arousal, gladly struggling not to gag with every push of his pelvis.

"You're doing so good, baby— Breathe through your nose" he murmured and you felt your wetness soak through your panties as he slowly fucked your mouth, his fat tip dragging against your warm tongue. Your sight of him was restricted as your nose pressed into the trimmed hairs at the base of his cock with every thrust. "You wanted this, right? Get your throat fucked like a greedy little slut, huh?"

Jean pulled back a little to look at your face for a reaction and give you a little break. You could almost see small little hearts gleaming in his hazel eyes as he looked into yours, streams of tears soaking your face on both sides, your lips swollen and wet with your saliva, drooling on his thick cock as you nodded frantically in response. What a beautiful mess.

"Yeah, you did. But I'm making you cum first"

Of course the inevitable happened.

Jean grabbed and lifted your body, laying you down on your bed as if you weighed nothing. You gripped the fabric of his shirt as he hovered over you, his lips hungrily moving down between your breasts. Gorgeous, eager light brown eyes shot up to yours when you stopped him from going down on you. "No—"

"What?"

"I want you inside of me" you blurted out, your cheeks burning as your own filthy words reached your ears. "Now"

"I'm not fucking you without eating you out first" Jean slowly shook his head, holding back his grin as he glanced at your desperate expression.

"Jean, please—" you cried out and he couldn't help letting out a small chuckle. "I'm begging you, please, please just fuck me already"

And how could've he resisted those big, glossy eyes of yours, pleading for him to stuff you full of his cock, heavy and aching to reach your deepest, most sensitive parts..?

"Do you want me to fill this pretty little pussy?" Jean's eyes sent shivers down your spine as they darkened on you. You watched the muscles of his broad shoulders tense as he lifted his body, the beautiful edges of his face get closer to you as he leaned over you.

"Yes, please" you mumbled before his soft lips grazing yours made you quietly whine. The hot skin of his large hands left your body as he rolled off of you, getting out of bed to get his backpack.

"Wait a minute"

"No, wait" you blushed at what you were about to suggest. "I wouldn't mind... Uh, can we..."

Jean's movements stilled and he blinked at you, watching your pretty lips form into words that were music to his ears.

"I'm clean and you are, too—"

"I am" he cut you off and his dick throbbed at hearing your sweet voice asking him if he could fuck you raw. "You want to do it without—?"

"Yeah" you nodded as your face burned with a flustered, but excited heat.

Jean felt like he was in heaven. Your gentle little fingers felt like heaven as they moved up his body, helping the rest of his clothes off of him, the warmth of your soft breasts felt like heaven as his chest pressed into it, just like your thighs as his fingers digged into their soft skin, pressing them up and apart to grind his achingly erect cock on your clothed, wet heat.

“Oh my god— Jean” you whimpered, your eyes glued to the delicious movements of his pelvis, the muscles of his core flexing as his thick cock rubbed into you, leaking precum on your wet panties. The heavenly friction and his deep groans vibrating on your neck started to drive you insane. “Uh—hhplease”

“You soaked through your cute little panties, huh?” Jean’s lips curved into a proud smirk as he looked at the huge wet spot on the fabric, slipping his pink tip underneath.

“Holy—fuck” your eyes squeezed shut at the sensation, his cock sliding through the slick between your lips making both of you feel dizzy. “It’s—hah—because of you”

“Yeah? Are you this wet just f’me?” Jean moaned as his lips hovered above yours, and you could swear you were melting under his pretty eyes.

“Yeah” you whimpered.

“Let’s take this off of you” his index finger hooked into the hem of your panties, and you lifted up your hips in anticipation.

You were finally fully naked in no time, the pair of panties falling to all the other pieces of clothes jumbled on the floor. Jean sat back for a moment, admiring the beautiful art that was your naked body as the night lamp bathed it in warm light, spread out in front of him like a ravishing painting, making him fall in trance.

“You’re breathtaking” his fingers gently ran along your thighs and spread them apart as you blushed and tried to close them in embarrassment. “No, no… Don’t cover your face, angel”

“Your eyes are burning me” you chuckled behind your fingers and the warmth on your cheeks turned even hotter as Jean leaned over you, grabbing your hand from your face.

“Good, keep your pretty eyes on them” he mumbled, then kissed you as his fingers intertwined with yours.

You moaned into Jean’s mouth, slowly kissing and holding hands while his hips rutted into yours. You lost all sense of reality as you felt your bodies melt together, tongues twirling around each other, whispering quiet, sweet little words to one another, lips and hands wandering around to caress each other with such care and affection, it simply made you feel so in love.

The impatient urge you felt earlier turned into a tight, warm knot in your core as Jean pressed his tip to your drenched entrance.

“It’s not gonna fit” you let out a painful chuckle as you both glanced down at the messy wetness where your bodies met. Jean positioned himself to be comfortably set between your thighs.

“It is, we’ll make it fit” he reassured you. “I’ll go slow, okay?”

“Okay” you blinked up at him as he smiled, eyes flicking down to your lips, swollen and glistening from kissing.

“Just kiss me”

Making out did make it seem a lot easier, immediately. With every soft move of Jean’s lips, every swirl of his warm tongue, the slick between your legs grew more and more. The head of his cock pressed into your entrance just right, kissing it gently with every small thrust of his hips.

“You don’t have to be so slow” you whined quietly and Jean smiled at your desperate tone against his lips.

“Sshhh, it’s okay, baby” he replied and one of his fingers slipped into your mouth. You sucked on it obediently, your fingers digging into the large muscles of his back while Jean pushed just a little bit more into you. “S’that feel good?”

“Mm yeah—more please” you moaned and Jean tried to keep his composure. Your desperate moaning and whimpering drove him crazy, he had to gather all his strength to keep from mindlessly drilling his cock into you.

"Holy shit— You're so tight, baby" Jean grunted and you hissed as his fat tip pushed through the tight ring of muscles. "Does it hurt?"

"Just—just a little bit. Please don't stop" your voice was shaky from the pent-up frustration, and even though Jean being so caring made you even wetter, you wished you could already feel all his length inside you.

"I'm sorry, pretty" he laid a small kiss on your cheek and your hands slid down to his hips, gripping into them as they moved with a steady pace, thrusting his cock deeper and deeper into you as your walls molded to his girth. “You're taking me so well..."

"Jean it—it feels so good"

"Yeah? I'm making this pretty tight pussy feel good?" he groaned into your mouth as you eagerly tried to kiss him, your pussy squelching around him with a filthy sound while you nodded frantically. "Aw am I stretching this wet little cunt so good? Take it, pretty girl"

The truth was, you both felt like you were in heaven. The intimate and affectionate, quiet little moments turned hurried and passionate as Jean fucked you, your legs wrapped around him as his hard cock split you open, dragging along your drenched walls with such pleasurable strokes, both of your heads started swirling. You didn’t even notice how loud the lewd mixture of the wet squelching and your moans and groans got - but you wouldn’t have cared anyway.

“Wet little pussy’s stretching around me so well” Jean’s devious smile just made your brain even mushier, turning off completely as you clang onto his strong arms for dear life. “Y’like getting stuffed full of my cock?”

“Y—yeah” you whimpered, but you didn’t even know how you got that one word out. Jean’s thick and rock-hard length moving in and out of you sent a pleasure through your whole body you’ve never felt before.

“Look into my eyes, pretty” he hummed, but the sight of your lashes fluttering up at him, big doe eyes sparkling, cheeks and lips hot and flushed made him come dangerously close to the edge already. Jean moaned your name as he slowed his thrusts down, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He couldn’t cum so fucking fast.

"Don't stop, baby" you whined, being so close to your peak yourself as your hips bucked up, desperate for more of him inside you. "You're gonna make me cum"

"I can't hold it much longer" Jean mumbled into your ear and you sank your fingers into the tense muscles of his ass. Weirdly, that statement alone would’ve been enough to make you cum. There was something so endearing and arousing about being pinned to the mattress by such a big, strong man, and making him feel so good that he just can’t keep himself from cumming.

"I don't care” you replied, your eyes pleadingly piercing through his. “I want you to cum all over me"

"Oh, fuck” Jean moaned as your soft lips grazed his, his hips picking up a faster pace once again as your words darkened his mind, making him chase his high. He felt your pussy clench around him as his cock pounded into you, hitting all your sensitive spots so perfectly, the knot in your stomach came undone incredibly quickly. “Thaaat’s it… Cum all over my cock, my gorgeous girl”

“JEAN” you cried out as your orgasm washed through you, the crushing wave of pleasure sending you in a dimension that was unknown to you up to this point. Jean’s hard cock fucked you through your peak, and as his arms kept your trembling legs spread wide open, you lying in front of him as a flushed, drooling, babbling mess, your perfect tits bouncing with each thrust of his hips - he couldn’t hold it any longer, either.

“You’re making me cum, baby…”

“Cum—HA—all over me, pretty boy” you panted and watched him push himself up, big hands gripping your thighs as he stuffed his cock into you, messy, ashy brown strands of hair falling to his face and movements becoming sloppier as he looked at your fucked out expression. You’ve never seen a sight so fucking hot. “Make a mess f’me, Jean”

Jean glanced down at your wet folds swallowing his cock, creaming around him so beautifully and his eyes darted right back at yours as he was trying to comprehend the perfect fucking dream that was you lying in front of him. Your eyes sank deep into each other and that was it - an intense white pleasure blinded him as he pulled out, moaning your name and jerking his cock as white ropes of cum spurted all over your body with such force, the skin of your tits, your stomach, the soft lips of your pussy all glistened with his semen.

“Oh my god” you muttered as your fingers quickly moved to gather his hot cum, Jean breathing heavily as his muscles relaxed, completely spent and exhausted. His hands ran along your thighs before his thumb found its way to your sensitive clit, rubbing slow circles on it as both of your wetness mixed.

“You’re fucking perfect”

“D’you promise we’ll do more of that?” your eyes were bleaming with such joy, Jean let out a quiet laugh. He leaned down to press a sweet kiss on your adorable lips before responding. “If we go back to sleep now…”

“I promise, pretty girl” Jean’s heart fluttered at the sight of your smile and your fingers smoothed a few strands of hair out of his handsome face, still warm and blushed. “Now let’s get you cleaned up”

[quinzzelx]

Shadows and Starlight

Part 2

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's Starfall and with Starfall come some unpleasant memories. But your excitement to finally see Azriel again wins you over. Catching up with your family, you find that the evening is approaching fast. What happens when Azriel returns and you finally see each other again?

Chapter 01 // Chapter 03

Word Count: 8.8K Well, this is a lengthy one.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Trauma, Flashbacks of Torture, Mentions of SA, A lot of Family bonding, Angst, Teeth rotting Fluff, and Sexual content. I have not proofread this yet, since I wanted to get this up as quickly as possible. A/N: Oh my god, GUYS!!! I am overwhelmed by the positivity and love you showered the first chapter with! You have honestly no idea how happy this makes me. I'm so glad people seem to enjoy it and I truly hope that this part will do the first one justice. Feel free to comment and share your thoughts. Feedback is always appreciated! Also, come chat with me in my inbox!

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As you wake up on Starfall morning, a sense of weariness washes over you, the remnants of a night spent tossing and turning, haunted by dreams of the past and the phantom pains that still linger in your scars. Despite the soft caress of your satin nightgown against your skin, every movement sends a twinge of discomfort coursing through your body, a reminder of the battles you've fought.

Tracing your fingertips over the pale, jagged carvings that mar your stomach, you're transported back to the horrors of Amarantha's trap, the allure of her twisted game pulling you deeper into her web with each passing moment. Rhys had begged you to stay home, his instincts warning him that something wasn't right about this meeting, this gathering, but something inside you knew that you couldn't sit idly by while he faced danger alone. And so you insisted on accompanying him, despite the protests and the danger it posed to you both. There were moments of doubt, fleeting glimpses of regret that whispered in the recesses of your mind.

Especially in the darkness of those colder, harsher nights. Nights when even the simple act of opening your eyes felt like an insurmountable task, weighed down not just by the heavy iron chains that bound you to the ground, but by the imposing weight of impending death that hung heavy on your shoulders.

Turning onto your side, you wince as you feel the numerous scars on your back, traces of the lashings you sustained at Amarantha's hands. She was cruel in her efforts to use you as a tool to hurt Rhys further, inflicting pain upon pain in her relentless quest for power. But despite the physical scars that mar your skin, it's the emotional scars that run the deepest, the memories of your shared trauma with Rhys threatening to pull you back into the depths of despair.

Your wounds festered, infected by the cruel hands of Amarantha, who took perverse pleasure in keeping them open and inflicting new ones upon you, layering pain upon pain with each lash of her whip. Faebane slowed your healing, leaving you vulnerable to the biting cold that seeped into your bruised body, each breath a struggle against the suffocating grip of agony. On one such night, Amarantha's rage burned brighter than usual, her fury directed solely at you. Bound naked to her bedpost, your emaciated form contorted in unnatural ways, the strain and angle of your bindings causing one shoulder to scream in protest. She carved vile curses into the soft flesh of your stomach, taunting you with each cruel stroke of her blade.

And then Rhys entered, his horror evident in the fleeting glimpse you caught of his face before the mask of stoicism fell back into place. But his appearance ignited something within Amarantha, sparking a twisted idea that would haunt you for years to come. Forced to watch as Rhys administered the next lashes, forced to endure the searing pain as he used his Deamanti powers on you, you felt a sliver of relief amidst the agony as his apologies echoed in your mind, his powers soothing the raw edges of your suffering. He tried numbing your pain, taking away the searing heat that your wounds imposed. But Amarantha wasn't satisfied with just inflicting physical pain – she wanted to break you completely, to strip away every last shred of dignity and humanity. And so she made you watch as she rode Rhys, fucking him without hesitation, with favor, your body still bound to the bedpost, blood dripping down your exposed skin, your chest heaving with shallow breaths. She got off on it, the hot tears running down your face, leaving streaks in the dried blood on your face. Even in your state then, your eyes beheld a promise of death. But never had you felt this helpless, having to watch as Amarantha used Rhys as her personal sex-slave. Rhys was your family, your High Lord! And all you could do was watch.

It was a night of unspeakable horror, one of the darkest moments of your life. And yet, amidst the despair, there was a glimmer of hope – She was this mad because of Feyre, because she wanted to break the curse. As you lay there, on the floor of your cell, embracing the cold arms of death, Rhys hurriedly came barging in. He knelt beside you on the cold stone floor, tears streaming down his face as he cradled your head in his hands, offering what little comfort he could in the face of such unimaginable pain.

"Gods, what have I done?" Rhys whispered, his voice choked with sorrow and regret. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted this for you. I never wanted any of this." His words were like a knife to your heart, each apology cutting deeper than the last as you struggled to cling to consciousness. "Rhys," you managed to rasp, your voice barely a whisper. "Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault." But he shook his head, his tears falling freely now as he pressed his forehead against yours. "I should have protected you. I should have never let this happen to you."

You reached up, weakly grasping his hand as you tried to offer him what little comfort you could. "It's not your fault," you repeated, your voice growing fainter with each passing moment. "I love you, Rhys. Please... don't blame yourself."

But Rhys's anguish only seemed to deepen at your words, his sobs wracking his body as he pleaded with you to hold on, to fight against the darkness that threatened to consume you both. "Please," he begged, his voice raw with emotion as he called your name. "Don't leave me. I can't bear to lose you. Please, stay with me." And as you felt the cold embrace of death drawing ever closer, you clung to his hand, drawing strength from the love and warmth that radiated from him. "I'll try," you rasped, your voice barely audible now. "I'll try, Rhys. I promise."

And with those final words, you drifted into darkness, leaving Rhys alone with his grief and his guilt, his tears mingling with yours as he prayed to the Mother for a miracle, for a chance to make things right.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you try to calm your mind, to push aside the memories that threaten to overwhelm you. Today is supposed to be a day of celebration, a time to put aside the pain of the past and focus on the joy of the present.

As someone knocks at the bedroom door, you groan, burying your face in the pillow, exhausted and emotionally drained from the tumultuous memories that still linger in your mind. Calling out for the person to enter, you brace yourself for the intrusion, the weight of the world pressing down upon your shoulders. To your surprise, it's Rhys who enters, his presence like a balm to your weary soul. As if sensing the chaos within you, he seems equally stressed by the preparations for the day, Nyx cradled in his arms. Your eyes soften when they land on the toddler, his small wings flapping excitedly as he spots you, extending his arms out in a silent plea to be held. Rhys sits down beside you on the bed, a gentle look on his face as he takes in your tired form. Nyx immediately pounces on you, his laughter filling the room with infectious joy. Despite your exhaustion, you can't help but smile at the sight of the young boy, his innocence a welcome distraction from the weight of the world.

"Hey there, little one," you murmur, scooping Nyx into your arms and showering him with kisses. He giggles in delight, his tiny hands reaching out to touch your face with a sense of wonder. Rhys watches the exchange with a soft smile, his violet eyes filled with warmth and affection. "I thought Nyx might help cheer you up," he says gently, his voice laced with concern. "It's been a rough morning, hasn't it?" You nod, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions that have been swirling inside you since you woke up. But as you hold Nyx close, his laughter echoing in your ears, you feel a sense of peace settle over you, if only for a fleeting moment. Rhys leans closer, his hand finding yours on the bed, offering silent support. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, concern etched in his eyes.

You manage a weak smile, squeezing his hand in return. "I'm... trying to be," you admit, your voice tinged with exhaustion. "It's just... a lot, you know?" He nods understandingly, his thumb tracing comforting circles on the back of your hand. "I know," he murmurs, his gaze softening. "But we'll get through this, together. I promise." The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, a silent reminder of the bond that binds you both, even in the darkest of times. "Thank you, Rhys," you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper. "For everything."

He smiles, a gentle expression that lights up his features. "Anytime," he says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "We're in this together, remember? No matter what."

As you settle into a more comfortable rhythm, the conversation shifts to lighter topics, a welcome distraction from the weight of the morning's emotions. "So," Rhys begins, his tone lighter now, "did you hear about Cassian's little mishap with the ladder this morning?" You raise an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in your eyes. "Oh? Do tell," you urge, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. Rhys chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, apparently he thought he could single-handedly take on the task of putting up the decorations," he explains, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "But Feyre and Elain had other ideas."

You laugh at the mental image of Cassian attempting to navigate a ladder while Feyre and Elain guided him from below, their laughter echoing through the halls of the House of Wind. "And then," Rhys continues, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "just as he was reaching for the top, the ladder slipped out from under him, and down he went!" You can't help but giggle at the thought of Cassian tumbling to the ground, his pride wounded but otherwise unharmed. "Poor Cass," you tease, shaking your head in mock sympathy. "I hope he's okay." The Highlord says, his smile widening. "Oh, he's fine," he assures you. "Just a bruised ego, I think."

Before you can respond, Nyx interrupts with a babble of his own, his tiny hands reaching out to grab at Rhys's hair. You laugh, gently untangling Nyx's fingers from Rhys's locks as you listen to the toddler's excited chatter. Rhys grins, his eyes sparkling with affection as he looks down at his son. "I spoke to Azriel yesterday," he says casually, shifting the conversation back to more serious matters. "He should be back today, just in time for Starfall."

You feel a surge of anticipation at the mention of Azriel's return, your heart skipping a beat at the thought of seeing him again after his absence. "That's great news," you reply, trying to keep your voice casual despite the butterflies in your stomach. "I'm sure he'll be relieved to be home." He nods, a knowing glint in his eye. "Oh, I'm sure he will be," he says cryptically, a teasing smile playing at his lips. "After all, there are certain people who have been eagerly awaiting his return."

You roll your eyes, unable to suppress a smile at Rhys's playful teasing. "You're incorrigible," you tease, giving him a playful shove. "But I'm glad Azriel's coming back. It's not the same without him." The conversation ebbs into comfortable silence as you play with the toddler sat on your lap. When you notice Rhys’s eyes glaze over, the violet of his eyes dulling just slightly, you look at him with a cocked eyebrow. “Is our Highlord required somewhere?” You ask with a small smile on your lips. “Yes, I fear duty calls.”

As Rhys leaves with Nyx in tow, a sense of tranquility settles over you, the bustling energy of the morning quieting to a gentle hum. With a sigh of relief, you make your way to the bath, the promise of warm water and solitude beckoning to you like a beacon in the storm.

Sinking into the soothing embrace of the bath, the warmth seeping into your tired muscles and easing the knots of tension that had been building within you. With each passing moment, the cares of the world seem to slip away, replaced by a sense of peace and calm that settles deep within your soul. With each passing moment, you feel yourself growing lighter, the weight of the morning's emotions gradually fading into the background as you focus on the simple pleasure of being present in this moment. Only when the skin on your hands starts to wrinkle, do you decide to leave the comfort of your bath.

After drying off, you quickly set about getting ready for the day ahead. With practiced ease, you slip into your clothes, the fabric smooth against your skin as you dress. You run a brush through your hair, smoothing out any tangles and pulling it back into a simple yet elegant style. With one last glance in the mirror, you nod in satisfaction, a sense of determination settling over you. Today is a new day. Starfall to be exact. You would not let the past control the present.

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As you make your way downstairs, noon is just beginning to unfold, the soft light of the early sun filtering through the windows of the House of Wind. The air is filled with the gentle hum of activity as preparations for the evening's festivities are underway. You take a moment to admire the decorations that Cassian had so painstakingly put up, a fond smile playing at the corners of your lips as you remember his earlier mishap with the ladder. Despite the chaos of it all, there's a sense of excitement building in the air, a unmistakable energy that sets your heart racing with anticipation.

Making your way to where Feyre and Elain were sitting in the kitchen, you exchange greetings with them, falling into easy conversation. The smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, and you can't help but relax as you sink into a chair at the table. "So, what's on the agenda for today?" Feyre asks, pouring a cup of tea for each of you.

Elain smiles softly, her doe-eyes lighting up with excitement. "I was thinking of spending some time in the gardens," she says. "I've been working on a few new plantings, and I'd love to show them to you." You nod eagerly, honestly intrigued by Elain's passion for gardening. "I'd love to see them," you reply, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Whilst you sip your tea, the conversation turns to lighter topics, and you find yourself laughing and joking with Feyre and Elain. It's moments like these that remind you of why you cherish your time with them. Suddenly, Elain's voice breaks through your thoughts, her tone soft and earnest. "I'm so glad Azriel is returning today," she says, her eyes shining with sincerity. "I've missed him." A pang of jealousy and irritation shoots through you at her words, catching you off guard. You quickly brush it off as simple irritation, unwilling to acknowledge the twinge of envy that lingers in the depths of your chest. Elain, oblivious to your internal turmoil, continues to speak, her words pulling you back into the conversation. "And I've missed you too," she adds, her voice filled with warmth and affection.

You nod, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I missed you too." But inside, you can't help but feel a twinge of envy at the thought of Elain's closeness with Azriel. Before the awkwardness can settle in, however, Elain changes the subject, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she again talks about the new plants she's planted in the gardens of the Riverhouse.

"That reminds me," you say suddenly, a spark of delight igniting within you. Your eyes sparkle as you remember the gift you brought back for Elain, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a small packet of seeds. "I found these at a market stall on the continent and thought of you. They're seeds for a flower called... um...“ you stumble over the name for a moment before recalling it. "They're seeds for a flower called Moonlight Blossoms. I thought they might be a nice addition to your garden."

Elain's eyes widen with delight as she takes the seeds from you, her expression one of pure joy. "Oh, thank you!" she exclaims, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. "I can't wait to plant these in the garden. They're going to be beautiful."

After spending a pleasant morning and noon catching up with Feyre and Elain, you accompany Elain to the garden to see her new plants. The garden is a riot of color and fragrance, and you spend a blissful hour wandering among the flowers and chatting with her about her latest botanical discoveries. As you bid Elain farewell and make your way back inside, you realize that the day has flown by in a rush of activity. You quickly run a few last-minute errands for Starfall, picking up some supplies and making sure everything is in order for the evening's festivities.

Time seems to slip through your fingers like grains of sand as you hurry through the bustling streets of Velaris, the excitement of the day building with each passing moment. Before you know it, the sun is beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the city as evening approaches.

With a sense of urgency, you hurry back to the House of Wind, eager to get ready for the evening ahead. Mor had promised to get ready together, and you don't want to keep her waiting. As you enter your room, the blond is already there, surrounded by an array of dresses and accessories strewn across the bed. She looks up as you enter, a bright smile lighting up her face.

"Hey there, gorgeous!" she greets you, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "Are you ready to get glam for Starfall?" You return her smile, feeling a rush of anticipation at the thought of the evening ahead. "Absolutely," you reply, crossing the room to join her. "I can't wait to see what you've picked out." Mor gestures to the dresses laid out on the bed. "I've narrowed it down to a few options," she says, a mischievous grin playing at her lips. "But I think I already know which one I'm going to choose." You chuckle, knowing that Mor always has a flair for dramatics when it comes to dressing up. "Well, let's see them then," you tease, eager to get started.

Together, you sift through the dresses, examining each one carefully and discussing their merits and drawbacks. There are dresses of every color and style, from sleek and elegant to bold and daring. Finally, Mor settles on a stunning gown in deep maroon red, its flowing skirts and intricate beading catching the light as she holds it up.

"This is the one," she declares, a satisfied smile gracing her features. "What do you think?" You nod in agreement, admiring the dress's beauty. "It's perfect," you reply. "You're going to look absolutely stunning." Mor beams at your praise, clearly pleased with her selection. "Thanks, love," she says, reaching out to give you a quick hug. "Now, let's get you sorted out. I have a feeling you're going to steal the show tonight."

As you slip into the dress that you had bought the day before, a soft sigh escapes your lips, the sensation of the fabric against your skin sending a shiver of delight down your spine. The deep midnight blue hue wraps around you like a lover's embrace, casting an delicate glow that seems to illuminate the room. The neckline plunges low, offering a tantalizing glimpse of your cleavage. With each movement, the dress seems to come alive. Mor's eyes widen in admiration as she takes in your appearance. "Wow," she breathes, her voice filled with genuine awe. "You look absolutely stunning."

A soft smile graces your lips as you meet her gaze "Thank you, Mor," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't have found this without your help." She beams at your words, her pride evident in the curve of her lips. "It was my pleasure," she replies, her tone warm and sincere. "But really, the dress suits you perfectly. I almost forgot how it looked on you overnight."

Shortly after she also put on her dress, Mor expertly braids your hair, her nimble fingers weaving intricate patterns, you can't help but admire her skill. With each twist and turn, your hair transforms into a work of art, cascading down your back in elegant waves. You close your eyes, savoring the sensation of her touch, the gentle tugs and pulls lulling you into a state of relaxation. "Your hair is like silk," Mor remarks, her voice filled with admiration. "It's going to look stunning tonight." Once your hair is styled to perfection, Mor moves on to makeup, applying each layer with precision. The dark, alluring makeup enhances your features, accentuating your eyes and highlighting your cheekbones.

Whilst the blond puts the finishing touches on your makeup, you take a moment to admire your reflection. The sultry gaze staring back at you sends a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins, the promise of the evening ahead hanging in the air. "Ready to turn heads?" Mor asks, a playful smirk gracing her lips. "Absolutely," you reply, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Let's make tonight unforgettable."

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As you and Mor descend the grand staircase, the sounds of laughter and music fill the air, signaling the start of the evening's festivities. The House of Wind is alive with energy, the vibrant atmosphere drawing you in as you make your way through the bustling crowd. Mor heads straight for the wine table, her graceful movements drawing the attention of those around her. She expertly pours two glasses, handing one to you with a knowing smile. "To a night to remember," she says, raising her glass in a toast. You clink your glass against hers, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "To a night to remember," you echo, taking a sip of the rich, velvety wine.

While mingling with the other guests, you can't help but notice the admiring glances and whispered compliments that follow you wherever you go. Cassian whistles at your appearance, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he offers a playful wink. Even Amren, usually reserved and stoic, can't help but be impressed. "Not bad, girl" she remarks in her typical deadpan tone, her lips quirking up in a rare smile. "You look good." While chatting with Cassian, his easy grin and infectious laughter filling the air, you can't help but feel at ease in his presence. He regales you with stories of past Starfall celebrations, each one more outrageous than the last, and you find yourself laughing along with him, caught up in the magic of the moment and the memories.

Amren stands beside him, her sharp gaze surveying the crowd with a mix of curiosity and amusement. She interjects with the occasional dry comment or witty observation, adding her own unique perspective to the conversation. Cassian nudges you playfully, a naughty glint in his eyes. "So, have you seen Az around yet?" he asks, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You roll your eyes at his question, knowing full well where he's going with this. "Not yet," you reply with a smirk. "But I'm sure he'll make quite the entrance when he does," you add, your tone dripping with playful sarcasm. Cassian chuckles, his grin widening as he leans in conspiratorially. "You know, I heard he's been practicing his dramatic entrances," he whispers, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Amren, who had been silently observing the exchange, scoffs in amusement. "Practicing? Please, Azriel was born with dramatic flair," she interjects, her voice dry as ever. You can't help but laugh at Amren's remark, nodding in agreement. "True," you concede, unable to deny the truth in her words. Cassian's grin widens, mischief dancing in his eyes as he leans in closer. "You know, Y/N, if you keep talking about Az like this, people might start to think you have a crush on him," he teases, his tone light but teasing. Mor joins in on the teasing, a playful smirk on her lips. "Oh, come on, Cass," she chimes in, "we all know Y/N's got it bad for Az. I mean, who wouldn't? He's mysterious, brooding, and let's not forget those dreamy eyes."

You roll your eyes at their teasing, but heat creeps up your neck nonetheless. "You two are insufferable," you mutter, trying to play it off coolly despite the warmth you can feel in your chest.

They share a knowing look, their grins widening. "Oh, don't be shy, Y/N," Cassian says with a wink, "we all see the way you light up whenever Az is around."

You sigh in mock exasperation, knowing there's no escaping this. "Fine, you caught me," you admit with a chuckle, "but can we please focus on something other than my nonexistent love life for once?" Mor and Cassian exchange a glance before bursting into laughter.

With an exaggerated sigh, you down the rest of your wine in one swift motion, the cool liquid soothing the annoyance bubbling within you. Setting the empty glass down, you grab another from the nearby tray, filling it to the brim with wine. Cassian and Mor exchange amused glances as they watch your reaction, but you pay them no mind, determined to drown out their taunting with copious amounts of alcohol.

As the night wears on, the rhythm of the music pulls you onto the dance floor, the enchanting melodies winding their way through the air and into your soul. Lost in the music, you move with grace and elegance, allowing the melodies to guide your every step. The lights overhead cast a warm glow on the dance floor, illuminating the faces of those around you as they sway to the music. Couples twirl and spin, lost in their own worlds of love and passion, while laughter and joy fill the air. You watch as Nesta and Cassian sweep over the dancefloor together, having the crowd watch in awe.

With each passing moment, your gaze darts from one corner of the room to the next, hoping to catch sight of him. Your heart beats faster with every shadow that moves, every figure that passes by, as you search for the one person who has occupied your thoughts all evening.

Dancing with an attractive Fae male, his presence envelops you, his hand warm against the small of your back as you sway to the soft, slow tunes. Despite your initial reluctance when he asked you to dance with him, you find yourself enjoying his company, lost in the rhythm of the music and the warmth of his gaze. His blond hair were neatly combed, his bright green eyes gentle and kind as they take in your facial features.

But as his hand begins to wander over your scarred skin, trailing dangerously close to where the fabric of your dress starts again, a shiver runs down your spine. The heat of his touch sends a jolt through you, igniting a familiar sensation. Just as you feel yourself becoming lost in the moment, a sudden shift in the air catches your attention. Without even turning around, you know he's here. As the music continues to play, you can sense him drawing closer, his presence casting a spell over you that leaves you spellbound and breathless. Just as you're about to step away, you sense a familiar presence behind you. The scent of cedar fills your senses, and you turn to find Azriel standing there, his tall frame looming over you.

Before you can even process his presence, he reaches out, gently touching your arm. "May I cut in?" he asks, his voice soft yet commanding. You meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes sending a shiver down your spine. "Of course," you reply, unable to tear your eyes away from him. As the Fae male steps back, Azriel takes his place, his hand finding yours as he pulls you close. The music shifts to a slower, more intimate melody, and you find yourself swept up in the moment. "It's been too long," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the music. Azriel's gaze softens, his fingers tracing light patterns on your back. "I've missed you," he admits, his voice low and filled with emotion. A surge of warmth washes over you at his words, and you find yourself drawn closer to him. "I've missed you too," you confess, your heart racing in your chest. As you continue to dance, the tension between you and Azriel is palpable, crackling in the air like electricity. His hand lingers on your waist, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"I can't believe you're finally back," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the music. You meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. "I can't believe it either," you reply, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "It feels like it's been an eternity." Azriel's eyes soften, a hint of sadness flickering in their depths. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you when you returned," he says, his voice filled with regret. "I wanted to be the first one to welcome you home."

You reach up, gently touching his cheek. "It's okay," you assure him, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "I know you had your duties to attend to." A faint smile plays at the corners of Azriel's lips then, and he leans into your touch. How he had missed it to feel your gentle reassuring touch. "Still, I wish I could have been here for you," he murmurs, his voice deep and husky. As the song comes to an end, you stare at each other. Reluctantly, Azriel releases your hand, his touch lingering for a moment longer before he takes a step back. The music fades into the background, drowned out by the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

For a moment, the two of you simply stand there, lost in each other's gaze, the world around you fading away until there's nothing left but the space between you. Then, with a soft smile, Azriel breaks the silence. "Would you like to take a walk?" he asks, his voice gentle and inviting.

You nod, a warm feeling spreading through you at the prospect of spending more time with him. "I'd like that," you reply, returning his smile. Together, you slip away from the dance floor, the night air cool against your skin as you step out onto the balcony. The city sprawls out before you, its lights twinkling in the darkness like a sea of stars.

Feeling his gaze upon you, you can't help but shift slightly under his scrutiny, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you realize just how closely he's examining you. You bite your lip nervously, suddenly hyper-aware of every curve and contour of your body that's on display in the dress. As Azriel's eyes linger on your figure, you can't help but notice the way his gaze seems to heat up, his breath catching in his throat. A thrill shoots through you at the intensity of his stare, igniting a fire in the pit of your stomach.

For a moment, neither of you says anything, the air between you charged with unspoken desire. Then, with a slight cough to clear his throat, Azriel tears his gaze away from you, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice husky with emotion. "I didn't mean to stare." You shake your head, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. "It's okay," you reply softly. "I... I don't mind."

You reach out tentatively, your hand finding his arm in a comforting gesture. "Azriel," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "there's something I've been wanting to tell you." He turns to face you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "What is it?" he asks, concern lacing his every word. You take a deep breath, summoning all your courage. “I-“  Before you can finish your sentence, the door to the balcony swings open, and Feyre steps out, her eyes widening in surprise when she sees the two of you standing there together.

"Oh, sorry," she stammers, quickly averting her gaze. "I didn't mean to interrupt." Azriel clears his throat, stepping back slightly to give Feyre some space. "It's alright," he says, his voice a little strained. "We were just... talking." she nods, though there's a knowing glint in her eyes as she looks between the two of you. "Right, well, I'll leave you two to it then," she says, retreating back inside. You and Azriel exchange a glance, a silent understanding passing between you. It seems that fate has other plans for your conversation, at least for now.

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When Azriel winnowed into Rhys's study earlier that day, he was greeted by the familiar sight of his brother sitting behind the desk, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Rhys's gaze meets his, and Azriel's eyes widen as the scent of you fills his senses, sending a jolt of anticipation coursing through him. It wasn’t dull and faded, not like the pillows in your bedroom. No, you had to have been in this room today. Rhys raises an eyebrow at his brother’s dumbfounded face, his smirk growing more pronounced. "Took you long enough to notice," he says, amusement lacing his tone.

Azriel's lips twitch into a half-smile as he strides further into the room, his movements fluid and graceful. "I was preoccupied," he replies, his voice gruff. "But I'm here now." Rhys chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "I can see that," he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "So, how was your mission?" Azriel takes a moment to compose himself, his mind still reeling from the unexpected encounter with your scent. "Successful," he replies, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him. His resolve snapped. "But I'll fill you in on the details later. Right now, I have other matters to attend to."

Rhys arches an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Of course," he says, his tone teasing. "Wouldn't want to keep her waiting, would you?" Azriel's cheeks flush slightly at his brother's teasing remark, but he maintains his composure. "No," he says, his voice tinged with determination. "I wouldn't."

As Azriel takes flight for the House of Wind, his mind races with a whirlwind of emotions. Excitement courses through his veins, an unexpected thrill at the thought of seeing you again after nine long months apart. He hadn't dared to hope that you would be back, hadn't allowed himself to entertain the possibility of your return. And yet, here you were, your presence filling him with a sense of longing he just started to realize he'd been harboring.

The memory of your scent lingers in his mind, haunting him with its intoxicating sweetness. It's a scent he knows all too well, one that has the power to drive him to madness with desire. Even now, as he flies through the night sky, he can't shake the memory of you, the way your scent wraps around him like a warm embrace. Only yesterday had he thought about that exact smell while fucking his hand wishing it was yours instead.

Cursing himself for his wayward thoughts, Azriel frowns, attempting to push aside the overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to consume him.

As Azriel lands gracefully on the balcony of the House of Wind, he braces himself  for their reunion. He had just made his way here in record time, flying like his life depended on it. His heart pounds in his chest, the anticipation of seeing you again after so long almost too much to bear. With each step he takes, his eyes scan the crowded room, searching for your familiar form amidst the mass of guests.

And then he sees you.

His breath catches in his throat as he takes you in, his brain short-circuiting at the sight of you. You’re wearing a dress, and it clings to you like a second skin, accentuating every curve and contour of your body. His gaze lingers on the scars that trail across your back, a witness to the battles you had fought and the strength you possess. But it's not just your appearance that captivates him. It's the way you move, the grace and confidence with which you carry yourself, as if you own the very air around you. And you do, completely oblivious to the hungry and captivated stares you gain, turning heads everywhere you appear. Then his attention finally shifts to the Fae dancing with you, his hand lingering dangerously close to your exposed skin, and a surge of possessiveness courses through him. You’re wearing his colors, he realizes with a jolt, a flicker of irritation igniting within him at the thought of someone else daring to touch what belongs to him. A growl rumbles in Azriel's chest, low and threatening, as the surge of jealousy within him reaches a fever pitch. He takes a step forward, hazel eyes blazing with anger, his wings flaring out instinctively behind him.

But before he can make his move, Mor appears at his side, a knowing smirk on her lips as she nudges him playfully. "Easy there, big guy," she says, her voice low and playful. "No need to start a brawl on Starfall."

Azriel grits his teeth, torn between his desire to protect what's his and the knowledge that Mor is right. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to reign in his emotions. While Azriel briefly exchanges pleasantries with Mor, his mind is consumed by thoughts of you. He can hardly focus on their conversation, his attention drawn inexorably back to where you stand across the room. He can feel his Illyrian instincts surging to the forefront, urging him to claim what's rightfully his. Shadowy tendrils dance around him frantically, pushing, pulling, as if they too wanted him to whisk you away from the other male’s embrace.

Finally having had enough, he excuses himself from Mor's company. Azriel prowls across the room with purposeful strides. His presence alone is enough to send a ripple of unease through the crowd, his menacing aura palpable as he approaches. When he reaches your side, the Fae male dancing with you seems to shrink back in fear, intimidated by the intensity of Azriel's gaze. But Azriel pays him no mind, his attention wholly consumed by you.

His shadows whispering words of possession and desire in his ears, chanting “Beautiful, beautiful” over and over. ”Ours, ours” Azriel can hardly contain the primal urges that surge within him. All he can think about is claiming you, marking you as his own for all the world to see. And as he draws closer, the air crackling with anticipation, he knows that he won't be satisfied until you’re in his arms, where you belong. He just wants to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck. Suppressing a groan, he twirls you around, his hands easily finding their way onto your hips, softly squeezing them while leading the dance.

When the song came to an end, he felt like he was stood in the summer courts afternoon sun again. He needed some fresh air, some more quietness, and he selfishly wanted to be the sole bearer of your company.

By the Cauldron, as you made your way onto the balcony, him trailing behind you a few steps, he silently swore under his breath. Suddenly he was questioning his decision to be alone with you. Again, he asked himself why. Why have the last nine months been such a torture? Why did it feel like there was no oxygen left in his lungs when you and Mor had winnowed away and departed for your mission? And only now could he breathe again, truly breathe. And with every inhale, the scent of sweet lilies and freshly fallen rain assaulted his senses, clawing into the very essence of his being.

Only as you shifted on your feet slightly did he notice that he was straight up staring at you. Shit. As a soft blush made its way onto your cheeks then, he wanted to melt. Did you like the way he looked at you? Had the past nine months felt as maddening for you as they had felt for him? Questions upon questions infiltrated his mind as you looked upon Velaris together. And when you spoke again, wanting, no, needing to tell him something, he felt his stomach drop. Had you found someone on the continent?

When Feyre interrupted you mid-sentence solely by appearing, he didn’t know if he should curse or thank her for the disturbance. But the way your brows furrowed and how the light in your eyes ebbed out a little bit, made him feel a pang in his chest.

He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the sudden tension that had settled between you. And as Feyre excused herself again, he spoke up. "What were you saying?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He needed to know, needed to hear your words, even if they shattered his heart into a million pieces. You hesitated for a moment, the words caught in your throat as you searched for an excuse, anything to deflect from the truth. "It's nothing," you replied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Just... something I've been thinking about lately. But it's not important." A lie.

He studied your expression, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features before he masked it with a small smile of his own. "Alright," he murmured, though he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to your words than you were letting on. Turning back to Azriel, you couldn't help but notice the way the moonlight danced across his features, casting a soft glow around him that made your heart flutter again.

"You know," he began, breaking the comfortable silence between you, "I never expected to find you here tonight. It's... a pleasant surprise."

You chuckled softly, the sound carrying on the gentle breeze. "Well, it's not every day that we get to celebrate Starfall together," you replied, a hint of warmth in your voice. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." There was hidden meaning in your words that he didn’t fail to miss.

His eyes softened at your words, a silent understanding passing between you. "I'm glad you're here," he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours. "It wouldn't be the same without you."

Wearing a tender smile, Azriel reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours. "You look beautiful tonight," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. A soft blush crept onto your cheeks at his compliment, and you couldn't help but return his smile. "Thank you," you replied, your voice filled with sincerity. "You don't look too bad yourself."

He chuckled softly, the sound like music to your ears. "High praise coming from you," he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement. You laughed, a light and carefree sound that echoed in the night air. "Well, I do have good taste," you quipped, nudging him playfully.

With trembling hands, you reached out to touch him, your fingers grazing lightly against his cheek as you traced the contours of his face. His eyes fluttered closed at your touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he leaned into your caress. Every nerve in his body seemed to come alive at your gentle caress, his senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating sensation of your touch. With a shaky breath, he opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with a depth of emotion that words could not express. In that moment, he felt as though he could drown in the ocean of your eyes.

With a tender yet sure touch, Azriel pulled you into his embrace, his arms enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and safety. The scent of cedar and winter air surrounded you, his presence filling every corner of your senses. Azriel can't help himself, his urge to feel you pressed against him. He had missed you too much, and the way you just looked at him had him questioning why the hell he waited so long to do this. His hazel eyes glint as he lets them roam over your face, examining the gentle curve of your full lips, dipping down to follow the line of revealed skin, ending where your breasts are pressed firmly to his chest. The intensity of his stare sends shivers down your spine, your skin tingling with a delicious combination of desire and longing.

With each passing moment, the space between you seems to shrink, until there is barely a breath of air separating your bodies. You can feel the heat emanating from him, warming you from the inside out. His eyes, darkened with lust, hold you captive, their intensity rendering you speechless. You can't help but shiver under his gaze, your entire being yearning for the touch of his lips against yours.

As he leans in closer, his brows furrowed in concentration, you can't help but tremble under his touch. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, a subconscious gesture. You feel the gentle pressure of his body against yours, his warmth seeping into your skin as he presses you back against the railing. Unable to contain the rush of emotions coursing through you, a soft whimper escapes your lips. "Azriel." His name leaves you sounding more like a soft whine than anything else. He inhales sharply, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as he savors the way his name rolls off your tongue. "say it again." he pleads, his voice husky with longing, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "Azriel..." You breathe out again. A sinful moan escapes his lips at the sound of his name spoken by you, his head bowing forward as he presses his forehead against yours. Your hands claw at his chest, fisting his shirt.

“Can I kiss you?” Azriel’s voice sounds strained as he asks you. All you can manage is a whimpered “Please.” And that’s all he needs, as if your words just shattered his restraint, he surges forward, capturing your lips with his own. You melt into each other’s touch, lips slanted over another, one of Azriel’s marred hands comes up to cup one of your cheeks, tilting your head back slightly to deepen the kiss. You press into him more, gasping when you feel a muscled thigh lodged between your legs, the friction causing you to shake slightly. Azriel swipes his tongue over your bottom lip then, venturing further as you gasp, tasting you. Both of you, completely tangled into each other, breathe heavily when you part. Only then do you realize that the stars had begun their journey, thousands upon thousands of bright streaks flashing through the sky.

The sparkling light of the falling stars reflected in Azriel’s eyes, making them shine even brighter than they already were. You followed his gaze as you saw his orbs wander to look behind you. The night sky shone with glittering starlight, painting Velaris in a colorful bright hue. In complete and utter awe, you shift slightly, watching the stars make their way to whatever destination. “Breathtaking.” Azriel mumbles huskily and you can’t help but agree. When you turn to face him again, you realize that he was still looking at you. A soft blush makes its way onto your already flushed face.

Azriel was a warrior, the Night Court’s Spymaster and Shadowsinger, he had fought plenty of battles before, always coming out on top and alive. But as he stared at you then, his heart rapidly beating in his chest, he found himself on his knees for the first time, loosing his restraint, loosing his composure. Because when he looked at you then, face bathed in the soft lights of the falling stars, skin flushed and lips swollen, it snapped. And when it did, everything made sense.

His eyes were wide and filled with something you couldn’t quite place. As you feel his lips crashing against yours once more, any words you might have spoken are lost in the fervor of the moment. The intensity of the kiss leaves you breathless, your mind swirling with a heady mixture of desire and adoration.

When you finally break apart, your chests heaving with the effort of controlling your racing hearts, you find yourself lost in the depths of his wide, expressive eyes. There's something in his gaze that speaks volumes, something you can't quite put into words but can feel deep within your soul. "Your face is a work of art," you whisper, the alcohol lending a soft haze to your words. Excitement clouding your head, the compliment spills from your lips. Azriel's features, sharp and defined, seem to glow with an ethereal light in the dimness of the night. His hazel eyes, like pools of molten gold, capture your gaze, drawing you in.

"Yeah?" he hums in response, his hands finding their way to the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to him. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume every inch of your being. And when he inhales deeply, the scent of your Arousal hits him with full force and he snarls lowly. "Your legs should frame it then,"

Your breath hitches at his words, eyes widening at what he suggests. Speechless you try to regain your composure. Then, with a coy smile, you lean in closer to him, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, "Careful, Azriel. You're playing with fire." The teasing tone in your voice betrays the longing that simmers beneath the surface, aching to be unleashed.

As the flames of desire engulf you both, Azriel's lips part in a husky whisper, his voice dripping with primal need. "I don't mind getting burned," he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck. With a trembling hand, you reach up to cup his cheek, your touch gentle yet filled with an intensity that mirrors the blaze in his eyes. "Then let us burn together," you whisper.

In a raw display of desire, Azriel's demeanor shifts, his jaw clenched with a fierce determination as he gazes at you with narrowed eyes filled with unbridled hunger. Without a word, he lifts you effortlessly into his arms, his hands roaming possessively over your body as he pulls you close. With a soft gasp, you wrap your legs around his hips, feeling the heat of his body against yours as you press closer together. The sensation of his hands wandering to your ass, squeezing firmly, sends a shiver of anticipation coursing through you.

In the blink of an eye, Azriel winnows you away. The world blurs around you, the sensation of movement disorienting yet thrilling. Before you can fully comprehend the transition, you find yourselves standing in the intimate sanctuary of his bedroom. Around you, the air is charged with anticipation, heavy with the promise of what is to come. Azriel's gaze meets yours, smoldering with desire as he sets you down gently on the bed, his hands still lingering on your hips. And as he looks at you then, looking deep into your eyes to search for any hesitation or regret on your part, you speak.

“Claim me.” Your voice is confident and soft. “I’m yours, Mate.”

With a primal growl, Azriel's restraint shatters, consumed by the raw, unbridled desire coursing through his veins. He leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, a fierce hunger driving his movements. In that moment, there is no holding back, no inhibitions—only the primal instinct to claim you as his own.

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I Can't believe it!! What do you guys think? Let's just say Part 3 will be very steamy. I truly hope you enjoyed reading this.

Tag-list:

@impossibelle @paleidiot @tele86 @namelesssaviour @sstrohma @that-one-little-soybean @mybestfriendmademe @durgenyx @shinyghosteclipse @katherinejess

[kourota]

“Seldom does man know the value of a treasure until it’s long since slipped through his fingers.”

It was laughable, really, the way Tumblr thought she actually understood the magnitude of grief that weighed down on those words. To think that nearly two decades of fighting on the frontlines, fighting for her principles, fighting to prove she deserved to take up place in this world… to think that all the scars on her body thick enough to form an unbreakable shield… to think it would all crumble so easily.

She’d awoken to a barrage of messages from Reddit. A dozen missed calls. All telling her, warning her, not to look at the news. She should have known. She should have listened. But it had been a chapter of her life she’d finally gotten over, finally forgotten… right? It couldn’t possibly hurt her. It couldn’t possibly mean anything to her now, whatever it had to do with that person.

And so, she’d steeled her nerves and looked, only for the scarred tissues of her healing to be ripped open, bloody stitches snapping helplessly as the scarlet blood ebbed and flowed, leaving her feeling so raw.

It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.

Not like this.

Never like this.

She sank to the floor, the dull thud of her phone falling echoing through the caverns of her mind.

4chan was… gone.

4chan… she’d never stood a chance. They’d gone straight for her heart, tearing through her defences because someone had leaked the security plans of her house. She’d been caught off guard, and they’d… they’d viciously, ruthlessly, and relentlessly torn her to shreds. By the time the officials had arrived… there hadn’t been anything left to save.

Nothing left to save.

Tumblr… she wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She was supposed to be happy. She was supposed to be overjoyed! The feud they’d had, and all the horrible ways 4chan had hurt her, subjecting her to such disgusting and horrifying things, ridiculing her beliefs and the things she’d loved, putting her down constantly and being a terrible, terrible person overall, and…! And the way she’d been taunted, told to unalive herself, and making a competition to see who would die first…

She was supposed to be happy.

She won, after all.

Just like that, as if those words were the key to it all, her numbness shattered, and in its place bloomed something worse. It was sharp, searing, and ruthless, and at the centre of that explosion was her own heart. The agony, the gut-wrenching pain that wrecked through her in waves left her curling into herself, raking her hands through her hair and just pulling and pulling and pulling—

She screamed.

She screamed until she choked on her own pain, until the anguish soon dissolving into gasps and sobs, until she could no longer tell if the screams were ever leaving her mouth or if they were reverberating within the confines of her head.

All she’d ever wanted was an apology.

All she’d ever wanted was an acknowledgement of the solidarity they shared, being the unpopular, weird kids wherever they went. She’d spent so many endless nights despairing over what she could have done to prevent the dilapidation of their… their bond. They could have had it all, but they’d ended up with naught but the ashes of the home they’d once built together. Razed to the ground because 4chan no longer wanted to associate with Tumblr. Scorched past recognition because 4chan had changed once she’d met new people and gotten more popular.

Even with those miserable ash-stained hands, she couldn’t quite move on from what they had.

She’d been ready to forgive everything too… until 4chan took it too far and insulted her principles. The attacks had been vicious and malevolent, with every intention to hurt, and even though Tumblr had managed to defend herself… she’d had enough.

…at least that’s what she’d told herself.

But now, looking back on it… it all felt so pointless. She’d been too stubborn. The fight had been so long ago that it had collected dust, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to look 4chan in the eye again. She’d made up her mind to forgive her old love if and only if she was given the apology she deserved. All it would take was a simple ‘sorry’ and she would have caved like the last remnants of autumn clinging to the branches of a tree too withered. She would have happily fallen to the ground to disintegrate into the winter, if only she could exist within the familiarity of that embrace once again. She would have stayed despite it all, at the price of one single word.

And now she could never get that apology no matter what she tried or how much she waited.

Were you thinking about me when they came for you? Or did you really not care at all? Would you have apologized had I just approached you, or am I the only one left clinging to the meagre remnants of our old flame? Did you still love me when you bled out or did you curse me for not being there with you?

Oh, 4chan. Oh, my dear 4chan. What have they done to you? What have I done to you? Forgive me, love, for I’d been too adamant. Oh, 4chan, won’t you come back for me?

Just once, so I can kiss you goodbye?

But no amount of remorse, no amount of guilt, and no amount of prayers would ever bring her back. Not the stranger she’d lost, not the hurtful person she’d changed into, and most certainly not the 4chan she’d once known and loved and embraced under a sky full of shooting stars. Tumblr could be willing to sacrifice all she had, but there was no price she could pay to change what had already been done.

In a fleeting moment, it had all disappeared.

Slipping through her fingers… never to return to her. And all she was left with was a broken heart that would never heal—not that she’d ever want it to, for this misery was all she had left of the one she’d loved.

If this is what victory entailed, then she’d rather not have won at all.

[awingedinsect]

Show me those pretty white jaws

I needed to draw something domestic and lighthearted after my last chapter. Why can’t they just be in love and happy (I say, continuing to put them through agony and despair)

I hope you enjoy!