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lovemni · 5 months ago

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“nerds don't date , right?” iii ⎯ how to ruin a nerd's life 101

[ 정인 ] ✷ ‎. . the event is pretty close, and your wardrobe is underwhelming. thank the lord, some chic nerd is at your rescue.

۫ 𖨂 𓈒 𝑛erdy!jeongin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff , humour , crack , forced proximity , classmates to lovers , uni au , fake dating , skz ensemble . 58OOw. ⎯⎯⎯ LiBRARY ⟢ cw. nicknames ?? as of now . ┆ 📹 ⋮ a y.ji mini series .ᐟ ֹ ₊

yani's note! 𑁍ܓ the amount of love this series is getting omg >< thank you !! also, i'm literally less than 5 followers away from 1k !! <3 late update, mocks are getting closer.... anyway, happy reading!

read the last chapter here.

"a terrible wardrobe crisis. that's what this is." ⎯ lee felix.

you and yeji's shared dorm was in shambles.

it looked like an overexcited tornado had ripped through the room, leaving behind nothing but chaos, laughter, and felix dramatically flailing over your (apparently) inadequate wardrobe.

your brown luggage bags lay open in the middle of your room, half-filled and overflowing. your beige-pink wardrobe stood wide open, its doors barely hanging on from the sheer force with which yeji had yanked them earlier. clothes were scattered everywhere—on your bed, on the floor, even draped over felix's outstretched arms as he inspected each piece with a face of horrified judgment.

"how—how do you live like this?" julie gasped, clutching a plain white t-shirt like it was a crime scene.

ryujin groaned into your pillow, sprawled lazily on your bed next to yeji, who was scrolling through her phone like she wasn't in the middle of this fashion emergency.

"guys, i literally do not care. just pack some shorts and a couple of tank tops, and boom, you’re set."

felix gasped so loudly you thought he might faint. "absolutely not," he said, voice filled with betrayal. "never ask ryu about fashion ever again, please." he turned to you, eyes wide, like this was the most crucial moment of your life.

"y/n, you are going to a summer trip with your fake boyfriend’s family, and you don’t even own a single—" he looked down at your pile of rejected clothes, "—decent sundress?"

you groaned, dropping onto your carpeted floor with your head in your hands. "it’s not that deep. it’s not like i’m trying to impress them or something! they seem pretty happy with me already,"

julie, still horrified, threw a beige oversized hoodie at you. "that’s where you’re wrong, babe. you are not just some random guest on this trip. you’re jeongin’s girlfriend."

yeji snorted. "correction! fake girlfriend."

julie ignored her. "do you understand the weight of that? the prestige? you have to look like the cool, effortless, stunning girl that yang jeongin—god bless him—the fashion icon of the entire uni himself— managed to bag."

ryujin blinked. "prestige?"

"hey! i'll have you know i am very fashionable myself. my wardrobe is just... not in the mood right now."

felix nodded sagely, ignoring you completely. "exactly. if she doesn’t look incredible, the aunts and uncles will start asking questions."

you whined, throwing yourself backwards onto the floor. "i don’t even own summer clothes!"

felix dramatically sank to his knees next to you, cradling a polka-dotted blouse you hadn’t worn in two years. "i know. and it hurts me."

yeji finally glanced up from her phone, unimpressed. "what do you even wear when it’s hot?"

you gestured at your usual attire—loose or flared jeans, oversized graphic tees, random strap tops, a pink zip-up hoodie despite it being way too warm outside.

julie covered her eyes like she was physically in pain. "no. nope. no! you are not dressing like a teen who just hit puberty on this trip."

"i have style," you defended weakly.

felix raised a skeptical eyebrow. "do you?"

ryujin huffed. "okay, fine, let’s actually try picking outfits before felix faints from sheer disappointment."

felix nodded, regaining composure. "yes. let’s. y/n, show me what summer clothes you actually have."

you sighed, crawling over to your wardrobe. you reached inside and pulled out the first thing you saw—a simple white crop top.

julie squinted. "it’s… okay. where are your maxi skirts?"

you bit your lip. "i only wear miniskirts, you all know that!"

felix collapsed onto the floor, gripping his chest. "god is testing me."

yeji, deadpan, turned to ryujin. "do we need to call an ambulance?"

"no, let him suffer," ryujin muttered.

ignoring them, you dug through your closet, pulling out a pair of denim shorts, beside a flowy miniskirt and a loose floral blouse you had shoved in the back from last year. "okay, how about these?"

julie pursed her lips. "cute, pretty, but it doesn’t scream ‘jeongin’s super chic girlfriend.’"

felix peeked over, nodding slightly. "it could work if you accessorize properly. add some layered necklaces, cute sandals, maybe style your hair differently—"

ryujin groaned. "you’re acting like she’s going to a fashion show. it’s a family trip."

thank you, at least i have some defense."

julie pointed at her aggressively. "family trips are the worst place to be underdressed. you never know what kind of rich aunt is judging you from across the dinner table."

felix shuddered. "exactly."

you let out a long sigh, flopping onto your bed next to ryujin. "why am i even doing this? it’s not like jeongin even cares."

yeji smirked. "oh, babe. it’s not about jeongin. it’s about you."

felix nodded solemnly. "you cannot lose to this bet."

julie grinned, nudging you. "you have to make him fall for you."

ryujin yawned. "that is so much effort."

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smirk on your lips. "you guys are acting like i’m not already winning."

felix gasped, shaking you by the shoulders. "that’s the confidence we need,"

you grinned. "that topper is definitely going to fall for me. he’s already been staring at me when he thinks i don’t notice."

yeji raised an eyebrow. "oh? receipts?"

you gasped, eyes lighting up, sitting up. "at the hill the other night—"

"oh my god," felix and julie squealed.

ryujin groaned, shoving a pillow over her head. "stop. stop being in love."

"i’m not in love," you scoffed. "but he is definitely falling first."

yeji snorted. "if he’s even capable of emotions."

felix gasped. "you take that back."

julie giggled. "okay, okay, but back to business. we have, what—four days before the family wedding? we need to find you something for that and the summer trip."

you groaned, collapsing into the pile of clothes on your bed. "i hate this."

felix patted your head. "it’s okay, hun. we’ll make you hot."

you peeked up at him. "i’m already hot."

julie rolled her eyes, grinning. "fine, we’ll make you unstoppable."

felix gasped, eyes shining. "omg. i’m so excited."

ryujin sighed, stretching. "cool. have fun with that. i’m gonna nap."

yeji shoved her over. "not in my bed, you’re not."

you should’ve seen this coming.

after the absolute fashion disaster that was your packing session, it was only a matter of time before felix and julie forcefully dragged you to the nearest shopping district, ryujin and yeji tagging along as your (mostly amused) moral support.

the first stop? summer clothes.

the only problem? felix and julie were treating this like a full-blown makeover mission.

"no."

you blinked at felix, who stood in front of you with his arms crossed, shaking his head so aggressively that his blond hair practically shimmered under the store lights.

"what do you mean no?" you asked, looking down at the beige linen shorts and white cropped tank top you had just picked out. "this is literally so cute."

julie groaned, throwing herself onto one of the store’s plush stools like this was physically hurting her. "it’s cute, yes, but it’s giving—" she gestured vaguely, "neutral instagram influencer who only drinks matcha."

"what’s wrong with that?"

yeji snorted, scrolling through her phone. "nothing, except you’re supposed to be jeongin’s effortlessly hot girlfriend, not someone who exclusively shops in the ‘clean girl aesthetic’ section of pinterest."

ryujin hummed, tossing a random hat onto your head. "i think she should just wear a trash bag. that way jeongin won’t fall for her."

felix gasped dramatically. "how dare you."

you sighed, rolling your eyes as you put the shorts back. "okay, fine. what do you suggest, then?"

felix’s face lit up as he practically sprinted toward a rack of dresses. "oh, i thought you’d never ask."

and that’s how you ended up with twelve different outfits shoved into your arms as you were pushed into the dressing room.

. . .

outfit #I : a bright yellow sundress with thin straps and a flowy, knee-length skirt.

you stepped out, raising an eyebrow at your friends. "thoughts?"

felix clasped his hands together. "sunshine incarnate, i love it."

julie tilted her head. "it’s cute, but is it ‘jeongin’s-girlfriend’ cute?"

yeji squinted. "hmm. i like the color. but maybe something a bit more…"

"hot," ryujin supplied, lying on the bench like she was exhausted.

julie nodded. "genius!"

you sighed, stepping back into the dressing room.

outfit #2: a deep red wrap-around top with a matching skirt.

you emerged again. "this?"

"damn mama," ryujin whistled. "now this is hot." she says, only to be jabbed at the shoulder by yeji, brow raised.

felix pursed his lips, tapping his chin. "sexy, confident, yet elegant. approved."

julie gasped. "oh my god, imagine jeongin seeing you in that."

yeji smirked. "he’ll die."

you rolled your eyes, fighting the heat rising to your cheeks. "we are not dressing to impress him, we’re dressing for the trip."

felix smirked. "sure, babe."

outfit #3: a white off-shoulder top with ruffled sleeves, paired with high-waisted denim shorts.

julie squealed. "oh, this is perfect for the beach!"

felix nodded. "it's so giving main character."

yeji snorted. "she is the main character."

ryujin, however, hummed. "i like it… but you need something for the nights too. something that says ‘i’m effortlessly attractive and totally not in a fake relationship.’"

"what outfit even screams fake relationship..?"

—

after several more outfit changes, you finally had a pile of approved clothes—flowy skirts, cute crop tops, a few dresses that definitely screamed "jeongin, you should totally fall in love with me!" and a couple of chic yet comfy beach fits.

you huffed, collapsing onto the store bench. "are we done?"

julie checked the shopping bags. "for summer? yes."

felix grinned. "but now… wedding outfits."

you pulled out your phone to check the time, when you noticed the notification of a missed call. so, you were scrolling to jeongin’s contact before pressing call.

after a few rings, he picked up.

"what do you want?"

you grinned, putting him on speaker. "is this the way to treat your pretty girlfriend, topper?"

yeji and julie burst out laughing as you heard jeongin sigh on the other end. "i’m hanging up."

"you're the one who called me twenty minutes ago."

"that, was twenty minutes ago."

"okay, and now it's twenty minutes later. why'd you call?"

"are you busy?"

blink.

"kind of..?"

"nevermind then."

"aw, is my boyfriend missing me?"

"delusional."

"truthful."

"annoying."

"happy to be of service!"

"y/n, are you coming? we're gonna leave!" julie called out from a few steps away.

"well, as much as i'd love flirting with you, i have some... business to continue with"

"and that is?"

"don't ask why, but i was miserably dragged to go shopping with the others. for our coming trip."

you could hear him frowning. "trip?"

"yeah? our trip, you know, the one where i’ll be your stunning fake girlfriend in front of your family?"

"thank god you're getting a new wardrobe."

"where in the world did that come fr-"

"y/n l/n!" a certain displeased blonde called out.

"coming, coming,"

"i gotta go," you sighed. "i got some really cute outfits, by the way. felix and julie are making sure i look extra hot. should i send you pictures?" you giggled.

"no."

felix gasped dramatically. "wow, rude."

"where the fuck did you come from?"

"you’re all insane," jeongin muttered.

"aww, does the hot nerd feel overwhelmed?" yeji teased from behind.

"i’m literally hanging up."

ryujin chuckled. "you totally should’ve expected this."

jeongin groaned. "i regret everything."

you laughed, twirling a lock of hair around your finger. "see you soon, topper."

the call ended with a very unhappy jeongin. or so you thought.

felix cackled. "oh, he’s so screwed."

julie smirked. "and you are so winning this bet."

you grinned, standing up and grabbing your bags. "now, let’s go find a dress that’ll make his entire family question how he managed to date someone so hot."

felix beamed. "now that’s the attitude we love."

. . . later.

you should’ve known felix was up to something.

the way he kept glancing at his phone, the mischievous glint in his eyes every time you held up an outfit—yeah, something was definitely going on.

but you? you were too busy suffering under the weight of yeji’s and julie’s enthusiasm to question it.

"why am i even doing this?" you groaned, throwing yourself against the dressing room door as yeji shoved yet another hanger into your hands. "it’s just a wedding. i’ll wear something decent, i promise."

felix scoffed, crossing his arms. "decent is not an option. you are the chic girlfriend of the man who literally has fashion bloggers thirsting over his outfits."

julie nodded sagely. "we cannot let you disgrace his name."

ryujin, who was sitting comfortably on one of the store’s plush chairs, simply raised an eyebrow. "why do i feel like felix is taking this more seriously than the actual wedding?"

"because i am," felix declared dramatically, hands on his hips. "this is war."

"okay, try this on!" yeji said, practically throwing a pastel blue dress at you.

"what’s wrong with the one i already picked?" you grumbled, looking down at the sleek brown dress in your hands.

felix gasped. "absolutely not." he snatched it away so fast it nearly ripped. "this? for a summer wedding? sweetheart, are you trying to look like a wannabe mafia attending a funeral?"

you rolled your eyes. "it’s not even black!"

"it's close to it! and it’s literally giving ‘revenge after being left at the altar,’" julie added, shaking her head.

you groaned. "i literally do not care."

"well," yeji smirked, "jeongin will."

you froze, eyes narrowing. "what do you mean?"

felix, suspiciously, looked at his phone again. "oh, nothing."

ryujin suddenly sat up straighter, a knowing smirk on her face. "wait a second…"

before you could react, your phone rang.

and of course, it was him.

"hold on," you furrowed your brows, feeling suspicious of him, but he just flashed you a bright, innocent smile.

sighing dramatically, you answered the call, bringing the phone to your ear. "do you miss me that bad?"

"are you seriously about to buy a black dress for a wedding?" jeongin’s voice came through, flat but incredulous.

you blinked. "how did you—? wait, in my defense, it's dark brown! it has sparkles and everyth-" you pause.

"lee felix."

you turned to glare at your traitorous friend, who was suddenly very interested in the store’s interior design.

"yang jeongin," you huffed, "i can wear whatever i want, and you can’t stop me."

"oh, i absolutely can, darling," he replied. "and i will. i’m on my way."

"what?"

"see you!"

the line went dead.

you stared at your phone in horror. "he’s coming here?"

felix beamed. "oh, he’s definitely coming here."

"i will actually commit a crime," you muttered, rubbing your temples. "felix, why did you do this?"

"because," felix said, "you dress like a hot girl, but this is a wedding. a yang family wedding. if you walk in looking like the ceo of enemies to lovers, inc., jeongin’s gonna have an aneurysm."

ryujin shrugged. "he’s not wrong."

"god save me from these people," you groaned.

yeji patted your shoulder. "no, babe, trust me, we’re the best! now, get in there and try on the dresses before jeongin shows up and lectures you in real time."

"too late for that," julie muttered, eyes widening as she glanced toward the entrance.

you followed her gaze—and there he was.

dressed in a perfectly tailored gray blazer, black slacks, and a white button-up with the top two buttons undone, he looked like he had just stepped off the cover of some high-end fashion magazine. his black hair fell slightly over his glasses, sharp jawline extra sharp as he scanned the store like he was here on a mission.

"oh, we are so screwed," ryujin whispered.

felix grinned. "speak for yourself. this is the best day of my life."

his fox eyes finally landed on you—and immediately trailed down to the brown dress you were holding.

deadpan. "no way, felix, was she actually going to buy that?"

"yes!"

you huffed, shoving it behind you. "..no."

"liar," felix muttered, earning a glare from you.

jeongin exhaled through his nose before walking over, hands tucked into his pockets. "step aside. i’m picking her outfit."*

"excuse me?" you scoffed. "who died and made you the fashionista?"

jeongin raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "literally everyone who’s ever reviewed my outfits."

felix nodded. "he’s not wrong."

yeji, julie, and ryujin just watched in fascination as jeongin scanned the store, plucked a dress off the rack, and handed it to you. "try this on."

you frowned, looking down at it.

it was a dusty rose satin dress, with delicate, leafy lace detailing on the sleeves and a soft, flowy skirt that cinched at the waist. classy, elegant, but not over-the-top.

you blinked. "oh."

"oh?" jeongin repeated, tilting his head. "what happened to all that attitude?"

you cleared your throat. "i didn’t say i liked it yet."

"you do," he said flatly. "go try it on."

you narrowed your eyes at him but sighed, snatching the dress and marching into the dressing room. "you better not laugh."

"oh, i would never, lovely," he said—then promptly smirked at felix the second you closed the door.

. . .

when you stepped out, the entire store fell silent.

well honestly, your friends did. because the boutique was already pretty empty.

back to the point.

the dress was perfect.

the satin fabric hugged your waist just right, the lace detailing adding a touch of grace, and the skirt flowed effortlessly when you moved. the dusty rose color somehow made your skin glow.

julie clasped her hands together. "oh, wow."

ryujin, for the second time, looked mildly impressed. "damn."

yeji was already taking pictures. "dang topper, you snapped."

you turned to look at him. "well?"

jeongin didn’t say anything at first.

his dark eyes just slowly scanned you from head to toe, his lips slightly parted, before he blinked and looked away. "it’s good."

"just good?" felix scoffed. "sir, you are staring."

jeongin shot him a glare, adjusting his glasses. "whatever. let's just buy it."

you grinned. "so, you like it, topper?"

"i literally picked it out. come on, let's check out," jeongin muttered, already turning toward the checkout.

felix nudged you, whispering, "oh yeah, he’s so losing the bet."

you just smirked, following after him. "three months, yang. you’re doomed."

and if jeongin’s ears were slightly red as he paid for your dress?

well.

that was just a bonus.

"what a gentleman."

shopping for a dress was already exhausting, but accessories?

oh, you were in hell.

normally, if you weren't being dragged around, sent to trial rooms, and shoved random pieces of clothing, all day long, you know you'd enjoy this.

you stood in the middle of a jewelry store, arms crossed, glaring at your so-called friends as they stared at you like you’d just confessed to a crime.

"you’re telling me," yeji said, dramatically placing a hand on her chest, "that this entire time, you’ve been a gold girlie?"

"yes," you deadpanned. "since birth."

julie’s jaw dropped. "why didn’t you say something sooner?"

you shot her a glare. "i literally said it four times since we got here, but all of you ignored me and dragged me to the silver section anyway."

ryujin gave felix a side-eye. "that’s on you, bro."

felix had the audacity to look offended. "i just thought silver would complement her skin tone!"

"i’ve been wearing gold for years—"

"and we’ve just been letting it slide?" yeji gasped. "have we ever even paid attention to your jewelry before?"

you scoffed. "clearly not, since i had to endure an entire thirty minutes of watching you people force silver necklaces around my neck like i was some kind of experiment. fake friends, really," you feigned hurt, wiping away a tear.

julie sighed, rubbing her temples. "god, we are terrible friends."

"thank you," you huffed, flipping your hair. "now, let’s go to the gold section where i belong."

felix muttered something under his breath about you being dramatic, but you ignored him.

so, once you were finally in the correct section, things went much smoother.

for about five seconds.

because then jeongin decided to start having opinions.

"not that one," he said, reaching out and plucking the dainty gold chain from your fingers.

you blinked up at him. "excuse me?"

"too thin," he said simply, placing it back and picking up a different one. "try this instead."

you narrowed your eyes. "i don’t recall you being my stylist, yang."

"i don't recall you being my girlfriend, but here we are,"

"that was literally jisung's fault."

jeongin gave you a pointed look. "anyway, i kinda am your stylist right now. if you show up to my family’s wedding looking like an embarrassment, it’ll be my embarrassment too."

felix smirked. "damn, he’s really treating this like an investment."

"oh my god that rhymed-"

you rolled your eyes. "fine, what do you suggest, fashion maven?"

"someone's been playing way too much dti.."

without missing a beat, jeongin reached for another gold chain—this one slightly thicker, but still delicate, with a small moon pendant hanging from the center.

"this one," he said, handing it to you.

you stared at it for a moment before looking back at him. "why this one?"

"because it suits you," he said, completely straight-faced.

you blinked.

okay.

well.

that was unexpected.

you cleared your throat, quickly breaking eye contact. "it’s not terrible," you mumbled, turning toward the mirror.

felix grinned behind you. "guys what if we're all wrong and it's actually her that ends up losing the bet?" he whispered.

you turned your head side to side, admiring them in the mirror. "alright, fine, yang. you have decent taste."

"decent?" he scoffed. "i’m literally saving your reputation."

"oh, you are so full of yourself," you muttered.

"and yet, you’re taking all my suggestions," he shot back, smirking.

felix cackled. "i love you them, your honor."

julie nodded. "they’re like an old married couple."

you and jeongin both turned to look at them. jeongin spoke, "we are not."

"not yet!" you only squealed.

later.

the days passed way too quickly, and now, the morning of the wedding was pure chaos.

your shared dorm room looked like a fashion battlefield. open makeup palettes were scattered across the desk, curling irons and hair straighteners cluttered the floor, and your bed was drowning under a mountain of lipsticks, highlighters, and jewelry boxes.

julie was hunched over the floor, rifling through a pile of hair accessories, while yeji stood in front of you, arms crossed, assessing your face like an artist staring at a blank canvas.

"okay, so i’m thinking… soft glam?" yeji mused, tapping her chin.

"but with a little sparkle," julie added, eyes glinting. "i mean, this is a wedding. we have to make our girl glow."

felix, leaning against the wall, smirked. "jeongin’s gonna pass out."

ryujin, perched on your desk chair, nodded. "he won’t even have the words for it. imagine, the biggest and hottest nerd in university, standing there, watching his ‘fake’ girlfriend looking like an actual goddess."

you grinned. "oh, he’s gonna be so down bad."

minho, who was there for moral support (and probably just to witness the mess), snorted. "i feel like you guys are putting way too much effort into this for something that’s supposed to be fake."

you waved him off. "it’s about principle, minho. if i’m attending this wedding, i’m doing it fashionably."

yeji clapped her hands. "alright, no more talking. let’s get started."

you sat down in front of the large mirror, already giddy with excitement. yeji pulled out a dewy foundation, squeezing some onto a brush before carefully blending it into your skin.

"ooooh, this is nice," you hummed, tilting your head. "i feel expensive."

julie giggled. "you are expensive. you’re literally wearing jeongin’s money."

"true," felix mused. "that dress is basically his investment."*

minho, scrolling through his phone, raised an eyebrow. "does he know you’re using his money for world domination?"

"he literally bought all of this for her to not embarrass herself and him at the wedding. or so he says,"

yeji shushed everyone. "focus, people. we have work to do."

she moved on to your eye makeup, dusting a soft champagne shimmer over your lids before blending in warm brown tones for a subtle angelic effect. julie leaned in, swiping a bit of highlighter onto your cheekbones.

"okay, wow," ryujin muttered, staring at you through the mirror. "you look hot."

felix whistled. "jeongin’s not surviving this wedding."

you bit back a grin. "good. he better be speechless."

once your makeup was flawless, the group moved on to hair.

"loose waves or a sleek bun?" yeji asked, holding up a curling iron in one hand and a hair tie in the other.

"waves," julie said instantly.

"bun," minho countered.

felix shook his head. "half-up, half-down. elegant, but still fun."

yeji got to work, curling your hair into soft waves before pinning back the top section with delicate golden clips. the result? ethereal.

julie squealed. "you look like a princess."

felix nodded in approval. "jeongin is so screwed."

you twirled a strand of hair between your fingers, already imagining his reaction.

oh, he’s gonna lose his mind.

just as the finishing touches were being added, your phone buzzed on the desk.

you grinned, picking up instantly. "hey, topper."

there was a pause.

"why do you sound like you’re up to something?" jeongin finally said, suspicious.

"me?" you feigned innocence. "i’m just getting ready for the wedding."

"and she's always up to something." minho innocently called out.

"he's right.. anyway, are you done? i’m supposed to pick you up soon."

felix mouthed, ‘not yet,’ so you quickly responded, "nope, still in the middle of it."

jeongin groaned. "it’s been two hours. what are you guys doing, painting a mural?"

"excuse me," you huffed, "this is an art form."

julie took the phone from you. "quit it, yang, she’s going to be breathtaking, okay? let us do our work."

felix grabbed the phone next. "you’re gonna die when you see her, dude. we’re talking jaw on the floor, malfunctioning brain, speechless for a whole minute."

jeongin scoffed. "highly doubt it."

you smirked. "oh, you will, yang. mark my words."

he sighed. "whatever. just don’t take forever."

"patience, love," you teased. "perfection takes time."

jeongin hung up.

ryujin burst out laughing. "you are so annoying."

"and yet, he still picked up the call," you sang. "he’s already whipped."

soon enough, by the time you were fully ready, you stared at yourself in the mirror, stunned.

the dress—handpicked by jeongin himself—hugged you perfectly, shimmering under the soft dorm lights. your makeup was glowy, radiant, with just the right amount of soft elegance. your hair cascaded in perfect waves, the golden clips glinting like stars.

you grinned. "holy shit. i look amazing."

felix threw his hands up. "finally, some self-awareness."

julie wiped a fake tear. "our girl is glowing."

yeji beamed. "he is going to choke on his own spit."

ryujin smirked. "and we will be there to witness it."

minho sighed, shaking his head. "i’m leaving before i die from secondhand embarrassment."

the sound of a car horn echoed from outside the dorm building, cutting through the last-minute chaos still unfolding in your room. yeji, who had been making final, unnecessary adjustments to your hair, peeked out through the window, before gasping dramatically.

“he’s here.”

felix, standing beside you, whispered, “showtime.”

julie grabbed your shoulders. “you ready?”

you grinned, adjusting one of your golden earrings. “i was born ready.”

with that, you turned on your heel, smoothing down the fabric of your dress one last time before heading out the door, your friend group cheering you on like you were about to walk into a battle.

"oh, they grow up so quick." said a blonde.

as you stepped outside, the cool evening air met your skin, contrasting with the warmth radiating from your excitement. the moment you laid eyes on jeongin’s car parked by the curb, you smirked.

time to ruin a nerd’s life.

jeongin was leaning casually against the hood of his sleek, jet-black sedan, one hand resting in his pocket while the other held his phone. his black suit jacket was unbuttoned, the white dress shirt underneath crisp, a silver watch peeking out from his sleeve. his black hair, styled perfectly as always, slightly tousled in the wind. if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was posing for a magazine cover rather than waiting for you.

but the moment his gaze lifted and landed on you, you caught it.

a split second. a flicker.

his jaw almost dropped.

his eyes widened just a fraction, lips parting, breath stalling.

it lasted less than a heartbeat before he recovered, straightening his posture, face smoothing back into nonchalance like he hadn’t just malfunctioned at the sight of you.

damn, he was good.

you grinned, stopping in front of him. “see something you like, yang?”

jeongin huffed, eyes raking over you once more before tilting his head slightly. “i’ve seen better.”

you gasped, placing a hand over your heart. “you liar.”

his lips twitched, barely hiding a smirk as he opened the passenger door for you. “get in before you make us late.”

you made sure to take your time as you gracefully stepped into the car, your dress pooling around you as you sat. jeongin shut the door behind you before walking around to the driver’s side. as he slid in, you shot him a playful look.

“i know you almost fainted back there.”

jeongin scoffed, starting the engine. “please. i have an immune system strong enough to handle some glitter.”

you gasped again, dramatic. “this is gold, jeongin. not glitter. gold.”

he smirked, finally glancing at you as he pulled onto the main road. “and what’s the difference?”

you pointed at him. “that? that right there? that’s why you’re single. being a fashionista.”

jeongin let out a laugh, the rich sound filling the car. “i’m literally dating someone right now.”

you shrugged, adjusting your earring again. “right. fake. that means you’re still single, technically. which, i repeat, is because you don’t know the difference between glitter and gold.”

jeongin shook his head, exhaling through a smile. “you’re exhausting.”

“and yet, here you are, willingly spending time with me. interesting.”

he glanced at you from the corner of his eye, a small smirk still lingering. “not willingly. you just happen to be my only option for tonight.”

you scoffed. “please, your entire family is about to think we’re soulmates. try to act a little more obsessed.”

he groaned. “god, don’t remind me.”

the car settled into a smooth rhythm on the highway, the soft hum of the engine filling the space between conversations. the city lights stretched out beyond the windshield, a blur of gold and blue against the darkening sky. you rested your elbow on the door, cheek against your knuckles as you stared out at the view.

“so,” you said after a beat, “nervous?”

jeongin raised an eyebrow, hands firm on the wheel. “about what?”

“about bringing your totally real girlfriend to a family wedding?”

he exhaled a laugh. “not at all. i know how to handle them.”

you hummed. “and by handle, you mean avoid?”

“exactly.”

you grinned. “well, i’m excited.”

jeongin turned his head slightly. “you are?”

“yeah,” you mused. “i mean, i get to see you panic in real-time when your aunts start asking when the wedding is.”

jeongin groaned again, this time leaning back against his seat like he was already exhausted. “i swear, they’ll probably have a guest list prepared.”

you patted his shoulder reassuringly. “don’t worry. i’ll just tell them we’re taking it slow. maybe a destination wedding next year.”

jeongin shot you a glare, but there was amusement flickering beneath it. “if you say that, i’m leaving you in the parking lot.”

you gasped. “heartless.”

he only smirked, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “you knew that before agreeing to this.”

“agreeing?” you scoffed. “more like getting trapped. let’s not forget who set us up.”

jeongin exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “han jisung.”

you both sat in silence for a moment, before saying in unison—

“i hate him.”

laughter erupted between you two, the sound blending seamlessly with the steady hum of the car.

after the laughter faded, jeongin stole another glance at you. his gaze lingered a little longer this time, tracing the glow of the streetlights reflecting off your skin, the way your eyes seemed even warmer under the city’s golden hue.

“how do you do that?” he murmured.

you turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “do what?”

he hesitated for a split second before looking back at the road. “turn everything into a game. like you’re always winning something.”

you smirked. “because i am. i win at life.”

jeongin rolled his eyes. “that’s not what i meant.”

you watched him for a moment, your smirk softening just slightly. “i don’t know,” you admitted. “i guess… it’s more fun this way.”

he hummed, fingers tapping against the wheel again. “you don’t take things too seriously.”

“not true,” you corrected. “i just choose what to take seriously.”

he glanced at you again, this time studying you. “like what?”

you shrugged. “people, mostly. the ones i care about. the things that make them happy, the things that make them sad. everything else?” you smiled. “i don’t see the point in wasting energy.”

jeongin was silent for a moment. then—

“you’re kind of weird.”

you burst out laughing. “took you long enough to figure that out.”

his lips twitched, eyes flickering between the road and you. “still… i think it’s a weirdly nice way to live.”

you leaned back into your seat, looking out at the twinkling city lights. “well, duh. i’m awesomesauce.”

"i take everything back." jeongin muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he turned onto the exit leading toward the grand venue. the anticipation of the night ahead settled between you both, electric, humming beneath the surface.

and though he wouldn’t say it out loud, jeongin was beginning to think that maybe, he was going to lose this bet.

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cressidagrey · 8 months ago

Text

It's a Love Story - Chapter 9

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible. Racism against Illyrians/Lesser Faes?

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Rhys had the seething hot realisation that he had really fucked up on Winter Solstice.

Before that…well. He could still pretend.

Pretend that maybe Azriel just needed time. That he just needed…time to adjust and would get over himself eventually.

Would get over Solstice two years ago. Would get over Mor finding her mate in Emerie… Would get over it all.

That it was just him moping and licking his wounds and he would be back to normal. That maybe he just needed to punch Rhys, get it out of his system and it would be done.

So Rhys had baited him.

Repeatedly.

Azriel didn’t fight. Didn’t protest.

As a boy…Az had attacked snarling and growling, furious and vicious.

Rhys had waited for that same exact result.

Nothing of that sort had happened.

Now…Now Azriel just looked at him, eyes dark and cold…

“Why should I tell you? I may trust you with this court, Rhysand, but I do not trust you with anything I love. Not anymore.”

And then he turned and left. Not giving them a second look.

Rhys could just stare at him.

He had expected anger, protests, anything. But this...this was worse.

This was Azriel putting him on notice that he didn't trust Rhys at all anymore.

For a moment it was silent.

Then Cassian broke it.

"Give me one good reason, why I shouldn't fucking snap your neck for talking to my brother like that," Cassian seethed. "One reason."

"I didn't...think...

"You didn't think?" Cassian repeated, his voice sharp and incredulous. "Really? You didn't think that your words and actions could have a negative impact on Azriel? You just expected him to be fine after you basically told him that you don't trust him to act like an adult around Elain? That you think Elain and Mor are more important than him? You're unbelievable, Rhys."

"I did what was best for the court," Rhys protested feebly.

"Yes, a spymaster that doesn't trust his High Lord is incredibly good for our court," Cassian agreed with a sage nod, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You told him to go to a fucking pleasure hall and pay for it? You told Azriel of all people that?! What is fucking wrong with you, Rhys?!"

Rhys let out a frustrated sigh. "I was trying to make a point, Cassian," he said. "He wasn't really in love with Elain, he just liked the idea of her."

Cassian gaped at Rhys, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "That's bullshit, Rhys, and you know it," he snapped. "Azriel had feelings for Elain, real feelings. Maybe still has them. Who knows. He was ready to die, so that Lucien could live. He did that for her. Tell me to my face again that he didn't really love her."

Rhys ran a hand over his face, his frustration clear. "I...I may have underestimated the depth of Azriel's feelings for Elain," he admitted grudgingly. "But my duty as High Lord is to protect my court first and foremost. And I really didn't want to deal with a Blood Duel. Beron was still in play then, before Eris got rid of him. If he got wind..."

"I understand your duties, Rhys," Cassian said, his voice gentler now. "But you went too far this time. You crossed a line, and Azriel feels betrayed and hurt. You dismissed his feelings as if they didn't matter, and that's not right. He's not just your spymaster or soldier, he's your brother."

He was. Which was exactly why Rhys didn't want him anywhere near that particular powder keg at that time. And then Elain had already chosen her mate, and Rhys thought with that...it was done.

"He's just being stubborn. He'll get over himself eventually," Rhys said. Right?

That's how far he got, before Cassian punched him straight into the nose.

Rhys stumbled back, clutching his nose. "What the hell, Cassian?" he demanded, his voice muffled by the blood gushing from his nose.

Cassian stared at him, his expression unreadable. "You are really, really stupid, Rhys. Idiotic. Azriel’s not being stubborn, he's heartbroken. Hurt. Betrayed. And you treat his feelings as if they are nothing!"

Rhys winced, his eyes watering from the pain and the accusation in Cassian's words. "I...I just wanted to protect him. I thought it was for the best..."

Cassian barked out a sharp laugh. "You were doing more harm than good, Rhys. You can't just push someone's feelings aside because it's convenient for you. That's not how relationships work, especially not between brothers."

"And what the fuck were you thinking when you told him to behave about Mor?! Did you ever even consider to maybe try and get Mor to talk to Azriel? That maybe that would be a good solution? Make her apologise for treating him like she did treat him? Azriel had every fucking right to be hurt and angry at her. He would have had every fucking right and Mor would have needed to accept that!"

Rhys winced again. "I...I just didn't want any… arguments, Cassian. Mor and Emerie are happy now. I didn't want to dredge up old hurts and cause tensions within the court."

"So because Azriel keeps his feelings quiet and doesn't complain, you just treated him like shit. Great job, High Lord," Cassian drawled.

Rhys flinched at Cassian's words. Deep down he knew Cassian was right. He had been too focused on preserving the peace and avoiding conflict, that he had overlooked and dismissed Azriel's feelings.

"Azriel has done everyhting in his power to make everybody around him comfortable. Nobody ever does the same for him," Cassian said darkly. "I fucked up too, you know. With Mor. With not being there when I should be...but at least I never told Azriel to Behave like he is either your dog or a child." Cassian shook his head. "I have no fucking clue if you even can fix this, Rhys, even if you wanted to. He clearly doesn't trust you at all anymore."

That had just become very fucking clear.

"I...I never meant to hurt him," Rhys said, his voice cracking. "I just...I thought I was doing what was best for him. For everyone."

"Azriel was willing to go to war for you," Cassian said sharply. "We both were. We knew that everything involving you and Feyre and Tamlin was a war waiting too happen. But we took that risk. And hwne it was time for you to take that risk for your brother, you chose your court over him, Rhys. I get it. I understand why you did it, even if I disagree...I could forgive you that. BUt you telling Azriel to go to a pleasure hall, because he doesn't know his own feelings..."

Rhys felt the weight of Cassian's words settling in his gut like a heavy stone. He had never considered that his actions could be interpreted that way. "But...you have to understand, Cassian. I have responsibilities, a duty to the Night Court and its people. I have to consider the impact every decision has."

“And in this, you were also Azriel’s brother,” Cassian cut him off. “I don’t care about your reasoning. You need to start with a fucking apology. You treated him worse than you would every other of your soldiers.”

Rhys swallowed.

To say that Cassian was furious…That was a fucking understatmeent.

And even if…even if he ignored this…there was something else that…

"His mother..." he wasn't sure how to ask that question.

"Azriel made that decision," Cassian said calmly. "He didn't want you to feel like that was in any way your fault because you sealed Velaris for 50 years. Quite frankly...I think Azriel's mother has been searching for an excuse not to see him anymore for a very long time."

Rhys' expression fell, the weight of guilt pressing down on him even more heavily now, if that was even possible. "I...I didn't know," he said quietly. "I...I really didn't know that it had come to this between Azriel and his mother. I...I really didn't, Cassian, I swear."

"Of course you didn't. We kept it from you," Cassian said drily. "Azriel does know how to keep a secret. Which we have just seen. I had absolutely no clue that he has met his mate."

Rhys swallowed. This should...It should have been...something happy that Azriel met his mate. He should have been telling Rhys and Cassian all about it, eyes alight with excitement and not...not spit it out just to spite Rhys.

He had really messed it up this time, hadn't he? Rhys knew that he had to make things right with Azriel, even if it meant facing the hard truth about how he had failed him as a brother and a High Lord.

"Who do you think she is?" he asked weakly.

Cassian stared at him. "I don't fucking care. She can be Sellyn Drake for all I care and I'll be her very best friend as long as she treats Azriel well and makes him happy," Cassian told him tightly. "And you...You'll keep out of it."

Rhys recoiled as if he had been slapped, but he knew Cassian was righr. He had lost the right to be involved in Azriel's personal life, and it was his own fault.

"An apology is the least you owe Azriel, Rhys. And you owe Mor the fucking truth as well. Namely that the only reason that Azriel is probably civil to her, is that you ordered him to. Actually, you owe all of us the truth."

Rhys grimaced. He knew that he had to come clean and face the consequences of his actions, even if it meant causing more chaos and unrest within his court. "Feyre is going to kill me," he mumbled under his breaht. Cassian didn't look sorry in the slightest.

"Then you shouldn't have behaved like a fucking asshole," Cassian gave back flatly. "Let's go back to Velaris. We'll have this discussion now.”

Rhys nodded, a sense of resignation washing over him. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for the difficult conversation that was awaitng him.

"What happened to your nose?" Feyre asked as soon as he entered the River House. "Where's Az?"

"I broke it," Cassian gave back drily. "Don't worry, Rhysand deserves worse."

Rhys grimaced at the thought of having to explain the whole situation to Feyre. "Azriel...he got...upset. We had a fight. And Cassian punched me. It's...it's complicated," Rhys mumbled.

"Correction," Cassian snapped. "You were an utter prick to Azriel, who decided that he would rather spent Winter Solstice with his mate that none of us knew existed. And I punched you, because you didn't even fucking understand what you did wrong in the first place."

Feyre's eyes widened in disbelief as she listened to Cassian's explanation. "Rhys, what is he talking about?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern. "Why would Azriel get so upset?"

"Because apparently, Little Rhysie in his infinite wisdom, did not only tell Azriel and I quote "If you want to fuck somebody, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it," when he found out about Azriel's crush on Elain, but has also apparently spent the last 2 years telling my brother to "behave" like he's some kind of dog," Cassian said sarcastically. Rhys grimaced. "You should consider yourself lucky that I only broke your nose," Cassian told him darkly. "I ought to fucking throttle you for doing this to Az."

Shock and anger poured all over the mating bond and he met Feyre’s eyes with no small amount of trepidation.

Feyre stared at him, her expression a mix of shock and disappointment. "Is that true, Rhys? Did you really say that to Azriel?"

"Feyre Darling..." he started.

*Did you really tell Azriel "If you want to fuck somebody, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it.”?* she demanded mentally.

Rhys winced, knowing that he couldn't lie to Feyre through the bond. *I...I may have said something along those lines,* he admitted reluctantly.

Feyre narrowed her eyes at Rhys. "And the whole 'behave' thing?" she asked sharply.

Rhys looked down, unable to meet Feyre's gaze. "I...I may have used that phrase a few times," he said quietly.

"A few times?" Feyre repeated, her voice rising in anger. "How many times, Rhys? How many times did you tell Azriel to 'behave' because of his feelings for Elain?"

“It wasn’t about Elain. It was also about Mor,“ Cassian said drily.

“What?“ Mor demanded.

Rhys winced as he realized that the truth was about to come out.

"Mor, I-"

Mor's eyes narrowed as she took in Rhys' reaction. "Tell me, Rhysand. What did you say to Azriel about me?"

Rhys sighed heavily, knowing that he couldn't avoid this conversation anymore. "I...I may have told Azriel to 'behave' around you and Emerie. I was afraid that his feelings for you would cause tension within the court."

Mor's eyes widened in disbelief. "You told him to behave around me?” She swallowed these beautiful brown eyes lined with tears. “You…I thought…I thought he was…he was happy for us but it’s was only because you told him to behave. I let him be, I didn’t try to talk to him, because he seemed fine.”

Rhys winced at Mor's words, feeling the weight of his actions. "I thought it would be easier for everyone, Mor.”

“Easier to make him lie?” Mor asked him, her voice tight. “Easier to forbid him to express his actual feelings? I know…I didn’t behave right with him but I thought we were better. But we weren’t. He was just acting like everything was fine so you wouldn’t lay into him and punish him for misbehaving!”

Rhys felt a pang of guilt in his chest. "I...I never meant to hurt him, Mor. I thought I was doing what was best for everyone."

Mor shook her head, her eyes shimmering with tears. "You weren't doing what was best for him. You were doing what was easiest for you."

Rhys dropped his gaze, knowing that he had brought this situation upon himself. "I...I don't know how to make it right," he admitted. "I've lost his trust, and I don't know if I can ever earn it back."

Amren huffed, crossing her arms, her dark eyes glittering with annoyance. "Well, you certainly made a mess of things, Rhysand." She leaned in closer, her voice low and intense. "But you'd better find a way to fix it. And fast. Because we're not just talking about Azriel here. We're talking about the future of this court."

Rhys nodded tightly. "I know," he said quietly.

He was very much aware what it would mean to their court if Azriel decided to leave them. The disadvantage they woul find themselves in…and this didn’t even start to cover the personal loss of losing his brother.

“Leave him be,” Nesta said at that moment.

Rhys turned to Nesta, his expression conflicted. "I can't just do nothing, Nesta. He's my brother,” he told his sister-in-law, but Nesta wasn’t having it, sticking out her chin.

"And yet you treated him like some kind of attack dog who needed to be kept under control. That's not how you treat a brother, Rhys," she seethed. “I ought to stab you.”

Rhys flinched at Nesta's words, knowing that she was right. "I know," he said quietly. "I was wrong, and I need to make things right with him."

"You sure as hell better," Cassian growled. "Azriel doesn't deserve any of this bullshit."

***

To his surprise… Sky was at home.

He hadn’t thought she would be there…he thought he would be greeted by an annoyed Hector, who would be bitchy that it was him coming home and not Sky.

But Hector was nowhere to be seen. He could hear his meowing though.

He found his mate buried in their bed, seemingly all the blankets in the house put on top of herself…and Hector pawing at the mountain of blankets, demanding to be let in.

"Are you hiding from the world, my love?" He asked softly, as he crawled into the bed next to her, lifting a few blankets so Hector could slither underneath them, which he did immediately. He carefully pulled the blankets away from her face and Sky looked at him, eyes red from crying.

In the same breath he suddenly picked up the salty scent of tears. That was all he needed to pull her into his arms.

“I thought you were having dinner with your family,” Sky whispered, her voice hoarse, burying her face against his chest.

“Didn’t end well,” he told her drily. “Yours?”

“Didn’t end well either,” she said with a laugh that turned into a sob.

A soft sniffle. No. Not again. He couldn’t deal with her crying. He couldn’t…it ripped apart his hear to see his mate like that and he held her tighter."It's all right, love," he murmured, holding her close. "I'm here with you now. Let it all out." He gently ran his hand up and down her back, trying to soothe her.

"Tell me what's happened," he said gently, his voice filled with concern.

“I…I am a ho…horrible p…person,” Sky whimpered.

He nearly wanted to laugh at the pure ridiculousness of that statement. Sky, the sweetest person he had ever met, a horrible person? Not possible.

"You're not a horrible person," he said firmly. "Not at all. You're the kindest, most compassionate person I've ever met."

“I…I to…told Cl…Claire th…that at le…least I…I do…don’t ha…have my si…sister’s slop…sloppy se…seconds.”

He needed a moment to parse it, her stutter worse than he had ever heard it.

“What?” he could just ask dumbly as he blinked. Sky? Sky had said what?!

“I…I to…told Cl…Claire th…that at le…least I…I do…don’t ha…have my si…sister’s slop…sloppy se…seconds,” she repeated and began to cry again, hiding her face in her hands. “I…I am a ho…horrible p…person,” she whimpered.

Azriel gently took her hands in his, guiding them away from her face. "You're not a horrible person, sweetheart," he said firmly.

She wasn’t.

He highly doubted that Sky had said that without…without her sister saying something worse first.

And it wasn’t like it wasn’t…"Besides…you said nothing that wasn’t true,” Azriel said drily.."

Sky hiccuped out a laugh and then started crying in the earnest again.

“That’s why you are so upset?” He asked softly, against her warm skin. “You aren’t a horrible person. I swear.

“N..no.” Sky said softly. “I…I am ne..never se…seeing them again.”

Azriel's heart sank at her words. "Your family? Why…why are you never seeing them again?"

“I…I am ne..never se…seeing them again. Not after what they…they said.” She was dead serious. He could hear that in her voice.

And it was…

Azriel's heart clenched at the thought of her severing ties with her family, of her…they treated her horrible but Sky loved them. Sky loved them so much. So much more than they deserved. "What did they say, sweetheart?" he asked gently.

Sky took a shaky breath, struggling to get the words out. "They... They said…said so…some things," she whispered, her voice quavering. "Things I can't…I can’t for…forgive them for."

"What did they say, sweetheart?" he asked again, his voice gentle yet firm. "I want to know."

He wanted to know. And then he wanted to kill them for upsetting her like this.

Sky closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face. "You do…don’t want to know."

Azriel took her face in his hands, gently wiping away her tears. "I do want to know," he corrected her softly. "Because whatever they said, it hurt you, and I want to be there for you."

“They…They had a pro…problem with the fact that you were Ill…Illyrian,” she whispered.

Ah. “You don’t need to say anything more,” he said wryly. “But I promise that I have heard worse. If you still want to be around them…” he hated how they treated sky but he was not about to let her cut off contact with her family just because they didn’t like him. He could deal with that. He had survived worse.

Sky shook her head fiercely. "No,” she said, her voice so weak…and so definitive. “No.”

Azriel's heart swelled with love for her as she stood her ground. "I understand, sweetheart," he murmured, pulling her closer. "If that's what you want, I'll stand by you, whatever you decide. But I don't want you to make this decision because of me."

“They…They told me that you were a cre…creature and a mo..monster and that they were surprised you hadn’t rip…ripped me apart. My father threatened to disinherit me if I didn’t give up the m…mating bond. So I told him I never wanted to hear a single word from him ever again,” she whispered, her voice growing stronger.

Azriel's eyes darkened with anger as she recounted the hurtful things her family had said about him. He tightened his arms around her.

"I'm so sorry, Sky," he whispered. "You don't deserve any of this. And your family doesn't deserve you."

“I coul…couldn't just…just sit there and let them say those ter…terrible things about you, about us,” Sky whispered. “I can't be around people who would say those kinds of things about the person I love the most in the world."

“…you love me?” He whispered in wonder.

She loved him? She chose him? Even over her family? Even…

Sky looked up at him, these blue eyes looking at him. “Yes. More than anything.”

He swallowed, his heart swelling.

"I love you too, Sky. More than anything," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm so grateful that I have you in my life."

Sky smiled, her eyes shining with love. "You….You don't have to do a…anything to deserve me, Azriel. You just have to be yourself. That's all I've ever wanted. And I wouldn't change a thing about you. You're perfect, just the way you are."

Azriel felt a lump form in his throat. "I'm far from perfect, Sky," he said, his voice rough. "But I promise you, I will always do my best to make you happy. That's all I want."

He pressed soft kisses all over her face, making her giggle softly.

“Let’s just have our own Solstice celebration,“ he whispered softly.

Sky smiled at the idea. "Th..That sounds p…perfect," she whispered. “Just the two of us, together. It's a..all I need."

There still was a rabbit he had hunted in the cooling cabinet…and so while Azriel took care of cooking thst, Sky was making…something that involved stale bread, milk, eggs and plenty of sugar for dessert.

Azriel smiled as he watched her work. "What in the world are you making, love?" he asked, peeking over her shoulder. "It smells delicious."

Sky grinned, holding up the bowl she was stirring. "It's…It’s a bread pudding," she said. "I found an old recipe in a c…cookbook. It's supposed to be a t…traditional Winter Solstice dessert."

Azriel raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You never cease to amaze me, sweetheart," he said, chuckling. "I can't wait to try it." He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek, his heart full of adoration for her.

Sky blushed at his affection. "I just hope it turns out okay," she said, adding a pinch of cinnamon to the mix. "But even if it doesn't, it will be p…perfect just because we're together."

Azriel smiled at her words, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. "You're right," he said softly. "As long as we're together, it doesn't matter what we eat or what we do. Just being with you is a gift in itself."

“You should write poetry,” his mate told him sweetly and he couldn’t help but laugh. He had picked up one of the poetry books she kept weeks ago and had found the whole thing… well. As long as Sky liked it…

Azriel chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't think I have the talent for poetry, sweetheart," he said, grinning. "But I'm glad you think so highly of me."

Sky playfully nudged him with her shoulder. "Oh come on, I'm sure you could write the most beautiful sonnets if you r…really tried," she teased. "I've heard you whisper s…sweet nothings in my ear before, and they sound pretty poetic to me."

Azriel laughed and wrapped his arms around her. “I'll leave the sonnets to the experts and just continue whispering sweet nothings to you instead,” he promised her softly.

“Sounds perfect to me,” she agreed brightly.

Dinner with Sky was better than any dinner with the inner circle could be. Roasted rabbit and crusty bread, followed by caramel bread pudding…

And then it was just him and Sky wrapped into each others arms on the couch, with Hector stretched out in front of the fireplace, blankets wrapped around him…

They had promised each other to not go overboard with gifts. But clearly oone of them had not listened, which hadn’t been him… there was a pile of wrapped gifts appearing on the couch table.

Azriel raised an eyebrow at the pile of gifts, chuckling. "Well, someone certainly didn't stick to our agreement, did they?" he teased, glancing at Sky with a playful smile. "Not that I mind, of course," he added, reaching for one of the packages. "I just hope my gift isn't embarrassingly small in comparison."

“…I…I only got you o…one thing,“ Sky admitted weakly, staring at the pile of gift.

Then who… Azriel stared at the shadows who were swirling happily around sky.

“I think I know the culprit,” he said drily.

*I thought I told you not to buy her anything new,* he told them drily.

*We didn’t!* they assure him.

Azriel chuckled at the insistent swirling of the shadows. "I don't know, love," he said with a grin. "It seems like my shadows are feeling particularly generous this year." He reached for the nearest gift and handed it to her. "Here, why don't you open this one first?"

“You got me something?” Sky asked the shadows. “You shouldn’t have! I didn’t get anything for you!”

Azriel laughed, knowing that it was pointless to try and reason with the shadows when they were in a playful mood like this. "They don't care about that, love," he said, nudging her gently. "They just want to make you happy. Go on, open it."

Azriel had no idea what to even give the shadows anyway. *You could give us permission to ruin her sisters life,* they told him brightly

Azriel laughed again, shaking his head. *As tempting as that may be, I don’t think that's the best way to spread the holiday cheer,* he said drily.

*She deserves it,* the shadows murmured. *We wouldn’t outright kill her…*

*No, you’ll find some mischievous and chaotic way to torment her and make her life miserable,* he retorted with a grin. *Don’t physically harm her,* he warned them quietly. Tacit approval. The shadows danced in the spot as Sky opened the first box. Velvet wrapped.

Jewellery.

A chicken egg sized sapphire in the middle of a necklace consisting out of sapphire and diamonds. He just sighed. Sky stared.

“Please…Please t…tell me that’s n..not r..real,“ she said weakly, her voice shaking.

*Of course it’s real,* the shadows assured her like even the suggestion of it being fake was an affront. *Master’s mate doesn’t wear fake gems!*

Azriel would have liked to face palm.

"I'm afraid the shadows insist that they only give the best for their master's mate," he said wryly.

„This must have cost a fortune!“ Sky protested. “Where am I even supposed to wear it?“

Azriel chuckled, "I wouldn't waste my breath trying to argue with the shadows. And as for where you're supposed to wear it, well… anywhere you want, really, love."

*Please tell me you didn’t steal that,* he told the shadows

*We didn't! We got it fair and square!* the shadows protested innocently.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, not quite believing them. *And how exactly did you manage that?* he asked dryly.

*We paid for it,* they told him innocently, fluttering around like they hadn’t bought her the biggest and most expensive sapphire he had ever seen.

“I can’t…“ Sky trailed off.

“You’ll break their heart if you turn it down,“ Azriel said with a sigh."Just accept it, love," he said gently. "They mean well, even if they have a tendency to overdo it sometimes,” he said pointedly, something the shadows happily ignored. "They have their own line of credit, so whatever they buy is theirs to do with as they please," he said drily.

Sky grimaced, staring down at the necklace…

"Please…please tell me there isn't…isn’t more pr…priceless je…jewellery in that stack?" she asked with a grimace. "

Azriel laughed, "I wish I could tell you that, but knowing the shadows, I wouldn't be surprised if they've bought you enough jewelry to start your own royal collection."

They had behaved...mostly.

If one ignored the hair comb dripping with some other blue stone...and the earrings that matched that necklace...and the quill that he was pretty sure was encrusted with actual diamonds.

Otherwise they had procured plenty of books for Sky, and had somehow found her a whole stack of notebooks…

(He was pretty sure they lied to him when they told him that they hadn’t bought any of this stuff knew. Where had they kept it otherwise?!)

Azriel couldn't help but shake his head in amusement as Sky opened each gift one by one. "Well, at least they managed to keep it under control for the most part," he said with a wry smile. "But knowing them, I'm sure there's still more where that came from."

Sky's eyes widened as she looked at all the gifts. "This is too much," she protested weakly. "I don't deserve all of this," she muttered. He would have argued, but instead he just pressed a kiss to her temple. "Thank you very much," she thanked the shadows that happily twirled around her hair at her words.

Azriel chuckled, watching the shadows twirling in the air around Sky's head. "I think you just made their day," he said with a grin. "They're always happy to spoil you, love."

"I…I just hope they re…realize that I have a…absolutely no place to wear all of this," she said with a laugh. "I don't want to look like a walking jewelry store every time I leave the house…"

Azriel chuckled, "Well, they do have a bit of a tendency to go overboard when it comes to their gifts. But I can't really blame them, they just want to make you happy." He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek, his eyes twinkling with love. "And you deserve everything and more, love, even if it makes you look like a walking jewelry store every once in a while."

She melted into the kiss.

"I went a very different route for your gift," she told him drily, handing him a sole gift bag.

The first thing he pulled from it was a tin of tuna.

The laughter was immediate. He couldn't help it. Deep belly laughter, his amusement apparent, warmth filling his chest. Azriel couldn't help but burst into laughter as he pulled the tin of tuna from the gift bag. "Is this for Hector or for me?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

"I did promise to buy you tuna," Sky gave back with a laugh. "I just thought it would set the tone for the second gift."

The second gift he pulled from the bag was a knitted sweater. Slits down the back for his wings...made out of thick and warm and soft black yarn.

Azriel's laughter faded into a gentle smile as he took in the knitted sweater. "Sky, is this..." He trailed off, fingers brushing the soft, warm fabric. "Did you make this?"

"I did promise to knit you a sweater too," she said simply.

Azriel couldn't help but melt at her words, feeling his heart fill with warmth. "You remembered," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I can't believe you made this for me, sweetheart." He pulled Sky into a tight embrace, feeling her heart beat in sync with his. "It's perfect," he murmured, his voice muffled against her hair. "Just like you."

"I'm glad you like it," Sky said softly. "I know it's not as a King’s ransom in diamonds… but I wanted to give you something that was made with love."

Azriel pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression softening even more. "It means so much more to me because you made it," he said, his voice tender. "I'll cherish it always, just like I cherish you. Though I must admit my present is going to pale in comparison to that egg sized sapphire too," he told her drily.

Sky laughed, leaning into Azriel's embrace. "Well, to be fair, it's hard to compete with a sapphire that size," she said with a grin. "But I'm sure whatever you got me is perfect, even if it's not worth a small fortune."

It kinda was though. Even though it didn't look that way…mostly because he had spent a good few weeks until he had found a stone that even had a chance to stand next to her eyes. An oval sapphire flanked by two diamonds...set in white gold.

Azriel handed her the last box, trying to appear nonchalant. "Here, open this one," he said, trying to hide his nervousness. "I hope you like it."

Sky carefully untied the silk ribbon wrapped around the box and lifted the lid, her eyes widening in awe as she took in the ring inside.

"Marry me," it burst out of him.They had already accepted a mating bond. A marriage would be nothing more than a couple of vows in front of a priestess. But he...he wanted...

Azriel's heart was racing as he watched Sky's reaction to the ring, hoping and praying that she felt the same way he did. "I know that we already have the mating bond," he said softly. "But I want more than that, sweetheart. I...I want everything."

These devastating eyes lifted, looking at him."I want to spend every day for the rest of my life by your side," he continued, his voice rough with emotion. "I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep holding you every night. I want to build a life with you, a family with you." He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "And I want to make it official, in every way possible. Will you marry me, Sky?"

"Yes," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Yes, a hundred times yes. I want all of that too, and more. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, to be by your side every step of the way. I want to build a life together, a family together."

Quite frankly, Azriel thought that this Winter Solstice may be the best one he ever had, as she kissed him.

"We could get started on making that family," Sky told him, biting her lips as she pulled back. "You know how High Fae fertility can be...could take us decades..."

Azriel's eyes widened at her words, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, love?" he asked, his voice low and raspy as he pulled her close.

Sky nodded, her expression shy and hopeful as she looked up at him. "I…I want to be a mother s…someday," she said softly. "And I can't think of anyone I'd rather have children with than you."

Azriel felt his heart melt at her words. He couldn't believe how lucky he was to have found someone who loved him as much as Sky did. "I want that too, love," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Nothing would make me happier than to have a family with you."

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #it’s a love story

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odileeclipse · 4 months ago

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In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 13

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You exhaled a quiet laugh, glancing down at your hands before the weight of what you had asked returned to the forefront of your mind. Would he actually come? It had been a moment of impulse, that invitation. A flicker of something unfamiliar driving you to extend a bridge where there had previously been none. You weren’t sure what compelled you to do it, only that the idea of leaving this space, this feeling, behind as you stepped back into the rigid structure of your lessons felt…Lonely. You cleared your throat, shifting slightly. “It’s not exactly a scholarly gathering,” you admitted. “Just me and my friends being… well, normal. Nothing profound, no debates about philosophy or the nature of existence. Just food. Talking. Laughing.” You hesitated. “That might not be your kind of thing.” Shadow Milk Cookie was silent for a long moment, considering. “…It is true,” he said at last, “that I do not often engage in such gatherings.” You tried not to let disappointment creep into your chest. “That does not mean I would be unwilling to.” Your eyes snapped up to meet his. Something in his expression had shifted, subtle but undeniable. There was still that air of careful thought, of weighing decisions with meticulous precision, but there was also something softer. Something that felt a little like understanding. “You invited me,” he said simply, as if that alone was enough reason to consider it. You swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. I did.” He hummed, glancing toward the water once more. “I will let you know when the time comes.” It wasn’t quite a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. The willow’s branches swayed, the light shifted, and the world carried on. And beside you, the distance between you and the Sage of Truth…Shadow Milk Cookie felt just a little smaller than before. The hours had unraveled between you like thread slipping through careful fingers unnoticed at first, until the spools ran empty, leaving only the quiet realization that time had moved while you weren’t looking. The sky had softened into the golden hues of afternoon, the same sky that always signaled the slow shift toward evening, toward the time you and your friends would gather for dinner. And yet, here you still were.

The koi-like creatures drifted lazily beneath the water’s surface, the willow’s tendrils swayed, and the air had cooled just enough to carry the scent of damp earth and distant hearth smoke. Somewhere beyond the gardens, the academy’s halls stirred with the sound of students wrapping up their studies, footsteps and laughter echoing faintly in the wind. You hadn’t meant to stay this long. And neither, it seemed, had he. Shadow Milk Cookie still sat beside you, his posture as composed as ever, yet… different. More at ease. As if he had settled into the moment as fully as you had, letting conversation flow in a way that was neither structured nor scholarly just natural. You had talked about things that didn’t matter and things that did. You had asked nonsensical questions simply because you could, because it felt nice to exist outside of the rigid roles of teacher and struggling student. You had wondered aloud whether the koi-like creatures dreamed, whether the stars had favorites, whether his hair, flowing like a river of ink washing into sky, was a reflection of something deeper. “If truth is endless,” you had mused, “then I guess it makes sense that your hair looks like the night sky.” He had given you a look that suggested he was torn between amusement and exasperation. “I fail to see the correlation.”

“You would,” you had huffed, though there had been no real bite to it. And now, the time had come to part ways, to return to the rhythm of your routine. Almost reluctantly, you sat up a little straighter, stretching your arms. “It’s about that time,” you said, voice lighter than you felt. He hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze flicking toward the shifting sky. “…Have you decided?” you asked, hesitating for just a moment. “About dinner?” His eyes turned to you, unreadable in the soft afternoon glow. You had asked once before, when the idea had been nothing but a passing thought, an invitation given without expectation. But now the moment had arrived, and with it came the awareness that his answer mattered more than you had originally let yourself believe. Because in these hours spent speaking as something close to equals, something had shifted. The line in the sand was still there, but the tide had come and blurred its edges, leaving behind something unspoken, something new. Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment, as if weighing not just the question, but the intent behind it. “…I will accompany you.” You blinked, caught off guard by how simply he said it. No long-winded deliberation, no careful sidestepping. Just an answer. A yes. A grin tugged at the corner of your lips. “You make it sound like a formal engagement.” He exhaled, something close to a sigh, though there was no real annoyance behind it. “Would you rather I rescind my acceptance?” “Absolutely not.” You stood, brushing off your clothes before tilting your head toward the winding path. “Come on, then. If we’re late, Chai Latte will start interrogating me, and I don’t think you want to be on the receiving end of that.”

For a brief moment, you thought he might hesitate. But then he stood, his movements as fluid and effortless as the ever-flowing strands of his hair. “…Very well,” he said, as if conceding to some great, unknown truth. And together, you left the willow behind, stepping toward something you hadn’t yet found the words to name. The dining hall was alive with the warmth of conversation and the clinking of silverware against porcelain. The high, arched windows let in the fading gold of the afternoon, casting soft shadows over the long tables where students gathered in clusters, some bent over open books, others laughing over shared meals, the weight of the day’s studies momentarily forgotten. The familiar scent of fresh bread, roasted vegetables, and fragrant tea drifted through the air, wrapping around you like something safe, something steady. You wove through the throng of students with practiced ease, Shadow Milk Cookie beside you, his presence still something you were adjusting to outside of structured learning. It was odd not unwelcome, just new to have him here, a figure who had always seemed just beyond reach now following in step with you toward something as ordinary as dinner. And yet, despite the unfamiliarity, there was a quiet sort of ease to it. When you reached the long buffet table lined with food, your hands moved almost on instinct, reaching for familiar choices the options you always went for. But something else guided your fingers, something quieter, something you weren’t entirely aware of until you set your tray down and realized you had chosen differently.

Vegetables cooked with care, grains carefully balanced, tea brewed lightly rather than steeped too long things that wouldn’t have stood out to anyone else, yet now sat before you like a quiet confession. Shadow Milk Cookie’s plate mirrored your own in ways that should have been coincidence, but now… now you weren’t sure. Had you done this unconsciously? Assimilated his preferences, however subtly, as a means of feeling closer to him? You swallowed, brushing the thought aside before it could take root. “Finally,” Earl Grey Cookie’s voice cut through your thoughts as you reached your usual table, his expression one of exaggerated relief. “I was starting to think you had abandoned us in favor of scholarly pursuits.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled from his seat beside him, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” You rolled your eyes, setting your tray down before plopping into your usual seat. “I do have a life outside of studying, you know.” Earl Grey Cookie arched a brow, his sharp gaze flicking to the figure standing just behind you. “Clearly.” The unspoken weight of his words settled between you for only a moment before you waved him off, refusing to give him the satisfaction of making you flustered. “Oh, don’t start.” But Earl Grey Cookie merely smirked before his expression shifted into something more appraising. “Is this going to start becoming a daily occurrence, then?”

You scoffed, mirroring his raised brow. “Why? Jealous I’m spending time with someone smarter than you?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nearly choked on his drink, while Chai Latte Cookie let out a delighted giggle behind her teacup. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a low chuckle, setting his fork down. “I don’t know, (Y/N). You might be treading dangerous waters.” “Please,” You huffed. “Earl Grey Cookie wishes he could keep up with me.” Earl Grey Cookie smirked, unfazed. “Is that so?” Earl Grey Cookie, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat. “Smarter, perhaps. Better company? That remains to be seen.” “Mm,” You hummed, reaching for your tea. “I mean, you do rely on me for your daily entertainment. Must get boring when I’m not around to remind you that you’re not the most clever person in the room.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie stifled a laugh behind his hand. Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, merely tilted his head. “Ah, but you assume you are the cleverest, when in reality, I merely allow you to believe so.” You grinned, leaning forward slightly. “Oh? And here I thought I was the highlight of your day.” “I’ll admit, your suffering is entertaining.” Shadow Milk Cookie watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. It was strange Earl Grey Cookie and he were not so different. Both held themselves with quiet dignity, both carried intellect like a finely honed blade. And yet, the ease with which you spoke to Earl Grey Cookie, the way you teased and played with him without hesitation…He had never heard you speak to him like that. Had never been on the receiving end of that effortless, unguarded warmth. Something unfamiliar twisted in his chest. Something close to jealousy…no, envy. And across the table, Chai Latte Cookie saw it. Chai Latte Cookie giggled behind her teacup, the corners of her lips curving into something amused, something knowing. Shadow Milk Cookie watched the exchange with quiet intensity, his golden eyes flickering between them.

He and Earl Grey Cookie were not so different. They both carried themselves with quiet authority, both wielded intellect with precision, both understood the weight of knowledge. And yet you had never spoken to him like that. There was an ease between them and Earl Grey Cookie, a natural playfulness, a warmth that flowed without hesitation. Your sharp words with him were banter, light and teasing, filled with familiarity rather than apprehension. With him, they were still careful. Respectful, yes, but… restrained. Something settled uncomfortably in his chest. Jealousy? No. Something else. Something close. Chai Latte Cookie’s voice broke through his thoughts, light and playful, yet layered with something deeper. “(Y/N) is just so captivating, aren’t they?” she mused, stirring her tea slowly, her gaze flicking to him for just a moment. “A joy to be around.” Shadow Milk Cookie turned his head slightly, studying her. The words were simple, but the meaning was not. She was watching. She had seen. Her gaze flickered once more to you, who sat across from Earl Grey Cookie, taking a sip of tea despite the fact that it had clearly steeped too long, despite the way they winced slightly at the bitterness. Drinking it, even though it burned going down, just to be petty. Just so Earl Grey Cookie would have to remake it. Their quarrel was nonsensical, meaningless, a game they played simply because they could. And yet, Shadow Milk Cookie sat here, watching. Chai Latte Cookie tilted her head, a knowing smile playing at her lips. Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled slowly. “They are…” He hesitated, just briefly, before speaking. “Determined.”

Chai Latte Cookie let out a soft hum. “That they are.” Across the table, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, having witnessed your petty war against Earl Grey Cookie’s tea, chuckled. “Oh, enough,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “Since (Y/N) seems so intent on making life difficult for Earl Grey, I think it’s only fair we return the favor.” You stiffened. “Wait-” Before you could react, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smoothly swapped their cup with a darker, stronger brew. A drink so potent that you could smell the bitterness before you even lifted the cup. Earl Grey Cookie leaned back slightly, arms crossed, smirking as he watched them hesitate. “Well?” he prompted. You groaned but, never one to back down, took a sip. Instant regret. The sheer intensity of the flavor made you grimace, your throat tightening as the bitterness lingered. Laughter rippled around the table, Chai Latte Cookie’s delighted giggles, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s triumphant chuckle, even Earl Grey Cookie’s smirk deepening ever so slightly. You set the cup down with a slow, deliberate sigh. “I hate you all.” “Oh, come now,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned. “This is justice.” groaning dramatically, you slumped against the table. And for the first time, Shadow Milk Cookie felt something odd settle within him something unfamiliar, something yearning. Because despite the absurdity of it all, despite the ridiculous antics It was warm. And for the first time, he wondered If, one day, you would speak to him with the same ease. Earl Grey Cookie took a slow, deliberate sip of his freshly brewed tea, setting it down with the kind of elegance that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing. His lips curled into a smirk as he tilted his head at you.

“You look defeated.” You scowled. “I am not defeated.” “Your expression says otherwise.” “My expression,” you retorted, narrowing your eyes, “is the face of someone plotting their next move.” “Oh?” Earl Grey Cookie leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. “A move that will finally best me, I assume?” “Finally?” You scoffed, placing a hand over your chest in mock offense. “You say that as if I haven’t bested you before.”Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Here we go again.” Earl Grey Cookie didn’t even blink. “Go ahead, (Y/N). Indulge me. When, exactly, have you bested me?” “Oh, I don’t know,” you mused, drumming your fingers against the table. “Maybe that time you got completely lost in that one library and refused to ask for help?” Earl Grey Cookie’s smirk didn’t falter. “It was a large library.” “Right, right, a ‘large’ library. And yet, who was it that had to come fetch you?” Chai Latte Cookie giggled, resting her chin on her palm. “Oh, this one sounds good.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “I remember that. Didn’t you spend hours wandering in circles?” Earl Grey Cookie took another calm sip of his tea. “I would not say hours.” “You definitely spent hours,” you countered. “And when I did find you, you tried to pretend you had been ‘surveying the architecture.’” “A fine excuse,” he mused. “An awful excuse,” you shot back. “I saw you staring at a map like it had personally wronged you.” “And yet,” Earl Grey Cookie said smoothly, “I did find my way in the end.” “Because I dragged you out!” Chai Latte Cookie and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie laughed, the warmth of the memory making the moment all the more enjoyable. Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, merely sighed. “Ah, but I do believe my superior intellect has bested you in other matters.” “Oh, do you?” You raised a brow. “Indeed,” he replied, voice as smooth as ever. “For instance, who was it that helped you during that one disastrous attempt at potion brewing?” You grimaced. “Okay, but in my defense-” “And who,” Earl Grey Cookie continued, the amusement clear in his voice, “was it that had to explain, at great length, why enchanting your own shoes to hover was not a practical means of transportation?”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “Oh yeah, that was a fun day.” “It would have worked if I had just gotten the right balance-” “No, (Y/N),” Earl Grey Cookie interjected, his smirk widening ever so slightly. “It would have ended with you flat on your face.” You huffed. “I hate that you have good points sometimes.” “As you should.” The table burst into laughter, the kind of laughter that came from familiarity, from the joy of long-standing friendship and shared memories. You hadn’t had a moment like this in so long just playful banter, just warmth, just being. It felt good. “You are comfortable,” Shadow Milk Cookie observed. The words weren’t unkind. If anything, they were spoken with the same measured calm he always carried. But something about them felt… pointed. Something about the way his golden gaze flickered between you and Earl Grey Cookie, how his voice held an undertone that wasn’t quite jealousy, wasn’t quite longing, but something teetering between the two. Something that went right over your head. Earl Grey Cookie, however, caught it instantly. He studied Shadow Milk Cookie for a moment before offering a small, knowing smirk. “Tough luck,” he said, voice light but firm. “We’ve known each other much longer. Even before the Academy.” Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head ever so slightly. “Ah.” It was all he said, but the weight of it lingered. You blinked, realizing the shift in conversation. “Wait, did I never tell you?” Shadow Milk Cookie glanced at you. “Tell me?” You waved a hand vaguely. “About the four of us? How we met before coming here?” He shook his head. “You have not.” “Oh, well,” you leaned forward, suddenly animated, “we actually met back when we were younger…years before we even thought about coming to the Academy.” Chai Latte Cookie smiled knowingly. “Oh, this is a good story.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled. “Which one? There’s too many.” “True,” you grinned. And just like that, the night stretched on, filled with laughter, filled with old stories, filled with the kind of warmth that only years of familiarity could bring. And Shadow Milk Cookie listened. Listened, and for the first time, truly understood Just how far back you and Earl Grey Cookie’s bond reached. Just how much he had yet to catch up to. You leaned back in your seat, a grin tugging at your lips as you thought back to the past. The flickering candlelight of the dining hall cast long shadows across the table, but your mind was already elsewhere somewhere far from the Academy, far from the weight of exams and expectations. Somewhere simpler. "Alright, alright, now for how we all met " you started, glancing between them. "So, it all started when we were kids before any of us had even thought about the Academy. Back then, we were just well, us." Earl Grey Cookie hummed in amusement, resting his chin on his hand. "Just us? I remember you being an absolute menace." You scoffed, crossing your arms. "You say that like you weren’t right there alongside me."

"Only to ensure you didn't completely ruin your own reputation." Chai Latte Cookie giggled, stirring her tea. "Oh, don't act so above it. You were just as bad." Earl Grey Cookie let out an exasperated sigh, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward, betraying his amusement. Shadow Milk Cookie listened quietly, golden eyes fixed on you with an unreadable expression. He had been silent for most of the conversation, simply observing, but his attention never wavered. You waved off Earl Grey’s dramatics and continued. "Anyway Hazelnut, Earl Grey, Chai Latte, and I all grew up in the same town. It wasn’t particularly big or impressive, but it had character, you know? A lot of old history, a lot of people who swore by tradition. And of course, a lot of older scholars who hated when us kids got in the way." Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. "Which we definitely did." "So," you continued, "the first time I met Earl Grey, I-uh." You hesitated, suddenly aware of Earl Grey Cookie’s expectant stare. You sighed. "Okay, fine. I might have challenged him to a duel." Chai Latte Cookie gasped in delight. "You did? I always thought it was him" "Listen, in my defense, he was insufferable even back then." "I was correct," Earl Grey Cookie corrected smoothly. You ignored him. "Anyway, we were arguing over some old scholar’s work something about magical inscriptions or whatever. I don’t even remember what, exactly. But it was heated. And at some point, I got so frustrated I just " You gestured vaguely. "Well, I declared a duel. And being the insufferable child that he was, Earl Grey actually accepted."

"It was only fair," Earl Grey Cookie said matter-of-factly. "One must back their words with action, no?" You rolled your eyes. "So we did it. Right in the middle of town. We squared up like we knew what we were doing which we absolutely didn’t, by the way. It was ridiculous. We were flailing at each other with training wands, and at one point, I tripped over my own robes" Chai Latte Cookie clapped a hand over her mouth, trying and failing to contain her laughter. You shot her a glare. "and Earl Grey nearly knocked himself out on a statue trying to dodge me." Earl Grey Cookie cleared his throat. "An unfortunate miscalculation." "Hilarious miscalculation," Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie corrected. "And then," Chai Latte Cookie cut in, eyes shining, "I stepped in to stop them from completely embarrassing themselves, and then I had to spend the next week convincing the elders that they weren’t actually a threat to the town’s intellectual reputation." "That part is true," you admitted with a sheepish grin. "Chai Latte had to sweet-talk them into believing we weren’t complete delinquents." "You were complete delinquents," she corrected with a dramatic sigh. "And I was a saint for sticking with you all." Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled. "And then I got dragged into this mess because someone needed to be the reasonable one." "I tried to be the reasonable one," Chai Latte Cookie argued, flicking a sugar cube at him. "But you’re the only one they actually listened to." "Because he bribed us with food," you admitted, shrugging. "That does sound like me," Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie said, grinning.

You turned back to Shadow Milk Cookie then, curious to see his reaction. He was quiet, gaze still fixed on you, expression unreadable. "You really did grow up together," he mused, more to himself than to anyone else. "Yeah," you said softly. "We did." And for just a moment, you thought you saw something flicker behind his golden eyes, something thoughtful, something distant. Before you could say anything, Earl Grey Cookie spoke first, his voice calm yet carrying an unmistakable weight. “It’s not that we mean to be exclusive,” he said, turning his tea cup idly between his fingers, “but there’s a certain understanding that comes with time, wouldn’t you agree?” The words were measured, careful not unkind, but pointed. You glanced at him, caught between curiosity and mild exasperation. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded in agreement, ever the steady voice of reason. “Years have a way of binding people together. It’s not something you think about until you realize how much of yourself is woven into someone else’s life.” Chai Latte Cookie rolled her eyes, though her smile softened the gesture. “Oh, don’t listen to them, Shadow Milk Cookie. They’re just being nostalgic and dramatic. They’ve spent so long looking out for each other that they don’t realize how obnoxiously obvious they’re being about it.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded them in silence, his expression unreadable as always. But something in his gaze flickered just for a second. You cleared your throat, shifting the attention away. “Well, speaking of being obnoxiously obvious, Earl Grey, weren’t you saying earlier that you learned something interesting in class? Something that I’d apparently love?”

Earl Grey Cookie’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Ah. So you were listening.” You scoffed. “Of course I was. You said my name and ‘interesting’ in the same sentence. I was practically obligated to tune in.” “Well then,” he said, setting his tea aside with deliberate precision. “Allow me to enlighten you.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a soft chuckle, while Chai Latte Cookie muttered something about him being dramatic. You, however, leaned in, curiosity piqued. “Do you remember the discussion we had about astral inscriptions last month?” Earl Grey Cookie asked. You frowned, searching your memory. “Vaguely? You mean the old ones that scholars still can’t fully translate?” “Exactly. We were discussing how certain scholars believe they were never meant to be read in a conventional sense.” He paused, letting the intrigue build. “Well, our professor mentioned an ongoing theory, one that suggests they’re not a language so much as a mathematical equation. A formula, rather than prose.” Your eyes widened. “Wait, you mean like a spell?” “In a way, yes. The theory suggests that the inscriptions aren’t just meant to be understood but activated. That their meaning is revealed only when the right sequence is performed.” Chai Latte Cookie, who had been listening with mild interest, raised a brow. “That’s… oddly poetic.” “It is poetic,” you murmured, mind already racing with the implications. “Imagine entire texts that don’t just tell knowledge but become knowledge. That means-” “That some of the most enigmatic passages in history might be locked behind a logic we haven’t yet unraveled,” Earl Grey Cookie finished. You sat back, exhaling. “That’s insane.” “And yet, it makes sense,” he said smoothly. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled. “Look at you two, finishing each other’s thoughts. You really are insufferable.” You nudged Earl Grey Cookie with your elbow. “You have to show me your notes on this.” “I already knew you’d ask,” he replied, reaching into his bag. “I made a copy.” “You legend,” you said, taking the parchment from him with something close to reverence. Chai Latte Cookie sipped her tea, giving Shadow Milk Cookie a knowing glance. “See? This is what we mean. You’d think they were born for this.”

Shadow Milk Cookie had been watching the entire exchange, silent but entirely present. His golden eyes flicked between you and Earl Grey Cookie, then down to your hands as you carefully unfolded the parchment. Something in his expression shifted. Something small, something almost imperceptible. Jealousy was a strange thing. And yet, there it was. Shadow Milk Cookie finally spoke, his voice measured, deliberate. “If this is something that intrigues you, I could lend my expertise,” he offered, golden eyes glinting in the low dining hall light. “I have spent years researching ancient inscriptions. I am certain I could provide clarity where others have struggled.” The words were simple, logical. And yet, there was something underneath them, something not quite visible but certainly there. You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden offer. “Oh well, I mean, that would be-” Earl Grey Cookie raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are you sure, Sage? It’s an awfully time-consuming subject to dig into.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze flickered toward him, his ever-calm expression betraying nothing. “I would not have offered if I did not believe it worthwhile.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie glanced between them, sensing something shifting in the air, while Chai Latte Cookie, ever the observant one, hummed into her tea. You hesitated, looking between the two of them, feeling an odd tension begin to settle. It wasn’t antagonistic, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. Chai Latte Cookie exhaled through her nose before setting her cup down with a soft clink, smoothly slipping into the space between words before they could become something more.

“Oh, come on,” she drawled, placing a hand over her chest as if the weight of the conversation had personally wounded her. “All this talk of research, and not one of you has offered to help me with my studies? Am I not worthy of such esteemed scholarly attention?” You snorted. “Chai, you don’t need help.You already climbed the ranks…You’re already top of the class in your division.” “And yet, I am neglected,” she lamented. “Truly, a tragic fate.” The dramatic delivery was enough to break the odd tension, a few small laughs rippling around the table. Even Shadow Milk Cookie let out something that could almost be considered a breath of amusement. You shook your head, grinning. “Alright, alright. If you ever need an essay proofread, I’ll drop everything.” “See, that is what I wanted to hear,” she said, satisfied. Then, with a casual glance in Shadow Milk Cookie’s direction, she added, “But really, (Y/N) Cookie is quite captivating, don’t you think? Always drawing people in, always keeping things interesting.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s golden gaze flicked toward her, unreadable. She met his eyes with an expression that was perfectly pleasant, almost too pleasant. It was a test, in a way. A subtle prod to see what, if anything, he would say. He didn’t answer immediately, instead allowing the words to settle. “…They are certainly remarkable,” he admitted at last, though his tone remained carefully neutral. You didn’t fully catch the exchange, too busy inspecting Earl Grey Cookie’s notes, but Chai Latte Cookie took in the slight change in Shadow Milk’s expression, the way his posture had shifted, and stored the moment away for later.

She said nothing more on the matter. For now, she had her answer. Dinner stretched on, laughter rippling between you all like waves in an easy tide. The weight of the academy, the endless lectures, the pressure of expectations none of it mattered in this moment. Here, at this table, surrounded by friends, it was as if time had loosened its grip just enough to allow something lighthearted to flourish. Even he the ever-poised, ever-revered Shadow Milk Cookie had been swept into the current of camaraderie. At first, he had been content to observe, his golden eyes flicking between the banter exchanged across the table. But the energy was infectious. Somewhere between Earl Grey Cookie’s exasperated retelling of how Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie had nearly set their entire laboratory station ablaze, and Chai Latte Cookie dramatically recounting a rumor she’d overheard in the library, a quiet chuckle escaped him. A chuckle that, much to your own surprise, turned into laughter. It was soft, refined, but unmistakably real. Your head turned in quiet shock, and you weren’t the only one who noticed. Earl Grey Cookie nearly choked on his tea, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned as if he had just witnessed something historic, and Chai Latte Cookie, ever quick to react, placed a hand over her heart with an exaggerated gasp.

“Oh my stars,” she whispered, as if she had just been granted a divine revelation. “Was that was that actual laughter from our esteemed Sage of Truth? I think the very foundations of the academy might tremble.” Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled, amusement still glinting in his eyes. “You exaggerate.” “I do not this is a momentous occasion! (Y/N) Cookie, did you hear that? Did you hear it?” You had, and you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “I think he’s laughing at you.” “I don’t care who he’s laughing at. The point is that it happened.” Earl Grey Cookie smirked. “This must be a sign of the end times.” Shadow Milk Cookie shook his head, but there was no exasperation in his expression, only something quiet, something almost content. The conversation meandered from there, shifting into stories from class, odd encounters in the hallways, harmless gossip about professors and their quirks. The dining hall had begun to empty, but none of you made a move to leave just yet. And then, amidst it all, Chai Latte Cookie’s eyes flicked toward your plate. Her gaze lingered not in judgment, not in anything remotely unkind, but with a quiet knowing. A familiarity woven from years of shared meals, of whispered conversations over cups of tea, of simply knowing you. “…That’s not what you usually get.” It wasn’t an accusation, nor did she phrase it as a question. It was just an observation, one spoken with the kind of care only she could manage. You blinked, glancing at your plate as if you’d only just noticed yourself. You had unconsciously chosen something lighter, something more balanced, something that, if you thought about it, was reminiscent of the very meals Shadow Milk Cookie favored.

“I-” You hesitated, grasping for an explanation and coming up empty. She didn’t press. She just smiled, eyes twinkling, before taking a sip of her tea. “Interesting,” she mused. “That’s all.” Shadow Milk Cookie, silent up until now, observed the exchange with careful intrigue. You weren’t sure why, but something about Chai Latte Cookie’s tone made you shift in your seat, a warmth creeping into your cheeks. Earl Grey Cookie, unaware or simply uninterested in whatever silent conversation had just passed between you and Chai, leaned back with a stretch. “Alright, before we get too deep into existential crises over dinner choices Hazelnut, didn’t you say you had something planned for revenge earlier?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned wickedly. “Oh, right. (Y/N) Cookie, your days of tea sabotage are numbered.” You barely had a moment to react before he switched your half-finished drink with a concoction of his own making. It was… an abomination. Greenish in a way tea should never be. You narrowed your eyes. “You wouldn’t.” “Oh, I would.” Chai Latte Cookie burst into laughter as you glared at the offending cup, while Earl Grey Cookie crossed his arms, nodding approvingly. “Justice.” As the teasing and laughter carried on, Shadow Milk Cookie sat quietly, watching the way you so easily belonged here how you fit so seamlessly among them, how your laughter carried through the space like warmth on a cold day.

And for just a moment, the remnants of that unfamiliar feeling stirred in his chest once more. Not quite envy. Not quite longing. Something in between. As the evening waned and the last of the plates had been pushed aside, Shadow Milk Cookie was the first to rise, smoothing down the edges of his robe with practiced elegance. “I have matters to attend to,” he announced, his voice measured, but there was something unreadable in his gaze when it flickered toward you. “Thank you for the invitation, (Y/N). It was… enlightening.” There it was again. That subtle weight behind his words, something deliberate. You barely had a moment to process it before he turned on his heel and left, his steps quiet but certain as they disappeared down the corridor.

“Ohhh, what the hell was that?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s voice cut through the quiet, loud enough to make a few remaining students glance over before he huffed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Am I losing it, or did something weird just happen?” Earl Grey Cookie, still leaning lazily against the back of his chair, smirked. “No, I felt it too.” Chai Latte Cookie let out a dramatic sigh, already standing and tugging at your arm. “Come on, we have to walk you back.” You blinked, frowning. “I don’t need-” “Yeah, you do,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie cut in, waving a hand. “Because clearly, you need someone to spell things out for you.” With little room to argue, you let them guide you out of the dining hall, the cool evening air nipping at your skin. The four of you moved with familiarity, a rhythm formed through years of friendship. Yet tonight, something felt off the way they kept glancing at you, the way their expressions flickered between amusement and exasperation. Finally, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Alright, I’ll say it since nobody else is.” Earl Grey Cookie snorted. “Since nobody else is? We’ve been dying to say it.” Chai Latte Cookie laughed. “We were just trying to be nice about it.” You groaned. “Say what?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie didn’t hesitate. “Shadow Milk Cookie? Jealous.” You nearly tripped over your own feet. “What?” Earl Grey Cookie shook his head. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice. He was watching you like you were about to disappear.” Chai Latte Cookie hummed. “And the way he kept jumping in whenever you and Earl Grey started going at it? That wasn’t just curiosity, sweetheart.”

You scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.” “No, what’s ridiculous is the fact that you changed your whole dinner order to match his without even realizing it,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie shot back, eyes sharp. Your mouth opened and then closed. Earl Grey Cookie grinned, clearly enjoying this far too much. “And that little moment between us?” He gestured between you and himself. “You know, when I was showing you that thing from class? That’s when he really started to look like he wanted to throw me into the nearest bookshelf.” You gaped. “He did not.” “Oh, he did,” Chai Latte Cookie mused, tilting her head. “You really don’t see it, do you?” You sighed, exasperated. “There’s nothing to see.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Then tell me why he suddenly had to offer his extensive knowledge to help you the moment Earl Grey started getting your attention?” You hesitated. “…That doesn’t mean” “It means exactly what you think it means,” Earl Grey Cookie cut in, his voice oddly amused but knowing. He glanced at you. “Look, I’m not saying you have to do anything about it, but just be aware. The guy’s not exactly subtle, even if he thinks he is.” You huffed, shaking your head. “You’re all reading too much into this.” Chai Latte Cookie just smirked, linking her arm through yours. “Oh, sweetheart, we live to read too much into things.” As you approached your dorm, the conversation still buzzed between them, all three of them dissecting the night’s events like it was a mystery novel they were determined to solve.

Earl Grey Cookie stretched lazily. “Tough luck for him, though. We’ve got years on him.” Chai Latte Cookie rolled her eyes. “It’s not a competition, you know.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “Tell that to him.” You groaned. “You’re all impossible.” Chai Latte Cookie squeezed your arm one last time before letting go. “We’re just looking out for you, love.” You sighed, pushing open the door to your dorm, the warmth of the room pressing against your skin. As you glanced back at them, their faces were still full of amusement, affection, and something else. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Just… keep your eyes open, alright?” With that, they left you to your thoughts, the door clicking shut behind you. And for the first time all night, you were alone with them. You stood there for a moment, letting the quiet of your dorm settle around you. Their words lingered, pressing at the edges of your thoughts, but you shook your head, exhaling. They were exaggerating. Had to be. Sure, Shadow Milk Cookie was… particular, but jealousy? Over you? The idea was almost laughable. Your friends only knew him through you, which meant you had the better judgment in all this. Right? You sighed, pushing the thoughts aside. There was no use dwelling on it.

The next morning, you woke early, stretching lazily as golden morning light seeped through your curtains. Sunday. No lectures, no responsibilities just a day to unwind. You got ready at your own pace, relishing the rare, slow start to the day, before heading to the dining hall. Breakfast smelled incredible today. Warm syrup, fresh fruit, and oh, they had the ice cream bar open early. Well. It would be a shame not to indulge. You loaded your plate with golden, honey-drizzled waffles, the syrup pooling in each perfect square. Then, with zero hesitation, you made a beeline for the ice cream, adding a generous scoop to your plate. The cold creaminess melted slightly against the warmth of the waffles, mixing into the honey in a way that promised pure satisfaction. By the time you sat down with your friends, they were already deep in conversation. “Finally,” Earl Grey Cookie greeted, sipping his tea. “I was beginning to think you’d been kidnapped by the library.” “Good morning to you too,” you said dryly, setting your plate down. Chai Latte Cookie peered at your breakfast, eyes twinkling. “Living decadently, I see.” “Nothing like an indulgent morning,” you quipped, slicing into your waffle. The first bite was heavenly, warm syrup mixing with cool ice cream in a way that had you humming in satisfaction.

But before you could savor it for too long “Well,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie drawled, leaning back in his chair, “at least you get to eat without the Sage of Truth breathing down your neck this morning.” Earl Grey Cookie huffed a quiet laugh, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “Figuratively, of course.” You rolled your eyes, swallowing your bite. “Oh, come on” “No, no, let us enjoy this moment,” Chai Latte Cookie teased, propping her chin on her hand. “A quiet morning without a certain scholar lurking about. Truly, what a rare sight.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Maybe he’s off brooding somewhere, nursing his wounded pride.” You groaned. “You all need to let this go.” Earl Grey Cookie only raised an eyebrow. “Do we?” “Yes.” You pointed your fork at him. “Because nothing happened.” “Oh, something happened.” Chai Latte Cookie’s grin was all too knowing. “You just refuse to see it.” You exhaled, exasperated, and took another bite of your waffle, deciding to ignore them. They, of course, refused to be ignored. You set your fork down with a sigh, eyeing the three of them as they practically vibrated with unspoken thoughts. Clearly, last night’s rushed walk to your dorm hadn’t given them enough time to say everything they wanted to say. And judging by the way Chai Latte Cookie was practically bouncing in her seat, this was a debrief waiting to happen. “Alright,” you relented, crossing your arms. “Go ahead. Clearly, you’ve been holding back.” Chai Latte Cookie let out a delighted squeak, clapping her hands together. “Oh, finally! I knew you’d come to your senses!”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie was already reaching into his coat pocket, pulling out the small, well-worn notebook he always carried. He flipped it open with a practiced ease, clicking his pen before glancing at Earl Grey Cookie, who, without being asked, leaned in to skim his notes. “Oh, for the love of” You groaned, rubbing your temples. “You’re taking notes?” “This is crucial information,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie said seriously, jotting something down. “We need all the details.” “You guys are acting like this is the next biggest scoop of the century.” Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses, utterly unfazed. “Because it is.” You opened your mouth, ready to refute that, but Chai Latte Cookie had already turned to you, eyes shining with glee. “Okay, first of all how have you not noticed how he looks at you?” she asked, voice dripping with amusement. “Because, sweetheart, if looks could hold someone in place, you’d be permanently stuck in time.” You blinked. “What are you even talking about?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie gestured vaguely in the air. “The way he watches you. The way he listens.” He tapped his pen against his notebook. “The way his entire being tenses whenever Earl Grey so much as breathes in your direction.”

Earl Grey Cookie let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s true. He looked positively put out last night.” You scoffed. “He did not.” “Oh, he did,” Chai Latte Cookie singsonged. “It was subtle, but come on, this is us. We know each other too well to miss something like that.” You threw your hands up. “You don’t even know him that well!” “Ah,” Earl Grey Cookie said, raising a finger. “But we know you.” “That’s not the same” “It kind of is,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie interrupted, scribbling in his notebook. “Because if we notice things about you that change when you’re with him, it tells us a lot about him.” You frowned, shifting in your seat. “You’re all reading into this way too much.” Chai Latte Cookie gasped, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. “How dare you?” Earl Grey Cookie smirked. “We wouldn’t be your friends if we didn’t overanalyze your life choices.”

You groaned, slumping forward onto the table. “This is absurd.” “Absurd,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie echoed, flipping to a fresh page. “But not unfounded.” Chai Latte Cookie nodded enthusiastically. “Mhm. Case in point the tea situation last night.” You peeked up from your arms. “…The what?” “Oh, please.” Chai Latte Cookie grinned, leaning in. “You burned your throat to mess with Earl Grey. And Shadow Milk Cookie just watched stiff as a board, probably fighting the urge to pry the cup out of your hands.” “That’s just” You waved vaguely. “He’s particular about tea.” “No, no, no.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie pointed his pen at you. “That wasn’t just ‘he’s particular about tea.’ That was he doesn’t know how to handle how easily you play around with Earl Grey Cookie, and it bothers him on a fundamental level.” You sat up, crossing your arms. “Oh, come on. That’s a stretch.” “Is it?” Earl Grey Cookie mused. “Because I did catch the way his expression shifted when I mentioned we’ve known each other since before the Academy.” Chai Latte Cookie hummed. “Oh, he definitely didn’t like that.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie wrote something down before holding up the notebook for Earl Grey Cookie to check. Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses, scanning the notes. “Mm. Add something about how he immediately offered to help with your research interest.” “Oh, good one,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie murmured, jotting it down. “Guys,” you groaned. “You’re killing me.” Chai Latte Cookie nudged you with her elbow. “You love us.” You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “I tolerate you.” “Same thing.” Earl Grey Cookie closed the notebook with a satisfied hum. “Regardless, our assessment stands.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded. “This is big.” “Huge,” Chai Latte Cookie agreed. You shook your head. “You’re all ridiculous.” “Maybe,” Chai Latte Cookie said, propping her chin on her hand. “But you have to admit it is kind of interesting.”

You frowned, staring down at the last bite of your waffle. The ice cream had melted into a sweet pool around it, blending with the honey in a way that was strangely mesmerizing. “…Even If and I mean if you guys are right,” you muttered, “it doesn’t mean anything.” “Maybe not,” Earl Grey Cookie conceded. “But it’s certainly something.” You sighed, grabbing your fork and spearing the last bite of your waffle. Ridiculous. All of them. But even as you shoved the bite into your mouth, their words clung to you like syrup on your fingers, sticky and impossible to ignore. Once the final note was jotted down and Earl Grey Cookie gave an approving nod, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie clicked his pen and shut his notebook with a snap. “Alright,” he said, setting it down on the table. “Now that we’ve got all the facts down, it’s time for the fun part.” You sighed. “Oh, great. Because this wasn’t already a circus act.” Chai Latte Cookie ignored you, clapping her hands together eagerly. “Okay! Now, theory time! What do we think is going on?” Earl Grey Cookie folded his hands together, utterly composed as always. “Hazelnut, since you’ve been the lead investigator here, why don’t you start?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked, tapping his fingers against the notebook cover. “Oh, gladly. My theory?” He pointed at you. “Shadow Milk Cookie doesn’t know what to do with you.” You blinked. “Excuse me?” He leaned forward. “Think about it. He’s this big scholar, right? Super refined, theatrical, incredibly well-versed in everything except you. You throw him off. You frustrate him. He’s used to people treating him a certain way, and then you come along, all flustered and hesitant, and it messes with him.” Chai Latte Cookie hummed. “Ooooh, I like that. It’s true he’s used to people being all reverent and careful around him, but with you? You’re a nervous wreck, sure, but you’re still you. You challenge him without even realizing it.” You frowned. “I don’t challenge him” “Sure you do,” Earl Grey Cookie cut in. “And more importantly, you interest him.”

You crossed your arms. “That’s a stretch.” “Oh, is it?” Chai Latte Cookie leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Because if you ask me and, you know, I love my romance stories I think it’s something more.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised an eyebrow. “Go on.” Chai Latte Cookie propped her chin on her hands. “He’s fascinated by you. And not just in some casual, ‘oh, what a curious scholar’ kind of way. No, no, no. He sees something in you, and he’s drawn to it. Maybe he doesn’t even know what yet, but it’s there.” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Come on, guys. He’s not” “You don’t see the way he looks at you,” Earl Grey Cookie interrupted smoothly. “And it’s unfortunate, really, because it’s quite telling.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded. “There’s intent behind it. He watches you like he’s trying to figure something out.” Chai Latte Cookie smirked. “Or like he’s trying to figure you out.” You stared at them, feeling incredibly outnumbered. “You’re all ridiculous.” “And yet,” Earl Grey Cookie mused, sipping his tea, “we’re rarely wrong.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie pointed at you again. “So, what do you have to say for yourself, huh? Gonna keep pretending this is all just normal scholarly interest?” “Yes,” you deadpanned. “Because that’s exactly what it is.” Chai Latte Cookie clicked her tongue. “Sweetheart, denial is only cute for so long.” You groaned. “This is absurd.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie shrugged. “Hey, we’re just laying out the facts. And the facts strongly support our case.” Earl Grey Cookie tilted his head, considering. “Perhaps he doesn’t even fully realize it himself.” “Exactly!” Chai Latte Cookie snapped her fingers. “You think someone like him has time for this kind of thing? He’s too wrapped up in his own world of truth-seeking to stop and realize what’s happening right in front of him.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie sighed dramatically. “Tragic, really.” You buried your face in your hands. “I hate all of you.” Earl Grey Cookie chuckled. “You love us.” Chai Latte Cookie nudged you. “So, what are you going to do about it?” “Nothing!” you cried, exasperated. “Because there is nothing to do!” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Yet.” You groaned, pushing away from the table. “I am leaving.” Earl Grey Cookie stood as well, adjusting his coat. “Then we’ll walk with you.” “Oh, fantastic.” You rolled your eyes. “Because I love spending more time being harassed.” Chai Latte Cookie looped an arm around yours, grinning. “Come on, we just care about you.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie and Earl Grey Cookie flanked you as you all headed out, their voices continuing to dissect every interaction, every detail. And no matter how much you protested, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe just maybe they weren’t entirely wrong. You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms as you walked with them. "Okay, fine. Earl Grey, you’re always the one with the most measured takes. You have to have a theory that’s actually based in reality. What do you think?"

Earl Grey Cookie smirked as if he’d been waiting for you to ask. He adjusted his coat, hands neatly clasped behind his back. “I thought you’d never ask.” Chai Latte Cookie rolled her eyes with a knowing grin. “Oh, here we go.” Earl Grey Cookie took a moment, as if carefully composing his words. “From what I have observed, Shadow Milk Cookie is not a man accustomed to emotional vulnerability. He is esteemed, revered, and above all detached. But when it comes to you, there is a shift.” He glanced at you meaningfully. “A noticeable one.” You blinked. “That doesn’t mean anything” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie cut in, smirking. “Ah-ah, let him finish. He’s just getting to the good part.” Earl Grey Cookie continued smoothly. “I don’t think he realizes it yet, but I would argue that you challenge him on a level he has not encountered before.” You frowned. “That doesn’t even make sense” “Oh, it does,” Chai Latte Cookie hummed. “Keep going.” Earl Grey Cookie gave you a knowing look. “He is used to admiration, to reverence. But you? You are hesitant, overwhelmed, and yet you still push forward. You question him. You argue, even if you don’t realize you’re doing it. And that intrigues him.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “Oh, yeah. That’s definitely got the scholar all messed up.” Earl Grey Cookie allowed himself a small smirk. “Precisely. But beyond intrigue, there is something else brewing. He reacts to you in a way he does not react to others.” “Which means?” Chai Latte Cookie prompted, leaning in. Earl Grey Cookie met your gaze. “Which means he is invested. More than he should be.” Silence stretched between you all. You rubbed your temples. “You’re all reading way too much into this.” “Are we?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned. “Yes!” you insisted. “He’s a scholar. He’s curious. That’s it.” Earl Grey Cookie simply hummed. “Perhaps.” But there was a glint in his eye that told you he didn’t believe that for a second. Chai Latte Cookie sighed dramatically. “Honestly, you might be the worst part of this whole situation.” You gaped at her. “Excuse me?” She laughed, nudging you playfully. “You’re so blind to your own effect on him! You’re making him confused, and you’re definitely confusing yourself.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie clapped you on the back. “It’s actually kind of hilarious to watch.” You groaned. “I hate you all.” “Yet you’re still walking with us,” Earl Grey Cookie mused. You grumbled under your breath. “Only because you’d probably just follow me anyway.” Chai Latte Cookie giggled. “Oh, definitely.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie flipped open his notebook, clicking his pen. “Well, this was productive. I think we have more than enough material for today.” “Oh, fantastic,” you muttered. Earl Grey Cookie closed his eyes in amusement. “This is far from over.” You huffed, shaking your head as you finally reached your dorm. “I’m going inside. I refuse to entertain any more of this nonsense.” Chai Latte Cookie beamed. “Goodnight, sweetheart~.” “Don’t dream about the scholar too much,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie teased. You slammed the door behind you, heart hammering. Because no, they were wrong. They had to be…Right? You sighed, staring at the closed door of your dorm. Maybe slamming it in their faces wasn’t the best way to shut down the conversation, even if they were being absolutely insufferable about it. Theories, notes, revisions they were treating last night like it was the biggest scoop of the century, and you were their unwilling case study. And yet, as you stood there, arms crossed, trying to shake the lingering thoughts of their absurd analysis, something gnawed at you. Maybe you had been a little too dismissive. With another sigh, you turned on your heel and swung the door back open. Your friends were still there. Naturally.

Chai Latte Cookie blinked at you, then broke into a knowing smile. “Oh? Back so soon?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked, lazily flipping through his ever-present notebook. “Took you longer than I expected.” Earl Grey Cookie simply raised a brow, arms crossed. The look he gave you was expectant, as if he knew you had something else to say. You huffed. “Alright, look. I didn’t mean to slam the door.” “Of course,” Chai Latte Cookie said sweetly, though you could see the amusement dancing in her eyes. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “Uh-huh.” You exhaled sharply and crossed your arms. “Anyway. You all went to the Ghost City last week, right?” That got their attention. “Oh?” Chai Latte Cookie leaned in, intrigued. “Yeah,” you muttered. “The ice cream shop.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s grin widened. “Now you’re speaking my language.” Earl Grey Cookie tilted his head. “You wish to go now?” You shrugged. “Why not? I didn’t get to sneak out with you last time, so I figure why not make up for it now?” Chai Latte Cookie’s face lit up. “A morning trip to the Ghost City? How scandalous.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie clapped a hand on your shoulder. “That’s the kind of thinking I like to see.” Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his cuffs, looking over the three of you with a mix of fondness and exasperation. “And I assume we’re not taking the normal way?” Chai Latte Cookie waved a hand. “Oh, please. That would be boring.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto your face. “Alright, then,” you said. “Let’s go.” And with that, the four of you set off, the morning sun casting golden light over the Academy as you slipped away toward the Ghost City.

A/N I will reply to my inbox soon y'all I LOVE THE ART IM SEEING but I will reply to it and give my time to them...for now I have a lecture to attend so <3

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

<<<Previous Next>>>

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lint-beetle4 · 1 year ago

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Wukong x Fem Reader smut

Wukong with a breeding kink and Y/n who's very motherly, especially with the little monkeys and that just fuels his kink more as well as the idea of having a family with her.

King and His Queen (Sun Wukong x Fem!Reader Smut)

Wukong knew you were the one the moment that you started to coo at the his younger subjects, eager to baby them and learn how to care for them

What more could a king ask of his queen then to help in the raising of his subjects?

Wukong would help new mothers with their children, and sometimes just take the younger ones out of their hands for the older monkeys to get some peace

With you at his side? He could feel an old emotion stir in his gut as you gushed over his baby monkeys

He always talked fondly about the littler subjects, how they were full of spark and innocence

The way you smiled at them had his heart stuttering, and the way you presented a child to him made his instincts buzz in him

It was a fantasy of his for you to bear his child, for him to be able to claim you as his mate by dumping his seed into you

He almost felt embarrassed by it, but the prospect of having a family with you was just as enticing

Wukong felt his old age at the thought of how time would pass away so quickly with a family like that

He wants to see your kids walk and talk, learn about the world outside of them and listen to Wukong's tales

Wukong wanted nothing more than to have cubs of his own, with you and the moment he asked he felt rather silly at the way he stammered through the question, watching your face shift from confused to understanding in record time

"I just think--y'know--if we had..um--" Wukong took a deep breath trying to force the words out of his mouth. "Cubs, y'know? Of course, this is a serious commitment and all but--"

You shushed Wukong with a knowing and excited smile. Wukong never seemed to get over his stage freight, even if the stage was simply the way you patiently waited for him to finish. Knowing your poor lover would tie his tongue trying to finish his proposal, you nodded.

"I would love to bear your cubs, Wukong." You hugged him tightly, feeling his arms wrap around with gently. "It would make me so happy if we could raise a family together."

Wukong laughed wetly, grabbing your face to kiss you as he tried his hardest to ignore the way his tears drenched his fur. You deepened the kiss, dragging Wukong closer to you as your heart pounded in your chest.

Wukong lifted you up, carrying you to your shared bedroom. He gave you a slight peck on the cheek, trailing down your neck as he removed your clothing, treating you as if you were porcelain. Wukong's hands fondled your breasts, brushing over nipples playfully as he bit onto your neck, sucking the skin tightly.

You hissed slightly, back arching as Wukong rolled your nipples between his fingers. His tongue was wet against the darkening bruise, and he trailed your body with more gentle kisses. With piercing gold eyes, Wukong never broke eye contact with you as he sucked on one of your breasts, biting the nipple slightly.

You moaned against him, your hips grinding against a well placed leg. As Wukong gave attention to other, your hands stroked his hair, fingers getting tangled in his wild mane. Wukong shivered at the way your nails scratched his scalp.

Wukong pulled away from your chest with an audible 'pop,' the sage's hand massaging your hips as his mouth breathed onto your wet pussy. Your hips bucked impatiently, Wukong sucking eagerly on your juices, his tongue sending waves of pleasure through your core. You whimper, hands holding Wukong's head closer as you grind into his face. Wukong ate you out furiously, lapping up your fluids as his tongue swirled around your clit.

You felt his fingers enter inside of you, curling slightly to hit your g-spot. You hum desperately as the duel sensation of his fingers and tongue overwhelmed you with intense waves of pleasure. Yet before you could cum, Wukong pulled away apologetically, holding his cock, wet with precum.

You spread your legs wider for him, begging him to enter.

Wordlessly, Wukong slid inside of you slowly, pausing to let you adjust to the painful stretch. At your command, Wukong bottomed out with a groan, his cock twitching inside of you.

"Breed me, Wukong." You breathed, grinding against his dick. "Fill me with your pups."

Wukong thrusted violent in you, more bites littering your neck as his movements become more desperate and animal-like. You wrapped your legs around the sage, his cock hitting deeply in your pussy. You continued to moan, nearly screaming as Wukong claw's tore through the covers.

With a growl and a final thrust, Wukong held you close, hugging you tightly as he filled you. You whimper, cumming around his cock. Wukong's purrs filled the air as he nuzzled against you, his cock still buried deep into you as it hardened once more.

"I'll fill you up, my queen." He muttered, hips thrusting once more. "I'll give you all my pups."

#lmk x reader #lmk x y/n #lego monkie kid x y/n #lego monkie kid x reader #sun wukong x y/n #lmk sun wukong #lego monkie kid sun wukong #sun wukong x reader #sun wukong #x reader #reader insert #writing tag

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colorfulrook · 3 months ago

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100x100 blurbfest #10

[A/n]: Today there has been a weather warning in my city so some of the busses i usually take to go to uni were cancelled... Meaning I spent all my day writing and studying ehehe. I am on a roll baby. Here is one of the last blurbs of today. This one is for my dear @minh907, love you <3 - Rook

Prompt #10: “I love it when you wear my clothes.”

Jinwoo had been gone all morning—Guild business, some tense meeting with the Association and Choi Jong-In. Important S-Rank things that didn’t require your presence, much to your boredom and dismay.

Left alone in his apartment with a mug of half-warm coffee and Beru lounging upside down on the couch like he was trying to understand human furniture, you decided to explore Jinwoo’s closet. You called it “explore” because “chaotically tearing through with no plan” didn’t sound as elegant.

Beru peeked his head over the couch when you emerged fifteen minutes later, dressed in Jinwoo’s favorite black hoodie and long coat, complete with one of his gloves and his very dramatic boots that made you trip over the doormat.

“Young Master~” Beru purred, voice low and amused. “You are very small today.”

You scoffed, feigning shock "Small? You dare insult your king?"

“Most sorry my king! I would never insult your statuesque build!” Beru clacked his claws together, entirely too smug, as he bowed down to you.

You rolled your eyes and strutted into the hallway like a terrible cosplay version of Jinwoo. “Arise,” you commanded in your best brooding voice, gesturing to the nearest potted plant.

Beru made a small, wheezing sound that might’ve been laughter.

You continued dramatically down the hallway, coat trailing behind like a makeshift cape, muttering things like “Shadow Monarch business” and “darkness eternal” under your breath. Beru followed, dutifully pretending to be a minion but giggling every time you said “Arise” to a lamp or shoe.

And of course—of course—that’s when Jinwoo walked through the door.

He stopped cold.

You froze mid-spin.

Beru made the tiniest bow. “Young Master.”

“…What the hell are you two doing?” Jinwoo asked slowly, one brow raised.

“I’m you,” you said proudly, tugging on the sleeves of the hoodie that hung off your hands like a blanket. “Your coat is a menace, by the way, how do you manage not to trip in it!”

“I see that,” he said, eyes trailing down the coat to your mismatched boots. He looked amused. “You’re wearing it wrong.”

“Excuse you—this is high fashion.” You turned to Beru. “Tell him.”

Beru nodded sagely. “Our Liege has never looked more majestic.”

Jinwoo just sighed through a laugh, stepping closer. “You know you could’ve just waited for me like a normal person.”

“Normal is boring, had nothing to do anyway.” you said, a little breathless as he reached for your collar and fixed the way it sat on your shoulder. His fingers brushed your jaw. His eyes softened.

“I love it when you wear my clothes” he murmured, almost like it slipped out before he could stop himself.

Your breath hitched.

“…Seriously?”

He nodded. “Seriously, it suits you. You suit me.”

Somewhere in the background, Beru made a soft squealing noise that you both valiantly ignored.

“Okay but don’t expect me to give this coat back,” you said, voice cracking slightly under the warmth spreading in your chest. “It’s mine now.”

Jinwoo smiled, a quiet sort of fondness in his eyes. “Guess I’ll have to live with that.”

You shifted a little in the too-big boots, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I look ridiculous?”

“No,” he said simply. Only warmt could be seen in his eyes “You look like home.”

And that made everything inside you flutter.

He stepped even closer, arms sliding around your waist, drawing you in until you were tucked perfectly against his chest, swallowed by his scent and the weight of borrowed cotton and affection.

“You should stay over more often,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Or just move in.”

You blinked. “You mean it?”

He grinned. “You already have my closet in a headlock. Might as well.”

You looked up at him, heart thudding.

“Then you better make room,” you said. “Because I plan on stealing everything.”

His grin turned boyish. “Even me?”

You kissed him before he could get smug about it.

Beru, still lurking behind the couch, let out a dreamy sigh. “So romantic, my lieges.”

You broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Arise.”

Jinwoo laughed against your lips.

#solo leveling scenarios #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jinwoo x you #solo leveling fluff #solo leveling

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clockwayswrites · 2 years ago

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Danny & Constantine, Orange, Butterscotch Ripple

@imbreonix Prompt fill set #4

It started out as a joke that turned into an actual event: Bring Your Sidekick To Work Day. It sounded absurd, of course it did. The Justice League was hardly work and certainly not a social club, but once it had been said people started to actually think about it. More and more of the heroes were taking on mentorship rolls for the next generation. While the heroes, of course, tried their best to provide what their mentees needed, they were still grown, experienced heroes and their sidekicks were kids.

Kids who lived a life that most could never understand.

Eventually it have been talked about enough in passing and over rushed meals and before meetings that it ended up on the agenda.

“Robin believes it would be beneficial for the younger heroes to know others in the same positions as themselves,” Batman had explained, as if that answered anything. The Big Bat wouldn’t even clarify who Robin was.

But there they were, Bring Your Sidekick To Work Day. It actually was a pretty nice event with snacks, drinks, and several enthusiastic sidekicks. It turned out Robin was Batman’s sidekick.

“Partner,” Robin insisted boldly, whenever the term sidekick was used within his hear range (which was disturbingly good).

The kid was the very opposite of Batman: bright, personable, and always in motion. Flash was more than a little concerned how quickly Robin and Kid Flash seemed hit it off. “They’re plotting something.”

“Hn,” was Batman’s reply, though he was watching the two whispering sidekicks too.

All in all it was a cheerful success.

It made John’s skin crawl. He jiggled the unlit cigarette in his fingers. He didn’t do social events, not outside of bars, and he really, really didn’t want to be here.

“We can just go back to the House,” a small, nervous voice suggested hopefully from behind John.

That was the thing, though, he wasn’t here for his own sake.

“No, we can’t,” John said with a sigh.

“We really can, though. We haven’t even talked to anyone. I bet they haven’t even noticed we’re here—”

“John! I did not think you would be attending,” Wonder Woman said as she approached, a smile in place. A good chunk of the founding members trailed after her.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, well,” John said with a little shrug. He didn’t admonish the kid for cussing, he didn’t have a leg to stand on there, but by Superman’s puzzled face the Big Blue had clearly heard it. “Figured I had better bring the kid.”

“The kid?” Hal repeated incredulously.

John reminded himself he really shouldn’t punch his teammates.

“Yeah, the kid,” John said. He stepped aside to reveal Danny who had been hiding behind him. “Geist, Justice League, Justice League, Poltergeist.”

“Um, who, Constantine?” Flash asked, sounding nervous.

John looked to his right, which for all appearances, was an empty spot of air. “Seriously, kid?”

“Sorry,” Danny whispered.

“It’s okay, kid,” John said, holding back a sigh. The kid was sensitive to that sort of thing, so John had been trying. (He still messed up plenty, but he was trying.) John looked back the Justice Leaguers and shrugged. “Ghost. Visibility is like that sometimes.”

“Ah,” Diana said with a sage nod. John admired the woman for how nothing seemed to phase her. She simply looked to where John had been looking and smiled. “Hello, Poltergeist. Welcome to Bring Your Sidekick To Work Day.”

“Partner!” a kid dressed like a damn traffic light called from across the room where he was talking to who was clearly a mini Flash.

“Oh,” Danny said. (It was clearly weirding out some of the heroes to hear Danny but not see him.) “I’m not… John doesn’t let me help that much? I don’t know if I count as a sidekick.”

“That’s because last time you tagged along you went intangible and fell through a bridge, kid,” John grumbled and then immediately felt bad. “You know we’re working on it.”

“Yeah,” Danny mumbled.

John couldn’t see Danny, not any more than the others, but he could picture the way the kid would be scuffing his toe on the floor, head down as he rubbed at the back of his neck.

John sighed. “Ain’t your fault kid, powers take time to master.”

“Robin,” Batman called.

Immediately the tiny traffic light was literately bounding across the space to stand next to Batman. The kid smiled up at the Big Bat like the man had hung the moon.

“Yes, B?”

“This,” Batman said, nodding to the empty space, “is Poltergeist. He came with Constantine.”

“Oh,” Robin said. He spun to face the spot of air and held out his hand without hesitation. “Come, Kid Flash and I are— um,” Robin shot Batman a look, “talking. You can join us! I bet you will be really useful!”

Flash mouthed the word ‘useful’ with a terrified look on his face, but no one actually said anything while Robin just stood there, smiling, with his hand out. And then Robin’s grin impossibly widened, his hand closed around nothing, and he took off across the room.

“…anyone else worried about that?” John asked after a moment.

“So worried,” Flash said.

“Hn,” Batman added.

“Right then. I need a glass of shitty punch to spike,” John said and abandoned his teammates to find the refreshments. Thank the gods, the fuckers, for hip flasks.

“I live with a ghost now, Bats, you’ve got to up your skills if you want to sneak up on me anymore,” John said before taking another sip of his much improved punch.

Batman stepped up into the corner of John’s vision, which felt like such a Bat thing to do, so John felt the placement was very purposeful. John wouldn’t complain, it let him watch Batman without taking his his eyes off where Danny was sitting with Robin, Kid Flash, and Wonder Girl. Danny was pretty see through, but he was slowly becoming more visible the longer he spent in the company of the other teen heroes.

“How long have you had him?” Batman asked.

John snorted. “That’s what you go with? Not how it works to fuck a ghost?”

Hal and Aquaman weren’t as quiet as they thought they were, but maybe that was on purpose. Maybe they had wanted John to hear. He just hoped the kids hadn’t. He might not have a clean mouth, but even he had limits.

“He doesn’t have to be your blood to be your son,” Batman said in that certain way of his.

It had John finally glancing over at Batman. It was a lot to admit and John hated to be on uneven grounds. “How long have you had yours?”

No one would ever believe him, but John could swear that Batman almost smiled.

“Nearly five years.”

John hummed and took another sip of the punch. “Only six months, not even. And he’s not my son. Kid deserves better than me as a da.”

“They always deserve better,” Batman said, his voice a low rumble that John swore he could feel in his battered bones. “We just have to try to be better.”

“Yeah, well,” John said with a bitter chuckle. “I’m not you, Bats, I don’t think I have better in me.”

“Yes you do, you’re here, after all,” Batman pointed out.

John swallowed and looked back the kid, his kid. Danny was almost solid now. His white hair floated as he threw back his head in laughter at something Robin had said.

“Yeah… yeah I am.”

---

AN: So. So. This has gotten away from me. I blame Moku. So much blame. I can't promise I'll continue it but there is... there is a good bit of plotting TO continue it. It would be after I get done with City Pigeons Bleed Green though, as that's my current family feels fic.

If it gets continued we have a John/Bruce tired dads with issues slow burn fuck buddies to lovers, Danny and Dick being friends (and family), canon divergence, Tim joins the Bat family early, Bats with magic (and the world should fear them), and Alfred's judgemental eyebrow.

#dp x dc #dadentine #John Constantine & Danny Fenton #Geist #prompalomp #tired dads AU

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yoomiwrites · 5 months ago

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Can I ask for another Shanks and female Reader? That he doesn't see how hard is it to be a woman and all because I am SUFFERING right nowwwww

Awww, of course! It's a short one, but I hope you enjoy it and feel better soon! ♡

Period Pain

Summary: Shanks doesn't know how difficult it is to be a woman.

Note: It's short, short, tomorrow I'll post a similar short Smoker one, maybe the second part of the Ace one. Missing Ghost will be updated in two days! I just want to let it sit to proof-read it before I publish it.

♡♤♡

The sea breeze was unusually gentle that morning, but it did little to soothe your sour mood. The Red Force rocked lightly against the ocean’s steady waves as you sat on the deck, arms crossed, scowling at nothing in particular.

Shanks, ever the carefree captain, was lounging nearby, his arm draped lazily over the railing, a half-empty bottle of rum swaying in his grip. He watched you with an amused tilt of his head, noting the way your jaw clenched and the fire in your eyes flickered with irritation.

“You’re looking awfully grumpy today, sweetheart,” he mused, taking a sip. “Someone steal your last piece of meat?”

You turned your glare on him, and he raised a brow. “Oh, I don’t know, Shanks. Maybe because I feel like my insides are being ripped apart? And my back feels like someone took a mallet to it?” You gestured sharply to your stomach. “It’s called a period. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

Shanks blinked. “Ah,” he nodded sagely, then shrugged. “So you’re bleeding a little. Happens all the time in fights.”

Your eye twitched. “Did you just compare my period to getting stabbed in a fight?”

“Well,” he grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kinda?”

You groaned, slumping forward and burying your face in your hands. “Men,” you muttered under your breath. “You’ll never understand.”

Shanks chuckled, clearly entertained. “Come on, Y/N. It can’t be that bad.”

That was it. That was your breaking point. You lifted your head, eyes blazing, and pointed a finger at him. “Oh, really? You think I’m being dramatic? Let me paint you a picture, Captain Oblivious.”

Shanks smirked, enjoying himself far too much. “Please do.”

You stood up and planted yourself in front of him. “Imagine this: once a month, like clockwork, your body decides to punish you. You get cramps that feel like something is twisting your insides, your lower back throbs, and your emotions are so out of whack you could cry because your sandwich fell apart.”

Shanks snorted, and you jabbed a finger into his chest. “I’m not done!”

“Of course not,” he murmured, biting back a grin.

“Then, you get bloated like you swallowed a damn watermelon, your energy tanks, and on top of that, you have to worry about leaks!” You threw your hands in the air. “Oh, and let’s not forget mood swings. One moment, you’re fine. The next, someone breathes wrong, and you’re contemplating murder.”

Shanks, to his credit, at least looked thoughtful now. “Huh. Sounds like a real pain.”

You exhaled sharply. “It is.”

Shanks leaned back, looking you up and down. “Alright, I’ll admit, I didn’t really get it before. But I think I do now.”

You crossed your arms. “Good.”

He tilted his head. “Anything else I should know?”

You huffed. “Yeah, bras suck.”

That caught his interest. He grinned, intrigued. “Oh?”

“They dig into your skin, they’re tight, uncomfortable, and if you wear the wrong one, it’s like a personal torture device. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to wear something that’s constantly trying to suffocate you?”

Shanks’ lips twitched. “So… you could just not wear one.”

You shot him a look. “Shanks.”

He leaned in, his grin turning undeniably mischievous. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind.”

Your face burned. “You’re impossible.”

He threw his head back and laughed, pulling you into his arms despite your protests. “Aw, come on, sweetheart. You know you love me.”

You sighed, leaning against him despite yourself. “Yeah, yeah.”

Shanks pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his voice filled with warmth. “Next time, just tell me when you’re feeling bad. I may be an idiot, but I can at least get you some snacks or something.”

You smiled against his chest. “Deal.”

#one piece x reader #one piece #shanks x reader #shanks

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celestemona · 1 year ago

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𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐒

a brief look at their daily life & random family’ moments

pairing: dad & husband! wriothesley, cyno, kaveh x fem! reader

cw: different timelines. original characters, maternity, pregnant reader in wriothesley's part, parenthood, use of endearment names, arabic terms & fluff stuff. not beta-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

WRIOTHESLEY

Amid the quiet hum of daily tasks, you and Wriothesley shared a comfortable silence in his office, broken only by the soft rustling of papers and the scratch of his pen against documents.

The movements in your womb were a gentle reminder of the life growing within you, but it was the swelling in your feet that caused the most discomfort. Taking advantage of a moment to relax, you reclined on the new sofa your husband had thoughtfully bought, balancing a stack of papers on your belly. While you worked through a few revisions, your true attention was drawn to a crossword puzzle from The Steambird newspaper resting atop the pile.

“Wrio, quick—seven letters. Known as Liyue’s enlightened beasts or gods,” you asked, glancing up from the puzzle with a spark of curiosity.

Wriothesley looked up from his form, his lips curving into a smirk as he replied confidently, “Easy. Adeptus.”

You beamed, grateful for his quick answer, and eagerly scribbled it into the puzzle. Before you could move on to the next clue, a soft knock on the door caught your attention. Wriothesley called for the visitor to enter, and the door creaked open to reveal your teenage son.

“Mum, Dad. Are you busy?” Cameron asked, peeking shyly into the room.

“Never for you, sweetheart,” you replied warmly, setting aside the puzzle and placing the papers on the tea table in front of you. You gestured for him to come closer, and Cameron’s shy smile turned radiant as he walked over to sit beside you, quickly enveloped in your affection.

“Is something wrong, buddy? I thought you were in the city with Quentin,” Wriothesley inquired.

“Oh, no, everything’s fine,” Cameron reassured him. “Quentin forgot that today was his parents’ performance day, so Corinne picked him up while we were at the beach. Éveline is busy too, so I decided to come home.”

Both you and Wriothesley nodded in understanding. Rising from his desk, Wriothesley announced, “I’ll make some tea for all of us.”

As he left, Cameron nestled into your embrace while you returned to your puzzle, never letting go of your son. The peace was short-lived, however, as your daughter, still in your womb, seemed to sense her brother’s presence. She began kicking energetically, demanding attention of her own.

Cameron chuckled, watching the movements. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really,” you replied with a laugh. “Sometimes it feels like she thinks my belly is a playground, and even my ribs don’t escape her antics. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Smiling, Cameron gently placed his hands over your belly, where your baby's tiny feet were stretching. His soft touch seemed to calm her, and the powerful kicks gradually eased into gentle nudges. You sighed in relief.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Cameron said softly, his voice full of anticipation.

You kissed the top of his head, your heart full. “She’s looking forward to meeting you too.”

A few minutes later, Wriothesley returned with a tray of tea and a few treats, the sight of his wife and son greeting him with warmth. As he joined you, the love and contentment in the room seemed to swell.

Even after all these years, Wriothesley couldn’t help but marvel at the simple beauty of his family. You, Cameron, and the little one on the way—his heart overflowed with gratitude for the life you had built together.

CYNO

The General Mahamatra was escorting the Lesser Lord Kusanali back to the Sanctuary of Surasthana after a lengthy meeting with the sages and the Akademiya's scribe when a familiar sight caught his eye—you, leaving the Grand Bazaar with the twins by your side.

A faint sparkle crossed his usually composed gaze, a flicker of warmth that most would miss—especially those who would go out of their way to avoid catching the matra's attention. However, the perceptive little dendro archon wasn’t most people. With a soft giggle, she turned to Cyno and suggested he end his day early to spend the afternoon with his family.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, her tone light and reassuring. “I’ll take a quick look around and be back home before dark.”

Cyno hesitated, concern briefly knitting his brow. As a protector, it wasn’t in his nature to leave the young archon unattended. He began to decline, promising to join his family at the end of the day. But Nahida, with her characteristic blend of wisdom and playfulness—and perhaps a subtle flex of her authority—persisted.

Eventually, Cyno relented, expressing his gratitude before bidding her farewell and making his way to you.

It was Isaar who first sensed his father’s approach, the boy turning to greet Cyno with a wide smile and an enthusiastic wave that quickly caught both Aryan’s and your attention.

“Cyno,” you greeted warmly, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. His ears tinged red, though his stoic demeanor didn’t waver. Amused by his reaction, you chuckled softly as the twins ran up for their customary pats on the head.

“Hey, Baba, guess what!” Isaar exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement. “We’re having Shawarma Wrap for dinner tonight!”

Cyno blinked, his brow arching in curiosity as he glanced at you. “That’s unusual. Any special occasion?”

Grinning, Isaar puffed out his chest. “I won three rounds against Yan in Invokation TCG! We bet that the winner could pick a special dinner, and I got to order from Mama!”

Cyno nodded in understanding while Aryan sighed, the quieter twin clearly disappointed. “I really wanted to eat Mama’s Panipuri,” he murmured, his tone soft and wistful. “Grandpa Cyrus even helped me pick the best potatoes for them.”

Your heart melted at his words. Smiling, you leaned closer to him, your hand gently stroking his face. “I’ll make them next time, Ary,” you promised in a quiet voice meant just for him. “I’ll even make double the amount, just for you.”

Aryan’s eyes brightened as he nodded, comforted by your assurance. Cyno, overhearing the exchange, couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. Once again, you had effortlessly resolved a situation that others might dismiss as trivial, yet to you, every detail of your children’s happiness mattered deeply.

Without a word, Cyno relieved you of the shopping bags, holding them in one hand while his other reached for yours. Intertwining your fingers, he began leading you home, his quiet presence grounding and reassuring.

The twins walked a few paces ahead, deeply engaged in a lively conversation in their unique language—a secret code they only shared with each other. Even as they chatted, they never strayed far from their parents’ watchful eyes.

Moments like this were rare, given your respective duties, but Cyno savored every second. The simplicity of walking hand-in-hand with you, watching the twins chatter animatedly, filled him with a quiet, profound joy. These were the moments that reminded him of what truly mattered.

Perhaps, he thought, as his grip on your hand tightened slightly, he should ask Nahida for more days off. Just maybe.

KAVEH

“Daddy, daddy, daddy! I’m going to marry Hakim!”

Those were the enthusiastic words your sweet little girl announced as she bounded into the kitchen. You paused mid-preparation of lunch, glancing over your shoulder, while Kaveh, comfortably sipping his wine, choked violently on the drink.

Concerned but mildly amused, you hurried to help him recover from the coughing fit that erupted—not from the wine itself, but from Zahra’s startling declaration.

“Princess,” Kaveh managed to say after a deep breath, his voice still raspy, “I thought you were going to marry daddy.” He gave her a shaky smile, clearly hoping her young heart still belonged solely to him.

You snorted softly, shaking your head as you turned back to your work.

“No! Daddy is already married to Mommy,” Zahra explained matter-of-factly, placing her hands on her hips like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Ooh! Look at this pretty drawing Hakim made for me!”

She held up a colorful, childlike but remarkably detailed drawing of the Palace of Alcazarzaray. Even Kaveh, reluctant to admit it, couldn’t deny the talent evident in the work. Hakim, it seemed, though a miniature replica of his father, had his own gifts.

“Oh my! It’s so beautiful, Zaza,” you praised as you leaned over to admire the drawing. “Did you thank him properly?”

“Yes! I gave him a rose,” Zahra replied proudly, her chest puffed out.

Kaveh’s heart softened at her response.

Zahra truly was a thoughtful, kind-hearted child. Every day, he watched her grow into a bright, beautiful girl, reflecting the best qualities of both her parents. She was his little princess, the light of his life, and Kaveh would protect that light fiercely. The thought of anything—or anyone—taking away her happiness made his chest tighten.

“Daddy is still against this marriage, though,” Kaveh suddenly declared, snapping out of his reverie. He crossed his arms, attempting to look stern. “You’re too young, and I highly doubt Hakim has the resources—or the qualities—to provide you with a good home. Besides, men, in general, are terrible.” He paused, then added smugly, “But daddy isn’t. Daddy is the best. So daddy is still the best choice!”

You rolled your eyes, giving him a pinch on the cheek. Kaveh pouted dramatically at the gesture, though he didn’t pull away.

“Let kids be kids, Kav,” you said with a fond smile.

Zahra, meanwhile, seemed neither disheartened nor discouraged by her father’s objections. Instead, her little brow furrowed in thought before she confidently replied, “But daddy, Hakim promised we’d get married when we’re big like you and mommy, and his mama and papa. He said that when he grows up, he’ll be a great house artist like you, and then he’ll build a house for us to live in. You can visit us all the time!”

Kaveh was internally horrified. They were already making plans for the future, and Zahra hadn’t even turned seven yet. The idea was unacceptable. Intolerable. His sweet baby girl couldn’t possibly—no, wouldn’t—grow up so fast.

But as he looked into her sparkling golden eyes and saw the genuine joy in her smile, he couldn’t bring himself to crush her whimsical dream. With a dramatic sigh, he relented—though not without setting a few conditions.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But you’re not getting married until you’re fifty-nine. And Hakim has to build a palace with many rooms and a beautiful garden. And I’ll visit every day!”

Zahra clapped her hands with glee, her delighted giggles echoing in the kitchen as she threw her arms around him.

Meanwhile, you watched the exchange with mild amusement, a warm sense of comfort filling your heart.

If only Kaveh realized how common the “childhood friends to lovers” trope was, you thought with a grin, he’d surely take back everything he’d just said.

a/n: i planned to write a part for kazuha and alhaitham but i'm a little bit tired so in the next update? we'll see...

please let me know if there are any mistakes ;)

edited: dec/2024

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #cyno #cyno x reader #kaveh #kaveh x reader #genshin dads au #when they're dads

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crackedpumpkin · 1 month ago

Text

| 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝟏𝟓 |

a/n: hi :> I'm alive :> I took leave fromwork today so i could finish this :>>> hope u enjoy lol still short but i promise next few updates will be much longer!!

taglist: @candyquokka @mikadough @em-100-blog @cursedreader @alicesmile1 @alexa24 @raegreenie4 @burdeningbitch @viannasthings @cadencannot @ml3czqo @nanasemo @certified-cole-simp @beescomet @theblindhag @mitbin24 @sweetlittlebumblebree @brooklyniswriting @cantbecreative @something-else3 @iinlovewithfictionalppl @itz-moonlight @jebesovovise @ryeheep @letthelightin2112 @classically-bored @clearlawyereaglewobbler @anajellyc @the-midnight-duck @fru1ty-bage3ls @elysiuansstuff @risagichi @mousedit@yoggi-bingus @silveritydreams @mikadough @greenunoreversecard @herondale3109 @something-else3 @herondale3109 @changeling5am @obs3ssingd3vil

[ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

“...Why are you pouring flour into the rice cooker?”

You blink. The bag of flour in your hands is half-empty, and the rice cooker now contains a sad, white, powdery hill of disaster.

You clear your throat, trying to look casual as you slowly place the bag back in its container.

“I was, uh… measuring. You know. To see how much we have left.”

Zane turns his head slowly. He looks at the flour. Then at the bag. Then at you.

The silence is brutal.

“In what measurements?”

You briefly consider crawling into the oven and baking yourself alive. Honestly, that would be less stressful than dealing with the emotional tornado currently tearing through your stomach.

What even was all that earlier?

Zane silently slides a container of short-grain rice into your hands, his movements calm and precise. He replaces the bowl of flour with an empty one, giving you something productive to do because clearly, you look more frazzled than you thought.

Your hands shake a little as you set the bag aside. You're pouring rice, sure, but you're mostly just staring into the bowl like it might explain what the hell just happened. Like maybe the grains will spell it out for you in Morse code.

I don’t even know Morse code-

What was that look in his eyes? Why was he that close? Why didn’t you move?

…Why don’t you want to move now, just thinking about it?

You bite the inside of your cheek and blink hard. No. Nope. We’re not doing this. I don’t have time for whatever that was. There’s a perfectly logical, non-heart-flipping reason you nearly kissed Cole in a hallway.

Right?

You flinch when Zane clears his throat beside you, not looking up.

"Would you like me to handle the rice?" he asks gently, though you can sense the nuance in his tone that suggests let me handle this and spare you from more public humiliation.

You shake your head too fast. “Nope. I’m fine. Totally good. Just... needed a second to recalculate the uh… rice.”

Zane says nothing, stepping back with a raised brow and understanding smile. You move to the sink and begin washing the rice, stirring the raw grains with your bare hands. “So, what’s for lunch?” You ask warily, eyeing the way he’s holding the knife.

“Vegetable stir-fry and braised tofu.”

You nod sagely, like he’d given you the answer to life. “Tofu. Great. Love that for us. Let’s go vegetarians.” You stare at your lifeless fist pump in disgust, slowly putting it back down.

Zane hums noncommittally, already chopping vegetables with a terrifying position that makes you wonder if he’d ever consider being on an episode of Hell’s Kitchen.

“Do you think it’s possible to spontaneously combust from, like... residual embarrassment?” you ask, mostly to yourself.

“I have not encountered that particular phenomenon,” Zane replies, unfazed. “But I believe your odds increase if you continue scrubbing the rice like it personally insulted your honor.”

You pause, realizing the grains are probably cleaner than your conscience right now. Slowing your motions, you stare blankly into the sink.

It wasn’t just a moment of carelessness. Not really. It wasn’t like you tripped and accidentally got caught in a weird soap opera camera angle.

You’d leaned in. He did too.

And for half a second, everything in your head had shut up. No worries. No overthinking. Just… him.

You suck in a breath and quickly dump the rice into the cooker before you can spiral again. “Anyway. No combusting today. I have tofu to survive for.”

Zane slides a plate of sliced carrots your way. “That’s the spirit.”

You take them and start arranging them in neat, even rows. You absolutely do not picture Cole’s stupidly warm eyes watching you from across the kitchen. Nope. Not happening.

Absolutely not.

— — — — — —

Lunch goes smoothly without a hitch. What you feared to be an awkward moment filled with dread and existential crisis somehow turned into casual banter. The moment Cole had walked into the room and found your wandering gaze, it’s as if a silent agreement was instantly reached to not bring up whatever happened in the hallway.

You move to your seats and like the normal people you are, avoid anything that includes interacting with each other. This unfortunately didn’t go unnoticed, and your attention is drawn to Jay and Lloyd’s occasional giggles.

You eye them with suspicion, gaze sliding over to Cole who actively avoids looking your way. Did he say something…? Surely not.

Just as you’re about to comment on the two idiots who look like they clearly know something, your grip loosens and your chopsticks fall to the floor. Biting back a cuss, you bend down with a sigh and reach for the wooden sticks.

Whether by fate or bizarre coincidence (or maybe he has some manners in him after all), his hand closes around the other end just as yours do. You both pause.

There’s a beat of silence under the table, where the air somehow feels heavier. More… charged.

The floor is so sexy right now, you think bitterly, staring at that one oddly misshapen smudge that you suspect is probably a burn mark of some sort. Instead of doing the sensible thing and look up, your fingers instinctively tighten around the chopsticks.

The weight shifts just as you do, realising that he’d done the same.

Great. Now I’m stuck in a silent tug-of-war over two sad pieces of wood. This is ridiculous. Just let go.

...Except you don’t. And neither does he.

You stubbornly nudge forward a centimetre, gaze still stuck on the burn mark. He nudges back.

This bitch-

You make the mistake of glancing up. Then, you catch it. That goddamn smirk.

The corner of his mouth lifts in that same infuriatingly cocky way. Your breath hitches before you can stop it, thoughts derailing so fast you almost forget where you are.

Your gaze flicks down to his mouth.

Absolutely NOT-

You jolt upright like you’ve just been zapped by lightning, only to slam your head directly into the underside of the table.

The impact reverberates through your skull like a personal attack from the universe. You let out a sharp gasp, practically folding onto the floor as you cradle your head.

“Dude—!” you hear Jay wheeze above the table. “Did she just—?”

Cole shoots up after you, narrowly missing the table edge. “Are you okay?” he blurts, reaching toward you.

“I’m fine!” You wheeze, desperately flailing the arm that isn’t cradling your head in his direction to ward him off. “I’m all good.” If this man got within ten inches of you, there’s no telling what might happen. The further away, the better.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Nya hesitates, reaching out a hand before patting your shoulder in the most off-rhythmic way possible.

“I’m fine. Why are you guys acting so weird? Back to the food, c’mon. It’s vegetarian.” The pain lessens slightly, enough to shift from your initial cradling to a weak gesture, ushering them back to their seats.

From the corner of your eye you spot Lloyd with his head in his hands, and Jay gripping the edges of the table so tightly you can spot the whites of his knuckles. Nya and Kai simply exchange worried glances before slowly raising their chopsticks once more to continue eating.

“I’ll go check on the mast or something. Ship things.” Keeping your mouth shut would’ve made it a million times easier to slip away but no, you just had to make up a stupid excuse before hurrying out the doorway.

Your feet move on autopilot, eventually finding yourself standing at the deck of the ship. The breeze brushing against your flushed cheeks makes it easier to draw a breath, all tension from earlier dissipating in your chest as you stare at the mountains in the distance.

One breath, then another. You repeat the same action mindlessly, waiting for the calm to slowly inch its way into your chest and replace the nervousness crawling around inside. Glancing down, you realise that you’d been picking at the skin around your nails again. The tips are raw and red, hissing as you press against them with the lightest of pressure.

Pushing past the pain, you scrunch your hands into fists and press them into your palms, suddenly wishing desperately that you were anywhere but here. Maybe this was a mistake. You’d made it so abundantly clear tens of thousands of times that you’d rather die than accept him as your soulmate.

Pulling out your phone, you scroll through the contact before landing on one you never expected to call, not in a million years.

Your finger hovers over the screen, ghosting over the icon as you debate whether to truly go through with it.

Fuck it.

The moment you make up your mind, you’re interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching you. You turn off the phone, swiftly sliding it into your pocket before pressing your lips together as the person moves closer.

It’d be dumb if you didn’t already recognise his steps by now. The very person you didn’t want to be here, stands beside you with his arms resting on the wooden railing. Staring straight ahead, irritability creeps in once again.

“You know, it’s really hard to keep ignoring you when you keep dangling that frozen bag of peas like you’re about to punch me in the face with them.”

“Oh.” He looks at it, then back at you again before raising his hands in surrender. “You caught me.”

That gets a small laugh out of you. The silence after is deafening, feeling heavier and more oppressive by the second. “So are you going to give me those? Or…?”

“Not at all. These are actually for me.” You raise your brows sceptically, watching as he places the bag on his arms with an exaggerated wince.

He lifts it off awkwardly, perhaps realising from the unimpressed expression on your face that the conversation would die before it even began. He shifts, gently pressing the cold bag against the spot on your head that’d been throbbing the most.

The cool sensation is nice, closing your eyes momentarily to relish in the relief it provides. “Thanks,” you mutter, keeping them shut so you don’t have to look at him. But even then, it provides no help whatsoever. It’s as if you’d become alert to everything; each draw of his breath, every shift in his posture, even the words you can anticipate he’s about to say.

“About earlier…”

Damn it.

You hear him swallow thickly. “Why did you…why did you lean in?”

“I didn’t lean in,” you say defensively, before remembering that you’re supposed to behave like an adult and actually talk about your problems instead of bottling it up. “I just— I don’t know, okay?”

The defeated sigh that follows your words makes you slump slightly, opening your eyes and staring pointedly at his shirt. What he says next, however, makes you snap your gaze back up to his, your breath hitching.

“I didn’t mind it.”

His cheeks are colored pinker than your face after a round of sparring with Master Wu, but he doesn’t look away. Your eyes search his, forgetting how to breathe when you see it — fear. It’s not that he wants to look away, he can’t.

And neither can you.

“I, uhm.” You inhale sharply, dropping your gaze to your clenched fists. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either,” he admits. His other hand reaches out, closing over your fists. “But that doesn’t mean I have to, right?”

You shrug.

That gets a chuckle from him. “Look. Maybe we don’t have to address it at all. We can save it for when we’re back home, right? Otherwise we might get distracted from the reason why we’re here.” He pauses, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Your safety.”

“That’s true,” you say ruefully, “stupid safety.”

“So, we’ll talk about it properly when we’re back home?” He asks once more, a glimmer of hope in his voice.

You nod.

“Great. And if we do it again, we’ll discuss it back home too.” That stuns you, any viable retort dying on the tip of your tongue as he grins unabashedly. “Let’s just keep it a gray area, okay? Okay!”

“What do you mea–”

“Hey look! We’re here!” He ignores you, pulling on the rope that makes a loud bell chime that alerts everyone else on the ship.

Castle spires and golden tips pierce through the clouds, sunlight glinting off the surfaces that make it glimmer. People stroll through the lush green lawns, waving happily at the ship and clamouring their welcomes.

He grasps your wrist, tugging you toward him and gesturing to the floating island. “Welcome to Shintaro.” A strangled noise falls past your lips, looking at him wide-eyed and feeling like your cheeks are on fire, as if he didn’t just basically say five seconds ago it would be a free-for-all.

“Cole!!”

#ninjago #lego ninjago #cole brookstone #cole brookstone x female reader #cole x female reader #ninjago x reader #cole ninjago #lego ninjago x reader

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 3 months ago

Text

This, is my Solemn Vow

Part 17 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series!

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: I don't want to spoil anything, but this part contains similar themes as most other parts of this series, including discussions that may be deemed as dark. Be warned.

It was looming over your head, twisting your insides into knots, and you were pretending that everything was okay.

When you wake up in the morning, he asks you to get dressed, taking you down to the marina, and guiding you onto a barge styled boat, with a restaurant inside.

You have breakfast beside him for the few hours it takes to sail around Sentosa island, wearing a loose yellow sundress, while he wears an olive green t-shirt tucked into black jeans.

You looked like a lemon-lime combo, and you can’t help saying this to him at some point throughout your journey, laughing with him as though everything was alright.

It wasn’t.

You were both pretending and you knew it. Clinging to the role of husband and wife because you had no idea what would happen after.

It was fucking weird.

You would hold his hand, and tuck yourself into the space beside him, but you resisted kissing him, because you were confused and this was confusing and you might tear your hair out if you didn’t clear the air soon.

It was familiar to you… but also not.

You could at least admit to yourself that there was an easy friendship here, if nothing else, you liked sitting with him, and listening to him speak, and engaging him in light conversation about tides and wind resistance.

Something twists sharply in your chest at the thought of being only friends with him.

When you get back to your hotel room, you curl your hands into fists, anxious and determined to have it out before you find yourselves stuck in this strange purgatory for much longer.

You strike a match, lighting one of the scented candles you’d gotten in your time here, letting the aroma of sage and Palo Santo wood calm you.

He’s in your bedroom taking a call, you can hear the calm cadence of his voice as you find the stupid divorce papers, pulling them out of their hiding place in your luggage.

You feel like you’re ambushing him, when you drop it onto the nearby marble countertop, bracing your arms on the sturdy surface and willing yourself to have the strength to say what you have to say.

You hear him step out of the room, his muffled footsteps as he approaches, and then slows down when he notices you.

You gulp, looking up at him, his face is calm, but it’s his eyes that hold all of his heartbreak.

“It’s time for that talk.” You whisper ominously.

He sucks in a shaky breath, approaching, giving you a sharp nod.

“I’ll start simple- I remember that night we got married.”

You watch him nod in understanding.

“I had the rings with me… hoping for a chance to work them in. You stopping to look at the veil was my perfect opportunity.”

“If I hadn’t stopped, did you have a backup plan?”

He glances down, nodding.

“I would have made you sign the papers and fabricated the witnesses.”

You shake your head.

“If I had been a little bit more sober-”

“-but you weren’t. You were tipsy enough to go along with me, and sober enough to consent. I kept you right on that precipice the entire night. I was standing on that balcony, counting the shots you were taking, making sure that you didn’t have more than you could handle. I wanted you impressionable, not unconscious.”

You can’t fight the horror that his words draw out of you.

“You know how that makes me feel, right? Like I’m just some pawn in your twisted web.”

He swallows, nodding, he doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I know. I just don’t want to hide from you anymore.”

“Did you,” You struggle to ask the words, “Did you have any hand in Dominic breaking up with me?”

The corner of his mouth lifts, he shakes his head.

“I knew he would fuck up eventually. I wanted to kill him so many times, but I needed you to see him for the piece of shit he was.”

“Oh.”

You swallow, trying to get yourself together before you ask your next question.

“What if I didn’t go along with your trap? Would you have killed me?”

He glances up in shock at your question. You give him an apologetic smile, unable to phrase the question in a better way at the moment.

“I could never bear the thought of ever hurting you,” He whispers, approaching till he’s right in front of you. He raises a hand to cup your cheek, “However bad of a person you think I am, I need you to know that no matter what happens between us, I will always put your safety first. I’ve watched you from afar for years, I knew what kind of person you were before I’d ever slipped that ring onto your finger. I hoped that I could give you exactly what you needed if I had the chance.”

You swallow, eyelids fluttering at the soothing feeling of his hands on your face.

“If we got divorced. Would you keep stalking me?”

He holds your gaze, your heart hammering as he answers without hesitation.

“Yes.”

Well, that wasn’t terrifying at all.

“You-” You huff in exasperation, “Why didn’t you just ask me out on a date like a normal person?”

He chuckles.

“I keep trying to tell you- I’m not normal.”

You groan, laughing at his words in the next moment.

“Okay, I wish I had a clear answer, maybe I’m like a dog that isn’t socially adjusted so I do weird shit and hope I don’t get caught. I’ve never been like this before either, I’m usually more… subtle when I approach women. But there’s something about you, something that made me terrified of your rejection.”

His thumbs dance thoughtfully on your cheeks as he looks away, deep in his own head.

“And the more I got to know you, the more I saw you, the real you hiding under all those layers of anxiety and insecurity, I realised that we were more alike than expected.”

You gulp, your dark tryst in the castle coming to mind.

He looks back at you, those dark eyes of his trying to see into your mind.

“Can you honestly say, without a doubt, that you hated seeing how obsessed I was? Would you really rather watch me pretend to be less?”

“That’s not fair,” You argue, “You didn’t give me a choice.”

“I know,” He says firmly, “And don’t you love that?”

You gulp, raising your hands, you push him away, angry at the way he makes you feel with such a dangerous question.

“You’re so-” You were going to say ‘insane,’ but hadn’t he been admitting that the entire time?

You stop, your eyes drawing to the manilla envelope, the gears turning in your head at a too slow rate for you to comprehend.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” He begs.

It takes you a moment to get the words out.

“I’m… scared that I’ll regret my decision.”

Billy releases a slow breath, and when you turn your head to look at him, his eyebrows are drawn together, the faintest hint of a wrinkle in the space between. His eyes take on a glassy appearance as they fill with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry.” He finally whispers, and you can almost feel the defeat in the tone of his voice.

You glance away, unable to meet his eyes, there’s a strange feeling inside of you, a hurt you can feel coming but it’s not quite there yet.

“For what, exactly?”

“For… loving you the way I do.”

You try not to let your words choke you, though they beg for your decimation. You didn’t know heartache could come on so gradually.

“And what way is that?” You pry.

He’s quiet for a long time, and you glance up at him, seeing the way his words stick in his throat, the same way yours do, the way sweet words have the bitterest taste.

“Tell me.” You demand.

“Please.” You beg.

He still doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I’d let you ruin me, destroy every piece of me,” A slow breath, “If I could just stay with you a second more. A moth and a flame, Icarus and the sun. I don’t want to exist without you.”

Your mind reels with the implication that he thinks you’re going to be his destruction.

It’s a calm sort of anger, your hands shaking imperceptibly, your heart trembling in the very same way.

“Fuck you, Billy Russo.”

His glassy eyes meet yours, dark pools of love and despair. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t shy from your anger, so ready to accept it, prepared for your rejection.

The way everyone in his life had abandoned him before.

“I didn’t choose this,” You hiss, stepping into his personal space, “I definitely didn’t ask for it. You took any agency I had and made it your own. You made me your own.”

He closes his eyes, it cracks your heart into pieces to watch tears stream down his face.

You reach up swiftly, locking your fingers behind his neck, bringing your face right up to his.

After a moment, you bring your thumbs up to wipe at the tears on the apple of his cheeks.

“You’re not Icarus, Billy, and I am not the sun.” You finally breathe to him.

He shakes his head, disagreeing with you silently.

“It’s true,” You urge, pressing your forehead to his, “You’re not falling.”

And with one final kiss to his lips, you reach over, grabbing the little pile of divorce papers, and letting the edge of it touch the flickering candle.

You hear his choked breath, and you smile, angling the papers so that the fire eats the material faster.

“Till death do us part.” You mumble to yourself, the finality of your decision sinking in, the immediate relief of it comes as fast as the fire does.

One moment he’s letting you hold him, and the next moment he reaches for the papers, pulling them from your hands and dropping them on the counter to continue burning.

You open your mouth to protest, the papers are going to scorch the marble if they’re not moved, but Billy steals your focus, turning your face forcefully to pull you into a kiss.

You make a sound of surprise, eagerly responding to him, understanding how badly he needs to be reassured right now.

Your kisses are bruising, so forceful that they borderline on pain, you grip his shoulders, humming happily as he pulls you even closer together. Your brain glitters like shattered glass, embracing sunlight.

“I love you,” He says into your mouth, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

You can’t help your giggle.

“I love you too, Billy Russo.”

He groans, his hands roam your body, tugging your dress up on his way to squeeze your ass. His mouth is unrelenting, kissing over your neck, down to your clavicle. The pleasure you feel is alive under your skin, begging for more.

“My wife.” He hums in between kisses, “My perfect wife.”

You feel like you’re being mauled, and you can do nothing but take it, smoke fills your nose, and you turn your head to see the divorce papers almost halfway on fire.

You want to warn him about the fire alarm, but at the same time he turns you, pinning your front to the counter, tugging forcefully at the strap of your dress until you hear the seams rip. You only have a second to gasp before he bites down gently on your shoulder.

Pleasure explodes behind your eyes, you shudder as his hands find their way under your dress, palming over your panties, before he slips his warm hands under them.

“I need to feel you.” he breathes into your ear, the heat of his words setting your insides on fire and you nod, your body responding to every part of him.

His fingers find your clit easily, pressing down, he hums in approval when he finds you wet and swollen.

You make an embarrassing squeaking sound, his tongue gently tracing its way over your shoulder, and up your neck a little till his lips meet your ear.

“You're so wet, baby.” He praises easily, “Did hearing how obsessed I am for you get you like this?”

“Yes,” you groan, “Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.”

He chuckles, palming your breast over your dress, while his fingers swirl purposefully over your clit, making your hips move in an attempt to grind on his hand.

“There’s no going back now, you know that right? I’m not letting you leave again. You’re mine. Forever.”

You nod frantically, understanding the consequences of setting the divorce papers on fire, glancing at them, watching the flame consume your only chance at escaping him.

“You’re mine now too.” You breathe.

He swears, pulling his hands away and spinning you once more to face him. His mouth finds yours just as he grips your hips firmly and seats you on the countertop.

The marble is fucking cold against the back of your thighs, but you can’t help sinking your fingers into his hair and rubbing your tongue against his messily as you hear the clink of his belt being undone.

You smile into the kiss, thinking that he’s so feverishly eager for you and of course, you feel the exact same, reaching down to wrap your fingers around his magnificent cock, his answering groan into your mouth as you stroke him firmly, sending ripples of delight through you.

He huffs, pulling you to the edge of the countertop before tugging your panties to the side. You want this so badly that you feel the ache between your thighs worsen, a thrumming in your center that begs for relief.

His eyes meet yours when you align the head of his cock to your entrance, searching your eyes for reassurance as he presses in.

“Deep breaths baby.” He guides, watching as your eyes roll shut, nodding your head. He’s big, you almost forgot how big, now astutely obvious as his cock demands you yield for him.

You try to relax as best as possible, feeling him sink in further, making you feel so full.

You whine his name, and he leans in to press a kiss to your mouth, unintentionally sinking himself deeper into you.

Your thighs tremble, wrapping around his hips, you bring your arms over his shoulders so you can bury your face in his neck.

“Doing so good,” He praises, “My perfect little wife.”

You make a keening sound, struggling not to clench around him prematurely, gripping the back of his neck, breathing him in as he fully fits himself into you.

You’re so wet, but it’s been a month without him and it stings in the deepest parts of you, brings about an ache that hurts and feels so undeniably good all at the same time.

He takes a moment, you feel him kiss the top of your head, the gentleness of the act unintentionally making you clench around him.

His next groan has an unhinged manner to it, drawing back subtly to press into you again.

Fuck, it feels immeasurably good, you baffle at the willpower he has to take it slow for your sake.

You can tell he’s trying hard to rein himself in. The veins on his neck poking out from beneath his skin, his breaths are all shuddery against your hair.

You want him insane with desire, tipping your head back, you look up at him before you whisper in your sweetest voice.

“Please, husband, I need you so bad.”

His breath catches in his throat, and you watch as all the self-control bleeds from his eyes.

He makes a low sound, one hand tightening on your hips, the other reaching up to tangle in your hair.

“I was trying to be nice, wife. But you don’t want nice, do you?”

You shake your head rapidly.

He snaps his hips forward, your mouth dropping open at just how forceful his movements are.

He does it again, and you can’t help the little sound of pleasure that leaves you, his cock, stretching you open in a painfully perfect way.

His hand tightens in your hair, tugging so that your head is tipped back while he keeps snapping his hips.

“Do you want me?” He asks, his words warm against your lips.

“Mmm, I do.” You hum in the affirmative.

He grunts.

“Say it.”

“I- ah- I want you.”

His nose brushes yours, “Fuck. Fuck.” he swears.

There’s nothing you can focus on except how primal this feels, to be taken like this, to freely give yourself to him, to feel each movement he makes and have your body respond with bliss. And then his actions grow more forceful, faster, your thighs tremble around his hips, your body shaking as the pleasure overwhelms you, pushing you right up to that edge before you can even comprehend the feeling.

He knows, you watch him grin as he realises how quickly you’re on that brink, body shaking, head swimming in hazy desire with each thrust he makes.

“Do it, sweetheart. Come all over your husband’s cock.”

Your body tightens, and with one final push of his hips, you hit your breaking point.

An unintentional sound leaves you, your inner walls flutter around his cock as the shockwaves grow more intense, finally gripping him tightly, your eyes rolling back in your head as you lose control of your body. It feels like lightning, the way it electrifies each of your nerve endings, making you feel like there’s energy coming right out of you as you hit that peak.

Your fingers claw into his shirt, gripping for dear life as you come so hard you stop thinking. You hear him groan loudly, his cock fitted deep inside you as you explode around him, giving him exactly what he asked for. You squeeze him so tightly that you swear his length is imprinted into you, dropping your head into the crook of his neck as you come down.

You still shake in the aftermath, looking up at him, you give him a weak smile, holding him closely as you continue to tremble.

“Perfect.” He hums, leaning down to kiss you, and then he withdraws subtly to press into you again.

His pretense of control is all gone, you can tell by the wild look in his eye, and the sharp, uncontrolled movement of his hips.

He’s so alluring in this moment, taking what he needs from you without apology, his hair askew from your hands, his body hot beneath all his clothes, your orgasm being drawn out by your perfect husband.

“I love you.” Are his last words before he buries his face in your hair and groans- his orgasm taking control of his movements, filling you with his cum.

You even feel his cock throb inside of you, your body so hypersensitive that you feel every little move he makes inside of you..

He laughs deliriously into your hair, and you find yourself smiling in turn.

“Fuck. That- was so fucking good, little wife.”

He studies you, strokes your hair, cups your face to tilt your head up so that he can keep kissing you passionately, moaning into the kiss like he’s still hungry for you, as if his spent cock isn’t already softening inside of you.

He waits, till you’re calm, till your body has stopped shaking, to withdraw himself.

You hum when you feel a touch of soreness, clenching when you can feel his cum, slipping out of you in that uncomfortably messy way you’ve grown to love.

“Does anything hurt?” He asks softly, bringing his mouth back to yours when you look away- glancing at the smoking pile of divorce papers.

“No,” You answer into his mouth because he gives you no other choice. He hums in delight, before scooping you up, walking you down the hallway towards your bed.

“I need to hold you.” He murmurs, as if you don’t already know, seating you on the bed as he undresses himself, kicking his pants away, and pulling his shirt off.

You wait patiently for his help, as he kneels in front of you, clad in only his boxers as he leans in, reaching around to unzip your dress.

You study his tattoo, as he tugs the torn dress down your torso, and you tilt your hips up to let him get it totally off.

You watch his eyes roam over your body, a pleased smile on his face. It takes him a few seconds to locate the ink on your hip.

He blinks, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing, tilting his head, eyebrows draw together before he looks up at you in surprise.

“Is this real?” He questions, glancing down once more to trace his thumb along the edges.

It’s right at the front, over your hip joint, about the approximate size of your hand.

It’s the same snake that’s on his shoulder, except this time its fangs aren’t bared, its serpentine body is wrapped around the stem of a rose.

You know what you wanted it to mean, that he owns you, in every dark possessive way he wanted. This was you, allowing yourself to be wrapped up in him, for better or for worse.

It was a sign, that you would always love him, no matter what.

“Snakes,” you whisper softly to him, too afraid to break the trance that he’s in, “shed their skins all the time. They are symbols of transformation and rebirth. Misunderstood, but deadly when underestimated.” You repeat the words he said to you as best as you could remember.

His eyes are filled with tears once more when he looks up at you, a shy smile graces your features as his dark eyes consume you.

His jaw tightens, as he rises, and goes from staring up to looking down.

Desire sparks once more in the deepest parts of you, his darkness is like an aphrodisiac, it makes you want to be very good for him.

“Get naked,” He hums, “Lie back on the bed.”

You tug the straps of your bra down frantically, and then your panties are tossed in his direction when you get them off.

When you settle, he presses his palms to the bed, crawling toward you, fingers gripping around your right ankle to bring it up to his face.

He kisses the inside of your ankle, beard scratching along your skin as he works his way up. His other hand finds your pussy, your mouth dropping open as he rubs his open palm messily over your cunt, his thumb swiping over your clit swiftly.

“Mine.” He finally whispers into your inner thigh, “You’re all mine.”

His words make you rut your hips into his messy palm.

He draws his palm away and you whine, breath stuttering when he brings his hand up to your face, hovering right above your nose.

“Taste us.” He says in a low tone that warns you not to question him. You huff, running your tongue along his palm, humming as you catch remnants of his cum and your arousal on his hand.

When you’re sure his palm is clean, you feel him drag his thumb over your lips, a deep concentration in his eyes, as though he’s trying to stop himself from doing something.

When his fingers go around your throat, cutting off your gasp with a squeeze, you finally begin to get a hint of what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“Tap me on the shoulder if it’s too much.” He murmurs with absolutely zero explanation, your eyes widening and he leans in, and you feel his hard cock pressing into you in the next moment.

You groan, the sound muffled by his hand on your throat, his cum from earlier making it so perfectly easy to slide right into you.

You feel your body relaxing to accept him, the head of his cock touching your cervix in a way that makes you see stars, your breathing sharp and shallow while he grips your throat.

He begins with a rough pace, that only gets rougher as time goes on, grunting and moaning into your ear, whispering on shaky breaths every version of how good your cunt feels wrapped around his cock.

You wish you could respond to him, or even articulate a thought, but you can actually feel any semblance of thinking leave your head with each move of his body on yours.

Chest to chest, he gives you a delirious smile when he sees the tears of bliss slipping from your eyes, the grip on your throat eases, but doesn't relent.

“Were you hoping to see me react like this, little wife?” He leans in, licking at your tears, “Is this what you fucking wanted?”

You gasp, nodding violently.

His skin slaps loudly against yours with how forceful his thrusts are, and you begin sobbing, begging him to never stop.

“Stop? No, sweetheart,” He withdraws from you, for only long enough to flip you over, tucking a pillow under your hips, leaning over you till you can feel his front pressed to your back.

“I'm not fucking stopping.” He whispers sweetly right before he enters you again.

Your moan is almost a shout, the way he feels so much bigger, and even more unrelenting in this position.

It doesn't take long before you're mewling out a warning that you're close to orgasm.

“Take every inch of my cock.” He grunts, speeding up the force of his thrusts until you feel like your body is about to supernova.

“I'm gonna keep you like this, nice and full of my cock until you beg me to stop.” He chuckles breathlessly over you, “Forever, little wife.”

Your eyes roll back in your head, your body stiffening as you cry out, before your orgasm slams into you, making you tremble violently as you come.

“That's it- oh fuck you're squeezing me so tight-” He groans, and while you come apart around him, you feel his movements stutter as he releases inside you once more.

You're still trembling as he pulls out of you, collapsing into the sheets as your body aches in sweet bliss. Billy grabs the pillow, tossing it behind him so that he can pull you into him.

You curl against his body happily, resting your head on his bicep, barely able to keep your eyes open but wanting desperately to be reminded of the things you've been missing when he wasn't around.

“I love you.” You sigh, the emotion building too much in your chest to be left unsaid.

He pauses his act of pulling a thin sheet over your bodies to look at you. Tilting his head he smiles softly, before cupping your jaw.

His kiss is deliciously slow, your heart fluttering softly in your chest at the sensation of his slow passion.

He breathes out a sigh, rubbing the length of his nose against yours.

“Fuck. There aren’t words.” He hums to himself for a second, “Hold on let me think of some.”

You smile, opening your eyes when he raises his head a little, deep in thought, your eyes find their way to the beautiful snake inked onto his perfect skin.

“You don’t have to,” You whisper, “...Find the words I mean.”

“I really do, I need you to understand how much you mean to me.”

“I know.” You protest softly, pressing your palm to his face, moving over his jaw, and down his neck.

He blinks, looking down at you.

“I want to feel your body crushed next to mine in the morning when I wake up. I want to memorise the colour of your eyes in the darkness before I fall asleep.”

He pauses, his eyebrows drawing together as he searches the deepest parts of his brain for the right words.

“I want you to reach out and touch me anytime you want, because when you do, you remind me that there’s a person out there that sees me- all of me- and you’re not scared of it.”

You take a slow breath, trying not to disrupt his thoughts, desperate, hanging on to his every word.

“I’ve spent my entire life trying to be worth something, to convince people that I belonged wherever I was, but I never really believed it… until I met you.”

He finally meets your gaze, tilting his head, giving you a small smile.

“I don’t just love you. It’s more than that. You’re my reason. You’re why I breathe.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, an ache in your chest as you look into his eyes.

You say his name softly, fingers tangling in his hair as you coax his mouth down to yours.

He groans into it, cupping your jaw to tilt your chin higher.

“My wife.” He whispers into your mouth, before he kisses you again and again.

You grin.

“My husband.” You reply.

“What’s taking you so long?” You call from your spot in the warm bath, glancing at the open door, trying to catch any sight of Billy moving around.

“Patience, wife, I’m just getting something.” He calls back.

“Get it faster,” You whine, “I miss you.”

He steps into your line of sight, grinning at you as he raises one of those fancy water bottles in explanation.

You almost want to ask, but you assume he’s bringing water and not wine because of the copious amounts that ‘Dave’ has seen you drink in the last week.

He places the water on the ledge beside you, before kicking his boxers down his legs. You lean forward, allowing him to slide in right behind you, smiling when he grips your hips to pull you into his lap in the warm water.

“I remember our first bath.” He teases, bringing a hand up between your breasts just like the first time, to wrap his slender fingers around your throat.

“What was it I said? Nothing feels more right than this.”

You laugh, closing your eyes, settling against him.

“I have something for you.” He murmurs, and you open your eyes, turning your head to look up at him, thinking about all the possibilities and zeroing in on the most probable.

You can’t help your grin, raising your left hand out of the water expectantly.

Billy blinks in surprise, before he chuckles, reaching to pick up something on the ledge beside him, before he slides it onto your finger.

“You might know me a little too well.” He acknowledges, as you watch your wedding ring glint under all the suds clinging to your hand.

You link your left hand with his right, letting it settle under the water as you relax into him once more, a small kiss to your head.

“If there was anywhere else in the world you wanted to be right now… where would it be?” Billy asks after a few moments, his voice is low and calm, as at ease as you feel.

The corner of your mouth ticks up in mischief.

“I would be… hmm… in a cozy little cabin in the snowy woods.”

He hums, amused.

“All by yourself?”

“No, I have my bodyguard, Dave with me.”

It’s not an answer he was expecting.

“Dave?” Billy asks with an incredulous tone.

You giggle.

“Yeah, it’s cold, and I want to get cozy, and I sort of annoy my bodyguard Dave by making him do things for me because I’m not the best at keeping tabs of everything, so I boss him around a lot, the poor guy.”

“I’m sure Dave likes being bossed around by you.” Billy thinks aloud, playing along.

You nod.

“Yeah, but I’m especially bossy this time, and the snow gets worse, and I make the mistake of drinking a little too much alcohol because it makes me feel so warm.”

You can almost feel the air supercharge with electricity when Billy realises where this is going.

“Definitely, a poor choice, princess.” He murmurs, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

You clench around nothing, trying to stay perfectly still.

Nodding, you continue talking as if nothing is wrong, “Dave would probably be so angry, having to take care of me, I doubt that’s even his job.”

“On the contrary,” Billy interjects, “His job is to protect you, even if that’s from yourself. If you push him enough, there’s no telling what he might do- or how he might go about teaching you discipline.”

A low moan of delight leaves your throat, you find your hips rolling in need, desperate for friction.

“He’d probably pull my clothes off, so he could touch every part of me, cuffing my hands behind my back-” You shudder when Billy’s fingers find your clit, rubbing generously at the aching spot under the warm water.

“He’d fuck you so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk, mark your pretty skin so that you knew, deep down, who’s really in charge.” Billy raises his other hand to pluck gently at your stiff nipples.

You grin, nodding.

“And then, when I’m nice and full and dripping with his cum, he takes a few pictures so that he can tease me about them later.”

“That’s quite a dream, little wife.”

You smile, turning your head to kiss the column of his neck.

“No rush, we’ll take our time working up to that.”

He kisses the top of your head.

“Of course.”

You shift your hips, feeling his stiff erection under you- telling you exactly how he felt about your pretend scenario.

There were so many things you wanted to do with him, and you couldn’t wait, the prospect of a lifetime with Billy Russo made you happier than you could imagine. Even better, the knowledge that he was just as content with you, as you were with him, made all of the hardships of the past, present and future seem absolutely worth it.

Because when it really came down to it, you were together now, and it didn’t matter how it started, whether it was accidentally,

Or on purpose.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #my writings #the punisher #billy russo smut #dark!billy russo #accidentally on purpose

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lady-arcane · 4 months ago

Text

—The Strongest Sweet Tooth—

Gojo Satoru believes in a lot of things.

He believes in power—his own, mostly, because there’s no one else on his level.

He believes in choices—the ones that shape people, the ones he never really got to make.

He believes in change—though he’s never quite sure if he’s the one causing it or just watching from the sidelines.

And above all, he believes in sweets.

Not just as food, but as a philosophy. A worldview. A moral compass.

"Everything you need to know about a person," he tells you one afternoon, legs stretched across your lap, "can be determined by how they rank their desserts."

You raise an eyebrow. "You have an actual ranking system, don’t you?"

"Of course I do!" He looks almost offended that you’d doubt it. "Do you think I just eat sweets randomly, like some kind of amateur?"

You do think that. Because Gojo has never exactly struck you as the kind of man who puts deep thought into anything besides fighting and annoying people.

But the way he says it—the sheer conviction—makes you pause.

Because he isn’t joking.

Not even a little.

Satoru’s Official, Undisputed, Completely Scientific Ranking of Sweets is as follows:

S-Tier (Divine, Transcendent, Life-Changing):

Anything made with yuzu. "The perfect balance of tart and sweet," he sighs, as if discussing fine art.

Hokkaido milk soft-serve. "The texture, the purity—it’s poetry in frozen form."

Mochi. But only when it’s fresh, hand-made, and "the exact right level of squishy."

A-Tier (Excellent, but Not Godly):

Dark chocolate. "Because I have class, obviously."

Honey-drizzled pancakes. "Good enough to die for, but I’d prefer to live and eat more."

Dorayaki. "Childhood nostalgia and deliciousness? Unbeatable combo."

B-Tier (Enjoyable, But Flawed):

Pocky. "Overrated, but respectable."

Strawberry shortcake. "Soft, fluffy, sweet—but lacks the complexity of superior desserts."

Dango. "A little too dense sometimes, but still solid."

C-Tier (Edible, But Only If There’s Nothing Else):

Cotton candy. "Pure sugar, no depth."

White chocolate. "A coward’s chocolate."

Anything overly artificial. "If it doesn’t melt on my tongue like a love confession, I don’t want it."

F-Tier (Crimes Against Humanity):

Licorice. "If you like this, I don’t trust you."

That one brand of cheap convenience store cakes that always taste vaguely of regret.

"Diet" versions of anything. "Why even bother?"

-----

"You thought about this," you say, stunned.

Satoru nods sagely, like a monk revealing the secrets of the universe. "Of course. You can tell everything about a society by its desserts."

You snort. "Enlighten me, then, Oh wise one."

"Gladly," he grins.

And then he launches into a full-blown dissertation on the philosophy of sweets.

How dark chocolate is for people who like complexity, who appreciate depth, who understand that sweetness is best when paired with bitterness.

How mochi is the ultimate symbol of comfort—soft, nostalgic, always better when shared.

How artificial sweets are like artificial people, all flash and no substance, messing into nothing the moment you try to hold onto them.

He talks, and talks, and talks—gesturing wildly, hands moving as if he’s sculpting his thoughts into the air.

And you watch.

Because for all his ridiculousness, there’s something fascinating about him when he’s like this.

So alive.

So present.

So real.

People forget, sometimes, that Gojo Satoru isn’t just a force of nature, isn’t just a god wrapped in human skin.

He’s a person.

A person who finds meaning in small, silly things.

A person who cares—even if it’s about something as absurd as a ranking system for sweets.

And isn’t that what makes him human?

-----

Of course, the problem with having such a strong opinion on sweets is that Satoru will fight to the death over it.

Metaphorically. (Mostly.)

The first time you mention liking white chocolate, he gasps so dramatically you think he might actually pass out.

"Are you saying," he demands, "that you willingly consume LIES?"

"It’s not that bad—"

"It’s sugar pretending to be chocolate! A fraud! A scam!"

You roll your eyes. "Oh please, mister ‘pocky is respectable.’"

"Pocky is respectable," he says solemnly. "It is an experience. A ritual. A sacred bond between snackers."

You don’t even know what that means.

And yet, an hour later, you find yourself in a heated debate over whether yuzu or matcha is the superior flavor.

(For the record, you argue for matcha. He calls you a heretic. You tell him to go to hell. He tells you they don’t serve sweets there, so he’s not interested.)

-----

It’s stupid.

It’s so stupid.

But it’s also… something else.

Something warm.

Something easy.

Something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t fully understand.

Because for all his strength, for all his burdens, Gojo Satoru is still this.

Still a man who will fight over desserts like it’s a matter of national importance.

Still a man who will wax poetic about the spiritual significance of mochi.

Still a man who will argue for hours, just to make you smile, just to keep the conversation going, just to have something—anything—that isn’t war, or loss, or the weight of being him.

And somehow, impossibly, you are the one he’s chosen to do this with.

Not the world.

Not the students.

Not the endless cycle of duty and expectation.

Just you.

Over something as ridiculous as sweets.

And isn’t that, in its own strange way, the most intimate thing of all?

-----

At the end of the day, it’s not really about the ranking system.

(Not really.)

It’s about the fact that Satoru chooses to care about something so small, so human, so pointless and beautiful.

Because if he can care about this, if he can make room in his world for something as silly as a favorite flavor, then maybe—just maybe—he can make room for other things, too.

For laughter.

For lightness.

For the quiet, simple joy of being here, being alive, being with you.

And that—more than any ranking, more than any argument, more than any philosophy—

is what really matters.

-----

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toyboy-molloy · 3 days ago

Text

When Zizka arrived at the Devil's Den that evening, he had intended to find a seat alone and have a quiet drink by himself before retiring to bed for the night. Henry and Sir Hans, however, seemed to have a different idea. They waved him over eagerly, inviting him to join them.

"Greetings," he said politely, sliding into the bench opposite them and waving over the alehouse maid, "how goes it?"

"Good, Zizka," Henry replied, waiting as the other man ordered a beer. Hans nudged him discreetly, inclining hi head towards Zizka; the gesture didn't go unnoticed to the astute tactician, "um, we wanted to talk to you about...Katherine."

"Katherine?" Zizka suddenly looked very panicked, his eyes darting between the two of them, "what about her? Is she alright? Has something happened?"

"Relax," Hans waved a hand whilst Henry smiled as though a point had just been proved, "we're just trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with you."

Zizka took the cool beer from the maid, frowning at the pair in front of him, "what do you mean?"

"I mean..." Hans said with a laugh, gesturing around as though it was obvious, "you're clearly in love with her yet you keep trying to get my sweetheart to fuck her."

Henry smiled fondly at the use of the endearment, moving his hand to Hans' knee under the table. Zizka looked incredibly confused as he looked between them.

"Wherever did you get an idea like that?"

"Well, you share a bed," Henry shrugged and Hans nodded sagely. Zizka still looked confused, unable to understand what they were getting at.

"Yes. So?"

Hans leaned forward on the bench, adding as sincerely as he could muster, "and you trust her more than any of your own men. And she clearly trusts you more than any other man she's ever met."

"Ah, besides Henry," he said quickly, seemingly very pleased with himself. Henry and Hans exchanged knowing glances; the former sighed again, holding up his hands.

"Look, Zizka," Henry spoke slowly as though speaking to a child, "I love Katherine like a sister. I will protect her and look out for her but..." he squeezed Hans' knee, "my heart and my body belong to my lord."

Zizka shook his head, scratching his chin, "I should've seen it. I meant no harm."

Henry and Hans gave each other another look, engaging in a silent conversation; Zizka was beginning to find it annoying.

"Do you not think..." Hans began hesitantly, searching for the right words, "it was your own feelings you were seeing in Henry?"

Instead of answering directly, Zizka drained the rest of his beer and looked around, making sure they couldn't be heard. He still leaned closer, lowering his voice.

"What should I do?"

"Go for a walk," Henry said at the very same time Hans had crudely suggested Zizka just shag her. Henry elbowed him, "you'll know what to do, trust me. You've already wooed her. It's just...neither of you know it."

Zizka rolled his eyes but he stood from the bench and promptly left without another word, running the conversation over again in his mind. Henry smiled, taking a celebratory sip of his own drink. He turned to Hans smugly.

"So, I'm your sweetheart, huh?"

Hans chuckled, trailing a hand up Henry's coat teasingly, "and what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Henry grinned as Hans hooked a finger into his collar, tugging him forwards into a steamy kiss, "I like it."

As they made their way upstairs, the two of them spied Zizka and Katherine meandering towards the forest, cosily chatting and laughing together. Henry and Hans wasted no time in celebrating their matchmaking success.

#been bothering the pack a lot lately. zizka needed this though. ye olde therapy with your bi sons who are dating. rip dry devil #hansry #henry x hans #hans x henry #kingdom come deliverance 2 #my writing

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eu-nicola · 3 months ago

Text

convenient marriage

summary: Sihtric is forced to marry the king's niece to silence rumors about his love affair with the queen

english isn’t my first language (warning: ¿?) (words: 10,6k)

i know that the tags are not correct, it's just to reach more people

The king’s hall was bathed in the golden light of the afternoon, which filtered through the tall stained-glass windows like blades of fire. Incense was burning in one corner, and the distant murmur of the court barely slipped through the thick stone walls. In the center of the hall, standing like a forged statue, Sihtric Kjartansson remained firm, arms crossed behind his back, brow furrowed, and heart as agitated as a war drum.

The king’s voice rose, serene, confident, assured.

"I do this for you, Sihtric," he said. "For the good of all. I want no scandals. No whispers in the corridors or drunken poets singing lies with a hint of truth behind them. I owe you this. You have served me well. With loyalty. With steel."

Sihtric lowered his head, clenched his teeth. He loved him, respected him. The king had been more than a lord: a savior, a leader, an almost paternal figure. But he was also the husband of the woman Sihtric desired with every fiber of his being. The woman who smiled at him with her lips, but spoke with her eyes. The woman who, in another life, would have been his.

And once, she had been.

The king stepped closer, placed a strong hand on his shoulder.

“I will introduce you to my niece. She arrived this morning from Wessex. She has manners. Beauty. Education. She is the best I can offer you to put an end to this delusion. What happened… what could have happened with the queen, will be left behind. This engagement buries it. You understand, don’t you?"

Sihtric looked up.

“Yes, my lord," he replied with a firm voice. But inside, each word tasted like betrayal.

The door to the hall opened softly, and the breeze from outside carried the scent of fresh flowers, sage, and something else a sweet, sophisticated perfume that imposed itself without being cloying. The young woman crossed the threshold with the grace of someone who knows she is being watched. Her dress was deep blue, cinched at the waist, with golden embroidery that wound like rivers over the fine linen. Her hair, a shining gold, fell in an intricate braid that crossed her crown like a diadem, adorned with small jade stones.

She had large eyes, a little proud. She walked with elegance. She wasn’t very tall, but her presence filled the space as if she were. When her eyes met Sihtric’s, they studied each other. She analyzed him with the attention of someone who knows she’ll be judged in return. And he… he only saw what was evident.

She was beautiful.

But she was not “her.”

“My lovely niece, Eadlyn," said the king with a smile, "let me present you to Sihtric Kjartansson. One of my bravest men. My confidant. The man with whom I hope to seal a lasting bond between our houses."

She curtsied softly.

“It is an honor," she said firmly but politely.

Sihtric bowed his head.

“The honor is mine, my lady."

They looked at each other for a moment longer. There were no awkward smiles or uncomfortable gestures. There was a tacit admiration. Recognition. But no emotion. Nothing that burned.

The king looked at them both, pleased.

“You see, Sihtric? She will be a good wife. She has education, wisdom, and impeccable lineage. Besides..." his voice dropped a tone, "she’ll silence the gossips. No one will doubt you if they see you with her. No one will remember rumors or… past mistakes."

Sihtric nodded.

“I understand. And I agree, my lord. If this is what you desire."

“And you desire it as well," added the king with a smile that allowed no argument. "Because it is the right thing to do."

Just then, the doors opened again. Like a shadow that had remained hidden within the walls, the queen entered the room.

Her dress was dark green, fitted, with long sleeves that brushed the floor. Her dark hair was braided into a single rope that fell over her left shoulder, heavy, perfect. She walked with the grace of a queen. Her eyes, those eyes Sihtric knew better than his own, landed first on him. Then on the young woman beside him.

“Lady Eadlyn," she said with a smile that was anything but sincere. "What a joy to finally have you at court. I’ve heard so much about you..."

The king’s niece bowed respectfully, though her expression remained cold.

“Your Majesty. The honor is mine."

“want to help you with your dress for the ceremony," the queen said, walking toward her, nearly circling her. "After all, you’re part of our family. And I can’t allow someone of your beauty to appear in anything less than perfection."

Eadlyn tilted her head, with that same attitude of someone enduring a situation out of courtesy, not pleasure.

“I would greatly appreciate it, Your Majesty," she replied without enthusiasm.

“The queen gave Sihtric a fleeting glance. It lasted barely a second. But that second seemed eternal.

And he knew, deep within, that there would be no peace in this engagement.

Hours later, the dinner had been formal and proper. The great hall was filled with laughter and clinking goblets, the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread floating in the air like a comforting caress. Eadlyn had sat beside her betrothed, just as the king had arranged, and although they had exchanged only a few words, both were cordial, polite, even slightly conspiratorial in some shared glances when the older nobles began speaking too loudly or repeating dull stories.

Eadlyn was no fool. She knew the rumors circulating the court, the whispers about him and the queen, the awkward silences when her name was spoken alongside the sovereign’s. But she also knew what was said about him as a man of honor, a loyal soldier, someone who had never failed his king.

And she wanted to believe in that. In “that” man.

After dinner, with a slight nod, she took her leave and retired to her chambers, assisted by her ladies. She walked through the silent corridors, her skirts barely brushing the polished stone floor. In her mind, one thought beat like a drum: two days. Two days until she would stop being a free lady, to become a wife, someone’s woman whom she barely knew. But she would do it. For her uncle, for the realm… for herself.

The next morning dawned mild and clear, as if the sky itself knew something important was coming. The windows of the queen’s chamber were open, letting in a soft breeze that made the white linen curtains billow. The sun's rays fell upon the mannequins that held the dresses crafted at record speed for Eadlyn.

There were seven in total, each more elaborate than the last.

The queen was already there, standing next to a maid holding a velvet box filled with hair ribbons. She wore a simple yet elegant black velvet dress, her hair tied in a low bun braided with golden threads. Her eyes landed on Eadlyn the moment she walked in.

“Did you sleep well, Lady Eadlyn?" she asked in her carefully measured tone, so polite it stung.

“Yes, Your Majesty," she replied with a small curtsy. "Thank you for receiving me so early."

“This is your day. Nothing is more important right now." The queen took a few steps toward the dresses and gestured with one hand. "These have been prepared by the best seamstresses in the realm. I want you to choose for yourself. Nothing imposed. Not today."

Eadlyn stepped forward confidently, letting her eyes roam over each gown.

The first was pure white satin, adorned with ivory lace on the sleeves and hem. Too traditional. The second, a cream color with golden and green floral embroidery: beautiful, but it didn’t feel like hers. The third was sky-blue silk, a nod to her mother’s family crest, with open sleeves that trailed to the floor like wings. She admired it… but didn’t choose it.

She examined the others carefully, listening to the queen’s comments, opinions that didn’t intrude.

And then she saw it.

The sixth dress.

It was a pearly white, almost silver, with gold-thread embroidery in subtle spirals. The neckline was straight, elegant, and the sleeves were long but of translucent tulle, as if the skin breathed through the fabric. The skirt was wide, but not heavy. It fell gracefully, like water sliding over stones. And at the waist, a barely noticeable ribbon that enhanced her figure without exaggeration.

Eadlyn stood still.

“That one," she said, almost without thinking. "I want to try that one."

The queen nodded, showing no surprise.

“It is beautiful. Perfect for you."

“Then I’m glad it chose me," Eadlyn replied.

A barely perceptible smile appeared on the queen’s lips.

When they dressed her, and Eadlyn saw herself in the mirror, the entire room seemed to stop. The gown embraced her figure with delicacy, accentuated the curve of her back, and the golden hue of her hair contrasted elegantly with the pale fabric. She looked like a statue carved by masterful hands.

“It fits you perfectly," said the queen, approaching from behind, her hands gently touching the sleeve edges. "Sihtric won’t be able to take his eyes off you."

Eadlyn tensed slightly. Just for a second.

"I hope he looks beyond the fabric," she said softly, watching her reflection.

The queen tilted her head. Her eyes met hers in the mirror.

“You’ll look like a wife," she said simply. "The rest will come or it won’t. That’s how it is in noble marriages."

Eadlyn didn’t reply. She just lowered her gaze to the golden embroidery of her dress. She thought of her mother, of stories of forced love, of feigned fidelity, of pacts sealed with cold kisses. And still… she had faith. Not blind. But resolute.

That night, the castle slept, but not in peace. At that hour, darkness embraced the hallways with a heavy silence, broken only by the creaking of stone beneath cautious, deliberate steps. The torches flickered with weak flames, and the shadows danced on the walls like spirits refusing to rest.

Sihtric walked through a narrow corridor, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He shouldn’t be there. He knew it. But something stronger than reason, older than loyalty, pulled him forward. It was that invisible thread he had never been able to cut.

He didn’t knock. He didn’t need to.

The queen was waiting.

She wore a soft linen tunic, almost translucent under the faint candlelight. Her hair, so often braided, now fell loose over her shoulders. She turned slightly when he crossed the threshold, and on her face there was no fear or regret. Only a tense, broken calm.

“I thought you wouldn’t come," she said in a low voice.

“I thought I was strong," he replied.

Neither moved at first. The silence between them was thick, alive. Sihtric looked at her as if trying to memorize every line of her face, every shadow beneath her eyes, as if he knew that after that night, he’d have to live with only the memory.

“Eadlyn is beautiful," she said, stepping closer. "She’ll be a good wife."

“I know."

“She’ll be good for you. She’ll give you children, respect. Stability."

“I know," he repeated.

She looked up at him, closer now, so close he could feel her breath.

“But she won’t give you this," she whispered.

And then their lips met. Not with violence. Not with fury. As if the world had been waiting for that moment. The kiss was long, restrained, desperate. She clung to his neck, he held her by the waist as if afraid she might vanish in his arms. Their bodies spoke the language they had tried to forget. One that had never stopped burning beneath the folds of duty.

They parted moments later, barely, their lips still brushing.

“This can’t go on," said Sihtric, but there was no conviction in his voice.

“And yet, it will," she replied.

“We won’t meet in secret," she said, almost in a whisper. "But there will always be a place to find each other. A glance in the hall. A word in a letter. A whisper in a corridor."

“And if I fall in love with her?" he asked, as if betraying himself by saying it.

The queen smiled sadly, touching his face with her fingertips.

“Then you’ll be happy. And I… I’ll pretend not to care."

The wedding took place the next day in the Grand Temple of the Realm, a structure of white marble with columns as tall as ancient trees. People gathered from dawn: nobles from distant lands, lords, ladies, knights, even lucky villagers who had secured a place among the crowd. The bells rang through the valley, announcing the union of the king’s warrior with his favorite niece.

Eadlyn prepared in a chamber lit by stained glass that cast warm tones. The dress she had chosen embraced her like a second skin. Her ladies braided her hair into golden crowns resting like molten metal atop her head. Her face was serene, but her eyes couldn’t lie. There was hope, yes. And beauty. But also a trace of fear. Fear of not being enough. Of not being loved.

The queen entered unannounced.

They looked at each other.

For a moment, they said nothing.

And then the queen approached, gently adjusting Eadlyn's veil clasp and said:

"You're perfect."

Eadlyn watched her from the mirror.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Are you nervous?"

"A little."

"That's natural. The first day doesn't define what will come. Love can grow over time. And if it doesn't... respect may be enough."

Eadlyn nodded. She wanted to believe her. She wanted to think those words were sincere. And perhaps they were.

Sihtric waited for her at the altar, dressed in a ceremonial battle tunic, his scars visible, his posture straight. When he saw her enter, something in his chest stopped. Eadlyn walked towards him as if floating. Beautiful, golden, strong. Her future, though uncertain, became tangible with every step.

The queen's eyes, seated beside the king, watched him. And in that instant, when their gazes crossed among the crowd, there was no hatred. No jealousy. Only a silent understanding.

They were not going to stop seeing each other.

The vow was spoken. Their hands bound with the sacred ribbon. The kiss was chaste, respectful. The bells rang out. The people cheered. And so, Sihtric became a husband.

The wedding banquet was at its peak. The tables overflowed with jars of wine, hot bread, spiced meats, and fruits bathed in honey. Music filled the great hall, and the clamor of the guests grew with every toast. Sihtric had remained serene throughout the evening, playing his role as husband, raising his cup, responding with a smile to the greetings, thanking the good wishes.

But when he finally found a moment to breathe, he discreetly stepped away from the crowd. He leaned against one of the stone columns that flanked the hall, watching his new wife from there.

Eadlyn was laughing at that moment, seated between two ladies who were showering her with compliments. Her golden hair seemed like a living crown, her eyes sparkling with a mix of shyness and grace. She was beautiful, as everyone said. But beyond her beauty, there was something that unsettled Sihtric: that quiet dignity with which she looked at him when no one else was watching. As if she knew more than she let on. As if she were waiting for him, not just as a husband, but as a man.

"You've been very still, brother," Uhtred's voice said beside him, interrupting his thoughts.

Sihtric didn't respond immediately. Finan appeared from the other side, chewing a piece of meat as if nothing could disturb him.

"So, you're married now, huh?" Finan said with a crooked smile. "Does it feel different?"

Sihtric sighed, not taking his eyes off Eadlyn.

"I don't know. Everything has happened too fast."

"That's normal. The important thing is that you did it. It's the right thing," Uhtred said, patting him on the shoulder. "The king trusts you. And the girl... she seems kind."

"And flexible," Finan added with a low laugh, receiving a warning glance from Uhtred. "Come on, don't make that face. It's not a punishment to marry a beautiful woman."

"It isn't," Sihtric admitted quietly. "It's just that... some things aren't easily forgotten."

The two friends fell silent for a few seconds. There was no need for him to say more. Uhtred knew. He always knew. His gaze scrutinized him gravely.

"Listen," Uhtred finally said. "You don't always choose whom to love. But you can choose whom to respect. And if she's your wife, make it worth it. Get used to her voice. Her laugh. How she looks at you. Not everything starts with fire. Some things ignite slowly."

Sihtric nodded, pressing his lips together.

"I'll try."

"You'll make it," Finan said, giving him an elbow nudge. "Though tonight, you'll only have to try once, if you know what I mean."

"Finan..." Sihtric grumbled, unable to prevent a fleeting smile.

"Come on, Sihtric!" Finan laughed. "It's your wedding night. The first one! Maybe the most awkward, the most uncomfortable, but also the most fun. I hope you're not too rusty."

"You should be more nervous about what she expects of you, not you of her," Uhtred added with a half-smile. "Do you think she hasn't been watching you all day? I wouldn't be surprised if she's more ready than you."

Sihtric shook his head, resigned, though an uncomfortable heat rose up his neck.

"Enough, both of you. I got married hours ago and now you're talking to me as if I'm going to an execution."

"Sometimes, it's the same," Finan said with a laugh. "But with less clothes."

Later, the moon was high when the door to the marriage chamber closed behind them.

Eadlyn walked first, in silence. Her steps were soft, and her dress glided like a stream of silver across the floor. The maidservants had left minutes before, leaving the room in perfect order: the bed was covered with clean sheets, fresh flowers adorned a side table, and the candles spread a warm, dim light throughout the room.

Sihtric stayed near the door for a moment, watching her.

She didn't look at him immediately. She walked toward the vanity, calmly removing her rings, one by one. Then she spoke, without turning.

"You can sit down if you want. There's no hurry."

"I'm not running away," he replied, taking a few steps forward.

"Neither am I running toward you," she said softly.

Sihtric clenched his jaw. He walked up to her and stood by her side. He looked at her in the mirror. Her eyes met his reflection: hers calm, his... filled with everything he couldn't say.

"I know this is strange," she murmured, finally turning to face him. "But I'm willing to try, Sihtric."

"So am I."

Silence fell again, but this time it wasn't uncomfortable.

He raised a hand and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. She didn't pull away.

"You're beautiful," he said in a quieter voice.

"And you're gentler than they say," she whispered.

She began to untie the strings of her dress, slow and precise. He helped her, with careful hands, no rush. When the dress fell away and she stood before him, wrapped only in a linen cloak and her golden hair loose over her shoulders, he looked at her not as a man who demands, but as one who learns.

He kissed her then. Slowly.

There was no clumsiness, no wild fire. It was a union of two who were just beginning to know each other, but were willing to do so with respect, and perhaps, with time, with tenderness. She received him with her eyes open at first, then closed, surrendering without fear, but with care. He was patient. She was generous.

It wasn't overflowing passion.

Hours later, with the candle almost melted and the warm air between the sheets, Eadlyn looked at him from the pillow.

“Thank you for not pretending.”

Sihtric turned his face toward her in the dim light.

“Thank you for being braver than I am.”

She smiled, and for the first time that night, she touched him without formality. She gently stroked his chest and rested her head on his shoulder.

They didn’t say anything more.

And although Sihtric’s heart still belonged to someone else… in that moment, he allowed himself to rest in the idea that, maybe, he could learn to love his wife.

The days after the wedding passed like pieces on a board moved with precision. Shared breakfasts, brief walks through the castle gardens, public meetings where Eadlyn and Sihtric walked together, spoke politely, sat next to each other. To the eyes of the kingdom, they were a perfect couple. The noble niece of the king and his most loyal warrior. A marriage that represented stability.

But behind the walls of their chambers, the story was different.

Eadlyn tried. She looked at him with the naive hope of someone who wishes to be enough. She learned his silences, his gestures. She sat by his side at night, asking him about his day, his battles, even his childhood. And Sihtric responded. He responded with respect, with kindness… but without commitment. As if there were an invisible wall that she couldn’t break through.

Sometimes, he looked at her as if he wanted to love her.

And other times, as if it pained him not to.

Everything worsened when the queen began visiting them more frequently.

She didn’t do it openly. She was subtle. She would appear at breakfasts, under the pretext of “family time.” She offered to accompany Eadlyn in choosing new fabrics or reviewing the tasks she now had as the wife of one of the king’s closest men.

“You have good taste,” she said, running her fingers through a dark blue silk.

Eadlyn smiled politely. The queen was refined, intelligent, elegant. She made everything seem like a noble teaching, a guide between women. But every piece of advice was a subtle stab, a warning. And above all, a way to remind her that she had been there before. That, in some way, she still was.

One night, Eadlyn decided to confront the wall.

She waited for them to lie down. The candle burned next to the bed, and the light cast a still, tense profile of Sihtric.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, her voice barely trembling.

Sihtric looked at her, surprised.

“No. No, Eadlyn. You’ve been… much more than I expected.”

“Then why do I feel like you’re so far away from me? Why do you speak to me as if we’re always surrounded by people, even when we’re alone?”

Sihtric closed his eyes. He sat up in bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed.

“Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

She didn’t respond at first. She moved closer, sitting in front of him, barefoot, her white nightgown floating over her thighs.

“You can’t hurt me with the truth, Sihtric. Only with silence.”

He looked at her. And it was then that she saw him clearly. In his eyes, there was something broken, something ancient. It wasn’t cruelty. It was pity. It was contained desire. It was the shadow of someone else.

“Do you still see her?” she asked, her voice firmer than she thought possible.

He hesitated to answer.

“I don’t seek her out. But she’s always there.”

Eadlyn didn’t cry. She didn’t make a scene. She just nodded.

“I’m not blind, Sihtric. I’ve seen how she looks at you. How she speaks to you when the three of us are together. With that soft voice, with that smile. As if it were a conversation that started long before me and hasn’t ended.”

Sihtric took her hand.

“You have no idea how much I wish I could love you as you deserve.”

She looked him in the eyes.

“Then do it. Try. But don’t ask me to share your heart with her. I’m not a child. I’m your wife.”

The next day, the queen asked Eadlyn to accompany her to the castle’s greenhouses.

Amid the sweet aroma of flowers and the singing of birds, the conversation began as always: calm, elegant.

“You seem stronger these days,” the queen said as she cut a thornless rose. “That’s good. A husband needs a strong wife.”

“I’m just trying to live up to what’s expected of me,” Eadlyn replied.

“And you’re doing an admirable job,” she said, before turning around. “Though you shouldn’t pressure yourself so much. Some men are like wild dogs. You can try to tame them, but in the end, they always remember the first hand that caressed them.”

Eadlyn stopped.

“Was that advice, Your Majesty? Or a warning?”

The queen smiled, calmly.

“It was the truth. You have his name. His bed. His alliance. But I have his memories. And not everything that’s seen in public is what’s felt in the dark.”

For the first time, Eadlyn felt a real chill being near her. The queen didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. There was a way she claimed the space without moving, as if the air knew whom it should obey.

“Sihtric is mine,” Eadlyn said, this time more firmly.

The queen leaned in to smell another flower.

“Maybe. But not entirely.”

That night, Sihtric found a note under his sword.

It only said: “The queen has called for you again. This time, decide for yourself if you respond.”

He stared at it for a long time. The fire in the hearth flickered like a dilemma.

And elsewhere in the castle, Eadlyn looked toward the door… waiting.

But no one entered.

The next morning, a veil of clouds covered the castle, casting soft shadows over the stones. And there was Eadlyn, walking with firm steps toward the queen’s chambers.

She didn’t ask for permission to enter.

The two maidservants guarding the door exchanged nervous looks, but a word from the king’s niece was enough to make them step aside.

The queen was sitting on a dark velvet divan, a glass of wine between her fingers, still dressed in her embroidered silk robe. Her hair fell loosely like a river of dark fire over her shoulders, and her expression barely changed when she saw Eadlyn burst into the room.

“So early, dear?” she said, not looking up from her glass. “Shouldn’t you still be in bed?”

“I haven’t come to play at good manners,” Eadlyn replied, closing the door behind her. “I’ve come to speak to you as I am: Sihtric’s wife.”

The queen put her glass aside and calmly crossed her legs, evaluating her.

“Then speak.”

Eadlyn took a few steps forward, not sitting down, as if afraid that if she relaxed, the queen would swallow the air in the room.

“You’re interfering. You’ve been doing it even before I arrived. And you’re still doing it now, with smiles and soft words, but with the clear intention that he doesn’t belong to me entirely.”

“What a dangerous word… ‘belong,’” the queen replied, looking at one of her nails distractedly. “Men are not rings that you place and forget. Nor are feelings.”

“I’m not interested in what he felt for you before,” Eadlyn said, stepping closer. “I care about what you’re still seeking from him now. The looks. The notes. The private conversations. I see everything. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”

The queen looked up. Her eyes were like a frozen field.

“And what do you expect to achieve with this visit? A confession? An apology?”

“No,” Eadlyn said firmly. “I expect respect. I expect you to step away from what no longer belongs to you. You’ve had Sihtric. Whatever you shared, it’s over. Now he’s with me. And if he ever learns to love me, it will be in spite of you, not because of you.”

For the first time, a flash of emotion crossed the queen’s gaze. Not fury. Not jealousy. But something older. Pain. Nostalgia. And maybe… fear.

“You think this is so simple,” she whispered, standing slowly. “As if love obeyed laws. As if it could be cut like a rope. You see it as a rivalry between women. But you don’t know what it’s like to love someone who can’t be yours without everything else falling apart.”

“Then let it fall apart,” Eadlyn said, her eyes burning. “But don’t drag the rest of us down with you. Not me. And not him.”

There was a long silence. The two women measured each other. Not with shouts or blows, but with the cold determination only possible between two who love the same man.

The queen took a step toward her, gently.

“And if he comes to me? Even without me seeking him? Will you still blame him?”

“No,” Eadlyn said. “But I’ll make sure he remembers every night that he has me. And every morning too.”

The queen stood still for one more second, as if the answer had hurt her more than she expected. Then she smiled.

“Then we’ll see who tires first.”

Eadlyn turned without another word. She opened the door with determination and left, leaving behind a fragrance of dried flowers… and war declared.

That night, Sihtric found her sitting alone on their bed, her hair loose, hands intertwined on her lap. He approached cautiously.

“Are you okay?”

She lifted her gaze, without a trace of doubt.

“Are you?”

Sihtric didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“I spoke with her,” Eadlyn said. “I’m not going to let her stay between us. No matter what you still feel. I’m here. And I plan to stay.”

“Sihtric…” he whispered, his chest tight.

“Don’t say anything now,” she interrupted, standing in front of him. “But if you ever decide to go to her again… at least have the courage to tell me to my face.”

And with that, she got into bed, turning her back to him.

Sihtric stood there for a moment. Feeling the weight of love that hadn’t gone away… and the one that was beginning to be born.

And he knew, with cruel certainty, that he couldn’t have both.

But he couldn’t let go of either.

The days following the confrontation with the queen were strangely quiet. Meals were shared with measured smiles. Walks through the garden were made in silence, hands intertwined more out of habit than desire. No one raised their voice. No one crossed a line. Routine settled in like a warm blanket covering a fire still burning beneath the surface.

Eadlyn clung to that calm. She wanted to believe things were changing. That Sihtric, though distant, was beginning to see her. To recognize her as something more than the wife chosen by the king. There were nights when he spoke to her more than usual. He touched her arm softly before bed. He had even smiled at her without having to.

She, naively, thought she was winning.

Until everything fell apart.

The rumor reached her like a cold gust while she walked through the upper gallery, from the lips of a maidservant who couldn’t keep quiet in time.

“…I saw him leave the queen’s chambers this morning. Alone. He seemed nervous.”

Blood froze in her veins.

“Sihtric?”

The maidservant’s eyes widened, pale, and she stammered some absurd excuse before retreating. But it was too late. The image had been engraved. The pieces fell into place: his evasive look at breakfast, his quieter voice, the way he avoided touching her fingers like he had the night before.

It hadn’t just been a conversation. She felt it.

And the doubt weighed more than the entire castle.

That night, Eadlyn sat waiting on the divan in her chamber. She didn’t change into sleep clothes. She remained upright, her dress still on, hands tense in her lap. The candle burned insistently, as if it knew it was about to witness a storm.

The door opened. Sihtric entered, closing it softly. When he saw her awake, he stopped.

“Didn’t you sleep?”

“Where were you this morning?”

The question fell like a stone. Direct. Solid.

Sihtric didn’t answer immediately. He lowered his gaze, sighed. Took a few steps.

“I spoke with her,” he finally admitted.

And the silence that followed was crueler than any scream.

“Why?”

“I thought it was better this way. That if we talked, if we made things clear…”

“And did you make them clear?”

Sihtric raised his gaze. He saw something broken in her eyes. It wasn’t anger. It was something more dangerous: disappointment. Accumulated pain. Insecurity. Desperation.

“Eadlyn…”

“What am I doing wrong?” she suddenly asked, her voice breaking. “Why can’t I reach you? Why do I try so hard and still not seem enough?”

Sihtric frowned, uncomfortable, tense.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth!” she screamed, tears running down her cheeks. “I’m not her. I don’t have her history with you, or her memories, or that look that makes you tremble. But I’m your wife, Sihtric. And I wanted to try. I really wanted… I wanted…”

“Because I don’t love you, damn it!” he exploded suddenly, with a dry shout that shattered the air. “I don’t love you, Eadlyn! I try, but I can’t! You’re not her, and that’s what kills me!”

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Eadlyn looked at him, pale, as if he had struck her with a sword. The tears that had been falling stopped. Her body ceased trembling. Her face hardened.

She wiped her cheeks with the palm of her hand, slowly.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” she said in a low, cold, empty voice. “I thought… I thought things were starting to change.”

She turned with grace, as if there were still dignity to salvage. She walked toward the door, and Sihtric, realizing his mistake, the sharpness of his words, called her.

“Eadlyn, wait…”

“No.” That was all she said.

And she left.

Anguish pierced her like a spear as she crossed the hall. She didn’t cry immediately. She had no strength. Her body felt light, undone. As if it wasn’t hers. As if it was another woman who had heard that, the one who had been rejected so violently.

She didn’t make it to her chambers.

In the middle of the corridor, she turned into a small rest room she knew, used by maids and visitors. As soon as she crossed the door, she fell to her knees.

The tears came like a storm. Uncontained, not elegant, not soft. It was a choked scream, a broken sob. And then… she vomited. Her body couldn’t hold on anymore.

One of the maids who had seen her enter rushed to her side. She knelt beside her, terrified.

“My lady, by the gods!”

“Don’t take me to my room,” Eadlyn whispered, still trembling. “No… I don’t want him to see me. Please… take me somewhere else.”

The maid nodded with tears in her eyes. She helped her lady to her feet, and together they walked to a smaller room, where hot water and clean sheets were already waiting. Eadlyn was bathed gently. Her body continued to tremble. Her head hurt. Her chest ached. Her heart seemed to have shrunk.

When they finally laid her down, she said nothing. She only stared at the ceiling, motionless.

“I don’t want to see him,” she murmured, before closing her eyes.

And that night, Sihtric’s bed remained empty.

And he, at the foot of the door, leaning against the wall, understood the weight of his cowardice.

The next day, the sun timidly peeked over the castle walls, casting its light on the cold stone. But no light was enough to dissipate the weight that hung over Sihtric since the night before.

Sleep was impossible.

The image of Eadlyn crying in front of him, asking with a broken voice what she had done wrong, hurt like a knife in his stomach. And worse still, hearing his own words shouting that he didn’t love her, that she wasn’t “her.” Words that he didn’t know whether they were as true as they were desperate.

He didn’t love her yet, but… he didn’t hate her either. She wasn’t indifferent to him. Seeing her hurt twisted his soul. And that, in his world, was saying a lot.

That morning, he didn’t go to training. He didn’t eat breakfast. He just wandered through the castle like a lost dog, searching for a door that would allow him to redeem himself.

But Eadlyn didn’t want to see him.

He knocked once on the door of the room where he knew she had been staying since the night before. A maid came out, visibly nervous.

“Is she okay?” Sihtric asked quietly, not hiding his anxiety.

“She had a fever this morning. She doesn’t want to eat. And she refuses to speak to anyone, my lord. No one… except us.”

“I want to see her. Just talk.”

The maid hesitated, swallowed.

“She expressly asked that you not be allowed in.”

Sihtric felt his soul break again. He clenched his fists and walked away without saying anything, his face hardened, his eyes burning. He had to do something. He had to find a way to mend what he had broken.

Later that same day, during lunch in the hall, the queen made her appearance.

But Sihtric didn’t look at her.

Not once.

Not when she sat near him. Not when, discreetly, she addressed him. He didn’t answer. He didn’t turn his head. He chewed without appetite, his eyes fixed on his wine glass.

“Is something wrong?” the queen asked subtly.

Sihtric didn’t blink.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

It was as if someone had thrown a dagger onto the silver.

The queen kept her composure, but something in her lips tightened. She stood up without saying more and left the room. Sihtric didn’t move.

Later, in the training yard, his friends saw him walking alone, grim, slamming his sword into a post with barely contained fury. Uhtred was the first to approach, arms crossed.

“Are you planning to kill something, or just your conscience?”

Sihtric didn’t answer. He kept hitting. The wood creaked with every strike.

“She doesn’t want to see me,” he finally said, his voice hoarse.

“And you didn’t let her see you before. Funny how life turns, huh?” Finan intervened, appearing behind with his sly smile and hands behind his head. “Maybe it’s for the best. Let you suffer a little. So you learn that words are like arrows: once shot, they can’t be retrieved.”

“I know,” Sihtric growled.

“Then do something. Waiting like a dog won’t make her forgive you. Go see her. Apologize for real. Not out of pity, but because you feel it. But don’t go thinking she’ll open her arms just because she sees your pretty face.”

“I don’t want her pity,” Sihtric said.

“And she doesn’t want your excuses,” Uhtred said firmly. “If you really care, you’ll show it with more than words. With actions. With loyalty.”

Sihtric lowered his sword. He was breathing heavily. His heart hurt. But it was true. He had to try to reach her… even if it was through a crack.

That same afternoon, he asked for permission again to see her. He didn’t insist. He just left a letter written in his own hand in the maid’s care.

“Eadlyn, I know I have no right to ask for anything. But I can’t stay silent after what I did. I was wrong. I let myself be blinded by the past, by something that no longer belongs to me. You are here, alive, real, present. And I failed you. I’m not asking you to forgive me today. Just to let me… show you that I’m not made of just mistakes. I’m willing to wait. As long as you need.”

The maid returned alone. No answer.

And Sihtric understood that the wound wouldn’t heal in days. That love, if it came, wouldn’t be by insistence. Nor by pressure. But because he would have to earn it.

And that night, when he passed by the hallways that led to the queen’s chambers, and she stepped out to meet him with a calculated smile and an inquisitive look… he simply turned his face and kept walking, as if she didn’t even exist.

Because in that moment, for the first time, he understood what he was willing to lose… and what he was no longer willing to keep touching.

The days passed like leaves blown by the wind, without stopping, without comfort.

Eadlyn didn’t speak to Sihtric again. She didn’t look at him during the dinners they shared in silence, nor at the events they had to attend. She didn’t search for him with her gaze, even when everyone present knew he was searching for hers.

She became a shadow in her own life. She smiled in public, dressed better than ever, walked with her head held high. But her heart hurt every time she felt him near.

Sometimes, she heard him pass on the other side of the door, standing still. She imagined him on the other side, with his hand raised, hesitating whether to knock. He never did.

And she, inside, cried in silence, hating herself for missing him so much.

Sihtric, for his part, became a man of few words. He threw himself into training with dry violence. He avoided any encounter with the queen, not only out of respect for Eadlyn but because now seeing her made his stomach turn.

Every night he passed by the room where he knew his wife slept, perhaps hoping to hear her voice, a sigh, a sign.

But nothing came.

Sihtric’s friends began to worry. Uhtred even tried to mediate in secret, but Eadlyn wouldn’t be swayed.

“He chose me last,” she said in a tempered voice. “I don’t want to beg for a love that will always look the other way.”

And with that, the conversation was closed.

Two weeks passed.

Then, one night, the wind brought something more than silence.

Eadlyn woke up suddenly, with her chest tight. A sudden nausea made her get out of bed urgently, and she vomited for the second time in three days. The maid who slept near her heard and ran to help.

“My lady, this is no longer from sadness…” she whispered, concerned, holding her hair. “You should see the healer.”

Eadlyn nodded, tired, defeated.

Hours later, the healer entered the room, with her wise hands, her ancient gaze. She examined her patiently, touching her forehead, checking her pulse, asking questions. Eadlyn answered everything with coldness, as if she were far from herself.

Until the woman stepped back and spoke with the softness of someone who knows her words will bring a storm.

“My lady… you’re expecting a child.”

Eadlyn stayed still.

“What?”

“You’re pregnant. There’s no doubt.”

The world stopped.

The maids remained frozen, watching her without daring to say anything. Eadlyn’s body didn’t react. Only her eyes trembled, fixed on some distant point, as the words echoed inside her.

A child.

From him.

And he no longer wanted her.

She felt the air escape from her. She wanted to scream, but no sound came. Only tears. Slow. Thick.

Sihtric was called urgently to the private wing. Finan and Uhtred were waiting for him at the entrance.

“What’s happening?” he asked, alarmed.

“It’s Eadlyn,” Finan said, serious for the first time in weeks. “She’s not well. You have to see her. Now.”

Sihtric didn’t ask further. He ran up the stairs, crossed the halls, and reached that room he hadn’t stepped into in days.

And when he saw her there, lying, pale, with her hands on her belly, her eyes red, and the maids looking at him with suspicion… his heart broke.

“Eadlyn…”

She turned her head with effort. Her face was wet, but she didn’t look away. She didn’t yell at him. She didn’t chase him out.

“I’m pregnant.”

Sihtric felt the earth tremble beneath his feet.

“What?”

“What you heard. I’m having a child. Your child.” Her voice had no tone. Just emptiness. “And I don’t know what you’re going to do with that, but I don’t care anymore.”

Sihtric took a step, then another, until he was next to the bed.

“Don’t say that. No… Eadlyn, I…”

“Are you going to shout at me again that you don’t love me?”

That silenced him.

She looked at him, hurt but firm.

“This child isn’t going to grow up hearing insults. He’s not going to see his mother begging for affection.”

“He won’t have to do that,” he said at last, with his heart in his throat. “Because I’ll be here. Because I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”

Eadlyn lowered her gaze.

"I don’t want you to be with me out of obligation."

"And I don’t want to be alone out of regret," he whispered.

A long silence stretched between them. The maidservants discreetly stepped away, giving them space.

"I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me," Sihtric continued. "But I want you to know that since you pushed me away, I haven’t looked at anyone the way I looked at you. I haven’t touched anyone. I haven’t wanted anyone close. Not even her."

Eadlyn looked at him, and for the first time in days, something cracked in her armor.

After the confession, the tears, the exhaustion... she simply let him stay by her side. She didn’t ask him to leave. She didn’t avert her gaze. She didn’t harden her voice.

And for Sihtric, that was already a lot.

He sat in a chair by the bed, not touching her, not invading her space. He just stayed there. Watching her as she slept, with her forehead damp with sweat and her lashes wet. His heart ached to see her like this, fragile, when he had always seen her so elegant, so upright, so perfectly composed.

Now she was just her. A woman broken inside, carrying a child he had fathered and a resentment he deserved.

But he was there. And he intended to stay.

The following days were different. They still didn’t sleep in the same bed, but he began accompanying her on walks through the gardens. Sometimes they walked in silence. Other times, he told her stories from his childhood, about when Uhtred had taught him how to use a sword.

Eadlyn listened without saying much, but little by little, their glances lasted longer. Her voice was less cold. And her responses no longer felt like daggers.

One afternoon, while he was helping her up a step, their fingers brushed. Eadlyn didn’t pull away.

And Sihtric understood that she was yielding. Slowly, painfully. But yielding.

When the first moon of the pregnancy passed, the healer examined her again. Everything was in order. The child, boy or girl, was growing strong.

Eadlyn was paler, a little more sensitive, but her eyes no longer looked so dim. Sihtric never left her alone, and that confused her. She didn’t know if she should love him or be afraid of him. But every time he spoke to her softly, every time he brought her something she wanted, a mint tea, a piece of honeyed bread, a book of poetry... she felt the ice in her chest cracking.

One night, she sat by the window, cradling her barely visible belly. He entered quietly, without making a sound.

"Would it bother you if I stay?"

She looked at him, her eyes tired, but didn’t say no. She only nodded.

Sihtric took off his coat, crossed the room, and sat next to her on the couch. He didn’t speak. He only spread a blanket over her legs and draped it around her shoulders.

And Eadlyn, for the first time in weeks, leaned against his chest.

Just a little. Just for an instant.

But it was real.

That night, Eadlyn didn’t want him to sleep in another room.

"If you want to stay, you can… stay," she said quietly, facing away from him.

Sihtric stopped in the doorway, as if unsure if he had heard her correctly.

"Here?"

"Yes," she said, not turning around.

He nodded, though she didn’t see it.

He lay down on the other side of the bed, not crossing the center, as if there was an invisible line marking boundaries. But even separated, the air felt different.

Her breathing was slow. His heartbeats, more serene.

"Do you think about how it’s going to be?" she asked, not opening her eyes.

"All the time," he replied, staring at the ceiling. "I don’t know if I’ll be a good father, Eadlyn... but I’ll try. And I’ll take care of you. Of both of you."

There was a long, deep silence.

She turned her head slightly, still not looking at him.

"And if you never love me?"

Sihtric swallowed.

"Then you’ll have to put up with me as the husband who respects you, who takes care of you, who admires you... even though I’m still learning to love you."

And for the first time, a faint smile formed on Eadlyn’s lips. It wasn’t one of joy. But it was human. Real.

"It’s a good start," she whispered.

In the middle of the night, she woke up cold. She instinctively curled toward the warm side of the bed... and found his back. Sihtric barely turned, still asleep, and without thinking, he passed his arm over her.

Eadlyn stayed still.

She didn’t pull away. She didn’t cry. She didn’t think.

She just let herself be embraced. Because for once... she felt safe.

The days passed, and the room that once was silent and bitter began to fill with little things: a soft laugh, a shared gesture, the accidental touch that was no longer uncomfortable.

Sihtric no longer slept on the other side of the bed. Now he held her every night with the care of someone who knows they have a miracle in their arms. Eadlyn no longer cried when thinking of her husband. Now she watched him as he helped her put on her shoes or prepared tea with his own hands.

There were entire afternoons when they would go out to the garden just to sit under the same oak. He would read to her, his deep and slow voice, while his hand gently rested on her belly. Eadlyn found herself wishing that this would happen every day, like a prayer.

And when he laughed, something he did more often lately, she felt warmth in her chest.

One morning, while Sihtric adjusted her belt on her new dress, she turned and looked at him.

"Sihtric?"

"Mmm?"

"I don’t remember the last time I felt safe."

He froze, his fingers still at the knot of fabric, looking at her.

"Neither do I."

And then he kissed her. Softly. Briefly. Sincerely.

She didn’t pull away. She held on. And finally, she felt there was no fear anymore.

But light disturbs those who live in the shadows.

The queen, who had been watching from afar, felt the threat creeping up her back like a cold poison.

At first, she tried small things. Sending for Sihtric with silly excuses. Asking about his health. Leaving subtle gifts where he would see them and know they came from her. All without success.

He didn’t respond.

Not with words, nor with looks.

He no longer spoke to her, except in formal and distant terms. He no longer stopped to listen to her. He no longer pretended to be polite.

She stopped being an open wound. She became an unwanted presence.

And that drove her mad.

One afternoon, when Eadlyn was returning from a walk with Sihtric, she found a letter in her chambers. There was no sender, but the handwriting was feminine and elegant.

With suspicion, she opened it.

"Dear Princess,

It is admirable your effort to keep a man who, as you well know, was never yours from the beginning. I would like to remind you that what a woman cannot build from love, she cannot sustain from need. You have a child on the way… but do you have the father’s heart?"

Eadlyn’s heart beat fast. She felt anger. A sting.

And at the same time... she didn’t feel fear.

Because yes. She had his heart. Maybe not entirely. Maybe not the way she had dreamed. But she had it.

She crumpled the letter and threw it into the fire.

That night, while Sihtric gently caressed her belly beneath the blankets, she looked at him.

"I received an anonymous letter."

He frowned, concerned.

"What did it say?"

"That I don’t have you."

He sat up. Eadlyn remained calm.

"I want you to know," she said firmly, "that if you decide to leave, if at any point you realize your place is not here... I won’t stop you. But I also want you to know that while you are here, I won’t give up."

Sihtric looked at her, and for the first time, it was he who had tears in his eyes.

"I’m not going anywhere," he whispered.

And he kissed her.

Gently. With promise. With respect.

In the days that followed, the rumors began to fade. Because there was no longer a crack through which they could slip.

The queen watched them from afar, her face tense, feeling the ground slipping from beneath her feet. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t break something that was being built on truth.

Eadlyn and Sihtric were now seen together at every ceremony, at every banquet. They spoke softly, touched each other naturally. They didn’t need to show love, because it was obvious. In the way he helped her sit down. In the way she looked at him when he didn’t notice. In how their bodies no longer repelled each other... they sought each other.

Love, or something very close to it, had found fertile ground.

And this time, no one was going to take it from them.

A few moons later, the rain hammered the windows like an insistent murmur, as if the heavens knew that today, nothing would be easy.

Eadlyn had been writhing in the damp sheets for hours. The labor had started at dawn, and it was already late afternoon. The midwives came and went with tense faces, bringing hot water, clean towels, and herbs to soothe her. Her hair, which was usually neatly braided, fell loose and sticky across her forehead. Her hands gripped the headboard, her knuckles white, her face contorted.

And yet, she didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She didn’t ask.

She just clenched her teeth and endured.

Sihtric hadn’t moved from the hallway since the pain started. There was no way to move him. Finan, more practical, offered him wine. Uhtred gave him a pat on the shoulder. But he didn’t listen. He couldn’t do anything but stare at the closed door, his eyes burning and his fists clenched.

Each muffled scream that escaped from the walls tore him apart.

"Damn it," he muttered through clenched teeth. "Why is it taking so long?"

Inside the room, the head midwife leaned over Eadlyn, worried.

"My lady... if you don’t push now, with all your strength, the child is in danger."

Eadlyn’s vision was blurred. She couldn’t feel her legs. She barely remembered how to breathe.

"Is the baby... okay?" she murmured through gasps.

"The baby is still fighting. But there’s no time."

Then, Eadlyn closed her eyes, searched for something within herself, courage, faith, fury and pushed. With everything. With the last of what she had.

A scream tore through the room. It was not elegant. It was not dignified. It was wild, desperate, human.

And then, the crying.

A sharp, powerful cry. Full of life.

The child had been born.

Sihtric heard the cry before the door opened. And for a moment, he didn’t know if it was real. He stood frozen.

The door creaked open and a maid looked at him.

“It's a boy. Strong.”

Sihtric didn’t think. He entered like a hurricane, without asking for permission.

He saw her. White as the sheets. Sweaty. Exhausted. But alive.

And in her arms... a child.

Small. Wrinkled. With a dark lock stuck to his head. Sleeping, still with the recent cry on his lips.

Sihtric knelt by the bed, his hands trembling.

“Can I...?”

Eadlyn nodded weakly. She could barely speak.

He took the child carefully. He had never held anything so fragile. His rough fingers, weathered by war, turned soft as velvet.

“He’s perfect,” he whispered. “He has your lips.”

“And your frown,” she said, weak but smiling.

Sihtric laughed, with a lump in his throat, as a tear fell from his cheek.

“We will take care of him. We will protect him.”

“We will love him,” she added.

They looked at each other. There was no more pain. Only that new, giant emotion, that could not be named.

Later, Eadlyn rested, still weak. The room was quiet, with a soft golden light coming through the stained glass.

Sihtric sat beside the bed, with the child asleep in his arms.

“How will you name him?” Eadlyn asked, her voice barely audible.

He looked at her. He didn’t answer immediately. He only watched the little one, breathing softly, as if he already knew he was safe.

“Bjorn,” he said finally. “It means ‘bear’. May he be strong.”

Eadlyn nodded, closing her eyes.

“Bjorn... It’s perfect.”

And at that moment, for the first time, Sihtric felt complete. He was no longer just a warrior, nor the man caught between two women. He was a father. He was a husband.

He was free.

The queen did not appear that day. Nor the next.

Maybe she knew she no longer had power there.

Four weeks had passed quickly since Bjorn’s birth. The fortress was quieter, as if even the stones knew something sacred had been born there. The nights were brief and full of whispers: the baby’s cries, the soft steps of the maids, and the hushed voices of parents still learning how to be them.

Eadlyn had healed slowly. Her body, exhausted from childbirth, was regaining its strength. She slept little, but every time she opened her eyes and saw Sihtric with their son in his arms, life seemed more bearable, even beautiful.

That night the moon was low, huge, cut against the sky like a barely spoken secret.

Bjorn slept deeply in his wooden cradle. The candlelight flickered softly, casting golden shadows on the stone walls. Eadlyn was lying on the cushions, her hair loose, with a light linen tunic that left her shoulders exposed.

Sihtric carefully closed the door and approached her, letting his eyes speak before any words.

“He’s asleep,” he whispered, as if afraid to break the magic of the moment.

Eadlyn smiled at him, resting her head against the headboard of the bed.

“You’re doing well... as a father.”

“And as a husband?”

She raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Improving,” she replied playfully, though her eyes shone with truth.

Sihtric sat beside her, one knee on the mattress, watching her in silence.

“You look tired,” he said, caressing her cheek, “but also... different.”

“Different how?”

“As if you were reborn with him. As if... all the hardness in your eyes had surrendered.”

Eadlyn lowered her gaze, thoughtful. Then she took his hand and guided it to her belly, still tender.

“It still hurts a bit...” she confessed softly. “But not like before. It’s a pain that... reminds me that I’m alive. That I brought him into the world. That I’m not the same.”

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he murmured, his lips near her forehead. “If you want me to just stay here, with you, holding you, I will.”

She looked at him, that mix of laughter and tenderness on her lips.

“My body is sensitive... but not dead.

And you’ve always been good with your hands, husband.”

He let out a soft, almost fearful smile.

“I’ll be careful.”

“I always wanted to have many children,” she said jokingly, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “But maybe... we could wait at least a month for the next one.”

Sihtric laughed against her neck, slowly lowering himself, as if every inch of her skin was sacred, as if he were rediscovering it. His lips weren’t in a hurry. They touched, kissed, waited. As if asking permission in every caress.

She trembled. Not from pain, but from recognition. Her body, marked by life, was opening again. With fear. With desire. With love.

When their hands intertwined, there was no urgency. Only promise.

He loved her with the patience of someone who knows that the soul must follow the body, and the body must heal not only from wounds but also from emptiness.

Eadlyn surrendered to his kisses, his fingers, his warmth. She felt how the world reduced itself to the weight of his body on hers, to the shared breath, to the slow rhythm of two people who no longer sought each other to forget, but to find each other.

It was a silent, deep act. Like a prayer. Like a pact sealed without words.

And when it was over, when they both rested under the blankets, their son was still asleep, and the world kept turning.

“Do you still think I’m improving as a husband?” he asked softly.

She turned her face toward him, her fingers caressing his bare chest.

“Sihtric... If you keep this up, I’m going to have to play hard to get just to make you try harder.”

He laughed against her hair.

And for the first time in a long time, there was no past between them. Only the present. And a future, beating to the rhythm of three hearts.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric fic #sihtric x oc #sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #the last kingdom #tlk fandom #tlk #tlk fanfic

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